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March 28 - March 31, 2024
I searched my memory for clues and found it blank, like a white room ready for paint. Empty. I was empty. Except for…a vague dislike of swimming? At the moment, that was the sum total of what I could remember about myself. No name. No background. Just a latent fear of large bodies of water.
The plants growing outside the burnt area were a few inches tall. My inability to distinguish the variety indicated I probably wasn’t a farmer.
Blue jeans? With a tunic and cloak? That was odd. Oh hell. Was I a cosplayer? And why could I remember that word, but not my own name?
No pile of belongings; I was beginning to doubt my photoshoot theory. Maybe I was simply a weirdo who liked to dress in old-timey clothing to…go explode in fields? You know, as one does.
I wasn’t a cosplayer. I was visiting some kind of theme park. Was that more or less nerdy?
Regardless, I hadn’t arrived at a “suitable location” to recuperate. I’d woken up in the middle of a burning field. The review almost wrote itself. An ideal experience, if you happen to be a pyromaniac cow. One star.
Nevertheless, my gut said I was a person who trusted his gut.
I patted the tree I’d been hiding behind. “Thanks for the cover,” I whispered. “You’re a good tree. Tall, thick—and most importantly—wooden. Four and a half stars. Would hide behind you again. Half a point off for lack of refreshments.”
It was time to make my move. Like the old saying goes. Carp diem. Seize the fish.
That said, a little history never hurt anyone. Unless you end up getting stabbed by a knight!
If I were to saunter in, explain that I technically owned all of this, and ask them to kindly obey me…I suspected they’d saunter over to me, explain that the sword they’d rammed into my gut didn’t care what I claimed, and ask me to kindly avoid bleeding on the rug.
Right then. How to get out of this? The shame and fear I’d felt before had faded completely, replaced with embarrassment. I obviously had physical augments, but I’d stood there and let a woman plank me in the face. Unprofessional.
“Once again, Wyrm,” she said, “have you been eaten?” He looked down, as if he needed to check.
Her eyes were like steel, her face completely expressionless. Zero stars. Would rather have a conversation with a corpse. It wouldn’t glare at me the entire time. Would probably listen better too.
“Your competence is a tad nauseating sometimes,” I said. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew how ill-prepared I am,” Ryan said. “I was only supposed to scout out the area, so I brought minimal gear and a handful of weapons. We used the last blackout grenade on you. I’m down to two guns, a laptop and solar panels, a radiophone, and my flak vest. Embarrassing, I know.” “I came in with a cloak, a mostly empty ballpoint pen, and a handbook that turned out to be ninety percent marketing material.” “Right,” Ryan said. “Gotta love that Johnny West spontaneity!”
Damn, that guy could be profound. And depressing. Five stars. Should be narrating documentaries about disasters like Chernobyl. Or my love life.
“Do not be ashamed of your joy,” he told us, his voice intense. “Regardless of what aelv Ryan says. This is not a thing of shame. It is why I fight. It is why my sons bled. Never be ashamed of joy.”
“Runian,” he said, “I owe you my life, and the lives of those in Stenford. I will follow you to hell itself if you ask, my friend.” Damn. The earnest way he said it… My cynicism tried to find his words sappy or melodramatic, but it got gobbled up and spit back out as gratitude.
As soon as Quinn said it, I knew it was true. Why would Ulric bother remembering the password? When you cut off a man’s hand, you didn’t keep it around to be sewn back on.
