The entire World in which Beyond the Edge of the Map is set started out as a writing exercise. It was an attempt to make a likeable unlikable protagonist. That turned into “Prince of the North Tower“, perhaps the most slowly written novel in my catalog. Between the time in which I started Prince of the North Tower and the week in which I wrote Beyond the Edge of the Map, I did several other writing exercises in the same setting, some of which became completed stories like Rite of Passage. The first was “Sellstaff” starring Eugen Sulzbach, but that suffered from an excess of ideas and stalled. “Pirates of Dragon Cove” came later. The problem is I didn’t like the way Hermann and Rasmus interacted. There was plenty of material for future stories, but if I couldn’t work out that character dynamic, they wouldn’t be any fun to write. So Hrmann got shifted the background character, making a cameo along with his hated Skald in “Beyond the Edge of the Map“, but not getting a book of his own. Regardless, this story was still sitting around on my thumb drive, collecting e-dust. Its events are wholly canonical within the rest of the setting, but don’t get directly referenced.
Part 1
Rasmus Ruud annoyed me. The skald had earned the ire of his kinsmen by aiding us in bringing the southernmost holds of the Raven Coast into our dominion. Since my father could not then dispose of such an ally, a new role had been found for the man. I had no need of a poet, especially one that seemed to delight in antagonism. If one knew nothing of me but Ruud’s poems they might think I was a tall, powerful warrior of great prowess with both weapons and women. But I knew better. It struck me as plain that Ruud was mocking me. He quite brazenly attached my name to the description of a man who was not me. At least for the moment, the wiry, flaxen-bearded man was quiet, though the application of his pen to paper foretold more verse at my expense to come.
My father was known as a conqueror, and it was true he had brought a number of territories north of the old marches under his banner. But the true fruit of his reign so far had not been the new lands. It had been born from the efforts to civilize the Goblins and the opening of direct trade with far flung Atlor. My eyeglasses and the spyglass in my hands had been constructed in Karststadt using techniques learned from the Atlorians. The bow slung over my shoulder was a marriage of innovations picked up from the Goblin bowyers and the knowledge of our own craftsmen. I had even made my own contribution to it. Goblins might have been savage, but they were not stupid. The Hookwood did not provide materials for making proper bows, so they had glued together what they did have. For its size, the Goblin bow was more powerful than you would expect. With the design in the hands of the more capable craftsmen of the Volkmund and made from better materials, it became shockingly powerful. The biggest flaw was the tendency of the glue to fail if wetted. I was not the best at keeping my arms dry, and had ruined bows that way. Out of frustration, I had tarred the next one I got with bitumen from Amber Town. The black bow that resulted was waterproof, and fit for service on land and sea.
Yet Rasmus never remarked upon my contribution to the design. Instead he hyperbolically waxed about an accuracy I did not possess. I was not unskilled as an archer, and could hit reliably when firing from both horseback and on foot. Though Ruud would speak of spitting a dragonfly from a hundred paces. Why the poet was sent to torment the spare to the throne was still a mystery. Maybe they thought having a flatterer lying about me might soften the sting of constantly losing swordfights in the practice hall and then losing the only battle I had ever been in. When Rasmus tackled my flight from the Raven Coast, he grossly inflated the size of the Ashmen host to make that mess of a withdrawal sound heroic. I had cast those poems into a hearth and nearly broken in Ruud’s teeth. I’d followed it up with an oath that, were he to ever take up the topic of that battle again, I would cast him onto the fires instead. Prudently, the skald had not incorporated the events into any other works to date.
I barely noticed the sway of the boat under my boots. The Servile Sea was smooth, as was its habit. No great swells tended to cross these placid waters, and it served as a great highway of commerce, as well as the hunting ground for pirates. It was for this reason I was on a boat out past the Dwarf Gate. With the exception of the new route to Atlor, all of the western sea trade to the Volkmund passed through the Dwarf Gate and across the Servile Sea. It also landed in ports owned by my father. So, it was our responsibility to deal harshly with those who preyed upon it. Brent von Slough commanded this particular flotilla. I was here to ‘gain experience’ in different forms of warfare. Mostly, I suspect it was to get me out of Karststadt and end my moping, or at least have me mope somewhere else.
The problem with pirates was that they avoided a stand up fight, and the Alfrend created a great many havens for them. The Alfrend was technically part of the Servile Sea, and the lands around it. It was the neck where the sea narrowed down to the channel leading to the Dwarf Gate. Along the north were rugged mountains with sharp valleys and no shortage of coves and harbors. Along the south was a spiderweb of estuaries, islets, mangrove swamps and small volcanoes. There were so many places that the pirates could be that narrowing it was a nightmare. Fortunately, that was not my problem. The location had been dragged from a pirate captured in a failed attack upon a merchant inbound to Salzheim. And then he’d been dragged along with the expedition. Having Arvo Feld within knife’s reach of my ribs was less distressing than the thought of having to listen to more of Ruud’s poetry. Feld was a scrawny, tawny-haired man whose main advantage in combat was that he looked so piteous as to not be worth killing. Arvo’s finger pointed to a gap in the greenery, and the steersman turned the ship in that direction. The other ships followed our wake, as we only had one guide.
“On the other side of that channel, you should put ashore and approach the camp overland,” Feld said, his simpering tone grating on the ears.
“Why overland?” Brent asked. Von Slough was a stout man with a thick chest, thick arms and thick fingers. The only thing thin about him was his hair, which he painstakingly combed to cover as much of his scalp as possible. Even his accent was thick, sounding like a fresh transplant from Atlor more than an Edler of the Volkmund.
“Their eyes will be to the sea, and your sails will warn them of your approach,” Arvo said. “They will scatter before you can come upon them, and your victory will be hollow.”
“I don’t like it,” I said.
“We will put a small party ashore to scout potential approaches and get eyes upon this pirate camp,” Brent said. He turned to me. “Hermann, I want you to lead it.” I stiffened my back and avoided blurting out how stupid an idea that was. What did I know about traversing mangrove-choked islands? As likely as not, I’d blunder into the middle of their camp, get captured and my father would have to ransom me back.
“Understood,” I said.
“The camp will be on the south end of the island, encircling a cove in which the ships harbor,” Avro said. “Woods grow right up to the edges of the encampment to hide it from sailing eyes.”
“Take your poet and a handful of men at arms. Feld will stay here.”
Avro looked at Brent as though to speak, but held his tongue. I did not trust the man to not be leading us into a trap, or on a fool’s errand through the mangroves.
“Rasmus,” I said, “Do something useful – find us some men for a shore party.”
Ruud grinned and gave an exaggerated bow. Then he was off to below deck. The flotilla approached the shore and began furling sails before dropping anchor. The stilt-like roots of the semi-aquatic trees hid the true coastline from our view. Even with the aid of the spyglass, I could not be reassured that there was actual land back there. The sailors had one of the ship’s boats over the side and into the water by the time Rasmus returned with less than a half dozen of our fighting men. Putting the spyglass in a pocket on my hip quiver, I went over the side of the ship. A line of rope led down to the launch. With feet against the hull, I was able to struggle down without plummeting to the water. The smaller boat rocked wildly with my weight, and I came close to capsizing it. A few careful moves stabilized the vessel, and I lowered onto a bench. The other six followed me, with Ruud as the last.
“My Lord, someone needs to steer,” Rasmus said. I grudgingly gave up my seat to take hold of the rudder. I was forced to stand to guide the vessel as the oars slapped the water and pushed us towards the green. Casting my gaze over the jungle, I looked for a gap to lead the launch into. The trees were tightly packed, resembling more a palisade than a forest. Frustration and fear of embarrassment at not finding a route to shore welled up in me with each stroke of the oars. I didn’t want to look like a fool in front of the sinewy, hardened men rowing me to shore. The soldiers were veterans of my father’s wars, and had seen me order a withdraw in the face of ambush. I recognized their features, but could not put names to them. Another embarrassing failure would be too much.
