tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69893046765594896602024-03-13T09:51:46.030-07:00Weapon ModsDorge Kashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14854860173284691306noreply@blogger.comBlogger210125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989304676559489660.post-40504738782438317952020-03-24T11:54:00.002-07:002020-03-24T11:54:27.805-07:00skirts through the libraryThe smell inside the library stirs up old memories inside Dorge but he can't seem to place them. It also stirs up a bit of a smile but it's gone just as quickly. There's a member of the staff arguing with a centaur in the main entrance taking up a lot of room, making avoiding the whole situation near impossible.<br />
"Sir. <i>Sir," </i>the librarian says.<br />
"Listen," the centaur replies, "I'm only <i>half</i> horse, lady. I'm not going to shit all over your floor. You're not even the librarian!"<br />
So, scratch that.<br />
"You're too big for the aisles! If you would just wait here I will get whatever you need. We also have a correspondence program you can sign up for," not-the-librarian says.<br />
Dorge grips the hilt of his dagger and holds his breath, an old habit he relies on when he passes by anyone too closely, and prepares to slide past whatever is going on here.<br />
Irritably he thinks <i>centaurs are dumb</i>, but immediately feels bad about it and and amends his thought to <i>this centaur is dumb. </i>Which leads him to think, as soon as he's successfully made it past the two verbal combatants <i>why is that centaur in the library? </i>But he shrugs and shakes the question off, taking in a deep breath, free of whatever musk the heated debate between those two was generating.<br />
He was here to see a Gainslee about the undead job. Please, please, don't let not-the-librarian be Gainslee. If that were the case Dorge would just do the Charm the Wailing Spirit post he had tucked into his belt.<br />
Dorge didn't exactly know where to go but feels strange just meandering about, so he heads into a random aisle and starts running his finger down the spines of books like he's looking for something. Maybe he can check his wisdom stat after this and see if it went up a notch, maybe there's more to this warrior after all...mayb-wait, is that hot elf girl checking him out? Don't look, don't look. He reaches up to adjust his glasses in an effort to look more studious, then remembers he doesn't wear glasses <i>here</i>. So he smooths the move over by reaching for a book and pulling it down from the shelf instead. Flipping through it back and forth until he "finds" what he's looking for, but he's concentrating more on making the proper Ah! Of Course! face than actually reading.<br />
That's when the hot elf girl falls right into his trap.<br />
"Excuse me?" she says, approaching him tentatively.<br />
Ignore, ignore, ignore, "Hm? Oh, yes?"Dorge says.<br />
"You can read Abyssal?"<br />
Fuck. Motherfuck.<br />
Dorge sighs and snaps the book shut, "Well, that makes a little more sense," he chuckles and slides the book back into place. Why the hell would the Abyssal section be on the first floor. He probably would have gone mad if he'd actually tried to read it.<br />
"I'm sorry to bother you, please don't be embarrassed. I was only hoping, er...wondering if you could because of the job I'm on. Understanding that writing would have been helpful," she says.<br />
"Well, I'm just a little turned around in here, sorry," Dorge says.<br />
"Oh, maybe I can help. I come here all the time! My name's Pynah. What are you looking for? Are you on a quest?"<br />
Dorge takes a step back, "Uh, no, not yet, anyways. I think I'm ok, thanks, I'll find him."<br />
Deflated, Pynah says, "I see, well it was nice to meet you?"<br />
"Dorge," Dorge says, "with a 'D'."<br />
"'Dorge Wethahdee', is that southern?"<br />
"What? No, no-"<br />
Pynah snickers, "I'm just fucking with you, Dorge, see ya around."<br />
What the hell.<br />
"Hey, Pynah...do you know Gainslee?" Dorge asks, his palms up.<br />
"Thought you'd never ask, Dorge Wethahdee," she says and gestures for him to follow.<br />
<br />
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***<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Pynah skirts through the library, deftly maneuvering through the stacks and the creatures, nearly losing Dorge twice, but smiling when she has to turn and look for him. He took her for a cleric but he was just being racist. Clerics don't move like that. Or was he now just being class-ist? In any case he figures she knew damn good and well he was lost in this place, and clocked him for a warrior straight away. She could be leading him to a trap, in fact the whole thing could be a setup starting with the job posting. Goddamnit, Dorge, you're going to have to put a few more points in the Intelligence column.<br />
Eventually Dorge catches up enough to walk more or less beside her as she leads him into a huge, sunlit chamber. Sunlit on a sunny day, that is. Today was mostly gray and the shadows in the room smoothed into each other and cast doubt. In the center of the room were several tables all parallel to one another with a surprising cast of races and classes assorted at each. Was the Gap shooting a commercial here? Then Dorge caught on: these were all different adventuring parties. Of course there would be a bunch of groups here, the taverns in a town like this would be too dangerous for a bunch of noobs to start out in.<br />
Pynah leads Dorge to a table stacked with tomes and littered with maps, an older human man hunched over scribbling notes onto some yellowed parchment, muttering to himself.<br />
"Ah," Dorge beings, "you must be-"<br />
"Vess, have you seen Gainslee?" Pynah interjects.<br />
Vess grumbles and straightens, his back audibly popping, and scatters some sand over the notes he'd just taken, licking the ink off the end of his quill, "Not today, Py."<br />
"This is Dorge," Pynah gestures.<br />
"Warrior, after the undead quest, got it," Vess flicks his hand, dismissively.<br />
Dorge squints, "Anything else, pops?"<br />
The man leans back over his notes, dipping the quill into the ink pot, "Level thirty-four or so, by the look of you. Oh, and completely broke." Vess's eyes flick to Pynah, "Or will be."<br />
<br />
Standing outside the library in the misty rain, Dorge turns back to Pynah, "So that's it? What was that about?"<br />
Pynah shrugs and pushes an errant strand of hair behind her ear, "Gainslee's not always in there, just usually is. I wouldn't worry. You'll probably have better luck tomorrow. Well, depending on how many points you've stacked into your Luck attribute," she snickers. "For all I know you'll slip on some stairs tonight and break your neck. Seen it happen before."<br />
Dorge sighs and pinches the rain from the corner of his eyes. This wasn't a story quest anyways, just a job to get some gold and experience. But he still felt like he was missing something. There'd be no real point on doing a Sense Motive on Pynah, she'd be able to see what he was doing and shift. This is what it's like to travel without a party. Fighting Paladins alone and being duped by elves.<br />
Pynah smiles like she had just read the above as plainly as it was written and softens up a notch, "Hey, listen. How about if I hear anything sooner than tomorrow about Gainslee, I look you up? Where are you staying tonight?"<br />
Dorge shrugs and points, "Probably that stable," he says and flicks water from his hair.<br />
This was not going to be Dorge's day.<br />
"Oh, don't look glum. You've had worse days than this," Pynah winks and turns back into the library.<br />
<br /></div>
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Dorge Kashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14854860173284691306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989304676559489660.post-9575389309179663332019-04-08T16:04:00.001-07:002019-04-08T16:04:16.351-07:00Local Debauchery Dorge scans the post board outside the Rusty Rooster and sighs. Nothing about Adver. He didn't know if he'd find him in Largo Largo or not but he didn't have much else to go on. But this town was as shady and elusive as bitcoin, so someone here knew something, of that much Dorge was sure.<br />
<br />
He had been planning on sleeping in a bed when he got here, but without the relics to finish the job he hardly had enough coin for that. What he had would be better spent buying drinks and plying whispers. Besides, he had slept well enough in the orc village, and given some food, but that was two days ago now. What he needed to do now was level up and stick a point in his charisma before he started Asking Around. His skills got him by in Banda Cate but this town would be a different story.<br />
<br />
Largo Largo was where people went when they didn't want to be found, and where dark deeds were bought and paid for with old money. He would need more than a grin and a wink, for sure. If he had any money he'd hire a bard to sing a song about Adver being an asshole in every tavern and inn here, that might flush him out. But at the moment he'd have a hard time teaching a drunk a limerick about Adver's mother.<br />
<br />
Thankfully there didn't seem to be a time constraint on the relic mission but he couldn't guarantee they'd be in prime condition after the orcs handed them back over. Cross that bridge when he gets to it. There would be nothing for it but to take a side quest and hope it would be enough to get him paid and maybe find out some more about the city and perhaps cozy up to the right people. Or, get him killed, as these things sometimes went. He squinted and looked at the posts written in Common first, trying to find something that would need the talents of a warrior.<br />
<br />
Quest to Forbidden Mountain? Translation: stabbed to death while listening to old goat herder tell you why the mountain was forbidden. Charm the Wailing Spirit? More like murder this dude's wife in her sleep so that he can wake up and "discover" the horrible horrible mistake he'd made. But, still, 50 gold? Not bad. Dorge plucks the bill and folds it into his belt, when another post catches his eye, Clear Undead From Graveyard. This could certainly use a warrior class. It was probably some bandits haunting the nearest roadway, not actual undead, which was fine by Dorge. Only 20 gold...probably a community job. Maybe they'd give him the Key to the City or something. But if it <i>is</i> bandits there would be some money hidden somewhere. They will have spent most of it on whores and whatever local debauchery was available, but there was always one keen bandit who liked all that glittered more than much else. Dorge taps the post board with his finger but leaves the billing up. This might not be a solo job, so he would go to the, reading aloud, "...library..." to meet "...Gainslee." for more information.<br />
<br />
The library in Largo Largo was dark and brooding and unmovable, as much as those adjectives could be employed to describe a permanent structure smack in the middle of a city. Easily found, and easily avoided, too. Some even crossed themselves before going in, or a simulacrum thereof. The tenants of the tomes preferred it that way, as the notion of the building being haunted did keep the weaker minded riff-raff from coming in from the cold and also the staff did notice a tendency <i>not </i>to steal the books that were lent.<br />
<br />
Dorge traipsed up the leaning steps of the ancient building and ducked inside. Now to find this Gainslee.Dorge Kashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14854860173284691306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989304676559489660.post-80620625444706919682019-02-02T07:52:00.001-08:002019-02-02T07:52:14.469-08:00This New GameSo Adver and this tribe of orcs are besties? And Hunter already knew Dorge's name. Well, that's great.<br />
Dorge squeezes his wounded hand into a fist and focuses on the pain, becomes grounded in it. When he opens his eyes again he takes the box from his lap and sets it on the ground beside him, along with the mead. What is this new game Adver is playing?<br />
Hunter sets his mug down, too, and appraises Dorge, "That let's us know you," nodding to the box. "What is that?"<br />
Dorge shakes his head, "Where is Adver?"<br />
