Absolutely Insane. And Entertaining.

Welcome to my writing blog! Short stories, drabbles, from slice of life to fantasy so low you need a shovel to reach it, if you like either of those genres, than I'm your writer!

[hoitash]

Hey folks, friendly reminder that I’ve moved my writing to a wordpress blog because tumblr did a dumb and I miss my lewds:

https://hoitashwriter.wordpress.com/

[hoitash]

The Army Arrives!

The last Fifth Fiction Friday on tumblr is here! Enjoy, and Happy New Year!

The surviving city guard and exterminators formed up outside the entrance to the Pest Control Office. Nominally under the same government branch as the Army, the Office would formally receive the Army Regiment before they dispersed to their barracks. William and his squad stood at the far left of the line, the exterminators placed ahead of the city guard to receive the Army as one Confederation force to another.

William sighed at the complexity of government. Becoming a citizen of the city, a Titled one at that, made more parts of his life more complicated than he expected. Leafa at least seemed excited.

“I hope they’re staying through the winter,” Leafa remarked, “and I really hope Farseed’s pets saw them arrive.”

“If I know anything about elves,” William muttered, “Farseed knew about them long before they got here. The question is if he cares.”

Georg grunted, “He better.”

Before anyone could speak, a trumpet blared through the city. Drumbeats dully echoed between the buildings, and, slowly but surely, a Regiment of the Army of the Confederation of Man marched into the city.

Leafa’s jaw fell at the sight before her. A thousand men arrayed in rows and columns, divided by company, their feet and hooves marching in time as, having approached from the west, they turned to march up towards the Office down the main road. The commander of the Regiment and his retinue, on horseback, led the procession, their banners flying and horns blaring as they approached.

Behind them marched a company of dragoons, dragon pistols at their hips and braced across their chest, their banners swaying as they advanced. Another company of horseman, cavalry, bedecked in gleaming steel breastplates and armed with sword and a brace of double-barrel pistols, followed.

Behind the horses marched the men of foot. Two companies of musketeers marched in step to their drummers, ahead of two companies of crossbowmen. Both groups wore steel breastplates, and had a sword at their hip.

Two companies of footmen, armed only with a steel sword and shield and bedecked in full plate, slogged along behind the ranged men. Their armor clattered so loud that instead of drums they merely beat their right gauntlets against their chests in time to their march.

Clattering behind the men of foot were four swivel guns, their barrels shining in the autumn light. Each gun was drawn by two horses and joined by five men bereft of armor. Behind them marched the supply wagons, their horses and wagons clattering at the end of the procession and guarded by a handful of attendants and assistants armed with pistols and thunderbusses.

William stared in awe as the men marched, their every gesture combining to form the embodiment of the Might of Man. The survival of men against the faeries machinations lay in smoke and steel, and the Regiment before them exemplified that as nothing else could. In no other form did the full power of humanity manifest itself into so clear a symbol.

The column continued up the road to the open ground before the Office. The Regimental Commander, bedecked in a steel breastplate, red cloak, and a Church sword strapped to his belt, stopped several paces before the waiting Office commander, a grizzled Chief Exterminator William now recognized by sight, though he could never remember his name. Behind the Office leader stood the Senior Exterminators, followed by the Office clerks, and, of course, the exterminators and city guard.

The leader of the Regiment and his staff waited in place as, one by one, the companies marched into position, forming into a square block while maintaining their company formations. Georg observed their precision with an appreciative eye; it was rare to see humans so precise and meticulous, and the Army was the perfect place for such exactness.

When all the companies were in place, they all snapped to attention.

The Regimental Commander, eyes focused on the Chief Exterminator, barked, “Three cheers for the Pest Control Office, our gracious hosts for our stay!”

“HUZZAH! HUZZAH! HUZZAH!”

“At ease,” the commander dismounted, followed quickly by the rest of his retinue.

While an attendant led the horses to the side, the small group of men marched before the Chief. When they were six paces apart the commander stopped.

“Graf Colonel Hans Hunter III, Commander of the Third Confederation Regiment, reporting as ordered by the Confederation Council!”

“In the name of the city of Westward and the Pest Control Office,” the Chief returned, “I, Chief Exterminator Erin Wagner, Esquire, receive your Regiment.”

The Graf smiled. William couldn’t help but note the gesture seemed to remove at least a decade from the man’s features.

“Thank you, Chief. Before I dismiss the men, may I speak with Squad Twelve?”

The Chief nodded and turned to face the waiting exterminators, “Squad Twelve, present!”

William, Leafa, and Georg took two steps forward and halted. The Graf walked over to them, looking each one up and down in turn.

“So you are Squad Twelve,” he announced, “Titled, landed, and granted weapons by the Church for your efforts in defense of the city. Having read the reports of your deeds, I still find it hard to believe an elf and dwarf work for the Office, and yet here you are. Would you each allow me the privilege of shaking your hands?”

William blinked at the Graf, but managed a slow nod, “It would be an honor, Your Lordship, Sir.”

The Regiment Commander smirked as he extended his hand, “Sir will suffice, Senior Sergeant.”

William returned the smirk with a grin as he firmly grasped the offered hand.

“We appreciate you being here, Sir. Heaven hoping we won’t have need of you, no offense.”

The Graf shook his head as they lowered their hands, “None taken. Miss Talltree, may I?”

Leafa nodded and nervously outstretched her hand. The Commander took it, carefully controlling his grip so as not to hurt the elf.

“Everything I have heard about you embodies the best of the Confederation,” he proclaimed, “to see civilization and light reach the elves, to take them away from the grip of the faeries, to protect them from the decadence of the Bay… even one elf, is a great achievement for us and your kind. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“It’s an honor to meet you as well, Sir,” she replied, “I feel much better with your Regiment here.”

“Glad to hear it.”

The Graf released the elf’s hand and moved to face Georg. The dwarf looked up at the man and extended his arm. The Graf responded by grabbing the dwarf’s forearm in a dwarven style greeting.

“It is an honor to meet a dwarf who has joined our Clan,” he said.

Georg grunted, “I owe the Confederation my life. I intend to pay my debt.”

The Graf smiled, “Let us hope it is some time before that happens.”

“Agreed.”

The Graf released the dwarf’s forearm and turned to face his Regiment.

“Men, I expect you all to uphold all you have sworn to while stationed here! You represent the ideals of the Confederation at its best, and don’t you forget it! Dismissed!”

The entire Regiment snapped to attention, saluted, and, one company at a time, departed the roadway. The Graf rejoined his retinue, and they two departed. When the Army had entirely left the road, the Chief Exterminator turned to address the squads.

“The Regiment is here as a courtesy, so don’t start any trouble. Standard duty postings will remain active unless otherwise noted. I know we’re short of bodies right now, but we can’t let the Army get involved if we can help it. They’re here to represent the Confederation; our job is to protect the city. Got it? Good. Dismissed!”

The assembled squads slowly dispersed, muttering to themselves as they left. Squad Twelve remained huddled together, watching the other squads as they mumbled and occasionally glanced their way.

Leafa sighed and turned toward the Office building, “As glad as I am they’re here, I still wish it hadn’t come to this.”

“No help for it,” William said, “We just have to hope they won’t be needed. In the meantime, how about a drink and some writing lessons?”

Leafa managed a small smile and nod, and, Georg following, the three returned to the barracks.

[hoitash]

December Flash Fiction Friday

One last Flash Fiction for the blog:

Dinner. In my apartment. With my girlfriend.

On the one hand, a dinner date was nothing new for me. On the other hand, the fact that it occurred in my new apartment, involving a meal I cooked, added a few layers of complexity to the issue. Those layers were only compounded by the fact that I was having dinner. In my apartment. With my girlfriend.

