Garrison Kelly's Blog, page 18

Windham Xavier

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THE BASICS
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Name: Windham Alfred Xavier
Nicknames: Windy, X-Man, WAX

Gender: Cisgender Male
Age: 30
Birth Date: 470 PM
Birth Place: Xavier Village
Currently Living In: Xavier Village
Species: Elf
Ethnicity / Race: Elf
Citizenship: Honey Valley
Religion / Beliefs: Magetan Leftist

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FAMILY
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Father: Edward Xavier
Age: Dead
Relationship: Strained

Mother: Yvonne Xavier
Age: Dead
Relationship: Healthy

Sister: Llewellyn Xavier
Age: 35
Relationship: Caring

Pet(s): Zeal (nightjar)

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PHYSICAL FEATURES:
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Height: 6’3”
Weight: 185 lbs.
Frame / Build: Lanky
Hair length: Long
Hair color: Blond
Eye shape: Normal
Eye color: Purple
Complexion: Light Green
Face size (broad, narrow, etc.): Narrow
Voice type: Gentle
Foot size: 12
Tattoo(s): None
Scar(s): Lashes on his back
Other notable accessories: None
Any other identifying mark(s): Pointy ears

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SOCIO / ECONOMIC / POLITICAL
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Political Affiliation: Left-wing
Economic Class: Moneyless society
Social Class: Royalty
Occupation: Prince, Warrior, Artist
Income: Moneyless society
Residence: Xavier Village
Transportation: Feet

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INTERESTS
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Favorite Food(s): Vegetarian Burrito
Favorite Sport(s): Jogging
Favorite Book(s): Magetan bible
Favorite Show(s): TV doesn’t exist yet
Favorite Music: Gentle harps and violins
Favorite Color(s): Blue
Clothing Style / Preferences: Religious robes, gray body suits
Hobbies: Writing, reading, painting, and sculpting
Role Model(s): His sister, Mageta, his mother
Likes: Peace and quiet
Dislikes: Being overworked

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PERSONALITY
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Good Qualities / Trait(s): Kindness towards animals, loyal friend, cares about the downtrodden
Vices / Negative Trait(s): Distrust of strangers (after the rape), traumatic mind, burned out
Strengths: Fighting abilities with a whip, pick-pocketing, endurance
Weaknesses: Doesn’t handle trauma well, anger management issues, daddy issues
Habits / Idiosyncrasies / Quirks: Twirls hair and cracks joints
Phobia / Fears: His own mind, losing his individuality
Loves: Animals, creativity, friendship
Hates: Betrayal, racism, being overpowered

Select one personality type below that best describes your character:

Artist (ISFP) – Creative, quiet, serious, loyal and sensitive. Do not like conflict. Takes great value in personal freedom. Private and prone to confusion. Gifted at creating and composing. Good appreciation for beauty. Not interested in leading or controlling others. Very original and creative especially in the arts. Can be trendsetters and into latest styles and art / fashion / etc.

Define your character’s personality based on the following aspects:

a. Physically (outward interaction with his environment, personal strengths): Imposing warrior
b. Psychologically (intellect, mental stability, morality): Intelligent, easily angered, good intentions, easily traumatized
c. Spiritually (his faith, convictions): Zealot of the lion god Mageta
d. Emotionally (willpower, under stressful situations, expressiveness): Can’t handle excessive trauma, gets distracted by things that anger him, only cries when he knows he’s alone)
e. Socially (how others view him, how he interacts with people): He is hated by Shadow Asylum (despite being employed there), he is “loved” by the Atwood Queendom, and he’s genuinely loved by the Xavier Village.

Others things to know:

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HISTORY
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1. Describe the character’s childhood. During his single digit ages, Windham was shielded from the harshness of the human world by his overprotective mother and sister. By age 10, his father expected him to take the role of leader and pushed him too hard into that lifestyle. The brutal combat training, the long classes at the STEM school, and the lack of time to unwind and create art has left Windham with a disdain for his father. In the end, he just wants to get away from it all and he believes following the events of the story will bring him closer to his goal.

2. Name the good incidents that have happened in the character’s life. How has this shaped his personality? Windham enjoyed whale watching as a kid and incorporated his love for animals in his art

3. Name bad experiences that have happened in the character’s life. How has this shaped his personality? Not only did he receive tough treatment from his own father, but also the art galleries and teachers that constantly talked down to him. This made him hate his job even more.

4. What is the character doing when first introduced? What are his goals at this point?
He’s on a mission for Shadow Asylum to draw blueprints for Shelly Atwood’s castle. In reality, he wants to know what happened to the missing grangers in his village. He hates his job, but he feels compelled to do it because of his father’s toughness and the seriousness of his side quest.


4a. Do these goals change at any point in the story?

After the trauma of his rape, he just wants peace and quiet, to get as far away from Shelly, Orpheus, and his own throne as possible. He’s too burned out to carry on.

