Hermit

Thanks for the input , because it helps me try to keep on target As for who is next? That's a bit more fluid. I'm jumping back and forth between short stories. The most likely one will be Pogo. It should be noted that the fact I have not used first names for most of the Fish Guy's fellow heroes in the past. 😮 This is biting me in the ass a bit

I'm up to 20000 So at what I need to be, but I want to get ahead of the curve, not right on it

Okay, hope you guys liked that but I'll understand if it wasn't your cup of tea. NANOWRIMO goes for speed not quality and that was the very definition of a rough draft

Puppy Love- A Pinprick Tale *** (Final chapters) “My old friend and ally,” This time I was greeted by a different voice. Not so deep, yet still commanding, “Pinprick, yeoman and vassal of the Lady Of Obsidian and Protector of the Coast Sacred, the sharp tongued …” “Can it, Keltchar,” I said limping up, “You tried to have me snuffed.” Keltchar was every inch the elf you see in the movies, and read about in the books, and then some; Slender but strong, lovely to look at, with eyes that glitter like stars, yadda yadda. “Kennel Lord Keltchar, if you please,” the fae harrumphed, and smoothed out his fine huntsman’s garb, “I am baron of these lands after all.” “You’re right,” I nodded, and cleared my throat before saying “CAN IT, Kennel Lord Keltchar, Baron of the Realm of Summer’s Last Breath, you tried to have me SNUFFED!” My foot hurt like hell, I had a shoulder that needed stitches, and I was pretty sure I smelled like ox sweat and dry blood. “Thank you,” Keltchar said, confusing me until I realized he really was thanking me for using his titles. He went on smoothly, “And I did not try to have you ‘snuffed’. I merely wished to have a certain horned agent keep you from crossing my bridge. And before you start up, I know a troll would have been better, but now they waste their time on that interweb thing. It’s not my fault that no troll wants to work anymore.” I gave him a low glare “Have you considered paying them?” “You mean wages equal to their skills, dangers, and effort?” Keltchar tilted his head. “Yeah,” I nodded. “Never occurred to me, they do that now?” He was boggled. “Some fight it, but yeah,” I told him, “Now, about the Winter knight?” “What Winter Knight?” He said, trying a bit too hard to feign surprise. “Frostmyre, who somehow was right outside where I landed,” I observed, “You set him on me, didn’t you?” “What nonsense. He’s of the Winter Court. I favor the Summer, or at least the Autumn,” Keltchar held up a hand as if to forestall any further ‘nonsense’. “Right, because the frickin MANBULL just screamed Summer Court,” I snorted, “I’m not saying you hired, Frostmyre. I’m saying you sicced him on me. I didn’t catch it at first, but when I first made the trip here, there was the sound of hunting horns. Yet, not only was he not hunting, there was no horn on him. Someone sounded the alarm and got his attention even as I appeared.” And I let my eyes drift towards the horn at his side. “What an odd coincidence,” the elf gave me a smile so fake it belonged on a Mr. Potato head. “You owe me two more gurts,” I told him, holding up some fingers, “Not one,”I dropped one finger (Feel free to guess which one stood up by its lonesome) for just a second, “TWO,” And I put the second finger back up, “I love the one I got for my son, but you owe me TWO more, and it’s time for the second.” Keltchar raised a brow, “You know human greed disgusts me. You have one, why would you need two? To protect yourself? Is such cowardice befitting… an Archer?” “It’s a GIFT, to protect the future off spring of two boon companions, you effeminate spock looking wanna be,” I said testily, “And I saved your realm and your hounds once, remember? You swore three Gurt hounds, genuine legendary Gurt hounds, to do with as I saw fit. Now, do you pay up the second, or do I spread word your word is no good?” At that he bristled, “My word is good. You’re here. And you shall have your second Gurt. Here… I ask nothing for this.” The sun here was already pretty solid, but it seemed to grow stronger, and illuminated me. I found my breathing growing easier, my foot popped, and … the pain in it was gone. I could put pressure on it again. “And I give you no thanks,” I said, hoping I remembered the courtesies right by NOT thanking him, “Now about the second Gurt?” “Follow me,” he lead me to his kennels. Imagine if you will if Tolkien had gone on half as many pages to describe an elven dog kennel as he did some freaking trees, and you can probably imagine it better than I could describe it. Through out the British Isles, there are legends of mystical great black dogs. They go by many names: Barghest, Black Shuck, and Gytrash to name a few. And eighty percent of them are friend to no man. Then? Then there’s the Gurt Dog. Despite the fact their coats are dark as sin, they’re the white sheep (or should I say shepherd?) of their magical canine kind. They’re guides, they’re protectors, they’re ‘good boys’. They walk between faerie and the mortal realms ready to watch their chosen charges from the shadows. And they have no hesitation in manifesting long enough to bite a would be kidnapper’s jewelpouch right off from between his legs. “That one,” I said after seeing one of the dogs that looked dopey, but dedicated. It reminded me of Caleb in that. “You will need the anchor,” Keltchar told me, and handed it over, “Want to stay for dinner?” “I’ll take the anchor but no thanks on the dinner,” I told him. This I could thank him for. “Drink before you go?” He wheedled. “Stop trying to bespell me just so I have to give up the last dog in exchange for my freedom, Baron,” I was a bit testy. “Fine,” he gave what I’m sure he thought of as a look of great sorrow, but to me just looked like a fae pout, and handed me over the prize at last. My prize achieved, my quest over, the laws of the realm sent me away so it could do that mythical version of ‘roll credits’. *** The gift giving was a scattered affair, and while there was no official time or place for it, yours truly and some others handed theirs over at the base in an informal lump. Valerosa and Eel beamed as she plucked one up, then worked with Eel to unwrap it in front of the rest of us, making a needlessly long and overly sentimental show of it in my opinion, but the matrimony high is a hell of a drug I suppose. “Mister and Missus Champagne glasses, custom designed,” Valerosa cooed at the admittedly lovely glasswork, “Fox, this is wonderful. Thank you.” Eel agreed, “Classy, and… we’ll be using them every anniversary.” The two gazed into each others eyes as he said that, and we all smiled at the sheer sweetness of it. Yeah, even me, and I have a limited tolerance for Hallmark movies. Then, the next package came up. It was more of a gift bag, than a wrapped box. At my restored six inch height, wrapping is a tedious process. “This one is from Pinprick,” Eel held it up, and the crowd gave their polite attention to it, though Arctic Fox sniffed a bit at the lack of style of the container. She could be a bit of a snob. He held it out to Valerosa, and she dipped her hand in and pulled out… A small stuffed animal. Yeah, you guessed it, it was a small black dog. Teddy Bears are open and welcoming. This little doggie looked judgmental, like he was checking everyone out to see if they had the go ahead to get past it. It looked cheap. It looked small. And it looked presumptuous. It sure as hell wasn’t on their registry. “For your kid one day,” I told them, confirming my presumption. I could see the looks in the eyes of the women folk in the crowd. I had committed a faux pass by acting like kids were a sure thing. That was a fair point, but the safety of this potential kid or kids was too important to not do this. A shame I could never tell them about the Gurt attached to it. Part of the magic is secrecy. If I told, then it would weaken the bond, or break it entirely. Still, I gave my best smug smile, and it wasn’t without reason. Both of them had touched it, and I could see what they couldn’t, the shadow in the corner of a dog wagging. It was the shadow of a really big dog watching from one world over. “Thank goodness,” it was Lady Obsidian who came to the rescue, “You’re a dear friend and valued teammate, Pinprick, but I was afraid it was going to be a six pack of beer.” Everyone at least chuckled at that, including me. “What KIND of beer?” Eel said with exaggerated interest, getting a poke from his lady love. This brought on more laughs and chuckles. As a rule I don’t laugh at Eel’s jokes; it just encourages him. And then who suffers? All of us. He followed up with a “Thanks, Pinprick. I had something like this when I was a kid.” You really didn’t, I thought smugly. “Yes, thank you, Pinprick,” Valerosa said to me, “it’s cute.” Then she glanced at Eel, some couple telepathy going on there, rather than the literal kind. There was likely a whole conversation between them about intentions regarding children that I could only guess. My gift was one of the last ones opened, so as they finished up, and graciously thanked folks en mass, I started to make my exit. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy a good party. Hell, I even enjoyed a so so party, but I was tired. Some parts of my latest journey were a blur to my memory, but the energy expended, the long travel? I felt it catching up with me. “That,” Mayo’s voice said out in the hall I just turned into, “was an incredibly generous gift. All the more because they’ll never know. And, I suspect cannot?” “For a blind guy, you see a lot,” I gave him a warning look which I hoped he could ‘feel’ even if he was incapable of sight. “Doctor Salem is an excellent mentor,” he inclined his head as if she were here to show deference to, “My ability to read certain energies clued me in, the lore she taught me cemented the details as much as any could. That’s a powerful conduit and it is bound to their bloodline now.” I sighed, “I long for the days when most mystics were cryptic secretive recluses. Respectfully, keep your big mouth shut.” I did not add an ‘or else’. “Of course,” Mayo nodded, this time the deference was to me, “I just thought it might cheer you to know that at least one other in this world knew and was impressed by the breadth of your generosity. You have put yourself at great risk. You’re not getting the praise you deserve and likely never will.” I snorted, “Getting the princess and the crowds is for knights in shiny armor. Me? I’m an Archer.” “Would you settle for a beer?” Mayo inquired. I smiled at that, my nap could wait, “That? That I could go for.” (The End)