On the gripping hand, I was probably just over-thinking things and needed to relax. In that regard I had help, because Mary’s obvious enjoyment of the food I’d cooked was as adorable as it was heartening to see.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had fried food done this well that wasn’t chicken,” she declared.

I shrugged and sipped my beer, “Ironically I don’t actually like frying chicken. It’s so involved I’d rather just go to the local chicken shack.”

Mary quirked her head, “What makes pork easier?”

I started explaining the frying nuances of pork versus chicken, which really turned into an over-involved explanation of pan frying versus deep frying and boneless versus bone-in.

Yep, I’m just that kind of romantic.

Mary didn’t seem to mind, though. I wasn’t sure how much of a cook she was, but she asked questions about the process every now and then.

That was probably what got me to stop, with a sheepish grin and a muttered, “Sorry, I’m lecturing now.”

Mary smiled and shook her head, “It’s fine. I like listening to you explain things.”

I managed a sheepish grin, “Thanks. I fancy myself an educator. I’m hoping all the contract labor will beat it out of me before I end up stuck teaching mindless idiots coddled by morons with a joke of a union and no pay.”

Mary blinked at me, “You… seem a bit bitter.”

I shrugged, “I have a graduate degree. I’m entitled. How are your studies going?”

Mary’s reply kept to the point much better than my cooking explanation. Or maybe it just seemed that way since I could follow along with her technical jargon better than she followed my cooking spiel.

Between the two of our back-and-forth’s we managed to chat our way through the meal. Mary seemed somewhat surprised by how fast the time passed, as she stared blankly at her empty bowl.

“Huh,” she grunted, “time flies, huh?”

“Indeed,” I paused as Furball was rubbing against my leg, “excuse me, my cat seems to want my attention.”

Mary smiled, “No worries. Cat’s are random like that.”

As if to prove my point, Furball promptly hopped into my lap and proceeded to stare at Mary. Mary smiled back.

“Feeling cuddly today are we?” I asked my familiar.

Quoth the cat: “Meow.”

“For a dog person you’re pretty good with cats,” Mary remarked.

I shrugged, “Animals seem to like me. Besides, Furball’s less a pet and more like a drinking buddy.”

“Speaking of,” Mary wiggled her empty glass back and forth, “mind if I grab some more beers?”

“Go ahead. Furball’s bowl is by her other bowls. What sorta beers do you like?”

Mary got up to grab the beers as she replied, “Lagers mostly. What about you?”

“Stouts and porters for the most part,” I replied, “liquor wise I’ll drink anything but gin.”

“Ugh, I hate gin. Do you like ouzo?”

“Like is a strong term,” I declared, “I will drink it. Want me to grab a bottle for next time?”

“Maybe,” she replied.

When she returned with the drinks and Furball given his bowl –and thus hopped off my lap- Mary and I resumed chatting. I enjoyed talking with her, and she seemed to enjoy listening to my inane bullshit.

The hours stretched on, and all too soon it was time for Mary to leave. After a pet-filled goodbye to my familiar, I escorted Mary to the door to see her off for the night.

“Thanks for dinner,” she said, “when you meet my parents you should exchange recipes with my mom.”

“How do you think I get in good with the parents?” I remarked, “Don’t be a stranger, oh, and… sorry about the can.”

She shrugged, “I’m used to a lot of hair. See you!”

With that thought assaulting my mind and haunting my thoughts, I made sure Mary entered her car and drove off before closing the door. Only to find myself staring my cat in the eye.

“What?” I demanded, “I regret nothing. What about you?”

Quoth the familiar “Meow.”

I ignored the cat and went about cleaning up from dinner, my thoughts mulling over the meal’s events in excruciating and unnecessary detail. Overall I’d call it a success, mostly because I hadn’t driven her away with my crazy. What that said about her, I wasn’t sure.

I did, however, intend to find out, which just goes to show how my life had shaped up those days. All in all, I’d call it a win.

[hoitash]

A Titled Journeyman

Got a few more posts before moving to the new blog (still under construction.) Enjoy the exciting conclusion of The Titled Journeyman’s (title drop!) first year!

Within the hall furthest from the front doors of Westward’s Merchant Guild branch office lay the Hall of Grandmasters. Within this room the Guild’s local leaders conducted their business. A Grandmaster led each branch of the Guild, and on each branch’s Guild Counsel sat them and a representatives from the other three Districts. The similarity between this and the Confederation Council is not coincidental, I’ve read.

Anyway, though in theory the whole Council needed to sit to conduct business, in Westward you could expect the Grandmaster, the representative from the Ducal Cities, and the representative from the Farmlands. The Baronies tended to do their own thing, which I always thought of as ironic since they and the Farmlands formed after the Confederation’s founding.

Having returned from our caravan run, I, Ellen, and a slightly younger apprentice stood before the present members of the Council. Beside us sat three empty chairs, each draped in an apprentice’s brown travelling cloak. Behind each chair stood Sergeant Weber, Braxton, and a journeyman I didn’t recognize but had a bad scar on his left cheek.

Before us sat the Grandmaster of the Guild Branch, a short man many people insisted was half-dwarf. To his right sat a stuffy Master from the Ducal City of Tredger, and to the Guild Branch Grandmaster’s left the lean and worn Master from River Gap Village. Guild Branch Grandmaster Erwin Winthrop IV loudly cleared his throat to get our attention.

“You six stand before the Branch Council,” he declared, “you have learned much as apprentices, and now you are ready to put that skill to use. Whether outside or within the Guild, remember that we shall be there for you as a second family, or a first for those in need of it. Now.”

Grandmaster Winthrop stood up –not that you could tell, really- and the two Masters did the same.

“Do you swear to honor the Confederation with honest work, honest dealings, and fairness to all with whom you deal?”

“I so swear!” echoed through the hall.

“Do you swear to treat the Free Elves and dwarves as you would your fellow man in all dealings?”

“I so swear!”

Looking directly at the three vacant chairs, his gaze lingering on what he must have decided would have been James’ spot, the Grandmaster asked, “Do you swear to remember the lessons of those who came before you, so that others may avoid their fate?”

“I so swear!”

Grandmaster Winthrop nodded once, “Remove your cloaks.”

With a quick flick of a clasp our three cloaks fluttered to the floor. Weber, Braxton, and the Journeyman removed those from the vacant chairs.

“You may don your Journeyman cloaks, accepting with them the privileges, duties, and responsibilities of a Journeyman of the Merchant Guild.”

Taking the black cloak carefully held in our left arms, the three of us did as instructed. The three other men did the task for the chairs.

The snap of the clasp seemed to echo through the hall, and for a long moment Grandmaster Winthrop said nothing. Finally, he smiled.

“Congratulations, all of you. A feast is ready in the dining hall to honor your promotion. I shall see you all there, and look forward to watching your future careers. Before we head to the feast, however, we have one more order of business. Journeyman Gerald Herbert, step forward.”

I repressed a nervous swallow and took a single step ahead of the others. Intellectually I knew what was about to happen, and the weight of it pulled on me, especially considering the empty chairs.

“Due to your brave deeds against a terrible foe of the Confederation and her allies,” Grandmaster Winthrop began, “I hereby ask of you: do you swear to always carry out your duties with the zeal and level-headedness you showed on the day you fought such a foe as worthy of this oath?”

I nodded once, ignoring the lump in my throat as I declared, “I so swear.”

The Grandmaster smiled faintly for a moment, “Then, by the authority of the Senate and Mayor of Westward, and with the blessing of the Church, you are hereby granted the Title of Esquire, with all the responsibility and privilege it entails. Congratulations, Journeyman Gerald Herbert, Esquire.”

