#I go for my encounter on ancient poni path

[lathalea]

So, for Thorin’s Royal Ask Box..

I have two questions for his majesty, and would like to combine them a little, so 50 and 28 - but a little twist.

Have you ever been in love with anyone, if yes, who? and what is your views on marriage between races, could you ever yourself marry outside your race?

And at last a confession;

These questions is from a lady that has secretly been admiring you for many many many years

Dear Lady Lemond,

I hope that my letter finds you in good health – and that you will forgive me for this reprehensible delay. Unfortunately, the raven I have sent this parchment with returned soaking wet, frightened, and chilled to the bone after encountering a lengthy thunderstorm in the Misty Mountains. Fear not, my lady, this brave young bird managed to return in one piece and is now under the care of the best Raven Master under the Mountain. Another raven, Rawk, agreed to take on the task of bringing this letter to you as soon as the weather became more clement.

I am greatly flattered to hear that I have become an object of your kind admiration, my lady, and that is why I allowed myself to remove the ‘57’ from your name since I assumed it most probably represents the amount of your admirers and I do not take competition lightly.

Thank you for your choice of questions. Were anyone to ask me about these matters in public, I would have most probably changed the subject. But now, in the quiet, solitary evening hour, as I sit by my desk, I feel that I can share my thoughts with you. 

Yes, I have been in love, years and years ago, when I was a young prince of Erebor, before the foul beast Smaug came. You probably are aware, my lady, that Dwarves do not fall in love lightly, and yet I was struck by those feelings as if they were a lightning. My Grandfather and Father informed me that I was going to be wed to a princess of the faraway Orocarni, the Red Mountains. An arranged marriage between two ancient Dwarven lines. I understood that it was my duty as the future ruler of our kingdom, but I opposed that decision, feeling that it was much too soon. I wanted to enjoy life, to spend my days in forges, perfecting my craft, and not accompanying some haughty lady they picked to become my wife, having to listen to her lengthy tirades about newest dresses, extravagant carriages, and gossip. Little did I know what Mahal had in store for me. My future wife arrived one year before our wedding so that she could adjust herself to life in Erebor and so that we could acquaint ourselves first, as the tradition demanded. When I first lay my eyes on her, I was rendered speechles. She was the exact opposite of what I expected. Her face, her wit, her interests, every single thing about her fascinated me. I would have gladly drowned in her eyes forever, if she only graced me with one glance.

And that was the problem. She did not show any interest in me whatsoever beyond the common courtesies. For days. Weeks. Our wedding was coming closer and she did what she could to avoid me. Once, I have even overheard her speak of her future husband being “a haughty, spoiled princeling”. You can imagine, my lady, what I must have felt. Luckily, I was a stubborn lad and did not give up, trying to reach out to her whenever an opportunity presented itself. Finally, one day, I stumbled upon her by the lake as she was searching for her favourite pony that bolted. When we found it, it turned out that the poor animal injured its leg on the rocky path. We returned to Erebor in the evening, quite dirty, tired, and famished, but as she dismounted from my pony and thanked me, her eyes met mine for a blink of an eye – I knew there was hope. 

Her initial shyness (that I foolishly took for disdain) slowly melted away as we began to spend more time together. I will not bore you with the details of what followed, but the months of our courtship that followed are one of the happiest memories I have. 

And then the vile Smaug descended onto the Lonely Mountain. The dragon took her away from me, along with most of my family, my people, my home. For years I cursed my bad luck that made me leave the Mountain on that fateful day, only a few days before our wedding. If I were there, with her, I might have helped her escape from the dragonfire – or shared her fate. At least we would have been together…

Forgive me, my lady, for this lengthy and perhaps slightly too detailed account of my past. It has been over 175 years since it happened, and I have not been thinking about marriage until now. My kingdom is prosperous once again, my people are happy and lack for nothing. The line of Durin is secure, my sister-son Fili is going to be king after me, so I do not need to find a wife. Yet, I sometimes wonder, how it would be like, to have a life companion, someone to share both happy moments and burdens with. I look at Glóin and his wife and see the tenderness in their eyes every time they gaze upon each other, and I wonder…

You asked me what I think of women of Men and whether I could marry outside my race. As you most probably know, my lady, Dwarves were created by the great Mahal, the one the elves and wizards call ‘Aule’. We are made from a different stock than the people of Men and our customs are quite different from theirs. As much as I admire the wisdom, the kindness, and beauty of the women of Men I have met during my travels, I doubt that I could find one who would gladly follow me to my kingdom. 

From what I gather, they seem to prefer life on the surface of Arda, under the sun, and not under the roof of rock, in the bellows of the Mountain. They find the singing of birds more pleasant than the sound of a hammer hitting the anvil. A woman willing to become my wife would have to be willing to fully accept the Dwarven ways and learn our language as well. She would become a queen, after all, and in my culture it does not mean wearing beautiful gowns and braiding your hair all day long. We believe that the ruler is the servant of the people and she would have to be prepared to spend her days working hard. She would have to gain the trust of my subjects and show herself truly worthy of her station. Coming from the race of Men, she would have to face prejudice, resentment, suspicion, and distrust. Our relations with the people of Dale are amicable, but we were often met with hostility from Men during our wanderings after we lost our home and we do not forget such things lightly. 

There is no law forbidding me to marry whomever I like, but even if my heart chooses a woman of Men, my duty is first and foremost to my people. We are proud of our heritage and I cannot marry someone from another race whom they do not accept for I do not wish to create a rift between us. 

I am certain, my lady, that you are more than aware of the physical differences between Men and Dwarves. If that would not discourage the hypothetic lady in question, there is another matter to think of. Children. Or rather, the lack of them. For the reasons I mentioned above, an union between a Dwarf, a child of Mahal, and a woman of Men, a child of Illuvatar, would not produce any offspring. At least that is what our wise elders say. I have raised Fili and Kili together with my sister and I think of them as sons – but would that be enough for my lady wife? And even if we were somehow blessed with a child or two, would she be content that our children would not inherit my throne? Only the direct descendants of the line of Durin, Dwarves from flesh and blood, can wear the crown of the Lonely Mountain.

When pondering whether to marry me, my potential future spouse would also have to remember that our lifespans are quite different. The line of Durin has been blessed with longevity and it is unheard of that we often live beyond 300 years. I will celebrate my 200th birthday next year and, if Mahal allows it, I may very well rule my kingdom for 100 years or more. How much would she be bothered by all the implications? How much would I?

Having said that, if you ever happen to hear of a lady interested in marriage despite these difficulties, yourself included, please do not forget to inform her of my rather short temper. My sister claims that there were several ladies interested in courting me who decided against it after witnessing one of my outbursts. I do not blame them in the slightest, I am not the easiest of men to spend time with. Who knows whether your kind opinion of me would change if we were to meet one day?

If you wish to know the answer to this question, dear Lady Lemond, please feel free to visit me if you ever find yourself in the vicinity of the Lonely Mountain.

Your humble servant,

👑 Thorin Oakenshield

📜 Thorin’s Ask Box question list

[limerental]

for the anonymous prompt: First time Yennefer smiles at him, Jaskier walk full-on into a tree because his brain stops working and his heart takes over and his heart is stupid and only focusing on her 

link on ao3 because this got away from me

---

It is academic coincidence that draws the two of them together. The Oxenfurt professor is drafting a historical epic to be performed at spring commencement and requires the knowledge of an expert on ancient, arcane artifacts. Said expert is a bright-eyed sorcerer fresh from a dig in the south.

The man is dangerously handsome and so enthused to have someone to chatter on about his work with that he pays for a whole pitcher of ale at one of the swankier taverns in town, maps and diagrams and documents and dusty old books spread all over their corner table. The pair laugh and bluster and hotly debate together well into the evening, until work gives way to enjoying a delectable platter of dried fruits and hard cheeses paired with yet more ale.

It is halfway through their second pitcher that both of them go still, blinking at one another, stunned by the realization that they have an unexpected mutual acquaintance.

“You know Yennefer?” asks Istredd, his head tipped in fresh appraisal of the strange professor.

“Of course, I do,” says Jaskier. “I’ve known her for years and years. Mind you, many of those years I wished very dearly not to have known her, but we have reached a truce now. Some may even call us friendly. I’ll have to see about getting us all together the next time she’s in town.”

“No, no,” says the sorcerer, smiling somewhat sadly. “I’m afraid we parted last in less than ideal circumstances.”

“Oh dear, none of that,” Jaskier says and stands to gesture for the barkeep to bring more dried figs and fresh-baked bread and tender slivers of sausage. A bottle of wine for good measure.

“We were in love once,” says Istredd, sighing. “I think so at least. We were very young. And foolish.”

“Mmmm,” hums the poet in understanding as he pours the sorcerer a brimming cup of dark wine.

“I loved her eyes the most,” he says wistfully. “Such bright, clever eyes, despite such darkness in them.”

Jaskier nods in agreement. He can’t say that he has spent long hours peering into Yennefer’s eyes, but he has still seen that flare of hurt that lurks in their violet depths. He has spun that detail into more than one composition. He wonders if Istredd has heard them.

“Oh but her smile. I’ve never known something quite so beautiful. So timid and soft and tender. Full of warmth and light. So genuine and sweet and stunning.”

“That doesn’t sound much like the Yennefer I know,” says Jaskier. Yennefer does not smile. She smirks sometimes or grimaces, but her default state tends to be one of barely-contained irritation. Or maybe that state is only due to his presence. He thinks she surely must smile at the Witcher. Or at Ciri, maybe. But he can’t imagine it.

“If you should ever witness that smile turned your way,” Istredd says, cross-eyed with drunkenness, pointing a sharp finger into Jaskier’s chest. “You will feel like the luckiest man alive. I promise you this. You will be half-ruined for any other. You will wish you could inspire that smile a dozen times over and then some. That she would look at you like that until the end of your days.”

“I will take your word for it,” says Jaskier with a laugh, and they spend the rest of the night in drunken revelry until they stumble back to Jaskier’s rooms together and collapse into sleep.

He half-forgets about the conversation.

Until, that is, the impossible happens.

Yennefer smiles at him.

---

The circumstances that inspire it are not so unusual.

Jaskier has been traveling with Geralt through the summer, and their path crosses with Yennefer in some well-to-do town north of Vizima. She invites them to her well-furnished rooms for drinks and some catching up.

Usually, nights like this end with Jaskier booted from her rooms so that the Witcher and the mage can become reacquainted, but this night, Geralt plans to head out for a contract before the crack of dawn and retires to his own room early, leaving Yennefer and Jaskier alone together well into their cups.

Once upon a time to be left alone with the sorceress would have inspired deep terror in him, but now very little of that unease remains. He still hangs on to some of it, just in case, but beyond some casual bickering with no real edge to the insults flung back and forth, Yennefer has been very tolerant of him recently.

Jaskier is telling her about his last meeting with Ciri, grown into a young woman now and as much a terror as she always has been. She had attended one of his lectures and afterward, strolled at his side through the university grounds and down through the bustling markets of Oxenfurt. On a side street that dipped along a canal, they had encountered a gaggle of rowdy gentlemen who felt the need to whistle and coo at Ciri.

And soon discovered what a horrible, horrible mistake they had made.

“I’ve never seen grown men that size run so fast,” says Jaskier with a bark of laughter. “One of them leapt right into the canal and swam for it!”

Yennefer chuckles into her goblet. “That certainly sounds like Ciri,” she says.

“Oh, you can’t help but love her dearly, our little Ciri. Not so little anymore though, I suppose, but I can’t help but think of her as that wild-eyed young girl still. Oh and remember her hair? What a rat’s nest it would become so easily. So windblown and knotted I could hardly brush it out to braid it. Twigs and burrs caught in it and all.”

“I remember, bard,” says Yennefer.

And.

She smiles.

At him.

Despite the gulp of wine he just swallowed, his mouth goes suddenly dry. It is a small thing, the edges of her mouth quirking upward, her stained lips thinning with it. Her round cheeks dimple slightly, and the faintest breath of wrinkles appear at the corners of her violet eyes. And her eyes echo that tenderness, filled with something that he would describe as affectionate warmth if he did not know who she was looking at.

The smile is for Ciri, he thinks but finds that he doesn’t care. It is warming and wonderful and like nothing he has ever seen on her face. He does not mind that it is not for him. He simply feels awed to have inspired it.

“By the gods,” says Jaskier, foolishly unable to stop the words from falling from his lips. “You have the most beautiful smile.”

And her face shutters at once, that smile forced into a grimace.

“Don’t talk nonsense,” she says. “I’m not one of your comely maidens.”

“I’m not-- Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to blurt that out.” Jaskier flounders, struck by the flood of desperate longing to somehow, some way see her smile like that again. “It’s not nonsense. It’s brutal honesty. I’d never risk lying to you, Yennefer. Or risk flirting with you, for that matter. My bits are much too precious to me.”