Puppy Love- A Pinprick Tale *** (Continued) In a place where age is an option, time can lose meaning. That’s why you have to provide it. You need to keep your focus on your own inner clock, and try to make the story go at your pace of preference. It isn’t easy, but it is necessary. Otherwise you can get into one of those ‘a decade passes for every day you were gone’ thing. But it was still hard not to let it slip out of my mind’s grip. I was trying to focus on this, imagining this quest as a quick fairy tale rather than a grand epic or saga. As a wise woman once said, Ain’t nobody got TIME for that. My journey had almost come to its end, at least, at getting where I needed to be. The realm of Summer’s Last Breath was right in front of me. Once I got past the huge honking long ass bridge, that is. As you might guess, it didn’t resemble the golden gate or any other modern age styling. The immense size aside, it looked a lot like a Roman Stone Bridge you’ll see all over Europe or period movies. It looked like it would be a lovely, quiet walk. The fact it could have crossed the width of the Mississippi river TWICE was what caught my attention. Which meant, while the bridge was impressive, the river it was crossing was down right terrifying in size. It ran white and dangerous despite the girth of it, which you’d think would make it slow and steady. Nope! White water, sharp rocks below, and somehow it had sharks. Sharks. It makes no sense, but that’s fairy tales for you. The leaf had dropped me off before the bridge, and I was okay with that, as it beat deciding to putter out while over the river; The incredibly huge and dangerous river. Still, this so obviously screamed ‘Boss Battle ahead’ that I approached with my bow in my hands rather than on my back. And I started to cross over. Sure enough, a voice called out, “You won’t be allowed to pass. And yes, we know why you’re trying.” “I got two gurts due me,”I called out, “The Lord of the Land has sworn them to me whenever I visit. I’m visiting.” “You’re not on the other side, yet,” The voice chuckled. And then it sunk in. Technically, as long as I didn’t ‘visit’, I couldn’t collect on a debt due. “That cheap ass deal breaking son of an elf!” I snapped, “Seriously? He’s playing barrister with this? Why? I mean, he has to give up his Gurts to somebody eventually? Why NOT me?” The voice, and frankly I was getting annoyed I hadn’t yet seen the owner of the voice yet, answered, “New applicants for the Gurts have appeared. Ones who offer a certain item of power, and a couple of fire-jewels besides. As for your heroism of the past? I think the mortal phrase is ‘what have you done for me lately?’ “Dandy,” I said, “Look, why don’t you show yourself, and I can tell you how your liege is being used like a hand-puppet by one of my enemies. “ “Oh, but I’m here,” the voice said, “You CAN hit what you can’t see, but one must admit it’s a challenge, no?” I didn’t have to admit anything but as a rule? Yeah, a pain to put an arrow into targets I can’t see. Of course, there’s always the choice of an arrow with a wide spread effect that he might get caught into. I don’t lob grenades, but I have a few arrows that have a similarly sized blast radius… albeit with a magical twist. I drew, fired at where I heard the voice generally. This particular arrow could create a blindingly colorful display of lights with thunder lingering. Imagine if a Rainbow and a Flashbang had a baby and you got the general idea. When the ordinary wooden arrow clattered against the bridge’s stone laden path, the deep voice broke into laughter that was mocking, arrogant, and felt obligatory. The last was entirely possible. Bridge Guardian is an ancient profession that goes back to antiquity, and it has always required a touch of theatricality, at least in Faerie lands. So yeah, the guy might be under orders to ham it up. “And now you see the spell on this bridge, magic that counters the magic of your bow! You have no shrinking arrows, no sleep arrows, no blinding magical arrows! You have only … arrows, and against a foe who cannot be seen? Much good may that do you!” “Crap.” I muttered a bit louder than I intended. This was a problem. This was a big problem. Worse, it was a little embarrassing. Having a Deux Ex Machina in a quiver had been nice, more than nice actually. I’d used it to save more lives than I bothered to keep track of. I had used it to kick more ass than a Grand Canyon Donkey Caravan! Now? Now I was just a man with a bow and some arrows. But, then, wasn’t that how Archers got started? I spat to the side, “You’ve got a lot of lip, Inviso boy. But I’m pretty sure I know what you are. You’re a troll, aren’t you? Mess with me, and I’ll get gruff with you, troll boy.” I’m all for trash talking, but I wasn’t just shooting my mouth off for fun. My eyes were searching the stonework. Maybe I couldn’t see the voice’s owner, but maybe, if I was lucky, I’d see some dust moving, some signs of some stones pressed down from unseen mass? What I wouldn’t give for a bucket of glitter or even water to throw forward and down. Sadly, I didn’t see anything of the like I can use. I readied another arrow, waiting for him to talk again. Then I heard the hard and rapid stomp of hooves! Wait, a troll on horseback? Never heard of that before! Whatever was coming for me, I decided not to stand still for it. The habit born in me to grab a magic arrow to swing-line to safety or create a barrier or shrink the oncoming foe seized me only for half a second. It was a half second too much. Something sharp tore into my shoulder. If I hadn’t also been rolling to the side, it