It’s a trap!

Leave it to Martialla to be unremittingly (not totally sure what that word means honestly) hostile to the only person we meet that I want to befriend.  Whenever we meet some scabby dusty ugly future goblin man with a rusty sharpened piece of bloody metal clenched in their gnarled fist wearing a necklace of fingerbones, she wants to make friends, but when we encounter a normal human doctor from our time she loses her God damn mind.  I tried to talk her down, explain that maybe, just maybe a woman in a functioning hazmat suit with medical training and an underground facility of some kind could be helpful to us but she was having none of it.  

The doctor and her leech-men drove away on their contraption, leaving us with Stabby and the Horseman.  Stabby had been willing to chat before, but Martialla’s attitude towards his doctor-lord must have offended him because he clammed up after that, watching us suspiciously and ignoring my witty remarks.  While Martialla stood there sullenly and returned their suspicious glares with some of her own, I occupied myself examining the horse.  Since everything is horrible now I expected to find something strange and off-putting about it, like spikes on the knees or an extra set of eyes on the rump, but it was a normal horse seemingly.  Its mane and tail were both full of tangles but other than that it was just a horse.  

I asked the Horseman if I could pet it and he laughed and said “sure” in a way that made me think that it would bite and or/kick me.  So I didn’t.  But I wanted to.  I wanted to feed it an apple and comb those tangles out of its hair.  Although if I had an apple I would eat it myself.  Or better yet make some hard cider out of it.  I think you need more than one apple for hard cider though.  And brown sugar?  And probably like a jug or something.  I’m not really sure how you make hard cider.  And what makes it hard cider instead of just cider?

Maybe twenty minutes later another pair of brutes came our way, one on a little scooter and one on horseback to match their buddies, and riding on the back of the tiny scooter (instead of the giant horse) was one of the bee people.  This one was bigger than the field workers, maybe as much as four feet tall, and she was wearing a blindingly white speedsuit type thing only without a helmet.  That suit was by a wide margin the cleanest looking thing I have seen to date here in the future/present.  

She was carrying a machine (?) that looked like a cross between a tackle box and a charging station for a bunch of D batteries with a riotous explosion of tubes and wires coming out of it.  It kind of looked like what a nurse might have to work in a bloodmobile in our time but it also looked like something that a prop master would knock together on a Sci-Fi channel original movie.  Martialla shook her head at the sight. 

“I don’t like this.  How do we even know they have the filters?”

At this the new horseman, who I shall call imaginatively Horseman #2, held up two big canvas bags tied together and kind of shook them around so we could see that they were filled black canisters that kind of looked like those little propane tanks that caterers have for their chafing dishes.  Why are they called that?  Whenever I heard chafing dish it made me think of a dish that they rake across your nipples as a form of torture.  It’s probably French or some bullshit.  

Martialla looked over at me “Is that enough?”

I shrugged “How the fuck should I know?  We’re didn’t go into this mission with a lot of details on what we needed.  Truth be told I was expecting a bunch of little white coffee filter things.  If this isn’t enough we’ll just have to come back.”

Martialla eyed the four men eyeing us back “I don’t think we’re going to be welcome back here a second time.”

“Oh pish, I have the feeling this is the start of a wonderful friendship.  Soon enough the three of us will be having slumber parties and braiding each other’s hair.  I love Indian food you know, maybe she has some good recipes she can make.”

Martialla scratched at her scalp “That reminds me, we should both shave our heads if we find a sharp enough knife, these lice are driving me crazy.”  

“Fleas Martialla, we have fleas not lice, get it right.  You can Uncle Fester yourself if you want but I’ll die before I cut my hair.”

“I mean probably, yeah.”

I turned to the little bug-woman who had been standing there uncertainly “So are you like the lab assistant then?”

She started like no one had ever spoken to her before, and surprised me almost as much by answering in a tiny piping voice “Y-yes . . . we help Doctor Baidyabhusan.”

“Oh shit, you can talk?!  Sorry, I didn’t mean . . .” I gestured at the even smaller bee-people tending to the fields “I just mean that I tried to talk to them and it seemed like they weren’t capable of answering me.”

She licked her lips nervously, which was such a commonplace thing that it became super freaky happening under two giant fly-eyes “I’m not like them.  I need . . . to get the samples.”

I knelt down and held my arm out to her “Sure thing.  So a few days ago I was at a swap meet and there was a guy there who looked somewhat like you only he was bigger.  A friend told me that he was a ‘splice’ is that what you are?  Like gene splicing?”

She produced a thing that looked mostly like a butterfly needle set-up but there didn’t seem to be an actual needle, just a tiny black nozzle type thing at the end “You’d have to ask Doctor Baidyabhusan about that, I don’t know about anything. We’re helpers . . .  with the research.”

“Did she make you?”

She stopped her work for a moment “Of course, where else would I have come from?”

Martialla snorted “Impossible.”

At this the four warrior types grumbled and started mad dogging us even more if that’s possible and even the little bee girl’s voice took on the tiniest bit of flint.

“Doctor Baidyabhusan is intelligent.  She’s working on a cure and we help her.”

Martilla all but rolled her eyes “A cure for what?”

The tiny woman’s voice took on a hint of awe “For everything, for all of it, for the world.”

Before I could say anything we heard a bell clanging loudly in the distance and the two horsemen quickly mounted back up and spurred their mounts up the path between the fields towards the northwest.  The second scooter-man grabbed the little bee girl bodily like a piece of luggage and kicked off on his comically small machine back towards the northeast as she hugged her little bloodwork kit and protected it with her body.  I turned to the original scooter-rider with his very interesting codpiece.

“What’s going on?”

“We’re under attack.  Interesting timing huh?”

January 6, 1974 – Now that’s what I call an anti-climax!

Blue and Martialla were questioned as well.  What we told the Prince’s lady in a lady business suit didn’t exactly line up.  We should have gotten our stories straight beforehand.  In our defense though, we had no idea that the Madripoor government (or royal family or whatever) would care about us turning up with a hundred people in a fishing net.  Despite what Salvacion (that’s the lady I was calling Uncle Fester’s real name) said, it certainly felt like we were in trouble.   

I hate to admit it, but Martialla got us out of that jam.  I guess she pulled a bunch of people out of a Japanese base or something so the Prince already knew her and was inclined to hear her out.  After talking to a bunch of other people, eventually we did go to a palace and talk to the Prince’s eighth wife’s cousin, who was a general or something.  We told him the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth (more or less) and the next thing I know we’re on a boat off the shore of Ape Island watching the Madripoor Royal Guard storm the place.  They said with all the shore batteries and stuff, a conventional military attack would result in lots of casualties so they went with an elite strike force of super people.  I think they just did it because it’s cool.   

And it was cool.  Baron Frankenstein had soldiers and his own band of super mercs defending his island so it was a real melee.  I watched through binoculars from the boat, which if you ask me is the best way to watch a NBH skirmish.  One guy made out of rocks was killed and a woman that had glowing Saturn rings around her was badly injured, but Blue and Martialla were impressed with the Royal Guard.  Sounds like they’re the real deal.   

Doctor Evil got away but Martialla’s niece was rescued.  Kid didn’t even know she had been kidnapped.  