Braxton stepped over to me, holding the box that held the saltbox in his hands.

“It is customary for a newly Titled individual to receive an appropriate weapon,” he explained, “rather than a Church sword, we have all agreed you should receive the saltbox you used to slay the foe which earned you the Title in the first place.”

I nodded and accepted the box.

“Now our business is concluded,” The Grandmaster declared, “I shall see you all at the feast, I’m sure.”

The Council, already standing, stepped down from their seats and departed the hall. Braxton collected the black cloaks for James and George, while the other journeyman took the cloak of the third chair, an apprentice who’d died in the Frontier by the Swamplands, I’d heard. With a nod to Braxton and Weber, he left.

Weber sighed, “I need to speak to Grandmaster Winthrop. I still owe him a report of the attack.”

Braxton nodded, “This was the third duster in as many months. If things don’t settle down they may well muster a Regiment.”

Weber nodded, smiled faintly at us three, and left. The younger journeyman left as well, leaving me with Ellen and Braxton.

I looked to Ellen, “So… you’re going to the Bay, right?”

Ellen nodded, “In a few weeks, yes. After being gone for six months, if I don’t stay at home for at least a week I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Braxton smirked, “I imagine they’ll take it well enough, what with you opening up shop down there.”

Ellen smiled, “That’s the only thing that got them agreeable to the idea. That and I think they expect me to settle down with an elf or something.”

“You could do worse,” I remarked.

Ellen smirked and elbowed me lightly, “I know. What are you going to do, Journeyman Gerald Herbert, Esquire?”

“Rest up a bit and get ready to head out before winter settles in.”

Braxton raised an eyebrow, “Oh? Have a route planned already?”

I nodded, “I do, Sir.”

Braxton frowned, “Mr. Braxton. No need to sir me now, remember?”

I nodded again, “Yes, Mr. Braxton.”

Braxton smiled and placed a hand on my head, “It’s a tough thing to live after watching your friends die, but what can we do but move on with things? I’m going to their families tomorrow to deliver their cloaks and wergilds. Would you to like to come along?”

Ellen and I nodded.

Braxton lowered his hand and placed it on Ellen’s, patting it gently as he said, “You’ll both be fine merchants, I can feel it. Now then,” he lowered his hand, “let us eat and drink and all that other revelry related stuff, shall we?”

Braxton walked off toward the dining hall. With a faint smile and a glance my way, Ellen followed. With one last look at the empty chairs, I too went after Braxton. I had a vision for my masterpiece already in mind, and it would take a great deal of work. So I might as well have fun while I could.

[hoitash]

December Drabble of the Month

I’m still here for a little bit:

As much as I love Christmas, it seems to dominate the winter season despite occurring only a few days after the season has started. The lights of Christmas are taken down, the special flavors shelved for another year, and still we face three more months of cold, snowy, and icy weather.

Granted winter has Valentine’s Day smack in the middle of it, but it’s not about the season, doesn’t embody it the way Christmas embodies winter or Halloween and Thanksgiving autumn. Not to mention the relationship angle. Winter has its own charms, and remembering that is part of that charm.

[hoitash]

Blog Update

Been a while since I did one of these.

So, tumblr has done a dumb and decided to remove adult content. Because I enjoy nsfw content as much as the next guy I have decided to stop using tumblr for my blog.

I repeat, effective January 1, 2019, I will no longer post my writing on tumblr. Instead, I am… sigh… starting a Wordpress blog.

Yeah, I know, I shoulda done that from the start. At least I can go to DeviantArt for my anime art.

It’s already sort of up and existing, so here’s the first post. We got five Fridays of content and then its on to the new site. Enjoy: https://hoitashwriter.wordpress.com/2018/12/04/the-journey-begins/

[hoitash]

November Drabble of the Month

Only three weeks until a four day weekend! I mean Thanksgiving.

Which is a four day weekend. Anywho:

Autumn seems depressingly tied to Halloween, despite the fact two months of the season remain afterward. After Halloween everyone starts thinking about Christmas. Thanksgiving is stuck between the two, quietly existing so people can eat turkey and watch football.

Thanksgiving is the silent hero of autumn, keeping the season alive after the excitement of Halloween and before the excitement of Christmas. The end of the year contains a lot of holidays, and it can be hard to enjoy them all in their own right. Still, I feel part of being an adult is at least trying to enjoy them all.

[hoitash]

October Flash Fiction Monday (er, Friday)

Sorry I’m late, but things are getting a little squirelly on my end. Anywho, story time:

It was happening. I invited my girlfriend over to my apartment for dinner.

This meant I spent an entire day in Panic Mode unpacking and clearing the clutter as best I could. I’d only been living at my new place a few weeks, so getting everything organized took a great deal of effort and liberal use of my two lone closets and the cubby hole in the laundry room that served as storage.

Somehow I managed to make my apartment presentable. The next step was to make sure I could make an excellent meal with my limited grocery budget. Fortunately, if there’s one thing I can do, it’s cook.

The simplicity of the meal was part of my genius. Please, allow me to explain.

First, a simple garden salad with ranch dressing on the side. If she didn’t like ranch I had barbecue sauce on standby. For the main course, pork cutlets, because I am weaboo trash and pork is cheap. To accompany the pork, white rice, because that’s what you do.

I made chocolate chip muffins for desert and had some decent coffee and hot cocoa, although it was a little warm out for such things. Fortunately my new apartment had air conditioning.

“Well I think everything’s ready,” I said to my cat, “am I forgetting anything?”

Quoth the cat: “Meow.”

“Yes I have beer,” I replied, “Speaking of, have you met Mary? I don’t think you have.”

“Meow.”

I blinked at my cat, “What? When?”

“Meow.”

“I need to get you chipped, you know what?”

“Meow.”

I rolled my eyes and checked the time. According to the clock, the time to start dinner had arrived. I figured having dinner ready for her arrival made more sense than me cooking while she was here, since unlike Nicole I didn’t know if Mary could distract herself with my cat.

Thanks to both work and cooking I had a decent grasp of timing in relation to order of operations, which was a fancy way of saying I had things ready by the time Mary arrived. I might’ve been in trouble if she’d been late, but fortunately I found a punctual person to date.

The ringing doorbell proved my point.

“Just a moment!” I called.

A moment later, I opened my front door to see my girlfriend, Mary. Perky tanned skin and dark hair, just laying eyes on her eased my mind. I guess I’m just a sap like that.

Smiling, she said, “Hello.”

“Howdy,” I greeted, “C’mon in. Don’t mind the cat.”

“Furball’s home?” she asked.

I raised an eyebrow as I stepped aside to let her in. Did I ever tell her my cat’s name? I couldn’t recall.

The aforementioned cat wandered over to Mary, who promptly kneeled down to pet my familiar.

“Meow.”

“Hi, Furball!” she cooed, because cats seem to reduce people’s intelligence in half when they’re nearby, “How have you been?”

Quoth the cat: “Meow.”

Since Mary seemed content to play with my cat for a moment, I closed my door and went to grab drinks and get dinner set.

“I almost have everything ready –just need to set the table,” I said.

“No problem!”

I grabbed some beers and set them out while I put out the plates and whatnot. I probably should have set the table earlier, but of all the things to slip my mind, I suppose there are worse ones I could have forgotten.

“I didn’t realize you’d met my familiar,” I said as I arranged the flatware.

Mary shrugged and sipped her beer. She wasn’t at the table yet, instead crouched down and idly using a cat toy to entertain Furball.

“I ran into her once between classes,” she explained, “I read the tag but he seemed to know where he was going, so I let him be.”