Hunter grunts a half laugh, "Not here. We were looking for him. We find you. You tell us where Adver is."<br />
Dorge leans forward, "What do you mean you were looking for him? Why?"<br />
Hunter shrugs, "He took something from us."<br />
Dorge sighs, "Yeah. Me, too. But you know his name. You exchanged names? So aren't you friends?"<br />
Hunter frowns, "'Exchanged'? Oh the Naming, you mean. Adver takes something from all friends?"<br />
"Only if he really, really likes you," Dorge mutters.<br />
The circle of orcs surrounding them begins to slowly disband, the stranger having exhausted their interest. They may have been looking for a stronger reaction from the box, and it might come, but now here. So, did Hunter think they now had something Adver might want in exchange for whatever he took from them? That's probably the case but Dorge wasn't going to test that theory out yet. It was probably their super special bowl or favorite stick from the looks of the place, but that was unkind. Dorge was letting the mead do his thinking for him. It was clear he was going to be spending the night here, which was better than another night in the forest, so there's that. He didn't think that lone Paladin would come anywhere near this place, nor any guards from Banda Cate, but stranger things have happened. Then again, if Rolan D'so did show up it'd add a little weight to his story and show he wasn't in cahoots with Adver to rob this village blind of their...whatever.<br />
Dorge tries to stand but can't manage it yet and lands squarely with a thud. Hunter grins and stands himself, reaching a hand down to Dorge, deftly helping him up, "You should walk."<br />
Dorge nods and rolls his neck back and forth, "That's not a bad idea."<br />
Some of the younger orcs try to follow them as they set out but Hunter shoos them off, as they walk among the huts and bigger structures.<br />
"Did you find Adver like you found me, or did he come here?"<br />
"Adver came here. He called in Orcish, very good. He traditions very good."<br />
"'Traditions'?"<br />
Hunter nods and draws a circle in the air, "He knew our ways."<br />
"Your customs."<br />
"Our customs!"<br />
"Is that odd? Strange he knew?"<br />
Hunter smiles wryly, his eyes partly hidden in his tangle of black hair, "Very strange."<br />
Dorge tightens the bandage on his hand absentmindedly and continues to walk. Here was a woman carrying a basket of eggs, there was a group of men playing a game of tiles on a tree stump. All pretty ordinary except the pale plum hue to their skin. "How did Adver know I would come here?"<br />
Hunter shrugs, "He is other. Shaman didn't like him, didn't want him. But chief gave shelter, thought he was," struggles, twirls his fingers in his eyes, "could see?"<br />
Dorge nods, "Yeah. There's a lot of people that think that." Including me, from time to time, Dorge thinks.<br />
They continue to walk, Dorge's head clearing slowly. The orcs that have not yet seen him taking a long, curious look. One woman makes a gesture and spits on the ground and Dorge wonders is she tradition-ed Adver the same way. Finally he stops and turns to Hunter.<br />
"Can I leave?" he asks, plainly.<br />
Hunter's smile becomes a grim line but he nods, "Yes."<br />
Dorge blinks, "Just like that? Now?"<br />
"Yes, but you should sleep soon. You should sleep here. You're in drink."<br />
Dorge nods, "I will. Thank you. I'm sorry, I-"<br />
Hunter stops him, "Right to ask. We have not Named." and begins to turn back, presumably toward where Dorge will sleep tonight. Then stops again and hesitates, but then, "You can leave. But we must keep the relics. We found them, too. Under the white mushroom, like you said."<br />
"But why-"<br />
Hunter shakes his head, "You can have them after you bring Adver. Or what he took. We don't want them here. Dangerous."<br />
Dorge shakes his head to clear it, the relics had been here this whole time. And now he has another side quest to get them back. This is terrific. His breath whistles out between his lips, "Fine. What did Adver take, anyways."<br />
"The chief's stabber, big," Hunter says, expanding his arms to demonstrate the length of the sword, presumably, "had words in Common on the blade."<br />
"Why would an Orcish 'stabber' have Common written on it?"<br />
Hunter furrows his brow, "Not Orcish. Adver gave it to us, as traditions. As customs. He had that and your box. Said you would be here soon. Then," Hunter spreads his palms wide, "he just gone. With the stabber."<br />
Dorge's next words come out measured and thick, "What were the words on the blade?"<br />
Hunter shrugs, quizzical, "Day Ruiner."<br />
Goddamn you, Adver.<br />
<br />Dorge Kashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14854860173284691306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989304676559489660.post-2506929053714032562019-01-12T12:04:00.000-08:002019-01-12T12:04:10.161-08:00Grit and DirtDorge watches the steam ribbon up from his mug and sighs. This wasn't exactly what he had in mind when the orcs told him they'd show him the way. Not that he was complaining, the hot mead was going a long way toward working the stiffness out of his arms and legs, doing wonders for his mood, too.<br />
He is sitting on the ground in front of a fire, pretty well dead center of an orc village. He didn't remember seeing it on any maps but some maps were better than others. The best maps weren't strung up behind the bars of taverns. The maps that have any real information on them can usually only be read by candlelight or sword tip.<br />
The orcs sitting around him are making fun of him again, but it feels pretty good-natured. The one that had ran up on him in the forest, Dorge thinks of him as Hunter, keeps making a goofy shocked face that Dorge can only assume is him retelling, over and over, the look on his face when the other three orcs joined the party.<br />
There had been times when if felt like Dorge should tell them his name, and get their's too, but anytime he tried he was waved off. This felt like a we-don't-want-to-know-our-food's-name kind of scenario, but Hunter told him later that names are gifts, and you only give gifts to friends. Well, Dorge <i>thinks</i> that was the gist of it, but he had nodded and shut up.<br />
Now one of the lower-case hunters is putting a blanket around Dorge and clapping his shoulders. He doesn't know if this is a show of hospitality or a reminder of just how fucked he is if things go south, solid chance it's both. His mug is taken and the cooled mead at the bottom is thrown out, the mug refilled. There seems to be some test among them of who can drink it the hottest, but Dorge doesn't want his tongue to be as scorched as his senses.<br />
His companions become quiet and Hunter asks him a question, wanting him to retell how it was he was in that part of the forest, anyways. This might be the third time Dorge has told the story about the Paladin but the circle around the fire keeps getting bigger. They'll probably go dig the elders out of the crypt next to make sure they hear it, too. The thought of this makes Dorge bark out a laugh that he covers with a cough; that damn mead, it's probably the strongest he's ever had. Except maybe that one time with Hadel ren Mayver. That guy probably deserves a footnote somewhere.<br />
Eventually he gets to the part in the story when he unwraps his bandage and shows the wound on his hand, which always gets a few appreciative grunts, but this time one of the women breaks the circle and takes his hand. He can't very well resist, as she thrusts her thumb into his wrist, forcing him to open his palm wide. She strips the dirty wrap from his hand and spits some poultice onto his wound, he might meta-throw-up in his mouth but Dorge the Warrior firms up and takes it. A second woman takes his hand now and wraps a clean white bandage around it expertly then grins and slaps his face. When they move away Dorge sees that the rest of the circle are watching him intently, and seeing the blush of red on his cheek from the slap the surrounding mugs are lifted and an orc "hurrah" ripples through. Dorge isn't so lacking in his Diplomacy skill that he doesn't lift his mug and take a deep drink, too.<br />
Hunter gives everyone a look, smiling, Dorge thinks he says something along the lines of, "See? I told'ja so." in Orcish but can't be sure.<br />
Then Hunter levels his gaze to Dorge and says, "We like your story. We don't believe your story."<br />
To which Dorge opens his mouth to protest, but Hunter waves his hand, "We listen to many stories. Big stories, some. Elders...<i>ver't canlode?"</i><br />
Dorge squints into the fire, "The elders 'smell my flesh'?" then looks back to Hunter, "The elders think I'm telling the truth?"<br />
Hunter nods but frowns, "Yes. So, we sent boys to find your relics."<br />
At this Hunter tilts his chin and two younger orcs step forward, the shorter of the two carrying a package. He holds the flimsy box out to Dorge and lets it drop into his hands before he can quite get a grip on it. The boys don't like him, or at least the feel the need to show their asses. Some things are true among all races.<br />
In his lap is not the sack full of relics Dorge buried off the Hurry. It's some old rectangular box, warped and faded white. He doesn't know <i>what</i> it is. He sets the mug down and lets his fingers trace down the corners, looking up at Hunter and then the rest. He doesn't know if he's participating in some ritual or being otherwise tested, but he doesn't think so.<br />
Dorge gently pulls the lid from the box, grit and dirt falling away, revealing soft tissue paper, white and red. He bites his lip, forcing the mead fog from his brain. He pulls the tissue paper back and underneath is a tiny shirt and pair of leggings, each sporting a patch of a winking white cat with the words HELLO KITTY underneath. His fingers go numb and his mouth is open, trying to make sense of what he's holding.<br />
He had seen these things before. Only once before, a long time ago. His shoulders ache as the full weight of the darkest part of the Venn diagram bears down on him. "Wh-," he starts, and stops.<br />
She had bought this outfit for his oldest daughter one Christmas. He had been proud of her because it was just a simple gift. It wasn't practical, really, it was just something for the fun of it. And he had thrown it away. He had thrown it out with the rest of the recycling because he'd been too lazy to look in all the boxes to see if there were anything left in them when they were cleaning up. They both had looked for that cute, fun little outfit for a long time before he'd realized what he'd done. She had probably known what he had done long before but kept quiet as a kindness.<br />
And now here it was on his lap, never worn, brand new, still. He looks up, the fire blurred, "This isn't what I buried. This isn't the relics."<br />
Hunter shakes his head, "I know. But still yours? Still important for you?"<br />
Dorge nods, running a finger down the soft material, "Yes."<br />
Hunter nods and drinks from his mug, "Adver said it would be."Dorge Kashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14854860173284691306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989304676559489660.post-34446782729518859412018-12-15T12:03:00.003-08:002018-12-15T16:11:44.381-08:00Blood TreeDorge blinks into the hazy white sky, it's going to rain, he thinks. Scratch that, it is raining, that's what woke him up. He's still in the forest and he's trying to remember why. How long has he been out? His hand begins to throb and he looks down a the makeshift bandage.<br />
"Hrh," he says and starts to stand, cradling his hand. There's a chance this might become infected but he's not worried about that yet. He's worried that his blood-soaked garments might have attracted the more keen predatory creatures of the wood. But if that were the case he's pretty sure it wouldn't have been the rain that gently caressed him to wakefulness.<br />
"Blood-soaked" might be a little strong, he thinks, and changes his profile back to "Wounded". At the very least, the Paladin didn't come crashing through in hot pursuit. Likely he's gone back to Banda Cate with his tail between his legs. Actually, Dorge thinks, maybe I"ll go to Largo Largo with <i>my</i> tail between my legs and leave the relics be for now. Except if it rains any harder it may wash away his markings as to where he left them and then the job would definitely go unfinished.<br />