The illusion of a palisade of mangroves faded as we drew near. The trees were actually spaced out more than it had appeared, and I was able to aim for a gap between the trunks. Leafy shade fell over us, and the oarsmen began pushing off the roots rather than the water. Our bow crunched against the shallows before I expected it to. Boots splashed in the water and we pulled the launch far enough from the current that it would not drift off. Trudging inland, we found dry ground. Sadly, it was too late for my socks, which were soaked clean through and squished with each step. The mangroves only hugged the coast, and the inland trees were more traditionally rooted cypresses. Broad-leafed ferns coated the ground, and hid the underbrush from our sight. Roots were easy to find with toes as they tripped me up. I did my best to avoid showing how often I stumbled on the trek.
The ground rose slowly, growing more rocky as it did so. Grumbling about the hike would only undermine myself, so I kept my gob shut and trudged along behind the rest of the pack. To distract myself from the hike, I loosened my blade in its scabbard and unclasped the cap on my quiver. The bow stayed on my shoulder for the time being, as any confrontation was liable to be at sword range in these trees.
At first, I mistook the sound of the waterfall for wind in the canopy, but it was too steady, and not in time with the swaying pools of light filtering down from above. We glanced at each other as it became clear what we were hearing. A pirate base would need a source of fresh water, and confirmation of one on this island lent credence to Arvo’s claim. Still, running after the diffuse sound echoing through the trees would simply have gotten us lost. I nodded to proceed and the others began walking again. Before too long, the gradual incline of the ground became steep, with more stubborn plant growth gripping the stones as it went.
“We should go around,” I said, my voice almost startling me as it broke the silence of the forest. Oh, there had been noises – bugs, birds, the wind in the foliage, the waterfall; but my words were the first strong sound in a while. A gasp made me spin about. Off to our left, a rangy, sun-browned figure in patched pantaloons stared out of the trees. From the scarred face, bare chest and the crossbow in his hands, I guessed he was a pirate. Wide-eyed, we simply stared at each other for a moment. His ugly countenance was short a few teeth, and his nose had been broken at least once. The moment of surprise ended as the pirate dropped the front of his crossbow and hooked his boot in the stirrup. As he hauled back on the string, my bow came off my shoulder. It slid down my arm in what seemed like a crawl. Getting it in the correct position felt like sluggish fumbling as I heard the click of the pirate’s string engaging. Arrow nocked, I drew back to my jaw as he tugged bolts from his quiver.
I loosed.
It was as if the world returned to proper speed as the pirate’s head snapped back. The arrow had struck by his right tear duct and punched through the back of his skull, lodging in his head. Black fletchings protruded past his nose as the arrowhead dripped with gore behind his greasy locks. We were so close that I would have not been surprised had the arrow sailed on after going through the bone. He crumpled, his drawn but unloaded crossbow twanging as it dry-fired.
Another figure bolted, charging off into the woods. I raced to where the crossbowman had fallen to get a clear angle on the runner. The moment I had a shot, I loosed, catching the barely seen pirate square between the shoulder blades. I did not see them fall, as I was forced to duck the hatchet whistling for my head. The bit thunked into a tree trunk. The moment it took the swarthy man to pull the hatchet from the wood was enough for me to draw my blade and plunge it up under his rib cage. It was a short, stout blade, but still plenty long enough to find the pirate’s heart. I yanked it free in a crimson spray and spun about, looking for the next attacker. The only one I saw had Rasmus’ sword hilt-deep in his back.
“Where are the rest?” I asked.
“We appear to have slain all four of them,” Ruud said. The soldiers nodded in agreement. All had drawn their weapons, but none had wetted them. Planting a boot on the dead pirate, Rasmus pulled his blade free of the corpse. Looking down at the scarlet smear dribbling its way down my sword edge, I shuddered. While I had seen battle from the field, before today I had never killed anyone. Though it had been moments ago, and he still lay behind me, I couldn’t even picture the face of the hatchet man I’d run through. The ugly features of the crossbowmen were as harsh in my mind as the look of surprise he’d had at seeing us.
I told myself they’d been trying to kill me, and ending their lives was perfectly justified. But one had been running, and I’d simply put an arrow through that one. They’d been running to alert the pirate camp, gather reinforcements and put the whole outlaw band on alert. My bow slipped from numb fingers to land on a fern.
Stepping forward, Ruud cut a patch from the pantaloons of the crossbowman and handed it to me.
“What’s this for?”
“Cleaning your blade.”
I looked at the rag, then at the blood. Wiping down the steel returned its shine, but did not remove the stain my mind’s eye painted upon it. I sunk it in its scabbard and scooped up my bow again. I did not sling it over my shoulder, but held it firmly in my left hand.
“That one was likely running towards the camp,” I said, nodding at the pirate I’d so unthinkingly shot in the back. The others murmured in agreement. When none of them made to proceed in that direction, I set my jaw and began walking myself. The pack formed up behind me, having reversed the order we’d been marching from the boat. Reaching the remains of the runner, I paused.
“What is it?” Ruud asked.
“This one was a woman,” I said.
“Pirates are not known for obeying traditional mores.”
I had known in theory that piracy was not a wholly male endeavor, but it was a different thing to stare down at the reality with my arrow protruding from her back. I decided not to see what her face looked like. What good would it do to have more visages to haunt my conscience. I stepped over her still-warm corpse and saw signs of the pirates’ initial passage into the woods. While they hadn’t stamped down every fern, growths were trod upon with regularity, and many others had ripped or broken fronds. It didn’t take a tracker or huntsman to follow their course. What I had to do was to avoid becoming so engrossed in the trail that I blundered into the camp.
The sight of a crossbow gave me a start. Before I made a fool of myself by putting an arrow into its wielder, I realized it was Rasmus. Noticing the look I was giving him, Ruud looked back.
“What?”
“Why did you take the dead pirate’s crossbow?”
“He’s not using it anymore.” As if this were justification enough, he turned his attention away from me. I had no counter-argument, and turned back to the trail. It wound and meandered through the trees, as if the pirates had been hopelessly lost in trudging through the island’s forest. With little warning, the path crested a low defile, and I quickly ducked back behind it. Just beyond the rise had been a wooden structure and a lot of sunlight. Taking a position behind the widest cypress nearby, I crept up and peered out. The wooden structure was a shanty perched atop a cliff. The light was from the distinct absence of any more trees past the drop. Whoever had assembled the shanty had not put a great deal of care into their work. It stood, and that was good enough. The walls had never been painted and were the gray of badly weathered timber.
Keeping to the ferns and behind trunks, I eased myself forward, trying to see if this clifftop shanty was just an isolated structure. A crow’s nest out beyond the cliff told me it was not. The crow’s nest belonged to the top mast of the tallest of three ships moored in a small cove. The cove was nearly circular, with tall cliffs walling it in. A narrow cleft in the rock gave access to the Servile Sea, and rendered the cove all but impossible to spot. The clifftop shanty wasn’t the only structure in the area either. The walls and shingle of the cove were crawling with shoddily built edifices clinging to whatever surfaces would bear them. Almost all had to resort to stilts to hold their outer edges up. A number of spots were not graced with a wooden building, and had tents of sailcloth covering them. Walkways, stairs and bridges of rope and board linked the pirate town together. People thronged the town, strolling, meandering, hurrying and scurrying, each on their own business and their own schedule. One spot on the shingle was left conspicuously bare, though many a path led to and from it. The only thing in it were the cold cinders and ashes of a bonfire long extinguished.
Examination by spyglass told me that the residents of this pirate cove had no uniformity of attire, either in style, quality, or quantity. This confused disparity extended to build and age, a veritable jumble of personages assembled in this town. The only common thread was the ubiquity of arms. Not a single soul I saw did not have at least one blade, spear, cudgel, or bow. The quality of these varied again from person to person, and not in lock step with their clothing. The best sword I saw sat on the hip of the most meanly dressed scoundrel who appraised the passers-by for an excuse to put it to use.
Lowering the spyglass, I eased back from the cliff, working my way to the pirate trail.
“Zhal’s Balls, that cutthroat was telling the truth,” I muttered.