would have speared a lung instead. There was a spray of blood and I said words I’d never say in front of my young son or even Lady O. The gash could have been deeper, but I wouldn’t call it shallow either. The spray of blood did do me one good thing. It gave me a brief moment of outline of the target! Immense horns on a broad head, a broad chest on towering legs, like a ‘roid amped Pro-wrestler with the head of a … Oh! “You’re a Minotaur!” I managed as I continued moving to the side, “An Invisible Minotaur? Damn, I was going for troll.” At this point, you might be wondering what happened to the arrow I was a bit too slow on firing. Answer, I got it off. Problem? It didn’t do a damn bit of good. The arrow had bounced off the son of a bull. I wasn’t surprised, mind you. I lived in a world where the power of ‘bulletproof’ was so common they had police begging for rocket launchers to be standard issue. There was some sort of chain shirt involved. Chatting brought me a pause to the fight, and I swore the Minotaur's deep voice sounded embarrassed, “Well, yes, uhm, the job should be for a troll, but they’re all on the internet now.” I blinked, “The internet is bleeding into fairieland?” “And vice versa,” I couldn’t see the nod but there was dread in the voice. “God help us,” I winced. “or gods,” The minotaur agreed, “Anyway, I have a ring of invisibility, not THAT one, of course, and a chain shirt. So… I think I’ll do the job seeing as you’ve been hobbled.” I could kill him. My own blood had provided the aid I needed in locating the guy. Oh sure, he had thick hide and armor, and all I had was arrows. But he also had something else. Eyes. And odds were good that even a plain old fashioned arrow would sink into that. Possibly all the way up to the brain. I could make a pretty good guess where the eye was thanks to the bloody marker on that horn to gauge from. Some heroes, like Eel, will tell you that super-heroes, real superheroes, never kill. Ever. That they always find a way to take the big bad down while keeping them alive. That once we put ourselves in the roles of judge, jury AND executioner; we have failed society and ourselves. He wasn’t alone in that view. It was really common among his generation of superheroes. If fortune is kind, Eel and his idealistic friends would keep their innocence. I don’t trust fortune to be kind, so I try to nudge things to that end too. But the truth is, more than one good decent super hero or heroine had felt forced to cross that line to save others or even out of self defense. Super heroes have a lot less excuse for killing. We had more options than many, more control than most, so we had less excuse to play god. But we still have limits, and sometimes, those limits mean all you have is a hammer, so it’s treat someone like a nail, or watch the villain kill an innocent. That said, Bloodwatch is an asshat. There’s a difference between what some heroes are forced to do when there are no other options that save innocents, and the murder spree he actually seeks out. By now you’re wondering if I, myself, ever killed before. Keep wondering. The Minotaur charged again. With my wound, I’d have even less reaction time to judge, but at least that floating blood coating the horn would let me know he was coming this time beyond the sound of hoofbeats. Even at normal size, I still had years of acrobatic and martial training to fall back on. I feigned a panicked retreat to the side of the bridge, then tried to trip the oncoming brute into the river below. Yeah, it was fierce white water, but a thought had occurred to me and I had the feeling that the minotaur would be just fine. It worked, and it didn’t. I avoided the worst of the charge again, and the horn didn’t touch me. The hoofed leg of the monster though? It put considerable weight on my boot, and there was a horrible crack sound. I wasn’t sure just which bones in my foot had broken, but I knew it hurt like raging hell! I kept enough focus to use my bow to continue the trip and lift of my enemy, and his own momentum did the rest! The minotaur plunged towards the river, with its white rapids, sharp rocks, and sharks. There was a surprised bellow, a huge splash! And then, the river below shifted, going from nightmare to summer dream. The waters were wide, sure, but lazy and slow moving. The surface glittered as pretty as any postcard. The only real ripples were from where the horned guardian had hit. There were no shark fins. Illusion, the old fae stand by, had made the river look far worse than it was. I should have realized when I SAW that river before I heard it. If it had been a river of nothing but rapids? It would have roared! “Take your damned armor off, and you won’t drown!” I called down. But I didn’t need to bother, because the minotaur, or rather, the outline created by the river around the invisible foe, had bobbed to the surface of the water. Using the low ledge of the bridge as support, I limped my way along the bridge. The long, long, long ass bridge. I didn’t dare take my boot off to check the injury. It felt like it was the only thing holding my foot in one piece. If Minotaur guy made it out of the river and back to the bridge before I made it across, I was toast! I hobbled faster, cursing all the way. At this point, I was doing the math. I had faced at least three threats. That’s kind of traditional for your Euro-centric fairyland adventures. Still, I kept that pace up. By the time I got my busted foot and the accompanying exhausted body to the other side, I wanted nothing more than a hot bath and a hard drink. But screw it, I was getting that Gurt. (TBC)

