Category Archives: stories

Waywards Wandering – Chapter 5: Bearing the Paladin

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I know it’s been awhile! Click here to start at the beginning of our story!

It was high noon before they finally set out from Prima, and that is where the first argument began. Deathwish still insisted that they travel through The Wastelands as opposed to the trails and towns. Kanji argued that himself and Lashea, being human, would be hard pressed to survive the extreme heat of the desert.

Forced to concede, Deathwish grew silent. They traveled along the beaten dirt road until dusk in this manner, Deathwish gruffly marching, Kanji lightly stepping lost in his thoughts, and Lashea trying hard to conceal her huffing breaths and mounting fatigue.

How can I be so tired after all of my training, she thought. Ten years all she did was study under her masters in physical and spritual development, and still it seemed to her that she was ill prepared for the road. Her anger at herself and pride kept her going, but not from asking for a much needed rest a few times that day.

They halted to set up camp at dusk just off the side of the road in front of a small stream. Lashea didn’t wait for another word beyond Kanji announcing they were stopping before she slipped her pack to the ground and slid unceremoniously beside it, laying back on the late spring grasses. Kanji shared a look with Deathwish and he nodded. They started to set up camp without her, and not a minute later she was asleep.

About an hour later Lashea awoke to Deathwish invading a dream. At first, the lizard-man’s telepathic communication blended with her battling Father Salane in the training hall. The whole temple was the audience. She was winning and the people cheered her on. Deathwish and Kanji stood by the door like in her last battle against Clavus. Deathwish kept on telling her to wake up, wake up- as if she wasn’t concentrating on the battle. She was awake! She was winning! Wake up, Lashea, wake up-

Wake up!

Finally she bolted upright realizing he wasn’t part of the dream. Night had fully fallen upon the camp, lit by a full, large moon and a campfire which sported a stick rotating in two forked sticks stuck in the ground. On the makeshift spit spun several small fish. Lashea’s mouth watered.

And here I thought there was going to be more for me. Well, since you’re awake- Deathwish threw a small pail at the still dazed woman, fetch us some water and some more firewood.

The toss was a near miss of hitting Lashea in the head to which she sputtered, “What am I, your servant?”

Oh, no, we must be yours, highness!

Deathwish gestured at the sizzling fish and Lashea felt foolish as she looked around at camp, dinner, and her dropped sack of things. Without another word or glance she grabbed the pail and made off for the stream where Kanji was fishing with his foot. He had a stick balanced between two toes and was simultaneously cleaning a rainbow scaled fish on a large, smooth rock by the riverbed. She didn’t spare him more than a glance as she went to fetch water further downstream. Her anger rose at her own ineptness. She assumed they looked on with mocking, contemptuous thoughts.

They should have woke me to help! But they didn’t wake me because they think I am weak and need the special treatment.

And maybe they are right, after all! Look at me!

Her blood boiled more with each breath. She would push herself harder tomorrow, no extra stopping, no falling asleep.

I will not fail you.

She thought of Clavus in the training hall and father Salane speaking highly of her. She thought of her Goddess untiringly helping, protecting, working for those in need. Lastly, she thought of her parents who, sore covered and sick, still only cared for what would become of their daughter as they sent her to the temple to be trained.

Kanji could not know all of this as Lashea went moodily about her chores, hauling more water than they needed back to camp and more wood than they could possibly burn in one night. He finally had to tell her to stop and come and eat before her dinner was cold. When he did, she gave him such a strange look that he could only assume it was the reaction of an overtired novice.

The next day put their feet further on the path that was the first leg of their long journey. Heel to toe they traveled along the trees, out further into the wilderness. The weather was fine but from day to day it was hard for Kanji to determine whether the moods of his companions would be or not. It is true that Deathwish and Lashea got off on the wrong foot, but it had since escalated into a dance of dark looks, testing prods, and testy people. Kanji often found himself putting his foot in his mouth after saying something that pushed the silence into snide remarks.

It was one such morning that Kanji changed tactics as he refused that things would continue like this any longer. Lashea was a part of their traveling group for the duration of the cross country trip, perhaps longer, and they needed to learn to live with and trust each other. Kanji hated to think what would happen if a group of goblins happened upon them now, so disjointed they were as a group. At the next opportunity, Kanji was determined to force these two into a real dialogue, even if it meant the loss of a few limbs or his head being bitten from his body. It was a new day, full of jibes, but hopeful.