“He was a stray before he adopted me,” I explained, “we bonded over food and beer, but he seems to know his way around, so when Furball wants to wander around, I let ‘em. He always comes back none the worse for wear, and he has the sense not to bring me dead animals.”

“Huh,” Mary grunted, “smart cat.”

“He found me, didn’t he?” I remarked.

Mary grinned from over her beer, “What does that say about me?”

“That you’re a beautiful, intelligent young woman with excellent taste. Also I’m really good at kissing ass.”

Mary chuckled and set down her beer, “Everything ready?”

“Just need to grab the food. Please, have a seat.”

Mary did so, and I set down the food on the table. Mary’s eyes lit up as she saw what I set down, which I considered incredibly gratifying and a little embarrassing. I mean, pork cutlets aren’t fancy; if you can fry an egg you can fry a pork.

After grabbing more drinks and explaining the meal, I fed Furball before taking me own seat across from Mary. With all the preparations complete, the time for dinner had arrived.

[hoitash]

Danger in the Woods

This is the second to last story of this series for the year. Enjoy.

I shall again spare you the weeks we spent traveling the forests towards the Barony of the Tall Trees. The more experienced I grew as a traveler, the more I learned how nice boring could be.

We managed to sell the mulled whiskey and double barrel pistols without a problem in the Barony, buying maple syrup and valuable lumbers in exchange. Water’s the best way to transport logs, of course, but not all wood floats that well, and there’s always some carpenter in the city looking to make a fancy dresser or desk.

Along with the official goods of the caravan, us apprentices also got a turn at selling our wares. George crowed for days how he sold his spices to a farmer’s wife, and Ellen nearly squealed in glee when I introduced her to a smith I knew through the Barony’s gunsmith. Unfortunately, the saltboxes remained with us, even after my demonstration. As I’d feared, cavalry had no use for the weapon because it required two hands to fire. Some of the foot militia seemed intrigued, but balked at the price. Still, I’d planted the idea in their heads, so hopefully they’d bite next time around.

Once we concluded our business in the Tall Trees, we continued south, entering the bordering woodlands between the Tall Trees and South Trees Barony. Ellen was still babbling about my friend’s idea as we entered the trees.

“A saucer!” Ellen exclaimed for the untold time, “Who woulda thought to make a scale into a saucer? We dropped it from the top of a bastion and it didn’t even scratch! This opens whole new markets with a whole new product! Why hasn’t anyone done this sooner?”

Walking next to the wagon, Sergeant Weber lifted the faceguard of his helmet to speak with us, “From what I hear, scales from adult dragons are a pain to work with, so all they’re really used for is armor. I guess no one thought to fiddle with the young one’s scales for anything once they realized they couldn’t be used for that.”

“They’re also harder to trade for,” George added, “I heard once dragons like to eat them for the minerals, or something.”

“Any idea who you’re planning to sell to?” I asked.

Ellen nodded, “The Islanders, I think.”

George opened his mouth to say something, when, after a brilliant flash of light, one of the guards a wagon ahead went flying past us. We all watched as the guard skidded to a halt on the trail like a skipped stone, a cloud of dust forming around him as he settled on the ground. He didn’t get up.

Weber’s head snapped forward and he lowered his faceguard, “Forward guards report!”

“Hans got hit by lightning!” one of the guards shouted.

I felt something in me stirring in fear, something I couldn’t explain at the time. Whatever it was resulted from my elven blood, and that did not bode well for future events. The other three, though wary, didn’t look nearly as concerned as I felt they should.

That changed with Weber’s next words.

“Fuck,” Weber grumbled, “Duster! Second Squad draw fire, First Squad with the wagons!”

“Anders, Gregg!” Braxton shouted from the first wagon, “Signal flares now!”

Us apprentices ducked down into the wagon while ahead the two journeymen pulled the flare guns strapped to their backs to fire. In front of us the driver worked the reins to speed up the horses, while the guard hefted himself up and readied his thunderbuss. Behind us Weber hopped onto the back step, grabbing the handlebar with his right hand while holding his crossbow with the left.

As the caravan sped up two of the guards stayed in the road to fire down the trail, into the seemingly empty forest ahead. Meanwhile the feeling in my blood rippled through my spine, forming a nearly immobilizing terror that made even focusing my eyes difficult.

“What the fuck is a duster doing here?” George snapped.

“The Tall Trees Baron lets the elves hunt in the woods in exchange for their spellweaving,” James replied.

Two bolts of lightning flashed by in rapid succession, blasting the remains of Squad Two and sending them flying back up the road. Weber swore and fired a shot from the direction the bolts had come from. The rest of the caravan guards did the same, while the riding guards hauled themselves up and leveled their thunderbusses. Anders and Gregg managed to fire their flares into the air just as a bolt shot through all four driving guards. The four slumped off the wagons onto the trail, the wagons bumping and crunching their bodies as they finally picked up speed past a quick trot.

“Serpent pattern!” Weber shouted, “On the double damn you!”

I swallowed and closed my eyes, ignoring the tingling scent of death in my nose as we picked up speed. Forward and above us the two red flares burst with a soft pop, while yet another blast of lightning hit something hard. I heard more swearing and the wagon jostled and for a moment we rode on just two wheels.

I risked opening my eyes and saw the lead wagon slowing thanks to it missing a horse and a good chunk of its right front. The second wagon swerved to speed past the first, the guard aboard firing into the nearby woods. A blast of lightning sent him crashing into and under the next wagon. The back wheel must’ve caught in one of his limbs because it seized up and sent the wagon swerving. The horses panicked and started trashing in their harnesses. Another blast turned one of the third wagon’s horses into chunks of meat, sending the remaining three into such a panic the wagon veered off the trail and into a tree. The guard with that wagon flew into the woods with a startled yelp.

Somehow our driver kept the horses calm. Using moves straight from an adventure tale, keeping barely two wheels on the road at times, he managed to swerve around the other three wagons to hurtle us ahead of the pack. This of course made us a giant target. Weber swore and fired his last two shots into the trees as another blast struck our front right wheel.

Weber hopped off the wagon just as the horses panicked and started hurtling forward. They didn’t get far because another blast hit the wagon hard enough to start it tipping over.

“Everyone out!” I shouted.

I dove from the wagon, managing a rough but safe tumble as another blast struck the wagon’s bottom. The horses, neighing wildly, either fell over or broke free to run for it. Ellen followed after me, landing badly on her right arm. With a pained shriek she stopped rolling onto her back. George and James tried to follow, but the second blast forced the wagon and all our supplies right on top of them.

Weber recovered first, managing to heft himself into a sitting position just before the duster used him to cushion his charge. Dazed as I was from my tumble, I could still make out the drug-addled elf, his long blue hair a tangled patchwork mess laden with twigs and leaves. His red eyes blazed with power as he glared at Weber, than me. I felt my elven blood throb in fear of my ancestors at their worst, while the duster quickly looked from me to Ellen, sprawled before the toppled wagon and trying to grab her flare gun from her back with her good arm. It was then I saw the box with the pistol, still closed and lying between me and Ellen.

I lunged for the box while the duster jumped toward Ellen, landing on top of her just a she pulled out her flare. The duster snarled and grabbed it, gripping with enough strength to crush the steel even as the metal burned his skin. Iron wasn’t lethal to elves or changelings, but it still left a nasty rash. That pain was likely the only thing protecting Ellen, and it wouldn’t last long. I grabbed the box and practically ripped off the lid to get to the weapon within, my fingernails cracking as I flung the lid free.

