Pain

I have a feeling this is going to be a rambling post. If that doesn’t float your boat, you can skip this one. I’ve got some stories down below that are interesting, I think.

I just painted this today and may change it soon, but overall, I’m satisfied with it. I teach art to elementary kids. It’s a lot of fun and I love my job. One of the things I do is talk to kids about colors and what they mean. The kids always know that red means angry. Which in itself is telling of how powerful colors are to our psyche. Bu I digress. I’ve been thinking about pain. And in the back of my mind, pain is always red. If it’s a headache or cramps, I can picture my body flooded with a bright, crimson color.

So many people are in pain right now.

I am. Thanks to crazy weather patterns, my head has been blooming headaches like it’s spring. Pain.

My sister just had a baby. Pain.

A friend will have a baby. Pain.

A friend has overwhelming sinus pressure and is scared. Pain.

A friend is hurting their spouse and has run away from the repercussions. Pain.

My heart has been breaking. Pain.

I retreat from my own pain. I curl up in a ball and hide it from everyone around me. No one else has to shoulder this. No one else should bear this burden. I will just stay small until the pain goes away.

There are plenty of things I will stand my ground and face down. I will be in your corner through thick and thin. And if YOU are in pain, I will stand at your side, though I never know what to do. I always fear I’m saying the wrong thing. When you are in pain, I feel frozen in indecision because I just want to take it away, but that’s not my choice. I don’t get to take away your pain. I would shoulder all of the pain, if I could, because I would try to squirrel it away and not let anyone else have to witness it.

I sit here and ponder where I am going with this. What truth do I want to wrestle with?

I come back to the truth that I know. God is good. He has felt pain and he will take ours. The pain of this world is not because He has something against us, but because we move away from him. We run away. We hide in the corner, curled in a little ball, and wait for the pain to go away. God waits. He sits down next to us in the corner and tells us that as soon as we want to curl into him, he will take our pain. It may not go away, but the burden isn’t ours anymore. I may still be scared, but God will hold my hand. I may still see the repercussions of terrible choices, but God will lift my face to the light.

When I art (paint, draw, or whatever) it is a moment of giving that emotion to God. Whatever that may be. That dragon I painted is a representation of the pain I have witnessed recently on my friend’s face. Maybe in an emotional moment I’ll destroy or erase it. But there’s something in being able to look at that dragon and know that God will take care of it. I don’t know how. I don’t know when. But it’s not my pain to curl around in the corner.

If you are in pain, I’m so sorry.

I pray that you find relief in God’s reassurances. I never know the right words to say, but I know that God is there and you’re never alone in your pain.

Prelude 2

Mirdin is a decent-sized city with a basic wall for fortifications. Whenever the Forest Count was fleeing Joborn, he made his residence here. Currently, the walls of the city were adorned with festive banners for the Forest Count, the Duke of Joborn, and Queen Yolanda of Nostria.

Lannie the Lone-Legged, or Lanika, had been incredibly close-lipped about anything of import. She had been on the run for the last three or so days, attempting to escape the bandits who had found her shipwrecked and then dragged her inland. She didn’t care to eat the possum Catcher found, although I was in agreement with her this time. Possum isn’t my favorite and with Mirdin a short day’s walk, I simply stuffed the carcass into my pack as Catcher looked longingly at it. He took off as we approached the city, knowing I’d call him when I had settled. Neither of us liked the busyness of the street, but I couldn’t escape on my own wings.

Lanika and I passed a short man yelling orders to the conscripted peasants attempting to build a moat around a city that never had one. I mentally wished him luck as I spotted Jasper, a cityguard at the gates to the city.

“Jasper!” I called out, a smile lighting up my face. He turned with his own smile which turned into a look of disgust as I tossed the bandit’s ear at him. He caught it with a squelch.

“Ah, Kasmira. I’m glad you take your job so seriously, but this is a terribly outdated practice. Maybe you could stop cutting off ears and find another way to bring proof of bandits and bounty?” He carefully tucked the ear away and pulled silver from his pouch.

I took the silver with a peck on his cheek. “But then I wouldn’t get to see you squirm so much. Where would the fun be in that?”

The pained look he gave me brought a chuckle out of me. It was at that moment that Lanika pushed her way forward. Jasper looked at her and her clothes and exchanged a look with me.

“Is this a friend of yours?”

I didn’t really have an answer to that, but Lanika spoke up. “I’m Nikki. She found me out in the woods. I’m just passing through.”

“Ah, yes. She has seen the bandit’s camp out in the woods. I’m hoping to talk to Alida about it.”

“I see,” Jasper said, still looking at Lanika. He had the look of someone who had recognized an old friend, but was struggling to recall where they had last met.

A man nearly ran into me, pulling his donkey out of the way of a band of horses. He stuttered a bit as he encouraged the beast on.

“Sorry about the interruption, but it looks like the Duke of Joborn just arrived. I’ll go inform Alida you made it back.” Jasper gave me a quick smile before turning away. The donkey and its handler moved enough out of the way, thanks to a quick stab from Lanika motivating the beast. I looked beyond to the men getting off their horses.

