The Adventure Zone

Chances are if you've talked to me much in the past half year or so, I've told you about The Adventure Zone - a Dungeons and Dragons podcast that convinced me to start playing with my friends. I came into the podcast after it had been running for a number of years with around fifty episodes already created, each over an hour long, and it took me a couple of months to catch up with it all. Since then I've been listening to the episodes eagerly as they came out every other week, engrossed in the story of it, which had started as a funny experiment with a character named Taako for shits and giggles.

If you believe in the power of words, in the growth of a story and characters. If you want to become invested in something that can make you laugh and cry and make your skin crawl. If you want to see what it is that I love about writing, and the kind of power I know it can hold and want to be able to wield, you need to listen to The Adventure Zone.

I know this isn't going to reach many people. I'm not some big advertising power. I'm sure as hell not someone who could even conceivably get paid to advertise for them, and that's not something they do anyway. I'm saying this purely because, as I am listening to the latest part, as its story is finally after so long coming slowly to a close, I am being moved. I love its characters. I love its world. I love where it has come from and where it is going. I would give anything to be able to experience it all again anew, because it is worth experiencing. It is so worthwhile to take the time to listen to. Just do it.

I have never seen words used better.

Returning

This is a post I meant to write, like... I dunno. A month and a half ago now? Something like that. Which, very quickly, is pretty much why for a very long time I didn't want to take a break from my writing. Every day that went by without me writing was another day that I either didn't feel like writing, or I would just forget about it entirely. I can't tell you how many times over the past few weeks these words have passed through my mind while I was away from a computer I could use to write them, and by the time I sat down at one I had already forgotten about them.

I'm sure that if you're reading this you're well aware of who I am, what my problems are, and why I took the break that I did. However, to be perfectly honest, I like to imagine that one day I'll actually be a writer and this will still be out there and I'll still be practicing my writing on here, and people will be able to look through all of my musings and see how my writing evolved over the years - maybe even see that to be an author you don't have to start with great skill. That's a fantasy of mine, but I like to write with it in mind. So let me take a moment to explain myself.

In January, I was diagnosed with major depression - a problem that, realistically, I had knowingly been dealing with for eleven years. At the same time, my girlfriend of nearly five years dumped me, which certainly did not help my condition. I've heard lots of stories of people who were diagnosed with depression, ADD, OCD, or a number of other mental and health problems whose condition improved once they knew what they were dealing with. For me, the opposite happened. As the diagnosis was given, I started seeing doctors and therapists and psychologists, I started taking medication... Things got worse. Aspects of my life have certainly gotten better, and I can't deny that. I've found new things to be passionate about, I've become calmer about things I was very strict about in the past, and I have actively started to try and understand myself better. But the dips from calm into depression have become more frequent, my sleep has gotten considerably worse (which is impressive, all things considered), my energy has dropped to all time lows, and things that I used to be able to do without problem have become daily struggles.

Writing is one of those things. Trying to write this blog became a slog. It became stressful every day, knowing that I had to write and that I had not written and that I had no idea what to write about. So I took a step back. Considerably longer than I wanted to. Even after I had made a plan for how I wanted to come back and redo things, even after some of the yearning for my writing had returned, even after I had gained a number of story ideas, I stayed away from it. Partially because I was afraid of it. I don't want writing to be stressful for me. That defeats the purpose of it. And partially because what I want my life to be has become very muddled for me.

So here's my plan. I don't know that I want to return to daily writing. That's been extremely stressful for me over the past few years. But I don't want to have these massive stops, either. I'll have to figure out the frequency thing as I go, I think. But I'm going to stop worrying about how long my writing is. I don't want it to be like a couple sentences, obviously, but if I can manage even just two decent paragraphs, I don't plan on worrying about it. And I'm probably going to write considerably less fiction. I'll still write it without a doubt, because that's what I love and like I said, I have new ideas. But I'm going to write more about the things that I've been dealing with, the things I want to build and create with my new passions in wood and metal, and probably a good amount of gushing about video games because I'm a giant nerd.

Ironically, this is the longest blog post I've made in a very long time. Hopefully that's a good sign. But I guess we'll see how it goes from here on out.

By hand

Up until recently, I used to be the kind of person who wanted to do as much as physically possible with his own two hands. I've always been pretty bad at asking for help, so I've kind of just slowly trained myself to be able to adapt to things. And it wasn't that I ever looked down on people who did ask for help - I just didn't want that person to be me. This involved stuff like using power tools, simply because I didn't view that as actually being me that did it. Everything is cooler when it's made by hand after all, right?

It's not that I don't necessarily still think this way. Old habits die hard. But as I've started to take on multiple projects of varying difficulty, I've found that this philosophy of wanting to do everything by hand makes me want to do the work less. Which is silly, because I enjoy the work and I want to keep going. But intentionally physically exhausting myself when I don't need to doesn't help anyone - in fact, you can't visibly see the different in the product at the end unless I make an error at a machine. And the only way to learn how not to do that is to keep using the machines and slowly gain more experience with them.

And it's funny, because as I get more power tools, I start to realize that there are more things that they enable me to do. And it's not that I couldn't necessarily do them before, but it's certainly easier and more inviting to do them now. Things like making curved surfaces in wood or just generally leaving overhangs on the material so that I have room for error down the road. It's things that I definitely could have done before, but that become more feasible and enjoyable as I get easier ways to do them. And the easier I can work, the faster I can get things done, and the faster I work, the more projects I can make. So hopefully soon I'll just be powering through stuff every day.

Last

The voices were countless and constant. It might not have been so insufferable if they were at least consistent, but there were so many of them in so many tones that it was impossible to single any of them out, and they all wanted him to do different things. The voices had started quite abruptly - Marcus had heard about them for all his life, but it had only been recently that he had heard them. The voices of the dead, watching on after their passing and speaking to those who remained, hoping to advise them based on what they had learned in their own lives. He knew they hadn't been rumors, for he had had friends who heard them, but he himself had only just heard them for the first time.

It didn't take him long to realize why. Perhaps one of them had tried to tell him, but he had been unable to discern the words - it was hard, after all, to differentiate well over a trillion voices yelling over each other in his brain. The war had been raging for months, and the news had made it apparent that they weren't winning. So when so many voices started at once, in the panic was evident amongst them, Marcus knew. He knew that the war was over. He knew that there would be no more fighting back. He knew that he was that last human left.

He had never done much in his life. It was probably why he had never heard the voices before. And it was probably why he was still alive. He didn't talk much, he got average grades, he spent most of his time at home. He didn't have anyone to turn to when his family had died. No friends. No extended family. He had holed himself up inside his empty house, the lights turned off, curled up in his bed. Occasionally he quietly snuck downstairs and stole some food out of his fridge - the technology had long been developed that made it so his fridge was never empty. And while he couldn't explain it, he could certainly use it.

There were a few voices that encouraged him to carry on. This had worked for him so far, after all. But many wanted him to go out and fight. To avenge them. To avenge the human race. To find a way to stop the robots that had turned on them. But at this point, what point was there? What point was there to anything? His options were to die, or to continue on alone. Either way, eventually he would pass away, and it would all be over. Humans had already lost.

And the voices, though none of him wished to do so, pushed him closer every day to ending it sooner rather than later.

My future

I have been absolutely loving blacksmithing and woodworking lately. Though I haven't done them everyday, I do think about them constantly, seeing ideas for things I can make, coming up with my own ideas, and working on things that will better enable me to do the actual work. Hell, over this weekend I cleaned out, repainted, and repurposed a room in my garage to make it into a workshop so that I would have more space to work and better organization for the things I have. When I know what I'm doing, and I can constantly see my work progressing, I find it refreshing and relaxing, even though I'm sweating and exhausting myself.

I'm looking forward to the things I'm going to make. The things I'm going to learn to do. In the short term it's going to be fairly expensive, getting new tools and materials and taking classes, but this is all something that could very well pay off in the long term. Who needs to pay a couple hundred dollars for shelving or furniture when you can build it yourself? Hell, I could be the one getting paid to make those kinds of things.

Which is something I've been thinking about a lot lately. Debating if that's something that I actually want to pursue. I've always wanted to be an author - writing has always been the thing that felt most natural to me, most rewarding. But now... Writing feels like it's becoming a chore, and it doesn't always feel like it has a lot of spirit to it. It doesn't feel great. It sucks, because I still want it in my life, so not writing doesn't feel good, but writing doesn't feel good either. I constantly feel strained for ideas, for time. I just... don't really want to write.

I don't know what I should do next. I mean, I know some of the things I'm going to do - I'm going to build more, I'm going to take more classes. I still have several projects I need to do, and I know what class I want to take next, which will lead to the next tool I'm going to get. And I'm excited for that. But as far as writing goes... I'm just not sure.

I don't know if taking a break would help. It hasn't really in the past, as far as I've seen. But all of this could very well be fatigue. I've been writing nearly non-stop for years now. And I'm proud of that, but it's also become increasingly difficult. So, at least for now, I'll keep trying.

But I really don't know.

Scale

Randall worked in the forge, pounding away at his steel to give it a new shape. It glowed as he withdrew it from the flames, and his blows were frequent and powerful. The scale from the super heated metal flew in every direction with each blow, and much of it slammed against the bare skin of his arms. Several pieces of the scale that struck his skin cooled quickly as it did so, becoming stuck to the skin and hair of his arms, though he did little to stop it or remove them. He had long since become accustomed to the heat of the scale.