“With his ill temper, it is no wonder why they call him Deathwish!” muttered Leena with a sneer, knowing well that Deathwish was more than within earshot.

“Well, no,” Kanji wrinkled his nose anticipating the bad smells that had become so frequent, “…actually, Deathwish is a nickname that the monks at the monastery gave him,” Kanji further gathered up his resolve and felt himself falling into memories, “It was before he obtained the amulet that allows him to communicate telepathically, so he couldn’t tell us his name.”

It doesn’t have a word in your language anyways.

Kanji beamed at the prospect of an actual conversation, rather than another argument, “The monks gave him that name because of the way he deals with a situation- without regard to the consequences on himself, only of the implications of what may happen if he does not act.”

“It was the first summer Deathwish stayed with us. There were reports of a rabid bear skirting the countryside near a neighboring village. Though the bear had not yet attacked, the villagers were panicked that he would hurt someone and infect them or their animals which they relied on for food. The monks took this news, and the petition for their help which soon followed, with calm wisdom. They planned to discuss their options on how to best handle the situation that very night.”

“Deathwish was furious at the delay. He could not fathom why the bear hadn’t been slain the second after it was reported. What if someone died or their flock became ill and died?”

“Deathwish went after the bear himself. I followed Deathwish as he left, worried at what may befall him in his zeal. I shadowed him until he finally found the bear wantonly taking out its aggression on a nearby tree. Deathwish wasted no time rushing in, sword drawn- but the bear- oh he wrapped Deathwish in a hug before he even brought his sword to bear!”

Lashea snickered at the pun. However unintentional, Kanji beamed at what he thought was storytelling worthy of bardic note.

“I did not want to interfere, but seeing Deathwish in trouble I prayed to Brihaad to slow the bear’s movements.”

“Deathwish, I yelled, draw the disease out from the bear! Cure him of his illness. And until then I think Deathwish had only thought to physically stop the bear- never considered that he could do it so easily by using his Brihaad-given abilities.”

“Even after, Deathwish did not stop at curing the bear, but insisted we take him back to the wilderness away from the village to be sure that he would no longer terrorize the villagers. He asked if I could put disable the bear with my Brihaad given magic. I thought about it a moment, but Deathwish grew impatient and punched him right in the head, knocking the bear unconscious. Without another word, Deathwish heaved him over his shoulders and started walking off away from the village. Dare I wonder what would have happened had the bear woken up during this trek. But Deathwish, he doesn’t think like that.”

Amazed at the silence that followed, Kanji figured that he had finally found a solution- until that silence was broken.

“So he’s called Deathwish because he’s the sort of moron who doesn’t think before acting and is likely to get us all killed from his lack of foresight in perilous situations,” summed up Lashea in a huff, “Great.”

Kanji groaned and put a hand to his head, frustrated but far from defeated. The noxious odor of swamp water and skunk wafted past. He wracked his brain trying to think of a way to again turn the conversation.

There was a thud to the ground and Kanji turned to see Deathwish standing, his pack thrown against the base of a tree.

“Deathwish, what are you-”

Let’s settle this, small, noisy flesh.

“Are you talking to me?”

Come on. Single combat to settle this. First blood, disarmament, or withdraw at sword point.

“You can’t be serious,” Lashea laughed putting a slender hand on a hip.

Are you afraid I’ll hurt you? I’ll make sure it’s not a disabling wound. After all, I’m not carrying you.

Lashea’s sense of humor faded immediately and she dropped her own pack to the ground, pulling free her large bastard sword with a single hand, her sinewy muscles drawing tight as she gripped it. Her eyes narrowed and she dropped into a crouch, muttering a request of blessing from Brihad.

A contest of swords only- no using powers from the Goddess.

“What are you two doing? Are you both insane?” Kanji dashed in between the two, arms outstretched to either side and sputtering, “We have a mission! We have duty and a common deity! What good can come of fighting?”

Tension took over the clearing and Lashea stared at Deathwish waiting for his lead. The silence was broken by a screech from of the path.

“Scoundrels! Feel th’ edge of me blade if ye dare get any closer!”