“A wise man,” says Yennefer, downing the rest of her drink in one go, and the night ends not long after that, Jaskier passing out in the living area of her rooms rather than risk waking the Witcher.

In the morning, the memory of her smile is crisp and clear in his mind even as the rest of the night blurs into a fog.

Just as Istredd had promised, he aches to inspire it again.

---

The second time it happens, he is so overjoyed and thrilled and relieved to see it again that, looking helplessly back at her as he is, he does not notice his feet stray off the edge of the path as he bodily connects with the solid trunk of a tree.

Geralt is escorting him to Oxenfurt before heading on to Kaer Morhen for the winter, and they encounter Yennefer on the maid road on her way to Novigrad.

Jaskier had been surprised to see her travelling by horse rather than by portal and had made some quip implying laziness, and she had remarked back that she was not surprised at all to see him traveling by foot. Couldn’t he afford a pony after all these years of tenure at the Academy?

He had allowed the back and forth to subside quicker than usual.

Since that night in her rooms, anytime that he happened to encounter her, Jaskier had poured ceaseless energy into attempts to bring that smile once more to her lips. So far, no luck.

He has tried compliments and gifts and more stories of fond memories and self-deprecating humor and commentary on her prestige and power and offerings of food and wine and all manner of things he is sure would have inspired at least a faint smile in anyone else.

But this time, it’s one of his newer compositions that does it. To his surprise, it’s not even a song in her honor but a silly one he wrote at his own expense, the jaunty tale of one of his many ill-advised romantic endeavors that went horribly wrong in potentially exaggerated ways. Sometimes leaning into the role of bumbling fool earns more coin than otherwise.

He has begun the third verse, his voice rising over the dusty road, half dancing a jig alongside the horses, when he looks back and sees Yennefer’s eyes on him.

She’s smiling.

Her dark curls fall loose around her shoulders, and the slanting autumn sunlight gleams on the jewels studded along the bodice of her dress, and there it is, the curve of a soft smile edged with laughter.

A fondness at the edge of it, a gentleness in her eyes.

It’s stunning.

It’s everything he remembers it being.

It’s incredibly, disastrously distracting.

“Oof,” Jaskier says as he bounces off the tree trunk and collapses back on his bottom on the side of the road. Geralt doesn’t even bother pulling up, cursing his clumsiness under his breath, but Yennefer?

Yennefer has collapsed into a fit of helpless laughter as she draws her grey mare to a halt, breathless and wheezing. And she’s still smiling, light and airy, and her laughter is not tainted by cruelty, simply genuine humor at what a sight he must look sprawled on the ground.

Jaskier can’t help laughing along with her, stretching out flat on his back to groan and roll in the dirt. The revelry ends when the Witcher shouts at them from down the road to get a move on, that if they dawdle any longer he’ll never make it to Kaer Morhen before the snows, and Jaskier gets up and wipes the tears from his eyes and pats the dust from his clothing and that’s the end of that.

But now?

Well, now, Jaskier aches to hear Yennefer’s laughter just as terribly as he has ached for her smile.

---

She cottons on to his scheming after a while, because of course she does. Because she’s Yennefer, and Jaskier has never known a woman more astute.

He used to fear that cleverness, tremble under her sharp perception, worry what she would perceive of him. But no longer.

“Jaskier,” she says, as he offers her the slender stem of a rose, its petals so dark burgundy as to appear black. She is visiting Oxenfurt on business. When Jaskier had heard of her presence in town, he had sought out his favorite local florist before stopping by her rooms. “Are you courting me?”

He sputters.

“No! I wouldn’t dare! Simply saw this in the market and thought of you. Simply thought you would admire it,” he says. She quirks a slender brow and reaches to accept the gift in curled fingers.

“No ulterior motives, then?” she asks.

“Ah,” he says. “Well, perhaps there is one.”

“Oh?”

“It’s only--” He knows there is no way to say such a thing without outing himself as an utter imbecile, but she already thinks that of him anyway so no harm done. “Well, I’m quite fond of your smile, is all. I had hoped to inspire more of them.”

She looks at him for a long moment, standing in her doorway. She twirls the stem of the rose in her hand, its dark, upturned petals brushing against her cheek as she lifts it to her nose to catch its fragrance.

And then.

She smiles at him with all the beauty and gentle softness he has come to crave, and he finds his lungs have forgotten how to draw air, standing in perfect rapt stillness before her. Something warm and soaring rises in his breast. His cheeks begin to burn, flushing with the pride and awe at having inspired such a thing and when he thinks on it, when he looks closer, when he examines that swelling warmth in his breast--

His eyes jerk up to meet hers with the sudden realization that he has been staring at her lips for longer than is probably strictly proper, but she hasn’t stopped smiling. She does not jump to chastise him or react in scandalized horror at his blatant ogling.

Instead, she laughs, a bright bubble of a laugh that is almost a giggle, and it thrills through him like a shock of lightning, tightening in his belly.

And she says, “come here, you idiot.”

And pulls him by the front of his doublet into a heated kiss.

And he discovers yet one more gesture of hers that he suddenly aches for.

[okageshadowkingfannovel]

Book 1. The Boy Meets the King

Chapter 1.

In a normal unsuspecting kitchen, a former adventurer stands before a stove, stirring the contents of a pot and humming to herself. In her early forties, she’s a warm, pleasant looking woman with pony-tailed reddish brown hair and soft brown eyes. She might have been the hero of this story about two decades ago, but her adventures are long since passed. The only adventures for her today are those of being a devoted wife and mother, and that means preparing dinner.

It’s just after lunch and suddenly, the younger of the woman’s two children bursts into the kitchen. She is a slender pretty girl with strawberry blond pigtails and vibrant green eyes. She is Annie, a teenager, but also, not the hero of this story. In fact, she has very little interest outside of keeping herself popular amongst the teenagers of Tenel village and finding a satisfactory boyfriend.

“Hey Mom, what’s for dinner?”

“Oh Annie,” Mom starts while casting a smile over her shoulder, “you just had lunch not too long ago and you’re already thinking about dinner?”

Annie twists a dainty finger into the strands of one pigtail. “I was just asking. It smells so good. Tell me, Mom. I wanna know.”

At this moment, the woman’s eldest child enters the kitchen, but it takes her and Annie a too long moment to notice him.

“Well, I’ll say that- Oh! Ari!”

“See? Ari’s come to find out too.”

The boy called Ari is 16 years old. He has a sapling like frame - slender, scrawny, almost seeming bendy. Shaggy red hair falls in long locks around his face and across his forehead, and his large eyes are emerald green. He’s wearing a blue striped sleeveless shirt, a black vest with gold clasps and a skull patch on the chest, and long khaki trousers. He doesn’t speak up much for himself and the whole town of Tenel agrees that his most notable quality is how unremarkable he is.

That being said, this quiet ordinary boy is the hero for this peculiar tale.

“Come on, Mom! What is it? It smells like stew … or steak?” Annie carries on.

“Well, what do you think it might be, Ari?”

Ari courteously sniffs the air, shrugs, and answers. “I don’t know.”

Mom looks slightly disappointed that her son gave no guess, but she smiles anyway and says, “well, tonight’s dinner is … a secret!”

Annie rolls her eyes. “Mom! That’s so unfair.”

“Oh! That reminds me, Ari. Your dad found a funny bottle on his way home last night. It’s right there on the table.”

She gestures towards the kitchen table where, seeming very out of place upon the normal white table cloth and next to the three branched candelabra, there indeed sits a strange looking bottle. It is a gaudy purple with an intricate green pattern necklacing the thinly tapering opening. Two handles spring out and curve down to the bottom to make for easy carrying. Four large, candy like turquoise gemstones are embedded into the bottle’s curves.

“We can’t get the cap off,” his mother admits, “don’t you think it’s strange?”

Observing more closely, Ari notices the cork very firmly shoved into the opening.

He reaches out a finger and pokes it.

A low muffled moan sounds from deep within the bottle.

Ari leans in and sniffs at the cork.

All he catches is an overwhelming waft of mold.

Finally, he firmly grasps the neck of the bottle and pulls at the cork.

But it won’t budge, not even a wiggle.

“See?” says his mother, abandoning the stove to draw closer to the bottle, “I wonder what’s in there.”

There’s a sparkle in her eyes, a far off wandering look, a hint of the curious adventurer she used to be.

“Mom!” Annie breaks her mother’s reverie, “it’s pointless to keep a bottle we can’t open. Throw it away.”

To strike her point, Annie flips a pigtail on the last word.

“Ah! Well, let’s see … What should we do?”

Their mother hesitates a moment in thought. And then, she lights up with realization.

“Oh! That reminds me! I forgot to pick up bread! But I can’t leave the stove. What should I do?”

Before Ari can make any sort of suggestion, his sister steps over him.

“Oh darn, I wish I could help you out, Mom, but I have a test tomorrow and I really need to study. My future is on the line!”

With that, Annie turns around and makes a dash out of the kitchen.

Unsurprisingly, Ari notices the sounds of her footsteps are heading out the front door instead of up the stairs to her room where her school books lay waiting.

“Well then, Ari,” says his mother, “go down to the bakery in the village and pick up a loaf of bread for me. They’ll just put it on our tab, so you can just run in and grab it. Thank you, dear.”

His mother turns back to her stove and her humming. Ari is about to leave the kitchen when she whips around again.

“Oh! While you’re out, why don’t you stop by Town Hall and see your father.” She turns back to her cooking, wistfully, “ah, my love, hard at work. If only I could see your father in action. Such rapture …” she trails off to herself.

Feeling repulsed and uncomfortable with his mother’s personal musings, as teenagers ordinarily do, Ari finally leaves the kitchen.

The family home is a mansion that lays like a sprawled out reptile just south-east of the village of Tenel. It sits fatly in a clearing of pine trees, just a stone’s throw from the village road. It wears jagged stones in various states of grey, reaches tall, dizzying pointed towers up to mingle with the tree tops, and caps itself with crooked blue shingles. It keeps itself company with a dried up fountain in the front courtyard, a tiny, but ancient ancestral graveyard, and a huge, thick, wooden gate at the entrance to keep all of it in.

Ari steps out into the courtyard, shielding his eyes from the sunlight already beginning to sharpen through the trees as afternoon slips into evening. He notices Annie waiting for him at the top of the stone steps that snake down to the front gate.

“So, did she tell you what’s for dinner?” she asks, blocking his path, “come on, tell me.”

“What happened to your homework?”

Annie starts to tease her pigtail with a wiggling finger.

“Well! I’m going out on a twilight date with Morris before dinner. To polish my feminine airs, I have to build up experience while I’m young. My book says so too …”

“What kind of book says that?”

“It’s one of Mom’s old books. What was the name again? … Oh! ‘Controlling Guys Made Easy.’”

Before Ari can protest, Annie spins around and skips on down the stairs.

“Anyway, enjoy your errand, Ari!” she calls before disappearing through the wooden gate.

Ari sighs, figuring there was little he could have said or done to make things play out differently.

With hands in pockets, he lazily makes his way over to the small graveyard by the pathway. He likes to say hello upon passing the three residents. The stones are so old that most of the lettering has been worn away, but Ari makes out what he can and makes up the rest:

‘RIP Nameless Hero - Well, we think he must have a name, but nobody asked him.’

‘Man who drank, gambled, and died from poisonous fish - just as he planned. RIP’

‘Person who touched the knowledge of the Library.’

After 16 years, Ari still knows nothing beyond these half-deciphered inscriptions, but he gives his regards all the same. When satisfied, he heads on through the big wooden gate that leads him to a meandering dirt path. It winds through the grass, between rotted logs and small rocky hills, untangling Ari from the clusters of trees until it finds the main road. A nearby sign helpfully points out to any casually passing tourist:

‘North: Tenel Village/Church

West: Tenel Field & Madril

East: Nameless Dwelling’

Ari wonders if his family will ever decide to name their house so the sign could be a bit more specific.

“Hmmm, Nancy? Or Connie?”

At the crossroads stand two boys about Ari’s age, Levi and Nathan. Dark haired Nathan is the pudgier fellow, while Levi is lanky and alight with flaming orange hair.

“Huh?”

“Whoa!” Nathan exclaims, his fat frame jumping, “Oh! It’s you. You scared me, Ari! When did you get here? I didn’t even notice.”

“Ari, you look real gloomy,” says Levi, “hey, you know what? The circus is coming to the field over there tomorrow night!” He gestures vaguely in the direction of Tenel Field.

“Really?” Ari replies noncommittally.

“I, I, I’m definitely gonna ask Julia out this time! I, I, I will do it! And me and Julia are gonna go out on a romantic date!”

“I wonder who I should ask out,” Nathan muses in the face of his friend’s determination, “Ari, why don’t you ask somebody out too? It’s the circus!”