Part 2
“We are lost,” I muttered. It was obvious, staring as we were at a waterfall we had not passed going in the other direction. It emerged from a cave higher up in the rock, and plunged through a sinkhole into an echoing cavern down below. It was not a great torrent, but it would be ample to water the city at the cove. I found the sun near its zenith, and thought for a bit. “It we put the sun to our backs, we will be facing north. That way at least lies the flotilla. If we can spot them, we should be able to find our boat.” It was sound and sensible, and no one was listening.
“Is that gold?”
I looked over at the soldiers, who were peering over the edge at the plunge pool. Rasmus joined them and examined the hole in the ground.
“We could use that spyglass over here,” Ruud said. Torn between irritation and resignation, a sigh escaped my lips and I crossed to join them. Were the sun any lower in the sky, the bottom of the hole would have been cloaked in gloom. Being noon, it was illuminated by reflections off of pale limestone. Below the foam and ripples of the waterfall striking the pool, something glimmered in the light. It had a yellow hue. Extending the spyglass, I examined the glimmer more closely. A breath sucked past my teeth as I got a clear look at the object. It was a fan-shaped pectoral of gold inlaid with green and black opaque stones. Resting next to it was a skull, empty eye sockets staring up at us from below the water. A little ways away I spied an armband still encircling a long bone. And there an anklet, tumbled free of its limb to rest among the rocks. Looking this way and that, I found more jewelry, and more bones.
Along the rim of the pool was a level ledge. Along its level surface was scattered more glittering metalwork, but no bones. Here, the signs of artifice were visible in the rock. Someone had carved the ledge, and a series of steps down into the water along the entire edge of the plunge pool. They had widened the cavern to do so, and most likely carted the debris out through the tunnel where the creek flowed. Carved into the steps and the walls were reliefs of base supplication and worship. A basalt slab resting on the ledge behind the waterfall was ominously out of place amidst the limestone. Its sides glistened, showing hints of imagery carved into its surface, but the top was smooth, with a single, wet sheen.
“This feels very wrong,” I said. “That looks like a fane, and I don’t think the pirates built it.”
“Why have they not plundered the gold?” one of the soldiers asked.
“Maybe they don’t know about it?” Rasmus mused.
I shook my head.
Before I could voice my thought, a blue blur leapt from the trees and the soldier who’d spoken screamed, caught up in its jaws. I had an arrow nocked before my eyes took in the squamous, narrow, blue head whose fangs punctured the man. I took aim upon a cross-shaped pupil and loosed. The fist-sized eye burst in a welter of jelly and blood as my arrow sank into it. The beast screeched, the wide-open mouth letting the soldier slide off its fangs. Most were razors the length of hands, but the two largest dwarfed the rest, long sabers of ivory extending several feet from the upper jaw. It reared back on it’s long, sinuous neck and I caught sight of the massive body, twice as long as that of a horse. Its tail was twice again as long as that. Its colossal wings blotted out the sky as they beat angrily, and four muscular legs pawed the earth with talons almost the length of my forearms.
I stared in shocked horror at the beast as its head thrashed about and it roared. The other eye found me, and glared. I stood dumbly, terror squeezing my heart as I realized I had the undivided attention of a Longfang Drake. It surged towards me, snapping me out of my fugue. The only action I was quick enough to complete was to loose another arrow. The shot popped its remaining eye and caused the drake to rear back instead of scooping me up in its jaws. It did not, however, arrest its headlong rush. The slab of muscle and scale that was its right shoulder slammed me from my feet. Where I expected to crash to the ground, I found nothing but air. The walls of the pit reached up to embrace the sky as I plunged alongside the waterfall.
With the rush of a burst dam, all sound but the torrent and my own hammering pulse was driven from my ears. The impact kicked the air from me, even as I was enveloped in roiling liquid. My expected end of having my head dashed against the stones did not come. Panic swelled as my lungs cried out to be filled. Struggling against my own disoriented senses, I could not tell which way was up. Which way I needed to swim to reach breathable air. My wild flailings churned the water more as the currents turned me about. My eyes refused to be forced open, even to find a sign that would save them with the rest of me. My shoulder bounced from something hard and angular, and I grabbed at it. It was a stair. In an instant, I had a frame of reference, and began hauling myself up. My head burst from the surface and I sucked greedily of the cave air. The thud of something very heavy landing on stone made me turn.
The drake had followed me down. Its nostrils flaring, forked tongue licking the air, it quested for my scent. I dipped a hand into my quiver. A spike of fear pounded my heart as I found it empty. The arrows had been cast out in my floundering under the pool. My sword was still in its scabbard, but it was a short blade, not even as long as the creature’s namesake teeth. I looked to the tunnel the creek ran down. Was that wide enough for the drake to follow me? Looking up, I saw five faces peering down. I gestured at the drake and tried to mime shooting it with a crossbow. Ruud stared blankly at me. I wasn’t sure if it was my performance or his comprehension that was lacking. I dared not call out what I meant, as the drake’s hearing was undamaged. Though with the cacophony of the waterfall echoing through the chamber, I wasn’t sure anyone would be able to hear any noise I made.
Annoyed again at Rasmus, I looked about me for anything useful. I almost grinned as I found some of my arrows. The three shafts in my grip were nowhere near enough, but were more than I’d had before. I wracked my brain for memory of weaknesses of drakes. The lower hide, where it became lighter, was thinner than the upper, with smaller scales. It would be easier to strike from below. The drake seemed instinctively aware of this, as it moved bellied up to the rock while sniffing about and tasting the air. Besides, that was the side with all the claws. But the pale blue ran up the neck, to the underside of the lower jaw. If it was built like other beasts, the drake had a jugular, and it could be found right behind that mandible, in the pale blue span.
Rising to one knee, I nocked an arrow and took aim. The beast’s head turned the instant before the bowstring twanged. Even as its tongue flicked out, the armored cheek interposed itself between me and my target. The arrow glanced off the steely scales of the drake’s head, then again off the back of its neck before lodging in a wing membrane. The dragon roared, and I sent my second arrow sailing down its soft gullet. Screeching with surprise, it reared back, exposing the underside of its neck. My last shot sailed true, drawing a spurt of crimson vitae as it struck. The flash of elation from having struck a new blow against the beast evaporated as charged, bellowing. Even if the wound I had just inflicted proved mortal, the drake would not die quickly from it.
Out of arrows, I forced myself to toss aside the bow and draw my sword. If Ruud’s next poem was to be that of my death, it would not end with me cowering and wetting myself. I ran towards the charging drake, the distance between us evaporating in a heartbeat. Snagging one of its namesake fangs, I leapt as if mounting the saddle of an unruly horse. I landed straddling its thick neck and plunged my blade into the hole my arrow had started. Hot blood poured over my clenched fist as I sawed the steel through the muscles, tendons, and arteries encasing its throat. Talons flashed at me, and I threw myself back. Tumbling down the neck, I landed astride the beast’s shoulders. An angry roar came as a bubbling gurgle through the rent I had struck. Crimson cascaded into the pool, staining the water rosy as the drake raged and thrashed against the inevitable.
It was dead, we both knew it, but there was still life enough left in the beast to snuff me out. Wings buffeted my sides and it tore its own flesh trying to catch me with flailing talons. Tossed about, I lost my grip on my sword. The center of its back was as far from its reach as I could get, and I gripped the roots of its wings to keep myself there. A glimmer of malignant cunning sparked through the drake’s brain and it hurled itself over. Plunging backwards into the pool the drake dashed me under the water again. I could either stay and drown, or risk its teeth and claws fighting for the surface. I kicked off the from the unyielding hide and swam. The drake thrashed and slashed, blindly trying to find me in water that tasted only of its own blood. I stayed deep, pulling myself against the stones and the bones as my lungs ached and my eyes burned.
I breached the surface even as the death throes of the Longfang Drake ebbed. Dragging myself onto the ledge, I sucked down grateful gasps and steadied my overexcited heart. A slow, sharp rhythm echoed through the chamber. Confusion crossed my features as I realized it was the sound of a person clapping. It was not with excitement or adulation, but a slow, sarcastic clapping. I looked up. The sound came from a woman standing at the precipice of the pit. Her tall boots, short breeches and sleeveless vest hugged the curves of her body. Her black hair cascaded down her shoulders, and her skin was bronzed from exposure to the sun. She was not alone. More pirates ringed the pit, some held blades to the throats of my party, others had bows and crossbows aimed down at me.