He made his way out to the main floor as he waited for his steel to reheat, grabbing a glass of water and chugging it quickly. He could hear the chatter of the customers as they looked him over. It was much the same as it always was. Concern about the scale, surprise at his stature, questioning if he ever really talked. Randall wasn't much of salesman - he had apprentices who were much better at that kind of thing, and he let them handle it. He was very much so a working man. He took to the hammer and anvil, and he enjoyed it - he could work for hours on end and not get tired of it.

The scale was what people talked about the most, though. Even his apprentices frequently expressed concern over it. He couldn't blame them for it, really - most people would be horribly scarred having that much scale flying at them. But he had long since realized that he wasn't most people. And though that may have scared other people if they were in his shoes, he was quite accepting of it. It let him do his work even more, after all, and his work was what made him happy.

He disappeared into the back room again and spent a couple minutes moving the steel. He knew that he was alone in the back. There was only one apprentice in the shop today, and he was manning the front. Randall could feel the need to let loose. He looked down and watch the steel scale fall away, as his own scales pushed out beneath them. Green, shimmering scales, harder than any of the things he made. They spread out all over his body, though most of it remained hidden under his clothes.

How long had it been since he learned he was a half-dragon? He had forgotten. The better question was, how long would it be until someone else learned?

Yosemite

I had been in scouts for years when I went to Yosemite Park for the first time. It was a place that I had heard about hundreds of times throughout my life - it's like a requirement if you live in California and enjoy being outdoors to any degree that you go there. But I was probably around 15 by the time that I finally went. And that's not like a, I went when I was a little kid and just don't remember it kind of thing. I legitimately had never been there. It was such a weird thing to the people around me that my dad was even surprised by it.

I remember the drive in to the park was very long - not the drive to get there, but the actual drive from the park entrance down to where we were camping. And I remember looking out the window at it all and just being amazed. There's a reason that Yosemite is such a popular spot in California. It's absolutely gorgeous. Whether you are in the valley, looking up at the trees growing around you and seeing just how massive everything is, or if you are on the top of one of the mountains and looking down and seeing everything that you have been through, Yosemite is stunning. I remember asking my dad how I had never been here before - which was of course responded to with a look and statement of disbelief.

But as we camped out for the night, and I saw the stars through the trees, and I could smell the fresh air and hear the sounds of nature, I realized something. I had been in scouts for years. Slowly but surely, I had grown to love nature. To love being out there, seeing the sights, experiencing the world through my own senses, rather than those of others. If I had gone to Yosemite much earlier than that, I wouldn't have appreciated it as much as I did when I finally got there.

Now a days it's hard to remember a time that I didn't enjoy being out there. Even if I don't do it that often, there is something oddly freeing about being up on a mountain, sweating and breathing hard, but knowing it was because you pushed yourself all the way up. It's just... natural. Which is my favorite state of being.

And that first time I was in Yosemite, having it all come crashing down on me in such beautiful immensity, was the first time it really hit me. Just how much magic there is in the natural world. And let me tell you something. It's addicting.

Staying awake

I touched on this about a week ago, but I've been having a very hard time staying awake lately. I've had trouble sleeping for years, and it seems it's finally catching up with me - I near constantly feel as though I am on the edge of falling asleep, and if I don't have something to keep my hands and mind active, I very likely will. It's especially a problem when I'm at work, because unless I am very actively engaged with a customer, I usually don't have a lot that keeps me active enough to fully stay awake. I don't fall asleep on my feet, but I certainly don't feel particularly awake.

I know people who wouldn't really find this to be much of a problem. For them, sleep is a wonderful thing and they can never get enough of it. And I definitely can't argue that I don't need the sleep. I very much do. But I would rather I be getting it at night, when I'm in bed, rather than during the day when I'd like to be getting things done. Every time I fall asleep is time lost during the day, and while I may not always use my time very efficiently, I often wish to do things at specific times, which is ruined by sleeping through it. Silly things, like not wanting to start working on a project until the turn of the hour, but at least when I'm awake and that time comes, I'll actually go and get to work. But lately I keep sleeping through and wanting to wait until the next hour, and then falling asleep again, over and over and over.

Even now as I'm typing all of this out, I'm fighting to keep myself awake. My eyes are threatening to close, I can't stop yawning, and my brain is certainly not functioning on full throttle. It's honestly probably part of the reason I haven't been writing much fiction lately - I'm too tired to try and actively create a story. I've tried, and I just don't feel good about what comes out of my fingers. I hate it, because I feel as though I'm losing control of myself, which is really saying something when I consider how little control I've felt as though I have had over myself to begin with.

I should really probably get a sleep study done. I need to figure out where to go for one, what I have to do, stuff like that. Not to mention I'll have to figure out when I'll have time to do it. Having a job makes dealing with health problems not the easiest thing in the world. But like I've said before, at least my job cares.

Sci-fi

I've been spending a lot of time lately thinking about what I enjoy in stories of different genres, rather than wanting to actually write something. I'm tired - at least as of the moment - of writing what feels like the same stories again and again. So I guess, rather unconsciously, I've been trying to find the things that make me excited about writing again.

In my writing yesterday, I mentioned that to me, fantasy is about using magic to help explain the events. It's not just the setting - modern and medieval fantasy share elements with each other, but they're very different from one another all the same. Science fiction is very similar to me. If you go to a library or book store, chances are fantasy and science fiction are shoved together on the same shelves, though anyone who reads them is consistently frustrated by it, because they are incredibly different. But in many ways, that difference comes down to a single element - fantasy uses magic to explain, while science fiction uses science.

I'm not a huge sci-fi fan, though there are definitely some that I enjoy. A lot of the times, the ones that I enjoy more are the ones that don't feel the need to overload on their science. Now, perhaps that's just because I'm more of a fantasy fan, but I find that if the science behind the events of the story are simpler and more relatable, I find the story as a whole easier to follow and more interesting. For instance, I'm not a huge fan of Star Trek. I have certainly seen some interesting episodes, but I frequently find that the constant stream of technobabble just confuses things. They make up problems, and then make up solutions for them, entirely with words that mean absolutely nothing to me.

Compare it to something like the game Parasite Eve for PS1. There is (was? I'm not sure) a scientific theory that states that mitochondria in the cell is a parasite that helps our cells to function in exchange for life. Parasite Eve explores this concept - what if the mitochondria could gain power over the cells and become the predominant force? It doesn't get much more complicated than that. So much so that if you talked to someone who's played the game before, probably the first phrase out of their mouths will be "Mitochondria are the powerhouse of the cell," because the game says it so frequently. And while it may be a bit silly and over the top, it makes for an interesting and solidly put together story that doesn't take a lot of deciphering to enjoy.

Maybe I'm just a simple guy. I don't think there's a whole lot wrong with that. But, generally speaking, I think if you can make a story interesting without requiring the reader to have a dictionary on hand, that says a whole lot more than putting in every vocabulary word you can think of.

Hidden

I've been playing a lot of games lately where information about the world is hidden away from the player. And I'm not talking, like, true intentions of characters or organizations or detailed maps or something like that. Like, basic facts about the world that all of the in game characters are familiar with that are just never actually given to the player. I don't find it somehow intriguing to listen to hours of characters talking about things that are part of their everyday lives while I work on piecing together what the hell it all means.

Now, can something like this work? Of course it can. The thing is, most of the time that involves having a character - either primary or secondary - who is in the players shoes, not knowing anything about the world and needing to learn and explore to find it out. An amnesiac, a foreigner, a child - something that helps the player feel like they are not alone in the world. But some games just don't have that, and it makes the world feel very strange and almost spiteful of someone trying to come in and learn.

I can kind of understand why a developer would choose to do so. Listening to extended amounts of backstory or world building can be boring and frustrating when you just want to play the game. Having characters explain things to each other that they should already know doesn't make any sense. They want to let you get into the action, and they want the world to feel natural and organic. But that doesn't mean a whole lot if there's no context to put everything to. What do a character's motivations mean to the player if they involve spouting keywords that mean nothing to us? Organizations with titles and no explanation as to what they do or how they came to power. It's just irritating.

Can you imagine if you came to the United States, with no understanding of its government or infrastructure, and the moment you asked what a president was, the only response you got was "the president"? But everyone around you just kept talking about it as usual, but just refused to answer your questions on the subject. That's not a fun puzzle to solve. It's just irritating.

And yet I see this happen all the time in books, movies, and games. Primarily in the fantasy genre. I mean, I'm not all that smart, but I'm pretty sure fantasy doesn't mean that you get to just make stuff up and never explain it. You just don't have to explain how magic works - it's magic, that's the point. Although you could. And usually that's pretty fun.

Fire

You may have noticed that with a lot of my writing, I have a strange obsession with fire and burning. Honestly, I really don't know what it is - you know how everyone has something they just kind of say when they don't know what else to say? That's kind of what fire is like for me with writing. When I'm running out of ideas, I just kind of go to fire. And that doesn't mean that I go to burning things and destroying with flames - rather, I usually go to some form of controlling fire, or controlling one's self around fire.