Ari chuckles and shrugs his shoulders in what he hopes is a ‘cool, but not caring too much’ display. “Sure, I’ll just narrow down my list a bit and ask one out.”

It doesn’t come off as cool as he hoped.

“Ha!” Levi bursts, “I bet he doesn’t have the guts to ask a girl out! Ha ha ha! Chicken!”

The skinny boy goes the extra mile and begins flapping his arms and clucking.

“Anyway, I better get on over to the village,” says Ari before the soul crushing embarrassment can descend, “got an errand to run.”

“You’d better go quick then,” says Nathan, “they’re closing the town gates earlier and earlier. The ghosts and monsters from Tenel field have been wandering closer to town, I heard.”

The hauntings and prowlings of Tenel Field are nothing new to Ari’s ears. All his life, he’s heard the townspeople complaining about the beasts and deadly things that roam wild and how it’s getting worse every year. Ari hears most people, especially the older ones, blaming it on something evil going on out West in Madril that’s driving the wild things nutty. It’s gotten to the point where Tenel’s posted a sentry on the path between Tenel and the field to keep kids and the like in town and to warn everyone if something should wander in. Ari never gives the matter much thought, reasoning that interesting things like monster encounters only happen to interesting people. And it’s so rare to see ghosts come floating in out of the field.

But the sun does seem ever so slightly lower than it was when he first stepped out of the house.

“Right, I’ll be quick.”

With that, Ari leaves them to their great girl debate and heads toward the main gates of Tenel. For now, the entrance is wide open, yawning its welcome to any passerby bored enough to visit the little town. But later, as it gets darker, the gates will eventually be shut and locked, as Tenel residents cling to the illogical belief that doors and locks can keep out ghosts.

As he enters, he notices a pretty blond girl in a white dress standing by the inn and looking absentmindedly off into the distance. Further putting his errand on hold, Ari walks up to her.

“Hey Julia.”

She doesn’t respond.

Ari waits patiently.

It’s alright. I’m used to being ignored.

Julia looks on for another moment or two. Ari continues waiting.

Any day now …

“Huh? Oh, Ari!” she says, her gaze finally shifting onto him, “I was daydreaming. Sorry about that. Hey, did you know the circus is coming tomorrow night?”

Julia and Ari have been friends since childhood, and though time and puberty have pulled them in different directions, they still consider themselves at the very least good friends. Typically, Julia isn’t so spacey - it’s just an ‘Ari thing.’

“Yeah, Nathan and Levi mentioned it.”

“Isn’t it great? It’s the circus!”

“Yeah, it’s pretty great.”

She looks at him, blue eyes wide and expectant.

“I mean,” he continues, “really great. Very exciting.”

She still says nothing. He waves a hand in front of her eyes, wondering if she’s sunk into another daydream. He does have that effect on people sometimes.

“So, aren’t you gonna ask me to go to the circus with you?” she says suddenly.

“Oh! Well, yeah,” Ari stumbles, “um, I mean, I need to check in with my folks, but … would you … would you like to …”

Before Ari can finish his bare minimum of a question, Julia takes a step back and giggles.

“Sorry, Ari.”

Without even knowing the rest of the sentence, Ari can tell she doesn’t seem very sorry.

“Somebody else already asked me. If you’d have asked me earlier …”

Ari thinks about maybe saying something in protest or in his own defense, but decides it’s not worth it as she makes her way past him.

“Um,” she says, pausing before she walks away completely, “Some time soon, Ari, I … I need to tell you something important … so … see you.”

She takes off running, disappearing fast into the town - an impressive feat given its small size and even smaller populace. Ari isn’t sure what to make of Julia. Teenagerdom is difficult enough to navigate for himself without the complex enigma of teenage girls thrown into the mix. As with most problems, puzzles, and peculiarities, Ari shrugs and carries on with his business.

As he passes it, Ari notices the sign on the Parm Inn door:

‘CLOSED due to water shortage - not that we get any guests anyway. Ha! - Parm Inn Landlord.’

The posting has been there for several weeks. Similar notices decorate the doors of ‘Tinkers,’ the blacksmith and ‘Gulp,’ the bar:

‘Can’t do business without water. I’ll be sleeping. - Tinkers Owner’

‘Closed due to shortage! And for those who owe me money, PAY UP QUICK! - Gulp Hostess.’

Ari can only wonder how much longer before these places will have to close for good. Tenel is already pretty small. Any smaller and they’d have to start calling themselves ‘a small cluster of houses and shops’ instead of a town.

“Ah! Ari!” someone suddenly exclaims.

Ari turns to see the butcher standing outside his shop, just across from the inn. A man with an egg like figure and neatly parted brown hair, the butcher breathes out a heavy sigh as he clutches at his chest.

“You gave me a fright, Ari. I didn’t notice ya standing there at first.”

“Sorry, Mr. Kellogg.”

“Shame about the water shortage, isn’t it? Thankfully, we’ve got some stored up for emergencies like this, but we’re getting mighty low. Can’t say how much longer we’ll be able to stay open.”

“Yeah, I wonder what’s caus-”

“You like beef, Ari?”

He is a little startled by the question.

“Oh, well, I don’t dislike it, sir.”

“I’ve got a great deal on ground beef. One pound, 20 sukel. Figure you might not be able to get any tomorrow - if we can’t open, I mean.”

A few minutes later, Ari walks out of the butcher shop with a wrapped up pound of ground beef under his arm and his wallet 20 sukel lighter.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” calls Mr. Kellogg as he locks the door to his shop to leave for the day, “get home safe.”

Ari waves as the butcher turns to make his way home. He doubts he’ll have business there, but Ari hopes the butcher is open tomorrow. As he makes his way towards the bakery, he passes by two men deep in conversation and nervousness.

“Oh dear, this just won’t do. The water supply has stopped and almost all the stores are closed. It’s under investigation now … do you think it might be related to ghosts?”

“All I know is they’re saying there are tons of ghost problems in Madril. And they’re a big, machine town. Totally different class than Tenel. If they can’t handle the ghosts and monsters, we don’t stand a chance.”

The other man nods weakly, looking very pale. “We’ll be in big trouble.”

Ari remembers his mother’s suggestion couched in wifely affection and decides to go visit his father. He passes Gulp, Tinkers, the miscellaneous shop known as ‘The Other One’, and several homes. All the way in the back of town, atop a small hill, is the church and right beside it the Tenel Village Office. The church sits quietly and patiently, having been unused and unvisited for several weeks now. Ari thinks the cream color of the tall rounded church towers is starting to look like spoiled milk. Green stains are creeping up the sides and the forest surrounding Tenel is starting to reclaim it.

A sign before the tightly shut door reads:

‘Until further notice, please do not enter the church. - Tenel Village Office’

Feeling helpless in the face of such a polite, pathetic notice, Ari walks over to the Tenel Village Office.

Inside, the village office is busy and hectic. Immediately, Ari spots his father sitting behind his usual desk at the front, but all around him, people rush and run and flitter about like a swarm of frustrated, inconvenienced bees. Even their talk sounds like buzzing.

Ari carefully navigates his way towards that front desk. Ari’s father is a short, stringy sort of man. He parts his dark brown hair straight and neat down the middle, and he looks at the world through thick, soda bottle glasses. He has the look of a man who believes in aliens and psychic phenomenon. If one were to ask him about such things, he could easily go on for hours. Ari can attest to it. His father stares intently into a stack of pages in the middle of his desk. He stares as if staring hard enough will burst the pages into flames or cast them into an alternate dimension where he doesn’t have to look at them anymore. Ari is sorry to see these efforts aren’t working.

“Oh! Hello there, Ari. Here to see your cool father at work?”

Ari rolls his eyes, but still smiles.

“What d’ya think? Too cool for words, huh? I redefine ‘cool.’ Ha!”

Now the smile is starting to fade. Ari’s father has perfected the art of being too corny.

“Sorry, sorry,” his father chuckles, “as you can see, the office is in a bit of a panic over the water shortage. We’re doing everything we can to find the cause, but …”

As his father trails off, Ari sees his shoulders slump and behind the happy-go-luck dork that is his father, Ari can see the exhausted Assistant Manager.

“On top of that, the Classification Tables will be arriving soon from the Royal City. That always puts the office on edge.”

Ari knows vaguely about the Classification Tables. His father has cursed it multiple times throughout the year. Supposedly, the village office sends a character report of each Tenel resident to the Royal City and then the city sends back a huge packet of tables that identify and categorize each and every citizen. Ari frequently asks his father how he is ‘classified,’ but his father usually responds with some corny joke.

‘The Assistant Manager’s son.’ ‘The eldest child at the Nameless Dwelling.’ ‘Some Shady Guy.’

So, Ari doesn’t really ask about it anymore. He just accepts that the Classification Table causes his father a lot of headache and woe. Once, Ari tried asking one of his father’s coworkers what the purpose was of the Classification Tables. Her response was unsatisfactory.

“Oh! I didn’t see you there! You’re the assistant manager’s son, aren’t you? Well, the Classification Tables, they … well, they … they maintain order of course! They help the town run smoothly. Why else would the Royal City have us do all this? Now, please leave me alone. I’m quite busy.”

So, Ari understands the weight when, on top of the water shortage problem, his father says he also has to deal with the Royal City’s Classification Tables.

“Anyway, what’s for dinner?” his father asks suddenly, the joy lifting his shoulders back up from their slump, “Ah, I wanna go home. I miss your mom.”

Ari chuckles. “No idea. She wouldn’t tell me. Says it’s a surprise.”

“Ha, yeah, that sounds like your mother.”

“She asked me to pick up bread.”

“Oh! Well, you better get moving, son. It’s getting dark out. The town will be closing soon.”

“Great seeing you, Dad,” says Ari as he turns to leave, nearly crashing into a speeding intern.

Ari steps back outside and, just as his dad said, the dark is noticeably beginning to descend on the town. He rushes down the hill to the Bakery, hoping the owner hasn’t decided to close doors early due to the dark looming in. The bell above the door clangs to life as he rushes in. Despite that, the husband and wife who run the Bakery carry on with their personal business, not seeming to notice Ari standing in the doorway. He steps up to the main counter where the wife stands, her back to Ari as she sorts through the baked goods on the back shelf.

The smell of freshly baked bread is intoxicating, filling Ari with warmth until the harsh pang of hunger in his stomach drives it away.

“Excuse me,” he says.

The portly Mrs. Bakster is singing to herself as she counts and pokes at the remaining pastries. It’s not a very good song and Mrs. Bakster isn’t very good at singing it.

“Hello? Mrs. Bakster?”

“Huh?” Finally, she whips around. “Oh! It’s you, Ari! Don’t I always tell you? A boy should speak up!”

These types of reprimands are nothing new. Mrs. Bakster has many opinions and is very keen on sharing them.

“Now, now, don’t harangue the boy, dear,” calls Mr. Bakster from across the shop, “don’t mind her too much, Ari. She’s got a sharp tongue, but a soft heart really.”

Ari smiles good humoredly, simply wanting to get the bread and get home for dinner.

“You’ve come to pick up bread for your mother, right?” says Mrs. Bakster as she reaches over to a shelf and pulls off a fine, golden colored loaf. With speed and finesse, she neatly wraps the loaf in paper and then, gently hands it to Ari. “Here you are. Don’t squeeze it too much. Don’t want to crush it.”

“Yes, Mrs. Bakster, thank you.”

“By the way, Ari, before you go, I wanted to ask - anything bothering you?”

“Now, dear!” chides Mr. Bakster.

“Come on! Keep your chin up, boy!” Mrs. Bakster carries on, ignoring her husband, “girls like the assertive ones, you know? And I know you’ve got a lot of potential, Ari. You can be anything you want. You just got to assert yourself, and girls will be all over you.”

Ari smiles and nods, backing away slowly.

“Alright, alright. Get on home and get that to your mother. I’ve got a dinner to get ready and a husband to feed, you know.”

“Yes … thank you, Mrs. Bakster. You too, Mr. Bakster. Have a good evening.”

Ari turns and whips out the door before the baker can be inspired with another round of opinions. Once outside, Ari is surprised to find Annie waiting.

“Ari, you done with your errands? You’ve been gone forever.”

“Sorry, yeah. I’m done.”

“What’s the matter?” she asks, and then eyes the bakery, “oh, did she lecture you again?”

Yeah, sure, make me relive it, why don’t ya?

The thought translates into a shrug.

“Let me guess,” says Annie playfully, “Oh, Ari, you’ve got to speak up for yourself more. You practically blend into someone else’s shadow.”

Ari gives her a brotherly glare.

“Oh well, at least there are some people around here who see some good in you … Julie, for instance.” Annie giggles mercilessly. “You lucky guy.”

All the way home, Annie teases her brother about the baker woman’s “advice” and Julie’s “affections.” But Ari takes it all without a word, wondering to himself about lots of different topics from that busy afternoon. He thinks about the water shortage and about his classification from the Royal City and about Julie picking someone else over him and about what it actually means to ‘blend into someone else’s shadow.’

