Azzazizz: An Ill-Considered Attack

Azzazizz -- Aziz for short -- looked down at the corpse of the infected succubus, and then at his hands and feet, which were tingling with something that felt like poison -- the same poison he'd felt when the rats in the sewers had bitten him. Possum, the druid, was already on her way over to him; she had a cure spell left. 

Okay, so that was a lesson learned, he decided. His contribution to the group would be skills -- stealth, lockpicking, negotiation, and like that -- plus his senses. His physical attacks weren't that strong -- not compared to some of the others -- and he had one good ranged attack and one weak one. Against these fungus-infected creatures, he didn't dare use the physical attacks anymore. Their infectious nature made that sort of attack as dangerous to him as he might possibly be to them. Were he just a little bit older... 

...But he was wasn't, and he wasn't trained to use the kind of mortal weapons that could hold creatures like these at bay. If the druid hadn't managed to paralyze the fungus-demon with magic, he would have been in serious danger. Like, getting himself killed kinds of danger. 

He thought about that a bit longer, then nodded to himself. That wasn't really a problem. He'd just have to consider carefully before he attacked anything with his claws and fangs... let alone his wings. He wasn't the strongest member of the party, but that was fine; he still had things to contribute. So... no jumping in, but no backing away, either. 

There were things he was better at than anyone else here, they just weren't quite what he'd expected. And, he reminded himself, that was exactly the sort of thing he'd come here to learn. I asked for this. He'd very likely saved Mac's life from the rats. He could do this.

Azzazizz: Nope Nope Nope

I want my mother, Azzazizz thought as they emerged from the sewers. It was time to go back home and admit that he wasn't up to this. It had all seemed fun and exciting until the rats had come out of everywhere, and then they hadn't even been rats. They'd all been taken over by whatever that slime on the walls of the sewer was turning into. He was pretty sure they'd tried to infect him with it too. 

He'd done pretty well in the heat of the moment, he thought, but now that they were back up through the maintenance hatch and he had more time to think about it, he was shivering. It didn't help that he was back in his human form, which definitely seemed more prone to panicking. No, it was definitely time to go home. 

Mac put a hand on his shoulder. "A moment, my young friend," he said softly. Adonis and Zarathos didn't hear, and if Possum did then she chose to ignore it. 

Aziz -- he was currently answering to that, since his companions didn't seem to be quite capable of pronouncing his draconic name -- hesitated, then let Mac draw him back, a little further out of earshot. "You did well back there," said the Gith, his features still mostly hidden in the shadows of his hat and coat. "You could've left me for the rats, but you didn't. Could've just flown out of there, too, but you didn't."

Aziz knew the man could feel him shivering. "How are you so calm?" he asked quietly. Grandfather, even his voice was shivering. 

The investigator shrugged. "I just had my life saved by a dragon," he said. "A young one, to be sure, but a dragon nonetheless. Proud breed, dragons. Not all of 'em would've bothered with a nobody like me. It tends to steady the nerves, a thing like that. And you fought well: clever, resourceful."

Aziz felt himself steady. He had, hadn't he? Sure, his first attempt hadn't worked and the others had done a lot to destroy the not-rats-anymore, but he'd rallied and done other things. So maybe he could do this.

"Look, I'd worry if this hadn't scared you at all," Mac continued. "The rest of us, we've done this before. We're kind of used to it. We don't show it anymore, not the way you are now, even we've just experienced pants-wetting levels of terror."

Aziz snorted out something that half a laugh and half a sob. 

"But here's the thing: you're doing your panicking now, after the danger's passed. That's good. Shows you aren't foolhardy." Mac met his eyes, then nodded. "So I wanted you to know that I'm grateful to have you with us."

Aziz considered that for a long moment, then nodded back. "All right. Yes. I can do this. But... and be honest... do you have any of those mind tricks that would prevent nightmares?"

Azzazizz: Accepting A Job

Azzazizz knew his parents would have told him that he was far too young to be wandering around a place like Chucks Vegas, which -- as its nickname, Disgraceland, suggested -- was absolutely a den of iniquity: gambling, gladiatorial games, gambling on gladiatorial games, a demonic whorehouse, a completely separate demonic male revue, a dazzling array of mind-altering substances of which alcohol was the least dangerous, and at least one evil plot of the potentially-world-destroying variety... and Azzazizz knew that he'd barely see the first few hands of what this place had to offer.

On the other hand, when the invitation had come, he'd known immediately that there wasn't a chance he was going to turn it down -- even if he had no idea why the invitation had come to him.  It wasn't as if he'd spent time on gambling, or committing crimes -- or tracking down criminals, for that matter. A handful of pranks surely couldn't count, could they? Not even if his parents sometimes joked that he must have some Copper Dragon in his lineage. 

Azzazizz had once responded to that particular bit of teasing by pointing out that if that somehow was the case, then someone had pulled a better prank on a bunch of Bronze Dragons than he would ever manage in his life. But no, it was easy to see that he was just as much a Bronze as the rest of them, even if he was positively mischievous by Bronze Dragon standards. And where had that behavior gotten him (as his mother so often asked)?