The Duke dismounted, and smoothed his dirty blond hair back from his face. He said something witty to make the party laugh and flipped a coin to the stable boy who had grabbed his horse’s bridle. His brown eyes did a quick scan of the rooftops and alleys before settling on me. My stomach dropped out of my body and all breath fled as we stared at each other across the courtyard.

“Kassi? Kassi, is that you?” In several long strides, he stood face-to-face and I stared into the face of my brother. He grabbed me in a hug, grinding all of my bones together as I whispered.

“Mihel?”

Apparently this exchange had halted all work and activity in the area. Jasper was at my side in a flash as Mihel set me back down.

“Wait, Kasmira, your brother is the Duke of Joborn?”

The noise that escaped me was not coherent, but all members took it as an affirmative.

“Girl, you are in so much more trouble than you know.” Lanika murmured behind me so I was the only one to hear.

Mihel turned to her and took in her figure. I rolled my eyes at his leering gaze. For her part, Lanika batted her eyelashes as she loosened her cutlass. “Is this your servant? You have a servant, now?”

“My name’s Nikki.” I heard the threat, if my brother didn’t. He grabbed me in another giant hug and ignored Lanika completely.

“It has been so long! I can’t believe you’re here! No, this is clearly a sign. You have to come to dinner. We have so much to discuss and I want to know what has happened to you in the past year. Promise you’ll come to dinner?”

I squeaked again, trying to make actual words, but nothing really came out. It didn’t matter. Mihel smiled again and squeezed my hand.

“Just come to the castle at sundown. We will eat and talk and you can bring your servant girl too. Oh Kassi, this is the best news I could have gotten. Luck is with me today! Remember, sundown!” With that, Mihel disappeared into the crowd of the square and I found the ability to breathe again.

“I’ll repeat myself, because it looks like you couldn’t hear me. But you are in so much trouble now,” Lanika said with not a little glee.

Jasper laid a hand on my arm, staring at me with concern on his face. “That was your brother? Your brother is Mihel Oakkinger?”

“Obviously it was her brother They have the same hair, eyes, face! They are even both stupidly tall. Although he looked more human than her. I guess elf genes don’t always show up?” Lanika mused. “She has the ears and he doesn’t. I wonder if there’s anything else about him that is more half-elf.”

“I need a drink,” I interrupted Lanika.

“What? I mean, you know you can get a drink at the Happy Pony. I’ll be there after my shift. But didn’t you want to talk to Alida?” Jasper said.

“Also, I’m not sure you want to drink before you go and talk to your brother. You might want to keep your wits about you, since yours just fled faster than that mule.”

I glared a Lanika, but conceded the point she was trying to make. If I was to talk to my brother again, I would need to remember how to form words and hopefully sentences.

“First, Alida. Then my brother. And his name was Mihel Linenweaver. I have no clue how he got the last name Oakkinger. But it’s a stupid name.”

Prelude 1

“Cowards,” I muttered to myself. The men I had been tracking were in turn hunting a woman. She stumbled along the path on her peg leg, acting the wounded prey part too well. The bandits circled around to attack in a pincer move. I whistled to my falcon and he let out a cry above the tree canopy. He had them marked. One bandit with a crossbow glanced upward at the sound, but the other was too intent on his victim.

“Stop there! You can’t run anymore, sweetie,” the bandit with a long dagger stepped out of the treeline next to the woman with one leg. He brandished the dagger in what he assumed to be a threatening manner.

“Remember the orders! Don’t harm her!” The bandit with the crossbow called across the way. He leveled his own weapon before yelling again, this time at the woman. “Just drop yer weapons and come with us! We won’t harm you if you do what I say!”

The entire woods held its breath for a second.

With a wild cry, the woman leaped the distance between her and the knife-wielding bandit, swinging a cutlass in a high arc. She slashed through the patchwork armor on his leg and bright crimson blood splattered the air.

“You bitch! Screw orders, I’ll gut you for that!”

I stepped out of the treeline, calling attention to the man with crossbow. “Oi! What do you want the woman for? Two against one seems a little unfair.”

He spun around and his eyes widened to see my crossbow pointed at him. “Ain’t none of your business!” He yelled and triggered the bow. The bolt whistled off into the forest beyond me and grin slid across my face.

“I can play that game too.” I shot him in the shoulder. He dropped his crossbow, pulling a short sword from his belt and ran at me. I managed to block his downward swing with my crossbow, stopping the blade inches from my face. Beyond my vision, I could hear the other bandit cursing up a storm and then fleeing into the forest. The man in front of me grunted with the effort of pulling his blade free, and stepped back to observe me. His eyes went wide, taking in my appearance. He swung wildly again, but I caught the blade again, this time on my own short sword. He turned to run, and I cut him across the back. I grimaced as he went down in a pile and the blood began pooling around him. I was going to need his ear then. Taking a deep breath to calm the adrenaline coursing through me, I looked back at the woman I had just saved. She also took deep breaths, glaring at me the whole time. I shrugged at her, my eyes traveling over her outfit and gear, coming to rest on her peg leg. Oversized, flamboyant coat. Loose pants and shirt. Too many weapons for a normal person. A bruise over one eye and rope burns around her wrist. She held the cutlass out at me, daring me to make a comment.