The three barely exchanged glances before they were off to find the source of such a proclamation. Through a stretch of trees off the path there came a clearing overlooking large field. Within the field stood a lone robed figure surrounded completely by goblins who backed away wearily as a floating sword kept whirling and darting all over, pointing at and swishing towards the monsters. It was obvious that this man was loosing his sense of calm. He was severely outnumbered.

Fantasy Story Ideas

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I come up with ideas for writing in a lot of different places. This is something that was kicking in my head from a dream that I expanded on in waking times, in the shower, driving to work, falling asleep. At some point sometimes ideas stop kicking around in the head and I try to put what I’m thinking on paper. Sometimes I start writing the story, and other times I write character sketches, draw places, write scenes, or in this case: figure out mechanics.

One of the most fun things about the Sci-fi and Fantasy genre is the mechanics of how your world works. What makes it full of magic? What are the systems, schools, and conventions by which normal people become adventurers?

In this case I had the idea of four of each type of three categories of adventurers. Where (and if) you fall on this grid is determined by an extensive and even dangerous test, kind of like some sort of spirit journey. By the end of that journey it has been divined what school(s) you fall into.

Here are some of the sketches I did in my Blue Book (on of my journal sketchbooks) to help me figure out this grid. I figured each school next to each other should have abilities in common as well as each school having its own unique focus. There are 3 main schools: Warrior, Wizard, and Toil. Warrior covers the types of fighters. Wizards are the ones who harness magic. Toils are those who use worldly skills to make something otherworldly. If you read the charts the other way, You get the four worlds: Physical World, Natural World, Inner World, and Spiritual World.

To help figure these out, I thought of people I knew and what they might be based on the system I figured out.

Each particular class has a name and color. Each also has one main focus, and four minor focuses (or abilities) that are shared with the surrounding major focuses. Primes are those who only have a single class and those four surrounding abilities. They also usually have a special ability unique to having a strict focus. These abilities vary from person to person and sometimes are not immediately apparent. Most of the time, it s found out by the time a disciple has left their school.

I also left room for mixing classes across the grid: dual, tri, and quad classes. The further divided you are in your classes, the further split your focus.

A dual class gets two main focuses, but only a total of four surrounding abilities. Those four surrounding abilities have to be two from each focus and must be either horizontal or vertical.

A Tri class is also known as a Worlder as they pick a world. They get three focuses, and only the shared abilities from their world (those listed vertical). This gives them three main focuses and three abilities.

A quad class is usually known by the larger class name: Quad Warrior, Quad Wizard, or Quad Toil. They have those four focuses going across, and then the abilities between each. Since the classes have more abilities, it is usually found by the time a disciple graduates that they are weak in a couple of the abilities or lose a couple of the focuses. Those who keep their focuses remain Quads, as the abilities that are weak can be improved upon over time. However, if a focus is lost, the Quad usually will become a Prime or Dual. This is not considered a bad thing or a dishonor to have a more narrowed focus or a more broadened one, it is simply the way things naturally occur in a particular person.

FourmRuler & Writing is Born

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I attribute my writing to a natural result of reading so much, but the internet surely played a large role as well. I started writing once upon a time in the (then) magical land of Compuserve. Sure, before that I wrote long posts and emails and even sort of ‘message role played’- but it was just communicating thoughts and words. It didn’t occur to me that I was writing stories, poetry, and essays.

The lame story of how I figured this out was an encounter with a luser with the handle of “ForumRuler” mocking me even though he didn’t know me. I was about ten and not going to let it go. I had a “Well, I rule more than you do.” attitude and online persona. We went back and forth and finally he threw the gauntlet down. He challenged me to a contest of words. The rules were that we write a poem about our own awesomness. Who ever wrote the better one would be the true forum ruler. I think he was expecting an easy win because I was “Huh… never wrote a poem before”.

We were working something close to real time, both online, so I wrote:

You first hear footsteps,
Then the smile,
You know you will be dead,
In a little while,
You say why me?
You whine and run,
But you know what will happen,
She is the one,
She is the one I say,
The one you despise,
She is strong and charming,
and she is wise,
Whom is she you say,
Why has she come?
It doesn’t matter,
Your life is done.

