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Words In This Update - 2058
Total Words So Far - 4080
I woke up today and that stupid hawk was back in my hair. Does it really look that much like a nest? I don't think nests are made out of burned hair, grease, the blood of my enemies, and my own drool, dearest diary. Okay, maybe there was no blood, but that's only because that doesn't seem to get tangles out real well. Don't ask, it's long story involving some stupid old Stormlock tribe remedy with one's own period blood to fight aging and split ends. It doesn't work! Honest! Don't look back on us, historians, and think we were all crazy, it was just my grandmother. She was probably high on peyote again or something. Silly shamans, drugs are for rebellious youth! And us geniuses looking for inspiration. Which is why we don't bring up the time I tried to build an advanced slingshot I designed while tripping my ears out under the stars. It was too cool for school.
I had propped up against my scrap heap and took a sip of my lemonade, swishing it through my teeth and spitting out the sand grit from earlier. Last thing I remember was thinking about roasted pigsteak strips sizzling with a side of prickly pear syrup and dancing with me through a field of desert flowers. Except a bard was there, so I had to kill his mandolin. Never forget, may it rest in pieces. Something tells me this was a dream, though. Woke up, sun was rising, bird was in my hair and clawing my ear. That's no way to wake your fellow desert nomad! No pigsteak strips either. All we had was fruit, fruit, and I think fruit, but I was too busy drowning in fruit juice to notice. I'm told it's good for my complexion. Personally, I prefer raw fuel stripping me of my nerve endings. Tingly.
I picked up The Marshal and checked him out, making sure he had a good night too, tucked in my cape to stay warm. All ready to go, clean as can be, just needs a lump of lead in him and we're ready to seize the day! And by day I mean where's my engine money, bitch? That reminded me. I had a dragon scout to go shake down for information and inspiration, huh? Perhaps perspiration too, if she flames me. I put on my goggles and marched forward to the wagon I had tied her in, tapping her in her hard dragon skull and pinching an ear. If I was going to wake up rudely, so was everyone.
Her scales were a brick red color and her flesh and underbelly almost as tanned as me. Yellow, sharp eyes dug into my soul. Either that or she was checking out my rack. Dunno how you could when it's covered in platecoat, but so it goes. At least she has marginally okay taste. Can't say I blame her; I'd look at me too. Must be the smell of grease on me attracting her. I pray to Our lady Laeshann she doesn't sneeze and light me and my rag up. The Marshal would have a word or seven with her if she did. I just waved and grinned at her.
“Rise and shine!” I said, rubbing a finger under my nose. In retrospect this made me look like a haughty child. So note to self, let's try to act our age, not our boot size. My ears twitched and tuned in to her exclusively, making sure I could hear her thoughts almost if needed. Though to be honest I bet all of them were “I smell bad” or “Please give me an education and make me a productive member of society” and maybe “Bluh bluh I'm a huge bitch.”
And just as if my life were a terrible comedy, my powder horn on my belt popped open and poofed a bit onto her nostrils, making her sneeze embers all over my front. Elves aren't for breakfast. Don't cook me! I'm probably high in fat. But yeah, it hurt like a blazing bitch. I screamed like a little girl and ran off to get a jug of juice, dousing myself in it and becoming a sticky mess, reeking of smoked citruses. Not a good combination. I walked back to the dragon's holding wagon and snarled, bapping her again in the face with the butt of my rifle. For some reason, probably because her brain is the size of my left nipple, she just laughed at me, even with her nose now knowing divine, steely justice. Sorry for the rude wake-up call, The Marshal.
“Lock does what Lock wants!” the lizard spoke. Was that her name? Lock? Seriously? Are the devils of the Embers mocking us and our tribe name? At least name her Ass Scratcher or something. Nobody's going to believe this. A genius can't have her reputation smeared like this, you know that, right? Good. I bet that's not changed in the future, you who are reading this. Respect and fear me, for I may very well dismantle you!
“Why are you writing this down as it happens? Stupid little long-ear that forgetful?” she chuckled, forked tongue flicking out between her lips and teeth. Seems she noticed my narrating it down in you, sweet journal, sorry for that. Don't let her insult you, she's not worth it! You're a wonderful diary. Yes you are. Who's my good friend? “Let Lock take a look, elfy, I promise I won't char it too much!”
Back in the bag you go. I'll recount the rest later when she's out of her own firing range.