I have finished one of my 'short stories' more or less (obviously a rough draft, so I'm not sure how readable it is). I'm currently weaving between two more, back and forth. This is where a plot would really come in handy. One I meant for a bit of overdramatic superhero action has turned into a bit more personal than I expected. The other is a challenge in a truly alien POV. All total, I have about 14,500

I'm bingwatching the Lower Decks series, and I love it!

I hate surprises. I hate things done 'for me' without consulting me. And I absolutely resent that despite the fact some folks should KNOW this, I'm going to end up looking like the bad guy.

Lady Obsidian - "Looks like a New York City problem, thank the lord." She then sends a message to the New York teams wishing them luck

Thanks. I was contemplating the possibility of a Canadian Superhero school and it is tempting to make one up for Northgate, but probably not fitting given the reasons you mention. That doesn't mean there's not a few superpowered teens that are below the radar.

Question for those more versed in Champions Universe Lore and Canadian lore alike... Does Canada have a superhero school of its own?

Puppy Love- A Pinprick Tale *** (Continued) Now armed with directions (Always possible the guy was lying), I made my way through what some would call the autumn lands. In Victorian versions of fairytales, the fairy folk are small, and their world is small things magnified. Giant roses, toadstools you could sit on, and so on. The Victorians are not to be trusted for Fairy 101. Lean more towards the Celtic myths, and the Grimm Brothers tales, then… throw in Gaiman, throw in Del Toro. Fae lords and ladies have no shame in stealing from human visions, often claiming they kidnapped and inspired said poets, playwrights, and dreamers. I met one puck who claimed he was friends with Dr. Seuss. Where was I going with this? Easy to get lost in your own thoughts here. Oh yea, I was normal sized. And that was taking some getting used to. Part of me wanted to whoop, but I felt oddly exposed. At six inches tall, I got mocked and not taken seriously but also I was harder to spot. A small target is a small target. At ‘average height’ I had just lost a defense I’d spent years relying on. Man, the others are right. I really do just like to complain. Oh well, to thy own self be true. Ahead of me, I saw the road I was on splitting. If directions mattered in this place, I’d say one was going South West, and another North West. And there right at the part, were two gates, open, ready for me to just pick and go through. There was a thick fog obscuring vision beyond the gates though. And there were two guards that looked familiar … “Oh not this again,” I groaned, marching up to the inevitable, “Every damned TIME.” Between the gates was a wooden sign on display, and scratched in the wood were the words ‘BY THE POWER OF THIS SIGN AND THE WORDS UPON IT: The Guards are Bound! Of the Gates they guard, one leads to certain death, the other gate leads to the safer path! Ask the guards what you will, but know one of them can only tell the truth, and the other ALWAYS lies. So Sayeth the Sign!’ “EVERY DAMNED TIME!” I snapped again. The guards winced, looking uncomfortable. They looked identical, of course. Sometimes one wore countercharged outfits, but they almost always looked identical. The Southwest one flushed. The Northwest guard was looking at his feet. “I know you guys got a job,”I told them, not wanting answer, “But for god’s sake, this one has finally aged out, don’t you think? The cat’s out of the bag. Ask one of you the right question, and you betray it all. I mean, don’t you get tired of this?” I asked. “Oh sweet Oberon’s ass do I ever,” One said. “Love my work, living the dream,” the other said despondently. “Right, right, not your fault. Just doing what the sign says,” I held up a hand “I’m blaming the wrong guys. I…” then an idea occurred to me and I smiled. “Sec, I think I got this.” I went up to the sign, and taking a single extremely sharp arrow, I scratched out certain words, then? Then I carved in a few new ones. The sign now read: ‘BY THE POWER OF THIS SIGN AND THE WORDS UPON IT: The Guards are Bound Free to quit after giving me honest directions! They’ll bar the gate that leads to certain death and leave less bossy sign to warn others. The now former guards can be asked anything , but know that they can answer people now however they damned well please. So Sayeth the Sign!’ “I can’t believe you did that” One of the guards gasped. “Me neither!” the other guard agreed. “I worked customer service at a phone center once,” I told them, “I know what it’s like to be forced to follow a truly asinine script that drove customers nuts while taking the flack for management. Now, not to be rude, but I did say ‘after’ honest directions?” “The safer path is Northwest,” The first guard told me with a cheesy grin. “Definitely Northwest,” The other guard said, and then the two fist bumped at being able to agree. “I can lie? I can’t tell you how much trouble not being able to was getting me into. You ever try dating and getting the ‘does this skirt make my butt look fat?’ question? It’s hell!” The first one said. “I can finally get a message across without sarcasm,” the other replied, “Got so used to doing it a lot of folks think I’m British! I can tell the truth! I hate this outfit. I hate dressing like a damned tin soldier. My boss kiss my ass!” He was going giddy with bluntness. “Well, I’d say you’re welcome but I probably just cost you both a job. Don’t forget to put up a warning sign on the Southwest gate so the new deal sticks okay?” I started to head Northwest “Safe path for me.” “Ahem..well uhm…” One said. “Err ah,” The other said. I stopped and gave them the side eye, “Tell me you guys didn’t just lie to me about which one is certain death?” “oh, the southwest is CERTAIN death” One assured me. “it’s just, the northwest one is … less certain death?” The other explained. I considered this, then nodded, “I can work with that. See you around boys.” When I left them behind, they were hugging each other and crying. So off I went off taking the path of less than certain death. *** Less than certain death came in many forms. Mostly in the forms of temptations. It was like going by a flea market with a lot of pushy sales men if the flea market were scattered along a road side. “A potion of strength, become the mightiest of men,” An old woman with a wart on her long nose called out from a small hut betwixt two withered trees. “No thanks, Witch lady,” I told her. “WITCH?” She huffed, “I were a man you’d call me an alchemist, you sexist son of a …” I moved on, having no time to see if she weighed as much as a duck and less interest. The next temptation came from a leprechaun looking figure in a clearing with a cauldron filled to the brim with coins, “Admit it, laddie buck. You crave me pot O gold, and it can be yours… for a favor.” “Sorry,” I told the guy with the accent sure to offend any Irish folks out there, “Divorcee. California alimony