Music: Fantasy

The band is apparently DyE, and fair warning: part of the reason I'm posting it is that the video leans hard into body horror. 

Music: Suffocate

Kayzo (with Bad Omens):

The Hobbit, as written by Dr. Seuss

I really like my wizard friend
He came to visit me again
He brought twelve dwarves but that's okay
But do not with my dishes play!

They think I should a burglar be!
I'd rather have a cup of tea.
To Lonely Mountain should I go?
I can't decide. Oh no, oh no

We camped and there discussed our roles
But now we're overrun with trolls! 
Gandalf, damn it, where'd you go? 
They're going to eat us, this I know. 

And now the trolls are arguing
A fight that might salvation bring
The sun's first light has touched the sky
And trolls to stone are turned thereby.

We've now arrived at Rivendell
Where Elrond and the Elves do dwell
Our map has secrets yet unsealed
By Elrond's hand they're now revealed

Oh good! We're Misty Mountains bound
Oh bad! By goblins we are found
I'm best off fleeing underground
And lo! This ring was lying 'round

I tucked the ring inside my vest
A strange thing wants a riddle-fest
It turns into a hard contest
...Escaping with the ring is best

Well, twelve dwarves are now impressed
in Beorn's house we take our rest
So on we into Mirkwood go!
Giant. Fucking. Spiders. No.

And now the wood-elves have a quarrel
Into a dungeon, out in a barrel
Laketown's far more welcoming
But much desiring Smaug-slaying

I find the door, the passage in
I find my courage to begin
The dragon speaks; I answer back
See one small space his armor lacks

He's really mad about this cup
He's going to burn Laketown up
The Thrush will bring the warning whole
The dragon and its armor's hole

But Bard has his black arrow ready
His aim is true, his hand is steady
The arrow flies, the dragon falls
The dwarves reclaim their ancient halls

All should be well! We've won the day...
The men demand the dwarves should pay
For damage done unto their town
Thorin scowls and turns them down

And now a siege? The hell is this?
This Arkenstone they shouldn't miss
The men could take this and be done
A reward for a battle won

But wait! Thorin is much dismayed
He says I have the dwarves betrayed! 
He orders me to go away
As Dain, his cousin, arrives today

Gandalf returns but with a warning
The goblins and the worgs are forming
An army 'gainst both dwarf and man
So I guess we're out of the frying pan

The elves have come as well I see
They all ally as armies three
To set the goblin army back
but air support is what they lack

Oh look! We now have eagles too! 
Wings and talons, much to do!
The battle's turned, the goblins broken
And Thorin's final words are spoken

We part as friends, I take small share
For treasure I have little care
Why not more? Gandalf inquires
But this is plenty in the Shires. 

And now my story's done, dear friend
We have reached the very end
I suppose I might a book begin
Of going There and Back Again

StV: Missed Opportunities

"How did it go?" asked Mongrel, leaning back on the bench seat in the back of the unmarked delivery van. 

Bloodhound shook her head as she pulled the back door down behind her. "Fucking disaster," she told the older man. "I didn't get anywhere near the main building. I was coming in through the woods when I heard voices and slipped up into one of the trees. They caught me anyway."

"They?" asked Hearne, who was sitting at one of the computer consoles and studying a map on the screen. He was Bloodhound's handler, and an experienced hunter in his own right even if he wasn't a Hound. 

"A boy and a girl. Might have been some of our targets, actually -- the girl tackled me right out of the tree, and the boy was..." She frowned angrily, but her scent gave her away: for a moment there, Bloodhound had been scared.

"And you didn't gut them?" asked Huntsman, who'd been dozing in the driver's seat until her return. 

"I thought I was going to have to," Bloodhound admitted, "at least for a moment. The girl had claws of her own, and the boy... I couldn't see where he was, in the darkness, and by the time I pinpointed his scent it could have been too late. But no... the boy asked if I was looking for sanctuary, and the girl... she told me if I was looking for somebody, I should show up at the gates in the daytime and ask." 