Okay it's safe now, but suffice to say, most of what she said could be summed up as “Please de-horn me and use it to gore your enemies with, for I am large and dumb. I mean, I have to be to speak in the third person. It's not as endearing as I think!” Oh, and don't ask how the tickling idea went. I got about two seconds in and almost set on fire again. I'm adding muzzle making parts to my shopping list, though how do you muzzle a dragonkin? They're still mostly human looking and human shaped. Perhaps I'll look into one of those odd slave shops at the bazaar. I know last time I looked, they had an awful lot of leather accessories for such things. And were enjoying it a tad bit too much. Do I want to know? Probably not.
I spoke with the elder and he said I could keep her around so long as I managed caring for her. After all, having one of the enemy with us would provide us with a lot of information as to how they function, so long as she can't alert her friends. I'll find a way to snuff that fire, but gross, having a pet dragon girl as a pet? I'd rather the dune cats pissed on my armor as I slept. This Lock woman or whatever is going to become best friends with The Marshal, and fast, I can tell already.
I wonder what they eat for breakfast, besides elves. I don't need her starving to death, not at least before I get my research going, so I must begrudgingly spare some of my snake sandwich for lunch. I wonder if that counts as cannibalism for Lock. More like Cock. Either way, she snapped it up like a full dragon would and let the blood and bone trickle down her chin and neck. Absolutely unsanitary. I'd say clean it with fire, but she might like that! I hope I don't have to bathe with her when we get to Tolin like a mother would a child. Last thing I need to be accused of is being a scale molester. Ew. I'd rather the hard end of my hammer.
After lunch, we all packed up and got on our wagons, having the wolves drive them and carry them westward towards the Oasis. The sooner we'd get there, the better. My shopping list is already longer than my ears, my throat needs to be thoroughly gargled with lemonade so my haggling voice doesn't break, and if I can dump Lock off with a circus or something after sketching her wings out. Wait. A butcher would be better. I'm a genius, after all! It's a shame you cannot hear my devious laughter right now. It's pretty damn good. May Our Lady Laeshann rise forevermore for birthing me with such amazing intellect!
On the way to Tolin, Lock Cock decided to sing the song of her people. And poorly. I know she's doing this on purpose, what with how sensitive my hearing is and all. I better make that two pairs of earplugs when I get in town. Her and the bards can kiss my hard, leather padded ass. Some of us are trying to think over here! Gosh, how rude. Maybe I can just stick hot steel on her tongue, what then?
It was just about nightfall when we rolled happily into Tolin, parking neatly, as elves are famous for their parallel parking skills. Can't disappoint now, can I? The stars sure looked pretty tonight. I'll have to sketch some of the more interesting clusters, but I saw some that looked like tanks, one looked like a plane with two guns, which I hope is possible to make because now I kind of want one, and another looked like all the dinners I ever wanted. The gods were creative tonight. And possibly hungry and violent. Then again, if I was a god, that'd be business as usual, wouldn't it? I'd also make me really pretty and my chest a bit more prominent, but I'm pretty sure that's what anyone would do. Even the men. No wait, especially the men. They'd not pass up a chance to have a pair of tits like mine for a day, as I'd like to piss off a cliff once in my life, too. I wonder if I prayed hard enough and invented something cool enough, I could get a special gun down below of my own for a day? I'll have to try that soon.
The merchants were as friendly as the last time we were in the area, about a century ago. Many of them had grown fuller mustaches, but that was about the only noticeable change. I think it's a merchant's guild law that all merchants must grow facial hair with looped ends large enough to carry your sword into battle with for you. But don't quite me on that. I just wonder who it is they're trying to impress.
Unfortunately, as stated, this desert gets colder than a succubus' slit at night, so we set up campfire quickly and began to tuck ourselves in for the night. Lock Block or whatever could just lump it and stay in her wagon. She's got fire if she needs to be warm. I left her in a corner where she couldn't get out and bother anyone. If she behaves herself, maybe I'll buy her a rat or something to eat. That'd be fucking hilarious to look at, watching it squirm down her gullet.
Hey, you know what? Owning a dragonkin for a pet doesn't sound so bad after all. Just think of all the shenanigans like that to be had! Perhaps she's of more use than I thought of.
Time to go the way of the sun and lay myself down for a long, peaceful rest, The Marshal tucked back in under my golden cape. I'm quite looking forward to haggling and watching everyone get each other drunk and stupid enough that they don't notice each other pickpocketing them and sneaking in some butt pats. Oh, don't act like the thought never crossed your mind! I'm a good girl, so I never have, but at least I'm honest enough to admit that their reaction would be priceless. Maybe I will do it just to spite you.
What do you think of that, diary? Maybe I will practice my butt pats on you and The Marshal.
