Retrium for a Dream

Deep off the coast, in the treacherous hills of Retrium, a close-knit band of developers, designers, and product owners huddled around a crackling fire in the dead of night. As was tradition, each member came prepared with criticisms and praise necessary to improve the tribe.

The warrior-cleric tending to his falcon familiar asked the party, "Anyone for a batch of Lean Coffee?", but none replied. A secret recipe from his home in the fens, this brew was strong and overcame the cold of the harshest of Decembers in North Umbria. The meeting was about to

commence as a bolt of lightning ripped across the sky. The quickening was upon us. A scream pierced the thick fog, no doubt Connor MacLeod, of the Clan MacLeod. The warrior-cleric sent his falcon aloft, eyes rolling into his head as he enters the falcon's mind. Who was out there?

After 3 hours of no telepathic visions, Connor realized the brutal truth. The falcon's eyes were not rolling into its head to signal a transition to another dimension in which it can see the future... it was having a seizure. You see, the falcon is a diabetic.

It's true, there are a lot of falcons living in the United States and some are pretty sick and have trouble keeping up with their medications.

"GPT-3 is a helluva drug" he grunted to himself having just used the AI tool to finish his latest Highlander fanfic with Connor Macleod fighting off a clan of Falconers that feed their Falcons a cocktail of Modafinil, Speed, and Meatcember specials.

Clop clop clop. "What's that? Is someone sneaking up on me while wearing wooden shoes!?" Suddenly a kilt-wearing horse pranced into view.

"Scots.. they're all the same" thought Connor MacLeod. "I'd have a long face too if I drank that bog water they pass off as whiskey." The horse began bagpiping with great gusto. In traditional fashion, there was nothing under the kilt. "OH FOR THE LOVE OF HADRIAN!"

But Connor hadn’t ventured this far north to waste his time listening to middling equine musicians. He had an intense craving, one that could only be satisfied by a single succulent, savory confection. His mouth watered as he imagined the salty highland haggis coating his tongue.

A knock, knock, knock on the door of Gladys' Haggis - just as he practiced in his mind so many times before. But nothing. Peeking in the window all he saw was a mattress, latticed, laying there on the floor!

He walked around the house, to the back by the kitchen. Took another peek in the window and there it was...smoking hot, delicious haggis. "They must be here somewhere", he thought, and then he heard it... the kilt-wearing horse was near.

Kilt or no kilt, that horse was not going to spoil his haggis feast. He quickly slid the window open and jumped inside. As he approached the plate of sheep insides, he heard a voice behind him. “There can be only one.”

“One what?” he replied. His thoughts quickly returned to the previous summer. Had he been discovered? Did someone know? But he left no trace! Out of the darkness walked a ghostly young lady, dressed in white. She was alive!

"She didn't get eaten by the eels" Vance says. "I wasn't nervous" Adam clarifies. "Maybe I was a little bit concerned, but that's not the same thing." Vance offers to stop reading, but Adam is already too invested, "No, You could read a little bit more ... if you want, Grandpa."