Mongrel considered that. Bad luck that Bloodhound had been caught, even if the students had turned her loose; it meant that DAAT had overplayed its hand here. Worse luck if those two were among their targets; they'd definitely know if they ran into Bloodhound again. Worst of all, they'd shown restraint; if they were the targets, they were going to be trouble. It was always harder to trap somebody who knew when to stop. 

"So we still have no idea if Greyhound is here," Hearne said. 

Bloodhound grunted something that was almost a growl. "No idea."

"Damn it," said Hearne. "All that wasted potential, and we still don't even know where he disappeared to."

"He's a traitor," Bloodhound growled, and Mongrel nodded his agreement. He hadn't been very keen about bringing another Alpha Hound and her handler in on his hunt, but Bloodhound had been close to Greyhound before he went rogue: rivals, but maybe also friends, after a fashion. He couldn't fault her for wanting in on this; it was the best lead they'd had in two years. 

"We'll get him," Mongrel said. "If not here, somewhere else. Sooner or later he'll make a mistake."

"You know," said Huntsman, "the girl's suggestion isn't bad."

"Who are you calling a girl?" demanded Bloodhound, whipping her head around to look at him. 

"The one who ripped you out of the tree." Hearne was unfazed. "You could show up at the gate and ask about him."

"That--" She hesitated, then nodded thoughtfully. "That might be worth a try." 

Music: Hey Poor

Front 242:

StV: Just In Case You Missed It, part one

"He seems like a good guy," Magehand said, sitting on the edge of the stone railing and kicking his feet. 

Beside him, Nightfox was stretched out along the railing, head resting on her paws, fur black even in the unexpected sunlight that had found this school this afternoon. Her dress was folded up and sitting on a table a few feet away, set aside while she was being a panther. "He is," she said. "I don't... I don't know if it'll ever be anything serious, but he's a good guy."

"You'd like it to be, though," Magehand observed, feigning idleness. 

"I mean... yeah? I'm just not sure whether that's because I like him, or because, well, I'd just like to be part of something serious.  We talked about it a little last night, but... talk about coming from different worlds."

"How do you mean?" asked Magehand, leaning back and then hooking a foot into the carved stone to catch his balance. 

Nightfox hesitated. "Are you sure you want to know? It's... it's a little embarrassing."

Magehand shrugged. "Don't tell me if you aren't comfortable. I mean, I don't actually need to know." 

"No, it's fine," Nightfox said. "You've heard some of the rumors, I'm sure."

"I heard that he and Nightmare tried to kill each other in training." Magehand frowned. "They're teammates now, though. Did that actually happen?"

"Not quite like that," Nightfox said, glancing around. The back porch was mostly empty; most people were at dinner. Haunts was buried in her sketchbook; she might be listening in, but she wouldn't say anything even if she overheard. "They really were just practicing. They're just... both a lot more comfortable with drawing blood than most people."

"Ah," said Magehand. "And people freaked out."

Nightfox lifted her head, studied him for a moment with those piercing green eyes, and then settled back down. "He's not American," she added. 

"I caught the accent." Magehand quirked a grin at her. 

"I think he would have cheerfully slept with me, if that was what I wanted."

"Did you?" asked Magehand, not at all sure if he wanted to know. Maybe he should have changed the subject earlier, but it was too late now.

"Tom," said Nightfox quietly, "when I first transformed into... this... I was still wearing the purity ring my father gave me the year before. I'm only just getting used to the idea that somebody might be... unfazeable enough to be willing to kiss me as I am now. Just... completely different worlds."

"Oh," Magehand said. "Nightfox..." He swallowed and hopped down to the ground, suddenly unable to sit still. "Walk with me?"

She raised her head again, evidently puzzled, then slipped down from the railing. "All right."

They headed off into the woods automatically, following familiar trails that they'd established for themselves. "I don't quite know how to say this," Magehand told her, "but you're selling yourself so short it's ridiculous. You're amazing, and I absolutely guarantee you that Lyceus isn't the only one who'd be willing to kiss you."

"Okay," said Nightfox, sounding dubious. "...Who else?"

"Well... me, for starters," Magehand said. 

"You-- seriously?" Nightfox sounded stunned. 

Magehand nodded. "I didn't think you were interested."