-Basira Nejam
Dated second day of the third week of spring in the year 367 which is the same year when I invented this device called a toaster and delivered us all from bland breakfasts
Total Words So Far - 4080
I woke up today and that stupid hawk was back in my hair. Does it really look that much like a nest? I don't think nests are made out of burned hair, grease, the blood of my enemies, and my own drool, dearest diary. Okay, maybe there was no blood, but that's only because that doesn't seem to get tangles out real well. Don't ask, it's long story involving some stupid old Stormlock tribe remedy with one's own period blood to fight aging and split ends. It doesn't work! Honest! Don't look back on us, historians, and think we were all crazy, it was just my grandmother. She was probably high on peyote again or something. Silly shamans, drugs are for rebellious youth! And us geniuses looking for inspiration. Which is why we don't bring up the time I tried to build an advanced slingshot I designed while tripping my ears out under the stars. It was too cool for school.
I had propped up against my scrap heap and took a sip of my lemonade, swishing it through my teeth and spitting out the sand grit from earlier. Last thing I remember was thinking about roasted pigsteak strips sizzling with a side of prickly pear syrup and dancing with me through a field of desert flowers. Except a bard was there, so I had to kill his mandolin. Never forget, may it rest in pieces. Something tells me this was a dream, though. Woke up, sun was rising, bird was in my hair and clawing my ear. That's no way to wake your fellow desert nomad! No pigsteak strips either. All we had was fruit, fruit, and I think fruit, but I was too busy drowning in fruit juice to notice. I'm told it's good for my complexion. Personally, I prefer raw fuel stripping me of my nerve endings. Tingly.
I picked up The Marshal and checked him out, making sure he had a good night too, tucked in my cape to stay warm. All ready to go, clean as can be, just needs a lump of lead in him and we're ready to seize the day! And by day I mean where's my engine money, bitch? That reminded me. I had a dragon scout to go shake down for information and inspiration, huh? Perhaps perspiration too, if she flames me. I put on my goggles and marched forward to the wagon I had tied her in, tapping her in her hard dragon skull and pinching an ear. If I was going to wake up rudely, so was everyone.
Her scales were a brick red color and her flesh and underbelly almost as tanned as me. Yellow, sharp eyes dug into my soul. Either that or she was checking out my rack. Dunno how you could when it's covered in platecoat, but so it goes. At least she has marginally okay taste. Can't say I blame her; I'd look at me too. Must be the smell of grease on me attracting her. I pray to Our lady Laeshann she doesn't sneeze and light me and my rag up. The Marshal would have a word or seven with her if she did. I just waved and grinned at her.
“Rise and shine!” I said, rubbing a finger under my nose. In retrospect this made me look like a haughty child. So note to self, let's try to act our age, not our boot size. My ears twitched and tuned in to her exclusively, making sure I could hear her thoughts almost if needed. Though to be honest I bet all of them were “I smell bad” or “Please give me an education and make me a productive member of society” and maybe “Bluh bluh I'm a huge bitch.”
And just as if my life were a terrible comedy, my powder horn on my belt popped open and poofed a bit onto her nostrils, making her sneeze embers all over my front. Elves aren't for breakfast. Don't cook me! I'm probably high in fat. But yeah, it hurt like a blazing bitch. I screamed like a little girl and ran off to get a jug of juice, dousing myself in it and becoming a sticky mess, reeking of smoked citruses. Not a good combination. I walked back to the dragon's holding wagon and snarled, bapping her again in the face with the butt of my rifle. For some reason, probably because her brain is the size of my left nipple, she just laughed at me, even with her nose now knowing divine, steely justice. Sorry for the rude wake-up call, The Marshal.
“Lock does what Lock wants!” the lizard spoke. Was that her name? Lock? Seriously? Are the devils of the Embers mocking us and our tribe name? At least name her Ass Scratcher or something. Nobody's going to believe this. A genius can't have her reputation smeared like this, you know that, right? Good. I bet that's not changed in the future, you who are reading this. Respect and fear me, for I may very well dismantle you!
“Why are you writing this down as it happens? Stupid little long-ear that forgetful?” she chuckled, forked tongue flicking out between her lips and teeth. Seems she noticed my narrating it down in you, sweet journal, sorry for that. Don't let her insult you, she's not worth it! You're a wonderful diary. Yes you are. Who's my good friend? “Let Lock take a look, elfy, I promise I won't char it too much!”
Back in the bag you go. I'll recount the rest later when she's out of her own firing range.