But he needed to get where he was going fast. As it was he really didn't want to run into a Random Encounter, either. A pack of wolves would really be pushing it just now, hell, a pack of sprites for that matter. Dorge winces, he always hated killing sprites, even if they were lvl 40 magic users, it was like killing little birds. He shakes himself to clear the images from his head and starts pushing through the forest toward, hopefully, the Hurry.<br />
This part of the world was old but not as old as the priests in Banda Cate would want you to believe. That would go against their notion of some ancient authority bestowed upon them. Truth was, Largo Largo was older, but just barely. It was established early on because the dirt around here was very rich and lent itself to the production of wine, renown the world over. This was made easy with the relative proximity of Devils' Bay, last stop south. The river was an option too, but it snaked away from any natural harbors and so it was quicker to use the road. Naturally, the road was where a few bandits would make a name for themselves, too.<br />
Another factor that lead to the relatively quick establishment of Largo Largo were dod berries, an additive used in the wine that gave it a little something different than what you'd find in other selections at the tavern. The two sister cities would use dod berries for their own purposes in their way. That's how the expression "All's at dods" sprung up when the locals would refer to the differences between themselves, separated by not much more than a day or so's ride through a forest.<br />
Dorge spies some now, growing wildly in a thicket. He leans down and pulls a bunch off, squishing a few between his thumb and pointer and smelling them, lastly putting his thumb into his mouth, before sighing and spitting a red black glob onto some dead leaves. He smiles, it would be nice to just lie down for a little while longer, there's no timer on anything, "Ranger. Euclid. Cleve-," there are eyes on him.<br />
He catches his breath before it runs off on him and turns a bit, there hidden, but not hiding, an orc? "<b>G'thash</b>," he tries, and the orc steps closer, holding a crossbow, but not pointing it at him. But not <i>not</i> pointing it at him, either.<br />
"<b>G'thash</b> back at you, but we can Common," the orc says, adjusting the pack he has slung over his back. "You know what those berries?" the orc nods at the thicket.<br />
Dorge nods and smiles, "I know enough to know better."<br />
"Stabber?" the orc asks.<br />
Dorge points at the dagger sheathed in his belt, then holds his wounded hand up and shrugs.<br />
The orc lets his crossbow dip a few degrees more and snorts, "Many?"<br />
Dorge shakes his head, "Just me."<br />
There's a pause and it feels like the orc is satisfied with what he probably already knew, then he swings the crossbow back behind his other shoulder with the leather strap, and in doing so reveals the pack he is carrying is a trussed animal, freshly killed.<br />
Dorge, finally taking more in than just the crossbow, now notices how the orc is dressed. His oily black hair would hang down well below his chin if it wasn't tied up tight against his scalp, twigs and leaves threaded throughout. Some sort of black and green paste smeared over his cheeks and shoulders, hiding the red purple blush of his skin, and two water skins hanging freely from his belt. He was a hunting.<br />
"Why are you away?" the orc asks.<br />
"I'm trying to get to Largo Largo," Dorge sighs, "but a Paladin forced me off the road."<br />
The orc's eyes brightened and Dorge worries he may have said too much. Paladins and orcs certainly don't chitchat in the woods.<br />
"He's gone, I lost him," Dorge assures him. "Can you tell me...am I even going the right direction?"<br />
The orc barks a laugh that surprises them both, and then shows his lower incisors, embarrassed, "No. You say 'Ranger' but not?"<br />
Dorge shakes his head, "No, Ranger was my dog. It helps me remember."<br />
The orc tilts his head, "The dog?"<br />
"No...," Dorge tries to translate, "Helps me remember my Blood Tree."<br />
The orc nods and breaks into a smile, "I thought you looked like a Warrior."<br />
Dorge didn't think he could muster anything more than Scout just now, and looks perplexed, nodding when the orc adds, "Truth?"<br />
"Your arms. And when others come out here...big stabbers. Afraid. Away. You? Just away."<br />
Dorge nods and wishes he only felt "away" but he could stand to do a bit more bluffing. "Can you point me in the direction of Largo Largo?"<br />
The orc nods and smiles, "Yes, we will take you."<br />
Dorge represses the urge to correct his Common when three other orcs slide into view, all holding 'stabbers' and looking what? Hungry? Hopefully that's just how hunting parties look, Dorge thinks, before muttering, "g'thas" under his breath.<br />
<br />Dorge Kashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14854860173284691306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989304676559489660.post-84309765376234170432018-11-17T12:03:00.002-08:002018-11-17T12:03:06.369-08:00Blur in the DimWell, that seemed to work ok, Dorge thinks, his heart beating wildly as he squats under a massive tree. Followed by: Good lord, don't let that guy follow me in here.<br />
It wouldn't be hard to follow him, he was barely quieter than the horse, ripping through the forest, and leaving a trail of blood at that. If the Paladin wanted to track him down that would be some bad news. Hopefully his Blood Mage ruse would buy him time enough to douse his tracks in a stream, and get his hand cleaned up. The blood was still pouring pretty freely, but he had known he'd have to cut deep if it were going to work. Right now he just needed to calm down and catch his breath, get rid of the gnats-dizzy.<br />
It had been stupid traveling on the road like that. It had been stupid not to open the bag and look to see what the hell he was sneaking out of Banda Cate. He was getting immersed again, forgetting that there had to be a certain amount of meta-gaming involved. What the hell are you hiding from out there, Dorge?<br />
He pulls a scarf from his sleeve and starts to wrap it around his injured hand. He'll have to clean it better later and try to find some clover to bind it with. Finding clover wouldn't be a problem, he thinks. Finding the damn bag of holy relics he just buried was going to be a different animal. Did he even want to find it at this point? What kind of penalty would there be for just leaving it where it was? Dorge winces and ties the makeshift bandage, pulling the end taut with his teeth. There is the option of returning them. But he took a job, and a job's a job. And laying low in Largo Largo for a spell sounded better than hanging high in Banda Cate.<br />
Dorge sighs and takes a sitting position, "Calm down. Ranger. Euclid. Cleveland. Ok, ok." He waits to hear the birds, when they start chipping again he'll know things are settled down. That Paladin would have to strip off all his armor to do any sneaking around here and that's unlikely. Thinking, he checks his status. Still "Under Contract", which meant his sack hadn't been found and dug up. Well, he <i>hopes</i> that's what it means.<br />
He stands and squares himself. Now he needs to find that stream, if there even is one, just to be safe. He'll go back to find the relics tonight if he can make his way in the dark: again, not a Ranger. Watching his footing, be begins to stalk through the forest, stopping to listen ever so often.<br />
Why would the Paladin be adventuring by himself so far from the city. Dorge thought he was pretty close to the answer earlier: that his party didn't know yet that he wasn't very experienced. But that was only a guess based on how the horse was reacting to its rider, and how easily Dorge had duped him. That only brings about the question as to why Dorge was out here by himself. He was trying to find Adver, but weren't there more in his party? There had to be three at the very least, but this was an elusive thought. The sun was going down making the details of his surroundings blur in the dim. This may have been a boon in a different situation, but the Paladin was a half-elf and had night vision, a definite plus in tracking quarry in the dark. Dorge didn't think he was so good at misdirection that he'd convince anyone he was anything other than human, and humans can't see for shit. Which made him stop and bite his lip, how had he known Rolan D'so was a half-elf? Was he able to spot the telltale signs from that far way? Maybe he was wrong? But he knew he wasn't. There is something itching at the back of his mind but he presses deeper into the forest and wonders how cold it's going to get tonight.<br />
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<br />Dorge Kashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14854860173284691306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989304676559489660.post-79678152725210792912018-10-27T11:06:00.000-07:002018-10-27T11:08:41.319-07:00Encroaching TravelerThe muscles in Dorge's legs tense and he grinds his desire to run against any backbone he thinks he has. The Paladin hasn't even unsheathed a weapon, which isn't a good sign. It's a sign he's not going to have to roll a D20 to attack, he can probably snap Dorge's neck as a free-action.<br />
"Do not attempt to flee, cur," Rolan says, his hand arresting.<br />
If Dorge were a Rogue he might be able to lie his way out of this, but that's just not the case. Go for his sword against a mounted, armored combatant? Spells? Cast broke, no spells. This is going to get hairy.<br />
"Who's running?" Dorge bluffs, forcing his shoulders to relax, "I'm just on a quest, you can see my status page."<br />
Rolan smiles, "I'm aware you're on a 'quest', sir. Would you like to see my status page to see what sort of quest <i>I'm</i> on?" Rolan strokes the horse's neck gently.<br />
"None, I'm guessing. Looks to me like you're just veldting."<br />
"'Veldting'?" Rolan asks.<br />
Dorge twirls his fingers, "You know, gaining XP, just leveling up before the Big One, right? Maybe pilfering a few healing potions and dirks along the way?"<br />
Rolan's chin tilts up sharply, "A Paladin does not pilfer."<br />
Dorge <i>would</i> like to see his status page so he could put together what lvl he is. His armor had some dings and scuffs for sure, but it was hard to tell. A noob certainly didn't have a warhorse like that monstrosity snorting hellfire and tromping the ground to mush, but.<br />
Dorge's fingers curl into fists, squaring his shoulders. He wasn't going to be able to lie or run, but he could bluff a few levels. "So what is the big one? There a dragon harassing the countryside? Probably not that big, but I'm close. You're the tank for your team. But where's your team? You're out veldting without them because...," a smile spreads across Dorge's face, "Because they don't know how really weak you are, do they?"<br />
It's hard to read someone's expression from that distance but the Paladin's body language suggested he just took a swallow of something bitter, "I do not need my stalwart companions to handle the likes of you, thief." Now Rolan is reaching for his weapon, a formidable war hammer by the looks of it.<br />
"I take it that means the two other riders weren't really with you, then? NPC's or...? 'Never Split the Party' is like the first thing they teach you and you're out here alone? A tank on the road without even a Cleric? Fine, you know some healing, but you don't have anyone with you that can make a ranged attack?"<br />
The Paladin seems to relax a bit, slowly pulling the hammer free from its harness, "I believe you may be overestimating your abilities." The horse makes a low rolling sound, and shifts its weight. Rolan adjusts his hold on the hammer and takes a fistful of the horses's mane.<br />
Dorge pulls a small knife from his belt and starts to pull the other glove off with his teeth, letting it fall to the ground, "And I believe you may be underestimating them," he says, drawing the knife blade swiftly across his palm. The blood immediately spills down his wrist until he clenches his fist and squeezes out a crimson half-circle in front of him.<br />