She rose up into the human configuration that she rarely showed to anyone outside their small circle of friends. "I didn't know I could be," she said. "You'd... you wouldn't mind?"

He sighed, thoroughly exasperated. "I guess I should have been more obvious," he said. "No, I wouldn't mind. In fact, I'd be..." Honored. So completely there for it. Enraptured. "...I wish I'd brought it up sooner, before you got entangled with Lyceus."

Nightfox smiled. "He won't mind if I get un-entangled. He's a good guy."

DoT: Aftermath, part five

"The gangs are touchy about their territories," Mother Lardner said idly, after she'd gotten herself settled into the padded booth. 

"Always," Vallista Greycloak agreed. She had no idea how much of Mother Lardner's frail old woman act was genuine, though she suspected the grey-haired woman was far more spry than she let on. It didn't matter too much, either way; Mother Lardner was dangerous for other reasons, and while they Greycloaks might be the stronger of the two gangs, the Beggars could do them a lot of damage if they really put their minds to it. That was part of the reason why Vallista hadn't sent any threats or demands their way; she wanted the people who had killed her father, not a pointless and wasteful gang war. 

"That's why I came up to see you." Mother Lardner turned her head and smiled genially up at the server. "Do you have a hot mulled wine, dearie?"

The server -- a young human woman, unaffiliated, with a professional smile on her face -- considered that for a brief moment. "Well... nothing prepared, but if you don't mind waiting a few minutes we could make it happen."

"That would be lovely," Mother Lardner said. "It eases my joints, you see, and at my age anything that helps is, well, something to be appreciated."

"Hot mulled wine," the young woman repeated, then focused on Vallista and frowned slightly, then swallowed. "And what can I get for you?"

"Cider," Vallista decided. "Whatever you have. And -- a bowl of those crisps you serve with meals."

"Cider and crisps, and hot mulled wine. It'll be a couple of minutes, but I'll get it out." She backed away from the table, turned smartly, and didn't quite run into another server as she headed for the back of the Copper Pot. 

"Territory," Vallista said idly, tapping her fingers on the table. "My father died in yours, in the midst of some kind of business deal with an upper-city merchant. Not one he told me about. Do you know anything about it?"

"I knew he was there," Mother Lardner said softly, leaning forward sympathetically. "My people told me. And then they told me he was dead, so I came to see what I could do."

"...Do?" asked Vallista, momentarily puzzled. 

"He was Anderlin Greycloak, and he died in my territory -- in one of the establishments where we don't touch the clientele. I tried to bring him back, but I don't think I got there fast enough. Then I tried to question his spirit, to learn who killed him, but that didn't work either."

"How did he die?" asked Vallista, half-numb. 

"Stabbed," Mother Lardner told her. "A dagger through the ribs and straight into the heart -- poisoned, too, I'm reasonably sure. A single blow, and if my hunter is to be believed then it took him by surprise. His bodyguard likely died a moment later, then the merchant and his bodyguard. Whatever exchange they were making, everything involved was gone. So was his swordbelt, or I'd see it returned to you. I tried to locate it -- magically -- but it's either hidden or out of range."

Vallista took a long moment to digest that. She'd learned of her father's death from Tavik, who'd been overseeing her father's bodyguard detail -- minimal, for a meeting like this, and apparently completely insufficient in the moment. He'd stood before her in his tattered clothing, explaining something about flying snakes and people bursting into the Overlook and then the unexpected discovery that everyone in the back room was dead. The intruders were gone by then, and somewhere in the chaos he'd apparently been set on fire; it was only later that he'd been healed and cleaned up by a passing bard. 

He'd offered his life as penance. Vallista had pretended to consider, but had of course refused. Tavik might have failed, but he was loyal.  

She shook her head. It was too much to take in all at once. "I'd like to see."

"I'm sure you would, poor dear." Mother Lardner hadn't quite broken character, but she was close. "May an old woman make another suggestion, though? To help keep the peace?"

Vallista tilted her head. "Go on." 

