Squeakers the Black-Ops Mouse

            You may remember that some time ago, I told you about how spider assassins want me dead. Well, it seems they’ve upped their game. They hired Squeakers, the black-ops mouse.

            It all started at 5:00 am last Wednesday. I awoke to this scrabbling-scratching sound. Never one to jump to conclusions, I waited and listened carefully. The sound came again. It sounded exactly like the sound they use for unseen rodents in movies. The third time I heard the sound, I was convinced and I woke my wife to inform her we had something skittering around our bedroom.

            We turned on the light to search, but couldn’t find the intruder. We did, however, find confirmation that there was, indeed, a mouse in our bedroom. Squeakers had left a calling card in the middle of my bedside table, not a foot and a half from where my sleeping head had been a moment before.

            That was when I realized that Squeakers was no ordinary mouse. No. The sounds that came in the middle of the night, in our bedroom where we feel safe enough to sleep. The dropping, placed so perfectly to assure us that those sounds were real, not a figment of imagination or the result of branches brushing the house on a windy night. These were deliberate actions, intended to instil terror. Clearly, Squeakers had to be a black-ops mouse, skilled in the use of asymmetric warfare.

            Since the spider assassins have unsuccessfully sought my death for years, it was easy to guess that they were the ones who sent Squeakers. Needless to say, I didn’t get much sleep the rest of the night. Squeakers was an expert. Every time I came close to drifting off to sleep, there came a sound of one sort or another. Colleen somehow managed to sleep through it – but then, she can sleep through anything, whereas I’ve been woken up by someone silently looking into my bedroom before.

            Well, the next night was a little worse. My mother-in-law (living in the other half of the house) told us she had mousetraps, but with it being so close to Christmas she hadn’t gotten around to setting it up. The sounds were less frequent this time, but I was too tense to get any sleep until the sky started to brighten with the coming of morning. Even with then, I doubt I got even two hours of fitful sleep.

            That day, the trap was set. It was the night before Christmas, and all through the house, every creature was stirring, including the mouse. From downstairs, I heard the mouse scurrying in the ceiling well before going to bed. Yet, when I did go to bed, I was so tired from the previous two nights (and secure in the knowledge that the only food available for the black-ops mouse was bait), I dropped right off to sleep. Until...

            SnapThump! A sound woke me up at 4:00am. The trap, perhaps? Indeed, when we shone a light down the hole in the floor (it was extremely obvious how the mouse was entering our room), it was clear that the trap had been set off. It didn’t look like Squeakers was in it, though. It seemed like the cunning black-ops mouse had gotten away.

            I managed a fitful half-sleep the rest of the night. In the morning, I declared that in spite of getting such poor sleep for the past three nights, I was sort of glad Squeakers had survived – and received a Christmas dinner, to boot. Of course, later, when the trap was actually checked, there was Squeakers – a mouse small enough to be missed.

            It’s nice to be able to sleep soundly through the night again, but I can’t help feeling sorry for Squeakers. We suspect that this talented black-ops mouse was quite young, separated from his/her family when they were chased out during recent renovations. Lost, alone and unable to find food, Squeakers wandered through the foreign upstairs of the house, seeking the means to survive. There, Squeakers fell under the influence of the spider assassins who, ultimately, led him/her to his/her demise.

            Here’s to you, Squeakers! The most talented black-ops mouse that ever there was. You may no longer be with us, but your memory shall live on – thanks to the internet.

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.

Knowledge Pools

            I’ve said before that writers need to be experts on everything. It’s true. That’s how books are convincing enough to hold people’s attention. Make one mistake and... well, you’ve seen how the internet responds.

            There are two directions that knowledge for a book can come from, though. The first, and more obvious one, is to look something up when you need it. Do you need to know how silk is made? Look it up. You want to know how far a horse can travel in a day? Look it up. Maybe make a chart, because you’ll need that again. If you want to know a creative way to kill someone, look it up – and hope the police believe that you’re an author.

            However, that doesn’t solve the question of what to write in the first place. If you don’t know what a volcano is, you’re hero isn’t going to make a heroic escape from an impossible situation involving being suspended over bubbling lava. Even if you don’t know the particulars of volcanoes, as long as you know they exist you can look them up when you need to.