"Serpent! What are you playing at?" Rolan yells, his back arching, hammer raising. Before him may be some manner of evil he had sworn to defeat, sworn to protect the realm from. Now is his chance to gain favor with the Holy Order he has dedicated his life to!<br />
Dorge holds his bloody palm outward, the wound pulsing fresh and horrid, "Stay back, Light-Walker! You have scant idea the evil I have wrought! The pact I have made!" All the while inching closer and closer to the horse and its rider, "That's right, I have paid dearly for this blood magic!" Then Dorge begins to chant in some arcane, dark language, indecipherable utterances, guttural and pitched.<br />
Rolan was having a hard time keeping calm, and only slightly aware that his horse was becoming more and more agitated with the encroaching traveler, the rust-smell of blood blossoming in its flared nostrils, "Stay back, Devil! Surrender now and I will smite you in one blow!" the horse nickers, its feet dancing in the mud.<br />
With that Dorge rushes the horse, windmilling one arm while reaching up and grabbing the horses's nose with his blood-soaked hand. The horse's eyes roll white as it neighs violently and rears onto its hind legs, Dorge goes sprawling as a hoof glances his shoulder. The weight of the Paladin pulls the horse back farther than it intended and both go crashing into the dirt until the horse can kick and buck itself upright again, trotting back and forth on the road, flashing its mane from side to side. Rolan wheezes and coughs, the wind knocked out of him, he had thankfully been loosed from the stirrups before the horse could drag him through creation. Dizzy and addled he gropes blindly for his warhammer, knowing the Warrior would be upon him soon, no, the Blood Mage! Give me strength! Rolan implored, getting himself to his knees, his hair drowning his face, his helm having been scattered a few feet away.<br />
Finally his hands seize his weapon and he rights himself onto his feet, spinning into a fighting stance to combat the agent of evil before him!<br />
But Dorge is no where to be found.<br />
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<br />Dorge Kashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14854860173284691306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989304676559489660.post-25936402050725309512018-09-24T11:05:00.001-07:002018-09-24T11:05:59.922-07:00Notch Below Neutral The road to Largo Largo wasn't exactly long but Dorge did wish he had a horse. It wasn't that long ago he'd walked damn near all the Hurry, but, here he was. It'd be easier, too, if he wasn't doing most of the walking in the woods along the road to try to avoid bandits, or other adventurers, or anyone, really. He'd never been to Largo Largo but did know it was home to a pretty robust theives guild and thought with his current quest he'd better try to keep his head down and his eyes open.<br />
He probably wasn't going to get any points in the stealth column though. His new leather armor wasn't broken in yet and that made it a little hard to move, crunching through the undergrowth and stopping to listen ever so often had become his mode of travel, one hand on his sword hilt, the other around the sack draped over his shoulder. It's a wonder the dead hadn't crawled up with the noise the sack was making, like a bunch of King's dinnerware clanking around. The blacksmith had told him to keep it closed and so he had. He wasn't that interested in whatever it was he was carrying, anyways, and figured the less he knew the better. The last time he'd had a mission to transport goods he had looked, when he had been told not to, and at the end of the day had taken a morality penalty. Fine by him but it'd taken him a notch below neutral and that kind of thing comes with consequences.<br />
Dorge stops and readjusts the sack, trying not to let it make too much noise. The blacksmith didn't seem to be too concerned with his ability to get it out of the city. Even though it had a baker's mark stamped into the canvas it was pretty clear he wasn't carrying flour, but the guards didn't give him a second look. Probably happy just to see him on his way, and headed west? Figures. Looking like hell but being able to go up against half-ogres had it's advantages, and it makes sense that's just what Caryle was thinking. The only problem with being mistaken for a higher level was that a lvl 40 could take two Healing Surges a day and he wasn't really there, yet. He shrugs and hopes it doesn't come to that. Just a delivery job, mead and mutton by sundown. Then back to Adver.<br />
Only Adver was going to be able to answer any questions about him waking up in that field and-wait,<br />
horses on the road, three, no, two. Dorge squats down hard, forcing the armor to flex, covering the hilt of the sword with his gloved hand, the only thing that might shine through the foliage.<br />
The horses are going full gallup when they pass his spot in the woods. Dorge does a spot check and picks out the insignia on their armor, but he already knew: Banda Cate Soldiers. Moving in a damn hurry, too. He needs to move fast.<br />
Dorge pulls the sack off his shoulders and dives against the soft earth, scraping a hole into the dirt, his gloved fingers digging deep grooves. He sits back on his haunches and listens, not hearing anything. He knows the shallow hole he's managed isn't perfect but figures it'll do for now, dropping the sack into it. He's about to start pushing the loose dirt on top of it but pauses. It may not be just a delivery job now, and so he wants to know. He has to take his gloves off to undo the cord, his bare hands feel cold and wet in the moist air, fumbling with the knot after having clawed a hole into the ground. Eventually the bag falls open and Dorge can see inside, the gleaming silver and gold trinkets, bejeweled and gaudy, truthfully. His heartbeat is beginning to approach something close to normal and he can hear something other than his pulse in his ears. He reaches in a pulls one of the items out. It's heavy and polished to a high shine but still wouldn't fetch much gold on the market. He purses his lips and thinks maybe the soldiers weren't looking for him, after all. Maybe not <i>every</i>one had heard of Dorge the Mighty Level 36 Warrior, Scourge of Taverns Everywhere. But, he thought he'd better do another spot check just to make sure, turning the little knickknack round and round.<br />
Oh, shit. ohshit. Dorge sits back on his ass and his fingers go numb all over again, shouldn't-have-looked-shouldn't-have-looked. What he had been burying in a hole in the woods was a sack full of Holy Relics. Fuckfuckfuck. Let's see how far those health surges go when he's burned at the stake. Maybe they're fakes, Dorge thinks.Or maybe he could spot check again and free-action it all day in the woods like the noob he was being.<br />
"Warriors never make it too far alone, do they, Dorge?" he mutters to himself and starts pushing the dirt back on top of the sack. "You could at least find a Rogue to do some thinking for you, right?" He wipes the dirt from his hands before pulling the gloves back on and listens. He can't hear anything, and doubts the riders could hear <i>him</i> at the rate they were going. He uproots a pale white mushroom and puts it on top of the little mound then stands, making his way to the road. He'd stay out of sight in the woods but can move faster out in the open and what he needed right now was distance. Leaning down he breaks a few low-growing stems to mark his place along the road, a Ranger trick he'd learned once upon a time.<br />
Stepping out onto the road he stretches his arms and wonders if he should push west or go back the way he came. If the soldiers knew he was headed to Largo Largo then odds were that information was supplied to them, and the supplier probably game them a description of his armor, too. Damnable blacksmiths. Biggest bellies and biggest asses.<br />
He furrows his brow, but maybe backwards was better, turning to look in the direction he'd come from, he froze. There <i>had</i> been a third rider, and there he was now, sitting still on top of his mount just in the bend of the road.<br />
"That's all it took to flush you out, Warrior?" the half-elf Paladin smiles, stroking his blue-black beard.<br />
Dorge freezes, his heart pumping ice.<br />
I believe you have something that belongs to Banda Cate," the Paladin says, his eyes holding Dorge in place, "Nay, something that belongs to Mashrata the Merciful. And I, Rolan D'so, have come to restore her rightful property."Dorge Kashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14854860173284691306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989304676559489660.post-50280352455476981672018-09-15T17:08:00.001-07:002018-09-15T17:08:52.820-07:00Charmed SomehowDorge takes a swig of beer and watches his charisma buff till the end of turn. That was his last copper which means he'll have to catch dinner later and sleep in the stables, so he'd better make the drink count. Risk the +5 on the dirty blonde in the corner or see if the bard knows any songs about Adver. He probably should have kept the copper to tip the bard with, but he'd spent the night on a grind killing wererats in the sewers and after upgrading his sword with that thief of a blacksmith he just wanted a beer.<br />
The side quests were killing him. He never dreamed he'd be stuck running errands for a two-bit druid again or chasing ghosts out of cemeteries, but here he was.<br />
He'd started squatting at this bar because it was a little seedy and he figured some Adventurers would come in at some point and he'd get taken on, but that wasn't going so well. Quest wise it was a little dry, and whenever a group did come in that looked a little promising, he'd either get a polite "No, thank you" or outright laughed back to his seat after the self-righteous Paladin/Cleric/Hunter gave him the old up and down. And that's when they didn't mistake him for an NPC. He was actually starting to prefer that though because he could usually take a few coins off them and give them hints about Nish-To's Tomb really being buried under the library in Largo Largo, which he'd then split with the bartender just to keep the peace.<br />
The IPA he's drinking is a little stronger than he bargained for so he's about to ignore the bard and give the dirty blonde a smile when a Story Element slides into the seat in front of him. This is a little unexpected so Dorge checks his stats to see if he's been charmed somehow. Nope, just the charisma buff and still a long way to go before leveling up. Sometimes the dice just land weird.<br />
"My name is Caryle Hogan and I have a tale of woe th-" the story element begins, but Dorge cuts him off. "Listen, Carl, we don't have to talk like that, we can just talk normal."<br />
Caryle looks taken aback for a beat then shrugs, "I hear you've been grinding the board."<br />
"Yeah, and- heard from who?" Dorge asks, pushing his glass away.<br />
"I hear you go to the board to see new job postings every day, take five shit jobs, clean up a bit, and then drink. And that you're not as low level as you look. I got all that from buying the bard a drink, Warrior."<br />
Dorge sighs and his scratches his beard, "Well. All that checks out. So?"<br />
"So you want to go wacking wererats again tomorrow or you want a real job?" Caryle spreads his hand like one of those people that know when to use the word magnanimous.<br />
Dorge smiles and shrugs, "Hey, I'm getting pretty good at that."<br />
"You going to plateau at level 40 then or do you plan to cross-class? What's next, monk?"<br />
That was a dig and Dorge let it show as such. But what he was really doing was wondering if this guy really thought he was lvl 40 or if the bard told him as such. Maybe he should have been splitting the take from the noobs with him. "What's the job?"<br />
Caryle sniffs and looks at his fingernails, "Maybe you're not quite ready."<br />
There are some parts of the game Dorge hates and this was one of them. He had a penalty in diplomacy because he wanted another point in strength. So now he was thinking of breaking the table in two with his bare hands and drowning the story element in the nearest well.<br />
Carlye might have seen Dorge's fingers go white against the wood grain or just really needed the job done, so he sat up and cleared his throat, "I need something taken to Largo Largo, two days, tops. I'll pay you half, plus something to stay at the Iron Hoof with, then the rest when you get back."<br />
