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Words In This Update - 2407
Total Words So Far - 19038
I've always heard the expression that you should fight fire with fire. I don't know who they are, but they were a smartypants. I hate to waste these delicious little guys, but Razan wolf peppers live up to their name and bite down hard. I take some I had stashed in a bag on my belt to choke my rations down with easier and tore them open, slicing a small bit into their sides with my teeth, and then squeezing them out so they sprayed off right into their eyes and up their nostrils. They can stand burns going out, but what about the burn going back up them?
Except for the part where they sadly just don't work. Not on dragons, at least. The three of them just used their tongues to grossly slurp it back out of their eyes and noses, letting out loud mms of contentment and asking me if I had any more where those come from. In my amazement, I confess that was my brilliant plan all along, and fake the widest smile I can. My arrogance and clever words have to help me now, right? Right? Instead, they just break down laughing at me like I'm some kind of fool to them and bellow so loudly and strongly that tears streak down their cheeks. Well hey, it worked some way. So I just grabbed my sack, swung it into their faces for extra effect, picked up Lock by her collar and dashed out while they were too busy mocking my brilliant strategy, my dragon being dragged on behind me, dashing down the fork in the hall towards the path we'd not tried yet.
I take it back. Whoever said the line about fighting fire with fire is stupid and I bet they burned their stupid house down trying to douse their fireplace with fireworks. I'm going back to what I said earlier and making it so that it's me who invents all these sayings and idioms and whatnot from hereon out. Someone's got to fix up history. May as well be someone with more than half a brain for once. They should just go on ahead and call them all Basiraisms. Or desert jewels. That sounds poetic enough, and scholars love that dreamy sounding shit. Makes it seem more legit.
We come to a room with a couple of softer, colder hued lights shining in, reflecting just barely off of a nearby rope dangling down against the far wall. Unfortunately for me (or fortunate if you choose to see it as such) I can't lug a goldfelcher up by her neck and climb to my escape at the same time. I'd either have to leave her here, possibly to rejoin her allies and attack me for locking her up, making her situation reflect her name, and possibly drug me in return for even daring of thinking of doing it to her, let alone actually having done it twice now. Or I could wake her up and have her fly us up. But could she even steer herself in her drugged state? What if she just crashed into the wall over and over, thinking it hilarious? It could also have taken too long to wake her, giving the laughing gang a chance to catch back up to me.
You know what, I didn't have time to be waffling on this choice, I'd have to just see if I could make the climb while pulling her up. It was probably the most awkward thing I've had to do in my entire life, and that's saying a lot. I'm used to hauling things out that weigh about as much as her, but never straight upwards, and definitely not while supporting myself on a flimsy old rope. I could inch up slowly, my arms straining, making entirely unattractive noises that I'm glad not much of anyone else could hear. Hopefully they were scaring the idiots back in the gallstone cave, if nothing else. At worst, the bards could somehow use their stupid elven hearing to use it as a base chorus for some new stupid song of theirs, no doubt about me and mocking me, and I would be glad to rid them of their ears if that were ever the case for anything I do around them.
Sadly, my troubles were only beginning, and they'd caught their breath, running in and pointing their middle fingers up at me, as if expecting such a juvenile gesture to rile me up. All it proves is that I've been right all along, and these overgrown iguana men with wings were of the lowest intelligence, using only crudeness and bullying to get their way. It's all they could understand about how the world works, so it's all they did. I didn't have time to escape up, I couldn't draw my gun, I wasn't about to drop my sack on their heads, I couldn't leave Lock to scurry up faster on my own. It was looking bleak. One stomped closer towards me and opened her mouth, spewing flames at me. I flailed, naturally, but in a heroic manner I assure you, making the rope and Lock swing wildly from side to side. The chain around her neck suddenly tightened, bolting her awake, clawing at her bindings until she choked and drooled. Something spectacular happened then, an event that only Our Lady could have given us enough luck to have occurred then. A true, honest to goodness miracle.