            That means writers need to know as much as they can about the world so they can incorporate their knowledge into their books. To a certain extent, that can be done simply by observing the world around you. It isn’t a joke when you see those (usually threatening) posts about authors putting random people they meet into their books. That’s what writers do – absorb the world around them, mix it up, rearrange the pieces they like and create art.

            There’s only so far personal experience can go, though. If you limit yourself to that, you’re missing out on a whole world of inspiration (even if you have the ability to travel the world, there’s still only so much you can learn). So, we turn to other sources.

            Books are great. That’s why we write in the first place – we love books, so we want to make more books. However, reading takes time (especially for slow readers like me) and most people only read for either enjoyment or specific research. You can pick up on some unfamiliar topics there, but it still has its limits.

            So, over the last year, I’ve taken to watching a number of the documentaries available on Netflix – and they are a veritable fountain of knowledge. Watching through the Planet Earth series made me far more aware of natural phenomena in the world that I never would have considered building into my world before, but are now a big part of bringing amazing settings to my books. Characteristics of animals help me develop more believable fantastical creatures. The Ancient Balck-Ops series (which I watched on Saturday – yes, all of it in one day) gave me great insight into historical tactics, weapons, and cultures that immediately had by mind swimming with ideas for how to improve my world.

            Now, to be fair, documentaries play well to my lifestyle. I have plenty of time to watch them, since I’m usually watching something while working for my chainmaille business. Still, I’ve yet to find another source that delivers so much information in a short amount of time – teaching about so many new things that can be drawn on at your leisure, and researched if more information is required for your uses. Documentaries are a gold mine of knowledge and inspiration.

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.

Big Bad Boss

Of Dice and Glen is a story being written following D&D 5th Edition rules and using Minecraft as the battle mat (and to set the scene). Each of the two writers control their own characters and share the job of Dungeon Master (controlling the environment, story, monsters and background characters). As a result, neither of us has any clue of what's going on or where this is going. So, let's have fun!

This story is split between episodes being posted on the second Monday of every month. You can find the first episode here and the previous episode here.


Of Dice and Glen Episode 8: Big Bad Boss

“Something’s in trouble!” Luna whispered, gaze never leaving the stairway, tail lashing silently behind her. As ready as she was to kill evil, she could not abide senseless suffering, even though it was more than likely evil itself suffering.

Shaddar nodded. “You lead the way, under cover of darkness.” He placed his torch on the ground by his feet, ready to kick it down the stairs, and drew out his bow, nocking an arrow. He wanted to be sure he could hit a target before losing the element of surprise.

Nodding vigorously, and thinking privately that if they were going to be doing much more hunting together that a signal system might be a good idea, Luna took a deep, quiet, breath and crept down the stairs.

The room was big and round, lined with crumbling and rotting bookcases. In the centre of the room was a large stone table covered with arcane markings and around the room were other workbenches, cauldrons and mysterious alchemical instruments in various states of disrepair. By another downwards stairway, filled with dirt, a kobold was digging away. Nearby was a big, nasty goblin with a whip who lashed out every time the kobold wasn’t moving fast enough - or whenever it felt like it.

Luna immediatelysaw the conflict and despite the target of the whip being a wretched kobold, the tiefling winced in sympathy. She glanced up Shaddar pointed down, in front of herself, then made motions as of an obscenely fat and grotesque creature whipping, then chuckling heartily.

Not understanding Luna’s odd dance, Shaddar thought she was playing another one of her games. Snapping his jaws impatiently, he nodded his head to tell her to get on with it.

Snorting in frustration, she opened one hand to reveal a ball of flames. In her irritation at her dragonborn, she threw the flaming missile off-balanced and it sailed harmlessly past the ugly head of the large goblin.

“Motherless son of Frost Giant!” she swore loudly, there no longer being any point to her stealthy movements.

The boss goblin has just been raising its whip again when it dimly noticed the fire shoot past it.

“Fire?” it rasped, in dull confusion. “Fire!” Turning, it searched for the source and spotted Luna. “Fire demon!”

Shaddar charged down the stairs, kicking the torch ahead of him to light the room, as soon as he saw Luna’s fire. He was still on the lower stairs when he released the arrow at the goblin.

The projectile flew true, lodginging itself in the goblin’s shoulder just as it finished speaking. It yowled in rage.

“Turn on your master, in the name of Kurtulmak!” Shaddar shouted in the draconic language, believing the kobold to be the only other one who would understand him.