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STORY DEVELOPMENT:
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CHARACTER ARCHETYPE: (Put an X on all applicable boxes)

[] Addict (Conspicuous Consumer, Glutton, Workaholic–see also Gambler)
[] Advocate (Attorney, Defender, Legislator, Lobbyist, Environmentalist)
[] Alchemist (Wizard, Magician, Scientist, Inventor–see also Visionary)
[] Angel (Fairy Godmother/Godfather)
[] Antagonist (Opposing View, not necessarily the Evil Bad — see also Villain)
[] Anti-Hero
[X] Artist (Artisan, Craftsperson, Sculptor, Weaver)
[] Athlete (Olympian)
[] Avenger (Avenging Angel, Savior, Messiah)
[] Beggar (Homeless person/ Indigent)
[] Bully (Coward)
[] Catalyst
[] Child (Orphan, Wounded, Magical/Innocent, Nature, Divine, Puer/Puella Eternis, or Eternal Boy/Girl)
[] Clown (Court Jester, Fool, Dummling)
[X] Companion (Friend, Sidekick, Right Arm, Consort)
[X] Damsel (Princess)
[] Destroyer (Attila, Mad Scientist, Serial Killer, Spoiler)
[] Detective (Spy, Double Agent, Sleuth, Snoop, Sherlock Holmes, Private Investigator, Profiler–see also Warrior/Crime Fighter)
[] Dilettante (Amateur)
[] Don Juan (Casanova, Gigolo, Seducer, Sex Addict)
[] Engineer (Architect, Builder, Schemer)
[] Exorcist (Shaman)
[] Father (Patriarch, Progenitor)
[] Femme Fatale (Black Widow, Flirt, Siren, Circe, Seductress, Enchantress)
[] Gambler
[] God (Adonis, see also Hero)
[] Gossip (see also Networker)
[] Guide (Guru, Sage, Crone, Wise Woman, Spiritual Master, Evangelist, Preacher)
[] Healer (Wounded Healer, Intuitive Healer, Caregiver, Nurse, Therapist, Analyst, Counselor)
[] Hedonist (Bon Vivant, Chef, Gourmet, Gourmand, Sybarite–see also Mystic)
[] Hermit (see also Wise old Man)
[X] Hero/Heroine (see also Knight, Warrior)
[] Judge (Critic, Examiner, Mediator, Arbitrator)
[] King (Emperor, Ruler, Leader, Chief — see also Politician)
[] Knight in Shining Armor
[] Liberator
[] Lover
[] Martyr
[] Mediator (Ambassador, Diplomat, Go-Between)
[] Mentor (Master, Counselor, Tutor)
[] Messiah (Redeemer, Savior)
[] Midas/Miser
[] Monk/Nun (Celibate)
[] Mother (Matriarch, Mother Nature)
[] Mystic (Renunciate, Anchorite, Hermit)
[] Networker (Messenger, Herald, Courier, Journalist, Communicator)
[] Pioneer (Explorer, Settler, Pilgrim, Innovator)
[X] Poet
[X] Politician (see also King)
[] Priest (Priestess, Minister, Rabbi, Evangelist)
[X] Prince
[] Prostitute
[] Queen (Empress)
[] Rebel (Anarchist, Revolutionary, Political Protester, Nonconformist, Pirate)
[] Rescuer
[] Saboteur
[] Samaritan
[] Scribe (Copyist, Secretary, Accountant–see also Journalist)
[] Seeker (Wanderer, Vagabond, Nomad)
[] Servant (Indentured Servant)
[] Shape-shifter (Spell-caster–see also Trickster)
[] Slave
[] Spectre (Ghost / Apparition with Unresolved issues)
[X] Storyteller (Minstrel, Narrator)
[X] Student / Scholar (Disciple, Devotee, Follower, Apprentice)
[] Teacher (Instructor, see also Mentor)
[X] Thief (Swindler, Con Artist, Pickpocket, Burglar, Robin Hood)
[] Threshold Guardian
[] Trickster (Puck, Provocateur)
[] Turncoat
[] Vampire
[X] Victim
[] Villain / Shadow (Big Bad of the story; see also Antagonist)
[X] Virgin (see also Celibate)
[] Visionary (Dreamer, Prophet, Seer–see also Guide, Alchemist)
[X] Warrior (Soldier, Crime Fighter, Amazon, Mercenary, Soldier of Fortune, Gunslinger, Samurai)
[] Wise old Man (see also Hermit)

1. What are the motivations for the character’s actions? To complete his long list of duties so that he can finally have time for himself.

2. What are the character’s goals / ambition / dreams? To create art without judgment, to psychologically heal, to find peace and quiet, and to take care of animals

3. What external conflicts would you wish for the character to overcome?
Take down the Atwood Queendom and Shadow Asylum

3a. What are the obstacles in the character’s path that might make this difficult?
He’s only one person and they’re entire corporations. Plus, he’s afraid of Shelly.