“Well done, sir,” she said, he voice bearing the accent of Vartenthral. “That beast has given us no end of trouble over the years. Do wait for my men to come and fetch you, unless you’d rather be riddled with arrows instead of face the prospect of ransom.”
* * *
The pirates dragged the carcass of the drake into the bare patch of shingle where the ashes were. By it they heaped every piece of loot they could plunder from the pool and pit, as well as most of our possessions. The spyglass was ruined, its lenses shattered by the rough treatment. Somehow my eyeglasses had survived, probably because I’d landed face up in the water and they’d been shielded from the impact. I hadn’t noticed when they’d fallen off. Quite possibly it was during my swim from under the dragon. Now they sat in the bundle of booty, far from where they would do me much good. The she-pirate grinned as she looked over her new prisoners, bound to a series of stakes along the edge of the open ground.
“Our dragonslayer here has the look of a nobleman to him,” she said, tipping my chin up so our eyes met. Hers were cold and green. “And your soldiers look like lowborn warriors of the Volkmund. Pray tell, sirrah,” she said mockingly, “How did you get here?”
“Mutiny,” I lied. “My crew forced us into a boat and we came ashore on this wretched place.” She smirked and laughed playfully at my attempt at a defiant tone.
“And what of you, odd man out?” she asked of Rasmus.
“I wanted to join the mutineers,” Ruud said, “But they didn’t trust me. So here I am. If you could use a sword arm and balladeer…”
The pirate waved dismissively at the thought.
“And who are you?” I asked.
“I do believe it is my prerogative to ask the questions,” she said. “And I do need your name, so I know who might be willing to pay for your hide.”
“I want to know who I’m talking to,” I said. She shook her head, wild locks exaggerating the motion.
“You are the one tied to the stake. If I deign to give you my name, it will be after you have given me yours.”
I set my jaw and stared up at the pirate.
“I am Prinz Hermann Grosz von Karststadt-Salzheim, second son of the Furst of Karststadt.” A broad grin split her face.
“Today is a bounteous day. We are rid of that accursed drake, we have plunder on hand, and a prince’s ransom to add to it. Bring the wood, bring the knives, we shall skin this monster and make a feast of its flesh.” Even as her minions scurried off, I had to fight to keep my expression calm. Never interrupt an opponent’s error.
“You aren’t going to tell us who has captured the son of the Bloodstorm?” Rasmus asked.
The she-pirate’s good mood was sufficient for her to respond. “I am Commodore Amelia Agthoven, Queen of the Alfrend.” She gave an exaggerated bow in our direction before skipping off to bark more orders in preparation for the feast.
“This day is not going well,” I said.
“You killed a dragon,” Rasmus said, his tone artificially cheerful. I gave him a look. That look repeated everything he already knew about how the day had gone without giving it voice. What it did not convey was what I knew about Longfang Drakes. I had not made an extensive study of the creatures, but dragons are exciting to small boys, and my father’s library had a lot of books. Some of them were written by people who had done extensive studies on the beasts. The fact that I was not going to divulge would have caused Agthoven to abort her feast and keep that flesh as far from her lips as possible. For the flesh of the Longfang Drake was toxic. Not so toxic as to strike men dead upon eating it. Nor indeed enough that a healthy adult would be reliably slain. But, toxic enough that it would leave a man violently sick for days. They would not taste it upon their tongue as anything but the unusual flavor of the beast. And Amelia had just invited her entire camp to partake of the feast.
I watched the pirates peel back the hide and carve into that flesh with as much detachment as I could muster. This day was about to turn around.
* * *
As prisoners, we were not fed any of the meat, and were forced to watch the feast unfold. Now we listened to the sound of retching echoing through the cove. I grinned and explained what was going on to the other five. The bonfire was still crackling, though no one had fed it fuel for a while. There were still uneaten and half-eaten slabs of roast drake on trenchers discarded when the sickness began falling over the camp. The ochre hues of the sky foretold of night soon upon us.
“That’s fantastic,” Rasmus said, “But these stakes aren’t getting ill.”
Agthoven stormed over in a blind fury, her face quite green. “What deviltry is this?” she demanded. I explained what she’d done to her followers in as calm and detached a manner as I could muster. She interrupted me with an incoherent screech as she lunged. I brought my knees up, catching her in the middle as her fingers wrapped around my throat. My windpipe closed off as I lurched us both to the side. We crashed against the shingle beach and landed on our sides. I managed to suck in half a breath before Amelia’s fingers tightened again. Spots swam before my eyes and the edges grew darker as I pushed again with my knees, wriggling us along the ground.
The damnable Ruud started to inch away. The fool couldn’t see that I was trying to get Agthoven’s hip closer to his hands. With a last lurch I shoved her closer to Rasmus. As my vision tunneled towards the she-pirate’s visage of rage, I managed to spy a glimmer of realization from the skald. Edging back towards me, Ruud strained his arms against his bonds. Fingers caressing the pommel, he plucked the dagger from Amelia’s belt. Then my vision darkened to a tiny circle, and even Agthoven’s snarls ebbed away into the distance. I prayed that Rasmus’ fingers worked faster than his mind. It would not do to have the life choked out of my on the cusp of escape.
For the third time today, my lungs sang out with a sharp inhalation of new air after nearly suffocating. A few more deep wheezes, and I was able to blink my eyes to their blurry normal. A long, curved blade cut through the bonds on my wrists. Ruud had an arm about Amelia, dragging her limp form aside. Her cutlass was in his other hand. This he offered up to me, and I released my ankles so I could hop up and free my men. Smelling fresh blood, I looked down. A spray of it covered the front of my tunic. I turned to Agthoven. Rasmus had slit her throat from ear to ear. The skald looked at me, unapologetic. Though rationally, I understood his reasons, a large part of me still revolted at the sight of a recently slain woman laying on the blood-slicked rocks.
“My glasses-” I started.
“Are part of some pirate’s trinket collection,” Ruud said. “Our weapons have also been claimed.”
“Our best chance is to use the distraction to reach the fleet and bring them in to the cove,” I said. “What’s the best way back to our boat?”
Rasmus pointed at the cleft in the cliffs. “They know we’re here. We take one of their boats and row along the shore until we reach our ships. It will be faster and easier than crossing the island on foot and in the dark.”
I offered Ruud the cutlass.
“You are the better swordsman.”
“Now is not the time for flattery,” I said.
“Now is not the time for false modesty,” Rasmus snapped. The words struck me almost as surely as if he’d reached out with the back of his hand. “Standing here arguing will get us killed.” He drew a deep breath. “Lead on, my lord.”
Half blind and carrying an unfamiliar, curved blade, I started our search for a launch to steal. An angry, indistinct, tawny form leapt at me, and I lashed out. A hot spray washed over me just as the figure resolved into the less blurry image of a man. Life ebbed from saddened eyes and he crumpled to my feet. Ruud bent and scooped up the axe the man carried.
“We will soon have blades a plenty,” he said.
The battle became a walking nightmare. Ill-defined shapes with murderous intent became dying humans as we closed and I struck them down. I never saw their expressions of hate or aggression, only their regret, fear, and horror as the vitality left them and they fell dead. I was trembling with disgust and guilt, praying to whatever gods might listen that we find a boat and get out of this place. Rasmus grabbed my arm and pointed into the blur.
“I can’t see that far,” I said.
He steered me towards what he’d been pointing at and my heart rejoiced. It was a rowboat. It had ten oars and was meant to carry a good twenty or twenty-five people, but we could manage it with just the six of us. I clambered in it and took hold of a pair of oars. Ruud stepped into the boat.
“Don’t tell me to steer when I can’t see where we’re going.”
“Of course not, my lord.”
Rasmus took the rudder as the surviving soldiers took the other oars. Gratefully, I rowed into the night.
Two minutes and no first. What has become of the Glibertariat?