“We’ll talk in a minute. You’re not going anywhere, are you?” I said before turning my back on her. The odd shuffle run she had was the only alert she was running at me. A grunt and a thump told me she had tripped on something. When I looked back and saw her levering herself up, I wisely chose not to comment.

The bandit didn’t have much on him and I sliced off his ear before taking his pouch. I pocketed the ear and opened the pouch, walking back to the pirate. She sat on the ground, next to the root which had tripped her. She hadn’t stopped glaring. I pulled several silver pieces and a parchment from the bag. Unfurling the parchment, I saw the pirate’s face sketched out next to her name and bounty. Lannie the Lone-Legged. Worth one hundred silverthalers. I let out a low whistle and spun the parchment so she could see it.

“A hundred silver? For you? What have you done?” I glance at the bounty and read it again. “Piracy and murders. Wanted by the Duke of Joborn. Who is currently Andergasten and can kiss my ass.”

“Is a hundred silvers a lot to you? What a sad life you have lived.” Her voice was low and slightly scratchy as if she was accustomed to yelling orders. Her glare had been replaced with a sneer, which did little to improve her looks. I stared at her sun-weathered face, taking in the jewelry, the squint of the brown eyes, and the wild, untamed, salt-encrusted hair.

I ignored her question and straightened up, giving a short whistle. Catcher flew down from his observation post to land on my wrist. I gave him a pet before sending him back up to hunt for lunch. His mighty wings quickly taking him out of sight into the woods.

“Look, I don’t like the Duke of Joborn. I’m sure he’s a terrible person and he probably smells. As such, I’m willing to help you out a bit. You look like a fish out of water. I can help you get back to where ever it is you want to get.”

“I don’t have any money,” she said. Her eyes kept darting to the bounty in my hands. “But I would ask you to rip up that bounty and not tell anyone about me. What would you want in exchange?”

I knew the smirk on my face would infuriate her. It grew wider as her snarl increased. “I’ll get you back to where ever AND I will rip up this bounty in exchange for two favors.” I held up the number of fingers. “These are favors I can call in at any time and you owe me, even at your own expense. Deal?”

The pirate thought it over for a brief minute. She pushed herself to standing, not coming near my own height, and walked over to me. With one hand on her cutlass, she held the other out to me to shake. “You’ve got a deal.”

We shook hands and I gave her the bounty paper. It looked like the forest had rained paper when she had finished shredding it between her fingers.

“What’s your name?” She asked as the paper fluttered to the ground.

“Kasmira. Come on, Mirdin is this way. Joborn is in the other direction and right now, I don’t think you’d like Andergastans. Their respect for women leaves much to be desired.” I began walking along the dirt path. The forest was quiet still. I mentally marked where the other bandit had run off into the woods. The fact these bandits had been under orders to retrieve Lannie left something unsettled in my stomach.

YouTube Star?

Before you get all excited that I’m about to become super famous, I’ll tell you that’s not going to happen. Wait, you didn’t think that? I could be famous, if I wanted. Except that sounds like hell on earth.

It was continued to be a bit of a whirlwind when it comes to life. Over the summer I helped a friend write, edit, and test a game he is creating. It’s pretty damn cool. A role-playing game set in the bronze age. You can play as someone from Ancient Egypt, Isreal, Greece, or Persia. There’s monsters and magic and mystery. I’m quite thrilled with it. But sadly, this post is not about that game. I should make one about that game. Another time.

I’ve also been gaming quite a bit and this same friend invited me into a pretty sweet setup. If you are at all familiar with Geek and Sundry, you would know Critical Role. You may also know about the dozens of other groups of people playing games online for people to watch.

Well, that’s what I’ve gotten involved in.

In an effort to bring to the attention of more Americans, a German company has hired my friend to start an online game of The Dark Eye. Now, The Dark Eye is the German equivalent of Dungeons and Dragons. With about six thousand more rules and tables to follow. It’s still pretty cool.

So yeah! I’m going to be a player online! With friends! Making an idiot of myself. Per usual. I hope you’ll watch! I’ll be sure to post the videos here when they come up. I’ve also been thinking of writing recaps/the story from my viewpoint as a writing exercise. My next post will be the prelude.

I will be playing a character called Kasmira Linenweaver. She is a half-elf bounty hunter with a not-so-tragic backstory. She grew up quite happy with her family, if not entirely happy with how her life seemed to be planned out. Weaving is fine. There’s nothing wrong with it. But it’s not EXCITING. So, when she had the chance, she left with her brother, Mihel, to become bounty hunters. A little over a year ago, she had a fight with Mihel and they parted ways after they attempted to work out their differences with fists and daggers. She hasn’t told her parents about that, and fears seeing Mihel’s face on a bounty and being obligated to hunt him down. Family is complicated.

That’s it! I’ll be playing within a group of eight and we have a raven witch, a pirate, and a ranch hand among the characters. I’m hopeful I’m not going to die, and have a pretty strong character for that. Please look forward to videos arriving in September or October!