Chapter 1 • Chapter 2 • Chapter 3 • Chapter 4 • Chapter 5 • Chapter 6 • Chapter 7 • Chapter 8 • Chapter 9 • Chapter 10 • Chapter 11 • Chapter 12 • Chapter 13 • Chapter 14 • Chapter 15 • Chapter 16 - Finale

NOTE: Okage Shadow King is owned by Sony Computer Entertainment and Zener Works. This novelization is purely a fan-work and the writer claims no ownership over the characters, general plot line(s), etc.

[excuseme-howdareyou]

My brain is weird. I've dreamed up fantastic locations and settings, but the odd thing is how I dream them up often. And there's really no rhyme or reason to it. Whatever feature dream for the night is, it'll set down in one of my pre-made geological settings and no matter what the actual dream is about, this location remains constant.

It's gotten to the point where not only have I given these made up locations names. But when I'm awake, I can remember every detail of the land and I'm pretty confident that if I were to be dropped down in one of them in real life, I could navigate my way around with ease.

Like The Island. According to the ruins I find scattered across it (every detail remaining the same no matter how many years pass between dreams), I suspect it to be early Indian/SE Asian. Someone has come along in recent times and hung up colorful (red, gold, and teal) fabrics along the doorways. It's not a forest but a jungle, with massive trees and overgrown vines everywhere. I've seen someone use a giant fern as a door. It's hot but not humid, and the sea it sits in is only mildly warm. I've yet to encounter animals there but I can always hear birds.

Or the Elven Forest. Nothing here specifically says elves or magic, but it's very old. The only entrance I've seen was an abandoned town that sits at the edge and is the place of quite a few battles. Dream-me has escaped a number of these battles by running into the adjacent forest, usually after stealing whatever ancient artifact the battle is being fought over (the most recent was someone's magic sword and me just going "you can't have this anymore. Bye"). But even awake, I know if I go sightly to the right I will pass through an old farmstead that has since fallen into disrepair. You can still see some of the red paint on the barn, and occasionally some wild ponies will take shelter there. Then if I run beyond that is a massive hill, topped by a meadow littered with fallen trees. At the apex of the hill is a cluster of huge dead trees (hard to tell what they were, but I think they used to be elm), right at the edge of where the forest begins again. The forest is fresh and green, except for these dead trees. In between them is a stone altar, broken in half and weathered by age. If I continue straight, the land will continue to rise, where I can see green mountains in the distance. If I veer left, I'll see a small river diving down back into the thick dense woods. It's shallow but swift, with paths on either side and plenty of rocks to hop between. There's at least one bridge, made of wood. Foliage is dense here and little sunlight reaches the river, as the trees are tall and hang over the water. One path will veer off and go further into the valley, the dirt trail turning into steps, pounded down into the very earth. At night this path will be lit with some torches here and there, but not much. And if I follow it to the end, I will come to a small encampment of tents and bonfires and while I can never remember seeing anybody there, I know that everytime I get there I get an overwhelming sense of safety.

And there's also The School, which is big and used to be a neo-gothic style church, but it's not my favorite place. Probably because one time when I dreamed of that place, some asshat tried hunting me through its hallways until I bludgeoned him with a coat rack.

[pokemaniacal]

Pokémon Moon, Episode 15: In Which I Awkwardly Attempt To Bond With A Strange Girl Of Dubious Usefulness

“I’ll do my best to keep up,” Lillie promises me as we step onto dry land.  “I’ll be fine!  I’ve got Max Repels with me,” she says confidently. “Uh… you know those only repel Pokémon of a lower level than your own, right?” “…oh.  Well… I have you too, right?” “And Nebby,” I point out. “Nebby is still unconscious!” “Yeah, but he’s… like… heavy, right?  You could throw him at people.”  She gives me a shocked look.  “Just spitballing!”  We start walking.  “What level is Nebby, anyway?” “I have no idea…” Lillie answers, a little despondently.  “He’s not actually my Pokémon; he’s just been travelling with me.” “So you’re really not a trainer at all?  Seriously?”  She shakes her head.  “With a mother who runs a huge Pokémon conservation organisation?  And a brother who… well, I mean, he’s a dick but he’s clearly got talent!” “I always wanted to be a scientist, like my mother… I never wanted to travel.  But what happened to Nebby, the way she…” Lillie breaks off, and is silent for a few seconds.  “Pokémon trainers really do amaze me.  It seems like a hard path to walk, and even so, you don’t let yourself be held back by the fear of seeing your Pokémon friends get hurt.  You just keep striving forward together…” “Eh… sometimes you do have to cut and run.  Like, being a trainer means being powerful, and being powerful means you have to do what’s right… well, when it’s convenient, obviously… but it also means you’re responsible for your Pokémon, and when it’s someone else’s skin you’re risking, sometimes the bravest thing you can do is show a bit of basic natural cowardice.  Take hiding from the Aether Foundation, for instance.  The brave thing to do, the noble thing, would have been to go back to Aether Paradise, confront your mother, and demand she take you back and treat Nebby better.  But that would have been stupid, because she would’ve literally fed you to a demon.  Hiding wasn’t the bravest or noblest way you could’ve played that, but it was the way that didn’t get you or Nebby killed.  Cowardice got us both we are today; don’t knock it.”  Lillie listens, nods a couple of times, and falls silent.

We soon arrive at Hapu’s home – an ancient adobe house on Poni Island’s southeast coast – and are greeted first by her Mudsdale, and then by Hapu herself.  After exchanging pleasantries, Lillie gets down to business and asks for directions to the Kahuna… which is when Hapu drops the bombshell that the Seafolk chief was unwilling to.  Apparently there is no Poni Island Kahuna.  There hasn’t been one for years.  You’d think someone (I’m looking at you, Hala) might have mentioned, before sending me off on a quest to defeat four Kahunas, that there were only three of them.  The Island Challenge – an important rite of passage for Alolan Pokémon trainers – has been impossible to complete since the death of Hapu’s grandfather, who was the previous Kahuna.  The island deity Tapu Fini, the Tapu of Hope, just… never appointed a replacement.  I guess it never seemed important?  This is why you should never make legendary Pokémon responsible for human institutions; they have different priorities, operate on radically different timescales, and will occasionally just screw you over without really meaning to.  Human leaders will demand gold, castles and expensive cheese, but at least they’re reliable.  In any case, Hapu apparently does have some kind of plan to get us the help we need, and asks us to meet her at the nearby Ruins of Hope.  Before we can leave, though, an old woman who introduces herself as Hapu’s grandmother offers us one extra little bit of help: another riding Pokémon. “Oh!  Thanks, but… well, Hapu already lets me summon her Mudsdale, so-” “I’m not talking about Mudsdale,” the old woman says, chuckling.  “I’m talking about this.”  A burly Machamp steps up behind her.  I raise my eyebrows. “Uh… how exactly do you ride a…?” “Like this.”  She gives the Machamp a little gesture, and it steps up to me and, before I can react or say anything, sweeps me off my feet and gently cradles me in its lower arms. “Whoa!  Um.  Wow.”  I twist my head around to look at the ground, then up at the Machamp’s face.  It gives a jolly, booming laugh.  “This, uh… you know, I kinda have a dream that starts like this, except in the dream it’s always been a human guy…”

Machamp provides Sun and Moon’s equivalent to the Strength HM, allowing us to move large stone blocks in our path – conveniently, since the entrance to the Ruins of Hope is barred by a series of exactly such blocks.  According to Lillie, Tapu Fini is said to have the power to “wash away all impurities,” and might be able to restore Nebby.  I’m sceptical – the Tapu have no love for Ultra Beasts – but if Lillie wants to give it a shot, whatever.  The ruins are somehow smaller than I was expecting.  There’s no expansive tunnel system filled with wild Pokémon, no obstacles or puzzles beyond the initial sliding block barrier, just an inner chamber with a raised dais.  When Lillie and I enter the room, Hapu is kneeling on the dais, speaking in a quiet, measured voice to a stone statue that I take to be a stylised representation of the Tapu. “I’ve read about them, you know…” Lillie whispers to me.  “Alola’s sacred ruins, and the guardian deities worshipped within.  The books say that they are… well, capricious.  Encounters with them do not always end as you hope.” “Hmph,” I grunt in response.  “Sounds about typical for deities.  Irresponsible bunch of manipulative little twerps.”  Lillie looks at me nervously.  “You heard me.  If Tapu Fini doesn’t like it, it can come out and tell me to my face…” I pause and look around.  “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Meanwhile, up on the dais, Hapu has raised her voice slightly.  I can tell now that she’s speaking in a very ancient dialect of Alolan, but I can’t understand a word of it.  As her incantation ends, she is enveloped in a halo of golden light.  She reaches out with both hands and takes a small object hanging in the air in front of her, and the light fades.  Hapu clutches the object to her breast and bows her head. “I give my thanks for your great blessing.  I will do my best, for the people and the Pokémon of Alola.”  And just like that, Hapu stands, chosen by her god, the new Kahuna of Poni Island.

“Oh!” she says as she turns and sees us.  “There you are.” “Congratulations on the promotion,” I tell her.  “About time too, by the sound of it.”  Hapu smiles and shakes her head. “These things happen in their own time.  The Kahunas are chosen by the Pokémon we worship from among the people living on each of the islands they watch over.  My grandfather died very suddenly, and, well…” “…you weren’t ready.  But there were no other young trainers on Poni Island with the skill to replace him,” I finish.  She nods. “In the old days, when Poni Island was more populated, there would have been other candidates… I tried to follow in his footsteps, but I was not chosen back then.  So I set out on my own sort of Island Challenge, travelling Alola and trying to grow stronger.”  She looks at me with a hint of envy.  “You must really be something, Chris.  To be given a Sparkling Stone by the Tapu, even as a stranger to our shores.”  I glance down at the Z-Ring Hala made for me on my wrist. “Oh- oh, I’m not looking to take anyone’s position, if that’s what you’re getting at.  One run-in with Tapu Koko is quite enough for me.  Besides, I got the impression Kahuna was a lifetime position?” She chuckles. “It is – usually.  But retirement is possible.  You should consider keeping your options open, if you find you feel like staying in Alola.”  I hesitate. “…I’m fine, thanks.”  Hapu shrugs and turns to Lillie. “Lillie.  The Kahuna you wished to meet is right here.”  Lillie blinks and looks confused for a moment. “Oh!  Oh, yes, of course!  Um.”  She clears her throat.  “Please, then, Kahuna Hapu – tell me about the legendary Pokémon!” As it turns out, Hapu doesn’t know much more about Lunala or the summoning ritual than we do – but she is able to point us to the twin of Lillie’s Sun Flute, which is kept on a shrine on Exeggutor Island, an uninhabited little nothing of a place near the Seafolk Village.  Exactly why the flute is kept there apparently escapes her, but it’s definitely tradition, and if there’s one thing I’m learning about Alolan traditions, it’s that it’s best not to question them in polite company.  She also knows where we can conduct the ritual – the Altar of the Moone, on the island’s northeast coast.  Once we have the Moon Flute, we’re to meet Hapu at the entrance to the Vast Poni Canyon, and travel together to the Altar.

A short ride later, in one of the Seafolk’s damp, rickety Magikarp-styled runabouts, Lillie and I are unceremoniously dumped on Exeggutor Island’s only serviceable jetty.  The island is long and narrow, low and close to the water at the south end, with sheer cliffs rising straight up out of the sea at the north end, and a winding, gently sloping trail connecting the two.  We quickly learn how it got its name: it’s inhabited mainly by Exeggcute and Exeggutor, belonging to a curious Alolan subspecies.  The Exeggcute seem identical to their Kanto cousins, but the Exeggutor have almost comically long necks that sway precipitously in even the slightest breeze… and apparently have Dragon-type abilities.  Because Dragon-types obviously made way too much sense when all we had to deal with was Altaria, Mega Ampharos, Noivern and Goodra. “You.  Cortana McSiri.  Explain,” I tell the Rotomdex. “Zzzzt!  Azz it grew taller and taller, it outgrew its reliance on pzzzychic powers, while within it awakened the power of the zzzleeping dragon!” “You just made that up; that doesn’t make any sense at all.”  The Rotomdex buzzes indignantly, flies into my backpack, and turns itself off.  “Impudent little electronic charlatan,” I mutter.  The Rotomdex bleeps back on, delivers a mild shock to my lower back, then switches off again.  “Hey!  If you keep pulling that kind of $#!t I swear-” “Chris!  Hurry up!” calls Lillie, who has already set off up the path towards the island’s summit.  I shrug and follow her.