He admitted it was ‘not bad’ having posted four lines of clever ‘roses are red I rule ‘n stuff’ and I never heard from him again. He probably had to change his handle and start over. I, on the other hand, found it very satisfying and started writing for the sake of writing actual works for the first time.

Notepad and I would sit down and write poems, story lines, dialogs, beginnings, middles, ends, and scenes. I wrote about taverns without ever have been drunk. I wrote about dueling with swords and sorcery, even though I’d never fenced. The real bits were always in the poetry and the characters. I only wrote about emotions, motivations, and interactions as I understood them. This was the a part of writing I fell in love with.

My true motivations for writing were somewhere between escape and expression. I felt better after all the jumbled thoughts in my head came out and made some sense on paper. Those thoughts didn’t have to be me, they became characters in far off worlds with much more important things to accomplish. They had much bigger trials to face.

The stories in my head were no longer just bedtime stories to myself after closing my eyes. They bore some sense of importance that I might one day get them down properly and share them with others.

Left CSS Empathy

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The names have been changed to protect the innocent and the more awesome guilty. The text has been edited down to avoid total confusion so you may sift through and amuse yourself with the more amusing general confusion.

Bob: The girl to Henrietta’s left is Mary.

Celes: Do you mean the “other” left?

Bob: No, I mean HENRIETTA’S left, not the viewer’s left.

Celes: Oh! I was thinking “Henrietta’s left” as in to the left of Henrietta, not as in to the left of Henrietta by way of her left, not your left. Left, right, left, right, there’s none of the enemy left right? Right. No, left.

Fred: So isn’t that the other left, then?

Celes: Yes. I guess. It depends on how we define “other”. I mean, it does work, but I was totally off in my thinking when I said it- even if I sound right- but thanks for making me sound like I knew what I meant. In my defense, I’ve been programming web stuff a bunch, and in doing so, the viewer of the screen is always what defines left and right.

.mary {
float: right;
}

Henrietta’s left could have easily meant to the left of Henrietta or to the left of Henrietta according to her left.

Um, Holy crap. Just. Blarg.

Fred: Well, your problem is you’re looking at the couch as the only relevant div, when clearly it has nested .cushion divs with a width of 1/3 .couch. So .mary can be float:left like you thought because #cushion3 that contains her is float:right compared to the one Henrietta is on. Assuming that the viewer’s screen resolution is wider than the couch in pixels, they’ll stack horizontally- but anyone who has that problem probably doesn’t have a compatible browser anyway, and the couch would render as a futon or something.

Celes: …add the hacks that make the couch sort of not be a futon, or at least not be a very bad looking one… Um, will you marry me? *shakes head* Sorry. I don’t know when CSS empathy started to be a turn on for me, but apparently it is.

Bob: I love that you are my friends. May I just say that?

Trust, Even After Trying it’s Gone

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Rex attacks with poison flour
Final Fantasy: Mystic Quest for the SNES. One of the crappiest Final Fantasy games ever made has some of the crappiest writers and translators at the wheel.

A warning to those who don’t know eating flour provided by undead dinosaurs may be potentially hazardous: an adventuring career maybe isn’t for you. This has been a video game public announcement.

What kind of adjective is “flamerous”? It certainly isn’t English.
– – – – –

Gawn and Treye sat down together in a cafe in a the small, industrial city of Worner, sleepy in its wintry shell. They hadn’t seen each other in months, though they live but miles apart. Treye had been calling Gawn off and on for weeks- as well as everyone else she knows in the city with little luck. Even friends with which Treye knew nothing but good times seem to have moved on to somewhere or something new and exclusive. Treye was getting sick of being positive about her loneliness, and her desire to vent was fast overcoming the desire not drive Gawn away. It had been three days since Treye spoke to anyone other than customers at work and voicemail boxes of friends. All of her recent attempts to try and meet new people were met with polite but cold reactions or hopes of sex.

Treye was about to give up on humanity and the act of putting trust in people. Still, she reached out to Gawn on more time hoping she’d be proven wrong.

Gawn tried to reassure Treye but also has a hard time disagreeing with her assessments.

“In all trust there is the possibility for betrayal,” admits Gawn.

“Then it is better not to trust,” Treye stared into her cup of black tea, hunched over it as if huddling for warmth..