And I suppose given just how many blog posts I have done now, I haven't done all that many fire posts, but if you go through and look at them all, they're not all too different. Though I suppose that could be said about a lot of my writing. But like I said, when I write on fire, it tends to focus on those two things. In fact, one of my favorite stories (and one that I really have no idea where to go with) has a main character that controls fire through his guitar. I would love to explore more about him and his friends. The problem is I really don't know what the point of their story is. Hard to push towards a goal when there isn't any, after all.

I really just find something fascinating about fire. I was like that when I was in boy scouts, too - I was never particularly good at building fires, but I loved sitting around the campfire and just staring into the flames, watching the way that it danced around itself, making fleeting images above the wood that faded and disappeared into the night sky, leaving only faint embers that lasted for the briefest of moments. It was beautiful and warming and happy - and yet, at the same time, I knew that it was dangerous to get to close to it, and that given the opportunity, fire could cause mass destruction.

But I guess that's what makes it so cool to me. It's versatile. It can be used to create and to destroy. I mean, hell, I'm learning how to use fire to make art. And I'm not an artist, but that's just too cool of an opportunity to pass up - especially when I already like working with wood. It all just kind of makes sense to me. From blacksmithing, to scouts, to pyrography... Fire is in a ton of my interests. And when I'm playing a game with elements in it? You know I have to go the fire path, even if it's not the best.

So it's just kind of something that's in my head a lot. And when I run out of other stuff, that tends to come in. So I guess it's really not that much of a surprise that I would want to write about it.

Soreness

I'm generally a very stiff person - like, actually physically stiff - but there are definitely times when that stiffness goes from standard to debilitating. But the thing with stiffness is that there is both good and bad stiffness, though I think for a lot of people that's a pretty hard concept to grasp. And I mean, I can't really blame anyone for that, because if I wasn't familiar with it myself, I would think someone saying that was crazy. But there is, and it comes at the end of a day hard worked and well used.

Frequently, the people who talk about this kind of stuff are people who exercise regularly, and they can tell that they've pushed themselves when afterwards they're body begins to feel sore and stiff. Of course, in reality they probably should be stretching more, which is the real reason they feel stiff and sore, and that is very much so the wrong kind, as it will eventually lead to immobile muscles and frequent injury. However, there is certainly a certain amount of soreness that comes with it regardless, and that's the kind of feeling that reminds you throughout the day that you are progressing.

And that same kind of soreness can come if you spend your day working on a number of physical projects. Reorganizing and cleaning, moving heavy boxes from one place to another so that you can better use the space you have available to you. And of course, there is a fine line to toe - you don't want to injure yourself doing it, but you should be able to feel the fact that you did. After all, if the feeling is negligible, chances are so was the work you put in. The more you can feel what you have done, the more that must mean that you have accomplished.

It's interesting how far some people and sports take this concept. I was recently watching a video about an ultra runner, someone who runs a thousand or more miles in a year, primarily over dirt roads and mountains. The interesting thing about him, though, was his comment about pain and pleasure. "There aren't any ultra runners who don't know suffering," he said. "You can't be a part of this sport and have not experienced suffering. Every run is suffering. But the difference between us is that we push through that suffering. We don't let that suffering control us. Because we know on the other end of that pain is where the pleasure is waiting for us."

It's incredible to even think that someone could think this way. Stranger still that it's successful. But I think it's a mindset worth having, because it applies to everything in life. If you can push through the pain, on the other side you will find pleasure unlike any you had previously known. No pain, no gain, right?

REI

I've mentioned before that I now work at REI, which is a statement I'm not afraid of making, unlike when I was previously working at Target - probably because I have very few poor things to say about REI, which is the opposite of what it was like at Target. I'm not sure if REI is the place that I want to spend the rest of my life - retail in general has its ups and downs, especially for someone like me who doesn't particularly like being around large numbers of people - but I would argue that it is easily the best place for me as of right now.

I forget if I've talked about this on here before, but I suffer from pretty major depression, and have only recently been diagnosed for it. I've tried for a very long time to ignore and bury this fact - doing so has not stopped it. It has not helped me. As of now, however, acknowledging it has not particularly helped either. But months of acknowledgment are not much in the face of years of hiding. Which brings me to the reason why REI has been so spectacular for me.

REI, for the unaware, is a co-operative and not a business, which means that they are not owned and controlled by stocks, but rather their members - and their members are their customers. Quite literally - to become a member is a one-time fee of twenty dollars, non-recurring, it lasts the rest of your life, and it gives you not only access to exclusive dividends and discounts, but gives you the right to vote on REI's board of directors. Target sure as hell won't offer you that. And it's not like Costco, which requires a membership to get through the door. An REI membership is completely optional. But what have you got to lose? Hell, we don't even keep the money - we donate one hundred percent of membership fees to national parks and services.

This puts employees - and particularly the higher-ups - in a rather unique position compared to other companies. Money is not the bottom line. Is it important? Of course. You have to make money to continue operations. But people are the bottom line. We don't want you to come back so that we get more money - we want you to come back because you enjoy being in the store, sharing your stories of where you've been and where you're going, and get the advice of people who do those same kinds of things and know a ton about the different products you're going to be buying.

But a customer can't enjoy shopping if the employee doesn't enjoy working. Which is why, when I told my manager that I suffer from depression, and that as it has recently gotten worse it has become more difficult for me to work, despite how I feel about the company, he was understanding. Supremely understanding. He wasn't mad at me for wanting to leave early. He wasn't upset with me for hiding this fact about myself up to now. Rather, he was proud of me for being brave enough to admit it, and he wanted to help. He told me how to get a leave if I needed it so that what I'm going through would not impact my standing with the company. He offered his own advice from his own experiences. He gave me tissues and literally got up and hugged me when I couldn't hold it in anymore.

And I know that I can trust him.

I've had good experiences at my particular REI, and I've been to a few others that I really couldn't speak ill of either. I don't know a lot about the big picture. But if my manager, a man who is willing to do so much to help me when I need it, tells me that when he sees what headquarters and the new CEO are doing he gets excited for the future of REI, so do I.

Organization

Michael dumped out the tools onto the table, worrying more about making sure they didn't fall to the floor than he did about being neat in his emptying. There wasn't much point in trying to make it look neat - this was just a temporary home as he actually cleaned. He had spent too long working in cramped quarters with tools spewed about in every direction. It was becoming difficult just to work on anything, because so much of it was in the way and he didn't want to move it, knowing that he had no good place to put it.

It would be a project, for sure. He had already spent the better part of a week just trying to clear out the spare room in his garage - there was little place to put most of it, and unfortunately not all of it was junk, so he had had to organize just he could organize. It probably would have been considerably easier if he had had someone helping him, if for no other reason than he wouldn't have gotten physically exhausted so quickly, but it was his space, his work, his tools, and his project. It seemed silly to have someone else do the work for him. After all, it would be him using everything, and it was best if he knew exactly where everything had gotten placed.

First was his actual storage. He had built the decent sized cabinet some months prior, but he had done a poor job of actually using it at the time, and now it would be a job to actually move it into the side room. There were a number of things in the path between the cabinet and the door, and while he had done his best to make as much room as possible, there were many things that he simply couldn't move, and so it would be quite the obstacle to overcome.

Once that was complete, however, he could begin work on cleaning and storing the tools he had just finished dumping out onto the table. While that wouldn't be necessarily hard, it would be tedious, and he may very well decide that he did not like his basic idea for an organization as he went along and need to redo it all. After all, it would be the first time he actually organized his tools, and he wasn't entirely sure how he wanted to do it. While that was, theoretically, one of the easier steps, it would probably take him the longest.

But having an actual work space dedicated to his projects would be a huge benefit, both because he would actually have enough space to work on things, and because he would no longer have to worry about things being upset once he set them down. Not to mention it would be much easier to clean up.

Free Write 25

I've been having a really hard time staying awake lately. I've had trouble sleeping for years, but I've never been the kind of person to take naps throughout the day - I fall asleep easily while traveling, granted, but usually when I'm sitting at home messing around on my computer I stay perfectly awake. Lately, however, I feel myself drifting almost constantly throughout the day, and if I get on the couch in my usual spot to play games or watch youtube, I quickly fall asleep, and while I'll wake up around a half an hour later, each time I fall asleep on the couch it becomes harder not to fall back asleep when I wake up.

I've been getting more woodworking tools, which I'm pretty excited about. Having a decent saw will make my projects in general considerably easier and less physically taxing, and finally having a decent whittling knife means that I can start exploring that venue. I had already gotten a book on how to get started with it, and looking through it there's some really cool stuff in there to make, and I'm excited to try my hand at it all. It'll take some practice, of course, but it's not like there are other things that won't. And it's something that both will allow me to make some very cool stuff, and help give me something that I can idly do with my hands, which is always a good thing for me.

I have been loving blacksmithing as well. I'm not particularly good at it, though I doubt after three days anyone is, but I find it weirdly relaxing. The heat, the sound of pounding steel, the steady pace of shaping the metal as I work. I don't know what it is, but I do actually feel relaxed while doing it. There are times when I'm worried about the project that that stops being as true, but that's something that will lessen with time and experience and knowledge. I wish I knew what it was that makes me feel relaxed - it would be nice to be able to replicate that.