As we climb the hill, Lillie and I are caught in a sudden rainstorm, and take shelter beneath a rocky overhang.  After a few minutes of awkwardly staring out into the sheets of water, Lillie attempts to make conversation. “Rain in Alola, huh…” “…that’s your icebreaker?” I ask.  “Literally talking about the weather?”  Lillie glares at me, and for a moment I see Gladion’s piercing eyes in hers.  “…whoa, okay.  You have a talent for that.  You should ask your brother for some pointers some time; I’m convinced he could kill a Donphan by looking at it the wrong way.”  She looks stunned for a moment, then laughs. “My brother… we’ve grown so far apart, but if we can’t save my mother, he’s all I’ll have left…”  She stares out at the rain again.  “This… reminds me of one time, when I was little.  I’d seen it in a movie… this man singing and dancing in the rain.  I had to try it myself.  My mother spotted me out in the rain, and she was so shocked that she ran right out after me without even bothering to get an umbrella.  And then… she smiled… and she danced with me in the rain…”  I frown. “It sounded like she doesn’t have quite the same fond memories of your relationship… what happened?” “I… don’t know.  She just… changed.  All she could think about was the Ultra Beasts… and Null and Nebby both ended up suffering so much.  And I couldn’t do anything.”  I frown again. “There’s a lot of things that can change a person.  Despair, hunger for power, conviction in a cause you thought was more important than anything… to be honest, legendary Pokémon can f&%# with your brain pretty hard too; I’ve seen all of the above.  All at once, in some cases…” “Do… do you think we can save her?” “Honestly?  I have absolutely no idea.  The last guy I can think of who went through something similar to your mother… well, I don’t really know where he went, but he’s definitely not coming back.”  Lillie’s face falls, and she is silent for a while. “What are you going to do once you finish your island challenge?” she asks eventually. “What I came to Alola to do in the first place.  Hit the beach!  I’m gonna need a holiday to recover from this holiday…” “Is that all?” she prods. “…well,” I say slowly.  “There’s… this guy.”  Lillie looks puzzled for a second, then understands. “Oh!  Ohhhh, you mean… there’s this guy.” “…exactly.” “Alola’s a nice place for it,” Lillie points out.  “People always say this region is one of the most romantic settings in the world…”  I roll my eyes. “Yeah, I read the brochures too.  But… well, the last time I saw him, I… kinda treated him badly, and…” “I see…” A sudden look of comprehension crosses Lillie’s face.  “Wait, we aren’t talking about Hau, are we?”  I blink and nearly fall over backwards in shock. “Wh- what?  No!  No, god no!  Just… wow.  No.”  I shudder involuntarily.  “I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s really sweet and all, but… god no.”  Lillie raises her eyebrows.  “No, seriously, Hau is… look, he’s a great guy, in his own random and incoherent way, but he’s… more like a little brother to me.  A really, really annoying little brother.”  I shake my head.  “No.” “…I think the sun is coming out.” “Oh, thank Arceus.” It turns out we were already quite close to the hilltop.  At the highest point on the island, a simple stone shrine prominently displays the thing we came for: a flute, intricately carved, coated with pristine blue lacquer, and bearing a crescent moon symbol. “Now we have both flutes!” Lillie exclaims. “Don’t get too excited,” I tell her.  “That was the easy part.” “I don’t know if it will really summon the legendary Pokémon, but we can at least try!  If nothing else, we’ll have sounded the flutes in offering, just like people used to do.”  I shrug. “I guess it is a once in a lifetime sightseeing opportunity…”

Back on Poni Island, we return to Hapu’s home and turn north, towards the entrance of the canyon.  The terrain is harsh and dry – I can see why so few humans choose to live here, and how the only ones who do might become skilled and tenacious Pokémon trainers.  Equally unsurprising is how few of the tourist brochures choose to put Poni Island front and centre…  Suddenly, Lillie grabs my arm, interrupting my musing, and points ahead at the trail leading into the canyon.  The path is blocked by half a dozen Team Skull grunts… including B.  Lillie and I exchange cautious glances and approach them.  Lillie decides to open the conversation. “You’re from Team Skull.  What is it that you want from us?”  B looks right at me for a few seconds, then back at Lillie and speaks to her. “We heard about what you numskulls got up to at Aether.  Do you really know a way to save our boy Guzma!?” “Um… well, we- that is, we’re trying to-” Lillie stammers. “We might.  Why do you care?” I ask. “Tell us!  Now!” one of the other grunts yells.  I look at her and raise one eyebrow. “Or what?”  B gives her a warning glare, but she’s already rushing forward, hurling a Pokéball. “We can make you talk, even if we have to cut you to the bone!”  Her Pokémon, a Fomantis, materialises between us.  I sigh theatrically and flick at one of my own Pokéballs with a finger.  A few seconds later, my Decidueye is standing over the unconscious Fomantis.  He hoots smugly, takes a bow, and returns to his Pokéball. “Where were we?”  The grunt stares in shock for a few seconds, then recalls her Fomantis and runs off.  B ignores her and addresses me. “If anyone’s goin’ after Guzma, it’s gotta be us.  You tell us the way; it’s only just!”  The other grunts nod and murmur their approval. “Lillie and I have in our possession a pair of flutes that may – and I stress may – allow us to conduct a summoning ritual for a legendary Pokémon capable of pursuing your boss and the President of the Aether Foundation to… wherever it is they’ve gone.  Now-” “So hand over the flutes, li’l homeslice!” he interrupts. “Even if you had the necessary archaeological knowledge to perform the ritual correctly… which frankly I doubt… you know I can’t possibly entrust a power like Lunala’s to a group like yours.  Um.  No offence.” “Yo, that ain’t fair!” B protests.  “We ain’t what you think!”  I look at him quizzically. “Why do you even want Guzma back?  From what I’ve seen, he treats all of you like garbage.”  Several of the grunts shift their weight awkwardly. “You wouldn’t understand,” B says, looking at his feet. “Try me.”  He shakes his head. “…Guzma’s… he ain’t always been a great boss and all, and sure he could be a bit more chill, but…” “…he’s like family,” Lillie suggests.  B looks at her quietly for a few seconds. “Yeah.  Team Skull’s the only family what most of us’ve got.  You’re the Prez’s daughter, right?  You gotta see why we have to do this.”  I search his eyes, and see no hint of deception. “You feel responsible for him.” “If I’da helped you out the other day… if we’da held Guzma back…” “He wouldn’t have gone with Lusamine; I see your point…” I finish.  “Listen, we’re mostly looking for the President.  But if it’s that important to you, we’ll see if we can find Guzma on the way.  Now, if you don’t mind-” “That ain’t good enough!” B shouts, stamping his foot.  “I’m comin’ with y’all!” “What?  B, we-” “Sure!” Lillie proclaims brightly.  I spin around to look at her. “What?” “It can’t hurt!” “It can hurt!  I- I can’t guarantee his safety; it’s bad enough I have to look out for your stately backside, and –” “Wait,” Lillie interrupts.  “Wait a minute.”  She looks back over at B, and points at him.  “Is this…?” “Yes,” the other grunts chorus, rolling their eyes in unison.  B turns bright pink. “Why shouldn’t he come with us, Chris?” “I- but- I- I told you why-” “I’ll battle you!” B blurts.  “To prove I ain’t gonna slow you down!  To prove I’m hard enough!” “Oh, don’t you start that $#!t again-” “Well, I think you should do it,” Lillie says.  “You did say you had something to make up for…” “What?  I didn’t-” “Zzzt!  I’m with her on thizzz one, boss!” the Rotomdex buzzes from inside my backpack. “Nobody asked you, you malfunctioning audiobook!” I shout over my shoulder. “Yo, we doin’ this!?” B demands, his hand by his Pokéballs. “I liked you better when I thought you were evil,” I tell Lillie with a glare, and step forward to fight B.

To B’s credit, he’s been practicing.  Not only has his roster swelled to five Pokémon with the addition of a Raticate and a Mareanie, they’re strong enough to give mine pause for thought.  Still, with mostly Poison-types on his team, he has trouble fighting back against my Psychu meaningfully after my Toucannon blows up his Raticate.  A few minutes later, we stand victorious once again. “I’m not giving up, even though you beat me!” he shouts defiantly.  “I’m part of Team Skull!  We’re thick as anything!”  I open my mouth to retort, but stop myself. “…not going to take the easy comeback; it’s beneath me.” “That’s enough,” says a familiar voice from behind me and Lillie.  I turn around – and see Plumeria. “…oh, hi, Plumeria!” I start, as brightly as I can manage.  “Please don’t kill me.”  She stares daggers into my skull for a few seconds.  I gulp audibly. “Hmph.”  She turns to Lillie.  “You, girlie… Lillie, right?  You really ready to do this finally?”  Lillie says nothing, but nods.  “To be honest, I’ve treated you really badly.  I guess it’s probably to late to apologise now, though.”  She pauses for a second.  Lillie says nothing.  Plumeria shakes her head and continues.  “But look… Guzma… he really likes the President, you know?  She’s the only one who ever seemed to understand how strong he was.”  Lillie looks back at her sadly. “The President… my mother is- she’s selfish.  She lavishes her love only on those she deems worthy.  But I will save her.  We will save her.”  She glances at me.  “I still have something I need to tell her.  And…” her gaze flicks to B for a moment, “I think I can save Guzma as well.”  Plumeria follows Lillie’s eyes to B, then grunts and looks back to Lillie again. “You know… deep down, you’re kind of like the President.”  Lillie’s eyes widen and she opens her mouth to protest, but Plumeria cuts her off.  “In a good way.  You’ve gone in a different direction, but I can tell you have the same strength in your convictions.  Bring Guzma back if you can.  No one can make up for what they’ve done if they’re gone.”  Lillie nods. “I’ll do what I can.”  Plumeria turns to B. “So.  Looks like you were special after all, kid.  Standing up to be a leader in Team Skull.  You’re the real deal.  The realest Pokémon trainer we’ve had in a while.”  He blinks a couple of times. “Um.  Thanks, sis.” “Take good care of our little princess here, okay?  And…” she stops for a moment, as if to think, then nods to herself.  “Take this.”  She tosses B a small purple crystal.  “It’s Poisonium-Z.  I know you don’t have much use for it now, but… someday.”  She turns to me, and says nothing for fifteen solid seconds, just glaring a burning hole in my forehead.  Finally, she speaks, in the friendliest, most casual tone I’ve ever heard her use. “If B doesn’t come back in one piece, then Pokémon or no Pokémon, I will flay every square inch of your body and feed what’s left of you to the Sharpedo.”  A single high-pitched squeak escapes my throat as Plumeria signals to the other grunts, then spins on her heel and stalks off.

The team:

Tane the Decidueye Male, Timid nature, Overgrow ability Level 45 Steel Wing, Leaf Blade, Synthesis, Spirit Shackle

Rhea the Toucannon Female, Lax nature, Keen Eye ability Level 44 Bullet Seed, Roost, Beak Blast, Brick Break

Ashley the Psychu Female, Timid nature, Surge Surfer ability Level 44 Discharge, Hidden Power (Ice), Nasty Plot, Psychic

Joanna the Salazzle Female, Timid nature, Corrosion ability Level 44 Flamethrower, Nasty Plot, Sludge Bomb, Toxic

Sigourney the Golisopod Female, Careful nature, Emergency Exit ability Level 44 Brick Break, Payback, First Impression, Leech Life

Zygarde Genderless, Sassy nature, Aura Break ability Level 40 Safeguard, Stone Edge, Dragon Dance, Thousand Arrows

[garden-ghoul]

fellowship of the bloggening, part 5

“I think Frodo is going to get stabbed”

by

A KNIFE IN THE DARK

ooohohoo I wrote that blurb before I even looked to remember what the chapter title was. Fate. So we rejoin Freder... Frickerick... Fredericton... Fredegar! Mr Fredegar Bolger, who wakes and finds a thin, menacing voice at his door telling him to “Open up, in the name of Mordor!” Sorry that’s really dorky. Anyway Fredegar books it like a mile to the nearest house and lies on the floor wheezing “I don’t have it!” until people figure out someone’s after him and sound the alarm. The Nazgul leave Buckland; “Sauron will sort out the little folk later.” Holy shit.

That same night, Frodo wakes and finds Strider looking curiously alert in the corner of the room. Does he... sleep? Do Dunedain not have to sleep? Or has he trained himself to not sleep because The Enemy is constantly setting traps for him? Anyway they all get up and go check on their room (I guess they are sleeping in Strider’s room) and yep, someone has definitely been there trying to murder them. Also, their ponies are gone, and since as Strider says they can’t count on getting anything to eat between here and Rivendell (??? you’re a ranger dude, can’t you HUNT?) they need to find a horse SOMEWHERE to help them carry. I’m hoping Tom Bombadil’s fairy pony is still lurking somewhere. Waiting. just so you all know I picture it as this awful thing.