laws in play.” “Ah,” He took his hat off and nodded with the kind of pity reserved for the cursed but still walking, “On your way then, ye poor bastard.” I marched on. I passed by another cabin, this one smelling of perfume. A nymph, alien and beautiful, peeked out the second floor window, in an outfit that was so scanty that only magic was holding it together. “Greetings, yeoman, been a while has it not?” There was an offer in her shimmering eyes. I winced. She was right. I didn’t get a lot of offers, and I was still a man in my prime. “Sorry, babe. I don’t eat fae food if I can help it,” I told her. “Mayhaps something closer to home?” She offered, and her features blurred, looking like Lynda Carter circa 1979 in a certain trademarked costume, “I also do Erin Grey in a flight suit.” STEAADDDY Pinprick, STEAAAAADY… “Hurts to say it, but… pass. Damned good effort though.” “Pity,” She purred as she gave a triumphant smile, confident at what effort that refusal had cost me. Or maybe it was the skin tight costume and me having to adjust my walk. Damn damn damn. Finally, the path curved away from the land of dangerous temptations. I even found a brook full of cold and clear water. I took a drink, and splashed my face after checking for, and failing to find, any signs of a curse or trap involved. The terrain was shifting, starting to look familiar. I was approaching the land of Summer’s Last Breath. Like it said on the tin, the land resembled a glorious early September or very late August. The tree leaves were gloriously green, the sun delightfully golden, and there was even a breeze cooling me even as the sun warmed me. I fought the urge to curl up for a nap. The last thing I needed was to pull a Rip Van Wrinkle. Yet Faerie land enjoys knocking heroes down, almost as much as it does making nobodies into legends. I was growing sluggish, even more fatigued. There was a sweet smell in the air of flowers from fields that… Poppy Gambit! I cursed, tempted to head back to the cold water and bury my head again to clear my mind, and shock myself awake, but that was now roughly a mile back. I’d be asleep before I managed it! Adrenalin from panic was the only thing keeping me going now. I yanked my head around and looked ahead instead of behind. Ahead of me there was a group of trees, and one of them was a match for any redwood back home in height. How was I going to reach that? Then I remembered. I had a swingline arrow, and maybe, maybe if I was bigger, it’s reach was longer? I fired, and the first shot … missed! That same breeze that had helped me cool off earlier (Yet, I realized, had also given me a face full of poppy pollen) was a strong wind up there! Cursing I fired again, shooting and wrapping the line about my wrist in one smooth motion. It was a good thing I did. For a moment, my eyes insisted on closing, but then the self yeet hauled me up and over into the air. The stronger winds that had carried the poppy scent now broke it up, and I rose above the haze with pretty impressive alacrity if I do say so myself. Won’t lie, I was worried I’d broken my arm. When I landed on the branch of the huge tree, big enough to walk on. I took in three deep cleansing breaths, and then gave it a look. Bruised, but not broken. “Frickin Poppies,” I muttered again. I gave the tree a pat, “Thanks.” “You’re welcome,” the tree responded. Despite the fact I knew there were talking animals and the like here, I confess I was so surprised at the talking tree that I nearly fell off the limb. I caught my balance. A rumbling chuckle mixed with concern from the great tree I was on, “Are you all right?” “Yeah yeah, sorry, forgot about talking trees. Foolish of me,” I told him, “Also, do I need to leave? I’m an archer and… well,” I glanced at my bow and quiver full of arrows. They were magic, but they were also made of wood. “Are you kidding?” The great tree snorted, “If I got angry at everyone who used wood, I’d be at war with the world. Beats plastic anyway. THAT is the stuff that’ll kill us all, mark my words. Heck, I’ve seen lumber jack get killed by an arrow once. Talk about conflicted feelings there” The big guy chortled. I grinned at that, “I hear you. Here, take a look, the craftsman did your kinstree proud.” With my own pride, I showed the bow towards what looked like eye shaped whorls in the bark. “Ah, a credit to the fallen that. So you’re not just an archer,” It observed, “You’re an Archer.” I don’t know how you can make sure someone hears the capital letter, but the tree managed. “Yeah,”I nodded “the Toxophilite brand and all that.” I was not bothering to hide the pride in my own voice. The tree knew why, and said “In the world of man, they don’t understand the importance do they?” “Nah, but they don’t need to,” I told him with a shrug, “Me, and the other Archer superheroes still do our part to keep the …” I almost said ‘fire burning’ but it occurred to me I should read the room and remember this guy was a tree and likely not a fan of flame. I searched for new words. But the tree knew and recited part of the old lore, the true lore, the reason some Archers used a capital A, “Where nobles wield sword, and would be masters the lash, the common man grabs the bow! From a distance he strikes, takes fell lord down from arrogant heights, into the soil the working man sows. Let the wealthy cringe at the sound of simple string, let the bully fear a shot from the dark. Let the tyrant in tower know he is not safe, from the arrow that flies singing like a lark!” “You know about the purpose of the Archer, the fellowship and order,” I told him, “Impressive. Even here, not many do.” “That every band of heroes in every age needs the man or woman who strives for the impossible shot, wielding the tools possible to the downtrodden where steel and wealth are denied them, to challenge their supposed betters, and somehow, succeed? Oh yes. Even a god may fear a brave mortal with a bow, and arrow, and a righteous aim. You are tied more to magic than most, but even the Archers of your world who use technology for their arrows feel it. Do they not? That they carry forth a message to the world. And that message?” “Beware the common man with a just cause. There is no such thing as a ‘mere mortal’,” I nodded borrowing a bit of C.S. Lewis there. “Yeah, in their hearts, every Archer on every super hero team gets it.” “And that,” The tree agreed back, “is why superhero teams without Archers SUCK.” “THANK YOU!” I said. Honestly, it was nice to meet someone who got it. Then something else came to me, “hey, are you the tree that gave the wood for this bow? I..” “You have a Gurt to get,” the tree’s voice said, cutting off my question, “Shoo, Archer. Go.” And before I knew what happened, I found myself spiraling down off the great tree on a leaf the size of a hammock. It made me feel small again, small and with conflicting feelings of pride, and confusion. The leaf carried me for miles on an unnatural but friendly gust of wind. More importantly, it was carrying me towards the prize. I was this much closer to getting that Gurt. (TBC)