Well, for the moment it had gotten him an invitation to Disgraceland, a chance to practice pretending to be a young human sorcerer, and an escort up to the office of Chuck, the founder of the first casino on the island. It had also gotten him the chance to meet some very interesting people: the carnal centaur Adonis, who worshiped the sex-god Jensen; the druid everyone just called Possum, who spent most of her time in that form and lived in the sewers; the djinni Zarathos, who specialized in fire magics and explosions; and now the gith investigator who introduced himself as Mac Guffin and seemed to be cultivating a knack for mind-magics. As far as Azzazizz was concerned, this was all going splendidly, even if the others insisted on calling him Aziz. 

As Chuck and his friend Alexej explained about needing outside help to prevent someone named Shazz from destroying something called the Sin Thread -- that would be the world-ending evil plot -- Azzazizz decided to lean in on being Aziz for the moment. He'd made a study of human devices, after all, including traps and locks and how to navigate social situations. If his parents ever found out about this, he'd explain it as wanting to test his skills in a more immersive environment. It wouldn't even be lying, really; that was a big part of his reasons for sneaking off to come here.

Come to think of it, that might even explain why he'd been invited: he had a skillset that even a dedicated human rogue might have trouble matching, plus his other abilities. No way was he cutting out now. If these others were up to the job, he was too. 

Nope, I've got nothing...

One of these years, I'm going to actually take time off between Christmas and New Year's. This is not that year. And I've got just an unfairly large number of things that I need to do between now and then anyway. 

The upgrade on Friday went well, at least -- everything seems to be working afterwards, though I think we're going to have some emergency follow-ups in one or two areas. But I've still got to deal with the fallout from the post-Christmas upgrade, which broke all our time clocks. Which means that in addition to a bunch of personal stuff that I need to take care of and/or keep an eye on, I've got to collect those, document them, and get them ready to send back in exchange for enough re-imaged clocks to get us through January, at which point in theory we switch over to the other payroll system and don't need the clocks anymore. Could this have been avoided if we'd made the changeover back at the end of July, as planned? Absolutely, but here we are. 

Ye Gods I would love to be sleeping in.

Still... the boys are both home, the dog and the cat are being cute, the weather just dropped from t-shirt and shorts to something ass-bitingly cold and much more appropriate for the end of December, and on Thursday we'll play through the second half of the most ridiculous D&D one-shot I've participated in for the last year and a half. (I'm playing a young bronze dragon. Don't get to do that too often.) So there are definitely silver linings. 

Take care and stay warm, my friends. 

Cry Havoc and Go The Heck To Bed

All right, so we've got all the Christmas presents wrapped and sorted. Of decorations, we have absolutely nothing prepared; but beautiful Wife and I have decided that we're both thoroughly exhausted and putting up even a token Christmas Tree is best done after a solid night's sleep. 

We hope you have a wonderful holiday -- whichever of them you might happen to be be celebrating -- and a good chance to rest and restore yourself, and as little aggravation as possible.  

A new face in town

It was nearin' midnight, and there was only one face in the saloon that Sheriff Black couldn't place: a young man playing cards, well-dressed but not overdressed. Respectable, from the look of 'im, but not established. Wasn't playin' especially well or poorly, so probably not a professional gambler -- not that the stakes out here were high enough for a successful gambler to travel this far out. If he was a card-sharp, he was better'n most; the sheriff had run off two or three of those, and there was a certain air they usually cultivated. This kid didn't have it. 

No, he looked more like he was down on his luck or on the run, and playing cards to pass the time. None of the fake-brotherhood joviality that the professional grifters were so good at. Didn't look much like a murderer, but then again who did?

Won't know 'til it happens, he thought, and settled back in his booth.  

A night at the saloon

The saloon was full, but then the work-week was over for most, and there were coins to spend -- or gamble away -- and songs to sing, and drinks to down. It was a rough-and-tumble crowd, but generally well-behaved. Sheriff Black recognized most of them: Eduardo, Isabelle, and Juan, who worked the old Darling farm together; Sam Maddox, the town's cooper, who doubled as a scrivener for those as couldn't write or read; the mayor, Missus Laura, better known as Ma'am, watching over her tavern from her table on the second floor balcony. 

She saw him come in, stood, studied him form a moment, then gestured for him to come up. 

Sheriff Black had no intention of making a scene; if she'd ignored him, he'd have ignored her. If there were issues to discuss, they could hash it out at the the next City Council meeting. But with an unmistakable  summons... 

He found the back stairs, mounted them, and joined her at her table. 

"What can I offer you, Sheriff?" she asked. "I've had word there's been a murder. Your deputy wanted to know if I'd seen any likely suspects. I have not."

"There was a murder," he confirmed. "I was hoping to learn more before I filled you in, but since you already know: someone was killed, very late last night. Ripped apart, or nearly so.  Gravedigger's with Doc, looking at the body."

"That's good," she said. "There like t'be any more trouble from it?"

Augustus Black resisted the urge to shrug. "Depends on how fast we find whatever did it, or if it moves on without causin' any further trouble."

"Well then," said the mayor. "Carry on. Appreciate y'watching over my saloon tonight."

The sheriff lifted a finger to his forehead. "Ma'am."