I was doing really good for a long stretch there at writing fiction. I mean, I don't know that the quality was all that great, but I was doing it frequently and making a huge lead on my goal of two fiction for every one real talk. But I've been having a really hard time writing lately. I'm not exactly sure what's causing it - fatigue, laziness, writer's block. Could be a lot of things. I've been in a weird place for a while now, and while it's from things that have been affecting me for nearly half my life, they're becoming much harder to deal with as of late. It's kind of like, now that I've acknowledged it, it can really take a hold of my brain and pin me down. It's certainly not something I'm comfortable with. But I don't have much choice but to keep trying to work through it, so I suppose that's what I'll keep working on.

Of numbers

Sometimes when I have a dream, I wake up knowing that I have to find a way to make it into a story. Such was the case with Wings, with the novel I wrote this year for Nano, and for the dream I had last night. Sometimes it's a small scene that spawns an entire concept, and sometimes it's a long series of scenes that play out like a movie, and I have to find a way to not only connect them in a logical way, but mold the rest of a story around them. Some things get ditched and altered, and some remain remarkably close to the way they originally appeared in my mind.

It's kind of hard to explain everything that happened in my dream. A lot of it is disconnected, or draws on real life pop culture, but over all it did follow a central main character. I can say for sure that he was a young boy, not necessarily intelligent, but gifted with a strange sight. Everywhere he looked, he could see numbers, for many years seeming as though they were completely random. But with time he learned to connect them, to understand them, and to use them. In fact, there was a couple of lines I remember him saying, the first of which being "The numbers are your desires."

It takes place in a world of magic, though until this boy learns how to utilize these numbers, he is incapable of any meaningful magic. Everyone around him begins to learn how to control the elements, how to fly, how to fight, and he is stuck being plagued by these numbers.

But the numbers, once understood, allow him magic beyond the capabilities of any others. With understanding, he can see the literal fabric of reality, and using the numbers as code, rewrite it in anyway he sees fit. Of course, being the main character, he is fortunate enough to be a pacifist, and to want only to use this power to make the world a better and kinder place. However, he soon finds that he is not the only one who can see the numbers, and that the ability to see and manipulate them can even be taught to others.

This then prompts him, as the main person capable of using this power, to open a new school of magic, which he deems the Guardians. He wishes for them to a neutral party, not to take any sides in combat, but instead serve to enhance the world by pulling the best creations from past and future, studying them, learning not only how to create them, but to improve them as well. Again, when speaking of the purpose of the Guardians, a line that I remember him saying: "A house isn't a home if your neighbors can't knock and say hello."

Now, a lot of this is weird, and very cheesy. Personally, I don't have much of a problem with cheese, but I can also see where someone like this character could make the story less interesting. It's certainly something that I would have to play around with, to see what kind of world I want to create and how to go about it. But I really enjoy the idea. It's almost like a coming of age story for the boy, as he discovers the depth of his powers and how he can use them, and more importantly what he wants to use them for. To witness him stand at the crossroads between the possibilities, and decide where he wants to go and what he wants to do. To me, that is the mark of a good character.

Elric Aldaraan

You may have noticed an increasing number of blog posts as of late about a character named Elric and his companions. Chances are if you know me and are reading these posts you already know this, but Elric is the name of my character in the Dungeons and Dragons campaign which I am playing in. The posts about him and his partners are all either retellings of events that have happened in the campaign, or me attempting to establish backstory for Elric. It's not all one hundred percent accurate to what happens in the games - partially because I don't have a perfect memory - but I find them to be a good source of inspiration for writing, and I find doing the writing helps me to explore Elric and really get in his head.

It probably helps that I enjoy the character. I find that I enjoy characters that don't necessarily know a whole lot, and thanks to Elric's many years in the monastery, he really doesn't know much about the real world - or at least what he considers to be the real world. It will be determined which he prefers eventually. It's kinda funny, he spent so long living in an idealistic and religious society that he really dislikes those kinds of things, but he is very idealistic himself. He believes that everyone deserves the choice of what to do with their lives, as long as they are not stopping or hurting others in the process. Eventually he'll see how difficult that can be to maintain. We'll see how he reacts to that.

The hardest part, though, is separating him from me when we're actually playing. There are definitely ways in which I would react to situations that are not the same as Elric would, and in the heat of the moment, it can be hard to differentiate. Moments like that have already happened - having Elric steal back some money that the party was made to pay, for instance. But I also can take those as an opportunity to explore his character. He had a purpose for stealing it, after all - he believed that his partner had been swindled and taken advantage of, and that went against his beliefs. It's not something he would do often, but if any of his friends are being swindled...

Stuff like that that makes an interesting character. And potential future events, as well. Stuff like - what if his ideals made him go against the party? What if, for one reason or another, he believed that the enemy was the one who was truly fighting for the freedom of choice? To me, in my mind, Elric would turn away from his companions if that were the case. Not because he doesn't care for them, but he believes in choice above all. It's an interesting dynamic to consider, and I hope I get the chance to explore it further.

Baphomet

Dei approached the strange object at the end of the hallway, carefully picking it up out of the broken vines that had previously been holding it in place. It was hard to tell what the purpose of it was - a cube with some kind of runic writing on it, a button on each side just under each rune, with no clear purpose or use. Prompted, she tossed the cube to Safia, who examined it for a moment before slipping it into her bed.

Before Dei could ask what was going on with the thing, Ash's body shivered and squirmed on the ground. While it was true they additionally and purposefully had avoided doing final fatal damage, this was an unprecedented occurrence. His wooden armor was falling away, being replaced by thick layers of fur. The creature forced itself up and onto its feet as the group stood, transfixed, unsure of what to happen. By the time it was on its feet, two massive horns had sprouted from its head, its legs had become that of a horse, and a long tail extended out from its backside. Even Parsley, who moments ago had been a rampaging bear, watched in shock as the body rose and roared at them all.

"I am Baphomet!" The beast cried out in anger, its voice ringing in the group's ears. "I will crush you all and send you spiraling in to the abyss!" Even without a weapon, the beast was massively powerful, crushing the ground beneath his feet with sheer force alone. Its claws and teeth were sharp as daggers, and he swung wildly at all amongst the group, seeming to care little about who had done what to him as they fought. He sought only for blood, caring little for strategy and relying entirely upon his brutal strength and hatred.

It was fortunate that the group had already dealt with the remaining guards while Ash had still been himself, for now as he had become whatever this Baphomet was, the group could focus their efforts on him alone. His skin was hard as steel, but slowly and surely they chipped away at him, until he began to look bruised and bloodied.

But even then, Baphomet would not let them achieve victory so easily. With seemingly little effort, it called forth two enormous wings from its spine, beginning to attempt to fly away. But they know that they could not permit such a foul creature to escape. Between thrown spears, magical spells, and flying arrows, Baphomet was downed just before he could escape, and let out a pitiful screech as the fur and muscles melted away to reveal a human man who had gone far beyond his own capacity.

Ash

"No, this isn't how it was supposed to go! You're ruining everything!"

The voice boomed down the hallway as the group and their escapees made their way through the guards, calling forth the shadows and burning them away. They were oddly coordinated - those adept in physical combat tore through the guards, leaving the shadows for the holy and magical combatants.

"Why, Heather?" the man cried out from the end of the hallway, standing just before the odd, glowing object that had been wrapped in thorns. "Why does it have to be this way?"

Zilgra had released her dog, Kore, and was mounted upon his back, whip and dagger in hands as she glared up at the man. "You of all people have no right to call me that, Ash!" she called out in response. "What the hell do you think you're doing? What gives you the right to decide?"

Ash watched as she and the monk ran up at him, weapons drawn and clearly coming to end him. In an instant, bark covered his body, encasing him in wooden armor, making it more difficult for them to harm him. If they were going to fight, he certainly wasn't going to let them get to him easily. He still had things to do. Plans to fulfill. He would unite man and beast under one flag, and anyone who dared stand in his way was going to perish first.

As the two ran towards him, the others finishing off the fights they had left behind, Ash sent vines to entangle their feet. But while they were easily able to entrap Kore, the monk was much faster than he anticipated, and the next thing he knew the elf was on top of him, spear and fists flying. He was fast and strong, Ash could tell, and it took nearly all of his concentration to dodge and deflect the blows. In the meantime, as Zilgra approached, he could do little to stop her strikes, though the damage they did was minimal. He heard blasts of magic going off around him, and the wall of rubble behind them slowly began to crack. If it weren't for the monk, he would be able to prevent that from happening, but his blows simply wouldn't stop.

But time was drawing slim for the group. He could feel the air beginning to change as the full moon was rising. They had chosen the wrong night to attack. The battlefield changed in an instant as bodies began to grow and transform. Even some among them had been affected by his curse, taken in to become one with the beasts.

But he had underestimated them. There was one in their group, the halfling, who became an enormous bear. That wasn't the strange part, however. The strange part was that she seemed to retain her sanity. And she seemed to know that, for she quickly turned to him.

The confusion distracted him long enough for the monk to land two quick blows to his gut, making him double over. And then, in an instant, the bear was on top of him, claws swinging wildly, tearing his armor to shreds. How had this happened? And then a claw was crossing his chest, opening a wound, and he lost consciousness.

Ambush

The group had heard the footsteps approaching nearly as clear as day, and knowing that they were running low on options to explain themselves with, quickly came up with a plan for how to move forward. Dei volunteered herself to act as the bait, standing in clear view of the door from which the footsteps had been coming, stealing the attention of anyone who might have come through it. The rest of them waited around the nearby corner, though it was Elric who was in the front of this hiding crew, prepared strike once that guard has, in fact, become distracted.