If you want to do any research, here is the site for the game and company.  https://www.ulisses-us.com/games/the-dark-eye/

Moody (sorry)

I tell everyone what they want to hear. I tell them the pretty things, the things that won’t cause worry. And then, when I find those people, those few, shining souls who are honest and lovely, I collapse in relief. I don’t have to lie anymore. I don’t have to pretend that everything is fine. That I’m not in constant inner turmoil. That the 642 browser tabs open in my brain aren’t driving me crazy. There’s no more pretend. Thank God. Thank God for those people. For the few. The two. The one.

And yet. And yet, there is not just one. There are several. More precious than gems. Ones who I would do anything for, but don’t know how to tell them. Don’t know how to express my gratitude. My emotions. Because those are messy. And messy is painful. It doesn’t matter if they can’t do calculus in their sleep. It doesn’t matter if they can’t create worlds with words and paint sunsets with a wave of their hand. Their value doesn’t lie in their abilities. It lies within their souls. The fact that they took one look and loved. Loved someone who wonders if they’re broken inside. Who wonders if they will ever truly love, because they just don’t get it. I’ve tried. And failed. So many times I’ve failed to get the facial expression right. To get the right tilt of the head, the right lilt in my voice, the right feeling. And so I’m stuck back in my head. Back wondering what is wrong and where did I fail?

These few come to me and take my hand and tell me they love me regardless. They pat my head. They sit and listen to my stories. Stories of love and wonder. Of bravery and cowardice. Of dreams and nightmares. And I love them for it. They see me. The love is there and it is so precious.

But then I wonder. Is this what I deserve? This form of pure love and acceptance? Do I really deserve that? I doubt it. I question it. No one could love me like that. So I search. I look. Someone else must want me. Love me. Not purely. Not through friendship and patience. And then I find someone. Someone who doesn’t quite fill the hole. Someone who isn’t quite as good as those others. Those broken, lovely others.

And I perpetuate the lies. I tell everyone what they want to hear. Oh, the hair! Oh, those eyes! Oh, the strength, the smile, the laugh, the, the, the person. But that isn’t really it. I like those things, but they don’t keep the attention. They don’t shut down the browser tabs. They don’t quite get the voices to quiet down. But I giggle. I sigh. I bat my eyes and try again to get the right facial expression. This is interest, right? Affection? Love?

Nope. Got it wrong again. I think I figured it out. The person who listens to my stories of the stars and says, “but have you heard this one?” The person who sees my pictures and tells me, “that color is more cerulean than blue.” The person who knows just a little bit more than I in that one subject. And gently teaches me because I wish to learn. The one who tells me that I am enough.

It’s not just one person though. It’s not a legion either. There’s not many of them. But they’re there. And they’re enough.

Thank you for being enough. Thank you for telling me that I am enough. Thank God you found me. Thank God you’ve stayed next to me. I’m not what others expect, but for now, you want to sit next to me and hear my stories.

The Convoluted Path

I’m sitting here, staring at my computer screen with a hundred thoughts scrambling my brain. Foremost, I’ve got to figure out what I’m teaching tomorrow. Because, yes, I am now a teacher. An art teacher at an elementary school. And the more I sit here and try to convince myself to finish planning and figure out those art lessons, the more I’m flabbergasted by my current life.

It was not a straight path from there to here.

I always knew I wanted to be a teacher. I think I decided so in first grade. I spent my whole student life aiming toward the end goal of being an elementary school teacher. That’s why I picked the school I did. That’s why I volunteered with kids at church. That’s why I can rattle off a dozen instances where I focused on children and working with them. I graduated college and I didn’t get the job I wanted. In fact, I didn’t get any job. Trust me, my grades are just fine. I didn’t have a problem there. I had no clue what was going on. I struggled. Hard. For about a year, I cried every day I drove home from my retail job. I railed against the forces preventing me from succeeding and questioned everything I knew about a God who placed this desire in me. I had the desire. I had the skills. I had the experience.

Nothing.

Failure.

As you would know, if you have read any other post, I ended up going to Japan and teaching English. While there, I came to realize that I had been brought to that country for a purpose beyond myself. While I did gain wisdom and experience and insight, I had been called to Japan for someone besides me. And as soon as I fulfilled that purpose, I began experiencing panic attacks and SAD(seasonal affected disorder). I couldn’t handle the mental taxation of being an outsider, minority, gaijin. I’m still embarrassed to say that. I left Japan a full year before I expected. I felt like a failure. Again.

I moved in with a friend who graciously opened her home to me. I got a job back at the store I had worked before. I also eventually got a job at a coffee shop. Learned to bite my tongue and be the best customer service worker there was. In the meantime, my roommate struggled with depression and considered suicide. When she found out I had told her parents about her struggles, she kicked me out of her house. I was fortunate to be able to move back home. But swallowing my pride and asking my parents to allow their 29-year-old daughter to move back brought the feelings of failure again.

I can recognize that I am not actually a failure. That does not mean I never felt like one. That also doesn’t mean that I never told myself what a mess I was. It didn’t matter that I had random teaching jobs. It didn’t matter that I was always surrounded by friends and a community that truly cared. I had a plan. It didn’t work out. It never would.