We have more class, and are actually reading the content.
are actually reading the content.
Yep.
I liked it.
Thank you.
I dunno nothin about no goblins.
Quit flapping your gums, goon.
*scrolls to check length*
Holy crap man I aint got time for that.
It’s not even long.
twss
I will read it in the morning.
I like the genre though. I was on a pirate novel kick there for awhile but it seemed hard to find decent ones. All I bought are on my kindle which has not been charged for over a year. I am not reading books lately. Life gets in the way of sitting and reading.
I don’t get much reading done either, so I understand the problem.
I’m afraid the focus of this story isn’t on the pirates themselves.
Its a fantasy story! I love fantasy.
twss
What the hell is twss?
that’s what she said
….She said “What the hell is twss”?? What was she on about?
Thanks Kinnath.
Bro….steppin’ all over muh joke.
/smdh
Sometimes a Fantasy is all you Need.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hhJg1finpyU
Oh-Oh-Aay-Oh
I expected Yusef. The next town downriver from him has a resort called pirates cove. Read about half and it was readable. Going back for the second half, now.
Yarg! I’m going to read it after Dinner, UCS’World is fun to read, I bought Far Beyond, I need to read more……………
Let me know what you think when you get to it.
Wonderful, UCS.
I’m glad you enjoyed it.
Where are my reading gloves, I’ll need them.
Did you check next to the computer?
Ahhh, there they are, a little worn but really comfy. Thanks, UCS.
I…………………..never mind
https://mobile.twitter.com/RealSaleemJuma/status/1283197824746704896
My takeaway from this video? “I don’t even own a track suit.”
You live in NJ and don’t own a track suit?
He doesn’t like in NJ.
I live in a free state. TYVM.
Though I may be NJ adjacent.
Well, those little UK police cruisers are kinda just asking to be trounced.
/U-S-A! U-S-A!
That explains why the yutes weren’t ventilated.
Great story.
Thanks.
Thank you.
you’re welcome.
So apparently the Ghislaine Maxwell trial isn’t until next year. I wonder if that’s because of the upcoming election? Side note Ghislaine sounds like a porn star name, or a street you don’t want to take a wrong turn onto.
If she lives until trial, they need it to happen after the election.
Yep.
I think she’ll “commit suicide” before the trial.
She will be proven innocent.
That would be a pretty good indicator that Trump isn’t on the Epstein list. If he were, this scandal would break before Nov. 3rd.
He doesn’t seem the pedo type. All of his wives have been tall blondes.
For all his problems, being a kiddie diddler isn’t one of them.
https://mobile.twitter.com/BurgerKing/status/1282978244329967617
I don’t get it.
Ya, me either. Except it is annoying as fuck so I thought I would share it.
Boomers gonna boom
Exploding hamburgers?
Did they find those kids in Wayfair cabinets? /confused
But….cows are herbivores. They eat what vegans eat. If cow farts are so bad….
Screw BK–this is hilarious.
Remember when Frank Sinatra was on Magnum PI?
It was not a very good episode.
Great read, thanks for posting it. I really needed a break from writing horrible SQL (fellow IT drone here), and this hit the spot.
Thank you, and you’re welcome.
Hope the machine god cooperates.
https://mobile.twitter.com/RealJamesWoods/status/1283170336058433536
A your mom joke?
I feel like he could do better. I mean, it’s still funny…but come on, man.
Speaking of James Woods, I watched Diggstown the other day. Loved that movie when I was kid, but after watching it this time I caught on to all of the ridiculous plot holes. Ruined the nostalgia for me.
I just noticed that Amazon Prime has season 1 of Night Flight this month.
It’s a trip to watch videos and interviews of 80’s acts along with movies and shorts. It was a real treat back in my youth.
Really UnC? Most of us are drunk. I’ll try to read this tomorrow. Timing is important.
How do I put this – I don’t schedule when an article posts.
Sorry, no offense intended. I actually want to read it.
Get some sleep, sober up, no one is actually angry or offended.
Just finished book two of three in a Robert Jordan series tonight. Your post will be a good break before I start the next book.
Those books are what? thre million words long?
They sure seem like it. This is my first foray into his books so I bought a 3 set bundle. I got the same feeling after finishing both books. Good writing but never ever seemed to happen until the last 5 pages. Kinda like an NBA game.
Every book spends the first half going back to the drawing board so skip that half.
I’m about halfway through. Geeky stuff layered with humble humor. Look forward to finishing it.
Are you going to take a break, or are you finishing now?
Walking to work. No audio version?
No, I’m afraid not.
It’s really good so far. You’ve obviously put in a lot of thought into it. Thumbs up.
That was a fun Battle, i enjoyed it, keep going UCS, I’m collecting them all!
Thanks for the tale
The one I’m working on now is at 15K, and is nearing a creshendo. Might be six weeks of serialization.
I was a petulant bitch at work today. I run the Structural Test department-our job is to try to break things. Planning never thinks about what happens after a test is complete. I just completed a series of tests on a f******e. I need to store this f******e at least until the governing body accepts the test results. But nobody planned on storing the damn thing. So I am without a rolling cart with which to store the f******e. I strapped it to a pallet and moved it to our storage place which has no forklift, then demanded that somebody build me a fucking rolling cart for it or the next test article was going to be stored in a snow bank.
DON’T FUCK WITH ME- I’M CLOSE TO THE EDGE!
If tha’ts fusilage, why is it starred out?
Maybe it’s a Fuselage, they tend a bit larger…….
Damnit, UCS, you win this round of Wheel of Fortune. Your prize is MY IRE.
DON’T FUCK WITH ME UCS, I’M THIS CLOSE TO THE EDGE.
THIS CLOSE !!
I was going with fumerole, and planning to be mighty impressed.
McGruff
Spuds MacKenzie
Air Bud
Marley
Boomers
Gen X
Millennials
Zoomers
My God.
2010
2020
“Eugene Gu: I will now speak for another minority community, in order to dismiss an offense against another minority community, having been asked by neither community for my thoughts”
https://twitter.com/Yair_Rosenberg/status/1283148148911869960
“INBOX: ViacomCBS terminates relationship with Nick Cannon after he refuses to apologize or acknowledge wrongdoing by spreading blatantly anti-Semitic conspiracy theories”
https://twitter.com/peterjhasson/status/1283204708606377985
Good.
Yeah that Gu MD guy is really fucking tiresome. The few times I have checked Trump’s twitter feed Ive noticed that he lives in the replies. The guy has major issues but he’s a doctor during Covid so we all are supposed to pretend that he’s not an asshole.
They are utterly emasculating vehicles. I think forcing American cops to use them would lead to a completely different type of cop on the street.
What, masks? As vehicles? Hmmm….could work, and you’d be spot-on about a “different type of cop”
According to HM, he doesn’t even have a license.
Two mice in a matter of weeks, I have to assume they’re living in the house.
This mouse startled me in the bathroom, so I took the drastic step of laying down glue traps. Its inability to escape showed that the door was too close to the floor for it to get under, so I laid a line of traps in from of the door with it closed, then opened the door. Now it’s squeaking at me and I have to figure out if the air rifle will flip the glue trap and cause more problems.
But now I gotta take measures to get the ones I haven’t seen.
*BLEEEEEEP*!!
I hate glue traps. They’re such a mess. But there was no other way to gaurantee I’d get the thing.
I suppose a crossbow would be overkill?
I don’t own one.
plus mice move rather quickly, so until I have it immobilized, I’m unlikely to hit such a small target.
Though I am now 3/3 on hitting immobile mice with the air rifle.
Time to call the taxidermist!
While this was the neatest pelt, the hole left by a .177 pellet is pretty big in a mouse pelt.
Can you at least get their little heads mounted to put on your wall?
Use the little femurs and skulls as parts for your next kitbash! When life gives you vermin use them to outfit a barbarian horde!
I haven’t been saving them…
Though, maybe I should… Mose parts are expensive
There was a mouse in the very first apartment my first hubby and I rented – and that I moved into by myself first. We almost certainly had brought it in accidentally with a stove that had been in my mother’s garage (near the woods behind the house.) I tried a glue trap first, but only the mouse’s tail stuck to it, and it eventually got away.
