Sunday, September 18, 2016

Something something heroes never stop never stopping

Rylie had of course heard that the world was hollow and that devils, trolls, and the occasional politician lived in the depths far below normal people's feet.  Some empty headed bozo had been peddling that sad story his entire life.  Being a rational man, he had ignored or openly mocked any one who actually believed such dumb children's stories.  But now, as he looked out over what could only be described as a cavern. As cavernous. It extended endlessly beyond his sight, disappearing into the distant shadows cast from the dim glow of what appeared to be a lumious lichen that clung to the shores of what he suspected to be a massive underground ocean.  There were boats out there for crying out loud.  They all had a skull, spider, or something oh so melodramatic painted on the sails. Whatever. They were still boats on an underground ocean!

Into this underground world of darkness he had crept following the trail of the false elves.  They had descended into the darkness to a poorly defended camp.  Clearly they felt little danger here.  Why would they, any army from the surface faced with this unreality would break and run if they weren't busy begging their gods for mercy.  Thobis the burnt out wizard and Nealo the priest of Alilili had been dumped unceremoniously in what could only be described as a pen.  A slave pen.  They were chained and left on their own.  After a time they had finally stirred.  Thobis, the great genius that he was, had immediately tried to cast some sort of spell.  This had just alerted the guards that he needed "special" treatment.  He'd been summarily beaten, hog tied, and gagged.  Nealo priest of Alilili was as useful as always, and reminded Thobis that Alilili didn't help those who couldn't help themselves.  Thobis responded with suitably aggressive wiggles and gagged voice noises.  Nealo busied herself with staring at nothing. Neither of them seemed to notice the absense of Rylie from the bondage they found themselves in. Perhaps they thought him a coward.  Perhaps he thought, he wasn't the one in chains needing rescue.

Next to them in the slave pen was a large pile of hair.  Suddenly it blinked and deep set eyes full of a lifetime of misery and remorse peered around.  It shifted and fixated upon the new comers.  "So, uh what are ya in for?"  He looked at them as if he wasn't stripped to his under shorts, afixed to the floor with chains, or in a slave pen miles beneath the surface.  "Adventurers huh?"  He continued without waiting for a response through a moustache that completely hid his mouth and quivered with each word.  "You know adventurering is a noble profession, first practiced by the anciet Humbuaeites."  He nodded to himself as if he was agreeing with his own comment.  "They didn't invent the word though.  Oh no," he shook his head causing the great flaps of skin that passed for his ears to flop well past the point when his head otherwise stopped moving, "That was the Othamotiradins in distant Kool'Zoo of course.  Their head Uoozith was said to be the first cousin twice removed of the one of the greatest Adventurers.  Of course that was years before the Ix and their heresy machine set all the Othamotira temples to the holy cleansing fire of M'dekfaoe, but that was only on account of the price of a good Onqaovneowav in those days.  Why I could tell you some stories about the..."  In mid speech a rock cracked into his temple. He stopped talking and regarded them with the same woebegone expression he'd maintained during the entire speech, except now blood trickled down his face.

One of the evil elfin guards slithered and strutted into the pen and loomed angelically over him, "You have been warned to cease your prattling or we will remove your fat tongue one hair width at a time until your only story is an endless poem of pain and suffering."  The content of the warning was dire, but one couldn't help but admire the dulcet tones of the slaver's voice.  Rylie pinched his arm to remind himself that this cherubic being had just threatened slow and deliberate torture for the heinous crime of talking too much.  The impish horror reached down and trailled one of its fingers across the hairy man's scalp. The softness of his touch was matched only by the casual elegance of his movements.  Without warning there was a blur of movement, and then a sharp crack of skin and bone hitting skin and bone.  The waifish cherub struck with such velocity and violence that it sent the hairy man to the ground groaning amidst a sea of wild hair.

And there standing above the prone form, with a grin of such satisfaction and pleasure, was the very image of innocence. Then with perfectly pointed fangs glimmering in the dim light, the smile twisted. The illusion suddenly faded.  All of the beauty and grace that had surrounded this hell spawn beast like a second skin was gone and only the twisted, spite filled embodiment of cruelty and sadism stood there over the prone man. Everything seemed darker in that instant as if the light itself was afraid.  The twisted creature  purred in a newly thin and shrill voice, "If you forget again, I will wield the knife personally."

Then, just as switfly as the illusion had left, it was back and the elf stood and twirled a stylish pirouet.  Once again it became near impossible to see anything except utter sophistication as it skipped out of sight whistling a happy tune that would have made children smile and caper in delight.

Tuesday, September 13, 2016

Something Something Heros part whateversville

Sweat dripped from Rylie's nose and the overwhelming humidity caused his clothes to cling to his body until he felt like he was swimming through the sunless tunnels. The maddening silence in the lonely all-compassing darkness had stretched on for hours as he followed the unconscious forms of his former adventuring party. Well, them and the party of vicious, and heavily armed, underworld elves that carried them to Alilili knew where. Rylie used his full training in the stealthy arts to keep his damp clothing from swishing and his sodden boots from squeaking. All the while remaining, somehow, out of sight of the supernaturally lithe and unearthly beautiful creatures, that would have to be covered in pots and pans and tied to a screaming cat to make any noise as they traipsed with an indifferent ease through the stone corridors.

