"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?
Saturday, April 15, 2017
Thursday, April 13, 2017
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.
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.
Wednesday, April 12, 2017
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.
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.
Tuesday, April 11, 2017
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.
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.
Monday, April 10, 2017
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."
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."
Sunday, April 9, 2017
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.
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.
Saturday, April 8, 2017
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.
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.
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