"Why not post it on the board?" Dorge asked, his hands relaxing. "Ah. Contraband?"<br />
"Not exactly, but might as well be in this place, huh?" Carlye laughs dryly and his eyes tilt over to a trio of holy guards praying over their soup. Dorge was picking up what was being put down. Cities with temples could be tiresome, borish, and hopelessly fucked up under the sheets, but what would be innocuous in some places could put you in the stocks here. "If you'll agree I'll upgrade your gear one tier. Not much from the looks of it, no offense, but."<br />
"Fine," Dorge says before Carlye realizes he's not really thinking it over, and changes his status to Under Contract.<br />
"Excellent," Carlye says and stands, "when you see the blacksmith about your upgrade, he'll give you the package and the first half of your pay."<br />
"Wait, how do I find you when I get back?" Dorge asks.<br />
"Ask the bard," Carlye replies and walks away.<br />
Dorge slides his fingers through his beard and shifts in his seat. Sometimes the dice land weird, but they always land.<br />
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<br />Dorge Kashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14854860173284691306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989304676559489660.post-83339438995092259582018-08-22T14:30:00.001-07:002018-08-22T14:30:14.154-07:00Headed NorthDorge stands on his tiptoes to try to see over the counter into the box on the other side. A less-than-human girl was carefully going through the contents of the box. His sword was not going to be in that box, was she even listening? We're talking about a sword here, child, can you spare me the friendly-service routine? He knows he's not supposed to use the phrase "less-than-human" anymore, but could never get behind the polished version "more than human". At what point is being, and he's only guessing here, a half elf more than human? Human with a little extra? She may just have a slight point to her ears and have some gluten problem. But he bet if he said "Nee'janni brupbrup" to her she'd know what was up.<br />
She smiles and tells him that the sword he described to her does not appear to be in the lost-and-found box. He smiles and tells her he's going to salt the earth of her village. He smiles and thanks her for looking, yeah, that's the one he went with.<br />
The last few days were filled with a lot of walking. Thankfully the weather hadn't been terrible and he had made a good pace despite feeling like seven hells. The worst of it was not knowing where he was or where he was going. The stars wouldn't be much help to him; he wasn't a sailor. So he just headed north, that much he could figure out. Eventually he found himself on a road with a stream not too far off. There had been a mapmaker, too, but Dorge didn't have any money. Which was just as well, as he'd find out in a few months that the mapmaker was bogus and would have only led him to certain death. X marks the spot where a band of brigands will descend upon you and take all your earthly possessions, including your pulse.<br />
Now he was here, Banda Cate. At least that's what it sounded like in Common. The guards had only let him in because he could recognize the deity on the temple he could see from the road and told them he was on a pilgrimage. It was pretty flimsy everyone involved had to admit but apparently the guards feared upsetting the deity more than whatever vermin Dorge was clearly carrying with him. He had tried to wash up a little in the stream but that water wasn't mending his clothes or doing much at all at in the way of making him look less crazy.<br />
He scratches his beard and wonders where else he could hopelessly look for Day Ruiner. Helluva thing to be warrior class and not have a weapon. Normally he would find the closest tavern and wait for a pack of adventurers to miraculously come to town and need his services. But those guys always had a warrior anyways and if not a warrior a barbarian. Good Christ he hated barbarians. He briefly thinks about changing classes and wonders what the lvl penalty would be, then figures Adver would enjoy this too much and decides against it. He wonders if he should ask the elf-girl if Adver's in the lost-and-found box.<br />
He may just have to find an odd job on a bulletin board like a noob to make enough to at least have a weapon. The thought of this chafes his ass pretty bad, considering all the shit jobs he's already had to do, and how little xp they'll get him as a lvl 36. But what the hell else is he going to do when he's not even super sure what continent he's on.<br />
He makes his way to the town hall he passed earlier to give the postings up on the board a look. He was going to have to stand there with a bunch of little kids and go Deliver Magic Scrolls or Gather Mooka Berries or some such shit to earn some silver to just have some something to eat. That's when he saw a quest that was a little more interesting.<br />
Faded and torn was a handbill with the likeness of a hooded magic-user hastily scrawled onto it, and below: ADWER. WANNTED.<br />
<br />Dorge Kashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14854860173284691306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989304676559489660.post-64541523142831523742018-08-04T12:09:00.001-07:002018-08-22T13:27:24.925-07:00Dead Enough for Government WorkThere was grass and mud and probably a little bit of blood. Scratch that. There was a lot of blood. This was fighting Atma Weapon listening to Sound Garden, this was <i>come together with your plan</i>, this was bad. Wiggle your toes, count your fingers, what is today.<br />
There had been a fight, he had been fighting a skeleton horde.<br />
No, that didn't seem right, didn't sound right. There's a noise and it doesn't sound like it belongs here. Besides, only magic works on a skeleton horde in the end and he didn't have any spells. Casting Poor, Cast Broke, Low Dust/No Dust. He pushes a clump of sod from his eyes and blinks into the white sky. Skeletons would have reanimated, he would be dead, savagely so. He turns his head to release the blood from this mouth and wipes at his eyes again. He is aware of the smell of smoke and pitch and wet grass. The strange noise recedes a little. He rolls onto his side, slowly, and brings his knees up and finds he is too weak to snot-rocket the sputum from his nose, so he snorts and spits and his eyes roll in their sockets.<br />
There is now a tingling urgency in the balls of his shoulders that he should really be going now, thanks for the coffee. He thinks he is alone, but he doesn't really know that for sure. He thinks he may have been left for dead. He hopes that he was been left for dead. He wonders if this is necromancy and he wonders if he would know whether or not it was and tries to think human thoughts but all he can think about are those Little Debbie cakes that weren't chocolate, but orange cream, and how good they were and wonders if this is enough to <i>cogito ergo sum</i>.<br />
Where was his sword? He called it Day Ruiner, but it was supposed to ruin other people's day, not his. His fingers bite into the empty leather sheath and he breathes the word "shit" into the air. He needs a cleric, a fucking useless cleric, who the hell chooses cleric, and now he needs one.<br />
Piece it together. Remember the dog's name. Remember the street name. Start with the familiar, build the world. Ranger. Euclid. "Ranger. Euclid."<br />
He pushes himself into a sitting position and dizzying embers flash against his eyes. Day Ruiner is not in his local radius unless it is behind him, and he's just not there yet, thank you for your concern. If he saw himself sit up among all this carnage, he would certainly be looking for the local necromancer. "Ranger. Euclid. Cleveland."<br />
It may have been a dragon, or just something big like that, that just assumes its opponent is dead or dead enough for government work. But he's lvl 36. Would he take on a dragon at 36 with a sword? "Ranger. Euclid. Cleveland. Thirty-Six."<br />
No, that would be suicide. A shitty suicide, considering he was thinking he was still alive. He wouldn't have been alone. "Ranger. Euclid. Cleveland. Thirty-Six. Adver." That's right, the mage, the wizard, lvl 52, bee-tee-dubs, not Cast Broke, bee-tee-dubs. Where is Adver now. He tried to twist his head around to look behind him, but the swell of pain and dizziness nearly bowled him over. Did Adver hit him with a Rez? That's a big owe, if he did. Piss, did Adver hit him with a darker spell? One that did not bring to mind shafts of golden light and cherubs and Saturday morning cartoons? What's Latin for Not a Zombie?<br />
He couldn't find any visible wounds. His belly was white and hairy where it wasn't streaked with blood and grass and dirt. The Nearest Old Navy might be his next quest he thinks and smiles. He really thought The Nearest Gap, but was afraid it wouldn't make sense when he wrote if all out later.<br />
Damnit, Adver. What happened?<br />
"Ranger. Euclid. Cleveland. Thirty-Six. Adver. Dorge."<br />
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<br />Dorge Kashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14854860173284691306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989304676559489660.post-25312526992348554282018-04-08T11:55:00.000-07:002018-04-08T11:55:49.430-07:00Jesus in the GrassDad died in October. I may have mentioned this. My four year old took the news pretty well, and I first thought it was just a failure on my part in explaining death to her. I feel like she does understand that PawPaw isn't coming back but I don't think it's any of my explaining that did the trick. If anything, I'm sure I just made it all the more complicated by dancing around it and salting it with Christian lore and culturally acceptable pap. But she had no qualms with it, just a detail to remember when planning dinner: Mommy will be there, and Daddy, and my sister, and Grandmom, and aunt Joo-Loo, but not PawPaw, he died.<br />
It's probably because I'm not sure myself what happens when our ticket is punched and I don't really want to count anything out. Heaven sounds great...but I can't stand the thought of going to church <i>now</i>, so I'm not sure I'd want to hang out in the Gardens with what I assume would be church-going folk. Hell sounds bad, for sure. But, I'm not really afraid of it. I'm not a Saint, and I don't think I deserve the corner office in the Kingdom, but Hell? Come on.<br />
I wrestle with what to tell my daughter because I feel like what I tell her about my beliefs, or lack thereof, will have greater implications in the future. I want her to believe her own thing and not to find out I was so wrong about all of it. Which is counter-intuitive considering I have no trouble writing her notes from the tooth fairy or the Easter bunny, or making a mess in her room and telling her the Skull Lilly Pirates did it. She'll find out soon enough, as her sister did, why it seemed strange that all those characters had the same handwriting, despite the writer's best efforts to disguise it. And the heart of it all may be something I just realized while writing this. Would I ever write them a note from God? No.<br />
But, sometimes I'm cornered into a question. The other morning on the way to daycare my daughter says to me, "Is PawPaw still in the grass?" Which, I suppose is a little nicer than her usual declaratory "PawPaw's in the dirt."<br />
"Yes, baby, he's still there."<br />
"Is Jesus in the grass?" the unforeseen natural progression.<br />
"Yes, baby," I said, looking at her in the rear view mirror.<br />
"Is the dirt Heaven?"<br />
Well. and then I said, "Well." I could rattle off all day the worth of incisors and molars at the Star Bazaar, or how Rance Red saved Tin Rood Sulley from a cat during one of his pirate adventures, but I was stuttering on the bit about Heaven and God and the afterlife.<br />
"Honey, PawPaw is in Heaven with Jesus, and that's all...above us. It's just Dad's body in the dirt, that stays here. But his soul is up in Heaven and your soul is what makes you <i>you</i>."<br />
"Oh. Ok," she relinquished.<br />