4. What inner conflicts would you wish for the character to overcome?
Shutting up the voices in his head and “falling out of love” with Shelly

4a. What are the obstacles in the character’s path that might make this difficult?
Being raped and brainwashed to the point where that’s all he can think about

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AUTHOR’S NOTES / MISCELLANY
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Character theme song: “Heavy” by Linkin Park

Celebrity / IRL lookalike: Christopher Masterson, but with long hair

Symphony of Evil

Out of fettle, out of line
Out of metal, out of time
Sympathy unequal
Symphony of evil

Skeletons play their violins with bloody blades
Zombie-ogres beat tympanis with bloodlust rage
Ghosts play their flutes with their dying breaths
Gorgons play xylophones on ribs and chests
Warlocks bang cymbals over screaming heads
Necromantic conductor commands the undead
Mausoleum is the arena for this musical night
Audience to the left and demons to the right

Out of hell, they will climb
Out of spells, more they’ll find
History of sequels
Symphony of evil

The sirens sing their ear-splitting stories
Of tempted fools meeting ends so gory
Of greedy bastards who wanted more
Of rich politicians who waged the wars
Symphony of evil guided their words
Sleeping souls suffer hellfire burns
Let’s party like it’s whatever BC
Sell the whole thing on ten CD’s

Out of death, they rise again
Out of breath, though not the end
Misery of steeples
Symphony of evil

Did you enjoy your night of music?
Get Pinot Noir on your favorite tunic?
Choke on popcorn until you passed out?
Expecting a pop sensation cash cow?
You’ll have your own violin in due time
You’ll have your own lyrics to rhyme
You can join the symphony of evil
Sorry for the lack of heavenly appeal

Jerry Frost Is the Colonel Sanders of Jim Roots

We’ve all had days where we were out of fettle. Getting out of bed couldn’t be harder if you were cuffed to the fucking thing. Even the act of ordering fast food proved more difficult than cooking a three-course meal yourself. The wintry mix of gray diarrhea and depressive smoke bears down upon you whether you have a roof over your head or not. Wouldn’t it be nice to have somebody to talk to during these difficult moments? Someone who won’t judge you (because your brain does that enough already). Someone who won’t make you talk about things you’re not comfortable with. Someone who can put things into perspective in a way you couldn’t see before (probably because your damp eyelids were too heavy to lift). That someone could very well be licensed art therapist Jerry Frost, one of the few RPG characters I managed to get right.

Okay, so he wasn’t 100% perfect, but who would want that anyways since Gary-Stus are about as appealing as a wet paper towel. But while his portrayal of a psychotherapist was dead-on, his background story could have used a hell of a lot more work than I gave it. His childhood would have given Sigmund Freud a massive stroke (the kind in his brain, not the kind in his jockey shorts, you sick fucks). Jerry’s parents were tough on him as they pushed him towards becoming a STEM guy. He could forget his artistic pursuits and just mix chemicals all day long, because that’s what the wallet wanted. But even Jerry knew that wallets were hungry for more than just Big Pharma money or electrical engineering cheddar. Just like with menus at restaurants, there were many avenues for Jerry to choose from. But his strict parents insisted he become a STEM guy, because that was the wallet’s equivalent of an all-you-can-eat Brazilian steakhouse.

Jerry had other plans. Mixing chemicals and fusing wires together sounded about as much fun to him as watching dust accumulate on his bookshelf. Why care so much about the dust when there were perfectly good books there with stories of dragons and elves, kings, queens, and themperors, magical diamonds and fiery swords? He could write his own stories. He could draw his own creatures. He could compose acoustic guitar songs about an elven archer’s final shot into the heart of a cannibalistic ogre. He could do it all! But of course, the message of STEM guys being paid handsomely was beaten into his head so much that he had to come up with a nice compromise so that he didn’t get chucked out of the house before he was ready. Jerry Frost would become an art therapist. He still got to explore his creative avenues, but he could satisfy his STEM obligations since psychology is still a science.

So far, so good. He’s got a background story. He’s got motivations. He’s got a psychological edge to him. Now all he needs is a way to pay for college so that he can get that degree and get out there into the world. And he plans on paying for it by…working extra hours at KFC. Why wouldn’t he want to work at KFC? He looks like Jim Root from Slipknot and Jim Root has that beard and hairstyle combo that almost reminded him of Colonel Sanders. Jerry Frost is the Colonel Sanders of Jim Roots. He made a shit-load of fried chicken and served it to the hungriest bellies, all day, every day, until he earned enough to pay for his tuition. There’s just one problem with all of this: in the real world, working at KFC doesn’t pay for shit. Barely surviving in an apartment that costs an arm, a leg, a brain, and a heart is closer to reality than this dream scenario I concocted. It’s a uniquely millennial and Gen Z experience. That is where Jerry’s back story falls apart.