Lock puked. Yeah, I know it doesn't sound funny or cool or anything, but when you see coffee, pigsteak, sharp pyrite bits, and drug seed juice come out in a torrential spray, strong enough to splatter most everything in the room with at least a drop, and watch it coat your pursuers in a vile, acidic, reeking, brown, sticky aura, you stop caring about what the standards for fucking awesome are and redefine them to fit what it was you just witnessed. If it weren't for the fact that she was a disgusting tonguebiter still, I'd have kissed her, vomit taste and all, right in her gallant and spewing mouth and awarded her an elven medal for battlefield heroism.
Okay, I probably wouldn't have done it even if she was the most beautiful or handsome guy or girl of my standards ever, because puke taste is nasty and she could wait until she got a breath mint in her, but it's the thought that counts, right? I thought so too. The fools below us either freaked out at how unsanitary they now were and scurried off or began to retch themselves, the instinctual desire to barf upon seeing or hearing another do it overriding them. At that point, I might have joined in the chorus myself, but I refuse to be part of anything resembling any kind of band or chorus so much that I was able to swallow it down. Lock skittered against the wall, claws digging into it, and climbing upwards as quick as she could, dragging me with in an attempt to flee the scene. The drugs in her were wearing off rapidly now, snarling at me as my hand still gripped the end of her leash. Seems like I got out of the frying pan and into the fire. Also seems like I'm stuck on fire metaphors today.
If this were the end of my story, I'd not be writing mostly in past tense and hyping myself, also there would be burn and tear marks on these pages at best, and this would not even be being read as it'd be in Lock's stomach and eventually her droppings at worst. I don't think anyone really wants to read any journal entries in that style. If you do, please step away from whoever you're closest to and bathe in a hot spring in the middle of the Embers themselves, you sick, germ encrusted being, you. Some fetishes you just do not share with the world. See now, my hammer and wrench thing? Normal. What else do engineers do? Engineers nail and screw you hard. Except I think this joke's been used and I'm starting to get away from my daring rescue scene. Moving on now.
I thankfully had one of those wolf peppers left in my pouch. I pick up a bit of pyrite, toss it to the side, and offer it for her to clean her mouth with. Thankfully, her treasure hungry instincts override her need to breathe puke fumes down my neck and I watch as she crunches it up. I take a moment to undo the top of the pepper, stuff a seed in it, and then offer her it to help wash that taste out. Her forked tongue comes out, laps it up, and swallows it whole, giving a burst of flame in delight. Crisis averted. Knowing my luck though, that will literally never happen again. It was too easy, and I'm sure Laeshann herself has made note of it and will not allow me escape next time. Not without having to show her how genius I am. I'm pretty sure one of these runs of luck only happens to someone once per lifetime, and I'm almost disappointed that it was wasted on something as mundane as this. Like, I'm pretty sure I could have taken her in a wrestling match, though I'm unsure why I didn't attempt that now. Next time, though, definitely. I'll ride on wings yet.
It's interesting to watch her sniff around and drool like a beast and happily obey my commands. Maybe I should get her a name tag and collar. I'm sure hoping that Kattu is smart enough to keep these seeds out of the hands of anyone truly dangerous, like say, Tequila Morning or the bards. What if Alcy or Krissy got some, put it in my lemonade, and then made me gleefully listen to all their music? It'd pretty much be the most horrible thing ever and I doubt I'd ever make a full recovery. Speaking of, this new area was filled with mine carts, discarded tools, extinguished lanterns, rusted bits of armor, and all kinds of assorted old knick-knacks. I at least have Lock help me budge a mine cart out and I heft my sack and dump it in, taking a seat nearby to record what's happened so far.
So we're on break. Lock is tied to some old rails and chewing on a large bit of copper she picked out of the wall, and I'm swilling lemonade and catching my breath. It's nice to be able to record all this for you future generations so you know all about how much peril we old-timers faced. Maybe it'll teach you all to respect us more. I doubt it, but it's worth a shot. I know how stupid and rebellious you kids can be and how cool you think it it is, but trust me, if you really want to get ahead in life, you should suck up to people like me. If only so you're not the first ones we destroy when we inevitably take over.