"It's your father," the old woman said simply, and not without some genuine sympathy. "Of course you want to come see. But you're in charge now, up here. Send one of your lieutenants, and... let's say a half-dozen of their people? They can come down, ask questions, look at everything we looked at. As long as they don't stab anybody, you have my word that the Beggars will leave them alone." She paused. "And if they do need to stab somebody, well, let us know and we'll arrange to cover it. When they're done, they can bring your father's body back up, and you can look at it for yourself." 

"That's..." Vallista swallowed. "That's very generous."

"I know a thing or two about losing parents," said Mother Lardner, and this time all pretense had dropped; she was off in her own memories for three full breaths. 

Then she said: "It's a bad business, all else aside. The Overlook brings the Beggars more money than most people realize. We make it look Lower City but keep it safe, the Upper City brats come slumming, Owin overcharges them ridiculously and pays us a decent cut. Everybody benefits. But it all depends on keeping that balance between making them feel like they're really slumming, and keeping them safe enough to come back."

"Yeah." Vallista drew a breath, then decided to forge ahead. "Almost as if somebody is trying to set us against each other."

"Ha!" Mother Lardner snorted, then looked up as the server returned. 

"You're in luck," said the young woman, who was now carefully avoiding meeting either of their eyes. "We got the heater going immediately, and here's your wine." She set the ceramic mug down, its contents steaming. "Your cider... and the crisps."

The server straightened. "Anything else for you?" 

"Not for now, Dearie," said Mother Lardner. "This is delightful."

The girl's grin turned momentarily genuine. "Good to hear it." She looked at Vallista. "Anything else for you?"

Vallista felt herself chuckle unexpectedly. "No, you're doing fine. We'll wave you over if we need anything else."

"As you will," the server said, picking up on that immediately. "I won't bother you unless you do."

"You've noticed that too," Mother Lardner said, once the young woman was gone. "It's mostly passed by us, until now." 

Vallista nodded. "Whereas we seem to be a target, of sorts."

"Huh," said Mother Lardner. "I hadn't looked at it that way."

"I'm having a hard time not looking at it that way."

Mother Lardner sighed. "I suppose technically we're rivals, but... you're new, and you're grieving, and you're stepping up just as thing seem to be changing. That's a lot to take on all at once. So I'm going to give you a piece of advice, one that's served me well over the years: don't assume it's personal."

"Somebody murdered my father," Vallista Greycloak said quietly. "That feels pretty personal."

"Yes," agreed Mother Lardner. "My dear, I'm not saying you shouldn't take it that way. I'm just saying that you shouldn't assume their reasons for doing it personal."

"Ah," said Vallista. "Yes. That makes sense." 

Music: The Bricklayer's Song

As performed by The Corries:

Writing, 2025

I'm taking a break from writing -- as much as I ever do or can, anyway -- while mind and body recover from the horror that was the month of May. (No, I still don't know why May is trying to kill me, but the evidence is incontrovertible.) It probably won't affect the blog much, but my current Horny Superteens project is at a spot where, if I try to go back to it now I won't have the perspective to figure out how to wrap up the current scene -- and that's a surefire recipe for writer's block. Phooey to that, I say!

I'm currently taking a fun little writing class on developing secondary characters, which I'm using to fill in ideas for an upcoming project involving a tween were-squirrel who gets sent into the Haunted Forest to protect his village, but that's low-key and low-stress (and also, as I mentioned, fun -- I get to see what a bunch of other people are working on and what their characters look like). 

So the blog may be seeing a bit more in the way of music, short bits, and dad jokes than usual, or I may be posting more of these "State of Me" bits of navel-gazing, but I'll still be posting. I may even have some more vignettes from the Horny Superteens project, as I build up to diving back in. Dunno; very much just going to play it as it comes. 

Also, as an update to yesterday's post: I... may have been a little optimistic. I took it easy at work, actually got a surprising amount done -- following up on and closing out some tickets, looking at some other issues, and taking care of some last-minute requests -- but man, I slowed down during the afternoon, and after I got back home I crashed. Hard. For about three and a half hours. So apparently I'm at the stage of recuperation where my body is just like, "Okay, buddy, you're going to listen me, and when I say you're going to sleep you're going to sleep. You got that?"