Another way in which it falls apart is through the act of art therapy itself. I didn’t learn this until after the RPG session, but apparently, having art as your most obsessive hobby is dangerous, because once he lose the will and the energy to do that, you’re left with nothing. Absolutely nothing. I felt personally attacked by this revelation (another uniquely millennial and Gen Z idea). As of today, almost everything I do involves creativity in one form or another: writing, reading, drawing, photography, even watching movies has creative merit (media literacy). And once I’m too tired for creativity, then what? Do I just lay around and wait for the feeling to pass? Yes! Jerry Frost probably should have warned his first patient Christian that this was going to happen, but like the chicken he made, his brain was too fried to comprehend such possibilities.

And thus we segue from the back story to the main role-play. Jerry Frost has his office set up just the way he likes: heavy metal posters nailed to the walls, drawings strewn about on his desk, books on a wooden shelf that told stories of epic fantasy battles and space opera death matches, and of course, a marble skull on his desk. Why a marble skull? Does he really need a reason? Yes, some of these decorations sounded too creepy to be in a psychologist’s office. The In This Moment poster with bloody hands sticking up and the Pink Floyd poster with the screaming face come to mind the most. But Christian didn’t seem to give two fucks about that. He was just sitting there on a puke green couch with his head in his hands and a shit-load of anger boiling inside of him. And so Jerry asked him, “What brings you to my office today?”

Obligation. That’s what brought him there. Christian didn’t see the point in coming, only that he had no other choice. Jerry, being the art therapist that he was, recommended some creative activities as a form of free association, or piecing together someone’s psychological makeup through symbols and phrases in the creations. Jerry even recommended rocking out to Sepultura to getting all of that anger out of his system. And then Christian lost it. “NO! I don’t want to rock out to Sepultura! It’s not going to bring her back!” Jerry knew that he fucked up badly. He pushed buttons that he had no business pushing. Any minute, Christian could have walked out of the room and this would mark Jerry’s first failure as a psychologist. And then he asked…

“What do you mean ‘bring her back’?” And suddenly, Jerry was on the right track once again. Christian opened up about how his lover was murdered by her own family. He wanted to get revenge on them through murder of his own, but if he did, he and Jerry would be doing this session from a prison cell that’s scarier than any heavy metal poster-decorated office. There would be no marble skulls in his cell except for the ones shattered on the floor by a dude named Bubba. So instead of murder, Jerry suggested a creative activity once again, this time as a positive outlet for his pain. Yes, drawing pictures didn’t solve everything, but they were something. And wouldn’t you know it, Christian drew a nice picture of his lover with techniques that even surpassed Jerry’s own abilities. Jerry showered him in compliments and earned his trust, while also keeping his job and his license. But the trust and the humanity was more important than a constantly starving wallet.

In the final moments of the role-play, Christian wanted to take Jerry on a field trip to the cemetery to pay respects to the dead girlfriend. But before that scene could come to fruition, the RPG group went dark for the longest time. It didn’t get deleted. It was just…inactive. A ghost town, of sorts. I didn’t know when they were going to be back. I didn’t know what the future held for Jerry Frost. So I left the group without saying goodbye. Do they still think about me to this day? That’s the hope I have with a character like Jerry Frost. I wanted him to have a positive impact on my fellow role-players.

Come to think of it, that’s what I want for myself going forward: to have a positive influence on the people who read my stuff. For years and years now, I’ve been writing stories purely for shock value. Yes, they had a clear-cut narrative with a beginning, middle, and end, but they also had things like torture, rape, pedophilia, and a whole shit-load of disgusting garbage that would never qualify as positive in this or any other world. Some people don’t mind being disturbed, but if that’s all I have going for my stories, then that’s a good way to drive my audience elsewhere. Everybody has their limits when it comes to raunchy content. We all have things that disgust us beyond belief and none of it makes us “snowflakes”. Okay, maybe the people who are asking schools to remove Maus could be considered snowflakes, but that’s beside the point. At least Art Spiegelman had a message. What do I have? Shock! I’ve got shock!

Jerry Frost is one of the few shining examples I have of a character gone right (KFC and art therapy be damned). He didn’t have to be an edge lord. He didn’t have to be vile. He didn’t even have to be overly flawed. Being a gentle and understanding soul was a requirement for the job he took. If it feels like he’s not flawed enough, that’s why. Yes, he did almost cause Christian to storm out of his office when he pushed the art therapy narrative too hard, but that’s only because he’s still a rookie at his profession. Inexperience is a great flaw for a character to have.

