Hermit

Next time create your own language and write in that.  Hey, it worked for JRRT.

Hermit have hit 25,000! The half way mark! PUNY NANOWRIMO! YOU SEEK TO CHALLENGE HERMIT?
Rarh! Hermit care nothing for Plot! Hermit no need grammar! Hermit no kare spellin!
No, Hermit make WORD THINGS! HE MAKE WORD THINGS GO!
 
*storms off to desert mesa amid the wreckage and debris of the English language*
 
 

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 got another booster. Along with a flu shot to boot. Sore shoulders but worth it

Thank you Hermit!

I thought it was very good.  It had action, humor, good character development / background expose, and captured the characters involved quite well, IMO.  Thank you, and I'm looking forward to the next installment.  Who's up to bat next?

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
*** (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)

"You wanna know the worst thing about living almost forever? It's boredom. And on that ship of yours, there seems to be a shortage of that. I like it. I might even try to stick around, huh?" 

Just got in from seeing The Marvels. It's a solid entry, not their greatest work, but nothing to be ashamed of.
 
The action is good although Carol's power level isn't as consistent as I'd like.
 
Kamala and Monica are excellent, Carol and Fury are good, Kamala's family feels very real and the villain actually has a valid motivation if somewhat extreme methods.
 
I'll score it a 7.5 out of 10.

Frank Borman, commander of Apollo 8, dead at age 95
 
That was the mission on which the epochal Earthrise picture was taken: "Every human but one was in front of the camera."

Man receives 1st full eye transplant — 'one step closer' to restoring sight in future patients

Of all the published Champions villains, it would have to be Fleshtone (Champions Villains Volume Three: Solo Villains). His powers involve "biokinetically" reshaping living flesh in practically any manner he desires, with attacks expressed through Drain, Transform, and Blast or RKA NND Does Body, with SFX that are grotesque and hideous. He's powerful, murderous, sadistic, very difficult for most heroes to defend against, and his attacks can leave someone disfigured and/or crippled permanently. He can also use his power to make himself look like anyone, so he can easily lose himself in a crowd, or sneak up on someone in disguise.
 
I've never had the nerve or the cruelty to actually run him in a game.

Next time someone tells you Joe Biden isn't mentally sharp, show them this.
 
 

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

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)

Best of luck with everything, @Cancer.  If I come up with any better words I'll send them.  Sometimes we wrap up some life issues only to take on more, and I wish you (and your wife!) well.
 
My wife and I are fortunate enough to still have our parents, and our own health is decent.  As my mother in law is fond of saying, though, "You're day's coming!"  For now I'll just enjoy each time with our parents as it comes.
 
Somewhat more on topic, the projects currently in my hopper are:
Star Wars fan fiction.  This was originally inspired by characters I played in the old--err, classic--West End d6 roleplaying game.  The characters and story have evolved tremendously since these stories began in high school.  I have a fairly clear idea of the beginning and ending of the series, plus quite a bit in the middle.  It takes place during the classic setting of the roleplaying game, i.e. between Star Wars (yes, I still call it that) and The Empire Strikes Back.  This is the era I know best, and focusing here helps me avoid the headaches of choosing a head canon from the Expanded Universe (EU), EU 2.0 (post-sequel trilogy), and so on.  It follows the story of a small band of Rebels doing their part in the struggle against the Empire.  I might have some of the movie characters make small appearances--for example, Admiral Ackbar plays a peripheral role in a couple of stories--but that's about it.  The core of the story is the crew of a little freighter. Jurassic Park fan fiction.  Several fan fiction bits have started and fizzled.  Most were blatant self-insertions.  One was the story of a team of mercs sent to recover the shaving cream can dropped by Dennis Nedry.  Another explored what might have happened if things didn't go south until after the park opened.  As that became the plot of the Jurassic World movies, I will probably never revisit it.  What I've got in mind now is a retrospective told by Tim Murphy.  It begins at Alan Grant's funeral, where Tim decides to finally write down the events of that terrible weekend at Isla Nublar.  The idea grew during a recent family trip to Hawaii, plus 2023 being the 30th anniversary of the movie.  Maybe this one will die as the others did, but first I want to run with it a while. Scouting memoirs.  I've been involved in the same Scout troop since age 11.  I've got lots of stories to tell, and I'd like to write them down before they fade beyond recall.  I have no idea how I'd organize all this, so I'm just going to write and see where it leads. Recon compilation.  In college, we played a "Recon" campaign with US Special Forces soldiers using the Hero System 4E rules.  We had such a blast that our main GM continued writing these characters for over 40 stories.  I want to compile these into one whole, make one last round of edits, and then compile it into a final whole.  Most likely it would be just an e-book, but if I can find a suitable printing service, a physical copy would be fun too. All of these projects took on more life when I discovered Scrivener software and started playing around with it.  The way my brain works, Scrivener makes it a lot easier to keep disparate works organized into some kind of cohesive whole.  Much better than managing dozens of Word files.  It also allows great flexibility in organizing and compiling everything.
 
Who knows how far any of this will go, but I look forward to the journey.

Know that feeling. The thing I'm bashing on for this project is Book 3 of a tetrology I first started writing back around 1990.  Book 1 was completed but now only exists in a single printed version (disk failures, sigh).  A number of handwritten fragments exist for Book 2, a few more of Book 4.  Then my kids were born.  Then I got full-time teaching duties, and added some administrative ones, and so nothing more got done for 20+ years.  Kids are now out of school and I am retired.  (Wife has a serious illness now, so there's still significant distractions.) So away we go....
 
Got a doctor's appointment in an hour, though.

Since we often post the negative stuff in this thread, here's something positive for a change:
 
President Biden Announces Historic Railroad Modernization
 
Speaking as someone who relies on the trains, I heartily approve!

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.

See? I knew you were going to have some fun with Pinprick and all that nutsy-cuckoo archer stuff!
 

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)

NYT is forecasting that Ohio Issue 1, which guarantees a woman's right to an abortion at least until the fetus is viable outside the womb, will pass.  As of this moment with 56% of the votes in, it's 56-44.