Hearing the name of its demigod spoken in the sacred tongue, the kobold turned to face its master’s back, an evil gleam in its eye.

Switching his bow for his swords, the white dragonborn continued to charge right up to the goblin, slashing with both weapons. While the second hit barely nicked the goblin, the first one slashed a deep gash through its chainmail.

Not one to be left out of the fun entirely, Luna readied another fireball.

“Mielikki,” she whispered. “Please let this one fly straight.”

The ball flew from her hand and struck the heavily-armoured shoulder of the goblin, sizzling uselessly until it expired. The tiefling cast about for a curse at her second failure of the battle and gulped down a burning in her throat. Her completely black eyes began to swim in moisture.

Snarling viciously, the big goblin took a step back, lashing at the dragonborn twice with its whip, leaving two deep gashes.

The cracking of the whip served to be too vivid a reminder for the kobold and it couldn’t work up the nerve to attack its master. And, a scary as the fire demon was, she seemed harmless next to the towering dragonborn. So it jumped up on a table to swipe at Luna’s legs with its dagger, but in its nervousness failed to land the blow.

Trying not to show how badly he was wounded, Shaddar pressed forward, swinging his swords at the goblin again. Both blades just glanced off the goblin’s armour - he didn’t have the strength left to do any damage.

“No-no!” Luna whimpered softly, tears beginning to seep down her face.

She looked quickly from one foe to the other. Her first instinct was to engulf the evil goblin in flames for hurting her friend, but she couldn’t quite get a clean shot from around his bulk.

The swipe of the kobold’s dagger solidified her choice. Her third fireball struck the unfortunate kobold square in the face.

The kobold opened its mouth to scream, inhaled the flames and was dead before it collapsed on the table, looking like some sort of grotesque sacrifice.

With a roar of glee, the goblin lashed at Shaddar with its whip again, leaving a slash across his face.

The pain and the wounds were too much for Shaddar. He fell to the floor.

With a whoop of glee, the goblin leaped its fallen foe and moved toward the base of the stairs to face the tiefling.

“NO!”

Luna faced off with the goblin and sought desperately for another spell that might help more. Holding both hands out in front of her, she spoke the words of the incantation and unleashed a shockwave. A monstrous thunder boom echoed deafeningly about the small antechamber and knocked the goblinoid backwards ten feet.

The goblin hadn’t a second to brace itself before the wave of energy hit it. There was an odd rattling sound that may have come from teeth or ribs. Flying back ten feet from the sheer force of the impact, the goblin landed against a rotting bookcase with a crunching splat. It was dead before it slid, squelching, to the floor with sawdust fluttering down around it.

The tears had dried on the tiefling’s face and she stood panting with the effort of her spell-casting. Then her attention slowly came back to the present and the prone form of her dragonborn friend lying bleeding on the floor near her feet.

“Shaddar!” she groaned and stepped quickly to his side, tail lashing the floor in tiny half-circles of terror.

Without ceremony, she fell to her knees and she prodded him ineffectually for a moment. Then she tugged his new shiny maille shirt higher up on his broad chest and attempting to listen for a heartbeat. There was one, distinct but slow, undoubtedly because of the pool of blood now staining her clothing and boots, Luna thought to herself.

“Alive,” she muttered to herself.

Holding her hands out automatically to cast her healing spell, she screwed up her concentration. Nothing happened.

“No...” she said, her voice faint and thin.

Magic cost her energy and she would not regain enough to do anything more than simple gimmicks until she’d had a long sleep. Even talking to animals was beyond her now.

“Ok, ok, no magic. What then? Think! You stupid, filthy, mangy, ignorant half-breed...”

Insults people had thrown at her in rare moments of contact with civilized places sprang quickly to her tongue as she fought her own rising panic. She’d had few friends before, though she knew in her heart that every plant, rock and good animal living in the world was her friend. Rarely had anyone who could speak Common deigned to spend more time with her than it took to aim an unkind word or a blow.

“You can’t die, dragony friend...”

She had never truly wished for a companion, certainly not after those insults. This one had been different. This one had been aloof but kind. This one had treated her as if she had value...

“Find the wounds. Stop the blood. Cushion the head,” she remembered, slowly, some taught by a friend long ago, some just common sense picked up by the necessity of living far from any aid.