So…will I revive the Jerry Frost character in a future RPG? How about a future story? Or a poem? That all depends on whether or not I need a psychologist in any given work. He has potential to be something greater than a flash in the pan. I might have to tweak his back story a little bit, but there’s still hope for him…somewhere in the world…

Good Morning to No One

7:30 in the morning
The sky looks like shit
Wintry mix is pouring down
And I’m getting sick of it

9:30 in the morning
Hit the head, go back to bed
I never once believed in
“I’ll sleep when I’m dead”

11:30 in the morning
Put on clothes, feed the cat
Doom scroll into infinite
And wonder why I feel sad

1:00 in the afternoon
I eat a Hungry, Hungry Man
Breakfast of champions
It’s amazing I can still stand

2:30 in the afternoon
It’s the same old, same old
Watch a video, learn nothing
Spend the rest of the day cold

4:30 in the evening
Will I or will I not?
Another day in stasis
Emotions of a porno bot

6:30 in the evening
Eat my dinner way too fast
More COVID deaths on the news
And it sure won’t be the last

8:30 in the evening
Should I eat a whole pizza pie?
It’s the only thing I can do
To resist the urge to cry

10:00 at night
I’m not ready for the sack
I’d probably wake up anyway
With all this pain in my back

Midnight, oh, midnight
Will you come take me away?
I can’t believe in tomorrow
When it’s another shitty day

2:00 in the morning
My eyes are too heavy
Here comes the final flood
To break down the eyelid levies

Good morning to no one
You couldn’t hear me anyway
Too busy with your own life
Earning peanuts for your pay

To Be a Magetan

What does it mean to be a follower of the Magetan faith? One definition that won’t ring true among the elven covenant is, “Going to snuggle town with a dead cat.” Though dead our lord and savior may be, Mageta was certainly no ordinary cat. A domesticated beast wouldn’t have saved an entire race of people from the greedy clutches of humankind. Only a lion of blessed might could come from the Promised Land itself and annihilate racist tormentors with such ease. A Deus Ex Machina conclusion to a centuries-long story of oppression would seem ridiculous on the surface, but the key word in that old phrase is Deus. Mageta wasn’t a mere lap cat. He was a lion god.

And with this lion god’s protection, the elven race was able to rebuild their once dead society from its crumbling foundation. They made sure never to repeat the evils of their human captors. Instead of lusting for corporate gold, Magetan society became moneyless, trading services for products and fulfilling each other’s needs. They do not engage in hateful politics; this is a religion of love. Even a simple gesture such as holding hands, which would be frowned upon in far-right human society, is encouraged among followers of Mageta. Respect for the animal kingdom is a must for these zealots, whether it’s conforming to a vegetarian diet or taking in wayward pets and giving them the best years of their lives.

Why do the elves practice their religion this way aside from not wanting to repeat the bitterness of human slave masters? They don’t see it as blind zeal, but rather gratitude for a historical figure who paved the way for their culture to flourish. They have carved monuments and statues of him. They gather in church to send him their prayers every week. They encourage creativity among each other whether it’s drawing, sculpting, writing poetry, or constructing prose. Most of the Magetan lore is an anthology of creative writing exercises, all of which didn’t need the approval of human society in order to feel valid.

But sometimes contact with the outside world is necessary to sustain their own culture. Selling fruits and vegetables in the streets of Morgan Town, selling art to elitist galleries, and attending technology boarding schools are just some of the ways elves reach out to their hostile communities. Elves are still met with prejudice and shunning in these societies, whether it’s being called a slur such as “lizard” (due to their light green skin) or “cucumber penis” (due to their vegetarian diets). The beatings ramped up so much that the elves once again had to learn how to fight.

By the time they had enough, Mageta was already slain in battle, hunted for his meat and pelt. Some elves were recaptured into slavery, not just by Mageta’s killers, but also by one of their own: Mother Ruth. She had a specific role to protect Mageta’s literal children, but was secretly earning money to sell them into servitude. The term Mother Ruth had become a slur of its own for elves who turned their backs on their own kind. Because of elven betrayal and human prejudice, Magetan society began to suffer once again. But every day they look towards their savior for the strength to carry on.

Because their lion deity was powerful himself, the elves’ combat training regimen sought to mimic such strength on the battlefield. Exercises for elven soldiers were often so difficult that it wasn’t uncommon to pass out by the end of the session. Running, weight lifting, leapfrogging, and weapons training were all mixed into one session after the other. Soldiers willingly gave up their comfortable love so that they could protect their people, which meant they were mentally tormented by their instructors as well as physically. This would seem hypocritical of a race determined not to repeat their human tormentors’ mistakes, but there was no other choice.

Those who followed Magetan progressiveness and protected each other from the evils of the world were rewarded in death by having a place in the Promised Land, a cloudscape of comfort that they weren’t afforded in the living realm. Laying down in any part of the Promised Land was akin to a soft, fluffy bed that one wouldn’t mind sharing with a dog or a cat. If an elven follower was lucky, they could easily schedule a cuddle session with Mageta himself. He may have been a violent god when dealing with bigots, but only when it was warranted. The remainder of the time, he was as gentle as his booming baritone voice.