Recovery and Self-Care, 2025

Oh thank the dark and forgotten gods. 

I've been... not feeling well... for the last few days, mainly because I've been pushing way too hard with way too much stress for, I don't know, the last three weeks of May. I spent part of Monday just napping, took most of Tuesday off as an exhaustion/mental health day, and have just generally been feeling like I was right on the edge of making myself really, really sick (and I did have stomach/digestive issues, not to mention a truly horrible headache yesterday that may have been partly dehydration from the digestive issues). I've also been sleeping mostly in five-hour chunks, which isn't ideal. 

So yesterday I worked from home, but... cautiously, with breaks when I felt I needed them -- including napping for a bit of the afternoon and working to make it up in the evening -- and then went to bed with Beautiful Wife (also exhausted) at about 10:30. Didn't even pause to set up the CPAP, just climbed up and burrowed in. 

Finally -- finally -- had all the deeply weird, semi-narrative REM-sleep dreams that I've been missing. Woke up about 5:30, sweaty as anything, and just lay there thinking about random crap, the way I seldom have time to do anymore. Legit feels like I just shook off a fever, though I don't think I've actually been running one. 

The dreams were absolutely wild, too -- a three-part or three-element ceremony involving a circle of monsters (half feline, half canine -- so werewolves and were-panthers, maybe?) who had to move in and out and weave together in particular ways, a human at the center, and... something else that was important, but I can't remember it now. Probably wouldn't do me any good, since I don't seem to know any shapeshifters in real life and couldn't teach them the choreography anyway. Come to that, I don't actually remember what the ritual did, either, but  it was still pretty cool. 

I should put it in a piece of writing, somewhere. 

Next set of dreams started with younger-me and a whole bunch of other people in a fairly large house -- but there were a lot of us, so we were sleeping sort of wherever we could. (My parents showed up in this dream; my brother did not. I don't know if that means anything.) We were pulling together some sort of caravan, and there were a lot of decisions to make about what to bring and what to leave behind. Also, it was raining outside and the house had several significant leaks. 

Then we were actually in the caravan, and we were moving slowly because it was early morning and there were still traces of mist on the ground -- along with a lot of death and destructions -- fires, burned-down or smashed buildings, one truly spectacular corpse that was a badly-burned person(?) on a motorcycly, with the back half sunk into the ground. Looked like a war-zone, or the aftermath of a particularly bloody riot. Apparently the mist came out of the north, and it rises at night and anybody caught out in it dies -- or starts killing each other. 

Then we got to the place we were looking for, which was some kind of... factory? Power generation? Anyway, lots of cool ladders and bridges and big metal equipment. Also a couple of very friendly dogs, which turned out to be unfortunate because the dogs were helping to chase out some monsters that had gotten inside. The monsters were... weird. There was one like a two-legged balloon or egg. It did have a mouth, but it was awkward and not very dangerous, except that when it died it exploded into a small cloud of that death-mist, which did horrible things to the dogs until there was only one dog left. Unlike most of my dreams, I was both young (like, late teens maybe?) and unarmed, so I was avoiding the beasties by climbing ladders, jumping platforms, and like that. There were some other monsters too, at least one that stalked around like some sort of human-sized, featherless hunting bird, but at least those didn't explode into mist when they died. 

Anyway, I woke up before I had a chance to find out why we'd come there or what the workers were doing there, but it was intense and interesting and left me feeling more connected -- to my dreaming or myself, I'm not sure -- and just generally like I'd finally gotten a little bit of my breath back. 

Like I said, thank the dark and forgotten gods for that.  

Challenge: Cover Art

Prompt: Favorite Book Covers and Why

I'm going to have to go with David Mattingly, and particularly the art he did for a bunch of Barbara Hambly's books, notably including the Darwatch series. Why? Well, that's easy: they were on the front of some of my favorite books. Are they a bit dated these days? Well, yes, but they're still fun to look at. 

(This post is part of the Wednesday Weekly Blogging Challenge. You can find links to other writers' answers over at Long and Short Reviews.)   

DoT: Aftermath, part four

"Mother Lardner," Vallista said politely, and offered an abbreviated bow. "You're a bit outside of your usual haunts."

