February 3, 2018 at 3:00 pm #149565
Today, my morning run along the fiord to the job you promised me had ‘nothing dangerous’ about it, was interrupted. A half-kilo out, I saw my car was torn in half. Rooting through the wreckage was a troll. He had a height of eight feet, shoulder span of about five, nose width about two. He saw me and gave chase till he realized sunrise was imminent.
He ran back to the shack, attempting to get under it, but smashed through it completely, along with the entire inventory, save a single beach umbrella and five packs of salted nuts. I would have took a picture with my cellphone, but I have no space left. My family photos are much more important as they have passed on.
He was looking for cold medicine, as one of his victims had had a cold. He sneezed out a booger as big as my head, which turned to feldspar. In doing so, he nearly dropped the umbrella that was keeping his upper third safe, save most of an ear and his left arm. I demanded payment for your business and my car. He refused, explaining he wouldn’t buy anything broken. I realized his home was probably under the old bridge another hundred meters past my parking place. I told him he could give me all his gold or give me the umbrella back. He agreed and told me how to enter his lair. After I had a look at the other items in his possession and took a partial deposit, I demanded all his stored possessions in exchange for not phoning the quarry before sunset. I demonstrated by calling the realty company for the value of the building just destroyed and the approximate value of a gravel-covered lot in its place. He agreed, though angrily. I called a cab. I went to town. I hired an armored truck, began your insurance claim, requested a tax reassessment and a large dumpster, and personally visited a rental car agency, a department store, a bank, and the quarry.
I made him agree not to come after me or send anyone or anything after me in exchange for four tubes of sunblock, which I applied with a long-handled mop. He ate the mop, the umbrella, and the nuts afterwards in exchange for loading the dumpster with all the debris he didn’t wish to eat with his then-free arm. With the armored truck and the dumpster full, I drove off as the quarry workers arrived, ready to hose off some sunblock and harvest some stone. I had several more stops to make with my rental, including the bank, the police, and the post to send you this notice.
You will see I am not heartless, as I opened a business account in your name for the retail amount of the inventory I could verify, the till amount minus my coming net pay, and a sizeable deposit for a new business location. The police now have several missing persons’ belongings and a story they don’t believe. Your cousin? The one with the cold? They verified for me he was working the shack when he disappeared. They’ll ask you some questions, no doubt. Since I didn’t move to this frozen wasteland till after he was eaten, they didn’t do more than check my passport history and listen to me claim I ‘found’ their stuff under a bridge.
Don’t try to find me. He told me how to call trolls to eat my enemies. I’m retiring somewhere sunny with very few bridges.
Harry BrownFebruary 10, 2018 at 7:59 pm #149641
My master and I were sailing his fishing boat further out when came upon an inky-black part of the sea. He had been teaching me the second lesson in judo recently, and so we went ashore to practice on a rust-brown sandy beach.
The thing that attacked us he called an ‘ork’ later. He swung a spiked ball on a chain riveted and plated to where his left hand should have been and had an odd scimitar in his right hand.
He hit the stump of a tree as I dodged. My master pushed a dagger into the chain and twisted. As the chain broke, the ork swung his blade. My master dodged, and the blade cleaved the old stump, but lodged there. My master put a thumb-lock on the ork, and it TORE LOOSE OF ITS OWN THUMB. In spinning to attack my master again, it caught its right foot under its own blade and tore it off. Roaring, it limped after us down the beach. We reached the boat without issue. I asked my master whether we should kill it out of mercy.
My master pointed at it wedging a boulder loose from the muddy shore, and asked, “Mercy for it or for its next foe?”
It heaved that boulder over fifteen man-lengths in our direction. It landed a mere hand-span from our boat and nearly capsized us. We sailed on. *orcs
February 17, 2018 at 6:09 pm #149727February 24, 2018 at 5:02 pm #149884March 17, 2018 at 1:55 pm #150105
- This reply was modified 2 months, 4 weeks ago by Herr D.
“Theros was a center of trade, a peaceful people as any viewglass will show. When the serpent awakened and emerged to hunt, there were only three survivors out of seven thousand. The serpent retired once more to its thousand-year sleep. The heirs are willing to trade half their inherited lands for proof the serpent will not return. Its head being the size of a hundred men closely gathered, their representative will travel to where it is killed for a homestead of the heirs choosing. The Poison Swamps remain not for sale or trade.”
March 17, 2018 at 6:22 pm #150116March 31, 2018 at 1:42 pm #150317
- This reply was modified 1 month, 3 weeks ago by Herr D.
Part of the Minotaur story not focused upon in legend: An angry King Minos, on discovering his wife had cheated on him with the Cretan Bull, smashed the wooden cow she’d had made for the ‘event’ and bloodied her with a savage beating. Legends do say the Minotaur had an appetite for blood, but do not agree on where it learned to consume it. With mother’s milk would be one way, certainly. Perhaps its first bassinet was the broken wooden headpiece of the cow? At birth it would have cloven feet, stubs for horns, and light gray skin, as the cattle on Crete are a breed ranging from dark gray to charcoal gray, unlike the white of the unique Cretan Bull.
It was hated and feared and taught every negative thing it could have been taught. It takes a man to not become a monster.
*minotaurApril 7, 2018 at 6:06 pm #150429
Sometimes it seems like the whole world is a bad fit.
*CentaurApril 22, 2018 at 5:54 am #150567
The press have been shut out. Witnesses won’t talk. Police won’t give a statement. Fifty-one bad shots by yours truly and ONE good picture of this nutjob leapin’ over a wall. By the TATTLE! Dumb rag got lucky. All anybody knows is that ‘Southpaw’ slices up people born in the year of the Rat and the year of the Ox that graduated from St. Paul High School. An Asian studies expert was hired. Alls they know is that it’s somebody with a grudge . . . who can get custom-forged metal claws, order high-quality ninja shoes off the net, and stitch together old silk pajamas and fake fur.
Nutjob’s victims have moved all over. Havin’ trouble trackin’ ’em down for protection.
April 28, 2018 at 6:22 pm #150638
- This reply was modified 1 month ago by Herr D.
That lamebrain thought I wrote down EmCZ. That’s my name now. Never mind, it sounds rapper-cool enough and I get free cubic zirconiums in my fan mail. My strength and flight are one and the same, really. Forcefields. The muscles I get from focusing my body on what I want the fields to do. Figures though, that I get the ONE journalist can’t read a physics equation or listen to simple instructions. I WANTED them to call me ‘Curie.’ It’s all right . . .
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