“But… without trust there is no real friendship, no closeness, none of the emotional bonds that make life worth living…” Gawn lists passionately.

“These are the experiences and feelings that make up life itself,” agrees Treye.

“Exactly,” Gawn slapped the table, glad to be getting through.

“So… you put yourself at risk, and do so knowingly and willingly.”

“…every single time,” admitted Gawn, smiling.

“How do you know when to trust others and when to trust your doubt?” Treye pushes herself and her tea further across the table towards Gawn, “How can you separate paranoia from a real, deserving lack of trust?”

“Hopefully you trust yourself over others before the knife ends up in your back. Other than that, I really can’t give you an answer. Some people trust others until they give them sure reason not to. Some will even forgive and extend trust again and again.”

“How does one find a trustworthy individual?” Gawn seemed to have all the answers, and Treye hoped she could pull some to apply to her own life.

“The same way one finds an honest man.”

“What?”

“I’m saying, one doesn’t. The capacity for betrayal is within all of us.”

“Not me,” Treye denied without a hint of pride or happiness at the proclamation.

“If that’s true, then I pity you. You are doomed to a lifetime of expectations that no one can fulfill and things given that no one can reciprocate.”

“Perhaps there is something wrong with me,” Treye squeezed the ceramic mug, “Sometimes I suspect I am not human.”

“Oh, you’re human all right- human enough to feel betrayed, rejected, isolated, like no one understands you-”

“So, I’m just a whiny cliche?” Treye chuckled at herself without a bit of humor.

“No, just human: individual, but part of a common experience of common emotions.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. People don’t feel the same way,” Treye paused, thinking before finding the words to explain, “Sure, we all get sad or angry, but one person’s depression is barely another person’s sadness. The same sad person maybe feels barely any anger”

“How would you know?”

“I know when I react honestly and deeply, there are times I’m told I should be in a mental institution or on a drug.”

“Yes… I guess some people are… sensitive,” Gawn conceded.

“And I’ve met other… sensitive… people and have found they understand me better, but are perhaps even more selfish that the norm. The can be more unsympathetic.”

“They’re trying and protect themselves maybe?”

“I could think of many reasons. In the end, it just is. The sensitive person is a victim in a cycle of their own creation making themselves more the victim by throwing themselves under trucks and into fires- that is unenjoyable, but comfortably selfish: the attention they attract, the band aid of other’s pity and self pity. Other people become competition,” Treye shakes her head bitterly.

“And you’re different..?”

“Yes. I know I hurt myself by giving trust to those who don’t deserve it, by not being able to connect with people that would treat me better, but I don’t advertise it like a beacon hoping for those to flock to me to ease the pain as well as allow it to continue so the flock stays.”

“Maybe you should. Maybe you just don’t because you’re afraid they won’t come.”

“No, I’m afraid of being disgusting and weak like them. I’m afraid of my own guilt,” admitted Treye.

“Oh, so bottle it up inside and try hard not to trust those you want to. There’s a logical solution,” Gawn rolled his eyes and nibbled at the left over crumbs of his scone.

“I guess I’m caught in a bit of a paradox.”

“If your values weren’t mixed up in this, I’d have a solution: throw your honesty, integrity, pride, loyalty out the door… Just be and accept.”

“What, like them? Those people don’t accept anything- they live in constant delusion. I’d rather be miserable than delude myself,”

“Would you rather be lonely than to try to trust again? To never connect or know someone else again?” Gawn was getting frustrated.

“It doesn’t matter much what I want. I’m lonely either way. Trust gives darkness a face to whisper to at least.”

“For a bit of pity for you?”

“No. Connection. For real, honest connection. Not ‘I feel bad for you’, but ‘I know what you mean, and hang in there.’.”

“You’re talking about wanting someone to care, understand, and accept you as you are,” Gawn was trying the best to be understanding and sympathetic, but was seeing the circular logic Treye was caught in.

“Yes. And I know I will find it again. It’s just painful knowing it never lasts. At the next inconvenient moment the connection ceases.”

“Um… can we maybe talk about this some other time? I mean, it’s been good talking but… I just have a lot of stuff to do, you know?” Gawn got up to leave. He put forth a forced smile and mentally asked for forgiveness.

“Yes. I understand. I know. Goodbye.”

Treye and Gawn never saw each other again.