She just thought she was on a trip with her long-lost uncle.  She’s not too bright apparently.  It was funny to see Martialla clamp onto her and start blubbering with the “thank god you’re alive” and the kid is all like “What’s your problem weirdo?”   

Her name is Elizaveta and she’s a funny little thing.  Spent the last months eating ice cream, watching cartoons, and running around the island of supervillain Jones.  What a world, huh?  The Baron had someone nab her because it turns out that the reason Martialla survived the experiment they did to turn her into a grouper-woman is because she has some funky genetics and they were hoping her niece would have the same thing.   

Which she must have, because Doctor Baron harvested some juice from the kid and he made the gas that Tiger Shark used to attack the undersea facility that Martialla is always winging on about.  I guess she wasn’t lying about that.  Some of the soldiers that were transformed wrecked the tanker ship that Alacazar was so interested in so his men could steal whatever was on it. 

Alacazar is pissed.  Not only did we not get whatever the thing was for him, but we lost the sub.  Since it (whatever it is) was already taken off the ship, I don’t know what he expected us to do about it.  And honestly if you lend a mini sub to super people, you have to expect that it ain’t coming back.  I told him if he figured out where his mystery package was, we’d go get it for him.  He told me to go to hell.  He’ll come around I’m sure. 

The Prince gave us the use of an apartment in Hightown for a few days and it has a satellite that gets the Tropics games!  During commercials of a game where Jackie Moon had fifteen rebounds in the first half, I was regaling Elizaveta with some age-appropriate stories while hammering down bottles of Coke and eating hot dogs like they’re going out of style.   

“So anyway, long story short it wasn’t the laundry detergent that was making it burn when I pee.  Let that be a lesson to you kid, men are liars.” 

She screwed up her little face “GAH-ROSS !!!” 

I nodded “Tell me about it.  It’s like this one time, I was trying to show Jeanie how to blow a bubble inside a bubble with some Yubba Bubba . . .” Martialla walked in wearing actual clothes for once instead of her stupid Canadian flag wetsuit “I’ll tell you later.”  I got up and followed her into the kitchen “Get everything squared away?” 

Martialla grabbed a beer out of the fridge and nodded “Yes, my sister will be here in a few days to take her home.” 

I frowned “What do you mean, why is she coming here?  I thought you were taking her home?” 

She smiled humorlessly “I’m a fugitive Ela, remember?”   

“I don’t mean home to Canada, I mean the Coalition with your sister.” 

“Someday maybe.  We still need to rescue your friend Maggie.  And we still need to kill the Duke.” She laughed “You’re not very good at revenge, are you?  Doesn’t seem like you’ve made any progress at all.” 

I shook my head in confusion “I can’t . . . you don’t . . . it doesn’t make any sense Martialla.  You only came here to get your niece back, you should go home, be with her and your sister.” 

“We had a deal Ela, you help me get my niece back and I help you kill the Duke.  I’m a woman my word.” 

“But I didn’t even really do anything.  The Royal Guard did that.” 

Martialla tilted her head “You didn’t give up.  Ela, you’re not very smart, you can’t fight for shit, you should be charming at least but you always say the worst thing possible, and even if you don’t, every decision you make is exactly wrong.  You’re a crazy bitch, Ela.  But you’re not afraid.  Of anything seemingly.  Even when you should be.  You did enough.  You did enough.  You brought her home.  What kind of a woman would I be if I didn’t see this through to the end?  I’m a fighter Ela, this is what I do.  At least this is a fight that means something.”  

“I can’t ask you to do this.” 

“You’re not asking me, I’m offering.” 

I couldn’t help but laugh “But you don’t even like me!” 

She looked at her beer for a moment as if it had the answer “And sometimes Downtown ‘Funky’ Malone doesn’t like Jackie Moon either I bet.  I bet sometimes they want nothing more than to strangle each other.  But they’re teammates – you don’t have to like someone to work with them.  The only thing you have to ask yourself, Ela, is this – are you ready to get Tropical?” 

November 29, 1973 – Winners, some days there aren’t any

After getting tossed from the Shipyard, I was just about to ask what we were going to do about Elvis when Martialla sucker-punched me.  What’s the origin of that term?  Is the person punching the sucker or the person being punched?  I hate getting punched.  That may seem like a stupid thing to say, no one likes getting punched (well, almost no one) but I really don’t like it.  She punched me right in the mouth too, which is a real bitch move if you ask me.  Out of the water she has no super-strength but she’s still someone trained in punching.  I mean compared to getting shot in the damn foot it didn’t hurt that much, but it still god damn hurt.  What hurt more is getting knocked on my ass.  I think I bruised my coccyx. 

I put a hand to my mouth and saw blood “Jesus Christ, what was that for?!”

Instead of answering, she ducked and slithered under Blue’s restraining arm and tried to get me in some kind of hold.  Fat chance lady.  Some of us are strong all the time.  I hurled her away like a bull shaking off a clod of shit and she rolled across the ground a couple times before popping up into some kind of fighting stance.  Blue got a hold of her as I probed my mouth (phrasing) where she had belted me.

“I think you cracked one of my fucking teeth!  What is wrong with you?!”

Even on her dumb fish face, I could tell she was incredulous “Me?  What’s wrong with me?”

“Yeah, what are you, six years old?  Why did you attack me?  We don’t fight each other, use your words like a big girl.”

Blue was speechless as Martialla gave me a death stare “Ela, why can’t you ever just follow the plan?  I am being serious right now, do you have some kind of mental disease?  What makes you act like this?  We had everything worked out!”

“I didn’t want to do her thing, it sounded dumb.  She told me where Baron Iaogo . . .” 

Blue interjected “Iorgu.” 

“. . . WHATEVER, she told me where the Baron is so we just go straight to him.  None of this bullshit where we help one criminal against another and then wait to see if we get double-crossed. What are you so pissed about?  Now we can go get your niece, because of ME.  How about a little fucking gratitude?”

She laughed bitterly “Yes, it’s all about you Ela.  My problem is that you keep making enemies out of our allies!  How are we going to live long enough to rescue my niece when you keep doing moronic things like this?”

I gestured angrily “I got the information, how is that moronic?  I feel . . .”

Martialla spread her arms out and yelled at the few people not staying far away from us “Attention! Attention everyone!  Princess has a feeling, let’s all stop whatever we’re doing and listen while she explains how hard her life is and how it makes her feel.” 

“What the hell is your problem?” 

“You almost got us all killed!  We should have been killed!  I’m tired of you acting like a child because you feel sorry for yourself.  What?  Your head hurts?  You’re hungry?  Let’s hear about that for the nine hundredth time!  You sit there pretty as a picture and whine and whine and whine.” She held out her webbed hands “LOOK what they did to ME!  LOOK at me!  I’m the creature from the black lagoon!

You got powers and yet all you can do is complain.  They took my niece!  I literally swam hundreds of miles to get here and find her and since day one all you do is talk about how sad you are.”  She gestured at Blue “And what they did to me was nothing compare to what they did to Lucien.  Look at him, you think he likes being like that?  And all he does is wait on you hand and fucking foot.  And do you ever thank him for anything?  You are the most selfish person I’ve ever met in my life and I’m sick of it!