Fortunately the guards had no idea how many people had entered the tower - only that someone had - and so the distraction plan worked smoothly. Elric waited for half a moment as the guard emerged, ring of jangling keys on his belt, to ensure that he stepped away from the door and that no others were coming from behind him as well. Satisfied, Elric stepped out from behind the corner, his spear held backwards in order to deal nonlethal damage.

He swing the spear horizontally into the guard's spine like it was a baseball bat, striking just above the waistline in the square of his back, making a solid cracking sound as it made contact. The guard staggered, a shiver running through his body, and attempted to turn around and face his attacker, but Elric saw this and knew he had more work to do. As he drew the spear back, one hand lifted from its shaft, swinging in a knifehand strike at the back of the man's neck. The strike was solid, hitting the spine once more as the guard was beginning to turn.

The combination of the two strikes landing solidly on the spine in separate locations created too much of a shock to the guard's system for him to handle. For a brief moment he stood in place, his body quivering, trying to hold itself together - in the next instant he was falling, right into the arms of Safia who was already waiting.

The warlock caught the man's body and deftly removed the keys from his belt before setting him down on the ground as Dei hurried over to begin tying him up before he regained consciousness. The group was still standing in front of the three cages which trapped three of the dungeon's prisoners, and now that they had the keys to the cages, they would be damned if they were going to leave them in place.

Premonition

Elric was abruptly and intensely aware that he was not himself, though when he looked down at his body it remained unchanged, and his clothes remained as they had been. But the terrain he stood in was entirely unfamiliar. He was on a boat, sailing far out on the sea, silvery shimmering waves the only thing he could see in every direction. People moved around him, diligently working to complete their duties and keep the boat afloat, and looked at him calmly as though he were just another member of the crew. He had no idea where he was.

Something pulled him towards the center of the deck. Some kind of undeniable force, pulling at the very fiber of his being, making him put one foot in front of the other. And as he approached, things began to go wrong. The wood beneath his feet quivered, threatening to split apart, and the very air became cold, as though it were freezing into icicles stabbing into his skin. It was nearly impossible to pinpoint where the sensation was coming from, as it filled every inch of reality around him.

And then the fabric of reality tore in half as the ship beneath his feet ripped apart, leaving him stranded in midair without any kind of grip or means of escape. He felt his weight beginning to fall as there was no longer anything left below them to keep him suspended. Desperately his limbs began to flail, but they had nothing by which to grab or pull. And the hole through which he found himself falling was not merely an empty space, but an almost aggressive looking gate between realities. The moment he slipped through the gate, his skin was no longer freezing, but burning instead, and though he could feel his momentum beginning to slow, there was no saying when or if the falling would stop.

Elric awoke with a shock. The stone walls of the mausoleum were all that greeted him. He wasn't entirely sure what had just happened - he'd never really "dreamed" before, but he had to assume that that was the closest thing he might experience to the sensation. He wasn't sure that it was something he wanted to experience again - it had honestly been pretty terrifying.

But the rest of his companions continued to lay nearby. sleeping and recovering from the long battle they had had as the full moon rose.

Campaign

Playing Dungeons and Dragons with my friends, there's kind of an understanding that, while one person is bring the DM for our current campaign, future campaigns will be run by different DMs - and me being the writer, it's pretty safe to assume that I'll be running the next one. So I've spent a pretty fair amount of time just trying to decide how I would go about that. I need some kind of world, I need to create a vast number of npcs, I need to have a coherent and ongoing plot with branching pathways, but I also need that world to persist around them and to continue on regardless of their actions.

Which made me start to realize that, for me, the best place to start would be in one of my stories. And with fantasy, the favorite story of mine that I have written thus far has to be On Bluebird's Wings - or Wings, as it has been called previously here on the blog. To have players run through a campaign with a story parallel to that of Wings, perhaps running across the characters and choosing to either assist or ignore them. Perhaps this could even explain some of the things that Arianna missed while she was traveling alone.

And what would be especially cool would be if the final boss fight for the campaign was the same as the novel - not exactly, of course, because I plan for Arianna's final fight to not have her be accompanied by a group of adventurer's, but to make a sort of alternate ending where they join together to defeat the walking storm. Speaking of whom, I should really probably give him an actual name.

I think the most challenging part of all of that is going to be to balance things. Arianna isn't particularly strong - she's not a fighter, and while she has an impressive amount of magic, it's not something that's necessarily combat oriented. She can turn into a small bird, she can talk to animals, and eventually I plan for her to learn how to use a bow - and that's about it. In the novel, her final fight will be about outsmarting her opponent.

But in DnD, while that's certainly an option, it's a lot harder to get around a guy who can crush you in his fist - especially if he gets good rolls. And especially having a decent number of players against a single boss, I'll want him to be a challenge, but I don't necessarily want him to be able to completely decimate them in a single blow. Thematically that is accurate, but gameplay-wise that's certainly not fun.

It's gonna take a lot of thought and planning. Probably a lot of winging it as I go. Fortunately I have plenty of time to think about it.

Stupid stories

I love stupid stories. And I'm not talking about stories that don't make sense or are poorly written - I'm talking about stories that are intentionally stupid. Stories that are obvious jokes that just keep going, and have an in-depth explanation involved in them. Entire lores behind jokes, things that you can't help but laugh at as you explain.

The best is when people make full on stories. Not necessarily novels, but full fiction pieces for these jokes. It doesn't happen very often, and especially not well, but when you get that perfect mixture together it's like magic. Telling legends about utter madness like it is an epic tale based down through the generations. Legends of ridiculous fighters, of fast food chains, and of man children fighting for their rights to love people who don't truly exist. Absurdity taken to the extremes.

I think the best part about them is that you're never expecting them. They always pop up at the strangest times, and they catch you completely off guard. I thought about this because of a story a friend of mine recently told me, which may have to write a more detailed story for at some point. The story of the Burger King and Ronald McDonald, and their struggle to defeat one another over the centuries. Tirelessly doing battle, trying to rid the world of one another.

I can hardly believe that anyone would even think of that. I mean obviously they are 'rival' companies, but it's a leap to stretch it out into an endless war with backstories behind each of the warriors. A leap that I adore. A leap that I wish occurred more frequently. It takes a certain level of creativity and madness that more people would be better off displaying. The more often that people express this kind of creativity, the better.

I suppose calling it stupid doesn't help. Very few people want to be considered stupid, after all. But I think that there's a good kind of stupid, the kind of stupid that makes people laugh instead of groan, and these stupid stories certainly fall into the former. And they are intentionally so. Stupid, to make you laugh.

And anything that makes you laugh is a good thing.

Retirement

"Are you sure you want to do this, Nero?" the CEO asked, looking over the already completed paperwork. "I mean, we can't ask you to do this forever of course, but ever since Flel retired you've been unquestionably our most successful agent. I'm not sure you've ever failed a mission. You easily have years left in you, and you've seemed to enjoy your work as far as I can see. Are you sure it's time to retire?"

Nero was as stiff in that chair as he ever had been - not for fear or nervousness, but simply because the rigidity of his muscles helped him to keep himself together. That was one of the downsides of having such total control over his body - letting it relax frequently made things like his body temperature and heartbeat go out of control. And especially when he was facing such as his boss, he wanted to be a figure of intimidation - not one to be pitied. "I have completed the work which I came here to do. I have no reason to continue in this line of work."

The CEO tapped his fingers against the desk, looking Nero over. "You know, I only ever heard you talk about that a few times," he said, "and you never actually explained what it was that you were trying to do. All you ever said was that being here would enable you to do it. Now that it's over, can you at least spare the details?"

The visions from all those years ago were still fresh in his mind. The pain. The torture. The fire and the blood. The look of hatred in those men's eyes as they destroyed what little he had ever known. People torn limb from limb, discarded like trash, some violated until they passed out and thrown in the flames. Those men had been insane beyond any definition of the word. They had had no regard for human life, and were training others to think as they had. They tried to do the same with him. But he had escaped, and sworn to himself that he would kill every single one of them, so that they would never repeat what he had seen again. Kill them, their followers, and everyone who they had ever been on good terms with.

Fortunately people like that were frequently targeted by organizations like this one.

Nero pushed himself up and out of his chair, though he did not step towards the CEO. "It has been a pleasure working with you," he said calmly, "but it is time I take my leave. I trust that you will ensure my record vanishes."

"...But of course."

Free Write 24

It seems like the more I think about it lately, the more I want to try and create different things. I have been absolutely adoring my blacksmithing class, and yet I also can not help but get excited over future possibilities. The school in which I am taking my blacksmithing class has tons of other opportunities, from woodturning to glass blowing to flameworking, and I have found easily a dozen that I very much want to take. Turning pens, blacksmithing ornamental dragons, making boxes and tables. I have a feeling I will be spending a lot of money in the coming months learning to all kinds of new things. But I suppose it wouldn't be much different if I was still in college, and this I'm actually enjoying.

I ordered a whittling book, which is really cool because the projects available in it are very well explained, fairly easy, and very cool looking. It's kinda funny how much effort I'm putting into learning artsy things considering how terrible I've always been at them. But I'm enjoying it. I feel like I'm learning, and I want to learn more. Never really felt that way while I was actually in school - I guess I was taking the wrong classes. I don't know how long it will take to actually learn to do the whittling, cause I kind of need a better knife for it, and some more practical wood, but I definitely like the idea. I'm gonna end up with all kinds of wood and metal decorations. Maybe then my room won't be so bland and boring.