At a groaning sound I glanced to see Weber hauling himself up to reload and crank his crossbow. Ellen kept the duster at bay by shoving her knee between his legs as hard as she could, which based on the elf’s pained grunt was pretty hard. Grabbing the saltbox, I also grabbed three cartridges and yanked out the ramrod. Thankfully the cartridges were the type you just shoved into the barrel. In my haste to load the pistol I dropped a cartridge, but managed to pack the other two.

Weber continued to crank his crossbow as Ellen’s strength started to give. While a human might be stronger than a regular elf physically, the faerie dust meant that elf was stronger in terms of casting and brawn. Gritting my teeth, I readied the saltbox and fired the first shot into the air.

The elf groaned and lifted his hands to his ears as the shot barked out. Before he could recover I aimed the pistol as best I could and fired my second shot. The iron bullet tore through the elf’s head, splattering Ellen in blood and gore. The elf twitched in place for a few moments before collapsing on top of her. He didn’t move again.

Sagging in relief, I collapsed onto my back and stared up at the midday sky. The duster was dead, and so were two of my friends and a whole slew of other people. I heard someone step over to me and moved my head to see Weber above me.

“Gerry!” he called, probably a little dazed from the pistol shots as well, “You okay?”

I nodded, then stood up so fast I nearly hit Weber’s head and sent my own spinning from the sudden rise, “Ellen!”

With a grunt and a heave the elf’s corpse rolled off Ellen onto the ground next to her. Weber and I walked over to her to check her condition. Behind us I heard Braxton call for a headcount, and when the time came, the three of us called out our numbers.

“Shit,” I heard Braxton grumble as I focused on Ellen.

Weber knelt next to her and carefully pulled off her brown traveling cloak to get a look at her shoulder. She still clutched the crumpled flare gun in her left hand, and her breathing was shallow but steady. Lifting his faceguard, he gently poked and prodded her right arm a few times, Ellen’s reactions varying from a small jolt to a hiss of pain.

“Sorry,” he said, “the good news is it’s not broken, just dislocated. The bad news is resetting it is going to hurt. A lot.”

Ellen snorted, although it came out as more of a raspy wheeze, “Can’t imagine what that’s like.”

Weber grinned, “Guess you’re in better shape than I thought. Gerry, could you give her a cartridge to bite down on while I pop her arm back into place?”

I walked back to the box and grabbed one of the cartridges. Hauling the duster aside, I knelt on Ellen’s other side and held the cartridge by her face for her to bite. To our right I heard some forest rustling that sent us all on edge, but it turned out to be the guard who got sent flying into the woods.

Weber sighed in apparent relief, “Kris. Glad you’re still with us!”

The guard, his crossbow splintered and faceguard dented, managed a wry grin as he stumbled over to the other wagons. Ellen, having reluctantly bit down on the cartridge, waited as Weber prepared to pop her arm back into place. Rather than watch, I turned behind us to see what the remains of the caravan was up to.

Braxton, Gregg, and Anders were trying to wrestle the three other wagons back onto the trail. The stumbling guard tossed his broken crossbow onto one of the wagons and moved to calm down the few horses who hadn’t run off or died –mostly because they couldn’t break free of their ropes.

“You ready Ellen?” Weber asked.

Ellen grunted, “Do it.”

“On three,” the Sergeant said, “one, two, three!”

There was a sickening, fleshy clicking sound and Ellen groaned in pain. I reluctantly looked back to Ellen, who’s face sported a sheen of sweat as the cartridge bent in her mouth. After several ragged breaths her breathing returned to normal, and, reluctantly, she tested her relocated limb by slowly –and painfully judging by the wincing- moving her fingers.

“You’ll be a bit sore for a day or two and it’ll hurt for a while,” Weber explained, “but at least it’s not broken. Need a hand up?”

Ellen nodded and, with me on her left and Weber on her right, we managed to heft her up without hurting her any more. Weber grabbed her cloak off the ground and started forming it into a sling. Before he finished, the trees rustled again and three elves burst out to our left.

“Peace!” their leader, a female with long green hair, declared.

The three of us glared at the elves but relaxed when we saw her loincloth –a tacit sign that she wasn’t in her native lands. The two male elves behind her were similarly dressed.

Weber stepped forward, “I take it the duster was a part of your hunting party?”

The female elf nodded, “Yes. We were following him but could not attack when he came close to you, as we feared you would get hit as well. No apology can be great enough for what was done today, but we have come to offer what aid we can.”

One of the male elf’s pointed back up the trail, “Your smoke was spotted. A patrol is on the way.”

I looked behind us and, sure enough, heard the galloping of several horses despite the fading ringing in my ears. A moment later five men and their steeds charged into view, their colors that of the Barony and their double barrel pistols and sabers those of cavalry. When they got close enough to call out, their leader shouted a quick “Hail!” and started slowing. Three of the militia staid back, warily eyeing the elves, while the leader and his second trotted over to us.

“Good Heavens what a mess,” the leader, an older man with a graying brown beard, grumbled, “On behalf of the Baron I apologize for this incident. As the elves presence here is his responsibility, he will of course pay any wergild you deem fit.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

The leader turned as Braxton walked over, his red Master cloak tattered but mostly intact.

“The Guild looks after its own. This was no one’s fault –dusters happen. Now then,” he focused on the three elves, “Several of our horses ran off down the trail. Could you please get them?”

The two male elves nodded and dashed up the road. Their leader slowly walked over to Ellen, who gritted her teeth and aimed the ruined flare gun at her.

“Stay away from me!” she snarled.

The elf held up her hands, “I merely wish to inspect your injury.”

“I’m fine,” Ellen growled.

“I could dull the pain for you.”

“She’ll pass out from shock soon enough,” Weber countered, “We should get her a flask to speed things along.”

“Here,” the militia leader tossed a small silver flask to Weber, who caught it, opened it, and handed it to Ellen. Ellen finally dropped the flare gun to guzzle the flask’s contents, leaving the elf to step back and give me a pointed look with dark violet eyes.

“You put him down,” she declared.

Ignoring the nervous chill rippling down my spine at the creature before me, I nodded.

She sniffed, “You smell of us.”

“I’m one fourth elf,” I explained.

She narrowed her eyes at me, “Elf does not kill elf.”

“You killed it?” the militia leader asked.

I turned to him and nodded, “Yes, Sir.”

“How?”

“Pistol.”

The militia leader blinked at me before focusing back on Braxton.

“If you need any further help let us know.”

Braxton nodded, “You could help us right our supply wagon.”

“Please,” the lead elf interjected, “allow me.”

The elf waited for Braxton to nod before extending her left hand toward the wagon, palm up. She folded her fingers into her palm and a swift breeze rushed in, lifting the wagon and turning it back onto its wheels. The supplies, most of them still intact if a bit battered, remained on the trail, but, one by one, the elf used her casting to lift the supplies back onto the crate. I turned away before I could see George and James’ remains, and Ellen did the same.

“What’s the damage?” I asked Braxton.

Braxton groaned and a ran a hand through his hair, “Well, all but two of our guards are dead, one of our drivers is dead, two apprentices dead…” he turned to the cavalry leader, “I know you’re not supposed to, but could you follow us into the South Trees Barony so we can send our dead to Heaven? We’re short on hands right now, and it would only be to the first clearing.”

The leader nodded, “Of course. I can also dispatch a runner to the South Trees to tell them of your predicament.”

“We’d appreciate that, thank you.”

The cavalry leader glanced behind him and barked at one of the three riders. The one on the left nodded and bolted south along the road. Along the way he passed Gregg, half his face singed from the blast that had taken out his wagon’s guard.

“I know it doesn’t mean much,” he said, “but somehow the goods survived.”