Beginning her work, she methodically went over his entire scaly body, doing what she could and cursing over what would simply take time.

Shortly after she’d tended his wounds, the dragonborn’s breathing became less harsh and his pulse slowly became stronger.

Vaguely noticing these improvements, Luna continued to work past efficacy. Finally, when she could no longer find even the tiniest thing to do, she sat back on her haunches and truly appreciated the improvement in his condition.

“Don’t worry,” she murmured, awkwardly stroking the scaly forehead. “I’m here. I’m on watch.”

Discover what happens next in Episode 9: Deathwatch

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.

Nanowrimo

            November has drawn to a close and, with it, so ends this year’s Nanowrimo. What is Nanowrimo, you ask? It is (Na)tional (No)vel (Wri)ting (Mo)nth, when writers from around the world challenge themselves to write a 50,000 word novel in a month.

            I’m not one of those writers – although I do consider joining them every year. I know my limits, though. Some days I do manage to write enough words to reach that word count, but it’s only when inspiration strikes. Outside of that, my brain needs lots of background time to work on the story, otherwise I have no idea what’s going to happen next.

            However, Nanowrimo is about far more than reaching the word count. It encourages writers to just write, getting to the end of the story as fast as possible without making everything perfect. Multiple drafts, revisions and editing are for that.

The true goal is for writers to push themselves forwards with their writing and stretch their limits. That’s how I take part – by aiming to write more than I usually do. With a little over 10,000 words written in November, I’d say I succeeded in beating out my 5,000-6,000 word monthly average.

            There’s no way for a writer to fail at Nanowrimo as long as they do their best. However, for those that do reach the intended word count, hearty congratulations are in order. It’s no small feat to write a book that fast – so well done to you. Perhaps someday I’ll join your ranks.

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.

The Journey of the Outsider

            Something I’ve noticed is that a lot of stories – especially in fantasy – are about outsiders. The main characters tend to come from places where they’ve been cloistered off from the rest of the world, if not from an entirely different world all together.

            I’ve realized that at least part of the reason the reason these outsiders make such good main characters is because of how much it helps the author display the world. It limits the character’s knowledge and, as a result, allows the reader to learn about the world as the character does. That farmer living in a secluded village has a lot more to learn than a well educated scholar who is already immersed in the world.

            As readers, we are more forgiving to be told about a world if we’re learning along with the character. We don’t like the story being interrupted so we can be lectured about the world. If it’s the character who is learning, it’s then part of the story. We’re also more willing to accept mistakes the character may make out of ignorance, because we know everything that they know. It doesn’t matter if it’s common knowledge in the world – we didn’t learn it, so it is acceptable that the character also lacks this knowledge.

            Imagine how different the story would have been if Harry Potter had been raised within the wizarding world instead of with muggles. Or if Ron or any other wizard born character had the lead role. All the things that had our imaginations staring around in wonder and delight would have been every hay hum-drum to the main character. Instead of rubbernecking his way along Diagon Alley, pointing out all the wondrous shops, it would have been like a stroll in the shopping mall. We would have been lucky to have our attention drawn to the Nimbus 2000. All the magic would have been sapped out of the world because it was so normal to the character.

            Would Narnia had been so fantastic to someone who grew up there? Would a journey across Middle Earth have been so incredible if hobbits weren’t so reclusive?

            The reader is an adventurer, traipsing into an unknown world. Were we going there ourselves, we would want an experienced guide who knew the place. We aren’t, though. We are following along the experiences of our guide. If we want to experience the new world for ourselves, we need our guide to look upon it with the same wide-eyed wonder as we would.

            The journey of the outsider brings a new level of depth to a story. It’s no wonder we see so much of it.

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.

Pizza and Brains

            It’s interesting, what sticks with you over time. It isn’t always what you expect.

            This week, for the first time in over three years, I returned to the pizza store where my wife and I used to work. Colleen had just been cured of lactose intolerance and we were celebrating with lots of cheese.

            We were both uncertain as to what would be dredged up in our memories as we returned. While it makes the best pizza we know of, that store was a source of great stress for both of us – so much so that it led us to quit, in spite of the fact that we generally enjoyed the work itself and were very attached to the place.