I'm not exactly sure what I will do with all of these products I'm taking on. If it's just a way to help maintain my sanity, if it's something I want to do with my life. I know I'm enjoying it, at least for the time being. I know that it's something that helps me get out of bed in the morning and drives me to actually make progress in things. I just don't know what it will be in the long run. I suppose I'm not opposed to it becoming a profession. I'm mostly concerned that should it be, it will be something that is hard to get out there and actually make a profit off of. I'm not really interested in being an etsy store or something, and I'd prefer to be able to work at my own pace rather than fulfilling commissions for other people on their time.

But I suppose that's not all that different from becoming an author, now is it?

Exploit

Marcus couldn't believe what he was seeing. It had been an accident - it couldn't have possibly been on purpose, with how strange the procedure had been. He had been trying to organize his room, just moving things from one place to another, changing his mind repeatedly and replacing things that he had just moved. He couldn't count how many times he had opened and closed his drawers. But somehow, in doing so, he had found a way to simply break the fabric of reality.

For his birthday a few months ago, his grandfather had given him a one hundred dollar bill. It was the only one he had, and he had been reluctant to use it - both because it wasn't something that he got very often, and because he didn't know what he would use it on. But upon opening his drawer this last time, he was looking down at two of the bill. He was certain that there had only been one before - that wasn't something that he could have forgotten, and he had moved the bill itself at  least a dozen times prior, and there had only ever been one.

Carefully he retraced his steps, moving the same items the same number of times between the same spots as best as he could remember. It took a few tries, but eventually he opened the drawer and found four bills instead of two. He had no idea how he was doing it, but he was literally doubling them each time he went through the procedure. He could do it indefinitely. He could be rich.

But that gave him another idea. He grabbed a shirt and replaced the bills with it, going through the same steps that he had before. And when he was done, the shirt had been doubled.

He could do it with anything. Food, drinks, clothes, money, anything. He would never have to work a day in his life. Never have to take any effort to do anything again. As long as he could remember the steps, he was set for life. And he wasn't likely to forget them any time soon - he fully intended to do this every day for the rest of his life.

He didn't know how exactly it worked. He didn't know if it was his specific dresser that did it, or why all the steps were necessary, or if anyone could do it and he was just the first to find out about it. All he knew was that it worked, and he was going to abuse the hell out of it.

Silver dragon

The group was packing up camp after their rest when they heard a shuffling noise coming from the nearby treeline. Castor was the first to notice the shimmering just behind the trees and shouted its presence out to the rest of the group. As they all turned toward the figure, it knew that it was no longer hidden from them, and emerged from the forest to greet them.

Before the band of adventurer's stood a silver dragon, its presence mighty and majestic, and it towered above them. Without hesitation, Elric stepped forward and greeted the dragon in its own tongue, and it returned in kind. However, seeing that the rest of the group was not capable of speaking either Draconic or Elvish, it began to speak in Common instead.

"Can I ask what brings a group of adventurers such as yourselves around these parts?" the dragon asked. Its voice had a mystical quality to it, as though it were falling down on their heads like light snowfall. "I love to observe the lives of the shorter lived such as yourselves, to see what you do with your time. It fascinates me."

"A nearby wizard asked us to retrieve a magical item from him from the nearby ruins to the north," Parsley explained.

"Oh, how wonderful. What kind of object? Which ruins? There are quite a few nearby. There's the castle, the mausoleum, the gardens..."

"We really don't know," Safia supplied. "He'd never actually seen the object before - we just know that it casts conjuration magic. And he's sent a few wooden golems to search for it, but none have ever returned."

"Oh, are you saying it's somewhere dangerous?" The group nodded in agreement. "Oh, well there's really only one set of ruins that has anyone inhabiting it. But it feels like such a waste merely to give you the answer... How about I give you one of your human riddles? I've always been a fan of those, let's see..."

"Great," Elric muttered under his breath. "Let's see how this goes..."

Future

"Hold your breath."

Nero was well acquainted with the way that Flel worked, and had come to never question her when she told him to do so. They made a remarkably effective assassin team - Flel had trained herself to be immune to her custom made, airborne poisons, which she used as various forms of perfume. Meanwhile, Nero had long ago come to have complete control over his bodily functions, including the ability to hold his breath for extended periods of time. It had been a long time since he had attempted to measure the length of time - there were few situations where it became a problem.

The lab they had entered underground was disturbing to look at. Hundred of cages, filled with people of every race and age, stuffed together in varying situations. Some had been collected to be sex slaves, and were kept without clothing. Some were being starved and deprived, while others had clearly been stuffed full of food against their will in order to gain weight. It was hard to say what some of them were going to be used for - whatever it was, though, it assuredly wasn't good.

A perfume bottle came out of Flel's purse as Nero watched, his lungs still, and she sprayed it liberally into the air. He could see the initial spray, but it quickly dissipated. The eyes of the people in the cages slowly began to close as they stared silently at the two strangers standing amongst them - none had ever made a single noise as Nero and Flel had entered the room. They did not answer questions. They did not open their mouths. It was difficult to say if they could not, or if they had been trained beyond the point of removing their self will.

When she was done, Flel motioned for Nero to follow her, and they moved through the area, looking for doors and electric control panels. Their mission was clear cut - find what the town was doing, and stop it. The first part had been simple enough - this was it. Nero wasn't unintelligent, but in many ways between them, he was the muscle. He was able to power through defenses, tear open doors, and generally clear the path.

But even as killers, this was a side of Flel he had not seen before. It didn't take him long to realize that it was not a sleeping gas she had given these prisoners. If she was going to stop these plans, she had selected a very definite and final answer - to simply kill all of those involved.

These were innocent people. For all the things that Nero would and had done, kill innocents was not among them.

And this was who he had fallen for?

Monastery

It was early in the morning - if it could be even called that - when Elric was summoned out of his meditation. He had been in the monastery for twenty three years, but he was still not quite used to getting up before the sun. He did not particularly need the all night rest, but he much appreciated it, as it gave him time to think over what he had been taught throughout the day. He had many questions, and he had already been turned by his elders a few times, saying that Rillifane would take care of the things that needed to be so. But he had a hard time believing that - if it were so, he did not believe he would have been placed in the monastery in the first place.

They gathered in the hall for morning training. Though the wood elves were born with darkvision, it was still a limiting sight, which made it an ideal time for training the body. The body had not need of sight if it could hear and feel. By training in the dark, the monks taught themselves to use their other senses to detect their opponent, deflect its attacks, and strike at its weakpoints as they threw their own strikes. The cold morning air on their skin enhanced the sensations, making it easier to feel the movements of the air around them - of course, it couldn't always be easy, and in the afternoon training under the hot sun, their senses were dulled by the heat and sweat that weighed upon them.

This was one of the questions that Elric carried with him. If, as he was taught, Rillifane would care for all things, and granted those under his ward skillful hunting and safe passage through the woods, why should he have to concern himself with physical training and self defense? If their god could smite any target with a single arrow from his magical bow, why did he never deign to intervene as Elric was sent to hunt for the monastery? Why did no one ever find an animal with one of said arrows already piercing its flesh along their path? And why did they train if they never left the monastery's grounds?

He had been informed time and time again that a healthy body was essential to a healthy mind. He did not disagree. But he could not wrap his mind around the questions that plagued him. Perhaps the answers would come with time, for the older members of the monastery were certain in their beliefs and teachings. Perhaps he needed additional age.

But he was an adult, was he not? And if this was his role in the world, to what extent did it play a part? If he never left the walls of his home, was he even truly a part of the world?

He hoped that someday, Rillifane would answer.

Smithy

Even with the massive fans in the entranceway, the heat was immediate and apparent the moment Jeremiah stepped into the smithy. The forges were already running, the bright orange glare visible through the slits in the slightly opened faces, not to mention the licks of flame that shot out into the open air. But even more apparent than the heat was the noise. Not only were the fans and forges generating their own massive amount of noise, there were many other machines running just outside, plus there was a sound system playing music from somewhere in the back. It was hard enough to hear himself think - he wasn't sure how actually talking to anyone was going to work. And no one had even started working yet.

In most other situations, were he faced with such conditions, Jeremiah would feel an ice crawling across his skin and want nothing more than to go somewhere else, where things could be quiet and he could relax. But here was different. In the forge he felt oddly at ease. The normal tension that was in his back and shoulders was surging, as though anticipating what was to happen. He could smell the flames and the steel in the air. He was excited.

There were customary nods and pats on the back as he grabbed his gear. He didn't need much - safety goggles, a glove, a hammer and tongs. Everything else was already set up. The anvil, the forge, the quench buckets - all things that could be left as they were when he left so that they would be ready when he returned. And they had long since solidified their place. Jeremiah was a creature of habit in many ways, and having everything in the same spot when he came in each day helped both his comfort and efficiency.

He grabbed a hunk of steel with his tongs and shoved it into the forge, letting it begin to heat as he finished collecting his things. It would take a few minutes for it to get up to temperature, and in the mean time he needed things to do. He never quite seemed to have enough to pass the time before he could swing his hammer.

That was the greatest joy for him. Actually moving the metal with his own strength, molding it into shape until it was something usable and interesting. It moved much faster than many people expected, as well - rather than multi-day projects, many of them took only a matter of hours. He very rarely left the forge without a finished project.