Braxton rolled his eyes, “Great. Best get back to work then –we still have a ways to go, after all.”

I slowly nodded and, squaring my shoulders, turned back to the supply wagon to get back to work.

[hoitash]

October Drabble of the Month

And the time has arrived:

Halloween is like Christmas in that the holiday is for the child in all of us, not just actual children. Granted the kids get to dress up receive free candy, but Halloween parties are pretty fun, too. Easter can be fun as well, if you know how to go about it.

It’s important as an adult to keep some parts of your childhood alive. Enjoying holidays is a vital part of that. Whether you spend time with your family, friends, or by yourself, it is important to enjoy them as best you can. That’s a perk of being an adult.

[hoitash]

September Flash Fiction

Sorry for the late posting folks. It’s times like these it’s good I have no audience, I guess:

The final part of moving, unpacking all your shit, is a major pain in the ass. It’s not bad enough you have to box up your entire life and move it, you then have to unpack it all again. It’s way too metaphorical for just trying to get on with life.

At least I wasn’t alone during this pivotal turning point in my life. I had my loyal familiar Furball at my side. Though since Furball was a cat his ability to help me consisted entirely of moral support and sharing a beer. It was the thought that counted, though, and Furball put a lot of thought into providing moral support. Unfortunately he also put a lot of thought into where he chose to play with his toys.

“You know,” I complained as I opened another box, “I get that you’re a cat, and thus do nothing except sunbathe and be hard to understand emotionally, but you could at least stop playing right where I need to walk.”

Furball, being a cat, seemed to think that the best place to play with one of his toys was wherever I needed to walk to put away my shit. In this case he was rolling around the path from my living room to my bedroom/office. At least he was enjoying his new home.

“Not that I’m not glad you’ve gotten used to the place,” I remarked as I dodged my familiar, “I just wish you were a little more aware about it.”

Quoth the cat: “Meow.”

I rolled my eyes, “That’s what you always say.”

At least he’d adjusted well to the new home. I’m not very familiar with cats and honestly prefer dogs, but the cat went and adopted me and when that happens there’s not a whole lot a person can do except take it to the vet, buy a litter box, and call it a done deal.

Besides, it helped having someone to talk to besides myself.

“Glad you like it here so much,” I muttered, “because it’s going to be a lot harder for Nicole to play with you now.”

“Meow?”

“I know, I’ll miss the free food and beer, too. On the bright side, I think I might invite Mary over soon.”

“Meow?”

“What, just because you can’t reproduce doesn’t mean I can’t try. Besides I think you’ll like her. She seems the type to be good with cats.”

“Meow?”

“Because she’s perky and friendly and was stupid enough to associate with me, which means you have something in commons”

“Meow.”

“I’ll feed you in a bit, let me get some more crap unpacked first, okay? I’ll deal with this box you nearly killed me about, and then we can eat.”

“Meow.”

“You’ll be fine, quit whining. I’m just glad I unpacked the kitchen earlier.”

I set the box I was holding down in my bedroom/office, opening it to examine the contents.

“More model making stuff,” I announced to myself.

I looked over the shelves set aside for model building materials, models, model painting, and the like. Cramming all my crap into a dinky apartment made it a pain to unpack everything, but I didn’t want to leave it all in boxes, obviously.

Some of the things I could put in my hobby desk, but more and more I had to start considering I just didn’t have room for everything I brought with me. I know that sounds weird since I moved from one apartment to another, but I had also grabbed some stuff from home, too. Anyway, when I finally understood that I had too much stuff, I’d have to start thinking about what I could get rid of, and what I should keep.

I’d also have to wonder about what to do when I had too much stuff again, but one problem at a time.

“Do I even use these tools?” I muttered as I started sorting the box, “I mean if I’m gonna keep them I should, I guess. Wonder what they’d go for on ebay….”

It took a little longer than I expected to unpack the box, and when I finished Furball was grumbling for food again.

“Alright, alright, I’m done,” I said, “Sorry that took so long –I forgot how much stuff I’ve gotten over the years.”

Yeah, I’m a pack rat. You spend most of your time alone you start to collect things to distract you from the loneliness. Fortunately I had people in my life more often. Unfortunately I still had all the stuff, although at least I used most of it. “Hmm,” I mumbled as I went to my kitchen, “Maybe I’ll build something after dinner. You can’t be in my lap, though, okay? I’ll have sharp things.”

Furball, too concerned with food, ignored me. I sighed, knowing that if I did build something, he’d probably try and get in my lap or on my desk.

At there are worse problems I could have.

[hoitash]

September Drabble of the Month

Drabble time, go!:

Fireflies are nature’s fireworks. Their glowing bulbs blink and flash in the early night, the males forming patterns and dances as they search for a mate. Below await the females, returning the glow with their own. I can still remember my times as a child trying to catch them in an old instant coffee container.

We’d let them go, of course. As beautiful as they were, there glow was meant for their own kind. We just happened to get to watch the show from the sidelines. Though we intruded on their glowing dance, it continues on, with or without us.

[hoitash]

Adventure Three: Aftermath of Victory

This is the reason medieval kings used knights and mercenaries; because elves kept killing off their yeomen troops.

This knowledge not meant to be factual.

It took several days to settle things after the five elves attacked Westward. With twenty city guards dead and another ten wounded, several seriously, and twelve exterminators also slain and another eight wounded, the city found itself horribly vulnerable as autumn slowly plodded towards winter, the shortened days doing little to boost people’s spirits.

For their actions, Squad Twelve was awarded double bonus hazard pay. Georg and William were granted Titles, William was promoted to Senior Sergeant and granted a sword by the Church, which he reluctantly named Two-Hander as that was the only way he had a prayer of properly wielding the weapon.

Leafa, already Titled, was granted a Landed Estate in the Farmlands. Figuring out the logistics of her new lands took up the bulk of her time after the attack, while William found himself aiding in the reorganization of the remaining squads. Unlike the aftermath of the Worm, the devastating elf attack left far too many empty ranks to easily fill.

The anxiously awaited arrival of the Army loomed large on many minds, with messenger pigeons and couriers arriving with constant updates on their approach. Fortunately, the city itself remained peaceful, so the remains of the city guard and Pest Control Office had little to do except rebuild and reorganize from the duster attack.

Still, life went on, and, nearly a week after the attack, William, groaning and groping for a beer mug, stumbled into the eating area of the Office barracks as he fumbled around in search of beer. Georg, also present at the time, offered the human his own lager while he hopped off his stool to obtain more beer for himself.

“Fucking dusters,” Williams groaned as he took his seat, “and fucking politics, too –if I’da known my promotion meant participation in the City Council, I would’ve declined.”

Georg, beer in hand, resumed his seat as he grunted, “You just watch, though. Right?”

William nodded as he groped for Georg’s former beer, “Yes, but I still have to pay attention. After that whole duster incident the other exterminators and even the city guard look up to me. The Guard Captain even spoke to me about transferring!”

“Are you considering it?” Leafa asked.

William shook his head, “I wanted to be an exterminator to avoid the Army, and the guard’s not much different, really. Besides, we’re short-staffed as it is.”

Leafa sighed, sipped her beer, and said, “Yeah… I can’t believe Farseed sent dusters for me.”

“Do we have any proof it was him?”

Leafa’s ears twitched as she glowered at William, “Of course not –they’re all dead, remember? Farseed might have been controlling them with casting, but faerie magic is almost impossible for mages to track, and I can barely cast lighting.”

Georg took a long pull from his mug before grunting, “Might not have used weaving. Might just have offered more dust.”

“Which, again, only a powerful mage or a changeling could trace,” Leafa replied, “so we can’t prove it, but the timing is too good!”