Moral of the story: There’s no substitute for the good old-fashioned snap trap. Pro tip: bait it with peanut butter, NOT cheese. Those clever little buggers can figure out how to get the cheese without setting off the trap. When the dirty deed had been done, I donned gloves (no, really!) and grabbed tongs to pry open the Jaws of Death and send the ex-rodent to his reward.
You butcher.
I’ve warred with mice before. I need to find the entry points an mouseproof them.
Anyway, what did you think of the story?
I was waiting ’til I got to the end of the comments, but since you asked: I love this sort of story told in the first person, especially by a protagonist without an inflated ego and WITH a bit of a (good) bad attitude. I love the fact that he wears glasses – what kind of fantasy/action hero wears glasses and has to squint his way through multiple attacks?
This line here makes this my kind of adventure tale. I also was amused when he couldn’t make his soldiers or Ruud understand he wanted them to shoot the dragon. I could just see their blank, oblivious stares back at the hero.
And more seriously, I love the fact that he’s shaken and disturbed that he has had to kill. It was exactly the sober touch the story needed to add depth and make it more than a swashbuckling tale narrated by a bit of a smartass. (Not that there’s anything wrong with smartasses. They’re my favorite kind of people.)
So…yeah – I kinda liked it.
Representation for astigmatism!
/jk
But I do appreciate the feedback.
New crusade: “Stop stigmatizing astigmatism!”
I have used fruit snack gummies twice in the past and have been successful. Mice are into sweets apparently.
I gave in to the urge. Another 1,000 rounds of Federal Lake City 5.56 NATO on order.
That’s probably enough weight to kill the mouse by just dropping the box on it.
Is there more to this story coming? Cause I’m hooked.
Well, not this one in particular.
The one I’m getting words on is from Kord the Younger (narrator of “Banker of Stirnberg“)
Depends on the height.
I dropped 900 rounds in a metal can on my foot from about 18″ off a bench. It was uncomfortable and made a welt but nothing crushed. This time.
My worst ammo dropping accident just resulted in me having to clean up two cases of 9mm that fell down the stairs, breaking open along the way,
I just can’t justify paying the prices now. I’m low on just about everything, but it’s so freaking expensive.
SGAMMO
$225 for 500. Limit two.
I hear you. It seems like every now and then you can catch a break on some ammo. Guns themselves are insane.
http://archive.li/kWllK/066bdd257231d9ef59ca5f414dbc4233b1c38bc8.jpg
NSFW.
http://archive.li/MEZMu/abcf10ddf351100e07b009f0086b0db865bf6c47.jpg
NSFW.
http://archive.li/4GX2D/c2b81e246dfbc144695933d4ecc9832e01cb461d.jpg
NSFW.
http://archive.li/e7z9z/1e09452a350f7487c88066177391cce81fbc6f3b.jpg
NSFW.
You couldn’t even find me some redheads?
He’s also clearly an Ableist. Not once has he posted disabled titties. An amputee can have a great rack, too.
http://archive.li/WsohC/dd68ee5836cc3c2f62189d320dd6d3ed1a47ab5c.jpg
NSFW.
Thank you.
That’s my line! Q? Redheads please,
http://archive.li/9EJp5/16e91cdd242e3a0b11d3a4ce72bb6c26718ff4ab.jpg
NSFW.
Thank You!
Can we talk about how Nick Cannon (who we knew is a talentless hack but now know is a fucking antisemitic nut-job) is still employed? Louis Farrakhan’s cult conspiracy theories can’t have gone that mainstream, can they?
didn’t he just get fired?
“Dropped by ViacomCBS.”
To be fair, I don’t actually actually care about him being fired or canceled or whatever. He’s got unlimited money at this point even if they do get rid of them.
I just cannot believe that an adult witb a supposedly functioning brain believes the farcical bullshit he was talking about in that interview. It’s so incredibly stupid on its face.
I’m curious to know how many people are out there who buy into this nonsense. Is it all Farrakhan disciples or what?
He was fired although only for his anti Semitic remarks.
He also literally said white people are genetically inferior to black people but that was apparently ok.
You don’t insult (((them))) when you work in entertainment.
Yeah, the wypipo are “true savages” bit. I had forgotten about that. The amount of openly racist things its now socially acceptable to say is pretty dumbfounding.
I don’t mind being called savage AF.
Oh no, he said way worse stuff than that.
I never thought of Abercrombie & Fitch as “savage”, but, I’ll go along with it.
If the shoe fits, ammirite?
Of course, our guy Cannon used the term in the traditional “subhuman” sense that I thought the Progs were trying to expunge from society as being “like, super unwoke”
People should not lose their jobs for expressing opinions no matter how awful or stupid unless the opinion expressed has to do with their job responsibilities. This game of turning the woketard’s weapons against the left just reinforces the idea that we need to punish disagreement, and that idea is in and of itself as evil as the opinions expressed. We have serious proposals to eliminate cash, the Chicoms have implemented a social credit system and we seem headed that way. I cannot imagine anyone on this site being able to survive in a society where your access to work, income, goods and services, in fact everything is determined by your expressed beliefs. What he said was idiotic and offensive, but lets not cheer on the mob when it happens to get a victim we dislike.
^^^This.
Unfortunately, I think the only options are Cancel Culture for everyone, or Cancel Culture just for the Right of Stalin. If we have to live with tyranny, at least let it be egalitarian tyranny.
^^^ This. Let’s hope the cancel wars lead to an armistice. Unless your job has a morals clause or your horrible thoughts are related to your job, your prickish take on things doesn’t cost your job.
What’s missing is a more reasonable version. Used to be if you embarrassed your employer, getting canned was expected. And most employees and even more companies kept their traps shut about dumbshit divisive issues.
True.
The problem, though, is the idea that people won’t be treated fairly in business dealings by these people saying the awful and stupid opinions. I have no idea what Nick Cannon does, but, I don’t think it’s far-fetched to say that some people would bypass the show he’s on if they thought they were the wrong ethnicity (for him). In that sense, the show suffers.
Then again, if he’s working with people who are already celebrities, this might not apply.
THIS, on the other hand, is exactly what I’m talking about. I don’t think the guy was trying to get her fired, so much as it being a disciplinary/training issue for management to deal with. She’s not owed that job, and, if she’s costing the store business, why keep her around–especially if she’s unrepentant?
The person in your link misbehaved on the job. That is to my mind a different case. I know the line blurs with celebrities and media types, but the road we are on scares me more than I can express. We really are seeing the apparatus of total thought control being created and implemented. Somehow we in the US still seem to believe it won’t come here, but the writing is on the wall, and there aren’t a lot of places to run now.
That would appear to fall within job related responsibilities. So she caused her own problems.
If this is about a distinction between work activities and social media, et al, I agree with you. However, I don’t quite see that in what you wrote.
I haven’t heard whether Fox canned him too.
Do you have these ??♂️????♀️ Emojis?
Pushups?
“Dogeza” bowing. Used for when you really messed up. My phone automatically pulls them up when I message the wife.
☝️This guy gets it.
https://www.nipponnews.net/bizarre/godzilla-apologizes/
Kanchō!!!
https://pbs.twimg.com/media/Ec7Xj5DWAAADTfb.jpg
I’m about as Jewish as the pope, but this shit pisses me off.
Jews were never warned against being lukewarm.
Yeah, did she even mention Israel in her resignation?
Cartoonist is going to catch some heat for that. Also, lol at the NYT being some bastion of Zionist fervor.
She mentioned being called a “Nazi” for talking about the JOOZ too much.
Apparently woketarians are immune to irony.
She’s also invoked the ‘proper’ terms for a lawsuit.
Godspeed, Bari. If they don’t want to uphold the laws they’ve kvetched for, make ’em eat it.
The Left is anti-Semitic. More at 11.
Yeah, it’s been that way for decades. Now it seems to be happening more openly.
Who/what is Mondoweiss? That is one lazy take.
You’re probably more Catholic than the pope, however.