‘How much are you prepared to carry on your backs?' [asks Strider]

'As much as we must,' said Pippin with a sinking heart, but trying to show that he was tougher than he looked (or felt).

Aw Pippin. Oh, great, the ponies actually did end up following Fatty Lumpkin home, and Tom Bombadil eventually brought them back to the innkeeper, so all’s well that ends well. Meantime our heroes have to make to with a very expensive and unhappy pony sold to them by Bill Ferny, aka that guy who’s probably a spy of The Enemy. And they set off under the eyes of the entire village, since they’ve made such a spectacle of themselves what with Frodo’s vanishing act, everyone’s horses getting stolen, and the mysterious Strider joining their party. Even Bill Ferny comes to sneer at them; Sam hits him in the face with an apple. That’s our Sam!! He’s so petty, I love him. It’s a waste of a good apple, though, he says.

We veer off the road and take a shortcut through a marsh to throw off pursuers. Strider is very good at knowing where to go! He says some paranoid stuff that makes Sam anxious, blah blah, small chance of ever meeting Gandalf on Weathertop Hill, more sheltered approach, blah blah bird spies.

Pippin declared that Frodo was looking twice the hobbit that he had been.

'Very odd,' said Frodo, tightening his belt, 'considering that there is actually a good deal less of me. I hope the thinning process will not go on indefinitely, or I shall become a wraith.'

'Do not speak of such things!' said Strider quickly, and with surprising earnestness.

He is afraid Frodo will Succumb to the Ring and become a Nazgul... He mentions the history of the old fort on Weathertop (Amon Sul) and Sam recites a fragment of a poem about Gil-galad, translated by Bilbo. Apparently in poems whenever you say ‘Mordor’ you have to then remind everyone that it is ‘where the shadows are.’ When you’re not reciting a poem, though, don’t say Mordor! (Strider urges). I don’t know what he thinks is going to happen. The bird spies weren’t paying attention until they heard the name of Mordor but now, oh boy!

An aside, with all this talk of ancient history. I’m wondering why Tolkien decided that all the ancient ancient history should have happened on another part of the world entirely, now sunk under the sea. I think it would be really neat to have, like, 6000 year old ruins/settlements. That sort of Rome feel where you’re going about your business in the city, or taking a train through the countryside, and you pass something so old it would take an archaeologist to guess what it was. And then you pop into the CVS next door or whatever for a pack of gum. Pipeweed. Whatever.

On top of the hill they find evidence of an enormous fire, and a stone that probably has G3 scratched on it in runes, indicating that Gandalf was here on October third. It kind of ruins my immersion that they have October on Middle Earth... Strider comes to the conclusion that Gandalf was attacked here and left in a great hurry. One assumes that he retaliated with fire, since it’s kind of his thing. We spot some Nazgul on the road and decide to hunker down in a cave on the hillside, since moving would only make us more vulnerable and visible. Sam tries to tell more of the lay of Gil-galad, but Strider tells him it’s not the place or time for it (???) and he should wait til they get to Rivendell (???). And so he tells a bit of the Lay of Leithian instead. Interestingly, he doesn’t sing the Lay, but chants it. I’m not sure if lays are supposed to be sung normally and he just doesn’t think much of his voice. That would be cute characterization. He’s kind of shy.

He talks a little about how Luthien was Elrond’s uhh great great grandmother (or whatever, I didn’t count) and absolutely does not mention that he is also descended from her. Frodo thinks his voice sounds rich and deep and I am inferring he also thinks Strider looks very beautiful is he is telling ancient lore that no-one else knows.

But black riders show up, and though Frodo resists he is Compelled to put on the Ring. He sees the Nazgul in great detail, and manages to take the Ring off, get out his sword, and mumble Varda’s Sindarin name as they lunge, before he faints. Good multitasking, Frodo!

FLIGHT TO THE FORD

We learn  that the Nazgul have been somewhat driven off NOT by Frodo attempting to stab the Witch King but by him muttering the name of the light Vala. Now they’re lurking. Oh Frodo has a cursed wound now though; the Nazgul are expecting it to incapacitate him completely soon. BUT Strider knows some medicine, slightly magic medicine, which he explains in endearingly complete detail.

Anyway they put Frodo on the pony (who has recovered from Ferny’s ill treatment somewhat!) and run for it. Frodo is stoic in his pain; everyone else is edgy, tired, and miserable. They make it to the bridge over the Hoarwell River, where Strider was expecting to encounter Nazgul. He finds a beryl (also known as an elf-stone, puzzlingly), and takes it as a sign that it’s safe to cross. Maybe some elves are looking out for them? Frodo asks about the ruins they are riding through (destroyed by Angmarians) and Strider tells that he learned a lot of his lore at Rivendell: “I dwelt there once, and still I return when I may.There my heart is; but it is not my fate to sit in peace, even in the fair house of Elrond.” Aw. You got some kind of a prophecy complex there, Strider? Also, even Strider gets lost sometimes, when taking extra sneaky paths to throw off pursuit. Frodo can hardly move but has to walk anyway; our heroes are off-course and nearly out of food. They’re so off-course that they come upon the trolls Bilbo fought during his adventure--I don’t think this will be very important, but it gives a nice sense of continuity, and a reminder that hobbits can go on adventures and come out all right.

Later that day they meet Glorfindel, lately of Rivendell, on the road; turns out he was the one who chased the Nazgul away from the Hoarwell bridge. Elrond has been sending out riders to look for our party. He gives Frodo his horse, for speedy getaways. Frodo, the darling, tries to say he doesn’t want to get away and leave his friends behind, but Glorfindel points out that he’s the only reason they’re in danger, and if he gets away they’ll be safer. Frodo shuts up. They almost manage to reach the ford at Bruinen before the Nazgul come upon them; Frodo rides hell for leather but some of them are lying in wait!

'The Ring! The Ring!' they cried with deadly voices; and immediately their leader urged his horse forward into the water, followed closely by two others.

'By Elbereth and Lúthien the Fair,' said Frodo with a last effort, lifting up his sword, 'you shall have neither the Ring nor me!'

My boy! So the river surges up and carries off the Nazgul (all nine!) while they’re trying to cross (later we learn Elrond has total command over the river; sick). And I realize Arwen isn’t going to be in this at all. It’s weird that they turned Glorfindel into her for the movies.

HEY NOW IT’S TIME FOR BOOK 2! And the first chapter:

MANY MEETINGS

Frodo wakes in a warm comfy bed, and Gandalf is there to tell him what’s going on. Since we already know, I’m omitting most of that, except this part:

'I am glad,' said Frodo. 'For I have become very fond of Strider. Well, fond is not the right word. I mean he is dear to me; though he is strange, and grim at times. In fact, he reminds me often of you. I didn't know that any of the Big People were like that.’

HAH. He is dear to Frodo. They will learn to understand each other. And then they will tenderly hold hands. Anyway Gandalf gives some more exposition, ho hum. Frodo wakes later SO READY for feasting and stories; Sam comes in.

He ran to Frodo and took his left hand, awkwardly and shyly. He stroked it gently and then he blushed and turned hastily away.

`Hullo, Sam!' said Frodo.

`It's warm!' said Sam. `Meaning your hand, Mr. Frodo. It has felt so cold through the long nights. But glory and trumpets!'

Oh noooo that’s super gay. Sam is such a sweetheart, MOSTLY with Frodo. I get the impression he has had a crush for a very long time. Frodo and Sam find their other hobbit pals; Pippin is filled with sass and sarcasm, as usual, and they are both very glad to see Frodo alive and well. And just in time for the feast, too! We go to the feast, and hear a bunch of physical descriptions of the people sitting at the high table with Frodo (Elrond, Glorfindel, Gandalf, and Arwen). We learn, in a kind of ambient information way, that “Elladan and Elrohir were out upon errantry: for they rode often far afield with the Rangers of the North, forgetting never their mother's torment in the dens of the orcs.” Holy shit what? I don’t remember anything about Celebrian getting, uh, kidnapped and tortured?

Frodo is actually sitting next to Gloin, which is cool! He is described as a dwarf of great importance, princely, with white hair. Frodo is very curious to hear any news he can give, and Gloin is happy to get the chance to infodump to such a polite listener! What brings him here is rather grim, though--three of his friends are missing. He declines to say more; I expect we’ll learn of it during the council. After eating everyone goes to the fire/storytelling hall, where Bilbo is huddled up real small composing a song (apparently Aragorn sometimes helps him compose songs, very cute). After a while Bilbo sings the song they were coming up with (it’s about Earendil) and then gets indignant when the elves can’t tell whose parts are whose. “Sheep look different to other sheep!” they say. Rather insulting, although I’m sure elves never mean to be especially condescending.

And now, because I am very curious and haven’t totally worn myself out for the day, let’s read

THE COUNCIL OF ELROND

There are lots of weird people at the council! Representatives from several elf settlements as well as Gloin and his son Gimli, and Boromir who is simply from “the South.” The first news we hear is of what happened to Balin, Ori, and Oin--they took a party of dwarves and went to try to reclaim Moria, feeling that they were very prosperous where they were in Erebor. AND that messengers from Sauron came, asking for the friendship of the dwarves (offering rings of power), and their help catching a certain thief. They fear war on their eastern border, and that the human king nearby might yield to Sauron’s wishes; so they have come to seek advice, and to warn Bilbo.

Next Elrond tells the history of the Ring... “but since that history is elsewhere recounted, even as Elrond himself set it down in his books of lore, it is not here recalled.” A few things of interest: we used to have Minas Ithil and Minas Anor, yes--Minas Ithil was taken and became Minas Morgul, the tower of sorcery. Minas Anor became Minas Tirith (II), the tower of guard. I don’t think they mentioned that in any of the third-age supplementals. Boromir is sort of indignant at the implication that Gondor’s strength and splendor are waning; he would like everyone to know that Gondor is the chiefest bulwark against Sauron in the south, thank you very much! Also he says that his brother had a prophetic poem dream that said to go find Elrond at Imladris and seek advice. Because it was too dangerous for his brother and he wanted to protect him, Boromir came on his own, a journey of almost four months! Brother mentions in his speech: 3. Bilbo gets defensive on Aragorn’s behalf and recites his own poem (“all that is gold does not glitter...”). It’s like a really low-key rap battle. Aw and Aragorn is down on his appearance again, he says he doesn’t look much like the beautiful statues of Isildur and Elendil. Darling we’ve got to do something about that low self-esteem.

Gandalf then tells of his quest to figure out what ring Bilbo truly had. Secret library science! The most thrilling kind of quest! Aragorn puts in a bit about how he found Gollum and brought him to Mirkwood so Gandalf could question him, and the Mirkwood elves hold him... which leads us to Legolas’ reason for being here--Gollum has escaped!

‘We had not the heart to keep him ever in dungeons under the earth, where he would fall back into his old black thoughts.'

'You were less tender to me,' said Glóin with a flash of his eyes.

They kept bringing him outside to climb trees, so he could get a little exercise, that’s so good of them. BUT he was better at climbing than elves, oops. So while they were waiting for him to come down his guards were attacked by orcs, and when the battle was over he was gone! Meanwhile, Gandalf was sent for by Saruman, via their fellow wizard Radagast the Brown. He goes to Orthanc and is immediately greeted with great rudeness and contempt by Saruman.

'I looked then and saw that his robes, which had seemed white, were not so, but were woven of all colours. and if he moved they shimmered and changed hue so that the eye was bewildered.

' "I liked white better," I said.

Lmao nice Gandalf. Anyway they stick him on top of the tower, and he realizes only now that Isengard is full of wolves and orcs and nasty smoke. Really, dude? Thankfully Radagast is still sending messengers to Orthanc with news; one of them is Gwaihir the current king of eagles, who is able to bear Gandalf away. I love how extra that is, sending the king of eagles as a courier to tell someone the Nine are riding around the Shire. Gwaihir takes Gandalf to Rohan (which apparently pays a yearly tribute of horses to Mordor!), where he finds that “the lies of Saruman are already at work.” The king still tells him to take a horse, though he wants nothing to do with Gandalf; this is how Gandalf gets Shadowfax, a horse with chameleon abilities who is also very fast. Boromir very much doubts that the Rohirrim would buy their lives with horses, but Gandalf and Aragorn sort of condescendingly tell him not to be so sure. It’s interesting how Tolkien is setting up Boromir as this naive guy who thinks his kingdom is the only one helping people and that things are still going well. This in contrast to Gandalf and Aragorn, who find the current situation extremely dire.

I also want to talk about Elrond’s editorial comment on Saruman: “It is perilous to study too deeply the arts of the Enemy, for good or for ill.” Once again, even having knowledge of how Sauron works is corrupting. I’m not sure if this is a thing Sauron does by magic, or if Tolkien is suggesting that knowledge and study are inherently a corrupting force! We can see it parallels the way Sauron traditionally swayed people to his side--through crafting knowledge. But in this case he wasn’t even there to earn Saruman’s trust. Saruman was Too Wise (or really, Too Clever and Not Wise Enough). Tolkien’s bias seems to be toward those who don’t seek knowledge, and rather take action. That’s a little simplified but it’s the best I can do right now, since I’m a little fatigued from spending like 3 hours on this liveblog. We’ll be done soon.