“True,” William grumbled, “If we could tell what tribe they were from it would help, but without any bracers… huh….”

Leafa tilted her head, “What?”

“Well,” William scratched his cheek with his free hand, “Dusters don’t normally remove their bracers, right? The patterns of the vines is how the tribes tell themselves apart, like with dwarves and their beards.”

Georg gave a thoughtful grunt, “Could be Clanless.”

Leafa started to shake her head, then stopped, “I… guess that’s possible. It’s rare to have wild elves –they almost always travel to the Bay if they can make it.”

“Either way there’s not much we can do except wait for the Army to arrive,” William said.

Georg grunted in affirmation as he finished his beer.

“I’ve never seen anyone from the Army,” Leafa admitted, “Have you two?”

Georg shook his head, but William, after finishing a long pull of his own drink, wiped his mouth with his sleeve and nodded.

“Once,” he replied, “I was just old enough to start helping in the fields when they came. A Company Captain and four Lancers astride horses, banners flying and a trumpet announcing their arrival. They came to the Barony for recruits –I don’t remember why- and several of the manor sons and a few villagers went with them. We never saw them again, but from what their families said they received letters saying they were doing well in the Ducal Cities.”

“Only one Regiment is ever mustered at a time, normally,” Leafa stated, “if they needed recruits some of the soldiers must’ve been retiring. Their terms of service are about the same as ours, I think.”

“Makes sense,” William said, “Have we received any word on when they’ll arrive?”

Leafa smirked at the man, “You would have a better idea than us.”

William shrugged and finished his beer, conceding the point. A few moments later a city guard burst into the dining area, a note clutched in his hand as he leaned against the wall to catch his breath.

William raised an eyebrow at the guard, “What’s going on?”

The guard raised the note, still wheezing for air as he started stammering.

William sighed, “Catch your breath first, then tell us. Georg, could you pour him a drink?”

The dwarf grunted an acknowledgment and poured a mug of beer from his barrel. The guard slowly staggered over, leaning on the table as he emptied the mug. When he finished, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve, took a deep breath, and held out the note for William.

“It’s the Army,” the guard declared, “they’ll be here tomorrow.”

[hoitash]

Flash Fiction Friday

Moving is a pain, but sometimes it’s something you have to do:

We managed to reach my new apartment without any issues. Once we unloaded ourselves and stretched a bit, I showed the guys my new place and officially moved Furball to his new home.

“I know it’s not much,” I said as we gazed on the sparseness of the apartment, “but neither was my last place, so… yeah.”

Nick, his buddy Martin, and Nicole took a moment to look things over. Besides some basic kitchen equipment, bedding, and my TV and PS3, the place didn’t have much going for it just yet.

Nick grinned at me as Nicole started handing out bottled waters –something else she’d brought along with the beer, apparently, “See you brought just the essentials to start.”

I shrugged, “My car’s not that big.”

Nicole made us finish our waters before we could grab another beer. Beers in hand, we took a moment to strategize moving in all my crap.

“Hey,” Nicole turned to me, my cat contentedly sitting in her lap, “Dumb question.”

“I’m almost as good at answering those as I am at asking them,” I declared.

Nicole ignored me and continued, “Why did we load all the heavy shit in the front of the truck? Now we have to unload it last.”

“To keep the weight close to the front axle,” I explained, “it’s a balance thing.”

Nick nodded to confirm my response, “Although it is kinda annoying.”

“We’ll just unload the Uhaul first,” I said, “then I can order the pizza, so it should arrive about the time we finish unloading my car.”

“Well then,” Nicole gently prodded Furball from her lap so she could stand up, “Let’s get to it.”

Moving everything into my new apartment was more or less the same as moving out of my old apartment, except in reverse, obviously. The biggest difference was that hauling the bigger things like my desks was a lot more of a pain than getting them down to the Uhaul.

We managed mostly because apparently Nicole lifted. I knew Martin and Nick did, but it still amazed me how powerful Nicole could be. Considering she was barely over five feet, it must have all of been muscle. Extremely well toned, curvy muscle.

“Jesus,” I grunted, “I thought you wanted to be a physical therapist, not a bodybuilder?”

“Ha ha,” Nicole deadpanned, “I’m only so strong because I’m short so it’s compacted.”

I boggled at the woman; sometimes it was hard to tell if she was kidding or actually that airheaded.

Either way, we unloaded the Uhaul, and I ordered the pizza during the beer break before unloading my car.

“Almost done guys,” I declared, “thanks for all the help, by the way.”

Nicole shrugged, “It’s what I do.”

Nick grinned, “You know I’ll do just about anything for beer.”

Martin just shrugged.

Emptying my car took less time than I thought, so the pizza hadn’t arrived yet when we finished. I resisted the urge to start unpacking while waiting for the pizza, since that would just be weird. Nicole quickly got distracted playing with my cat, and Nick, Martin, and I talked about gaming.

“Ugh,” I sighed, “meeting to do shit is gonna be a pain now.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Nick assured me, “although getting together for drunk Pathfinder has been difficult lately.”

“I blame Dan for working weekends.”

Dan was another of Nick’s friends I occasionally hung out with, mostly when I did stuff with Nick’s friends. Funny that.

It didn’t take too much longer for the pizza to arrive, and we finished my moving in expedition with beer and pizza, making it the first guest dinner of the apartment.

“Ugh,” I grumbled, “unpacking all this is gonna suck.”

“Don’t do it all at once,” Nicole suggested, “although then you have a lot of boxes lying around.”

I smirked at her, “You never saw our house.”

“At least everything’s here,” Nick said, “it’s not a bad place, all things considered.”

I nodded, “Wouldn’t have moved here otherwise. Furball, do you like it here?”

Quoth the cat: “Meow.”

Once we finished eating and drinking the beer, the others left. I saw them off as they departed, thanking them once again for their help and scheduling some jogging and dinner time with Nicole.

“You should probably bring the boyfriend over at some point,” I said, “it’s kinda weird I haven’t met him yet.”

“Sure,” Nicole said, “have Mary over and we can do a double date.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I said, “See you when I see you.”

With that, the others left, leaving me alone with my cat in my new apartment.

The next part of my life had begun. I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I finally had my own place separate from school. With the exception of my neighbors, all I had to deal with from then on was the building’s owners. It might not have been truly my own, but it was close enough.

You have to start somewhere, after all.

[hoitash]

Blog Update

So, in my pre-Gen Con prep I sort of panicked and posted a story a month early. normally I would post that story today, but as I already did it... oops.

Next Titled Journeyman story will be posted in October. It’s not exceptionally spooky, but it is when the action happens, for those tired of early modern economics. Until then, enjoy the upcoming flash fiction and Fifth Fiction Friday this month!

[hoitash]

August Drabble of the Month

Posting early because of Gen Con. Yes, I’m going for the first time in four years. Huzzah for vacation days! Anywho, drabble:

Some mourning doves set up a nest on top one of the lights under the awning in front of our shop at work. Over the weeks I watched them build a nest, raise their fledglings, and watch them grow up and leave the nest.

Seeing the fledglings on the ground, almost ready to flee the nest, gave me a strange feeling. While I didn’t like them nesting over our front door, I did grow kind of attached to them. They reminded me of the birds I watched growing up as a kid.

Hopefully they decide to nest in better places.

[hoitash]

Downtime

So... I forgot to post this last week. I apologize.

To make it up to you I shall shamelessly shill my works.