Toughen the hell up!” 

She stared at me for a long while before continuing “It isn’t easy for me either you know.  You like to talk about how bad you have it, but I had it way worse than you.  I was on my own.” She gestured expansively “Out there.  I had my sister to worry about and keep safe.  You think your life is such a fucking tragedy?   Who was looking out for me?  Fucking nobody!  You complain all the time about how you can’t trust anyone, you think it’s easy for me to trust anyone?”

“I never thought about it.”

“Of course not, why would you ever think about anyone else?  Ela you are selfish, and you are cruel, and you treat me and Blue like servants.  What kind of friendship is that?”

“The only one I’ve ever really had.”

She took a breath like she was steeling herself before plunging into cold water “I think we’ve reached the end of the trail, Ela.  I can’t afford to be your friend anymore.  It’s too dangerous.  I think it’s best that we go our separate ways.”

The words came a lot easier than I expected “Please don’t leave me.  I know I’m a bad friend, I wish I could say that I’ll change but I don’t know if I can.  I’m scared all the time, I’m not a fighter like you and Blue, I can’t even speak the language here.  I feel like I’m stuck in molasses, going nowhere slowly.  I’m starting to realize that I’ve never faced true adversity in my life before.  The hardships I‘ve had – not getting a record deal, not getting on with my parents, money problems, relationship issues, things like that back home – that was nothing.  I realize that now.  Homeless, rootless, penniless, hunted, stranded in a strange land – I’m not cut out for it.  But here I am anyway.  I know that I don’t deserve your loyalty, but I’m asking for it.  Please don’t leave me alone.”

After what seemed like an eternity, she spoke “Do what you said Ela, help me get my niece back like you said when the first met.  Show me that my concerns matter to you at all.  Then we’ll just see what happens after that.”

She walked away and I started to go after her but Blue told me to give her some time to cool off.  We both watched her disappear into the crowd and then after a beat, Blue looked down at me curiously.


Blue flicked is tongue in my direction “How did you get Serpentina to tell you where the Baron is?”

“I kicked her ass and made her tell me.  Well I guess really all I did was push her down and step on her.  I’m not sure why you were so afraid of her, she wasn’t very tough.”

Blue threw his hands up “That’s impossible, I’ve seen her file!  She’s got sixty confirmed kills.  And who knows how many others?!  You can’t fight!  You just said so!” I shrugged again “Apparently I can enough.  Plus, you don’t have to be a good fighter to kill people.  You should know that.  You said she was an assassin right?  Not a soldier.  She probably shook her ass in her marks’ faces and then poisoned them.  That doesn’t make you a good fighter.”

November 29, 1973 – The long, long hallway

Things were going well at first.  Blue isn’t exactly bulletproof, but he’s bullet resistant and when you add in his healing ability, guys with guns aren’t a huge challenge for him.  I tossed Martialla out the two shotguns and she used Blue as a mobile shield as they advanced.  Things took a turn once the poison gas came.  I didn’t see any grenade or anything, there was just suddenly yellowish smoke around us. Martialla went down quickly and Blue was clearly affected as well – he kept fighting but he was unsteady and clumsy.  I don’t know what all my new magic necklace does, but one thing for sure is that is protects against whatever that gas was.  I dragged Martialla out of the cloud in the hallway back into the office.  As I did so, I noticed a woman in a white bodysuit striding into the fray with a sword in hand.

You know how I feel about sword people.  She started carving Blue up like an Easter ham, but I have to believe that’s because the gas was making him sluggish – normally he’d never be bothered by a sword wielder.  I tried to help him out by hurling Serpentina at her, but she sliced her out of the air like I had thrown a tomato into a big ass industrial fan.  Did she not know she was killing her boss or did she not care?  Also, once Serpentina was dead, why were we still fighting?  I threw the bruised nutsack guy at her and the mostly unconscious guy as well and while she was dodging them, Blue cracked her on the jaw with a punch that looked like it would have knocked out a rhino. 

While she was staggered, I hit her with Serpentina’s desk.  I think it was teak.  It definitely weighed as much as a small car.  That was around the time another woman stepped around the corner and blasted Blue in the back with an RPG.  I dove back into the office as Gun Bunny dropped her rocket tube and unlimbered an assault rifle.  As I was crawling around the corner, I took a bullet to the bottom of the foot.  There was enough impact to spin me around like I had been ejected from a tilt-a-whirl.  I feel like the bullet went all the way up into my knee.  It felt like my entire leg was on fire.  I grabbed Martialla, partially to try and shake her awake and partially to drag her out of the line of fire. 

And what did I get for my efforts?  She tried to stab me with her diving knife!  She didn’t do it very well but she still tried.  I did a one legged scuttle backwards like a badly injured crab to the “safety” of the pachinko machines.

I assumed she was confused from the gas “It’s me, Martialla!”

She dragged herself into cover on the other side “I know!”

So much for that assumption “What?”

She held the knife up and pointed it at me in a weird way, immediately sweat starting pouring down her ashen face from even that small amount of effort “Stay away from me Ela, I mean it!  Don’t touch me!”

“What are you talking about?  We’re in a situation here!  Blue is down, we need to get out there and . . .”

“We’re in a situation because of YOU, because of what you did!” She gave me a death glare “Ela, why can’t you ever just follow the plan?  Seriously, is something broken in your brain?  Did you get dropped on your head as a child?!”

I gestured “Look if you hate me now fine, but there’s no point in laying here to die – let’s get the hell out of here and then you can hate me real good when you’re hale and healthy.”

Her hand was shaking like that of an old man “I’m serious Ela, if you take a step towards me, I’ll cut you.”

“Jesus Christ can we have this little spat later, we’re in the middle of something right now!”

Her lip curled, I don’t think she liked me calling it a “spat” but the conversation came to an abrupt end when another cloud of gas came billowing towards us.  Martialla passed out again.  I hurled a pachinko machine at the wall but those things are flimsier than they look, it smashed to bits without doing much damage.  From my back I managed to kick a decent sized hole in the wall, but there was just a gap and then more wall.  I need to find a blueprint of this place, how thick are the interior walls?  I was trying to wriggle into the gap when it was too late.   

A dude walked in that was completely hairless.  I don’t mean he was bald, I mean he had no hair of any kind.  Have you ever seen a guy without eyebrows and not even a hint of facial hair?  It’s oddly feminine.  Even though his skin was slate grey and he was wearing what looked like mechanic’s coveralls.  I threw the paperweight thing I had used to take out guard number one and when it hit him, it sounded like two bowling balls smashing together.  It had about the same effect as a crumpled-up piece of paper.  Behind him was RPG girl, now wearing a gasmask and brandishing a gun that looked like what Steve McQueen has in Wanted Dead or Alive.  I didn’t know that was a real thing, it looks like a pistol and a rifle had a baby.  Is that a carbine?

I held my hands up “Uh, I surrender.”  Gasmask gestured with her gun for me to get up “I can’t stand up, you shot me in the foot.”