I picked up a small dwarven crafted loupe here, sliding it on over my eye and holding it in place, taking out a gallstone and hmming to have the full illusion that I knew what I was doing with it. Yup. Still entirely worthless to me outside of trade and bribe value. It's more full of cracks than a public bath, even. Kind of glad I wasn't born a dwarf, this job seems boring. I'll pocket the loupe though, it'll come in handy while building. You never know when these things will come in handy. My map's been updated too with all of this info, noting down what exactly to come back for. Perhaps I should stash some stuff for myself in a nearby crack so nobody else takes it first, like filters and whatnot. Actually, yes, I will do that.
And now that that's done, I can come back and gloat about the discovery I made under a nearby table near where I made my stash hole. Inside a splintered old box was a barely used, though slightly rusting engine body. There's an area for magical enhancements to refine ore with to run off of, but with some minor tweaking, I'm betting I could get it to run steam and fuel just fine. In fact, it was the first thing to go in my hole. I made the widest smile and giggled in delight for the first time in I don't know when as I blocked off my crevice and realized just how bad these past few sentences found. I swear it's an engine and not me taking a special kind of break I'm taking. As if I'd do that in front of the drake. She doesn't get a free show, as you don't either! The nerve of some future scholars, misinterpreting my words preemptively. Go back to the romance section of the library if you want that kind of thing! Don't think I can't see you! Leave me and my crevice alone! Great, now I'm angry and flustered, and I just cannot deal with this. Too bad those dragon fuckers aren't around right now for me to wail on, it'd be a perfect stress release.
Actually, you know what? I'm going to take a hard earned nap. Lock's drugged up and passed out, and so I shall follow her to dreamland to make sure she's not thinking of escape or ruining my ass there, either. We can sort all these nasty discrepancies out when I wake up, and no sooner than that. You hear me? You better. Maybe I'll invent a way to record my voice to add to this just to make sure you've heard me loud and clear.
A few hours sounds nice. By then, I don't know what time it'll be, but any time will be better than a cranky time. As soon as I sign my name, I'm extinguishing my hard hat's light and pulling out The Marshal to hold to my bosom, just in case I need to wake up and dispose of something nasty, like Lock's breath.
-Basira Nejem
Dated still the I lost track day of the third week of spring in the year 367 which is also how many dune cats I count in my head to pass out
Total Words So Far - 19038
I've always heard the expression that you should fight fire with fire. I don't know who they are, but they were a smartypants. I hate to waste these delicious little guys, but Razan wolf peppers live up to their name and bite down hard. I take some I had stashed in a bag on my belt to choke my rations down with easier and tore them open, slicing a small bit into their sides with my teeth, and then squeezing them out so they sprayed off right into their eyes and up their nostrils. They can stand burns going out, but what about the burn going back up them?
Except for the part where they sadly just don't work. Not on dragons, at least. The three of them just used their tongues to grossly slurp it back out of their eyes and noses, letting out loud mms of contentment and asking me if I had any more where those come from. In my amazement, I confess that was my brilliant plan all along, and fake the widest smile I can. My arrogance and clever words have to help me now, right? Right? Instead, they just break down laughing at me like I'm some kind of fool to them and bellow so loudly and strongly that tears streak down their cheeks. Well hey, it worked some way. So I just grabbed my sack, swung it into their faces for extra effect, picked up Lock by her collar and dashed out while they were too busy mocking my brilliant strategy, my dragon being dragged on behind me, dashing down the fork in the hall towards the path we'd not tried yet.
I take it back. Whoever said the line about fighting fire with fire is stupid and I bet they burned their stupid house down trying to douse their fireplace with fireworks. I'm going back to what I said earlier and making it so that it's me who invents all these sayings and idioms and whatnot from hereon out. Someone's got to fix up history. May as well be someone with more than half a brain for once. They should just go on ahead and call them all Basiraisms. Or desert jewels. That sounds poetic enough, and scholars love that dreamy sounding shit. Makes it seem more legit.
We come to a room with a couple of softer, colder hued lights shining in, reflecting just barely off of a nearby rope dangling down against the far wall. Unfortunately for me (or fortunate if you choose to see it as such) I can't lug a goldfelcher up by her neck and climb to my escape at the same time. I'd either have to leave her here, possibly to rejoin her allies and attack me for locking her up, making her situation reflect her name, and possibly drug me in return for even daring of thinking of doing it to her, let alone actually having done it twice now. Or I could wake her up and have her fly us up. But could she even steer herself in her drugged state? What if she just crashed into the wall over and over, thinking it hilarious? It could also have taken too long to wake her, giving the laughing gang a chance to catch back up to me.