That seemed to have put to rest any more questions she had about the subject for a while. Then, yesterday, "I don't want to die because when you die your body breaks apart and it will hurt." These non sequitors of hers are going to keep me hopping for quite while, I'm sure.Dorge Kashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14854860173284691306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989304676559489660.post-63823258457758822582018-02-11T16:21:00.001-08:002018-02-11T16:21:29.244-08:00Tonight I asked Adver to bring me a pizza. His exact response was: I don't think I have the supplies to make that trip...not with the dead zone, and all those mutant bears in the way. Much less with a Pizza.<br />
<br />
Which is just as well. If Adver had agreed to bring me a pizza I would have just assumed he was really coming to kill me. But now I'm thinking <i>Would he have let me eat the pizza first?</i> I'm thinking he would.<br />
<br />
I'm also thinking about the mutant bears. In my mind their coat has a purple sheen to it, in the moonlight. Or maybe that's just how they look in the dead zone. Maybe it just looks like perpetual night in the dead zone? No, I wouldn't think so. I think the dead zone has a dirt road and it just feels real still and gray, like it is before a storm. Maybe it's a place out of time? I'm not sure a place like that needs to exist for our purposes. But, if there's a need for it, who would need it? Some agents from VChicago? I'm not sure what for? It seems like Everett and Forester would have needed something like that at some point and maybe did use a place like that.Dorge Kashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14854860173284691306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989304676559489660.post-22108621626092555332017-12-17T17:36:00.001-08:002017-12-17T17:36:46.690-08:00Lock the Door"Are you here to blubber about people forgetting your birthday?"<br />
"No," Dorge responded, somewhat sulkily.<br />
"What'cha got there, another list?"<br />
"This is clearly a skull. This is not a list."<br />
The half-orc frowned and squinted at the skull, "Why did you write a name on it, then?"<br />
Dorge sighed and set the skull on the table next to his keys, "I wrote 'JUMP' on it, that isn't a name here. It's not a name where you're from, either," and then Dorge told him what it meant in Common.<br />
"I had a name once, but you for-"<br />
"That was a long time ago," Dorge cut him off, "What are you doing here, anyways? You still have a key?"<br />
Half-Orc looked like he winced at that, but he was so horribly disfigured by the fire it was hard to get a read on a lot of his expressions. "I do still have a key, yes. But you didn't lock the door. So I was just waiting for you."<br />
"Well, I'm here," Dorge said and toed off his shoes. He was a little irritated that Half-Orc hadn't removed his boots with God-Knows on them, but. Choose your battles, he decided.<br />
"I'm just checking on you. You're writing stupid."<br />
"Writing stupid?" Dorge parroted, shrugging off his coat.<br />
Half-Orc nodded and shifted in his seat, "Writing about who came to what and all this. That's your mother talking," then blew a snot rocket onto the floor.<br />
"Jesus! Seriously? You're not outside! That's not a thing, people don't do that."<br />
Half-Orc considered, then asked if there was coffee made.<br />
<br />
It didn't occur to Dorge until later to ask how long Half-Orc would be staying. He was surprised he had been there this long. He didn't mind it so much except that he hadn't been expecting anyone and catching up on chores while someone who fundamentally didn't understand them could be a little exasperating. He briefly considered putting out a scented candle but thought the benefits of such would not out weigh the barrage of badgering questions it would invoke and decided against it. He zipped his pointer and middle down the crease of his towels while wondering what word he would write on Half-Orc's skull.<br />
<br />
Everyone knew that writing names was too dangerous. Incantations were one thing, summoning was a whole other ball game.<br />
<br />
<br />Dorge Kashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14854860173284691306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989304676559489660.post-80491960360477378032017-12-03T15:47:00.001-08:002017-12-03T15:47:43.849-08:00Something SharpThey sat on the rooftop in folding chairs watching the city burn. The fire was over, now it was thick pillars of black smoke holding up the late afternoon sky. Adver was hunched over, his chin on the bridge of his arms, inscrutable. Dorge leaning back, ankles crossed, watching he smoke undulate, smelling the carnage. Somewhere below a car alarm protested twice, three times, then stopped.<br />
"Do you still keep that list of people that didn't come to your dad's wake?" Adver asked, tilting back to Dorge.<br />
"No, good lord," Dorge said.<br />
Then Why is Your Jaw Clenched is what Adver did not say.<br />
Things had not gone the way Dorge thought they would and he felt cheated. When his dad died two months ago, there was supposed to be Dorge out on his knees in the pelting rain and crying into the mute, thunderous heavens, grabbing fistfuls of wet earth. Later there would be a procession that would rival a Roman Emperor's, and probably the United States Air Force would do a flyover, screaming raptors against an eye-hurting blue sky. It was not like that.<br />
Dorge uncrossed his ankles and brushed some of the dust and grit off his thighs, it seemed as if he were getting ready to stand, but then did not.<br />
"All this ruin," Adver sighed.<br />
"Is this where we belong?" Dorge asked, looking at Adver.<br />
A shrug in response, "It's where we are."<br />
"Were we fighting?" Dorge closed his eyes, "I'm glad you're here, either way."<br />
"No. Not this time."<br />
Adver would not ask how long they would be there, did not mention he hadn't eaten since breakfast, did not play with his phone, did not make long whistling sighs, did not bounce his heels. Dorge hoped he could be for Adver what Adver was to him, but knew he fell short on a lot of it.<br />
Below them a building finally tilted far enough to come crumbling down, sending up a fresh gout of sandy gray dust. There was a piano in the heap, the sound of it had opened Dorge's eyes and he stared at it until it was obscured in the miasma of destruction. He remembered something then.<br />
"National Geographic says Nero didn't play a fiddle while Rome burned."<br />
Adver stretched his neck, "So, do you want me to fetch you a fiddle, or something, Caesar?"<br />
Dorge choked on his laughter and tears pinched into his eyes, his throat raw and burning from the smoke and dust, "Yes! Ass. Then if you'll teach me how to play it, too."<br />
"Who the hell says Nero knew how to play?"<br />
Maybe it didn't go the way Nero wanted it, either. Maybe playing the fiddle was all he knew to do. Keep up the music, keep up the dance, keep playing, playing, playing. Maybe he cried after that final note faded away, and the tears tore out and the earth split open beneath him, enough to swallow him into the dark. Maybe there was something sharp down there to open himself with, and let more come out, thick and scabbed and finally wet and warm, underneath, there it is, he would think and rejoice, there it is.<br />
<br />
<br />Dorge Kashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14854860173284691306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989304676559489660.post-79175656665315152292017-09-24T16:42:00.001-07:002017-09-24T16:42:19.101-07:00"Hey, listen"Not having the best week. Work has been a little crazy, the girls just fight and fight, and my dad is saying things to me like, "Where am I?" That's why I'm reaching out to you to apologize.<br />
You: woman dressed in form fitting I-know-how-to-make-my-own-soap and work as an advocate for something. You answer questions with questions and your gait is determined and you have lists in your head of things to deploy as to why you don't eat thirty different things. You were being followed by a child, a boy dressed in what I assume was some sort of ninja costume. But that seems wrong, I'm just not really sure what it was, but he was running to keep up with you, watching his feet.<br />
This is where I could have avoided having to write this. At this point we passed each other on Hale Street, and I could have said, "Hey, listen."<br />
But I didn't, because I just didn't feel like it. It wasn't because I was wrestling with how to say, "Hey, listen, there's a gigantic dildo vibrator thing on the ground around the corner you're turning with that child. It's just laying there like it crawled to the sidewalk after being hit by a car and it looks dirty."<br />
I'm not sure I would have said it like that, either, but. Was I supposed to pantomime what you were about to traipse across? Maybe we could have taken a knee and I could have suggested alternate routes with a piece of chalk.<br />
Maybe you wouldn't have even seen it. That's not true. Even if you hadn't seen it the boy would have definitely alerted you to it's presence by holding it up and saying "WTF" in kid.<br />
That may have very well been what happened and that's the worst scenario I've thought up after leaving you two to your fate.<br />
So, I just wanted to say Sorry About That and I Hope That Didn't Happen.<br />
Wow, that's certainly a load off.<br />
I feel better already. I hope you do, too. Dorge Kashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14854860173284691306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989304676559489660.post-24051386727783802142017-09-10T17:46:00.000-07:002017-09-10T17:46:10.562-07:00About The PriceAdver and Dorge sat a a table in a Mexican restaurant waiting for the second basket of chips. The bus had been hours ago and they didn't know what to do next but were hungry. They still didn't much feel like talking as was their way, so they just looked at the murals of Aztecs behind one another.<br />
"You know my grandfather, the one Molly was named after? He lived in this town, mining town, called Blakeley, it's not there anymore. And he had these chickens, I guess everybody had chickens, and he was out there feeding them one evening- Buzz told me this, and this guy comes up wanting to buy one of the chickens. So he stops feeding the chickens, I mean, he was just throwing some grain around, I'm sure, and they start going back and forth about the price, standing there on opposite sides of the chicken wire. Finally they agree on a particular chicken and the price and all and the guy pays him, and so he's like 'Ok, well bring her to me' and my grandpa says, 'It's your damn chicken, you get her' and walks off!"<br />
Adver chortles politely but doesn't find this anywhere near as funny as Dorge does. He twists around in his seat to look at the mural behind him, "Is there a chicken on my mural or something?"<br />
There was, of course.Dorge Kashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14854860173284691306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989304676559489660.post-46393110934916693562017-08-27T18:31:00.003-07:002017-08-27T18:31:46.448-07:00Posted on the Outside"Sorry guys, I'm tired." Adver read aloud from a crude sign posted on the outside of a building. He turned to see if Dorge was seeing what he was seeing but Dorge was asleep, chin tilted oddly in the air.Dorge Kashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14854860173284691306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989304676559489660.post-17352329784775440522017-08-12T18:51:00.000-07:002017-08-14T05:17:31.695-07:00When His Two Bucks Were UpThe bus smelled like new plastic and tomatoes. Scratch that. Dorge leaned his head against the glass. The bus didn't smell like anything he could identify except bus. Pine? Do you have Bus? He wasn't supposed to be on the bus, but he had accidentally caught the eye of the driver while he was waiting to cross the street and felt like the gesticulations that would be necessary for the driver to keep from opening the doors would prove too much for him to engage in, so he just got on. He actually had two dollars on him. He wondered if the driver would tell him when his two bucks were up. What was amazing (?) was that Adver got onto the bus a few streets later and was sitting by him now. They hadn't spoken yet but they both assumed the other was on the bus for the same reason. Except Adver was traveling around on five dollars, having felt awkward when the driver tried to give him change he had brushed him off. Now Adver was wondering if the driver felt like Adver thought he was some big shot, tipping bus drivers. Adver had decided to depart the bus with a "G'day mate!" and hopefully the driver would think he just wasn't from around here and didn't know to not tip bus drivers. But that would be a while from now, as both thought there were too many people on the bus to actually get up and draw any attention to themselves.<br />