Coveralls came forward and grabbed a fistful of hair and dragged me out of there like a caveman.  I had a pretty strong urge to try and rip his leg off, but I figured that was probably a bad idea.  Outside of the gas cloud there was a whole menagerie waiting for us – there was a guy floating in the air holding Blue’s motionless body with some kind of green energy he was emitting, two women that looked like bears or dogs or something and seemed to think that meant they could walk around topless, a tiny man (not tiny tiny like the Amazing Ant, I mean like five feet) in a black robot-suit, a stoner looking dude in a god damn Betty Boop t-shirt, a big no-neck type, and two dudes that looked like riot cops with complicated looking rifles instead of normal guns.    

A few thoughts.  I see now that when you get a team of super people together, it looks ridiculous.  And I understand why the comic books always give them matching outfits. When you have one guy in overalls and other people in armor, and some half nude badger women, and whatever else, it doesn’t look right.  Giving them the same speed suit to wear helps.  If I ever get my superteam off the ground, I’m going to need to think about some kind of uniform that we can wear so we don’t look like idiots.

Another thought, why is everyone so into laser guns?  Why are lasers better than bullets? Do they make you more dead?  Are they better at shooting through things?  Couldn’t you protect yourself from a laser with a compact mirror?  It’s just light, right?   My final thought is that attacking Serpentina may have been a bad idea.

I should have taken those warnings on the side of the cigarette packs more seriously – turns out smoking is bad for your health.

OOC – I have become old

Normally I would post this on my rambling blog but being the super macho alpha male that I am I’d be mildly embarrassed if my friends saw this.  So I’ll hide it here.

I’ve never really understood nostalgia.  Whenever someone was pining for our days of youth I thought they were crazy.  Generally speaking your life gets better over time.  It didn’t track to me why would you look back with fondness.  I don’t miss the days when I had a crappy temp job and lots of debt so I lived in a trailer because I couldn’t afford an apartment and ate disgusting generic pizza rolls because I could get a giant bag of them for five bucks. 

Sidenote I don’t mean to imply my life was ever really that hard, I was still a white boy in the easiest country to live in in the world, I’m saying that my life is much better now.

But today for the first time I got an inkling of what people mean why they reminisce.  I think you don’t really miss your youth, you miss the way your friendship used to be. 

Whereas, today I was putting together a new computer desk and I thought about how in the old days one of my friends would have been delighted to take my old one.  Now of course no one would touch it with a ten foot clown pole.  We’re all adults, if someone wants new furniture they just get it.  No one needs (or wants) hand me downs anymore.   I mean, also no one would want it anyway because I’m the only person in the world who still has a desktop computer, but that’s beside the point.

In the old days any time anyone got anything it set of a chain reaction.  One of my friends got married right after HS so they had TWO incomes and therefore they usually got stuff first.  They’d buy a couch and then friend B would get their old couch, and that second couch would go to friend C, and so on.  Someone was replacing a couch they found in a ditch by their uncle Skeeter’s out in Minden. 

Back then it wasn’t just that we had less responsibility, there was also more of a sense of community in a small scale.  We depended on each other.  Now if someone moves they just hire movers, which is better, but it’s also kind of a bummer because it’s a signal that we’re all kind of our own entities now.  Moving a bunch of shit and bickering with your friend’s GF because she didn’t drain all the water out of the waterbed like he said and those things are GD heavy was kind of a drag but it was also kind of fun.  Plus afterwards you’d eat the cheapest pizza in town and play basketball.

Now as adults we don’t need each other like we did then.  We still hang out and we’re still friends, but we’re not a team anymore.  We’re just people living lives.  So I understand missing that a little now.  I’m not sure why I never thought about it before.

Last summer here in the Midwest we had an inland hurricane (who knew that was a thing) and many people were without power and had lots of property damage.  That was the first time a long time any of us really needed each other.  And honestly even that was pretty minor.  Because we’re adults now.  Even in a crisis most adults handle their own shit.  These days if one my friends really needed me it would probably be because something truly horrible was happening. 

Anyway, I kind of understand what people mean now when they sigh and talk about old times.  They don’t miss their old lives exactly, because our lives our better, they miss the way we were all in the same boat trying to bail out water.

My favorite comedian of all the times, Paul F. Thompkins, has a bit about how you should never talk about your therapy because no one wants to hear it.  But I will anyway.  Years ago I saw a therapist at work for a while because it was free.  I don’t know if I really buy therapy but I was curious.  Which I realize now is kind of a dick move, I should have left that free therapy for someone else. 

Anyway, one time I told the lady how it bummed me out that I didn’t hang with my friends like in the old days and she said (in a nicer way) “yeah, you’re adults, that’s how it works, grow up buddy”.  Which was depressing in and of itself but is true.  Things change. 

Midnight on Dagger Alley (OOC shamboozling)

I thought the title of that module was Midnight IN Dagger Alley but it’s not.  It’s Midnight ON Dagger Alley.  Which doesn’t make sense.  Or does it? 

As you all know, Wednesday is when I post world-building and background stuff for the funkadelic 70’s adventures of Ela 2.0.  But I don’t feel like it today so I’m not gonna.  In the old days of D&D Ela, I never would have dreamed of not posting EVERY day like I promised the zero people that read it.  But these are new times where rules mean nothing.  I’ve learned that the less I post, the more people seem to like it.  I don’t take it personally. 

“Jeremy what are you doing?  Don’t you have another blog for random thoughts?”  No, that blog is for deep personal reflection and is only for my dear friends and 8 (and counting) Russian bots.

I was playing DND (yay!) on roll20 (boo!) the other day and after the customary 7 to 99 minutes of fucking around, the game began with the DM letting out a huge sigh and saying “okay then”. 

I thought in that moment “I think that’s how all my DND games have started”.  Which is an exaggeration, it’s probably not even most, but maybe 30% of them have been something like that.  It reminded me that as much fun as playing RPGs is, it’s a lot of work. 

Sometimes my friends and I sit around and shoot the shit (before covid you know) but more often we’re playing a board game or a RPG.  I often wonder how people that don’t game maintain friendships.  What do they do?  Talk to each other without any agenda?  Awful.

It’s kind of a bummer though because it means that someone has a part time job that’s necessary for friendship time.  Which I guess is okay because friendship is something that should require some work, but being a DM is kind of a drag.  I love running games and obviously am the best at it in the world, but even I sometimes am just like “ugh, I don’t really want to do this tonight” but you sort of have to or you ruin it for everyone. 

In the past few years, I’ve seen tons of “gmless” RPGs and “zero-prep” adventures, I hate-follow one blog where the blogman talks at length about how any adventure that requires any prep is utter shit and the person that wrote it should die.  Being a judgmental old man, I turn up my nose at these things – damn millennials want to have the fun of DND without the work?  In my day there were only two character classes and you had 8 STR and you got killed by a gopher and you LIKED IT DAMN IT!!!

But I get it.  If you can have fun playing a game without having to bust your ass, why wouldn’t you?

What I’m saying is that I beat Zelda without the wooden sword when I was a kid and I thought that was great.  But then the internet was a thing and I found out that tons of people have done that.  So I guess my proudest accomplishment now is that I threw a 20 sided dice and turned off my friend Joel’s Nintendo from a legit 20 feet away when he was being a jerk and playing Dragon Warrior while we were all waiting for him. 