Hit 9000

(Please remember, this is NANOWRIMO so editing, and for that matter plotting, is not the priority. This may get a severe rewrite later ) Puppy Love- A Pinprick Tale *** (Continued) Ever have those moments when you’re watching a trivia game show, or trying to solve a crossword, and you know, you KNOW you have the answer somewhere in your noggin? You are consciously aware it is in there. You just can’t, try as you might, reach it. Of course you have. Now, remember those few times when somehow you pulled out that bit of lost lore and finally get it off the tip of your tongue into the world? Felt like a relief! Returning to Faerie was like having a dozen or more things you couldn’t quite remember surge back to you all at once. Every wish on a star you ever made remembered, every cloud judgment you decided on (Was it a pony or a dog… or a dragon?) recalled, and yes, every adventure you ever had IN faerie fully yours again. I was so swept up in that moment, in the flood of all that, that I almost didn’t dodge the lance. Only now did I ‘remember’ another thing about Faerie land; I was full sized again, at least relative to others. And that? That made me a much larger target! Of course, I did this fancy martial maneuver we superheroes like to call “getting the hell out of the way”, throwing myself to the side as the knight in frost hued armor tried to spear me. “Damned Winter Court ASSHAT!” I called out drawing my bow as I rolled to my feet. For those wondering how arrows don’t fall out of my quiver when I tumble around, make like a tree and suspend D’Leaf already; it’s magic. I released the arrow before the knight and his mount could come back around for another try. From this range, I sacrificed a bit of accuracy for speed. Not like I was going to miss. The knight raised his shield, to block the arrow. Good reflexes. It didn’t help him. Even in the so called Real World most of us live in, my arrows have more options than a swiss army knife. Here, back in the land the bow was crafted and enchanted in? It had more options than shades of color visible to the mortal eye. I wasn’t striking to kill. I wasn’t even striking to fell. Mostly I was going for mild embarrassment coupled with neutralizing the guy without hurting his horse. And that’s how the Winter Knight ended up floating in a giant soap bubble, drifting off his confused horse and separated from his lance. I know the horse was confused, because the horse said so “My knight, he hath entrapped thee in a most befuddling manner!” Yeah, some animals talk here. Talking animals were a thing long before Narnia was written about. Yet another reason to be careful what you eat in fairy land. Not only will some snacks bind you to never leave, there’s always a chance you’re devouring the remains of an intelligent animal whose biggest crime was being a fan of boy bands. “Thank thee, noble steed,” The knight said a bit dryly, “Were it not for thy keen insights, I’d not have noticed.” “Why’d you attack me?” I asked, cutting through the snark. “You failed to identify yourself on Winter lands!” The knight said loftily, and as he was floating, the pun was intended. “You didn’t frickin’ ask!” I reminded him, “I appeared, and you tried to skewer me! Why didn’t you ask first then if I didn’t identify, then you skewer?” “If people identify themselves, I might find they have right to travel these lands,” The knight explained, “And then I am not permitted to attack them. So instead, I attack, THEN ask.” “Lot more fun that way, eh?” The Horse agreed. Lewis Carroll was not far off in the thinking processes of people in places like this. Fairy denizens almost always follow the rules, but they’re often very creative in how they follow them. If I let this nutbar down again, he’d attack again. Unless, of course, I identified myself. “I am Yeoman Pinprick, loyal ally and liege-man of the Obsidian Lady, Guardian of the Coast Sacred. I am the thorn in the paw of the predator, I am the sharp tongued friend, he who is shrunken yet undiminished. I bear the myriad bow. I am far tooth, I am he who pulls the string and sends the forest’s gift to die for my cause.” All fancy stuff, and I was grateful no one on the team had come with me or I’d get no end of crap from some of them about the pretentiousness of it all. But it was necessary. I didn’t need to be constantly attacked while in these lands. It was going to be dangerous enough just getting the wedding gift. I didn’t need more work on top of it. “Oh dear, he identified himself,” The Horse, still not the sharpest talking animal around, commented on the obvious. “Did he?” the knight of winter huffed, “Faith, blew right by me,” he appraised me, “An archer? There are rumors of a brotherhood, a sacred fellowship, in this world, and many worlds beyond. Art thou…” I held up my hand “As the wise say, Snitches get stitches. Even if I knew of what you speak, I could not talk of it,” I sent a shiver of will through my bow, and the bubble popped dropping the knight onto the ground, as his horse had sense moved, “Now,” I asked “Who the hell are you?” He removed his helmet, showing a face that was far less elven than I expected. Seriously, half the folks you’ll meet in Faerie seem to have a least minor points on their ears. The face I was greeted with was almost like the classic neanderthal, a slightly sloped forehead over a mono-brow. The skin, as suited a knight of the winter court, was very pale. He had an unkempt beard black save for a light white flecking as if snowflakes had landed and left a mark that never melted. “I am Sir Frostmyre, in service to the Winter Court. Thrice bound to the White Phantom Princess, slayer of the Spring Magician Gwynor. I have seen the Rosewyrm, and I have lived.” He puffed up, perhaps feeling a bit insecure that I had a fancier intro than him. “I’m a horse!” the horse chimed in. “Charmed,” I lied a bit, “I seek a gurt. I’m due three. I have but one. Can you tell me where to find the realm of Summer’s Last Breath? Been awhile since I’ve been here.” “One could,” The knight said, trying to sound sly and failing “But what would one gain?” I shot him again with another bubble arrow and he started to float up. “I don’t know,” I said in my best cavalier manner, “You tell me.” “I like you not,” Sir Frostmyre told me as he tried to stay upright while slipping in the over sized bubble he couldn’t pop. “I get that a lot,” I told him, “Now, about directions?” The horse let loose an equine laugh. (TBC)

Thanks, guys. I appreciate the empathy. And back to the writing!