            Entering the store as a customer (for the first time), I expected to be flooded with reminders of all the negativity that led to me quitting. Instead, I was surprised to find that, instead, I was remembering all the good times I’d had there. A few of the more entertaining bad memories surfaced, but my mind just glazed over them. Colleen reported much the same. That’s nostalgia for you.

            It’s nice to get flooded with positive when you’re expecting negative. I wonder if that’s just how our brains work – with it being easier to remember the good than the bad, as long as it was from long enough ago. Hmm... Now I must do some research into that.

            Oh, and the pizza was excellent. Coming from someone who spent five years treating making pizzas as an art, that’s saying something.

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.

What is it all for?

            With all these terror attacks this past week, it got me to thinking – what is actually the benefit of such attacks? Who stands to gain? What is the point of it all?

            In terror attacks, almost nothing can be achieved. Are you trying to prove a point? Okay, you got the attention of the world, but you don’t seem to have anything to say. If you did, we’re not exactly receptive after so many people have died. Are you trying to kill people who don’t believe the same as you? Hardly. In a world of billions, won’t make a difference to your war.

            The truth is, there are only two ways to benefit from a terror attack. The first (which is not the case with these attacks) is by being a government – if the people are afraid enough, they will object less to the government taking more power to protect them, or of giving up civil liberties. This is also an extremely stupid thing for a government to do because eventually it will be uncovered.

            The second is a manipulative mind-game with the world. By creating fear of a specific religion or culture, people are convinced to exclude, hate, oppress, and even attack people of that religion or culture. This reason is overlooked by most people because it doesn’t make sense for the attackers to turn people against themselves. Or does it?

            I actually missed seeing it at first – and I was specifically trying to figure out what was gained. Then I read an article that made it seem obvious. By encouraging people to oppress their primary pool for recruitment, the terrorist organisation has a better chance to draw people into their cause. After all, it takes two to fight – if the enemy is accepting your refugees, where will you find more soldiers to fight your war?

            Once we realize that, of course, it becomes simple to fight against. We mourn the tragic loss, but we do not allow ourselves to be filled with fear or hate. We pay attention to the truth that just because someone has something in common with a radical extremist, that doesn’t make them one. We stay open and welcoming to those different than ourselves.

            When we have done all that, terrorism will cease to have an effect. Once that become apparent, the attacks will become less common, then fade away. After all, why throw away soldiers on something that doesn’t work?

            But as long as people react with fear and hate, the terror attacks will continue. Because the true brilliance of this form of warfare is that it turns the victims into tools. Act with hate and you have unwittingly joined the terrorist army.

            All it takes is compassion. Welcome in those that the terrorists want you to drive into their arms. Then, and only then, will they truly be defeated.

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.

Treasure!

Of Dice and Glen is a story being written following D&D 5th Edition rules and using Minecraft as the battle mat (and to set the scene). Each of the two writers control their own characters and share the job of Dungeon Master (controlling the environment, story, monsters and background characters). As a result, neither of us has any clue of what's going on or where this is going. So, let's have fun!

This story is split between episodes being posted on the second Monday of every month. You can find the first episode here and the previous episode here.


Of Dice and Glen Episode 7: Treasure!

“Look out!” Luna yelped and dodged around the dragonborn to get a clear shot at the new foe. Holding up a hand that was suddenly brimming with fire, she hurled the molten missile at the goblin.

The flaming ball hit the suspicious goblin and it shrieked as the fire spread from his chest to his arms and even licked at its disgusting, stringy hair.

As Luna pushed past, Shaddar caught sight of the goblin he hadn’t noticed before. He followed in behind the flying flame, swinging at the goblin with sword and torch while it was frantically flailing at the fire.

The goblin’s flailing inadvertently helped it to dodge the swinging sword, but the torch slipped in to hit its forehead. The monster fell backwards onto the ground as the remaining flames stole its life away.

Panting, Shaddar turned and smiled weakly at Luna, his tongue unconciously flicking from behind his pointed teeth.

“Thanks.”

Smiling slyly at him, the tiefling poked her small, red tongue out from between her own pointed fangs. Her tail twitched in the dirt on the floor, in deep amusement.

“You’re welcome.”

Rolling his eyes - a maneuver he had learned from observing Luna - Shaddar turned and set about searching the corpses, not even bothering to ask the tiefling before sorting the money he found between the two stashes in his pouch.

“No boots,” she muttered, examining the corpses in her own way, ignoring Shaddar’s careful division of the money.

