As I come to the end of Revival of Fire (Ruination 3) I’m getting super amped to sit down and finish the damn thing. Life, however, keeps telling me to hold on. Can’t I just not work for like a week to devote ALL of my free time to writing!?
Still, this past week made for some good writing, some of which is below.
Things that might go well together but probably won’t:
The Punisher working as a high school conflict mediation counselor
Things got a bit out of hand when it came to light that Mr. Castiglione was using less than acceptable methods to sway bullies into letting go of their aggressive tendencies. The school board was willing to ignore said methods, given his success in lowering bullying rates so far, but was forced to terminate him when another staff member became the victim of an IED rigged with paper clips that caused “mild lacerations and mental anguish”. Said staff member, however, never pulled the classic dick move of stealing another staff member’s parking spot ever again. And for that, the Punisher remains an uncelebrated hero.
Enjoy these snappy one-liners, meant to evoke some good imagery and/or get some powerful emotions across quickly:
“Her hand came away as if she’d plunged it into a vat of lightning.” (Karris – Head Case)
“Shit storms and piss rain wouldn’t have phased me now.” (Karris – Head Case)
“The time to murder the gods had come” (Vesik – Revival of Fire)
On December 7th in 1926, Keebler was trademarked. What the company won’t tell you is that hidden beneath the cute and delicious exterior is a terrible secret. Many elves were far too young to be working, and things only worsened when the great tree fire of ’91 occurred, littering the ground with tiny charred corpses. The government, of course, swept it all under the rug, deeming the whole operation too integral to Americans to shut down. But, as long as I get my E. L. Fudge cookies, it’s all worth it.
Vesik gets plenty emotional in Revival of Fire. Let’s watch:
Vesik sucked in breath, his lips quivering as he exhaled. A loud pounding noise sounded in his head, his own pulse. The cold pit in his core swirled darkly, polluting his insides. “I need to help her … now!” he croaked, tears streaming from his eyes, his brow furrowed and teeth bared. “I’m the reason. It’s my fault!”
The others began to murmur. Phalax stomped forward. “Help who?”
“My daughter!” Vesik all but screamed, glaring up at Phalax.
Phalax nodded his head. “We’ll help her,” he promised, his face promising violence and his voice dark. “And whoever hurt her will pay tenfold.”
Phalax stepped forward and reached out his hand. Vesik stared at it for a moment, his body on the verge of collapsing under the emotional toll blanketing him. He thought about giving in, about flopping down and succumbing to the pain. But then he looked up into Phalax’s steely gaze and found fire. Not just in his comrade, but in himself as well.
Vesik clasped Phalax’s hand and surged to his feet, feeling stronger than ever. He sucked in a deep breath as Phalax squeezed his shoulder firmly, then turned and began barking at the camp. They’d be up and moving before daybreak. So help them, they would be.
This new bit came to me after watching a video entitled “Hold my Beer” in which people did some pretty dumbass things. So, I give you Hold my Battle Axe 1. I really hope you dig this (it killed on Facebook):
Gax ambled down the broad thoroughfare, clipping shoulder after shoulder. Had this been a normal day, the road would have been far less crowded. Had he been a human, he would have slipped past most of those rushing against his tide.
Today, however, was the Festival of Drakes and Gax was an orc, and a hungover one at that.
He and his elf companion, Darlis’eit, tramped onward, Gax groaning and mumbling curses at those he ran into. He held his axe in one massive, green hand, too hungover to strap it to his back. It was difficult work not stabbing or cutting someone, both because he didn’t particularly care about those around him and because of the throbbing pain hammering his skull.
They came upon their target, and Gax’s heart dropped. A hundred feet away stood a man with a wide grin, handing a massive turkey leg to a customer in exchange for a few bits of silver. The problem, however, was that there only remained one last leg.
The fog plaguing Gax fled and he straightened up. “By Axrok’s hairy balls!” he seethed. “Dar, hold my battle axe!”
Gax thrust his weapon at Darlis’eit, who had no choice but to grab onto the massive weapon lest it fall atop her or tip over and cleave through some unlucky passerby. She began to berate him but he was off before she could even utter her first swear. He blundered past people as he jogged, his brain slapping against the inside of his skull with each step, nausea and pain washing over him.
Gax danced around a handful of children, nearly squishing one, then came directly toward a man hawking various leathers, his cart twice as wide as he was. Panic set in. The greasy, delicious turkey leg he savored could be being bought at this very moment!
Gax sprinted straight at the cart. A few steps separated the two when he suddenly leapt and continued to pump his feet as though he could run on air. He expected to sail right over it. Rather, he fell right back down to the earth and smashed into the cart like a battering ram.
Wood splintered and the cart toppled, now nothing but a pile of rubble. Gax twisted and fell, his plate armor saving him from anything worse than superficial damage. The vendor, ignoring Gax’s size and violent look, wheeled on him and began shouting.
Dar hustled forward, her mouth agape.
“My boots?” Gax asked, astonished. He inspected his feet as though they were new to his body and found old, grubby boots.
“You lost your boots of air stepping in cards last night, you idiot.”
Gax rolled his eyes and his head fell back; the pain and nausea afflicting his noggin was far worse now. The vendor began slapping Gax’s shoulder, demanding payment for his damaged cart.
“Get up, you big oaf,” Dar growled tugging on Gax’s ear.
“Hold!” he barked. “I assume we have to run?”
“I’d say so.”
The vendor, hearing this began to flail his arms, screaming for the Guard.
Gax held up a finger, turned his head, and vomited stew that had been digesting since last night. “Much better now.”
Dar’s nose wrinkled with disgust. “That’s just adding insult to injury.”
“Well, I didn’t like it either.” He stood on shaky feet and snatched his axe from his companion. “I hope you remember who got my boots, because I want them back dammit.”