My patreon: https://www.patreon.com/Hoitash

My ebook on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01M30CK95

My page from War History Online, which I write for now: https://www.warhistoryonline.com/author/christopher-hoitash/

Enjoy my shameless self plugging. As a writer, it’s a tax deduction. Story time:

With business concluded, the Elder scuttled out of the room and up the tunnel. Braxton, after glancing to the various crates in need of loading, looked to each of us apprentices in turn before speaking.

“You heard him; you have fours of your own to do with as you please. Make them count. Gregg, Anders, load the crates.”

All four of us apprentices except James grinned; free time for a merchant apprentice on sight meant a test of mercantile skill. For me, it also meant a chance to fire the saltbox some more. While the other apprentices went their own ways and the journeymen hauled the crates away under Braxton’s supervision, I stayed at the range to fire the pistol a few more times.

I only stopped when I noticed the barrels starting to click slightly out of alignment with the pan and lock. An amused grunt next to me made me jump. I turned to see Pauder eyeing me with an amused smirk as I removed the wads of cotton I’d shoved into my ears to protect my hearing.

“You’ve been firing for nearly an hour.”

I looked to the bulky clockwork contraption sitting near the tunnel’s entrance. Fastidious when it came to schedules, the dwarves had invented a device to keep time far more reliably than the positions of the sun. Rarely used by man –though the Islanders loved the things –these timepieces allowed one to judge the length of the day by each hour, as the dwarves called it. Apparently a day held twenty-four of them. Anyway, as Pauder said, the four hour away feast now loomed a little over three hours away.

I smirked and sighed, “Wow. I apologize, but the barrels are out of alignment now.”

Pauder grunted, “I will fix it for you, as gratitude for your appreciation of the craft.”

“I thank you, Forger.”

I handed the dwarf the pistol. The rate of fire proved infectious; with it, any foe would fall, be they goblin, wyvern, or even faerie. Nothing could oppose such a rapid release of black powder… as long as they were close enough to get hit.

The short range of the pistol rankled me. If only there was a way to….

As Pauder walked away to fix the weapon, I walked over to him and called to get his attention.

The dwarf turned to me, “Yes?”

I smiled at the dwarf, “I would like to request a commission for you.”

The Forger grinned, his gold teeth glinting in the lantern light.

About two and a half hours later, by the dwarven timepieces of course, we apprentices assembled at the wagons under the curious gaze of Braxton. Before we could get ready for the feast itself –not even apprentices attended such an event in their working clothes- Braxton wanted to know what we’d done during our downtime. Specifically, what speculative ventures we used our stipends for.

Once we’d gathered, Braxton started with Ellen, who already had a brush in hand to handle the matted mess that had become her brunette strands.

“So,” Braxton began, his steely eyes focused on the young woman, “what have you to show for your stipend and free time?”

Ellen used her free hand to pull something from a waiting pouch tied to her belt. About twice the size of her hand, the scale-shaped item shimmered with the dim lighting, giving off a green-hued, reflective effect when she subtly moved the scale from left to right.

Braxton raised an eyebrow, “A hatchling’s dragon scale?”

Ellen nodded, “I managed to afford two.”

“And what do you plan to do with them?”

Ellen just managed to suppress her smile, “Wind chimes. The Free Elves love the things.”

Braxton smirked, “Clever girl. No one ever thinks to buy those because they’re useless for armor, but they fetch high price amongst dwarves because they make good coasters. I hope you have a good artisan in mind for them, at least.”

Ellen smiled and nodded.

Braxton grinned and patted Ellen on the head, which made her fidget slightly. Lowering his hand, the Master Merchant stepped over to George, who looked as smug as ever, despite his hair having poofed into a frizzled mess since we’d last met.

After giving a curious eyebrow to the state of his hair, Braxton asked the same thing he’d asked Ellen. Grinning like a cat with a mouse squealing from each paw, George pulled from his belt a small vial of brown looking dust.

“Mushroom spice,” George declared, “Well, that’s the loose translation –really it’s just dried and ground mushrooms. It’s a good seasoning for denser soups.”

Braxton frowned, “Spring is here. Who eats dense soups?”

“People who can’t afford anything else,” George replied, “Some people add it to beer to fight off tomcats, too.”

Braxton frowned, but moved on; as he came from a long line of moneyed merchants, he sometimes had trouble understanding George’s more grounded mercantile endeavors. For what it was worth, I thought he was on to something.

James, his eyes to Braxton’s left as he stepped over to him, held out several sheets of thick, rough, dwarven paper, the writing so small I had trouble reading it even standing next to him.

Braxton raised an eyebrow, “What’s this?”

“Current rates for bits across the Clans rendered in marks and crowns,” James replied, “and projections on the future rates for the next three months based on current mining. Those projections aren’t very accurate usually –I just did them for fun.”

Braxton blinked a few times, then carefully took the paper, “Well, it’s certainly something.”

James fidgeted as he got his head patted as well –he didn’t like getting touched. Braxton lowered his hand and stepped over to me, frowning in concern at my seemingly empty hands.

“I commissioned Pauder for a musket sized version of the saltbox,” I explained before Braxton could ask.

Braxton’s jaw dropped, “You… you… did you get a quote first?”

I smiled and nodded, “Yes, Sir. He’ll honor the quote of course, but makes no guarantees that it will be the final price of future weapons if he can pull it off, which I believe he can.”

Braxton gaped at me for a moment, then recovered and sighed, “That sort of thing is really more of a journeyman’s type of thing… but…” he smiled lightly at me and started patting my head, “you are effectively a journeyman now, so it’s only fair you start thinking like one. I look forward to seeing what contraption Pauder’s cooked up the next time we see him.”

I beamed as Braxton lowered his hand, ignoring Ellen as she playfully stuck out her tongue at me, while George pouted because he didn’t get a pat. Braxton played favorites, I’ll admit it, and I’ll thank his name for being one of his favored for as long as I can, because in our line of work you need every edge you can get.

Taking a step back, Braxton gave each of us a look before stating, “Alright, you bunch best get ready for the feast. Dwarves don’t do things by halves, so you all need to look as good as you will when we return to the city for your Journeyman oaths. Eat and drink your fill, and mind your manners while you do it!”

We all grinned –yes, even James- and declared, “Yes, Sir!”

I’ll be honest, I remember the day spent after the feast recovering far better than I do the feast itself. As dwarves place most of their farming skills into wheat, malt, and barley, their menu consists mostly of sheep, game animals, whatever imported foodstuffs came on the last caravan –in this case preserved fruit- and various forms of beer and whiskey. The South Hills Clan in particular brewed an exceptional ale, though they also traded east and west for good porters and stouts.

One cannot truly understand why Barons pay dwarves so much to install the latrine systems in their castles until you’ve experienced a dwarven feast. I honestly think if it hadn’t been for George’s mushroom spice, Ellen and I would’ve died.

Anyway, with the feast survived and our heads thankfully recovered the day afterward, we set out in the morning the second day after the feast. Elder Müller, the Misses, and Pauder saw us out, giving Braxton, the journeymen, and each of us apprentices a bear hug before we mounted up to leave.

Pauder in particular nearly cracked my ribs as he exulted, “I’d thought about making a musket version, but thanks to you I have the time to devote to it! I’ll be the envy of every forger in the Clans!”

Coughing and struggling to get my lungs working, I managed a grimacing smile and a wheezed out, “I can’t… wait… to see it.”

Elder Müller grinned, “I must confess an eagerness as well. To have two great wares to our name is worthy of song already, but three! We shall be the envy of the Council for centuries to come –even the Slate Clan will glower in envy at our skill!”

Braxton chuckled, “Now that would be a sight to see. Once again, Elder, we thank you for your hospitality and business. If all goes well, I should return within a year.”

“I look forward to it,” Elder Müller declared, “Good luck to you all.”