Looking at the tiefling’s booted feet, Shaddar admitted that they looked fairly worn, but they were still in perfectly serviceable condition.

“Your boots look fine to me, why would you need new ones?”

“What?” she looked up, distracted. “No. Not new. The older the better.”

Giving up, she stood and glared at the corpse, tail swishing irritably around behind her. Moving through the doorway before them, Luna quickly explored the small chamber, with no interest. Peeking cautiously around another doorway, she squeaked with excitement and fell upon a crude chest.

The chest was in a rough hewn cave that appeared to have been excavated around the remains of what had once been a balcony for the tower, but was now encased in stone and dirt.

Shaddar quickly followed behind Luna, worried that she was rushing into trouble.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Look! Look!” she squealed with delight holding up the gleaming, green emerald and for the moment ignoring the rest of the plainly expensive contents.

“Looks like we found their treasure trove,” Shaddar commented, coming over to examine the contents of the chest with her.

“It’s so pretty!” Luna agreed, with childish delight, not taking her eyes from the stone. “Can I keep it?”

Taking a close look at the gem, the white dragonborn’s tongue flickered.

“It’s magical. Do you know what it does?”

The tiefling’s hand suddenly shot out, grasping for the thin, forked tongue that was vanishing back behind the dangerously pointed dragon teeth. She caught it deftly, and gently, between two fingers, then released it just as quickly.

“No! Do you?” she said, as if nothing out-of-the-ordinary had happened, but there was a slight, incorrigible tilt to her head.

“Why’d you do that?” Shaddar demanded and started rubbing at his sensitive tongue, trying to eliminate the dirt and tiefling taste.

“To see if I could,” she said simply, then, slightly quieter, “why do you sound like I just lit your bed on fire?”

“Becauth you tathte terrible!” Shaddar said. Giving up on the scrubbing, he took a drink of his water. He gave her a sideways look - somewhere between frustrated and amused. “Don’t do that.”

“Oh, ok!” She agreed readily, turning back to her magic stone. “I did bathe last month,” she added, slightly hurt.

“What else have we got here?” Shaddar asked, going to look in the chest for himself. His eyes were immediately drawn to a shiny scale shirt. He lifted it out of the chest and gasped.

“It’s so light!”

Without worrying about possible consequences, he took off his current, heavy scale shirt and started putting on the new one. Under his scale shirt, his actual scaled back had a tree-like pattern in gold scales on his more common white scales.

Luna quickly grew bored with the laborious and tediously long business of fastening and unfastening armours. She amused herself by examining each item in turn, but all the time, keeping the emerald resting safely on her lap.

Looking up just in time to catch the tree-patterned scales, she sucked in her breath in awe and shuffled forward on her knees to get a closer look.

“You’ve got a tree in your scales! It’s so pretty!”

Shaddar turned around, inadvertently hiding his back from her curious eyes. “Hmmm? Yes, I was born with it.”

“I like it. Do all dragon-people have trees?”

Laughing, Shaddar shook his head. “No, everyone has their own patterns and colouring. I’m told both white and gold dragonborn are uncommon in the world, although both occasionally hatch in my clan.”

Crossing her legs and sitting in front of him, she listened, giving him her full, and rare, attention.

“What clan are you from? What are you called?”

“Drachdeliath,” Shaddar said, a hint of pride in his voice. He finished fastening his new armour on and moved about to get a feel for it. He snapped his teeth in approval. “I like this! Very nice; very light. What else have we got here?”

Luna wasn’t listening, however.

“All hail and cower before the mighty Drak-lilacs!” she bellowed, leaping to her feet, tail lashing excitedly about her. “Mightiest, honourable-est, strongest of all dragon-people!”

“Drachdeliath,” Shaddar corrected sharply, his eyes narrowing dangerously and small wisps of smoke issuing from his nostrils.

Instantly, the dun coloured tail ceased its excited lashing and Luna turned to regard the dragonborn with the first indication of fear she had ever shown towards him.

“I, um...” she began, uncertainly. “Oopsy! Sorry, I didn’t mean to... Could you pronounce it a bit slower?” she added, staring hard at his face, a determined expression replacing the quick flash of fear.

Shaddar’s expression instantly softened. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, turning away, toward the chest. “I don’t use my clan name anymore, anyway.”