She was not my dog as much as others have been, but a good girl to say the least.

Today, we let our dog pass out of pain and out of this world. So I've not gotten any real writing done and not sure I will today.

RL is a brute *nod*

Puppy Love- A Pinprick Tale *** (Continued) When I first meet Eel, I confess, I yanked his chain a bit about my origin. I also lied. I told him I didn’t remember details. That was not exactly true. Not only did I remember much of it. I’ve been back to the lands of Faerie since then over the years. It is a land of otherness, of nonsense and truths neglected both. It is a world where concepts of Good and Evil are superseded by the ethics, such as they are, of the courts of seasons. One of those trips? It had been to get a Gurt. My son had been kidnapped the month before that, you see? To this day I don’t know if it was Glen or my exe who let it slip that Glen’s daddy was Pinprick the superhero. One would do it because he’s a kid, and it’s unreasonable to expect kids to always show judgment. The other would do it because… well, she’s never forgiven me for having an origin. For making her life “not normal”. I suppose that means she might keep my secrets just to avoid association. Or maybe, just maybe, she hoped the villain would go after me, and permanently remove the source of her shame. Instead, Glen was kidnapped. And that’s how I know how it feels to really know a father’s fear. It was a fear I hoped to keep Caleb from ever finding out. So… off to Faerie land I would go. Obviously, I did save Glen. And then I went to get his Gurt. A good Gurt is hard to find, but man, it can save you a lot of worry. Caleb likely would never thank me. Fairy magic often demands secrecy. There as many ways to get into Faerie as there sounds a thunderstorm makes in a mountain range. I am not a poet but you can’t really describe the place without starting to delve into poetry, or at least purple prose. There’s a reason there are dozens of legends of men getting lost in strange places for long periods of time, and coming back as as artists, poets, or musicians. They had stumbled into Faerie, and some part of Faerie stumbled into them. The problem with these paths and ways and means is that they’re not usually consistent or reliable. One day it might be a painting of a ship at sea you fell into. One moon later, you fall through a group of mushrooms in a circular pattern. Or maybe you walk where the shadows of Oak and Ash meet at the perfect twilight casting. Maybe you slip too deeply in a dream? Hell, at least four people got lost in a Purple Haze at Woodstock or so I’m told. Fortunately, I had a short cut that was both consistent and reliable. I just had to shoot myself with an arrow. It was going to hurt, of course. It always did. I could shoot myself in the foot, but that lacked style. Instead? Once I got to the privacy of my room, I angled my bow up, straight up, and loaded a very particular arrow and drew it back. This arrow wasn’t one of a kind, but you would have thought so if you had good enough eyesight to notice the intricate runes and marks on the toothpick sized thing. Wavy marks symbolized certain Celtic beliefs that water was a means of transport from one world to the next. The main symbols were those of Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter… reflecting the four courts. Only those with supervision, or shrunk themselves, were likely to notice the last mark: The Toxophilite brand. If you’re in the know, you know. If you’re not, it’s likely you’re not an archer and you have my pity. I fired the arrow up, straight up, and then moved my arms, one still carrying my bow, to the sides. I won’t say I never miss, but I rarely miss. And I was not a moving target. The arrow hit me squarely in the chest, the heart to be specific. Hurt like the devil, as it slide through my flesh as if it was shot direct instead of just ‘falling into me’. There was a blinding light, and then? Then I heard the sound of hunting horns. (TBC)

Up to 6000 today. Which is good. Back on track.

