Holy Warrior

There was something very frustrating about it all. Why in the world was everyone giving him task and expecting him to be pleased about it?

He was just a random traveler after all and anyone could have stumbled across those ruins. It wasn’t as though he fought through them for any particular reason; He most certainly didn’t do it to acquire some holy relic. In hindsight he felt he’d rather have left the blasted spike to the dust and the eventual degradation.

Now everyone with a stubbed toe and a bone to pick with anything was coming to him. He’d already been dragged into dethroning two despots and countless other little conflicts. Sure those were good things but he just wanted to travel in peace.

Illness

A knot of pressure sat heavily behind his eyes, seeming to have migrated from lower in his sinuses. What more his throat felt as through he had been devouring handfuls of sand. Every swallow was painful and every cough threatened to detach his lungs and expel them as bloody lumps.

That was how it felt at least as he laid cocooned in his fleecy blanket. He had always hated getting sick but he hated it even more when he was alone. Not that he expected anyone to take care of him it just would have cheered him to have someone look in on him. Instead he was experiencing the one-two punch of sickness and loneliness so he was completely miserable.

Hacking terribly he trudged into the kitchen, the blanket dragging behind him like an overgrown tail. Saltwater. He grimaced at the cloudy glass but despite the taste gargling it had proven at least temporarily to relieve his throat.

The road though outside his kitchen window was silent, his house was silent, and whole world seemed to stop except for his own spewing of water. If he could sleep it would be nice but he couldn’t.  It was devastatingly empty and anything he did to introduce sound only softened it.

For now he simply crawled back into bed listening to the silence.

Ships

The Serendipity, the Happenstance, and the Expectation rested moored in the harbor where the waves lapped against their hulls. These were the most prized and advance vessels of the Saboirian military, as the culmination of countless years of research and espionage. The Serendipity was their flagship, an ironclad galleon with more firepower than any vessel that had ever sailed upon the waves though it had yet to make it’s maiden voyage.

It was the frigates, the Happenstance and the Expectation though that had made themselves known during combat under the command of their respective captains. The Happenstance alone had racked up more sinkings and captures than nearly all other vessels in the fleet put together. So many in fact that it was said to be marked by their rivals by ways of a bounty to paid to whomever sent the vessel to a watery grave. Though it was the Expectation that provided to be the fleetest and most elusive outpacing nearly all comers, even if it could not be said to have racked up the same notches as the Happenstance.

There were clear examples of advance metal alloys developed by the Sarkomandians in their armour plating, cannon designed by the weapon-smiths of Back Cup, and countless other technological improvements obtained by Saboir’s agents abroad. They may not have developed these vessels advancements themselves but they had implemented more rapidly than even their creators had and they believed that fact alone would give them the upper hand.

A Guardsman’s Perspective

Why was it that the capital city was always so overrun with heroes? He had worked other beats in other cities and he had seen heroes in all of them but the capital was different. There were so many heroes, more than the available quests in the city could ever possibly require. By his own crude estimates for every quest there was a minimum of 20 heroes and that was overkill. If just a fraction would consider joining the guard the city would be a lot safer. They wouldn’t of course they were all about the ‘mad lewts’ as they called it.

That in itself was strange. It was not normal to see dozens of heroes wielding and wearing gear so rare it was supposed to be but a thing of legend. Was someone out there counterfeiting those rarities and pawning them off as the original to unsuspecting villains? Villains who were then slaughtered by heroes who seized their former equipment believing them to be the genuine article. There had to be quite a massive and lucrative industry flourish behind the scenes. That was his theory at least, not that his commanding officer gave it any notice or bothered to pass it along to the heroes.

Watching a trio of heroes carrying massive gaudy weapons and riding a stride huge ferocious beast he had another thought. The word hero didn’t seem remotely correct for them. They killed indiscriminately, demanded rewards for even the most mundane tasks, and devastated the local wildlife wherever they went. Not to mention the rampant infighting among the ‘heroes’. It didn’t take much to set them off against one another…. But then they seemed to also come together over utter nonsense as well. So they were really less like heroes and more like deranged self-involved mercenaries and that was putting it nicely.