“Why?” she asked, her voice softer than normal. A ridge of concern formed below her horns.

The dragonborn didn’t answer. Instead, he picked a vial of red liquid out of the chest. Curious, he gave it a shake and the red liquid glimmered. Fairly confident it wouldn’t be harmful, he unstoppered the vial and took a tiny taste.

“Healing potion,” he said, nodding as he felt the familiar tingle of healing magic.

There were certain hints that even this wild-living tiefling could read. The small wrinkle of concern didn’t smooth, but Luna nodded silently, behind the large, draconic back.

“You should take that,” she stated. “Some of us have healing in our hands.”

As proof, she held up both her grubby hands and wiggled the thin, but strong, fingers.

Shaddar chuckled. “That you do. Now this is a mystery.”

He held up a sloshing ceramic jug that looked like it could hold about a litre of liquid, but when he uncorked it, there was nothing inside. He even turned it upside-down and nothing came out, though it continued to slosh.

“I know! Here,” she reached out for the strange jug.

The dragonborn willingly surrendered the jug.

Grasping the container tightly, she appeared to take a small sip.

“Am I invisible?!” she squeaked excitedly.

“Where did she go?” Shaddar gasped sarcastically.

Clutching her hands in tiny fists pressed to her cheeks, Luna giggled like a small child and danced on the spot.

“I’m right here! Oooooh!”

“So you are,” Shaddar chuckled, reaching to pat her on the head, but then withdrawing his hand when he remembered her reaction last time.

Luna watched his hand approach, then begin to retract with satisfaction. Then, unexpectedly, she found herself not so averse to what was beginning to seem like a sign of... Affection.

Quickly, she ducked her head forward, bringing her horns up on either side of his hand, brushing his palm with her purple hair.

Slightly confused, Shaddar patted her head, then turned back to the chest. “What else have we got here?”

He reached in and pulled out a short blueish-grey cloak, trimmed in gold and with a long, thin tail protruding from the back.

“More magic, or I’m a talking lizard,” Shaddar said, flipping it around and examining it. “I wonder what it does.”

Smiling with embarrassment to herself, Luna examined the cloak as well, grabbing for it in her enthusiasm. Swirling it around her shoulders she suddenly crouched to the ground and scurried about the small chamber.

“Squeak! Squeak!” she said, in a passable imitation of a small rodent.

“Looks more like a sea creature than a mouse,” Shaddar commented, his voice tinged with amusement.

“A sea mouse?” she asked in slight awe. “I’ve never been to anything that big. Just ponds and lakes in one or two forests.”

“I’ve been to the sea a couple times,” Shaddar said with a shrug. “It’s just a big salty pond.”

He turned back to the chest and pulled out the last item - a fairly normal looking blue satchel. Frowning, knowing instinctively that it had some magic about it, he poked his nose inside. His eyes flew open.

“It’s bigger on the inside!”

“What?!” she exclaimed and grabbed at the edge, yanking it down. “By the Loki’s nose hair, it is!”

“I’ve heard of this sort of thing, but never seen one before,” Shaddar said, putting the open bag on the floor. “Watch this.”

Her retrieved his old scale shirt and put it in the satchel, then lifted the bag from the floor.

“I was right!” he said, laughing aloud. “The bag’s the same weight as before, even with the heavy scale mail inside.”

Luna stared in amazement, tail pointed stiffly in surprise. Quickly growing bored with this new wonder, she turned back to the chest, still wearing the odd cloak.

“That’s the lot,” she said, slightly disappointed. “Now if we can only figure out what it all does...”

Holding up the emerald again, the curious tiefling squinted at it, hard.

“Reveal your secrets to me, little shiny stone!”

The emerald glinted back innocently. It seemed to be surrounded by inaudible whispers.

“If we took the time, I’m sure we could figure them out,” Shaddar said, “but I’m worried about the rest of the goblins. I don’t want their boss to escape again.”

“Rrrrrrrr...!” the tiefling growled, viciously, dropping to her hands and feet in good imitation of a wolf. “You’rrrrrre rrrright! Let’s get ‘em!”

They traveled back to the room with the decrepit bed and through the second doorway, past the kobold Luna had killed. Around a corner at the far end of the passage, there was a stairway leading down. From below came the occasional crack of a whip, followed by an anguished yelp.

Discover what happens next in Episode 8: Big Bad Boss

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.