As if this wasn’t enough of a downer for you to read, I’ll throw in the other failures. I expected to be married years ago, similar to my sisters and mother. Still solidly single. And according to some sources, that’s my fault because I am not pretty enough, a lady enough, or generally enough. I also had ambitions to be a writer. I’ve been writing stories for forever and have characters from high school that I would still love to see come to life. But, I can’t finish a story. I’m close, or was, and a huge plot hole has derailed that particular story and I’ve had to restart. Another thing I’ve failed at. I’m not as much of an artist as my sister, as much of a traveler as the other one, or even a self-starter like my brother.

Sheesh. This has gotten dreary.

Luckily, there is a glorious “but” in all of this.

But this week is seven weeks until the end of a school and I get to look forward to two months of summer vacation. Because I’m a freaking art teacher in an elementary school. The school I’m at is difficult. Lower income. Very transient population. English is not the primary home language. Anger, pain, and sadness permeate the halls. I love my job. I love my students. I know I’m making a difference. This is where my heart has been longing for.

If I had gotten this job straight out of college, I would have failed. And if I had failed then, with these kids, the pain would be ten-fold.

Thank God, I didn’t get this job then. I needed to understand how it felt to not succeed easily. I needed to live somewhere people didn’t understand me. I needed to learn how to teach those who don’t think traditionally. I needed to learn compassion. I needed to learn how to keep my mouth shut. I needed eight long years to become the person I am now. Without those eight years, I couldn’t do what I do now.

Writing? Well, I think I’ve told you about my D&D games. Super nerdy, I know. Through writing groups and playing durr ‘n durr, I’ve met some amazing people. One of these people is publishing an RPG game. They designed, wrote, and have play-tested it. I was asked to write for their game. It’s not the story-telling I imagined in high school. It’s not the stories I’ve written in writing groups. But it’s collaborative and engaging and has a purpose beyond elevating myself.

All of these lessons I will need to learn again. But I’ve been given this story to tell. I’m able to remind myself in the dark days that there has been light. There will always be light. I’ll feel like a failure. I won’t be prepared for the next adventure until I go through another trial. Even this job that I love is forging me into a new person. Someone who can handle the next thing.

I’ll always want that manual that tells me what comes next and how long I have to wait. Fortunately, it is a long path and it is preparing me for my future.

Response

Friends and others,

Something that you may have learned about me either through interaction or through reading some of my material on this site, is that I take time to process things. I once explained my thought processes to a roommate and she exclaimed, “Oh my gosh, it’s like leaving dozens of music tabs open[on your browser]!” And she’s not wrong about that. So much goes on inside my head, that sometimes it takes me longer to determine what is the appropriate response. Do I lash out immediately? Do I sit and stew, maybe plot some evil revenge? Or do I attempt to find the response that God wants from me?

I’m not too good at the last one.

So as I have sat and processed, occasionally aloud with friends, I have determined several important things about this last weekend.

1. Matthew 5:21-22 “You have heard that it was said to the people long ago, ‘Do not murder and anyone who murders will be subject to judgment.’ But I tell you that anyone who is angry with his brother will be subject to judgment… Anyone who says, ‘You fool!’ will be in danger of the fire of hell.” What happened in Charlottesville, VA on August 12, 2017, was evil. The amount of hatred, anger, desire to oppress, and blatant disrespect for human life was overwhelming. In response, many people reacted with more anger and hatred. There was very little good about rallies and protests and counter-protests. At the very heart of it was hatred.
2. I haven’t gotten on my soapbox on either Twitter or Facebook in order to shout out my disdain and contempt for the Neo-Nazi, White Supremacy behavior and hatred like so many others. In fact, the call on Twitter to publicly make statements left me cringing and frustrated. I do not see the point of yelling into the void in 140 characters or in a little blue box on a social site that only makes people angry. Doing so leaves you open to misinterpretation. If you question my love for people because of this, then you don’t know me. I try to follow the two most important commandments given to us by Jesus. 1. Love the Lord with all your heart, mind, soul, and understanding. 2. Love your neighbor as yourself.
3. If you ever need to wrestle with what is going on, you are more than welcome to talk with me. Understand, I may not always agree with every word you say, but I will attempt to listen and respect your thoughts. I have been blessed with my beloved friend, L. We often land on opposite sides of the fence on many different issues. But for the past 15 years we have learned to talk, listen, and discuss our opinions, beliefs, dreams, and fears without judgment or condemnation. I have had the privilege of telling L that I don’t agree with her choices and in response, she listened and then hugged me. There are even more times when she thinks I’m the one being an idiot, and she tells me while I listen and struggle to understand. We have fought, but we respect each other and even occasionally end up on the same side of the fence, in agreement through respect.
4. The Kingdom of God is breaking through. He is coming to save and redeem us from our failures and sins. But He’s not here yet. We have to fully trust in God’s promises that there is more beyond this meager life. That the pain, sadness, anger, hatred, and evil are all passing things. God reigns over all of it. Yes, it happens on His watch, but it is not the end. There will come a day when there is no more chaos. Then there will be joy, peace, love, kindness, understanding, and respect. In these dark times, we can mourn the pain, but we also have hope for that day to come.