The prospect of the Promised Land sounded so appealing to the elves that for some of the more suicidal ones, it was more appealing than the living world. There was plenty for an elf to be suicidal about: trauma, war, unwanted sex, bullying, and a lifetime of negative messages from those who never cared. Whenever the mental and physical stresses of real world combat became too much for an elf, they would descend into a trance-like state known as the Death Valley March. They become so uncaring and unaware of the violence around them that they march blindly into a suicidal scenario.

Not everyone can snap out of this trance, but those who do are tasked with attending therapy sessions with a Magetan shaman. The couch will be as comfy as a Promised Land cloud, the music will be as pleasing to the ears as a tingly massage, and the therapist will be so sweet and empathetic that a traumatized elf can tell them anything they need to without fear of the details leaving the cozy cottage. Talk therapy is the method of choice for these healers. Only in extreme cases will they use herbal remedies and brain salves, but these are not replacements for a much-needed conversation about mental health.

Can Magetan values succeed in such a disgusting world where racist humans control the majority of land? Every day it seems like a definitive no. Every day the elves wonder what the point of all of this is, especially with a mysterious blight covering their once fresh crops. Every day they pray to Mageta and wonder why his answers won’t help them escape a sex dungeon or a slave auction. Every day they wonder if they’ll be the next ones to take the Death Valley March.

And yet, the religion is still alive in the year 500 AM. That’s because it is not a religion, but a spiritual bond. It is nationalism. It is family. It is protection. The world may be a cold place, but somewhere in life is a warm leonine embrace. The elves may have to search far and wide to find it, but when they do, it is pure magic. Magic may be gone from the elven culture, but it is not forgotten and never will be. Trauma can suppress creativity and lore, but it can’t kill it forever.

Simping for a Succubus

VERSE 1
It gets lonely in the middle of nowhere
My future plans include, “I don’t care”
Wouldn’t know where to start looking
For adult fun time that’s worth booking
I have dreams about being taken away
Though I wouldn’t know where to stay
Where, oh, where is the Promised Land?
Succubus lady, take me by the hand

CHORUS
Simping for a succubus
She’s the only one I trust
To be tender, to be sweet
Then discard me on the street

VERSE 2
I know it’s wrong, but what else is there?
It’s Valentine’s Day, love is in the air
Smells a lot like a perfume miasma
To mask the stench of a decaying Santa
Candies and chocolates to make me fat
Fall flat on my face, be a perfect doormat
You can call it depression or desperation
It’s better than a lifetime of masturbation

CHORUS
Simping for a succubus
She’s the only one I trust
To be tender, to be sweet
Then discard me on the street

VERSE 3
Doctor man, what is wrong with me?
Psychoanalyze every little fucking thing
Attachment issues because of autism?
Too much width in my social schism?
Too much trauma? Too much Taco Bell?
You can’t even tell? Got more pills to sell?
Being well-adjusted to a fucked up world
Can’t compare the love of a succubus girl

EXTENDED CHORUS
Simping for a succubus
She’s the only one I trust
To be tender, to be sweet
Then discard me on the street
Simping for a succubus
Though she’ll turn me into dust
Just like ashes, just like cocaine
Up the nose into another’s brain

When Destruction Means Nothing

VERSE 1
You won a debate while sipping caramel coffee
Chugged the whole thing without even coughing
You could have won with duct tape on your mouth
Whether you were in Seattle or in the Deep South
Everyone says you destroyed your opponent
But you’ve forgotten one little minor component
Nobody changed their minds after it was all over
Couldn’t be more pissed off if traffic was slower

CHORUS
Destruction means nothing at all
Still breathing, they didn’t fall
When destruction means nothing
The world just keeps on sucking

VERSE 2
You say the best solution is to meet in the middle
Every time some murderer receives an acquittal
Every time a loved one drops dead from Corona
Every time that ICE deports a Jose or a Paloma
The middle of what? A bloody battleground?
An internet brouhaha with dug up Tweets found?
Can’t shake someone’s hand if they’re holding a gun
Especially if they must insist that their side really won

CHORUS
Destruction means nothing at all
Still breathing, they didn’t fall
When destruction means nothing
The world just keeps on sucking

BRIDGE
People only change if they want to do it
At some point you have to say, “Screw it!”
Some people are just stuck in their ways
Especially if their rhetoric heftily pays

VERSE 3
Murdered by words? They’re still sucking oxygen
It could be because they’re seeing a psychologist
Don’t be so open-minded that your brain falls out
Don’t choke on your tongue when it’s time to shout

CHORUS
Destruction means nothing at all
Still breathing, they didn’t fall
When destruction means nothing
The world just keeps on sucking

FINAL LINE
Destruction doesn’t mean jack shit, little man

A Brief History of Honey Valley

“Honey Valley isn’t known for its bee population.”

Throughout the history of the former dwarven lands, that joke had been beaten to death almost as badly as the soldiers who fought over control of said lands. The younger inhabitants see the word honey and instantly think of elven sex slavery, which in a perverse way had become Honey Valley’s national product. But the bloody roots of the dwarven island run much deeper than a shallow night of adult fun time. Conquest is the word of the day, and the many days after that if history seemed intent on repeating itself.