You know what, I didn't have time to be waffling on this choice, I'd have to just see if I could make the climb while pulling her up. It was probably the most awkward thing I've had to do in my entire life, and that's saying a lot. I'm used to hauling things out that weigh about as much as her, but never straight upwards, and definitely not while supporting myself on a flimsy old rope. I could inch up slowly, my arms straining, making entirely unattractive noises that I'm glad not much of anyone else could hear. Hopefully they were scaring the idiots back in the gallstone cave, if nothing else. At worst, the bards could somehow use their stupid elven hearing to use it as a base chorus for some new stupid song of theirs, no doubt about me and mocking me, and I would be glad to rid them of their ears if that were ever the case for anything I do around them.
Sadly, my troubles were only beginning, and they'd caught their breath, running in and pointing their middle fingers up at me, as if expecting such a juvenile gesture to rile me up. All it proves is that I've been right all along, and these overgrown iguana men with wings were of the lowest intelligence, using only crudeness and bullying to get their way. It's all they could understand about how the world works, so it's all they did. I didn't have time to escape up, I couldn't draw my gun, I wasn't about to drop my sack on their heads, I couldn't leave Lock to scurry up faster on my own. It was looking bleak. One stomped closer towards me and opened her mouth, spewing flames at me. I flailed, naturally, but in a heroic manner I assure you, making the rope and Lock swing wildly from side to side. The chain around her neck suddenly tightened, bolting her awake, clawing at her bindings until she choked and drooled. Something spectacular happened then, an event that only Our Lady could have given us enough luck to have occurred then. A true, honest to goodness miracle.
Lock puked. Yeah, I know it doesn't sound funny or cool or anything, but when you see coffee, pigsteak, sharp pyrite bits, and drug seed juice come out in a torrential spray, strong enough to splatter most everything in the room with at least a drop, and watch it coat your pursuers in a vile, acidic, reeking, brown, sticky aura, you stop caring about what the standards for fucking awesome are and redefine them to fit what it was you just witnessed. If it weren't for the fact that she was a disgusting tonguebiter still, I'd have kissed her, vomit taste and all, right in her gallant and spewing mouth and awarded her an elven medal for battlefield heroism.
Okay, I probably wouldn't have done it even if she was the most beautiful or handsome guy or girl of my standards ever, because puke taste is nasty and she could wait until she got a breath mint in her, but it's the thought that counts, right? I thought so too. The fools below us either freaked out at how unsanitary they now were and scurried off or began to retch themselves, the instinctual desire to barf upon seeing or hearing another do it overriding them. At that point, I might have joined in the chorus myself, but I refuse to be part of anything resembling any kind of band or chorus so much that I was able to swallow it down. Lock skittered against the wall, claws digging into it, and climbing upwards as quick as she could, dragging me with in an attempt to flee the scene. The drugs in her were wearing off rapidly now, snarling at me as my hand still gripped the end of her leash. Seems like I got out of the frying pan and into the fire. Also seems like I'm stuck on fire metaphors today.
If this were the end of my story, I'd not be writing mostly in past tense and hyping myself, also there would be burn and tear marks on these pages at best, and this would not even be being read as it'd be in Lock's stomach and eventually her droppings at worst. I don't think anyone really wants to read any journal entries in that style. If you do, please step away from whoever you're closest to and bathe in a hot spring in the middle of the Embers themselves, you sick, germ encrusted being, you. Some fetishes you just do not share with the world. See now, my hammer and wrench thing? Normal. What else do engineers do? Engineers nail and screw you hard. Except I think this joke's been used and I'm starting to get away from my daring rescue scene. Moving on now.