It may seem a little tongue-in-cheek for me to have posted this then to both Twitter and Facebook. But those of you who actually want to know my opinion will have read through this. I hope I have not angered anyone in my response. But understand that through this all, I believe in a God of love and justice. He is full of mercy and compassion for those who ask, and also full of judgment and wrath toward those who break His commandments. My response to the tragedies of this weekend is offering compassion to those hurt by all of it and calling to God to enter in and right the wrongs.

Always,

Becca

If you give a barista a break

If you give a barista a five minutes to sit down, she will want a stool.

But she will wobble and almost fall off and decide to fix the stool. When she looks for a screwdriver, she will find a utility knife, her favorite tool, which reminds her that there is a box in the back that she needs to break down. After she breaks the box down, she’ll take the recycling out to the dumpster. On her way out, she’ll see a spill that needs to be mopped up. So she will head to the utility closet. The door will be locked so she’ll need to get the key. As she walks up to the counter, she will see a line has formed and will jump in to help make drinks. She will run out of milk in the middle of her seventh drink and run back to the fridge to get some more milk. When she opens the fridge, she will see they are low on thawed breakfast burritos. So she will go to the freezer to pull some burritos out. When she places the burritos in their drawer, she will see that the salsa and sour cream is also low. So she will pull the tubs of sour cream out of the fridge and set it on the counter. While she is scooping the sour cream, she will see they have no more lids for the serving cups. When she looks for the lids, she will notice the shop is low on several different products. So she will go to the desk to look for a pad of paper to make a list on. While she is at the desk, the phone will ring. It is only logical for her to answer it, which takes several minutes as the customer on the phone wants to reserve a room. As she is looking at room availability, she realizes that a group will be in the specified room in a few minutes, and it probably needs to be cleaned. After taking down the details, the barista will run up to the meeting room with sanitizer in hand. In the room, she will find the previous group left plates and cups all around the room, so she will need to pick them all up and take them back downstairs. When she gets the load of dishes to the sink, she will begin washing them and setting them in the sanitizing machine. As she waits for the dishes to sanitize, she will remember the toys that need to also be sanitized and will go to the playroom to retrieve them. In the playroom, she will begin talking to the mothers and one of them will order a pastry. So the barista will run back up the stairs to warm up a pastry. She will pull a pastry from the fridge and find that they need a new order, so she will run to the desk, ignore the ringing phone, and grab a notepad to write down what needs to be ordered. After meticulously counting the remaining pastries, she will have a list to order. When she turns around, she will see her fellow barista struggling through the door with a new pastry order. So the barista will throw away her list and help her friend put the pastries away. When she sees the new pastries, she will be reminded of the mother that still wants a pastry. So she will go to grab a plate, but see the stack is empty. It will remind her there are clean dishes in the sanitizing machine. So she will pull out the tray and begin wiping down the plates. When she wipes off a clear plastic plate, she will get frustrated that she stills sees water spots. She’ll ask a fellow barista why the spots persist and this barista will point out there are two plates stacked together. They both laugh. She will then beat her fellow barista with the plates. Then she will need to clean up the blood. So she’ll go get a mop. She will go to the register to get the utility key. When she opens the drawer, she will see that the shop needs more quarters. Stepping over the inert body of the dying barista reminds her that she should go back to yoga classes. She is much too tense. She will call the business office for more cash and quarters. When asked about the cries heard over the phone, she will explain them away as the cries of the weak. On the way to the utility closet, this time with a key in hand, she will see the spill from earlier, which reminds her that she took out the recycling, but never put a new bag in the can. So she’ll grab the mop, bucket, trash bags, more sanitizer, and a new sponge. As she struggles back out of the closet with everything in her arms, the police will come through the door. She will be arrested for murder. As she sinks into the backseat of the police cruiser, she will remember the stool is still wobbly and maybe someone will fall off it, but that’s not her problem any longer.

Moral of the story: Do not give your barista a five-minute break.

 

Episode 1a – We really need a name, guys…

[PCs are my own invention and property. Everything else belongs to Wizards of the Coast, Matthew Mercer, or the Geek and Sundry peeps. Seriously. All those NPCs? Belong to one of those geniuses. Probably Matt.]

The wind howled down the mountains as the airship came to dock. None too soon, the anchors secured the ship to its pier and the captain didn’t give the harsh mountain winds another thought. She watched her passengers disembark. They were a strange crew, two halflings and two humans, as different from each other as the sea from the clouds. Well, she thought to herself, both are made of water.

Kieren stretched as he walked down the plank to solid ground again. He was so sick of air travel. Especially after he decided to join up with the others, he couldn’t morally cheat at cards. It wasn’t right to cheat-er, win gold off your teammates. All the thieves of Emon knew that rule, and it was a good rule. You need to trust someone to watch your back even if you don’t actually trust them. Still a halfling with dark, curly hair, he no longer had a face that appeared to be in perpetual mourning.In fact, there seemed to be a smile hiding in the corners of his lips or the twinkle in his eye. It had been a long three years since the death of his mother. He had grown.