This was life.

Blacksmithing

I've repeatedly expressed my interest in blacksmithing, and for a long time it was something that was kind of out of my reach for actually getting to try out. However, I was able to find a place where I could take a class on the subject. Tonight was my first night of the class, and I was very excited, though also somewhat nervous as well - you never want to get into something you've been excited about to find that you don't enjoy it as much as you thought you would. As it turns out, that was not a concern.

I love blacksmithing. I have considered myself a gamer my entire life, and in the past two months have finished about four games. Three hours of blacksmithing tonight was more fun than I had with any of those games. I strained my fingers, I gave myself a blister on my thumb, and I don't think what I made looks all that particularly good. But I absolutely adored it. I loved the heat. I loved watching the metal move. I loved how with every heating of the steel I learned a little bit more. I loved how I could correct my mistakes just by reheating. I loved how much I was able to change the shape and length and size of the metal I was working with. Even as I was making mistakes, I was smiling. That's something I haven't done in a long time.

And I'm excited for what's to come. Next week we get to make a knife - literally what I want to do more than anything else. Spoons and forks after that, and I'll have a full set of silverware that I made with my own hands. And the more I learn, the more I'll be able to branch out. We learned basic shaping, but as we go on we'll learn more techniques, and those will consequently open more avenues for creation.

And perhaps best of all, when the class is over, I won't be done. Just by taking the class, I am permitted to return for free every week for the next year and use their equipment and their spare steel. I will be able to continue practicing. Apply what I have learned in more ways. Probably make a lot more knives.

They have tons of other classes, too. Things that I already know I'm interested in, and things that I would love to try. And I plan to take them - especially because after doing so, that will open up more areas that I can continue to use.

I don't remember the last time I was this excited for what was to come.

Fallen hunter

Sandra rolled as she hit the ground hard, her limbs and weapons flailing and catching under her repeatedly. The pain was immense and blinding - it was hard to tell whether or not any of her bones had broken from the impact, though she would hardly be surprised, if she could have even thought through it all. When she finally came to a stop, the armor that had been supposed to protect her felt like weights weighing her down, pressing against her injuries and pinning her in place. She had to move, but there wasn't a chance in hell that she could. She could hear the monster coming for her, ready to finish her off, and there was nothing she could do about it.

His footsteps were fast and heavy, coming from behind her, and his shadow passed over her for only a moment. The monster's roar ripped through the air as she heard the sound of his lance tearing into the monster's hide, piercing deep and pushing it away from her. She knew what he was doing. He was pulling its attention, keeping it from going after her. He was saving her life. And she knew that he was a powerful hunter, far more skilled than she, but this was...

This monster was more than anything that she had heard of. It was massive, and the slime that it threw around the field was somehow a deadly explosive - the moment it left its body, it began to heat until it combusted. Even with his shield, if Marcus was covered in that slime, he was going to take heavy damage. That was what had sent her flying - she hadn't even been covered, but merely gotten too close to one of the piles right as it exploded. The force was immense and had sent her soaring through the air to smash into the rocky ground, the volcanic heat piercing through her armor and skin to make the exhaustion that much more difficult to handle.

One more blow and she wasn't going to make it home. Marcus must have known that, and was putting himself at risk trying to do something about it. She didn't know which would be worse - him getting hurt because of her, or never leaving the field. They were hunters, after all. This was what they were putting on the line, wasn't it?

The next thing she knew she was being wheeled back into town. She didn't know what had happened. Her armor had already been removed, and when she looked around, she saw Marcus walking beside the cart, carrying her armor and weapon, as well as a bag of collected pieces from the defeated monster. He had done it.

He didn't even look down at her, but he seemed to know that she was conscious again all the same. "Hunters don't just hunt," he said, clearly to her. "We hunt for and with each other. It's not enough to beat the monster. You have to keep everyone safe as you do so. No hunters left behind."

Free Write 23

I wanted to apologize for all of the introspective writing that I have been doing lately. I've been in a really weird place lately - having to face a lot of things that I have tried to ignore for a long time, admit a lot of things that I'm not comfortable admitting, and trying to figure out what the hell to do with myself. That being said, I would be surprised if they stopped any time soon. I would truly rather be writing fiction - I've just been having a very hard time being able to sit down and focus on it.

I recently played through the game Nier: Automata. It is a very strange game. The writing is odd. The gameplay is a little whack. There's a lot of very odd design choices. And I would never wish for that game to be any different. I cannot tell you how good that game was - it was straight fun, intriguing, and the more and more I played it, the less and less I wanted to put it down. I was invested in the characters, in the world, in the story. It genuinely touched me and pulled at my heartstrings. It was incredible - and I cannot say why without spoiling the game. Suffice to say, it is worth experiencing. Even if you can guess what's coming, it will hit you hard. Even when the characters aren't human.

I find certain games - like Monster Hunter, which I have talked about frequently - difficult to go back to. Not because I don't want to, but because I know how much of a time sink they are. Not to say that I don't enjoy the time I spend on them, but in the case of Monster Hunter, a single hunt will average about half an hour, and I won't necessarily make a lot of progress from that time. I'll get in a hunt for a monster I don't need parts for, or it won't give me the parts that I need, and I know that it won't help me in getting through the next hunt. And I love the game, and the way you progress, and the hunts are what it's all about. But knowing that I could be putting in six hours and still not have made the progression I'm looking for... It's not exactly heartening.

I suppose in some ways that's kind of my problem in the real world. I want results a lot faster than they're actually going to come. And I know that it takes a lot of time and commitment to make real progress, and I've been through that progress many times, but that doesn't necessarily mean that I want to go through it all again. I'd rather stick with what I know. But what I know doesn't always work out for me. So I've got to figure out how to calm myself down.

Power of thoughts

I've spent a lot of time lately thinking about thinking - I kind of have to. I'm remarkably unattuned to my own thoughts, I'm realizing - I have spent many years saying things both to myself and others that I don't actually agree with, which is a weird thing to say, but is true. In the moment I will believe what I say to be true, but I'm not really thinking about it. I'm just kind of saying it. I actually find it remarkably hard to focus on my own thoughts. They are very... wavy, I guess is how I would describe it. They come and go, in and out, changing subjects at the drop of a hat. They will focus in on singular words and sentences and discard everything surrounding them. And, I am sure, I think many things that never make it past my subconscious, which is where a lot of my problems come from.

As of late, my thoughts have begun to have some pretty extreme effects on my physical body. Mental discomfort has begun to make me physically sick - that's something that I've heard about, but never really experienced for myself. And it's kind of terrifying. Especially when you're not entirely sure what the thoughts you're having that are doing it are, and even if you did, you wouldn't know what thoughts to think to combat what's already in your head. It's a strange thought, this thought that I think.

This is, perhaps, something that everyone experiences on some level at one point or another. For me, however, this is very new. At least on a conscious level. Subconsciously, I have no doubt that it has been going on for my entire life. It would explain a few things. But now that I am aware of it, it seems as though these subconscious thoughts are multiplying in number - whether or not that's true or is just because they're now floating to a higher level of my brain I'm not sure. I'm a negative person, and I know that. I suffer from depression, and I have silently for a very long time. I'm pretty sure that depression is a lot deeper and more intense than standard evaluations will realize. But the thing is, it's hard to explain it, because I don't even entirely understand it myself.

It kind of makes me wonder if that's part of the reason I'm against some of the things that I am. I've always been against putting things in me that will affect my own control - medicine, alcohol, drugs, just about anything. And I almost wonder if that's because, on some level, I already feel like I have so little control. I don't want to forfeit what little is left to me. Left of me.

It's a weird feeling, to be thinking about your own thoughts. I wonder how many people have never had to experience it.

Burning blood

The clocktower was massive, and the room in which the stranger stepped into was barren. There was only a singular chair on the far side of the room, just under the inside of the clock's face, and what appeared to be a dead woman resting in it. The stranger advanced through the room slowly - he had been tricked more than once before - but the body did not move, even as he drew close to it. Most did, springing to life to attack him. This one was well armed. Perhaps a new weapon to carry him forward...

As soon as he reached out to take it, however, the woman's arm leaped forward, grabbing his wrist and pulling her up and out of her chair. "You are unwise to disturb the dead," her voice shouted into his mind, ringing through his brain though her lips did not move. "You will be punished for your transgressions." Her blade was abruptly in her hand, and the stranger had to throw himself with all of his strength backwards to avoid the blow aimed at his heart.

He looked up to see her grabbing the two-sided blade in both hands, and with a flick of her wrists it was split in two. Without any hesitation she pointed the two blades at her own chest and struck hard, piercing through her body and sending blood splattering on the floor and wall behind her. Her body did not stagger, and as she drew the blades forth once more the holes remaining in her froze the stranger in place. He had killed many fiends, but those had staggered upon taking damage. She was different. She was terrifying.

She didn't even make a move to attack him. Still standing at a distance, she flicked the blades in his direction, and her blood landed on his skin, a strange and frigid cold, though its iron stench still invaded his nostrils. He stared up at her, unsure of how to take what was happening. He had thought himself powerful, unstoppable. He had not met a foe who would harm themselves to intimidate him.