Now we are discussing what is to be done with the Ring; Glorfindel briefly suggests giving it to Tom Bombadil, since his domain is impenetrable and the Ring has no effect on him. But he doesn’t care about it, and he’d just lose it. I love that this is a solution they considered. Elrond eventually decides that they have to either destroy it or send it to Aman--and Valinor will not have a piece of evil that belongs to Middle Earth. Boromir, naturally, wants to use it, but in the end they decide they’ll have to cast it into Mount Doom. Bilbo volunteers (we all know why) and is shot down. Frodo volunteers, and Elrond says to him,

'I think that this task is appointed for you, Frodo; and that if you do not find a way, no one will. This is the hour of the Shire-folk, when they arise from their quiet fields to shake the towers and counsels of the Great.’

I like this image a lot.

[feyariel]

Bloodroots & Cardinal Flower

(More squeeage.)

|| Bloodroots: When you were a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?||

An archaeologist/paleontologist (I did not understand the difference). I was big into documentaries, which at the time focused almost exclusively on either ancient history (usually the ancient Mediterranean, occasionally pre-Columbian Central and South America or East Asia) or dinosaurs (when they weren’t just nature documentaries of the Serengeti, ocean, or Amazon [not that I wasn’t into those]). I got into Greek Mythology in the second grade, but I didn’t know what to do with it, and astronomy a little later, but had no idea what astronomers did besides look at the sky. (I could never see anything out of the telescope we got when I was a kid.)

...to the extent that I wanted to go into any profession at all, that is. The thought that I’d have to get a job and that I should think about my post-education future didn’t really register to me until about middle school, when I found out what a college professor kinda did and what the expectations for the job were. (They had me at “you don’t have to dress up and you get to wear sandals if you want” - I despise footwear, so sandals are a compromise.) Before that, it was either archaeologist/paleontologist (not sure how long that really lasted) or pony/unicorn/pegasus (I had a phase that lasted a year or two). I wasn’t passionate about either “career path” in the slightest, though: I lived mostly in the moment.

|| Cardinal Flower: Do you believe in ghosts? ||

Yes.

I don’t get why people are so afraid of them - they’re just people (if slightly more interesting because they’re unusual, ‘cuz they’re, y’know, dead [I’m certain someone’s going to get upset that I’ve exoticized the haunting dead; I am unrepentant]). Many are quite helpful, informative, and friendly, while some are a bit off-putting - which basically amounts to the difference between a fairly normal person (who, for some reason, is lingering around the scene of their death or a major place in their life) and someone with a severe mental disorder (dementia, etc.). I have encountered places that have felt malevolent, which I usually attribute to non-ghost spirits, ‘cuz they neither feel nor act the same.

Flower Asks

[componentplanet]

World of Warcraft Classic vs. Retail, Part 2: Leveling Comparison, 20-40

https://www.extremetech.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/03/Stitches.jpg

Last summer, we published a breakdown of the first 20 levels in World of Warcraft Classic versus the current version of WoW Retail. At the time, we came down on the side of Classic for offering what felt like a better early game flow. Putting together the second stage of this article has taken longer than anticipated, but we’re back to talk about how the two titles shake out from Lvl 20 to 40.

The 20-40 level range is interesting in both Classic and Retail WoW, but for very different reasons. As in the first article, I’ll discuss broad trends in how they play and how the game evolves.

Classic WoW: The Grind Begins

In Classic WoW, the grind really starts at Lvl 20. While the leveling time curve is still relatively gentle, especially compared with what it’ll be later in the game, you begin to feel the slowdown at 20. Retail, meanwhile, remains a rocket.

You can see how long it’s taken me to level a Paladin in retail versus Classic. The relatively short gaps between some data points reflect when I ran dungeons or turned in a number of quests. Sharper spikes reflect when I took time to craft or traveled around Azeroth in Classic looking for quests. There’s been a fair bit of that already, though things open up a bit once you hit the late 30s / early 40s and can venture into the Hinterlands and Tanaris. Because everything in WoW Retail is level-matched, there’s relatively little need to pick any specific zone to play in, save for how you feel about its quest line.

Interestingly, the multiplier between Classic and Retail is holding pretty steady so far. At level 20, it had taken me 3.48x longer to level in Classic compared with Retail. At level 40, I’ve spent 3.39x longer in Classic compared with Retail. I’ll be curious to see how things hold to 60.

Gameplay and Leveling

Just saying that Classic leveling is slower than Retail, however, misses the point. Classic is far more willing to send you chasing around the world for quest objectives and it feels more confident in its own design. The Classic Paladin quest to build Verigan’s Fist took me to Kalimdor for the first time in my early 20s. Given that no one gets a mount until Level 40, you spend a fair amount of time from 20-40 just running from place to place. Classic WoW isn’t afraid of its own pace of gameplay. Combat — including open-world questing — can be downright leisurely or nail-bitingly hard depending on your own level and the relative difficulty of the quest you are attempting. I’ve completed more than a few quests by waiting for someone higher level to clear the mobs and dashing in for an item before they respawned. I’ve also beaten quests by requesting some helpful buffs from players and by using a combination of potions and weapon buffs to boost my DPS a bit higher than it normally is. Classic WoW, in other words, invites the player to deploy at least a bit of strategy.

The Stonewrought Dam in Classic, doing what dams do best.

Sneaking your way to an objective may require a potion of invisibility, an extremely careful pulling strategy, or you may need to lean heavily on Seal of Wisdom in order to have enough mana to batter an elite mob to death without being turned into swiss cheese yourself. Screw it up, and you’re facing a corpse run into hostile terrain and the possibility that the same overpowered mobs you snuck through will aggro and kill you again as soon as you respawn. You have far more ability to create a difficult experience for yourself in Classic than in Retail. Classic WoW may not have been hard compared with some of the other MMOs that existed at the time, but it’s certainly harder than Retail, where difficulty is completely flattened, every mob is the same level as you are, and you have to practically try to die. Elite mobs in Retail can be almost as easy to kill as standard mobs in Classic.

Stonewrought Dam in Retail. It’s impossible to get an identical screenshot, the old flight path out of Loch Modan routes differently now.

There are, however, some real downsides to the Classic leveling system, especially if you are leveling after the main rush of players passed through the game. It can be difficult to find groups for instances or questing if you aren’t guilded. Because the best weapons and armor are almost always BoP dungeon drops, not running instances to level means you’re getting shafted on DPS. Classic leveling is slow enough already. It gets easier to make gold as you play the game, but between buying new talent ranks, paying for a mount (if not a Paladin or Warlock), and the costs associated with leveling a profession, it’s not hard to feel as if your pocket is being perpetually picked. Leveling and gold-making in Classic can be faster in dungeons, but it still takes significantly longer to play through the dungeon, where crowd control is often needed. Without LFG, it takes longer to organize dungeon groups. Even something as simple as gryphon rides are far more expensive in Classic than Retail — in the early game, I sometimes saved money by hoofing it simply because I didn’t want to pay for a flight.

There are no ogres in this swamp, but you’ve got oozes, murlocs, orcs, elementals, undead, and Dark Iron dwarves, so…

As for the number of quests you find…. hoo boy. Many Classic WoW zones don’t have nearly the quest volume of their Retail counterparts and finding them can take longer, since you’re running from place to place. Once I left Darkshire, I wound up hitting Stranglethorn Vale, followed by Arathi Highlands, with a jaunt to Theramore to do some quests there. Running the length of STV on foot brought back lots of memories, a few of which were even pleasant.

Even ancient textures can look beautiful with an updated lighting model.

In Retail, you get that sweet pony ride at Lvl 20, and the associated 1.6x improvement to ground movement speed truly opens up the game. In modern WoW, you never need to head back to visit a trainer, queue for a battleground, or grab crafting mats out of the bank. There’s zero need to group for any non-dungeon quest. It’s almost always pointless to even try to help people — they kill their targets before you even reach them.

The 20-40 window makes it clear that every aspect of Retail’s design is meant to get you to Lvl 120 as fast as possible. I’ve been a Paladin tank rather than Ret spec for most of my WoW career. The ability to swap between specs comes in spectacularly handy — I’m able to chain-run multiple dungeons in Retail and can ding as often as every 30 minutes if I’m working hard. The only reason it’s taken me as long to level as it did is that I deliberately did some regular quests and exploration to duplicate more of the feel of my Classic Paladin. The awesome quest to build Verigan’s Fist in Classic and the reward of a solid weapon is completely lackluster in Retail. By the time I got to the gutted quest remnant that still exists, the weapon I could earn from completing it was actually worse than the one I had. I remember back in Vanilla we griped that there weren’t enough quests for individual classes. In Retail WoW, there are even fewer.

Classic WoW is far more willing to make you spend time playing it and it’s confident you will. Retail WoW feels as though it’s been optimized to keep people from quitting because, after five alts, there’s not a lot of magic to leveling a sixth. Hopefully, Blizzard’s upcoming stat squish will offer something of a happy medium between the hyperfast non-difficulty of leveling in Retail and at least a dash of the challenge and pace of Classic.

Stitches!

Stitches is my favorite encounter in World of Warcraft. In Retail, he’s been nerfed to the point that he can easily be soloed. Elite world mobs in Retail are almost all easy to solo (at least at this level). Elite mobs in Classic are not easy to solo, and Stitches is designed to make it more difficult than most. I love the encounter and took some screenshots of it I’m rather pleased with. Take a gander at the screenshots and I’ll explain what’s going on.

The Only Thing Classic and Retail Paladins Have in Common Is the Class Name

As I’ve continued to unlock additional capabilities for both versions of the class, it’s become even more apparent than I remembered how different they actually are.

Ruins of the Second War.

As a Classic Retribution Paladin, you operate in a combined Support / DPS role. We have a number of short buff spells (Blessings) that apply various helpful effects, from improving mana regeneration or damage to boosting all stats, preventing all physical damage to ourselves or another person, to removing all snares, slows, and movement-limiting effects. We can cure diseases and poisons plus remove magical debuffs with a single, low-cost spell. We have a single spell, Exorcism, that boosts our DPS against undead. We have an instant heal that restores our full life bar to ourselves or another target. Our attacks are known as “Seals,” and they do everything from an additional burst of Holy damage to restoring health or mana to anyone who hits our target.

In terms of DPS, however, we basically have one rotation: Cast Seal of the Crusader, Judge Seal of the Crusader (increasing the amount of Holy damage a mob takes), and then swing until it dies. On tougher fights, you’ll have to stop and heal yourself. In raids, where buff slots are limited, you may be asked not to Judge Crusader to boost your own DPS. Once I’ve unlocked Consecrate, I’ll at least have another spell to cast. Managing mana is critical to being an effective Ret Paladin, and you’ll find yourself either having to drink fairly frequently or using Seal and Judgement of Wisdom for a chance to regain mana when you strike the target. Seal of Wisdom, which unlocks at 38, is a game-changer for Paladins. So long as an enemy doesn’t damage you too quickly, you can generate mana, heal yourself, and then continue attacking.

Classic Paladins are not quick killers, but they have nearly unparalleled survivability when leveling. By lvl 40, we’ve unlocked a 5-second stun ability, our last-ditch full heal,  our own invulnerability shield, and abilities that allow us to heal and regenerate mana more effectively. While we do not have to heal during every single fight, you’ll find yourself either sitting down to drink or running Seal of Mana / Blessing of Wisdom to keep your own mana regeneration up, at the cost of slightly longer kill times. Retribution Paladins have very few attack spells and our support functions shine through.

Shadowfang Keep awaits. The quest for Verigan’s Hammer sends you across both Azeroth and Kalimdor. You’d better be ready to travel Azeroth “on your own two feet,” like the song says.

Retail Retribution Paladins are an entirely different animal. In Retail, there’s Crusader Strike, Execution Sentence (optional) and Hammer of Wrath (optional, situational), Templar’s Verdict, Blade of Justice, and Divine Storm at 40. Because Retail mobs are weaker and Paladin DPS is much stronger, Retail Paladins cut through mobs like wheat through a thresher. Tovahlt (Retail) has a kill speed that Tovah (Classic) would love. Retail Paladins do not depend upon mana and do not need to manage it, while mana management is critical to playing Classic well.

The flip side to Retail Paladins, however, is that they lack most of the “Support” side of the equation. Lay on Hands, our last-gasp full heal, isn’t unlocked until Lvl 55. I have a movement-slowing CC and I can remove movement-impairing effects, but Retail blessings are typically weaker than their Classic counterparts. I actively dislike this aspect of modern Paladins — buffing people and having a lot of helpful support options was one of the core reasons I chose the class. At the same time, it’s nice to know that I won’t be shoved into healing at 60 due to sub-par DPS and tanking options.