That’s a lie, I didn’t do that, one of my friends did.  But as I get older, I’ll start to remember that I did it because memory is stupid.

Once in a while other blog people say on their blog that people should read my blog.  The people that read their blog never do, but I still appreciate the tiny crumbs of attention thrown my way like young crows like it when you toss them corn. 

If you like wrestling or comic books or pop tarts, you should read this – – they also talk about anime sometimes but nobody is perfect.

If you like seeing DND where a TON of work is put into making it look awesome, you should read this –

If you like Shadowrun but hate its insane rules system, you should read this –

If you like goblins with ballistas, you should read this –

And if you think that Stephen Amell should hire me as a writer on his new wrestling drama HEELS, you should read this – and then badger him on social media. 

October 17, 1973 – But before you go, baby just show me what I gotta do

When my most recent kidnapper dismissed me from the hallowed halls of her cramped office above a fully operational whorehouse, she had one of her goons on hand to drive me wherever I wanted.  I gave some serious consideration to refusing that offer and trying to find my own way “home” since I figured there was an eighty-nine percent chance that I would be driven into the clutches of another crimelord where I would be forced to perform “Come Home Baby” at gunpoint over a tank of voracious tiger sharks.  And that song isn’t in my natural register!  It would still sound great, don’t get me wrong, it just wouldn’t be a true reflection of my abilities.  Which would be a shame.  Because I am a fantastic singer.  You don’t smash your way into the top 40 hits without the goods.  

In the end though, I decided to get into the back of that Toyota Corona Mark II T70 coupé utility on account of I was sleepy and didn’t feel like walking.  Also I had no idea where I was.  I need to get a map of Madripoor or something.  Besides which, in terms of kidnapping, while the first one didn’t end up great, the second one was a draw I’d say, and this last one wasn’t so bad – with a record of 1-1-1, I’m getting the hang of being kidnapped I think.  I feel confident that my fourth kidnapping will turn out okay whenever it occurs – tiger sharks notwithstanding.  

I was literally starving to death so I had the driver swing by a fish market where he stood by with thinly veiled disgust as I ate (drank?) a gallon of shark fin soup and a quart of grilled octopus with a kind of spicy sausage and peppers.  I had him pick me up a carton of smokes too.  The cigarettes around here are weak and unsatisfying but any port in a storm you know?  I’ll say one thing about the United States, whatever you think of their politics and problems, they know how to make a smooth, rich, and fulfilling cigarette.  When I smoke the local brands, I feel like I’m smoking a chicken bone.  I’m sure madam crime lady won’t mind that I charged all this stuff to her.  

When I got to Kruszarka 495 (I essentially live in a bar right now, that’s how well things are going) Blue and Martialla weren’t there, but I assumed that was because they were out hitting the streets and cracking skulls looking for me.  The guy who seems to be the only employee wasn’t there either, so I drank a half a bottle of vodka and then took a little nap behind the bar.  I dreamed of banana splits and mountains of juicy duck and ding-dongs and pizza and thick sizzling steaks and pecan pie with seventeen scoops of ice cream.  Don’t think me unworldly, but I miss the good old fat and sugar-based cuisine of Northern America.  I don’t think they even have Crisco here.  Or mayonnaise. 

I was rudely awakened by the sounds of heavy things (heavy to normal people, I’m super strong you know) being banged onto tables and loud speaking in French accompanied by raucous laughter.  I smiled to myself and listened for a moment, expecting to hear Blue and Martialla discussing how worried they were about me being missing and imagining how relived they would be when I popped out behind the bar like a jack in the box.  But they were talking so fast in their stupid Canadian dialect that I couldn’t exactly tell what they were talking about.  It didn’t seem to be about me though. Which was troubling.

I stood up with a flourish “Ta-da!”

Blue and Martialla were standing by a table loaded with guns and ammo.  Blue glanced over at me and then nodded. “You’re alive, good, you can help.”

I frowned “That’s it?  You’ve been out looking for me all night and you can’t show a little more enthusiasm that I saved myself yet again?  It was quite a sticky situation but I managed to fight my way free.  You see what happened . . .”

Blue picked up a rifle or a shotgun or something and examined it “We weren’t looking for you, we assumed you were dead.”

Martialla hadn’t even bothered to look over, she seemed to be sorting loose bullets “He thought you were dead, I assumed that you were distracted by a disco ball and spent the night dancing.” She awkwardly mimed a little dance move and they both laughed.  I’ve scarcely been more outraged in all my life.  

“First of all, no one does the Hustle anymore.  Second of all, when did you two become such good friends?  And third of all, you weren’t even looking for me?  What kind of bullbird is that?  I go out on a mission for the team and you don’t even try to save me when I don’t come back?  Whatever happened to leave no man behind?”

Martialla grinned with her gross fish-lips “That’s what you staties do, in Canada we leave people behind all the time.  We’re known for it.  They tell you in basic ‘don’t dawdle or you’ll be left behind’.”

Blue laughed and then flicked his tongue sideways in what I’ve come to understand is a lizard shrug “Once you were dead, we had to make a move.  If you were alive, we knew you’d find your way back and you did.  Look, there you are.  Roaming the streets of Madripoor looking for you wouldn’t have done any good.”

Martialla said something to him that I didn’t catch and they both laughed again.  I was furious.  I’m the leader and they just moved on without me?  They should have been tearing this city apart looking for me.  They should have been burning this place to the ground until they got answers.  It’s hard to stay furious when the people you’re mad at don’t even seem to notice though.  To mollify myself, I started chewing on some of these local berries they have that are like coffee beans.  The barman keeps a bag of them behind the counter but I’ve never seen him eat one.

“How’d you get all the guns?”

Blue opened his freaky lizard mouth slightly in what I think is a lizard head shake “This place is crazy, you can buy anything here.  We just got all this stuff on the street.” He looked at Martialla “What I’d really like is a Lee–Enfield.”

She scowled.  I think, her face is scowly all the time “Are you nuts, you can’t be robbing a bank with a service rifle.  What I wanted was an Inglis Hi-Power.”

Blue flicked his tongue out “A nine-millimeter?  That’s a lady gun.”

Martialla put her hands on the table angrily “I meant the forty caliber not the nine, besides which the Inglis Hi-Power is not a lady gun, the stopping power . . .”

I threw a hand up “Whoa, whoa, whoa what are you talking about?  Robbing a bank?  What bank?  What’s happening?”

Martialla grinned “We’re gonna rob a bank.” Blue nodded and gave me a thumbs up.

I was so shocked I let a berry drop out of my mouth, which is very unladylike “What?!”

October 14, 1973 – License to krill

I ate a bucket of krill today.  I don’t know exactly what krill is, but I know that it’s what whales eat.  This is where I’m at in life.  And the worst part, I couldn’t even pay for it.  It was a bucket of charity krill.  Actually the worst part was the taste.  Actually the worst part was how grateful I was to get a disgusting bucket of slime.  I was shoveling it into my mouth like . . . well like something. 