Okay it's safe now, but suffice to say, most of what she said could be summed up as “Please de-horn me and use it to gore your enemies with, for I am large and dumb. I mean, I have to be to speak in the third person. It's not as endearing as I think!” Oh, and don't ask how the tickling idea went. I got about two seconds in and almost set on fire again. I'm adding muzzle making parts to my shopping list, though how do you muzzle a dragonkin? They're still mostly human looking and human shaped. Perhaps I'll look into one of those odd slave shops at the bazaar. I know last time I looked, they had an awful lot of leather accessories for such things. And were enjoying it a tad bit too much. Do I want to know? Probably not.
I spoke with the elder and he said I could keep her around so long as I managed caring for her. After all, having one of the enemy with us would provide us with a lot of information as to how they function, so long as she can't alert her friends. I'll find a way to snuff that fire, but gross, having a pet dragon girl as a pet? I'd rather the dune cats pissed on my armor as I slept. This Lock woman or whatever is going to become best friends with The Marshal, and fast, I can tell already.
I wonder what they eat for breakfast, besides elves. I don't need her starving to death, not at least before I get my research going, so I must begrudgingly spare some of my snake sandwich for lunch. I wonder if that counts as cannibalism for Lock. More like Cock. Either way, she snapped it up like a full dragon would and let the blood and bone trickle down her chin and neck. Absolutely unsanitary. I'd say clean it with fire, but she might like that! I hope I don't have to bathe with her when we get to Tolin like a mother would a child. Last thing I need to be accused of is being a scale molester. Ew. I'd rather the hard end of my hammer.
After lunch, we all packed up and got on our wagons, having the wolves drive them and carry them westward towards the Oasis. The sooner we'd get there, the better. My shopping list is already longer than my ears, my throat needs to be thoroughly gargled with lemonade so my haggling voice doesn't break, and if I can dump Lock off with a circus or something after sketching her wings out. Wait. A butcher would be better. I'm a genius, after all! It's a shame you cannot hear my devious laughter right now. It's pretty damn good. May Our Lady Laeshann rise forevermore for birthing me with such amazing intellect!
On the way to Tolin, Lock Cock decided to sing the song of her people. And poorly. I know she's doing this on purpose, what with how sensitive my hearing is and all. I better make that two pairs of earplugs when I get in town. Her and the bards can kiss my hard, leather padded ass. Some of us are trying to think over here! Gosh, how rude. Maybe I can just stick hot steel on her tongue, what then?
It was just about nightfall when we rolled happily into Tolin, parking neatly, as elves are famous for their parallel parking skills. Can't disappoint now, can I? The stars sure looked pretty tonight. I'll have to sketch some of the more interesting clusters, but I saw some that looked like tanks, one looked like a plane with two guns, which I hope is possible to make because now I kind of want one, and another looked like all the dinners I ever wanted. The gods were creative tonight. And possibly hungry and violent. Then again, if I was a god, that'd be business as usual, wouldn't it? I'd also make me really pretty and my chest a bit more prominent, but I'm pretty sure that's what anyone would do. Even the men. No wait, especially the men. They'd not pass up a chance to have a pair of tits like mine for a day, as I'd like to piss off a cliff once in my life, too. I wonder if I prayed hard enough and invented something cool enough, I could get a special gun down below of my own for a day? I'll have to try that soon.
The merchants were as friendly as the last time we were in the area, about a century ago. Many of them had grown fuller mustaches, but that was about the only noticeable change. I think it's a merchant's guild law that all merchants must grow facial hair with looped ends large enough to carry your sword into battle with for you. But don't quite me on that. I just wonder who it is they're trying to impress.
Unfortunately, as stated, this desert gets colder than a succubus' slit at night, so we set up campfire quickly and began to tuck ourselves in for the night. Lock Block or whatever could just lump it and stay in her wagon. She's got fire if she needs to be warm. I left her in a corner where she couldn't get out and bother anyone. If she behaves herself, maybe I'll buy her a rat or something to eat. That'd be fucking hilarious to look at, watching it squirm down her gullet.
Hey, you know what? Owning a dragonkin for a pet doesn't sound so bad after all. Just think of all the shenanigans like that to be had! Perhaps she's of more use than I thought of.
Time to go the way of the sun and lay myself down for a long, peaceful rest, The Marshal tucked back in under my golden cape. I'm quite looking forward to haggling and watching everyone get each other drunk and stupid enough that they don't notice each other pickpocketing them and sneaking in some butt pats. Oh, don't act like the thought never crossed your mind! I'm a good girl, so I never have, but at least I'm honest enough to admit that their reaction would be priceless. Maybe I will do it just to spite you.
What do you think of that, diary? Maybe I will practice my butt pats on you and The Marshal.
-Basira Nejam
Dated second day of the third week of spring in the year 367 which is the same year when I invented this device called a toaster and delivered us all from bland breakfasts