In the early days of its inception, five hundred years ago to be exact, Honey Valley didn’t even have a name. If it did, it wasn’t kept in any public records. It was simply referred to as the home island of the dwarven culture. The dwarves were labeled as savages by anybody with no knowledge of tribal culture. The dwarves made ends meet by farming and hunting for food, not generally bothering anybody. One of their favorite crops to farm was coffee beans, which they would combine with caramel to make the perfect caffeinated drink, enjoyed by mostly chiefs and other warriors higher on the pecking order.

During the course of this farming for coffee, a poisonous plant was accidentally mixed in with the ground beans and the drink was subsequently consumed by one tribal chief in particular. Instead of killing him outright, the poisonous plant turned him into a psychotic monster capable of ravaging large numbers of his own population. His skin turned bright red, his muscles bulged to the size of cannonballs, his fangs and fingernails grew into sword-like weapons, but it was his aggression that became synonymous with his genocidal tendencies.

As the poisoned chief slaughtered his own kind, more dwarves became infected with his brain-altering disease. This went on for several years until the entire dwarven population was cannibalizing each other. When they got too feral for each other, they swam across the sea to the mainland looking for victims to dine on. The dwarves were so powerful that they couldn’t be fought off by ordinary soldiers and civilians; they could only be negotiated with once the poison tapered off.

In exchange for the dwarves not invading their lands, several kingdoms offered to donate prisoners to the island whether they were deserving of a death sentence or not. This arrangement continued for several years until the prison population exceeded the rabid dwarves’ appetites. Among those imprisoned on the island was a green-skinned woman named Ryoka, who is believed to be the first “elf” in the history of the world.

The greenish hue, pointy ears, and funky-colored eyes were believed to be part of a rare auto-immune disease Ryoka had. As a result of her strange appearance, she was bullied by her peers to the point where she couldn’t find work and ultimately lived on the streets. Her official imprisonment came when she appeared to conjure magic and set one of her tormentors on fire. Ryoka went on a killing spree against those who wronged her until she was caught and sent to the dwarven island along with several other dangerous prisoners.

In addition to Ryoka, an elite human warrior known as Thomas Xavier joined the roster that would be known for driving the dwarven population underground, never to be seen again. The kingdoms got greedy with their prison exiles and sent too many fighters over to the island. Now that the humans and Ryoka were the supreme masters of what would later be called Honey Valley, they started forging their own alliances and building their own towns and kingdoms. The northern territory belonged to the Atwood lineage, Atwood being a literal name for living near the forest. The central territory was home to the Shadow Asylum mercenary guild, a longstanding organization headed by the ultra-rich Rinehart family.

Ryoka and Thomas Xavier found their own paradise in the southern portion of the island, a forested area with a lovely beach at the tip. Because of the threat of the infection keeping the northern, central, and southern territories isolated from each other, Ryoka and Thomas had enough alone time together to forge a romantic relationship and begin the Xavier bloodline. Several generations of isolation has led to a growth period of the elven race, to the point where their magic usage was becoming too much of a threat to the northern and middle territories.

The official start of human racism towards elves began when an elven boy accidentally set Morgan Town on fire with too little control over his own magical powers. An overabundance of magical energy swirling around wasn’t uncommon in those days and ultimately the Morgan Town government and Atwood monarchy teamed up together to keep the elves under control. Generations of brainwashing, beatings, and enslavement of elves were done to ensure no more accidents would happen and that magic would be completely erased from the elven culture. The xenophobia was bad enough, but when the disenfranchisement of elves became a business, that would be how the new generation of prisoners would negotiate with the mainland.

The newly minted Honey Valley was now in good standing with the mainland kingdoms with elven slave trade becoming lucrative. Slavery was even used to rebuild Morgan Town and refurnish the northern and middle territories with technology unheard of at the time. As traumatizing as the slave trade was for elves, they would get their well-deserved reprieve from their nightmares in the form of a “lion god” they dubbed Mageta.

To this day, the elves don’t know if Mageta was an actual lion who succumbed to the dwarves’ infection or if it was a powerful elf who wore the skin of a lion. Either way, this lion god would prove instrumental in keeping the elves safe for a long enough time that they could get back on their feet again. By the time Mageta was hunted and killed by slave trading warriors, the elves were powerful enough that they could forge their own empire with the recuperation time they were given.

The elves were so grateful for Mageta’s help that they built an entire religion around him, which is still practiced to this day. Because actual history was lost in the elven/human conflict, most of the mythology surrounding this religion was crafted by creative minds. Storytellers, artists, and poets came together to give the elven race their epic Magetan tale, which is why many elves are regarded as being creative types. But with this creative prowess, there was still a need for the elves to defend themselves against the humans that hated them so much. Many Magetan zealots became soldiers hardened by combat and rigorous training. While elves are seen as being overly sensitive, the trauma they hold deep is just waiting to be unleashed on a xenophobic human waiting to strike.