If you had talked to me before I came to Madripoor, I would have told you that I was a real hero for overcoming my hardscrabble upbringing on the wrong side of the tracks and making something of myself.  I would have told you about how I fought my way up from the gutter.  But now I know better.  There’s gutters and then there’s gutters you know?  Read national geographic all you want, but you can’t know what life is really like for some people out there.   

I’ve been eating Blue out of house and home.  Which isn’t hard because he has neither house nor home.  He flops in the backroom of some crazy store that sells herbal dick hardeners and powdered tiger penis and stuff like that.  The man was a fucking special forces commando and he’s barely one rung up the ladder from me – and I’m essentially homeless.  I guess this is why so many super people become super villains – how else are you going to make money?  Being super strong and super tough seems only to be valuable on the supply side of crime.  Superman never made any money saving the world from Solomon Grundy.  At least Grundy had a sewer to live in. 

I’m hungry all the time, but even more than that I want a GOD DAMN CIGARETTE.  I want that sweet, sweet poison in my bloodstream.  I want that feeling of floating, of being lifted aloft by a pair of tarry filthy wings to be carried away by the wind.  Everything’s better when you smoke.  Your fears and anxieties don’t seem so bad because you got your old pal with you – inside of you!  That’s closer than any stupid non-smoke friends can ever get.  Well, they can get inside you a couple inches, but that’s different.  Now that I’m super powered it’s probably not even bad for me!  The point is – with your pal nicotine on your side you can handle anything. 

But there’s no use whining about how I want a bottle of tequila and a pack of 100s and a big fat juicy triple bacon burger with fries and an entire peach pie, you just gotta push forward.  Crying don’t put cigarettes in your pocket.  I mean Blue is a monster and he doesn’t complain about it.  Much.   

When I was on my disastrous (although it resulted in me becoming friends with Canadian Wally Gator so maybe it was actually great?) path of trying to cozy up to the pirates of Madripoor (I like the sound of that, maybe I should write a musical) I learned a little about the maritime shipping trade, and I know a little from working on the docks.  But I still have no idea how it all works really.  There’s 88 billion ships coming and going all the time, how the hell do you organize that?  I don’t really want to know because it’s super boring.  I got trapped talking to (being talked at really) some crusty old British guy who went on and on about what transshipping actually means and some treaty in 1912 about how the Strait of Malacca gets used.  I think his attempt to bore me to death came closer to taking me out than anything else since I got here. 

Blue said that he didn’t know anything about it and I couldn’t find Elvis (I should check in with his grandma since the Shadow Lords said they were going to kill him and all) so I returned to the crappy confines of Pinetree International Exports and its owner, chief operator, and proprietor of Alcazar.  He wasn’t happy to see me even though I am a pure delight and my Spanish is flawless.  You really find out who your friends are when you’re marked for death by an underworld murder crew.  I told him I wanted to find out everything I could about the ship that brought me to Madripoor.  He asked what was in it for him.  I said not getting his arms torn off by Blue.  I could also tear his arms off, but for some reason people are more intimidated by a giant blue lizardman than a soulful and sexy singer with a top 40 hit.  People are strange like that.

He didn’t have much information for me other than the ship is called “Empire” and it’s owned by Ulysses Tanker Corporation of Liberia.  For more than that we’d have to seek out THE HARBORMASTER.  Seems like an importer/exporter should know more about a ship.  Blue and I were on our way to see THE HARBORMASTER when I did a double take.  On the other side of the street I saw a familiar face.  Not familiar in the sense that I knew the guy, but familiar in the sense that I had seen him on TV.  You don’t see too many westerners outside of touristville but that’s not the only thing that made him stand out – he was also head and shoulders above the rest of the crowd.  I poked Blue and pointed him out.  My grandma always said that pointing is rude but sometimes it’s necessary.

“Is that Wildman Wayne Wiley?” 

Blue squinted, I think his lizard eyeballs don’t see so good “The wrestler?  Yeah, I think it is.” 

“What the heck is he doing here?” 

“Probably here for the tournament.” 

I frowned “I thought that death sport you all are so proud of here was for super people.” 

“I’m not from here so don’t lump me into the death sports crowd.  Maybe he is a super person, didn’t he have to flee from the states because he beat a man to death in the ring?” 

“Did that really happen?  I assumed that was something they made up to make him seem tough, wrestling is fake you know.” 

He made a lizard huffing noise that I have come to understand is a snicker “You don’t say.” 

“Shut up.  Maybe we should talk to him.” 

“The murderer who came here to fight other men to the death for laughs?  Why would we want to talk to someone like that?” 

“It would be nice to hear someone speaking English for one.  But more because maybe he has a private jet that can get us out of here.” 

“Why would he let us on his private jet?” 

“Maybe he’s a music fan.  I had a top forty hit you know.” 

He flicked his tongue out in a reptile equivalent of an eye-roll “No, you never mention it.” 

“You’re just a jealous blue lizard.  Okay, forget the wildman let’s just find his jet and I’ll flash my boobs at the pilot and he’ll fly us to Zanzibar.” 

He gave me a side-eye “You have a pretty healthy opinion about your boobs.” 

“Can you blame me?  They’ve gotten me out of plenty of jams.” 

“And into just as many more I bet.  How about we just stick with the harbormaster plan?  Stealing the jet of a killing machine doesn’t seem like a great idea to me.” 

“You didn’t even like that plan to begin with!” 

“I know, but you just keep coming up with worse ones.” 

“Well I don’t hear any big amount of ideas coming from you!  Aren’t you supposed to be a tactician or a strategist or something?  Strategy us a way out of this!  Don’t just complain about my plans.  What did you learn to do in the Canadian military anyway!” 

His mouth hung open on the sides, a lizard-grin “Make maple syrup mostly.  I’m so glad I met you, I really value our friendship.” 

October 8, 1973 – Let’s get tropical!

Since the Shadow Lords have chased me out of my apartment with their wicked ways, I’ve been flopping with whoever Elvis, Mary, or Saysamore have been able to talk into letting me crash with for a few days.  I’ve been a couch hopper before but I was the one choosing the couches.  I don’t like being at the mercy of others like this but there’s not much I can do about it.  Also most people here don’t have couches, so it’s more like borrowing some floor.

Since I have no income I’ve been mooching food as well, which normally wouldn’t bother me too much but I need a trucker’s buffet worth of food just to feel like I’m not going to pass out.  Something’s got to give here or I’m going to use up all the goodwill of Elvis and his friends and be left to die in the gutter.  It’s a precarious position when every day things get a little worse.

Sidenote, Elvis has a lot of girl friends for me to stay with.  Not girlfriends, he doesn’t seem to have any of those, but a lot of friends that are girls.  So many that it seems like something is going on.  I don’t know what that something could be, but it’s odd.  I’ll have to figure that out one of those days.

Last night I slept in the store room of a bar in touristville.  The deal was that I could stay there for a couple days if I got this giant oil drum out of the basement.  I don’t mean like a 50 gallon barrel, I mean like a rusty old hunk of metal that used to hold fuel oil.  It looked kind of like a giant BBQ smoker.  Or just a normal BBQ smoker in Lone Star. 