He followed the really big man named Steve across the packed dirt landing field. Kieren didn’t think Steve had to pay as much as the rest of them on the airship. The way the monk smiled goodbye at the captain gave Kieren an idea of how the monk had managed to save money. It was always easier to walk behind big people. Then they wouldn’t step on him. He watched Steve try to flirt with Dax, the really pretty human woman who had joined up with them. Well, she had been the one to suggest joining together while in Vasselheim. Right now, she was giving Steve the smile of someone trying to show patience because of unfamiliarity. Her long, black hair was tied back in a severe braid. While she was wearing basic tunic and breeches, her leather armor proved that she came from money. It was much nicer than Kieren’s own worn set. There was also an indent on her middle finger that spoke of a missing ring. Kieren wondered what her signet ring looked like. He bet it would be delicate, but made of something really strong.

Dax absently rubbed a finger over the ring indent. It felt weird to not wear the ring, like she was missing a part of herself. But if her plan was to work, she needed to succeed on her own strength. She couldn’t use any of her father’s contacts or allies. Dax was determined to use all of her lessons and training to succeed beyond her father’s wildest dreams. Somehow. She only listened to Steve’s proposal with half an ear. She wasn’t sure what to make of her new traveling companions, but at least she wasn’t alone in the big city.

“Excuse me. But as visitors to the city, I need you to register with the city watch.”

The entire party turned to see a tall, barrel-chested man with closely cropped grey hair walk toward them. He wore silver and gold plate armor and appeared to be carrying a clipboard under one arm.

“Why?” Jo, the Halfling cleric, asked. The question seemed to give the city watch paladin pause.

With a heavy sigh, he began making notes on the paper in front of him. “Vasselheim asks that you follow our laws and keep the peace inside the city. This means we would like to note who has entered the city and inform you that there is to be no fighting or unauthorized dueling within the city limits. Now, please tell me your name and occupation and how long you plan to be in the city.”

“I’m Jo. I’m a cleric,” Jo said with a disdainful sweep to the dusty orange and blue robes. “What’s your name?”

“I am Berric, part of the city watch of Vasselheim. I am a paladin for Bahamut.” He turned to the other Halfling.

Kieren stepped forward reluctantly. “My name is Kieren and I’m from Emon. We won’t give you any trouble.”

“My name is Dax,” the short human said, stepping in front of the nervous Halfling. “We won’t be any trouble and we should be in Vasselheim a few short weeks as we look for some way to make some money.” She gave Berric a smile.

“Do any of you have family names?” Berric asked. Silence and blank stares answered him. “Fine. And who are you?”

Steve gave him an indifferent glance and directed a brilliant smile at another female captain walking off her ship. She returned his appreciative look. “I’m Steve. I’m a monk. Kord’s strength to you.”

Berric grunted. Before he could turn away, Dax laid a hand on his arm.

“Could you give us some directions to an inn or two? We are unfamiliar with how Vasselheim is laid out.”

“Yes, I can do that. Vasselheim is broken into different sectors, each in alignment with a different deity. The north here is aligned with Bahamut. The east follows Melora. The west is governed by the Raven Queen. The south hails Kord. You can find cheap inns in each section. For example, the Haystack is in the east and you can find free rooms with a meal purchased.”

The group remained silent as Berric gave them an odd look then walked away. They decided to head to the Haystack. Jo didn’t especially want to stay in a temple. She gave the Silver Dragon’s place of worship a dark look. The group wandered down into the vast city of Vasselheim. After about thirty minutes, Kieren directed the group’s attention to a pair of men following the group. He hid from sight and looped back around the men in order to keep an eye on them from behind. A small child attempted to pick Dax’s pocket, but she was too quick for him. She grabbed the child’s wrist and retrieved her gold coin.

The group decided to take a small side alley and immediately regretted their decision. Blocking their route were two rogues. The party stopped and the other pair of men boxed them in. Before the situation could escalate, Dax and Jo diffused the situation by reasoning with the men and giving the child back to them. Steve gestured threateningly and the group was allowed to pass by, with an offer to meet with the head of the thieves’ guild in Duskmeadow.

Eventually the party arrived at the Haystack, a cheap, if clean, inn located between the warehouses of the agricultural district. The party made their way inside, greeted by the sounds of cheer and music, and the smell of food and beer.

Episode 0 of the adventures of…

There’s no name yet. But maybe they’ll figure it out. Here are some of the background stories of our intrepid adventurers.

The boy sat under the tree, refusing to let his tears fall. A gentle rustling of the long grasses reminded him how far away from home he had already traveled. His dark curly hair flew wildly above his young halfling face.
“Kieren! Come on, we have to keep going!”
The boy tried to ignore the voice of his father. It was a broken voice, full of grief and pain. The boy wanted to tune it out. If he could ignore his father, if he could stay here, right by this grave, maybe it would change everything.
“Kieren, we have to leave. Please. We must leave her here.” A large hand rested on the boy’s shoulder. It was with great reluctance that the boy stood and walked back to the wagon with his father. It wasn’t fair. His sister died four months ago. His brother died when they had started their trip to a new city, two months ago. His mother died three days ago. It was the fault of the man who had become the new lord of Darkvale. Anger blossomed in his heart. He peeked over his shoulder at the grave under the tree. He would get his revenge.