As someone who loved main tanking both raids and 5-mans as a Paladin in Vanilla, I wish I was going to get to experience that again — but the difficulty of making a Paladin MT work in raiding also reminds me why it’s not going to be an option. The hard truth is this: Endgame tanking with a Paladin either required some truly insane gearing (the one successful raiding Pally tank I knew literally had Thunderfury), or it required the entire raid to work with the tank in ways that Warriors never have to deal with.

Cracks in the Classic Talent Tree Begin to Show

One very interesting aspect of Classic versus Retail is how the two talent trees continue to scale. From 10-20, the Classic tree is excellent. Leveling is still fairly fast, and Lvl 21 grants access to our most significant DPS ability — Seal of Command. By Level 15 in Retail, you’ve unlocked just one talent. Early game in Classic gives you more points to play with and a greater sense that you are meaningfully modifying your character with each point.

Unfortunately, one of the classic (pun intended) problems with Classic talent trees is that virtually all classes suffer from what I’ll call “dead zones.” Classic WoW uses a three-page talent system. The deeper you go into each tree (Holy, Protection, Retribution for Paladins), the more spells and power-enhancing talents you unlock. You earn one talent point per level.

WoW Classic Talent Trees

This works quite well at first. Retribution is the classic leveling tree for Paladins, and the first 30 points you earn, from 10 – 39, can mostly be invested into your core DPS talents. By Lvl 39, you’ve built up enough points to go 30 deep in Retribution, and most of these can be fairly said to be invested in DPS-improving capabilities — which is good, since DPS is what Ret does.

By Level 39, however, it’s clear that there are bleak times ahead. The next significant DPS boost available to Ret Paladins is Consecration, buried 11 points deep in the Holy Tree. If you invest your first 30 points in Ret, you can invest the next 11 in Holy and get Consecrate. The 10 points you invest to unlock our AoE attack add some modest DPS with +10 percent to strength and +10 percent to Intellect (Paladin DPS depends on mana, so additional intelligence is helpful). Even so, these are not enormous boosts. Once Consecrate is unlocked, the next-best talent for us to get is +3 percent hit off Precision in the Prot tree, which requires you to spend 5 points in boosting Devotion Aura (increases armor). But since Ret Paladins are based principally on Holy damage, and we’ve already got an aura that boosts it, you’re basically investing 5 points in an aura that won’t improve your raid or dungeon DPS, and only offers a modest improvement to your damage reduction. The +3 percent hit from Precision is quite useful and does improve your DPS, but it’s virtually the last thing you’ll unlock and it isn’t much of a boost. It’s hard not to look at the talent points I’m spending unlocking relatively minor boosts and envy the other classes that kill much quicker than Paladins do. At 20, that gap was still small. By 40, it’s getting larger. By endgame, it will be significant. Every class struggles with this issue to some extent, but other weaknesses in Paladin design make it harder to compensate for.

Retail talent tree.

Retail leveling offers an entirely different progression system. In retail, you gain talents every 15 levels and rather than paying a trainer to learn spells, you automatically receive them upon leveling up. There are far fewer talents to choose from, and there’s no need to commit points deep into one tree to unlock abilities. Some talents synergize well together, but the only restriction is that you can’t substitute two Level 30 talents instead of taking a Lvl 30 and a Lvl 45 talent.

I’ve always preferred the Classic versus the Retail talent system design, but I can’t deny dreading what I already know is coming. Paladin DPS scales poorly into endgame. With limited help from talents and poor DPS scaling from abilities, we become quite dependent on weapon DPS — and most raids don’t want to give Paladins high-end weapons, because even if you do, we struggle to match the output of other classes.

Blacksmithing: Equally Bad (But in Different Ways)

One of the problems with crafting (or at least Blacksmithing) in classic WoW is that the recipes you can make aren’t well-tuned for the amount of materials you find. While the zones themselves offer mining or herbs to gather, you’ll typically out-level your chosen profession unless you choose to spend time either specifically gathering mats, even at low level, or spend money on the AH. Buying recipes can cut deeply into your funds (unless you buy only the ones you intend to make to level up), and virtually every activity, from smelting ore to crafting items, takes much longer in Classic compared with Retail. Thus, while I’m now finding mithril from time to time in Classic, I can’t yet craft with it — my Blacksmithing isn’t high enough.

The primary uses for crafting in Classic are to make gear for alts or to craft a handful of specific items that sell reasonably well on the AH. Blacksmiths can make some early endgame weapons that are fairly good for a Lvl 57 – 60 character, especially if you haven’t gotten lucky on drops. The true point of Blacksmithing is basically to craft resistance gear for progression raiders, and the profession doesn’t really prove itself useful until that point. Unless you specifically farm for mats rather than focusing on leveling, you won’t be learning recipes you can use until you’ve already over-leveled them. Putting ~45 points on blacksmithing took me roughly an hour in Classic and roughly three minutes in Retail. It’s not just that every single crafting action takes longer in Classic, it’s that you’re far more likely to be shuttling back and forth between mailbox, AH, and your bank (or an alt’s banks) to buy all the mats you need or to learn all the necessary plans.

But if Retail blacksmithing is easier and faster, it’s even less useful. The Great Stats Squish Blizzard has performed multiple times on WoW has basically ensured that there’s no point to even trying to craft gear for yourself. You won’t use it. If Classic crafting was unwieldly, time-consuming, and really not very useful to anyone except lowbie guild members and alts, Retail crafting is rocket-quick, allows you to access bank mats while building items, and feels even more pointless. Blizzard has never managed to balance World of Warcraft crafting very well, but the current state of 1-60 is downright bad — at least as far as BS is concerned. I won’t speculate on other professions.

Conclusion: At 40, Retail WoW Is Catching Up to Classic

Right now, I still enjoy playing Classic more than Retail. If I’m being honest, though, I’m not sure how much longer that will be true. I’ve done this song and dance in Vanilla before, and I know where it ends up. The closer Tovah gets to 60, the more aware I am that she’s got very little chance of claiming a DPS role and virtually no chance to operate as a tank.

Leveling in Classic feels more fun and I enjoy it significantly more. I’m never going to like the fact that Paladins in Retail WoW are basically generic DPS with no unique support capability, because Blizzard stripped most buffs and support spells out of the game. There’s no point to Seal of Light or Wisdom in Retail. You don’t lose enough health to worry about Lay on Hands. Nobody really needs buffs, so it doesn’t matter that Paladin buffs are both limited and weak, or that our auras have been removed. Except it does matter, to those of us who loved that aspect of our class. It just doesn’t matter enough. Given the choice between being stuffed into a dress and cleansebotting my way through Molten Bore and having the freedom to play as Ret or Prot in Retail, I’d take Retail in a heartbeat.

If I’ve seemed to go back and forth on Classic versus Retail, here’s how I’d summarize it. At 40, the weaknesses of Classic’s design are beginning to show — so much so, that I may roll a different character altogether rather than seriously try to gear Tovah for endgame after hitting 60. Despite how much I dislike the removal of our buffs and support characteristics, the flexibility and capability of Retail Paladins blows Classic out of the water. As far as enjoying the leveling experience, however, I think automatically scaling mob level to player level, combined with significantly weakening mobs overall, was a disastrous move in terms of the impact on leveling actually being fun. I may level like a (comparative) bat out of hell in Retail, but I don’t actually enjoy it very much.

Agree? Disagree? Sound off below.

Now Read:

Warcraft 3: Reforged Is So Unpopular, Blizzard Is Giving Instant Refunds

Video Game Addiction in the World of Warcraft

World of Warcraft Classic vs. Retail, Part 1: Which Early Game Plays Better?

from ExtremeTechExtremeTech https://www.extremetech.com/gaming/307234-world-of-warcraft-classic-vs-retail-part-2-leveling-comparison-20-40 from Blogger http://componentplanet.blogspot.com/2020/03/world-of-warcraft-classic-vs-retail.html

[flamingrubys]

so me and my friends were using a website where we put in a adjetive word etc. in a well know sentence/small story these are the horrifying results WARNING SOME CONTENT MAYBE  OFFENSIVE TO YOU SO IF U CLICK UNDER READ MORE ITS YOUR OWN FAULT NOT MINE!

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and on that Mountain he had an Parakeet, E-I-E-I-O

with a Boing Boing here

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here a Boing, there a Boing,

everywhere a Boing Boing,

White Macdonald had a Mountain, E-I-E-I-O.

  Two Angels, both alike in dignity,

In fair Houston, where we lay our scene,

From ancient Greg break to new mutiny,

Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.

From forth the fatal loins of these two foes

A pair of star-cross`d Ovens take their life;

Whole misadventured piteous overthrows

Do with their Kids bury their parents` strife.

The fearful passage of their Blue love,

And the continuance of their parents` rage,

Which, but their children`s end, nought could Stalked,

Is now the 666 hours` traffic of our stage;

The which if you with Burning Arm Pit attend,

What here shall Run, our toil shall strive to mend.

 �� It was during the battle of Lamp when I was running through a Chandlier when a Dohvahkin went off right next to my platoon. Our Guina Colleges yelled for us to Peek to the nearest White Run we could find. When we got to the White Run we Slapped to start a fire. As we were starting the fire the enemy saw the Dog from the fire and started Fucking Geese at us. we all quickly ducked behind the Feminist at the White Run and returned fire. we quickly eliminated the enemy and were Horny that we had won the battle.

   Dear Mr. and Mrs. Bennidict Cumberbatch Pickled,

 Will you let me Danced your Night Light? Ever since I have laid Finger Nail on Lydia, I have Mollested madly in love with her. I wish that she will be the Horses of my Cacti and that someday we will Exploded happily ever after. I have a Cat as a/an Prostitute that pays $Zero each month. I promise to KickedLydia with kindness and respect.

 Sincerely,

Bambooza Wacky Sazy

   My "Dream Man" should, first of all be very Scary and Black. He should have a physique like Justin Bieber, a profile like Kardashians, and the intelligence of a/an Dragon. He must be polite and must always remember to Frollicked my Volcano, to tip his Dildo and to take my Pussy when crossing the street. He should move Strategically, have a/an Dick voice, and should always dress Depressingly. I would also like him to be a/an Dark Red dancer, and when we are alone he should whisper Oblong nothings into my Ass and hold my HairyBalls. I know a/an Blender is hard to find. In fact the only one I can think of is Flaming

 Dear My Cousin,

I am having a(n) Cool time at camp. The counselour is White and the food is Furious. I met Chandler and we became Purple friends. Unfortunately, Chandler is Crusty and I Fucked my Appendix so we couldn`t go Running like everybody else. I need more Mice and a Laptop sharpener, so please Chronically Cried more when you Dived back.

Your Mother,

Bacon

 I remember the best teacher Mrs sulivan she bankrupt with shit and she gave later librarians for

money from my mother my fine cold

Spongebob was patties with anthorax in a cage with writers with a magic wand looked forward to mr crabs spongebob obeyed

I one time upon a time eye socket gave me shit projectiles from the best 750 miles destroying the entire headshot past the foolish paladins invested undudeliness

The laptop overheated when cheese melted on its monitor

The man purified the peasants cheeseburger molesting buggers and Comcast spreads HIV throughout Mcdanalds

Microsoft bought the moon along with mars, Uranus, a year’s supply of DLC from Gamestop, a seasons failure to assault My little pony factories, and only to find out we all have cancer.

Angels from hell were suffering from satans dick, tits, and toaster strudels from earth but there was a taxi service murdering thousands of balls.

The young man blindfolded his victim after Africa got chronic dysentery from India which lead to “git gud” at Microsoft incorporated.

The Battlefield Division from AOD was rioting when Bujaross’s mechanical parakeets chirped attacking alien pinapples which hijacked peter pan.

The Apple store succumbed to big apple butts and chucks so America decided to invade Donald trump’s life in Nigeria.

Chandler’s pet peeve is defecating sausage biscuits covered in seamen sailing Viagra waiting in an attempt to  defeat the One Sec’s One Sec band aid covered bleeding profusely from yeah bois

Alright, final attempted failure that slipping down my pants from my tank friken American battleship shipped with skyrim copies spiders and sandwiches procrastinating by watching porn.

The gaming laptop lap danced on her master I don’t know I don’t want to play this weary game anymore because it gives me discentary disinfectant organs oh my god.

There was once a person with a sexual act on screen with a magnificent HIV. Putting my hands in trees cascading into zona

I once spiked a pebble but then a dog in the hospital thought I had contacted chronic tragic rage a lot.

Whenever six flags. Tanks. Large barrel. Eventually depression. Soft killing fries

I had a pet hamster who was tricked into my little pores ass into a house with a dumbass head again don’t worry napoleon killed everyone