As another group passed he heard boisterous talk about the trill of a battleground victory. Battlegrounds, he scoffed they were more like elaborate competitions held between the rival factions of ‘heroes’. Personally he suspected the two factions were exactly the same and were the real driving force behind the continuing warfare that knew no boundaries and no continent. These ‘heroes’ were a menace and not the blessing others lauded them as.

Hypothetical Bear

The truck ahead them had been there for many hours. By some odd quirk of serendipity they found themselves travelling down the same desolate roads. There was something reassuring about the constant presence 10 – 20 feet ahead them.

The gray tarp fluttered ever so slightly in the wind though still obscuring the contents of the bed and the driver himself. They had caught glimpses of a hairy forearm and hints of a beard but other than that their companion of the road was a mystery.

“What do you suppose he’s hauling?” He asked eying the tall outline of the tarp.

“Furniture?” She shrugged. “I’d think they had few items they couldn’t fit in a moving truck.” That was the guess she would hazard.

“Nah…” He answered with a pause. “It’s got to be a bear.”

“A bear? Who in their right might moves a bear… Even a hypothetical bear?”

“Dunno but it’s got to be a bear.” Turning to her there was a crooked smile on his face.

“So this hypothetical bear, why is he moving it exactly?”

“It wandered into the suburbs. ” He said confidently. “They tranquilized it and now the guy’s relocating it.”

“Several thousand miles away?”

“Why not?”

“Well…” She just shrugged people had done stranger things. Maybe someone was moving a hypothetical bear to a hypothetical location.

Or it might just be a pair of sofas as they eventually glimpsed at bump in the road.

Strait of Brokenteeth

A thick fog hung over the crashing sea spray the jagged rocks jutting out at irregular points. They rose above the fog like the lower maw of an unseen behemoth poised to snap shut crushing the unsuspecting.

This was the Strait of Brokenteeth the deadliest passage on Nohval. Countless vessels had been crushed by the treacherous locale and violent currents. Only the veteran and reckless would attempt to traverse the passage in the brief window when the nigh perptual fog cleared enough to see. The fog was only a deterrent, it was the current that was the true killer of men.

Though it was the quickest passage between east and west few had the foolhardy bravado to attempt it. One of the only exceptions was the West Inde Trading Company who tackled it. Many ships had been lost but they gained greater profit.

Dungeon Crawl

Nothing about this venture had boded well. On their outset they had a party of 11, a death obsessed human paladin, an ignoramus of a half-ogre warrior, a perptually drunken defrocked priest, a pompous nobleman, a manipulative harpy mage and a six general purpose mercenaries. Now only a few weeks into their journey the core members were all that remained.

Three had died obeying the orders of their benefactor, the nobleman, in a suicidal assault on the citadel. One died accidentally by a beheading caused by the half-ogre. The final two died in the citadel itself. The deaths had caused the paladin great jealousy for to die brought them closer to god. The priest didn’t care, the half-ogre hardly registered there had been any other members ever, the nobleman was desperate, and the harpy used it to seize control.

The nobleman had been their leader, their overconfident pig headed leader merely due to the fact he had fodder in his employment. If he had sought to endear the rest of the party to his side he might still be in control and not a matches width from death after every encounter.

The mage though had made the effort to ‘befriend’ the warrior and rode now perched across his shoulder. More than that she knew how to manipulate the paladin to the frontline and had secretly acquired enough booze to buy the priest when his own supply ran dry.

She only tolerated the nobleman’s continuing presence as he could serve as a shield in future encounters. They had ascended 6 floors thus far and she figured the nobleman would not survive to clear the citadel which would suit her fine. The fewer party members when it was all over the smaller the portion of riches she’d have to give up.

Fear of Falling

Below them stretched an endless verdant canopy where losing oneself was not a possibility but a certainty. Though the forest was no looming desolate void from which she would never return it may have well been from where she stood.