I ripped it out of the concrete and crumpled it up like a wad of tinfoil which was good.  I cut the shit out of my hands doing so which was bad.  I need to get used to being super strong.  Things like that keep catching me by surprise.  My skin certainly isn’t super-strong.  Hopefully my super metabolism can protect me from tetanus.  The owner, who I think is Russian, watched me do all this with a cigarette in his mouth and little to no reaction.  Like a woman ripping a half ton of old metal out of the ground was something he’s seen so much it’s become tedious.  These Madripoor folk seem like they’re pretty jaded. 

In the morning he made me some kind of spicy egg dish and then we sat around the bar staring at each other.  He doesn’t speak much English and I don’t speak any Russian (or whatever) so there wasn’t much to say.  I found an old guitar and was messing around with that for a while.  When I started to sing he said “przestań robić” and waved for me to stop.  Everyone’s a critic.  I had a top 40 hit damn it!

I’ll grant you that most bars aren’t really hopping during the day, but for a tourist bar this place was absolutely dead.  Which didn’t seem to bother the owner and seeming only employee in the slightest.  Probably a front for money laundering or something.  Everything here seems to be a little crooked at least.

No one came in until around five o’clock and the person who did come in wasn’t looking to drink.  It was my friend the blue alligator-rhino man from the other day.  The fact that he was able to find me so easily calls into question the effectiveness of my Shadow Lord evasion strategy.  Perhaps they’re not hunting for me as ruthlessly as I think.

I was ready to duck out the side door, figuring Big Blue was there for round 2, but it wasn’t that at all.  He’s one of these guys where if you kick his ass then you’re his friend.  Usually with this kind of guy, that doesn’t cross gender lines but when superpowers get in the mix the lines are blurry. Nice to know that he doesn’t discriminate. 

He started ordering whiskey sours and once he found out that I could out-drink him as well as out-fight him, I think he fell in love with me.  His French was funny sounding to my ear but we understood each other well enough.  He loves basketball.  And, as you all know, the only thing I love as much as music is the Tropics.  We sat there drinking and talking hoops all night long.  He thinks Willis Reed is better than Mel Daniels but he was watching the game where Jackie Moon got thirty rebounds against San Diego so I’ll let that slide.

He seems kind of sad.  You know, on the inside.  I guess being a seven foot tall blue dinosaur man is about as lonely as being a CS girl stranded in a foreign land hunted by a ruthless international criminal syndicate and presumed dead by everyone back home.  We freaks have to stick together.

Macendamandel 22 Year 888 (New Imperial Calendar) Part 3

This replacement Martialla isn’t working out well at all.  Lashmi doesn’t talk much and when she does she never has anything remotely interesting to say.  I expected her to at least have some entertaining and grotesque and gruesome stories from her old days working the streets but she never talks about it.  It’s like she wants to forget being a sex worker or something.  I told her she should make a list of all the clients she had that were particularly unpleasant and then enact some form of petty, or not so petty revenge, on them but she wasn’t the least bit interested.  What’s even worse though than her taciturnicty is that she doesn’t seem to realize how great all the stuff I’m saying is – and trust me what I’m saying is pure gold. 

Here’s a good example of why she probably isn’t going to pan out as my new sidekick.  Once I determined that we were dealing with a vampire I had the priestess superior roust all the nuns and herd them outside to see if any of them would burst into flames and die.  They even wheeled Sister Agata out still strapped to her infirmary bed.  None of them did burst into flames, but it’s an overcast day so maybe a vampire is among them, best to keep an eye on them anyway.  I asked if anyone was missing and sure as shit they eventually figured out (took forever, I expected nuns to be more organized) that Sister Loke was not in the gathering.  For some reason they all thought this meant she had been killed by the vampire rather than that was the vampire.  People are strange. 

At this point is Lashmi suggested that we search the abbey, which is foolishness because clearly we need to search the crypts – where else is a vampire going to be hiding?  Martialla would have never suggested anything so stupid.  The priestess superior insisted that we would not be allowed into the catacombs under any circumstances while she continued to insist just as strenuously that there is no such thing as vampires.  I hate the part of the book where the protagonist is trying to convince everyone that they’re dealing with a vampire (or whatever) and everyone else insists on denying it even though all the evidence is in front of them.  Seemed unrealistic to me, but here I am.  I’m not even sure Lashmi believes there really is a vampire.  Martialla would be sharpening stakes right now.  She’d probably already have some pre-sharpened stakes in her bag.   

“Fine then, we won’t disturb the dead yet, but I reserve the right to disturbing the dead at a later time if need be.  Where do the secret passages go?  That’s maybe where the vampire is hiding if they aren’t in the crypts, which they are.”

The old priestess scowled “What secret passages?”

“There are always secret passages, you’re in charge you must know where they are.”

I looked to Lashmi for support but she stood like blank-faced like she knew nothing about secret passageway or that I’m always right about these things.  Martialla would have backed me up.

“Why would a religious order need secret passageways?”

“I don’t know, for secret lesbian love affairs, or to hide from the enemies of your seemingly ill-defined and amorphous faith, or from the old days when this was a fort – how should I know what you do with them?  I just know that they’re there.”

The old priestess got herself all ready to huff and puff about it, but another priestess (or nun or novice or whatever) a pink cheeked gal with massive smile-lines and a thick neck came forward to say that there were in fact two secret passageways.  I don’t know if the old broad was lying about it or if she just didn’t know – I couldn’t get a good read on it and I’m great at reading people.  This whole group of nuns is weird as Hells, even for nuns.  Cheeky Thick Neck led us to a tiny storage closet where you pushed on a panel to have a wall slide away and reveal a staircase.  I was in the middle of smiling smugly and about to annihilate the good superior with a brutal comment about how I was right when a form lunging out of darkness knocked me to the ground.

“Oh shit!”

That’s apparently what I say when I’m tackled to the ground by a blood-drinking nun (or novice or whatever).  I didn’t get a good look at her when she was hurling herself at me, but she looked small – like barely five feet maybe – but she was strong.  Not strong as a bull, more like something that’s good at wrestling.  Something that can use it’s forelimbs to grapple you.  Like a bear.  But not as strong as a bear.  She was as strong as a small bear.  Not a baby bear, but like a sub-adult bear.   Unlike a sub-adult bear though she was hissing like a bat and biting at me like a rabid wombat.  She wanted my blood bad.  I was able to hold her biting face away from my very fetching neck and was surely just about to make my move to turn things in my favor when Lashmi splattered the vampire nun’s head-goo all over my face with her hand ax.  That much at least was very similar to something Martialla would have done.

I heaved the corpse off me and spat out some eyeball jelly “Thanks.” I clambered to my feet and looked down at the now mostly headless corpse “Huh, I thought they turned into mist or something when you killed them.”

The old priestess and Cheeky were horrified “Sister Reesblout!”

“I thought you said Sister Loke was the one that was missing.”

They looked at each other “Sister Reesblout must have been missing too.  I don’t remember seeing her.”

“What kind of operation are you running here?  Don’t you even know who’s on the roster?”

Lashmi crouched down to look at the ax-hole “So was she a vampire or what did I just kill?”

I grabbed a mop sitting nearby and used it to soak up some of the nun-sludge on me “Of course she was a vampire, did you see the way she lunged at my carotid?”

All the color had drained from Cheeky’s face “Maybe she was hiding in there from the vampire and just got startled.”