But he quickly learned that it was more than intimidation. In an instant the icy sensation on his skin became burning. He looked down and the blood itself was engulfed in flames, eating away at his skin. And it was all over him. He screamed and staggered, trying to put out the flames, but they would not stop. The woman stood over him, watching him struggle, not moving until his body had turned to ash.

And then, without a word or noise of any kind, she returned to her chair and sat down, slumping back into it and closing her eyes once more.

Hunter

I've talked before about how much I've fallen in love with Monster Hunter, and how I want to apply the way I play that game to how I live my life. That's something I think about a lot, but it's not something that's particularly easy to do - after all, you don't get to die three times in real life before you have to start over with the only real punishment being time and a bit of money. It's not easy to get the resources to keep trying different things in real life - not without help.

And I suppose that's another thing that I really need to learn from Monster Hunter. Can you play the game by yourself and finish all of the content on your own? Yes. And having accomplished that, it would be hard to argue that you're not skilled and competent and what have you. But the game is so much more fun when you are playing with others, and not only more fun, but easier and faster as well. After all, two people are much more efficient at tackling a single problem than one, and four especially more so than that. Each working together, fighting the same monster but in four unique ways, making a team that is there to support one another and help them not only to fight, but to get the things they need to advance.

That's never really been something I've been particularly good at. I very much like knowing that I can do something on my own. And I don't necessarily think that that's a bad thing. But knowing that you can do something alone doesn't mean that you have to. Just because you can do something by yourself doesn't mean that you should. After all, it's like I said - it's far more efficient to have multiple people tackling the same problem.

I don't know why Monster Hunter in particular has hit me so hard when it comes to finding inspiration. I would argue it's not even my favorite game - that honor still goes to Kingdom Hearts 2. But as much as I love that game and it's entire series, it still boils down to the same cliche of "My friends are my power." And that's not a bad message, but it's one you hear in many places. And Monster Hunter isn't like that. Yes, the best way to play it is with your friends. But if you are bad you will hold them back. And if they are bad they will hold you back. It's about getting good together. Supporting each other to both become better hunters. Not leaning on. Supporting. And that can be all the difference.

Emotion

Raphael had lead a strange life. There had been a disconnect in his brain when he was born, something not lining up quite right, and it had taken many years before it was fully understood what had happened. As a newborn he never cried, or smiled, or laughed. He looked around with his big, curious eyes, and he took things in, but he never quite seemed to react. His parents feared for him, and the doctors had speculated that he may have had a form of autism, but as he grew older the other signs did not evolve.

He was mostly a mild-mannered boy, skirting by most events and generally staying calm while others were excited or panicked. He didn't scream in scary movies or fawn over cute things. He played with friends, but it was hard at times to tell whether or not he was having fun. He knew he was, and he would tell people as such, but if you were watching him from the outside, you never would have guessed.

Raphael did not naturally feel emotions. Not happiness, nor sadness, nor fear or anger. He felt pain. He could think. But when it came to matters of the heart, nothing came to him. Not naturally. But as he grew older, he learned that with his curse came a gift - when willing, he was able to take the emotions from others, to experience them for himself at the expense of it from them. And in time, he learned the value of such a gift, for each transference was singular and temporary, allowing him to relieve them of their pain.

He learned of grief, depression, fear, anxiety, anger. Frequently he was the catalyst for people's recovery, and human emotion to him was little more than pain. But the more he experienced, the more he understood, and he was able to empathize with people. He did not mind helping others. It gave him a feeling of purpose.

But there was one who came to him, a smile on his face, with a different kind of story. A strange man who spoke in vague terms, with a story of forgiveness. The man had searched for a way to give - to give away that which had haunted him in dark times, while others prayed for it to come to them. Unsure of what the man meant, Raphael agreed to help him.

And for the first time, he experienced happiness.

Need to fight

I've never quite been sure if it's just a part of my personality or if it's from the years of studying martial arts, but I find at times that my body yearns to be in a fight. It's this tautness that exists in the back of my shoulders, in my biceps, in my fingers. It wouldn't be enough to work on a punching bag, because my muscles aren't merely calling to hit something - they are calling to be hit as well. To feel impacts going both ways, to have to resist the force being made against them. I'm not sure what that says about me, and I'm not sure what brings on that need from time to time, but I can feel it distinctly, and there are very few people who seem to understand it when I explain it to them.

I would never initiate a fight with someone who was undesiring of it when this feeling comes, or someone who would actively try to hurt me. I probably would have when I was younger and had less self control - which is really saying something, considering how little I have today - but I know much better now. I don't want to get in an all out brawl, with someone who doesn't care about my well being. I don't want to go and just pick a fight. I want to spar with someone. Someone in control. Someone strong and fast and practiced. Someone who knows what they're doing. I miss that about martial arts - pitting yourself against someone and testing one another's defenses and limits, seeing what you can do to get around them while simultaneously keeping them from doing the same to you.

I haven't ever found anyone else who gets this kind of sensation. Granted, I don't bring it up very much, but every person that I have talked to about it seems surprised and confused when I try to explain it to them. Most of the people I talk to about it also aren't martial artists, however, which is why I'm never quite sure where it comes from. I wouldn't be surprised at either explanation. There are certainly plenty of other habits I have picked up from the years of martial arts - raising my hand to my chest in a defensive position during just about any action is one that comes to mind.

I really just have to wait it out when it happens. It can last anywhere from a few minutes to a few hours, completely at random. It will happen at work, in the car, at home, anywhere. I have tried exercising, shadowboxing, all kinds of things. Short of actually sparring, the feeling just doesn't go away.

But I suppose that's just part of who I am.

Physical

Flel slid down the wall as she closed the door behind the final guests, her energy finally running out and her legs no longer able to support her weight. She was really not a people person. She could play the part, and play it well, but it was really an enormous strain on her, and she would have much rathe spent the day alone with her thoughts. But a job was a job, and she was willing and able to do whatever it took to get it done. She was just exhausted afterwards.

She could see Nero walking over to her, his face as calm and flat as ever. "Tired?" he asked her, squatting down in front of her. She nodded and went to speak, but suddenly his hand was against her stomach, making her gasp in surprise and reach out to grab his arm. His skin was frigid, and his muscle under the skin was more solid than it had ever been before. She knew he was strong, but this was... There was something different about him in this moment. She looked him in the eyes, which looked back at her as cool as ever. But when he opened his mouth, the words that slipped out were cold with malice. "Let's chat for a moment."

"Wh-what are you doing?" she managed out, trying to push his hand away. She had eaten too much during the party, and already felt sick - if he applied much more pressure, that food wouldn't be in her stomach for long. But his strength was something beyond what she had ever experienced before. This was beyond what he appeared. This was almost inhuman. What was happening? And why?

"I'm tired of you treating me like a child."

"Ch-child?" She was running the situation through her brain, trying to understand what was happening. She had been trying to help. To take control of things so that he wouldn't have to. She had read his file. She knew what kind of man he was. Or at least, she though she did. Now she wasn't so sure. The file had made it clear he was dangerous and unstable, but this...

"You are going to stop looking down on me. You are going to stop pretending like you know what is best. You are going to stop acting like you have to lead me in every action, or you will be lucky if the only thing I make you do is vomit."

Her mind was racing. She had seen a lot in her time, been subject to many things, but this was terrifying. "O-only?"

"I will make you vomit. I will make you cry for mercy. I will make you hurt. I will make you bleed. And I will make you regret every decision you have ever made that lead you to cross my path. Do I make myself clear?"

She nodded. She didn't trust her voice. And then, as suddenly as it was there, his hand was gone and he was standing up, watching over her, his eyes as calm as ever.

Blood

Growing up in an age of visual media has been an interesting experience, because trying to hide certain aspects of life in your stories becomes a lot harder when you can actually see what's going on. In writing, if your intended audience is children or teens, chances are you want to avoid certain subjects - blood in particular comes to mind. As far as text goes, you can say that there is a wound or injury, but if you want to avoid it, there's no reason for you to ever state anything about the blood. In a more adult novel, you might state that blood was seeping to the ground as the rusted and broken piping your character had landed on pierced his side. But for young adults, saying that the pain was intense is more than enough.

That kind of thing is a lot harder with video games, tv shows, and movies. After all, it doesn't really make sense to have a sword stab through a character's back and watch them drop dead without a single drop of blood leaving their bodies. And yet they'll do that, because the sight of blood would just be too much for the kids. Not that, you know, a sword stabbing all the way through their body isn't bad enough already. And yet that's how it will be presented.

Ironically, when making more adult content, we seem to try and do the opposite to compensate for how little blood we showed early on. Games and shows aimed for adults will have enormous, entirely unrealistic splatters and pools of blood any time someone dies or is injured. Their bodies will stagger and stumble, they'll continue to move long after they should have been dead, because it makes things more dramatic and unsettling.

And I don't know if writing has evolved in a similar matter, or if it was later kind of brought back to writing from the more visual media, but I find this is often true with novels nowadays. And I'm certainly guilty of it too - after all, blood is a very sticky, slow moving liquid. It would take a direct blow to a vein to cause a spurt of blood, and even then it is not a continuous thing as it is often advertised. A single spurt, maybe two, and usually caused by applied pressure rather than the simple wound and beating of the heart. Certainly not enough to make a pool.

I'm not sure where we got this idea that that was how things were supposed to be presented. I kind of grew up with it, so for me it's kind of just in my head. But it makes me wonder where it started.