Hit the 3000 mark. I need to up my game a bit

Puppy Love- A Pinprick Tale If you asked me, and even if you didn’t, I’d tell you that there is no way Eel and Valerosa aren’t eventually breeding. She’s a good Catholic Girl. He? Is a hick. Oh sure, both are intelligent young people, but currently they’ve got advantages a lot of their generation don’t. Paid college, financial stipend, marketing deals for merchandise going into savings accounts. Though how Eel T shirts are outselling actual life sized Pinprick action figures, I do not understand. My point is, while it would put a snag in Ariana’s superheroing for a year or so, there’s no way they’re not eventually shooting for a family. I’m Pinprick by the way. As Archer of the New Samaritans it is my sacred duty to keep my team from not sucking. I’m also a father. It’s my job to keep my son safe. Try to keep up with my train of thought, I’m going somewhere with this. I connect the soon to be newlyweds and their future progeny with my own son because one day, those two will face some of the unique challenges as parents and superheroes that I’ve already faced. By challenge, I mean that cold, twisting knot in your belly, that almost irrational panic, like a rising scream only you can hear coming through your bones in blood that your child is in danger. I have fought Lovecraftian horrors, been in the middle of an Earthquake, and nearly died more than once. None of that holds a candle to feeling helpless to save your child. “What do you think?” Caleb, the groom to be, shattered my thoughts as he came out of the dressing room in what was probably the third suit he had tried on. We were at the base so for once I hadn’t had to hide to get someplace public. At my forever shrunken size, it wasn’t hard for me to do that but still, it was nice I didn’t have to. This particular suit was navy blue, a true blue tie with it. To me, it looked the same as the last two suits he wore with only minor variances. At my size, I tend to either wear my costume, or just mug a discarded Ken doll for when I wanted civvies. I’m a six inch tall divorcee? Who am I going to dress up fancy FOR? Thank god we had Tornado aka Valentino here. He actually cares about fashion, by hetero guy standards anyway. Tino has always been the lady killer of the group; the charming gadabout who had a dozen or more hot chicks on speed dial. Lately, he and Mabel aka Brazen had become a couple, and showing a mature relationship in the making. Good. About time Tino grew up. Hell, it seemed love was in the air for almost every other superhero I knew lately. Me? I considered becoming a cat owner, but the feline bastard would probably try to eat me. Death by Maine Coon is no way to go for a man. “I like it better than the lighter blue you had,” Valentino nodded approvingly, “Looks more dignified. Mmm, not sure about the cut though.” Viewpoint, who was in the public relations and marketing angle of superheroes, or had been, agreed, “With his build, another cut might present just a bit better. Color is fine though. Ariana said her bride dress would have a ‘little blue in it’ so it should all compliment.” “What do you think, Pinprick?” Caleb asked me. Nice to be included even if I don’t give much of a rats ass what he wears. Way I see it, he should have just pushed Ariana to pick something out a catalog, nodded, and put THAT one. But Ariana is no bridezilla and trusted him to find something nice. “I think if you use that 3D fabric printer to make too many suits that you’re never going to use more than once, Viv is gonna wonder why our electricity bill is so high,” I replied. That was an exaggeration, the base is pretty energy efficient. We have next generation solar panels, a small cold fusion reactor, yadda yadda. You know? Standard super hero base stuff. “Don’t listen to him, Caleb,” Tino huffed, “The man’s a savage. Go print out another one with this coloration, but the first suit’s cut.” “Will do,” Caleb replied after an intake of breath. The inhale wasn’t born of frustration, or impatience. It was just the jitters. Fish Guy was nervous. He doesn’t like letting anyone down, so the odd chance he’d disappoint the woman he loves? It’s getting him a bit twitchy. No way he’s going cold feet mind you. The team would murder him if he bailed on his bride. While Caleb darted back to the machine to print out yet another suit and deprive the hard working tailors of the city of their livelihood, Viewpoint glanced over to me looking uncomfortable. And just like that, I knew that there was a fifty fifty chance I was gonna get ‘a talk’. Superheroes, one and all, are born meddlers. Thank goodness most of us have superpowers, or we’d likely all be ‘that guy’ who wanders around dispensing unwanted advice and going ‘well actually’ I’m including myself in that. I dispensed more than a few well intentioned words of wisdom in my time. Mostly to rookies and non-archers, but I repeat myself. “Yeah?” I raised a small brow he might have missed noticing. “Look, I realize you’ve known Caleb longer, and its probably not my business but…” Here it comes. “… you could be a bit more supportive of the guy,” Viewpoint said, and launched further into explaining, “He’s clearly nervous. Would it kill you to do a ‘that looks great’ or ‘she’ll love that?” I made a show of stroking my chin to affirm I was deep in contemplation of his question, “It’s possible that it might. Could be my undiscovered kryptonite.” He threw up his hands and looked to Tornado “I have never understood this guy.” Tornado chuckled, “I know the feeling, amigo. But in truth, Pinprick maybe a jerk, but he’s our jerk and he does look out for us. In his way.” Valentino had known me a lot longer, and was a lot closer to figuring me out. Maybe he did have me figured out, but knew I’d resent him sharing what makes me tick too much with others? Not for the first time, I realized Valentino would indeed make a good leader, or at least co-leader for his team in Port Cascade. Underneath the Zorro wanna be panache, there was a good deductive mind, and a not half bad tactical thinker. More importantly, he had matured to the point of recognizing his own selfish desires and then sacrificing them for the team. I was going to miss the punk. He was right, of course. At least in this case. While the other two guys were assuring Caleb this or that outfit would be the best thing since spin racks and sliced bread, I was taking another angle. By acting like a jerk, I WAS looking after Eel. Or trying to , anywho. What kind of idiot fusses over a few extra dollars in utility bills when you were saving hundreds in what a tailored suit would cost? Eel knows I am not a moron so he will chalk it up to me just busting his chops for funsies. By giving him grief over the ‘small stuff’, I hoped I was taking his mind off his wedding concerns. If I kept it up too much, Eel would start to mutter and grumble about shoving me in a beer bottle (Which is hilarious as that’s pretty close to my Briar Patch thank you very much) and then move on. You know what he wouldn’t be doing? Stressing over the ridiculous notion that if he didn’t have just the right tie, he’d ruin the wedding and upset his bride. I’ll share a little secret with you only a few have figured out: Being a jerk is kind of my love language. It might explain why I’m a single divorcee, but that’s neither here nor there. “Speaking of my way,” I told them, “I need to get shopping for a wedding gift for the lucky couple.” I shot a line of gossamer line to the door way and zip lined to it, “You guys handle the suit situation.” “You don’t have a gift already?” Viewpoint arched a brow. “Cutting it close there, Pinprick,” Tornado agreed. “Yeah yeah,” I waved them off as I used my feet to turn the knob and open the door to the hallway “My gift is gonna knock their socks off.” They waved me off. I had lied, of course. My gift was probably going to be thought of as cute as best, cheap, lazy, and presumptive at worse. What it was, if two future parents were going to keep their sanity, was absolutely necessary. They were going to need a Gurt. (TBC)

https://variety.com/2023/film/features/marvel-jonathan-majors-problem-the-marvels-reshoots-kang-1235774940/

First Day, I'm 2000 words in as of this post. The Adventures of Fish Guy’s Friends: The Wedding Edition* begins with Pinprick's short story. Where he tries to find the perfect gift for the soon to be married couple. We'll see how it goes. * working title

Eel ? Sounds slimy and gross As for a non powered representation? Not a bad idea. And while technically Lady Obsidian might qualify I know she is not who you mean. Of course, a certain Punk Rocker who hopes to sell out is probably performing with the other Kennedy Can't Duck band members as the wedding singers. No promises I also considered a super powered individual who had no team affiliation but rather made a career of hiring him/herself out to super teams to play substitute during special events. Got a Wedding day you need someone else to patrol during? Can do. New Years party and you want to get tipsy without guilt? Got it covered! Have a relative undergoing a bar mitzva? Will fight crime while you watch on in pride!