Dreamt of another full immersion RPG game. PVP server with everyone playing on the same map and no loyalty amid factions. Just as much of a clusterfuck as you can imagine. I was supposed to be helping a friend take down a quest boss. Rated for a 5-man team, the rewards were based on the level of the those participating and the number of people in the quest group. I knew that. My friend, didn’t.
I had asked him before we got started if he was just completing the quest for completion’s sake or if he was farming for loot. He was already five levels above the suggested level range, and I was fifteen. Simply by being in the group, I would reduce the quality of the rewards to a maximum of white level (regular random shit).
He said he just wanted to “get the damn thing off the quest tracker” and did not care about the loot.
Okay. Fine. Let’s go kill some shit. Continue reading Dream Journal: 2015-04-13.01
The hawk-headed god was strangely soft in his request. “I know this is unusual, but would you hold on to the deceased for a while before escorting the deceased to the Passage of the Dead? There is a complication that must be resolved.” Continue reading Dream Journal: 2015-04-12.01
One of the first woo tools I made was Snake’s Rod. I didn’t know what I was making then, and just went by instinct and personal sense of style. (Spoiler: It is the macaroni art of wand decoration.) It was the rod co-opted by something greater when the entity J was cut away from me and banished. But after that path-changing night, I rarely did anything physical with it. Continue reading Nothing Lasts
Bloodied hands made soft through violence.
How is it the very thing that would destroy me
upholds me when I have lost the ability to stand?
Holy destruction that cannot be assuaged.
Your shelter has saved me from myself
and from the blows of those unlawful works.
How is it you are not my enemy?
I do not understand the love that drives you
to stand over me as guardian, even from your own.
Divine paradox, I am grateful for your company.
And while the light you cast throws shadows in disarray,
your presence is a reminder there is recovery, even for me.
Though you be almost ageless
you are ever still the tender slut
that first emerged without blemish
from churning restless Okeanos.
They say you were quick to be clothed
though no cloth could ever hide
that fragrant skin that shames roses
or the shape of that perfect thigh.
It would take more than poetry
to describe the enveloping folds
of your moistened luring lips
that speak with no sound uttered.
Lean over me and focus my gaze
with twin points of vanity reminding
that not all apples grow on trees
and not all fruits are attainable.
Though your cunt be smith-owned
(on paper and in myths as if they count)
let me not forget that it is the only power
that can sheath war without destruction.
No one recognized me as I entered the tattoo parlor. Weaver may have one helluva reputation, but Keri is just another human as far as this corner of the realms was concerned. So no one gave me a second look as I signed a pseudonym on the check-in register and took my seat between the human pirate reeking of last night’s bad decisions and the renegade alfar waiting to defile his skin with even more blasphemous marks.
Continue reading Dream Journal: 2015-02-23.01
I placed the plastic baggie on the shelf in my lair, next to Horatio’s skull. That the spirit cards came with me from the dream into the lair confirmed that this was not an isolated incident in Otherworld. The spirit’s hate felt like dry heat emanating from the plastic, but it was not anything to think about.
I turned my back to begin unpacking the rest of my coat pockets. I heard Horatio whisper to the spirit to constrain its temper if it wanted any peace from me. The spirit only hated hotter. Continue reading Dream Journal: 2015-02-21.01
I can’t get a break even in a dream. A disaster required that the neighborhood be evacuated. The local authorities had their hands full, so a call was made for volunteers of any and all persuasions to assist. I answered the call as a firemonger. The disaster was halted, but the neighborhood was still dangerous so I had to spend the night at a shelter.
Continue reading Dream Journal: 2015-02-20.02
“So you wear a hat, now. It’s pretty. Frames your face well.”
It took me a while to recognize who was speaking. Watching him pour the guilt-dark fluid into the chipped glasses didn’t help. Smelling the arrogantly sharp blackstrap rum, did.
“Yes, Sir. I finally found one to my liking.” Continue reading Dream Journal: 2015-02-20.01
I fell through the floor into a place in between. My first reaction was laughter, because I already knew I was dreaming, and that where I fell from was supposed to be a cave hewn out of solid rock. So how could I fall through rock? Dream logic, I guess. Continue reading Accepting Rejection