There was a young man on the bus trying to talk to a stranger about how messed up the world was. Saying things like Don't Get Me Started and You Wouldn't Believe. Adver and Dorge looked at each other and made a silent pact to get off the bus with the young man if he were to press the Ding! button somewhere close to an abandoned warehouse or morgue or open sewer of condemned anything.<br />
Dorge took out his Kindle and adjusted the brightness so no one could see what he was reading. Dorge was always worried that people really gave a fuck as to what he was doing so always took appropriate measures to guard against this. But as soon as he messed with the brightness the Kindle powered down as it was want to do. Adver gave a quizzical look but dropped it before Dorge could turn to see it.<br />
At the next stop a woman with long hair got on holding a guitar and smiling at the people near the front in a really peace-be-with-you-let's-pick-flowers kinda way and Dorge said Jesus Christ. Adver chortled and said Maybe? I'm no expert. Dorge replied Maybe we'll have a sing-a-long?<br />
Then they were quiet for a while.<br />
Adver asked Dorge if he knew that Hey Man, Nice Shot was a song about a guy who shot himself on television. Dorge nodded and said the guy's name. That was the only song of their's I liked, one of them said.<br />
There was someone wearing their watch on the wrong hand a few seats ahead of them. Dorge had never bought that "opposite your writing hand" crap. But he decided to forgive the person on the basis that he couldn't actually see their other arm and so it must mean that person only had the one arm. It must be difficult to get a watch on with only one hand, and here this person was, totally rocking that watch. Dorge felt a sort of admiration for them then.<br />
The bus kept going. Going and going and going.<br />
<br />Dorge Kashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14854860173284691306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989304676559489660.post-16207007198568594442017-04-24T13:49:00.002-07:002017-04-25T05:11:48.123-07:00Mushrooms and Vigilantism Dear Graziano's of Capitol Street,<br />
<br />
First, I love your pizza. It's quick, and painless, and good. But, that's not why I'm writing. I just want to express a concern that I've had since the last time I was in, it's been a few weeks now.<br />
<br />
I've tried to talk myself down off my high horse (like I said, your pizza is good) but my concern comes from one of your staff having a handgun holstered to their hip. It really bothers me.<br />
<br />
Yes, I'm aware of their right to have the weapon on their person. But, it is a weapon, and I bring my daughters in there. Your argument may be the line where you tell me I'd be singing a different tune if ever your establishment was held up while me and my daughters were in there, and maybe you're right. But I think having potentially two weapons engaged in conflict is going to up the chances that at least one of those weapons will be discharged. Also, I'm aware of the likelihood that there has always been a weapon close at hand in the establishment, and I can't tell you why I'm more comfortable with the thought of a shotgun "behind the bar" than someone in your employ deputizing himself in Pizza Town.<br />
<br />
I find the presence of the weapon to be intimidating, which is counter to the feeling of welcome that I search for when going into an establishment to have a meal.<br />
<br />
Also, I know that the employee makes regular deliveries in the course of their work, and there is certainly an argument to be made that Capitol Street has had its share of violent crime in the past. To this I say the weapon invites violence, and lends to the appearance that the employee is carrying a substantive sum of cash. Perhaps the employee has already experienced a violent encounter and that is the reason they feel the need to protect themselves with a visual deterrent, but I certainly hope not.<br />
<br />
In any event, it's just something I felt I needed to bring up. I look forward to having your pizza again, as soon as you go back to just wielding pizza cutters.<br />
<br />
Sincerely,<br />
<br />
Dorge KasDorge Kashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14854860173284691306noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989304676559489660.post-6817703379333923922017-03-16T13:48:00.000-07:002017-03-16T13:48:06.818-07:00We Are Comics<br />
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I like the new Legion show but I have a hangup about Audrey Plaza being cast as Lenny. I mean, am I the only one that remembers her as Julie Powers in the comicbook movie Scott Pilgrim vs the World? What we're looking at here is just a muddying of the comic waters that's getting a little too...muddy for me. How can anyone even see past Julie Flowers in Legion? Her consummate eye roll and tilt of industrious unease? It's too big a leap for me, Reader.<br />
But...what if it's still Julie Powers? What if the rumors I've been hearing are true and the bad guy is the Shadow King, and he's just controlling Julie Flowers??<br />
<br />
Ok.<br />
<br />
Than's thin, I admit. After all it's looking like if the bad guy is indeed the Shadow King then Lenny is just a skin he wears. But man-oh-man I want it to be Shadow King. I've loved that guy ever since:<br />
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Takes you back, huh? Can't believe I forgot that guy. Cheers to you, comics, love ya.Dorge Kashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14854860173284691306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989304676559489660.post-72505866945578169512017-03-09T14:06:00.002-08:002017-03-09T14:06:57.377-08:00DecadeMy baby turns ten in a few days. I'm not sure what that means. I'm having trouble processing it. You can start to see what she'll look like when she's older. I don't know about that, I think I'm just repeating something people say about kids. One of my first posts on here was instructions on how her crib should be made up. We still have all those Muppets, they're just in the younger daughter's room, she's three.<br />
Today I was wondering what I should write concerning my daughter's decade status. I thought I might write about us having been on some mission together for the last ten years but I couldn't get any traction in my mind for that. She's running back and forth behind me. It's kind of annoying when you're trying to write. She brought home straight A's today on her report card, which usually means a trip to the Mexican restaurant down the road.<br />
Last night I was thinking that I had gone in to check on her before I went to bed for ten years now. Straightening the blankets, pulling the one-too-many pillow out from under her head. Sometimes she likes to sleep in the floor. A cute quirk when she was thirty pounds, now I just leave her there most of the time.<br />
She hides the 3DS from me when I check to make sure she's asleep. Closing the screen and ducking the power indicator light under the covers. This would work if she didn't shove herself under the covers as well. I know how you sleep, child, and that's not it. Go to bed or I take the 3DS.<br />
She has dreams that she's walking on a dirt road and someone's talking to her but she can't turn her head. She has dreams that someone pushed her out of a window.<br />
She doesn't like spaghetti. She doesn't like vegetables. She requests my macaroni and cheese for every family dinner event; a recipe I got from a Nintendo DS game. She likes Fanta in any flavor (except the blue, sometimes). She does not like cheese on her burgers.<br />
When I'm in a tight spot in a video game I need her to sit beside me as my good luck charm. It's the only way I beat DOOM.<br />
We make fun of other kids, because they're stupid. We say things like "They should go to hell" and "I just want to punch them in the face."<br />
Her mother and I are trying to raise a good person. I'm a little too easy on her, I know. She can be lazy and it drives me crazy. When she's forced to clean her room she tells me she needs a break after making her bed. Also, she watches this really stupid show on Netflix called Some Assembly Required. I told her when she turned ten she could watch The Dark Knight with me. I really want to watch Predator with her, but I hesitate when I think of the people skinned-alive.<br />
We ride bikes together. Her mother had to teach her how to ride because I was getting so frustrated and impatient. I would just yell. But she's got it now. I'm trying to show her how to stand up and get more power for hills but she's not really having it. She needs a bigger bike now.<br />
We play punch bug in the car. It's annoying for the rest of the family.<br />
She protests every shower, yet when she's in there you'd think she was auditioning for Water World. I didn't come up with that. "Are you auditioning for Water World?" was scribbled on my water bill last month. Good one, water company.<br />
She keeps about forty different journals. She'll just write in them randomly. I don't relish the historian who has to put all that together.<br />
At work I have a little note that she wrote me that says "Thank you for supporting me! I will support you too!"<br />
She likes NERF guns. I put some hooks in her closet so she can put her guns on it like a little mini arsenal.<br />
She'll be ten. She's kind've crazy. Everything's a debate.<br />
Last night I went into her room and she was wearing a hairnet and disposable gloves and a dust mask performing surgery on a succession of stuffed animals like something out of the Civil War.<br />
She leaves her bands form her braces on the table and it makes her parents insane.<br />
I hope she loves her world. Her ten year old world.<br />
<br />Dorge Kashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14854860173284691306noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989304676559489660.post-85642960303656642832017-03-02T14:12:00.001-08:002017-03-23T05:11:59.177-07:00Scurry InsideReader, have you ever found yourself rolling your eyes in history class after Brittany exclaims, "I would <em>never</em> do <em>that</em>!" referring to whatever past atrocity the teacher has unveiled for your educational enjoyment? Like when Mr. O'Connell lectures about the Holocaust and you find out that the French police collaborated with the German occupiers to take the Jews from the cities just to keep Germany appeased? I mean, somebody opened the gates, right? But it wasn't Brittany, she'da done something different. Shed'a joined the Defiance folks out in the woods. Well, maybe she woulda, but my money's on not-so-much. I bet Brittany would have whistled like crazy to alert the dogs to a Jewish kid fleeting through an alley, just to curry favor with the soldiers, just to go home to bed that night, just to eat. A whole hell of a lot of us would, a whole hell of a lot of us did. <br />
Ok, we're going to segue here, and really it's going to be a bit of a disconnect and I should probably just sit still for five minutes and think of a better example to use than the Holocaust (because) but the coffee's only so stout. <br />
I work in a public facility that was pretty well accessible by anyone coming or going until for security reasons the powers that be decided to close most of the entrances and only offer two ways of egress to the public which are maintained by security details at all times. This is also in a state that adheres pretty closely to the tenants of southern hospitality, as well. <br />