 At one point he had put his hand in some unidentified slime causing an involuntary weak sigh to escape from his weary lips. A slight soft exhalation of breath that even he had struggled to hear. The pointy eared villains had stopped immediately and drawn wicked blades covered in an oily black substance that could only be a deadly poison. Rylie froze like a deer in headlights, whatever those were. Their teeth were perfect. They were perfectly pointed and razor sharp. There gorgeous faces turned to murderous masks in seconds. The bodies of Thorbis the burnt out wizard and Nealo the priest of Alilili were on the ground in an blink. Somehow silence still echoed through the corridor. If Rylie could have moved or spoken in that instant, he would have cursed their unending perfection. Like a stalking spider they crept with demoralizing speed down the halls toward Rylie's hiding place. 

This was it. Rylie felt an emptiness in his stomach. Thorbis and Nealo were going to be sacrificed to some nubile demon god. He wouldn't be so lucky. Visions of his death danced with a cold clarity through his mind. The cruel kiss of a dagger. The passionate torture of a poison running its course. Beauteous features filling his vision, while vile claws cradled his face, as he coughed up the last of once vital fluids. A shiver would have run up his spine, but he held as still as stone. Somehow, someway they stopped short. The sound of a elf's dismissive sniff echoed like thunder through Rylie's head.

 Then, with the unconcerned nonchalance only an apex predator can muster, they scooped up the prone forms of Thorbis and Nealo and padded away into the creeping gloom with a grace and beauty that would have made a ballerina cry. If the fear of losing the trail hadn't been so paramount Rylie would have curled up into a ball and had a long and cleansing cry. But, now more than ever the others needed him. Why he felt such loyalty to them he didn't know. No one deserved whatever fate awaited the prisoners of these fay fiends he reasoned. With a quiet yet ragged breath he pushed off from the wall and set off into the damp and gloom. Come what may, he would see this through.

Wednesday, May 18, 2016

I'm back

Both parties are imploding, everyone is saber-rattling, and Budweiser is now America. But as long as we can kick back and have a non-shite beer, I think we are okay.

Wednesday, April 20, 2016

The Fear of the Hustle

I spent a lot of time today listening to podcasts.  Podcasts about passive income, life coaching, canned chili, and productivity.  I listened about blogs, vlogs, and slogs.  The dream of starting a multimedia internet empire quickened my pulse and spiked my attention.  The dream of videos like Casey, Podcasts like Merlin, and Blogs like M. John Fayhee.  Being all of my favorites in one.  But I am not my favorites.  I am me.  In high school I remember I played Chopin for some friends and afterwards diddled away on the keys for a time and the one fellow remarked that he enjoyed the second piece much more so than the first.  When I told my piano teacher, somewhat proud of the fact that I had out done the genius Chopin, she replied in her usual dry manner, "I'm sure Chopin played Chopin better than Bach."

I'm sure Chopin played Chopin better than Back.  But do I, the brave and daring Khusrow, play Khusrow better than Casey?  I for one know that my 3 attempts at video making do not compare to the compelling daily videos that Casey Neistat composes after years of perfecting his craft with laser focus.  I have always felt, and maybe this is showing my privilege, that money was easy so long as that was all you wanted.  If your only care in the world was to collect money than collecting money would be easy.  The trick for most people is that money is just the tool to do what they want to do and so money seems so elusive.  The thing that has been holding me back from writing, playing music, making videos, building webpages, building passive income streams; is that I am not convinced that that is what I really want.  Do I want a flexible schedule that earns money without me doing much to make that money?  Yes.  But is that flexible time and easy money just a tool for me to do what I really want to do?  Yes.  And am I going to keep pursuing what I really want to do instead of building my multimedia empire that empowers me to do the things I want to do?  Yes.

This is the great problem.  Am I willing to not work on motorcycles now so that I have piles of cash and calendars of free time to work on motorcycles later?  Am I willing to work hard and miss time with my kids now in the hopes that I would have gobs of free time to spend with them later?  Am I willing to not spend time with people now so that I could be generous with my time and money with those same people later?

These are all questions I struggle to answer.  What is the cost to the success that I want?  Am I willing to pay that price?  The price in hours and stress and lack of sleep.  The cost of building a business that I think I would be good at in the after hours of a job that I am also good at, but consumes so much of my time?

 In January Lindsey and I discussed having May be a month of hustle.  To see what a side business would look like for 1 month if I threw it all in,  In January I thought that business was pipe making, which is something I really enjoy doing.  But I have a strong feeling that this is a saturated market with a narrow audience.  So I've been thinking of creating many things with a larger breadth and a larger audience.  I don't know what that would look like and I don't think May is my month to dive into those things but major changes feel like they are swirling in my mind and I do not know where they will go.