Just as the southern elves began a quest to find their missing brethren who were lost to the slave exchange, another force emerged in the form of a mobile castle run by the Stonewall Kingdom. The knights were sent to investigate the happenings of Honey Valley, but they were short on manpower due to some of their own soldiers and citizens being caught up in the slave trade despite not being elves. Without the support of their superiors, the Stonewall Kingdom had no choice but to throw money at Shadow Asylum since they had no loyalty to any crown.

The current Queen of the Xavier bloodline, Llewellyn, wants to secure a trade deal with the current Stonewall King, Lars, since his mobile castle brought so much technology with it that the elves could use for farming and rebuilding. While Lars and Llewellyn have the same goal in mind of eliminating the slave trade forever, they are two different rulers with a lack of real communication between them.

And now here we are in the year 500 PM (Post-Mageta). The table is set for all out war among the different kingdoms and territories. The Atwood monarchy seems intent on expanding its power and not giving up any sliver of it to the other territories. Shadow Asylum wants to maximize profit and grow fat together off of their earnings. The Xavier and Stonewall monarchies want to put an end to generations of torment and anguish, which all began with the bullying of a green-skinned woman with pointy ears. Who will survive?

Somewhere beneath the surface are the dwarves who have not been heard from since the takeover of the mainland prisoners. Will they rise again? Will they take back their island and erase the Honey Valley name forever? If the threat is not real, then the paranoia is.

Love Me Back

CHORUS
I could fall in love with life
Life won’t love me back
It’s not a girlfriend or a wife
There’s way too much to unpack

VERSE 1
I could put everything I’ve got
Into this passion that I call mine
But passionate is what I’m not
I guess I’ll settle for just fine
Not enough energy to carry on
Life is better under the blanket
The social contract is just a con
Lowest of lows if you want to rank it

CHORUS
I could fall in love with life
Life won’t love me back
It’s not a girlfriend or a wife
There’s way too much to unpack

VERSE 2
I used to believe in meritocracy
Until they slammed the door in my face
I used to think life was a democracy
Until my vote was stuck in last place
And now I ask myself what’s the point
When the world has forgotten about me
Always been destined to disappoint
The machine pumps along without me

BRIDGE
You could call it a case of apathy
You could call it laziness if that’s better
I don’t know why you’re asking me
Take it up with the real trendsetters

EXTENDED CHORUS
I could fall in love with life
Life won’t love me back
It’s not a girlfriend or a wife
There’s way too much to unpack
I could fall in love with nothing at all
But the abyss won’t love me in return
It’s not a shelter with a roof and walls
It’s an underworld in which I burn

Nowhere to Live

CHORUS 1
Government benefits were slashed in half
Homelessness doubled, it’s simple math
Paper white politicians say they’ll clean up the streets
While they rest comfortably in linen sheets
Nowhere to live, nothing to give
Nowhere to die, nothing to try
Nowhere to live
Nowhere to live

VERSE 1
It’s never been about shit on the sidewalk
It’s about outlining more bodies in chalk
It’s never been about screaming at thin air
It’s about naysayers too brainwashed to care
It’s never been about who’s smoking the crack
It’s about looking for new ways to attack
It’s never been about saving taxpayer money
But keep laughing it off like it’s so fucking funny

CHORUS 1
Government benefits were slashed in half
Homelessness doubled, it’s simple math
Paper white politicians say they’ll clean up the streets
While they rest comfortably in linen sheets
Nowhere to live, nothing to give
Nowhere to die, nothing to try
Nowhere to live
Nowhere to live

VERSE 2
A dollar bill can go for a thousand miles long
A hug and a smile can keep humanity strong
New laws to pass can kick greed in the ass
Need a closer look? Just go touch some grass
Look around at the world that you’re living in
Not everyone can take a Maserati for a spin
Not everyone can eat a steak dinner at night
It ain’t the answer to pull those boot straps tight

CHORUS 1
Government benefits were slashed in half
Homelessness doubled, it’s simple math
Paper white politicians say they’ll clean up the streets
While they rest comfortably in linen sheets
Nowhere to live, nothing to give
Nowhere to die, nothing to try
Nowhere to live
Nowhere to live

VERSE 3
The empathy and sympathy are long gone
The psychopathy and hatred are so damn wrong
This is how we treat those below the elite
We laugh at the paper shoes on their feet
Society is a bitch ball gagged by the rich
If you dare try to snitch, you’ll lay in a ditch
This is what it means to have a heart so cold
Piss the people away like they’re urinary gold

CHOURS 2
Division continues to be slashed in half
Prejudice has doubled, it’s simple math
So much for cleaning up the city streets
It was never a system that was easy to beat
No one to love, no shelter above
No one to embrace, just another dirty face
No one to love
No one to love
Nowhere to live
Nowhere to live