An employee that maintains working quarters at this facility would have been given a small plastic pass key that one would wave at <strike>censors</strike> sensors located at all of the entrances in the event the entrance was closed due to the hour. Before the security measures these keys were only used to get into the building before or after office hours and so were mostly not used and shuffled down to the bottoms of purses. After the security measures were put into place there was a mad scramble for these cards and many requests at ten dollars a piece to procure new ones. You can imagine the waiting list became rather lengthy. <br />
So it became that the employees of the facility could still use the entrances they had always used, provided that they had their access card. With the caveat that if the employee were to hold the door open for someone behind them, their access card, which most have had prior to the security measures, would be revoked. Do you see why I mentioned southern hospitality earlier? <br />
So to review: if an employee is seen holding the door open for anyone else, despite the fact if the person is a fellow employee, or even someone that the employee is subordinate to, the offending employee will have their access card revoked and will no longer be able to use the entrance of their choice. That is all that will happen. If this one rule is broken, then the access card is forfeit. <br />
And yet, having to go into this facility daily, I have witnessed people totally losing their shit over these access cards and entrances. People that in the past have matched their gait to mine (I walk rather slow so I've been told) to share a few words before the day starts now zoom into full gear as to avoid any awkwardness if we were to reach the employee entrance at the same time. Reader, I know, my thought too was well, maybe they don't like me, which sometimes is true, but then to turn around and grin and do the head nod when they are satisfied that I wouldn't be able to catch up to them? And then scurry inside and let the door close just because they are afraid of losing their access card? It's laughable. I've seen people rush into the facility and then turn to forcibly shut the door to make it snatch shut when other employees were too close to them. These are the people that would have done something different when it came to sneaking food to a refugee or at the least show kindness to someone whom was different in some, maybe not even tangible way? Piss. These are the people that clamor onto the lifeboats first.<br />
What would I do, reader? Hell, I don't know. What annoys me is the people that say they <em>do</em> know. But I'll tell you this much: I've held the door.Dorge Kashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14854860173284691306noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989304676559489660.post-28943086699020127062017-02-08T14:24:00.000-08:002018-03-31T11:44:18.111-07:00Thornbelle VacancyAdver had been surprised that the building directory listed a number for security. He hadn't been looking for a number for security, but his finger paused on the listing and he pursed his lips. He had known this was going to take him in a direction he didn't want to go in, namely, away from his coffee. <br />
But there he was, standing out in the hall opposite his office door, staring at the closed office of Weapon Mods, with some young kid wearing an ill-fitting polo with some eagle emblem on it. Security.<br />
"Did you try knocking?" the kid asked, wrestling with a jungle of keys connected to his belt.<br />
Reader, don't roll your eyes. Adver had not tried knocking. He just hadn't ignored the editor of Mods "Good mornings!" for the last several days, which may lead one to speculate that the editor, one Dorge Kas, was on vacation. Except Adver knew he wasn't on vacation because he had not been given a laminated itinerary detailing every fifteen minutes of adventure, as he had been given, as a courtesy, for every vacation Dorge had been on while occupying the office space directly opposite that of O.A.D.S. for the last several years. <br />
"Jesus" Adver intoned under his breath, exactly as the security kid was turning to look at him, then blushed and looked away, clearing his throat.<br />
<em>Jesus</em>, Adver thought, realizing that the security kid thought Adver was praying for Dorge. <br />
Security Kid slipped a key into the tumbler and turned. Adver told him he might have to pull the door towards him while turning. That did it. Then Adver waited for Kid to push the door open and step in, crossing the threshold that would sever Adver's involvement. That is not what Kid did. Kid stepped aside and waited for Adver to push open the door. Adver bit his lip before anything else sounding like a prayer might slip by. <br />
"Downstairs says the lease is paid to the end of next month, so I can't technically go in there, you know, uninvited," Security Kid Vampire said. <br />
"Right," Adver said, feeling his chin tilt to his chest, and pushed the door open.<br />
Stepping in, he thought he'd at least smell a corpse, or food, maybe. But it just smelled stale in there. It was afternoon so the sun was slanting in from the windows, milky white and diminished. There was Atta's desk, the only other employee of Weapon Mods Adver had ever seen. She seemed nice. Too bad she was dead. Adver sighed and took a few more steps in<em>, ok</em>, he thought<em>, she's probably not dead</em>. Her computer was off, and there was nothing in the printer tray. There was a pair of running shoes under the desk, neatly placed. <br />
Adver looked back at Security Kid, who was not entering the office, and pushed forward to Dorge's interior office. It was darker in there, the blinds drawn. The lights took a while to warm up and come on, but there was nothing seemingly amiss in there, either. Except the coffee. Coffee had been among the few things Adver and Dorge could talk about, when forced, and here was half a cup setting on the desk. That didn't seem like Dorge. Adver almost put his finger into the black tar to see if it was still warm but stopped. He wasn't a goddam detective. He walked back out of the room, his eyes leaving the abandoned coffee last, and stepped back into the hall.<br />
"Anything?" Kid asked.<br />
"No. But I'm sure he'll turn up," Adver lied. <br />
Dorge Kashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14854860173284691306noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989304676559489660.post-30803018033928586992016-08-18T18:24:00.001-07:002016-08-19T05:23:06.682-07:00Let's Make it InterestingDanver had been quiet a long time. I couldn't decide whether it was because he was angry, or if he was just trying to wrap his head around what I'd just told him. So I just kept driving. I thought the car was the best place to do it, I didn't want him running around screaming and slamming doors, or whatever. I didn't think he would jump out of the car, but to tell you the truth I wasn't one hundred percent on that. So I waited until we were across the bridge.<br />
I probably should have told him he was adopted a long time ago. I just didn't want to deal with it. It's not even something I think about every day. Maybe it will be for him, but I doubt it. He's got a lot going on. Actually, I'm pretty sure he's going to think about it every day, especially when I lay the next bit on him. Listen, I'm not enjoying this, I'm not a cruel person, this is just how things shook out. <br />
I ask him if he's hungry and he nods, that's a good sign. The next thing I have to tell him is who his father really is, which would be easier if we didn't have a pretty close relationship with that person already. Then the last thing I have to tell him is the fact that I won him in a bet. I guess I don't have to tell him that part. But, really, I guess I do, right? How do you tell a human being that they were won in a bet?<br />
<br />
<br />
Let's back up.<br />
<br />
<br />
Weezer had a new album, Trump was running for president, IPAs were a thing, and Esquire got a new editor. Also that year: Batman v. Superman; Dawn of Justice.<br />
<br />
<br />
Adver and I were having pizza as per usual on Friday evenings. Me: Beer. Him: Water. <br />
Let's just drop into the middle of it.<br />
"But, I'm never having children." His line.<br />
"Right, so this shouldn't be a hard bet, I mean, it's not even a bet you think you'll lose in the first place, so, I'm not sure what the hold up is - it's just us being silly."<br />
I really didn't think he would waffle so much on this. I had assumed he'd already had a vasectomy (morbid curiosity being what it is, this confirmed that he hadn't).<br />
I laid it out one more time, "This is the bet. When it turns out that Batman versus Superman is just pure shit, pure shit, and you admit as such because it's so bad, you have to give me your first-born child. Done. That's all there is to it. And you're never even having children, so it doesn't matter. Plus! Plus, you think the movie's going to be good, so you are completely insulated here. Shake my hand!"<br />
The audio of this is a little hard to understand, remember "Me: Beer." but I promise I was saying "insulated" there in that last bit. I was also wagering that becoming excited would get Adver to shake my hand just to get me to shut.the.fuck.up.<br />
<br />
<br />
That night ended, as they tend to do, and was forgotten. Even to me it was just a silly bet, but, rules are rules. We shook. <br />
<br />
<br />
And then a few weeks later the movie came out and it was bad. I didn't have a lot of faith in it, clearly, but it was worse than I could have suspected. All I keep seeing is Batman crawling around on that ceiling super fast dodging shotgun blasts. All I keep seeing is Jesse Eisenberg pushing a Jolly Rancher into a man's mouth. All I keep seeing is child Bruce Wayne being carried aloft by a swirling vortex of bats. These scenes make a hate film in my mouth. <br />
I type "Why does Bruce Wayne get to drive a Jeep with sirens on top of it around Metropolis?" into Google and my monitor just shuts off. START WINDOWS NORMALLY?<br />
Here's the root of the problem, the problem Snyder has with every movie he directs: he makes the characters ultra violent, which changes them into unfamiliar characters, nearly unrecognizable. There is no real reason to have Superman killing anyone in a Superman movie. Yes, it makes one wonder the moral dilemma and yada yada, but Snyder made the destination of Superman's story a justification for killing the bad guy. Then we have wholesale slaughter from Batman in the second go around. The one scene that everyone seems to be in favor of is Batman taking out forty thugs in some warehouse, which, I'll admit is fun to watch, and probably is the best scene of the movie, but it was still stale. Squint your eyes and you're just watching a scene from the Arkham games. I'm really not trying to pick this thing to death, everyone here knows I've never liked Snyder. The best thing about 300 was the preview with NIN laced over top. Sorry, focusing. <br />
A Superman movie should make you feel good, and powerful. It should make you want to help people or just realize your own strength and that you can affect others in a positive way. <br />
A Batman movie should make you feel like hard work and focus and determination is everything you need to lock down your goals.<br />
This movie just makes you feel bad and bitter. Snyder can shove all the Stigmata in he wants, this movie won't be Saved. <br />
<br />
<br />
Now. Let's discuss the good parts.<br />
The opening credits gives Bill Finger his due. Sure, legal made them say Bob Kane <em>with</em> Bill Finger, but I'll take it. <br />
The score is great, really fun to listen to. Henry Jackman, you let me down with that Civil War score, come on, man. <br />
Kevin Costner.<br />
Wonder Woman, ya dig?<br />
And the best part? Being fucking right. <br />
<br />
<br />
"Are you serious? Adver Blythe is my fucking <em>dad?</em> We eat pizza with him every Friday and no one's ever like, hey-you-guys-look-alike what the hell, Dad? Do I call you that now? A bet, really? I think I'm your kid because you won me in a -"<br />
<br />
<br />
Reader, it goes on like that for a while, it doesn't get any prettier or interesting. You can probably fill in the rest as it is. We're seeking counseling but we'll make it through together, just like we did with Batman versus Superman.<br />
<br />Dorge Kashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14854860173284691306noreply@blogger.com2