The older woman smiled. "Your lack of threats and demands made it necessary, dearie. I'm grateful, even if it meant walking all the way up here."

Vallista shrugged, and offered a smile. "I had no reason to suspect you of involvement," she said, them gestured towards The Copper Pot. "May I invite you inside for a meal?"

"I make it a rule never to refuse food and drink, my dear," said Mother Lardner. "I've seen too many times when they were far too precious to spare."

"Just so," Vallista said. "Would you prefer for me to enter first?"

Mother Lardner's expression remained serene. "So courteous; an unmistakable tribute to your father's training. I'll be happy to precede you."

That was a deliberate show of trust; Mother Lardner was offering her back. Vallista nodded. "Then please do allow me to treat you -- and treat with you."

Mother Lardner nodded, then turned to Derlina. The half-orc looked surprised, but composed herself immediately. 

"It was a great pleasure meeting you, my dear. I do so appreciate your company, and your willingness to help an old woman along difficult streets."

Derlina didn't quite glance at Vallista. Instead she simply smiled and nodded. "It was a pleasure for me as well. It seems you're well taken-care of now, though, so I'll leave you to your business."

Mother Lardner stretched out a hand, touched the half-elf's forearm. "Bless you, dearie." Given what Mother Lardner was, that blessing might have carried real, magical weight; Vallista couldn't tell. But this was conversation that needed to happen; the head of the Beggars might have set it up that way, but in truth she couldn't argue. Mother Lardner turned back to her, nodded, and then went into the Copper Pot. 

Vallista nodded to Derlina, and offered a brusque "Well handled" before she followed the older woman inside. 

DoT: Aftermath, part three

Mother Lardner was walking beside Derlina, and while there were other Greycloaks on the street they all seemed to be going about ordinary business: strolling down the street, or pausing in a doorway to look at goods, or stopping at one of the local carts. There were more on the rooftops; Vallista was peripherally aware of them and had no doubt that Mother Lardner was too. Still, that was a message in itself: her people were showing admirable restraint around the leader of the gang who controlled the territory where her father's murder had taken place. Their presence and behavior warned their fellows off. 

Talmos was watching from one rooftop; he nodded when he knew he was in her peripheral vision, and disappeared again. That was good; he was the oldest of her father's lieutenants, and a restraining influence on the rest; his skill with a dagger in the dark was legendary. He also had a well-established reputation for having no patience whatsoever with anyone causing unnecessary trouble. 

Diggs was the next one to show himself, but he was following Talmos' lead and disappeared almost immediately. The message was clear: I have my people here and we're ready to help, but Derlina has taken the lead and I won't try to cut in. It was a solid play, within the politics of the gang: showing loyalty and solidarity. Likely Diggs was grinding his teeth at the missed opportunity, but he was using it to the best advantage that he could. 

Vallista Greycloak paused at the corner, judging timing. Mother Lardner and Derlina were talking, casual and relaxed, and if there were any of the Beggars in the area they were keeping an extremely low profile. Likely there weren't; Mother Lardner might have pulled some independent security, but she wouldn't have brought any of her own people if she had any sense at all... and if there was one thing she was known for, it was good sense. The Beggars were, above all other things, practical. 

There. Vallista started out from beside the building, stepping onto the street and angling towards Derlina and Mother Lardner. If everyone kept to the same pace, they'd meet each other just outside The Copper Pot, where Vallista could invite her inside for a meal that would actually be a meeting. The food in The Copper Pot was basic but filling; the beer was decent, and the wines and brandies excellent. They also had a surprisingly tasty tea, a black tea blended with a touch of hemleaf.

Mother Lardner smiled when she caught sight of Vallista, and said something to Derlina that made her chuckle as well. The whole exchange looked cautiously friendly, though Derlina was very obviously keeping an eye on her people even as they walked along in apparent companionship. 

They came to a stop as Vallista reached them, and Derlina offered discreet bow of her head. I brought her here and sent for you, it said. I hope that's good enough. 

Yes, Derlina definitely had potential. Vallista Greycloak filed that away; now was the time to deal with Mother Lardner.