I thankfully had one of those wolf peppers left in my pouch. I pick up a bit of pyrite, toss it to the side, and offer it for her to clean her mouth with. Thankfully, her treasure hungry instincts override her need to breathe puke fumes down my neck and I watch as she crunches it up. I take a moment to undo the top of the pepper, stuff a seed in it, and then offer her it to help wash that taste out. Her forked tongue comes out, laps it up, and swallows it whole, giving a burst of flame in delight. Crisis averted. Knowing my luck though, that will literally never happen again. It was too easy, and I'm sure Laeshann herself has made note of it and will not allow me escape next time. Not without having to show her how genius I am. I'm pretty sure one of these runs of luck only happens to someone once per lifetime, and I'm almost disappointed that it was wasted on something as mundane as this. Like, I'm pretty sure I could have taken her in a wrestling match, though I'm unsure why I didn't attempt that now. Next time, though, definitely. I'll ride on wings yet.
It's interesting to watch her sniff around and drool like a beast and happily obey my commands. Maybe I should get her a name tag and collar. I'm sure hoping that Kattu is smart enough to keep these seeds out of the hands of anyone truly dangerous, like say, Tequila Morning or the bards. What if Alcy or Krissy got some, put it in my lemonade, and then made me gleefully listen to all their music? It'd pretty much be the most horrible thing ever and I doubt I'd ever make a full recovery. Speaking of, this new area was filled with mine carts, discarded tools, extinguished lanterns, rusted bits of armor, and all kinds of assorted old knick-knacks. I at least have Lock help me budge a mine cart out and I heft my sack and dump it in, taking a seat nearby to record what's happened so far.
So we're on break. Lock is tied to some old rails and chewing on a large bit of copper she picked out of the wall, and I'm swilling lemonade and catching my breath. It's nice to be able to record all this for you future generations so you know all about how much peril we old-timers faced. Maybe it'll teach you all to respect us more. I doubt it, but it's worth a shot. I know how stupid and rebellious you kids can be and how cool you think it it is, but trust me, if you really want to get ahead in life, you should suck up to people like me. If only so you're not the first ones we destroy when we inevitably take over.
I picked up a small dwarven crafted loupe here, sliding it on over my eye and holding it in place, taking out a gallstone and hmming to have the full illusion that I knew what I was doing with it. Yup. Still entirely worthless to me outside of trade and bribe value. It's more full of cracks than a public bath, even. Kind of glad I wasn't born a dwarf, this job seems boring. I'll pocket the loupe though, it'll come in handy while building. You never know when these things will come in handy. My map's been updated too with all of this info, noting down what exactly to come back for. Perhaps I should stash some stuff for myself in a nearby crack so nobody else takes it first, like filters and whatnot. Actually, yes, I will do that.
And now that that's done, I can come back and gloat about the discovery I made under a nearby table near where I made my stash hole. Inside a splintered old box was a barely used, though slightly rusting engine body. There's an area for magical enhancements to refine ore with to run off of, but with some minor tweaking, I'm betting I could get it to run steam and fuel just fine. In fact, it was the first thing to go in my hole. I made the widest smile and giggled in delight for the first time in I don't know when as I blocked off my crevice and realized just how bad these past few sentences found. I swear it's an engine and not me taking a special kind of break I'm taking. As if I'd do that in front of the drake. She doesn't get a free show, as you don't either! The nerve of some future scholars, misinterpreting my words preemptively. Go back to the romance section of the library if you want that kind of thing! Don't think I can't see you! Leave me and my crevice alone! Great, now I'm angry and flustered, and I just cannot deal with this. Too bad those dragon fuckers aren't around right now for me to wail on, it'd be a perfect stress release.
Actually, you know what? I'm going to take a hard earned nap. Lock's drugged up and passed out, and so I shall follow her to dreamland to make sure she's not thinking of escape or ruining my ass there, either. We can sort all these nasty discrepancies out when I wake up, and no sooner than that. You hear me? You better. Maybe I'll invent a way to record my voice to add to this just to make sure you've heard me loud and clear.
A few hours sounds nice. By then, I don't know what time it'll be, but any time will be better than a cranky time. As soon as I sign my name, I'm extinguishing my hard hat's light and pulling out The Marshal to hold to my bosom, just in case I need to wake up and dispose of something nasty, like Lock's breath.
-Basira Nejem
Dated still the I lost track day of the third week of spring in the year 367 which is also how many dune cats I count in my head to pass out