I’ve been having trouble reading the comments lately. The first post will usually look okay, but when I go to the next article or refresh the print is really light colored with a white background and very hard to read.
Anyone know a fix? It would be appreciated. I do use monocle / greasemonkey.
Don’t think you can fix that on your end. It’s WP.
That really upsets me. I’m literally shaking right now.
Dude! Deep, cleansing breaths! I also found it helped to increase the “zoom” of my browser. I have it at 120%, and that helped a lot. Of course, I’m on my laptop, not a phone, so I don’t know how much that would help on a phone. (Never tried it on mine.)
Good idea on the zoom. Thanks. Now it’s much easier to read on my 60 inch monitor (TV).
“Monitor”….riiiiiight.
😉
Have you tried shutting down your computer and turning it back on? Try that a few times.
ALT F4 is your friend,
“Lincoln Project co-founder was a literal foreign agent for
… wait for it
… are you ready
… can you guess
— Russia!
Yes, really.”
https://twitter.com/Cernovich/status/1283224911448690689
You don’t have to be pro-Trump to recognize how shitty the Lincoln Project types are.
Stupid Tree is an often heard term on the the course, i wanted a tee shirt to reflect this sentiment, so I got this,
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07L1GH4YW/ref=ppx_yo_dt_b_asin_title_o00_s00?ie=UTF8&customId=B07537P1KZ&psc=1
Now with more STEVE SMITH!
The website is so jacked up, it’s giving me a headache, I can barely read it,
As has been pointed out it is WP, not TPTB and it happens everytime they push an update. SP usually fixes it quickly.
I know why Jar, it’s just a bummer because it’s hard to read
What Ed says in the first paragraph.
I regularly listen to Christopher Cross unironically.
We get it you like dick. It’s already been established. Talk about beating a dead horse.
Taking each day one day at a time playing with my masters toys
Shown: a VERY good time
Dead Horse? Like your obsession with First?
Why?
He has to ride, ride like the wind.
Lol. I hate you.
Maybe he’s just thinking of Laura.
I’m probably glad I’m missing the reference.
Probably.
Alas! Chafed lives in a sailing town, and has no yacht rock in his soul.
Busy Wednesday, 18 holes of Tag play at 7, then the dog walk, lunch and a nap.
Then i have a four O’clock Rafting Adventure with Daughter and 3/4 of my Grandkids, towing the Island with the kayaks. I got PFDs for all the kids so we are mostly safe, talking River Fun!
G’Night Glibs.
I’ll see y’all in the morning.
G’night, UCS and all you other gentlemen! (Have I been the only chick here all night besides Q’s titty pics? What’s up with that?) I’m off to dream of dragons and pirates and near-sighted heroes.
Ouch!
I feel bad for the family seeing their kid gunned down. Then again, his ass was violently cray-cray.
You know damn well they will claim he was killed in cold blood and/or he’s a martyr.
I can imagine the Israeli judge…”No, he seemed like his blood was boiling at that point.”
It’s 9:30, where did everyone go?
Work…?
Plus, the WP crap. You definitely aren’t alone on that point, Yu.
ah well, more Adventures tomorrow, a pretty good Summer so far, Work is coming soon, so play while I can,
I was, indeed, working.
Also, the display problem. No, you aren’t alone.
UCS, I’ll read later today. I just couldn’t see it last night.
Okay.
Let me know what you think when you get the chance.
Well, due to several different reasons, files taxes tonight. Feels weird doing it in July. Almost wrote “fuck you, cut spendings” or “tax slavery debt” on the memo line.
Did print out and signed the Governor recall petition. Wife saw it on the printer and asked for one too. Also used a somewhat impolite word to refer to the gov. I was a little surprised.
And wtf is with the irs asking about cryptocurrency? Fuck you, if it’s not taxable, none of your fucking business what I possess.
Hate the players AND the Game, yo!
All that hate is going to burn you up
Why do you think cryptocurrency isn’t taxable?
Transactions gain/loss probably, sure. And those would be filled out in the appropriate section or attachment. But the IRS doesn’t put a yes/no question about a myriad of other potential tax situations. Why just cryptocurrency?
It’s the same idea as foreign assets. I’m not saying it’s right. Only that it is within the IRS’ power to require you to report.
Sir Digby, any local insight on this?
https://mobile.twitter.com/stillgray/status/1283195329605562369
Hmmm….where to begin? Downtown Dallas is shit. Period. Period shit. It’s where the July 7th shootings took place, and, no matter what anyone tries to do, it’s just a shit place after sundown. Even American Airline Arena is offset from downtown.
I am, of course, going heavy on the negative. But, 50 years here, and I’ve never liked it much, as it’s just not a “go and do something” type of downtown. At least, not to me.
For the businesses there that have a ‘night life’, it’s not all savory (much of it hasn’t been–might have changed over the last 20, but, I don’t think that much).
On top of that, a lot of BLM is truly just for commie white kids, which this seems to be. There are pockets of this sort of leftism in and around downtown, like Deep Ellum, some of Oak Lawn (the “gay” area)….some others.
As to what started it, or, why that place, I have no idea–there is no news report about it (let that sink in). Also, apparently, there’s not enough CHL-ing going on.
I bet Don Escaped could say more and in a better way about how shitty downtown Dallas is compared to downtown Ft. Worth. Even with its problem places, FW just has a better downtown social scene that I’ve never seen Dallas come close to.
So, what you do have going on downtown usually doesn’t attract the best and brightest. Basically–Sun’s Up, Fun’s Up. Sun’s Down, Throw Down. That’s how I see it. So, the stupidity baked into BLM (the org) is gonna bring stupid shit like this out. But as to the specifics, I can’t find anything.
If I knew the restaurant, I might be able to ferret out why there.
Some of the best times I’ve had in any city’s downtown hasn’t been savory. But I get your gist.
No news coverage is interesting. I would think this is the sort of thing Dallas would want to see on TV.
What is CHL?
Yeah, I can’t find any news stories through google. A check of the local affiliate that I
trustam used to shows nothing. And, I can’t say I haven’t had fun in and around there, but not around strangers (for the most part).*Concealed Handgun License.
Got it.
As with “Will not comply” holding onto illegal firearms, there’s really no point if you can’t use it. Anyone pulling a gun would be arrested for brandishing and more severe charges from there. Several years of antifa allowed to progressively do whatever they want.
Oh, but people can, especially when shit (furniture and dining ware) starts getting thrown around. At least, that’s what I tell myself. Even then, not enough self-defense training, either. A well-placed arm or leg snap on a few of them would likely get many others to back down.
Also: check this out https://mobile.twitter.com/flyonthesly1/status/1283243088958369792
See the guy with the professional camera rig near the beginning? What up with that?
I don’t see it but I’m on my phone so the image is relatively small.
It’s actually a fb video. https://www.facebook.com/thehodgetwins/videos/322515745800483/?vh=e&d=n
At about 15 seconds in, a guy with a video camera harness rig is recording. Looks at least semi-professional. It’s unexpected, considering this is/was supposedly spontaneous, and I don’t think he was there with the protesters.
Not saying it’s all fake; just that there’s lots of odd things, sans explanation.
It may be a fake. It may be a set up (innocent diners and asshole BLM). Do the cops look real to you?
Oh, they (cops) are…well, they look it. And, I don’t know how you’d fake this outside of a professional production.
I just don’t get why that camera guy was there with his rig on at that time. Very odd, that, and the lack of news.
What up with that indeed.
https://youtu.be/Vv98ceYutgQ
Seems reasonable.
https://www.washingtonexaminer.com/washington-secrets/mayors-back-reparations-could-cost-6-2-quadrillion-151m-per-descendant
Stopped right there. Fuck them both with each others
dicks cuntesgenitals.I am not watching that. Though I am curious if she has a cowboy hat for the occasion.
LOL!
Took them long enough.
https://www.reviewjournal.com/news/politics-and-government/nevada/clark-county-bars-suing-over-latest-closure-order-2073656/
Hmmm….I wonder how the new “spikes” will affect future rulings on this. I can imagine there are judges that will say that, since re-openings weren’t without risks, and there were some rises in COVID numbers, the lockdowns can continue.