Oldy was resolute “There’s no such thing as vampires.”

“She was a vampire Gods damn it!  You don’t try to bite someone’s neck because you’re scared!”

Lashmi and I went down the stairs which led to a very short tunnel that came to another staircase that led up and through another panel into a hallway by the dormitories.  I feel like Cheeky could have told us that it didn’t really lead anywhere.  I turned to Lashmi as we walked back around to the supply closet.

“You know in Morinly some vampires took over a bordello and were killing the people that visited it.  What I don’t understand is how they got away with it for so long.  Didn’t anyone notice that all the whoremongers were disappearing?” I wait a moment for a response “Do you have any thoughts on that?”

“Huh?  Uh, no, I guess not.”

“You don’t think that’s strange?  How do you think they were getting away with it?  A whole nest of vampires had to be killing a lot of people don’t you think?  Granted a lot of them were probably people that no one would miss but plenty of married men go to brothels, I think at least some of the wives would wonder why their husbands never came home.”

“Yeah, I don’t know.”

“Good Gods woman, I’m trying to make conversation here, give me something.”

She didn’t.  We met back up with the two nuns and Cheeky led us into the head priestesses own office, much to her surprise and shock.  Pushing back the desk and pulling out the rug there was a trapdoor underneath.  We were greeted by a blast of cold air when the trapdoor was thrown up.

I look at the old priestess “You ever notice any vampires or giant rats crawling out of here when you were working?”

Lashmi cast a suspicious eye at Cheeky “How do you know about this?”

“There’s a map in the library.” After a beat “I’m the librarian.”

I leaned over the hole slightly “There’s a light down there, do vampires need light to see? Seem like they shouldn’t.  Well, let’s go kill the damn thing, I suppose the rats will still be here but maybe without the vampire around they’ll wander off.”

Lashmi looked around nervously “Doesn’t it seem strange that we haven’t seen any rats?”

I pointed “They’re probably all down there.  Or out in the courtyard killing all the nuns.”  I put my hand to my ear “I don’t hear any screaming though, I feel like if you were a nun being eaten by giant rats you’d scream a lot.” I drew a rapier from my secret pocket “Anyway, let’s hit it New Martialla.”


“Just go.”

At the bottom of the stairs was a large round room with a small pillar or pedestal in the middle.  On the pedestal pillar was a wildly incongruous little pillow that had a deep indentation in it as if something had been sitting on it for years and years.  Standing nearby in a bloody white nightshirt was a raven-haired young woman who was ghostly pale and clutching a skull to her chest like it was a newborn babe. 

“Well this is unsettling.  You would be Sister Loke them I presume?”

She smiled, overly large fangs glimmering in the lantern light, speaking in hushed towns like we were trading secrets at the opera “You want it don’t you?  You came for it didn’t you?  Well you can’t have it!”

“Uh no, I’m good on skulls, we just . . .”

Her fangs, already appearing too large to even shut her mouth lengthened and her eyes seems to shift shapes “YOU CAN’T HAVE IT!!!!!!!!!”

I was ready for the lunge this time and shoved Lashmi in the way.  Maybe you think that’s a dick move, but she’s a priestess alright, why wasn’t she confronting the vampire with her holy symbol?  What is the holy symbol of Strider anyway?  I feel like it’s a boot and a walking stick maybe.  Sometime dumb like that.  Sister Loke and Lashmi went down in a heap and I carefully stabbed Loke through the kidney.  She screamed and flailed around a lot and what seemed like eighteen gallons of blood came out of her but she died all the same.  The skull clattered out of her hands and rattled to a stop as if was looking at me – jawless but with two large fangs on the top row of teeth.

“Huh, I though vampires were supposed to be harder to kill.  What keeps the teeth in a skull after the body is dead anyway?  Shouldn’t that root rot away?  It’s not bone is it, it’s like whatever your gums are made of?”

Lashmi finally managed to yank one of her hatchets free and seemed to be brandishing it at me “What the fuck was that?!”

“A vampire obviously, maybe they’re weak at first and they get stronger over time.”

“NO!  You fucking pushed me into her!”

“Yeah, I needed a distraction so I could backstab her.  Calm down, Martialla and I used to do it all the time.”

“Who the fuck is Martialla?!”

I guess we’re not going to be friends at all since she left in a huff when I asked her to help me drag the body up the stairs for verification that it was Sister Loke.  Have you ever tried to drag a dead body UP a staircase by yourself?  Try it sometime and then tell me it’s not next to impossible.  The old priestess confirmed that it was indeed poor Sister Loke and then after much badgering did a role call to make sure no one else was missing.  I guess it was just the two vampires then.  Or whatever they were.  I never did see any rats.  I wonder what that’s about.  Maybe the Pied Piper of Illmarsh lured them away. 

When I asked for a little something for the effort the good sisters invoked the whole vow of poverty thing, which doesn’t make a ton of sense since this place itself has to be worth a fortune.  Cheeky did show me to yet another secret room though, where the gear of an old hero who had died in their care was hidden away. Seems like the kind of stuff that would have been helpful to get my hands on before fighting a horde (two is a small horde) of vampires.  When I asked why they had a vampire skull sitting on a pillow in a special hidden room they all but gave me the bum’s rush.  They didn’t even invite me to stay the night or feed me.  That’s gratitude for you.


Funds: 6922 gold

XP: 1,196,951

Inventory: Bag of Holding, +2 Distance Light Crossbow, traveling outfit, Ring of Invisibility, potion case, potions (Cure Light Wounds x3, Enlarge Person, Protection from Evil, Cure Moderate Wounds x2, Oil of Fire Trap, Rage) Blessed Robes, Vampire Hunter’s Cloak, +1 Mithril Holy Undead Bane Sword-Cane  

Revenge List: Duke Eaglevane, Piltis Swine, Rince Electrum, watchman Gridley, White-Muzzle the worg, Percy Ringle the butler, Alice Kinsey , “Patch”, Heroes of the Lost Sword, Claire Conrad, Erist priest of Strider, Riselda owner of the Sage Mirror, Eedraxis,  Skin-Taker tribe, Kartak, Królewna & Bonifacja Trading Company, Hurmont Family, Androni Titus, Greasy dreadlocks woman, Lodestone Security, Kellgale Nickoslander, Beltian Kruin the Splithog Pauper, The King of Spiders, Auraluna Domiel, mother Hurk, Mazzmus Parmalee,  Helgan van Tankerstrum, Lightdancer, Bonder Greysmith, Pegwhistle Proudfoot, Lumbfoot Sheepskin, Lumber Consortium of Three Rivers, Hellerhad the Wizard, Forsaken Kin, Law Offices of Office of Glilcus and Stolo, Jey Rora, Colonel Tarl Ciarán, Mayor Baras Haldmeer, Rindol the Sage, Essa, eyeless hag, Baron Saltwheel, Baron Harmenkar, Colonel Tarl Ciarán’s wizard soldier, Victor, Beharri, Cebuano, Mayor Eryn, Chimera Trading Company, maker of the manacles, Calvados Eure, Law Offices of Lampblack and Brimstone, Peronell Missplitter, Nightmare Hag