“Little Dax! Where are you?”
The young woman stifled a groan and peeked her head around the corner, tucking the romance book under her seat cushions. She stood up and straightened her short vest. She surreptitiously checked to make sure the book wasn’t visible in the window seat before calling out to her brother.
“I’m over here!”
The door to the small study burst open and her younger brother came racing in, servants on his heels. They were attempting to get the young man into proper garments, ones the lord of the castle would wear. Dax felt her heart stop beating in her chest. No. It wasn’t possible.
“What’s going on? What’s all this fuss about?” She grimaced at the tremor in her voice. It took away all authority. She hated when that happened.
“Father is announcing the succession!”
“What?” She interrupted whatever else her brother was going to say. “Why wasn’t I told?” The servants refused to make eye contact.
“You need to come to the Great Hall. Father sent me to look for you. He said he wanted to talk to you before the ceremony.” Her brother seemed completely oblivious to the pain on her face. Maybe that was a good thing.
She left him standing in the middle of her study, surrounded by dithering servants and raced to the Great Hall. She stopped in the door, panting slightly. Her father, the Lord of Dunhaven, stood on the dais talking quietly to his Master-at-arms and the Chamberlain. All three men looked up the instant her boot connected with the marble floor of the Great Hall.
“Dax. Come here, please. I need to talk to you.”
“Is this about the succession? Do you want to tell me why you haven’t chosen me?”
Her father frowned at the anger in her voice. He turned to face her fully, sternness radiating off of him. “Yes. I have chosen your brother-”
“WHY?” She hadn’t meant to scream, it just came out that way.
“You do not get to question me. You are my daughter-”
“Exactly. I am your daughter. I have trained to take after you. No one in this castle is a better shot than I. No one else has killed so many monstrosities than I. No one else has studied the law or devoted themselves to learning-”
“Enough.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it brought her to immediate silence. “The truth of the matter is that you are my daughter. You will bring more prosperity to this land through marriage than through rule. I have already sent envoys to the de Rolo’s of Whitestone. You will help us remain allies with them as your brother begins to learn of ruling. You will obey me in this.”
Dax found her voice wouldn’t work. She gaped at him, her mouth working noiselessly like a fish gasping for water. Abruptly, she spun on her heel and left room. It took everything in her not to run. But run she would. She was leaving this place. Dax swore to herself that when she returned they would see how wrong they were. She would return a hero, a legend. She would return as someone of respect and they would all realize that she had the guts to get the job done. She would no longer be “Little Dax.”

Blood. Heat. Pain. So much pain. Jo sat up with a gasp. In the dark room, the nightmare lingered. A small flame blossomed at the top of the solitary candle, illuminating the sparse furniture in the acolyte’s room. Jo lowered their hand, grateful that at least today, the connection to Ioun remained intact. The door opened and an elder cleric peered in.
“Is everything alright? I sensed a disturbance in the room.”
Jo hesitated before answering. “I had my dream again. It leaves me in terror and sometimes I cannot feel Ioun with me. Like the dream keeps me from feeling her presence. It scares me.”
The older man sat on the edge of the bed. He sighed heavily before patting Jo’s knee. Jo pulled their legs out of the way, the halfling cringing at the touch.
“I worry about you, Jo. I wonder if these dreams aren’t a message from Ioun, but for the terror you feel. Knowledge should never give you terror.”
Jo took his pause and bravely pushed forward. “Sir, could I perhaps revisit my request to leave the church. I want to request permission to visit the great libraries to gain answers. I want to look for Ioun in the world. Perhaps then she will give me the reason for my nightmares.”
The older cleric considered the young acolyte for a minute before nodding his head slowly. “I will bring your request to the elders. I will vouch for you. Where will you go first?”
“Vasselheim.” The answer popped out before Jo could put much thought into it. “I know it’s on another continent, but I think I will find more answers the farther from our church I go.”
“Very well. I will miss you, Acolyte Jo.”

“You are not focused. You miss much when you don’t see the wind.” The old man’s voice was a little too loud for the monk this morning. His head still hurt from all the wine he had imbibed the night before. The old man came at him with a quarterstaff spinning in his hands.
Steve dodged as quickly as he could, but it wasn’t fast enough. The end of the staff clipped him on the thigh and he dropped to his knees. He got his hand up fast enough to deflect the blow to his head, but instead of moving with the strike, he simply stopped it. It left his hand stinging. The old man sighed heavily and stepped back.
“You have learned much in your time here with us. But I don’t think you are meant to stay here forever.”
Steve sat down in the dirt courtyard. He turned his face up to his  teacher, shading his dark brown eyes. “What are you saying?”The old man leaned on his staff, studying the young black man with bloodshot eyes.
“I’m saying that maybe you need to go out and find yourself. You joined this monastery on a dare.” He held up a hand to stop Steve’s protests. “It was a dare, regardless that you placed your heart on the table. You lost. So now you’re here, but you aren’t wanting to be here. You need to find out what you want. You won’t find it here. So I’m telling you to leave. Go out, explore the world and find a new woman to love. Or maybe you’ll find something else to keep you living.”
Steve watched, speechless, as the old monk walked away. As the sun crested the sky, Steve rose, collected his things, and walked out the gate.