Shivering in the precarious location she stood the bough swaying with every breeze there was no doubt in her mind she shook from terror. The ground was only a fleeting reminder glimpsed through the canopy, a winking of green and brown far below. It was so far, too far. She thought over the rustling of leaves and the flutter of feathers.

This was something she should be able to do, she had passed being far too old to fear it long ago but still she was still locked in place. Long talons dug desperately into the rough bark to release was too much for her heart. She had to fly from here there was no other way to be released from this lesson. No one would be coming to get her.

Flying was easy she had been doing it since she was a youngling. Yet above the height of a tall human man a cold panic seized her always. Those feathers that she always felt her own seemed foreign and the ground so far waiting to grab her and crush her.

She was too old to fear the heights of the sky. Yet flight meant nothing against the knowledge of the results of falling. Still she quivered.

Glasses

She stared at him thinking to herself how she had never seen him without his glasses on. Not once in all the time she had known him, not even for a moment and that seemed impossibly strange. They’d been caught in the rain before yet she couldn’t remember him removing them then either. She had simply look away and they were clean.

What would he look like without them? Even with them he always seemed vaguely tired, his blue eyes partially obscured by droopy eyelids and a thoughtful stare. There was a real sleepy open charm to them she supposed. His gaze never seemed confrontational only calm and curious.

He was resting an finger on his lip idly when he realized her gaze. Had she wanted something?  His mind had been wandering maybe she had said something and he’d missed it?

“So…” He mumbled sheepish, hoping that the method worked. When he missed things he found the word so encouraged people to elaborate if they were talking and could be played off if they weren’t.

“So,” She repeated lowering her hand and smiling. “So what?”

“Ah nothing.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure what I meant to say. Forget it.” A slight apologetic smile followed it.

“Okay.” She tilted her head. There was that absentmindedness of his. It would irritate her from others but with him it was just natural. Talking was almost an afterthought with him.

They often spent time together without saying a word. It was a comfortable silence though and she enjoyed it more than made sense. In her previous relationships she hated that silence, it made things awkward and she tried to fill it.

Reaching out a hand she tapped his glasses where they rested above his nose. “Do you always wear them?”

“I don’t like contacts.” He shrugged. “They’re… unnerving. Plus…” He hesitated.

“Plus.” She pressed leaning forward.

“Well,” He chuckled gesturing towards the ceiling. “Without them I look half asleep,”

“Which you are and always do.” She interrupted grinning at him.

“Well yeah.” He agreed sheepishly. “But that’s at best, sometimes I swear I look absolutely stoned off my ass without them.”

“Seriously?”

“I don’t know. I think so.” Taking them in his hand he removed them revealing unobstructed sleepy eyes. “What do you think?”

“You just look sleepy.” Patting his cheek she proceeded to swiped his glasses. They were too big for her and slid down her nose but didn’t actually distort her vision all that much. “Are they me?” She asked playfully.

“Definitely… As far as I can tell at least.”

Villains

Between a madman and genius as an opponent the choice was simple. He would choose the genius everytime, a genius at least could be scrutinized and understood. A madman… well a madman was simply beyond complete understanding. Give him a villain the likes of Bane over the Joker any day. The genius could be a sadistic, twisted bastard but any action they took had weight.

One died much more often at the hands of a madman. A madman simple does not care they’ll kill you if they want to, act without hesitation, and with impunity. The genius on the other hand is aware he has something to lose and that may cause him to hesitate. That was as much as it amounted to in his mind. A madman does not care and a man that does not care has nothing to lose. Catastrophic results typically occurred.

These were things he always told the newbies who often failed to understand that the smartest villain was not always the most dangerous. For all a genius’s planning and weaponry they were only egomaniacal, maleficent, and greedy but at the end of the day they were at least sane. A madman will revel in the act regardless of whether the act will prove profitable in any time except the present. The lower the villain rated on the Psychopathic  Scale the better the chance you had not to lose your life pointlessly. To die at the hands of a madman was such a shame.