Looks like they have numbers on their side and are seeking the “science” on why it is bars and taverns that were targeted. Probably will get thrown out, but it puts an arrow in the quiver
https://twitter.com/jkdanthony10/status/1282781941180379137?s=21
Said the deranged guy stuck in the 1920s time warp, ranting about fascists.
Durr hurr, muh Joe McCarthy!!!
These gaslighting poontangers are getting tiresome.
Nothing shows a
womanpolitical party more deranged or stuck in some 1950s time warp more than somebody running around screaming about “Marxists” Russian interference as if the Cold War’s still on. Of course, screaming aboutMarxistsRussian interference is howfascistsDeep Staters hide what they’re doing so that totally explains this. We see you.If it looks like a commie, and, demands government in every facet of peoples’ lives like a commie….
If it hits the ‘Reply’ button, but, doesn’t actually reply to the last comment….
For anyone who wants/needs a dark humor pick-me-up: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h1d6s1Z3vV0
LOL
Oh Teds’…
*checks the news*
Yup, 2020 is still stupid. ?
2020. Stupidest year ever? Discuss.
As I was driving home from not-my-usual direction last evening, I passed some of the lingering evidence of one of the tornadoes that hit Dayton on Memorial Day ’19, and I thought, “My town got hit with multiple tornadoes and had a mass shooting in ’19, and 2020 is STILL worse than that.” (At least for me. Granted, not for the folks most directly affected by either or both of the ’19 events. But you know what I mean.)
Yep. Every afternoon I wake up and it’s like “2020. Still?”
No, most mendacious year ever, at least in this country.
The supposed Goya boycott isn’t going too well (anecdotal evidence I know):
https://mobile.twitter.com/TimRunsHisMouth/status/1282775834445701127
Right wingers need to do these buycotts or whatever you want to call them more often and it’s a lot more constructive and positive than throwing a fit and refusing to buy stuff.
Twitter links don’t work – what’s the salient point?
Just a pic of a sign on the shelf at a grocery store limiting purchase of Goya products to 2 due to increased demand.
Two of any goya, or per product?
Not sure, doesn’t specify…I’d think per product though. They make a surprising amount of stuff.
Their yellow rice we made turned out to be really
good. It’s going into the regular rotation, and
we’ll try more of their stuff.
I fucking love it. I helped with this. Just like the record setting NICS #s.
Morning, Glibs.
Morning, UCS. And you, too, Stinky.
Mornin’ GT, all.
Mornin’, TH. Hey, can you tell me what the caption on your avatar GIF says? I can’t quite make it out even if I enlarge it.
“I don’t like your jerk-off name. I don’t like your jerk-off face. I don’t like your jerk-off behavior, and I don’t like you, jerk-off.”
Thanks. I gather that’s from a movie or TV show?
*Blank stare*
Do you even Big Lebowski, bro?
😉
::hangs head in shame:: I’ve seen it exactly once – on TV, and I’m sure I was distracted during many scenes. Please don’t make me turn in my Glibs card! : (
I’ll let it slide…just this once. 🙂
It’s Ok, GT. I didn’t think it was all that and a bag of chips when I first saw it either. It was the memes that made it a legend in “libertarian” circles. I personally found it one of the lesser Coen Bros. movies.
Thanks, Fes. I don’t see a lot of movies. We rarely go see them in the theatre, and we don’t have any of the premium movie channels in our cable package. For that matter, we have Netflix but rarely think to watch it.
And Diggy, Ted S., & Sean, if you’re still around.
Breakfast today is two eggs fried in herb butter with sauteed mushrooms (also in herb butter)
I’m having cold pizza from Godfather’s and instant coffee…jealous much? Ha!
So you’re also having a “What do I have on hand?” breakfast.
Pretty much. I’ve curtailed my grocery shopping down to businesses that refuse to engage in Covid theatre but driving there is kinda inconvenient throughout the week, so…a lot of take out and delivery for now.
That sounds really good. Unless I do something like drive through Timmy’s, my breakfast will be a single cup of low-carb Greek yogurt, eventually followed by a small pack of mixed nuts when the yogurt fails to satisfy my appetite.
Well, I’m now out of eggs and mushrooms.
I still have butter, basil, and parsley.
Good morning all.
Feeling profoundly middle aged this morning. Woke up, stretched, pulled a muscle in my upper back, opened a twist off lid in my kitchen, hurt my index finger, it’s raining and my joints ache…
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=0zQwsAn_nMc
Rainstorms in my knees…this aging shit is for the birds.
You are preaching to the choir brother….but considering the alternative getting old doesn’t seem that bad.
Aches and pains are just a random occurrence nowadays. That left knee that hurt yesterday? It feels fine but the right shoulder is pretty tight… Working a physical job after 50 is for fools and people like me. It’s always something.
Great story UCS. I enjoyed it.
Thank you, I’m glad to hear it.
I’ll check it out this afternoon. I’ve been busy lately. Off to work!
Gauleiter DeRINO has scheduled an address for 5:30 p.m. today instead of his customary 2 p.m. I’ve been warned he may put the hammer down – possibly a statewide mask order instead of the county-by-county stuff he’s been doing. I’m not looking forward to whatever it is – my YMCA membership is no good in Richmond, IN.
Even if the claimed effectiveness of masks is granted, a one size fits all policy for wearing them is arbitrary and capricious and moronic. Rural counties are in no way equivalent to urban centers when it comes to risk.
Well, that would be him all over.
Coming in to work this morning, I observed a young dude walking his dog, by himself in a rural neighborhood, and wearing a mask. *facepalm*
How did he get the dog to wear the mask?
?
You should look into getting these masks.
Awesome! : D
New York Times Opinion: Put Roger Stone before a grand jury to find out what he knew about coordination between Wikileaks, Russia, and the Trump campaign and file fresh charges accordingly:
https://www.nytimes.com/2020/07/14/opinion/roger-stone-trump-grand-jury.html
All the news that’s not fit to print and, no, this was published yesterday not two years ago.
They are relentless, I’ll concede that point at least.
Sounds familiar. It’s cost-effective to pay one person to write the editorials for multiple publications.
https://www.nj.com/opinion/2020/07/even-trumps-critics-admit-his-swamp-is-unprecedented-historic-editorial.html
Oh, well – If I can’t look forward to the SMOD, I guess I’ll settle for an earthquake.
‘Mornin’ GT. Seems my decision to tell management to go pound sand has resulted in befuddlement and total radio silence. They are between a rock and a hard place because I can’t easily be replaced and the client is adamant about fixing the situation. The work will get done but it won’t be me biting the pillow. They either need to pay me or pay someone else but Festus don’t work for free. Your kind and supportive words yesterday steeled my resolve. Thank You! (You too UCS)
Good to hear it.
I was half way to caving because fighting this battle of inches gets so fucking tiring when your own management is ready to throw you under the bus every time for convenience’s sake. I am on my own and if nobody else will stand up for me then I’d better gird my loins. Union is less than useless.
You’re quite welcome! Happy to help in my own tiny way (the tinier the better!)
Thank you for not “othering” me. Tiny dicks matter too!
https://www.nj.com/marijuana/2020/07/murphy-says-legalizing-weed-is-incredibly-smart-to-offset-budget-woes-triggered-by-coronavirus.html
Now do ass_sex and Mexicans.
NJ has the highest insurance premiums and state taxes in the country.
No amount of income will offset their budget woes.
The only thing that would help would be cutting their income to 1/10th of what it is now and starving the motherfuckers.
There are some very nice corners of that state. But at it’s core it’s a rotten shithole. Nothing is going to save it and it’s going to get worse.
Seven Trillion, same as Downtown…
No shit. Murphy has already suggested a tax increase to offset the revenue shortfalls from “the virus”. Nobody could foresee that shuttering businesses and putting people out of work would have consequences. And now he’s concerned that state employees might be laid off? They must be more essential than the private sector workers who have been suffering for months.
Fuck Ted Wheeler.
https://twitter.com/ArtValley818/status/1283204537239564288
JFC. What is wrong with people?