Eeuuw

OK, first things first - I am stealing this idea from Georgia, who may or may not have stolen it from someone else. I just checked the next blog, and it was...

"Enjoy with Yourself". Now the good news is that the rest of the text was in Thai, I think, so I can't actually confirm what it was on about, but for obvious reasons that is also the bad news. What sort of neighbourhood have I moved into? Poor Dayel will be freaked out, if he isn't disturbed enough by the antics of those around him.

so Georgia, thanks for undermining the previously skyrocketing value of my little money tree here. They always said get the worst house in the best street, and not vice versa. Bugger me if they weren't right.

And fingers, despite the pugs and where I live, that is not an invitation.

Dayel 04 07 06 III

Dayel looked closer, and noticed that at the far end of the chamber what had appeared to be filthy piles of rags were actually a small group of orcs in their ragged armour. They spied the martial artist as she wandered into the middle of the chamber, and with angry snarls they charged at her. “Looks like meats back on the menu boys!” cried one of the beasts. “Oh GREAT!” the martial artist fumed, “Just brilliant. Not even an original war cry. Typical!”

With that she placed her lantern to one side and stood ready to meet the charge of the creatures. Dayel could now discern that there were 5 of the orcs, and as they got closer to the martial artist, they stopped and formed a ring around her. “Why don’t they all charge her?” he wondered, loosening his swort to be ready to assist. “Der, she is a martial artist,” came the blade’s voice, and as he watched, the first of the orcs lunged in with a rusty sword. The martial artist spun around, ducking under the sword that was swung at her head, and kicked out taking the orc in the throat. It reeled back theatrically. A second orc immediately charged at her, and following through her previous move the martial artist continued to spin. She avoided the spear thrust at her, taking it in one hand and wrenching it from the grasp of the surprised monster. As it lurched forward, out of control, she kicked it so that it stumbled into one of its fellows, sending them both crashing to the ground.

Next, the two remaining orcs exchanged glances and then charged her together. She used the spear to block one then the other, their attempts to reach her with their swords met every time with one of the ends of the spear, which moved in a blur. Eventually she stopped toying with them, and spinning the spear above her head connected with one then the other temple, sending both sprawling unconscious. One of the orcs that had been sent flying before got up and started charging at her from the direction of the second doorway. Her back was to it, and Dayel took a breath to cry a warning.

Suddenly two things happened – with her back still turned, she thrust the spear backwards in the path of the charging orc. As it impaled itself, an axe flew from the doorway behind it, burying itself in the creatures back as the spear ran through its stomach. Fingers the dwarf rolled through the opening on his contraption. “God you are lucky I was here,” he yelled, slowing as he neared the carnage. Leaning down to pick up his axe from the dead orc, he looked the martial artist in the eye and said matter of factly “you would have been stuffed if I wasn’t here. Better give me half of whatever they got.” And with that he began searching the bodies.

The martial artist had turned bright red, looking ready to explode. “Fingers you bastard, just leave me ALONE!” she screamed. “OK, suit yourself Chesty,” he replied. “Some people are so ungrateful,” and with that he dropped a few coins in he pocket and trundled away again. Dayel saw the look on the martial artist’s face, and decided it was not a good time to reveal his presence. He backed away, leaving her to collect her meagre winnings.

Dayel 04 07 06 II

After a short while, Dayel heard some noise coming from a side passage. He stopped to listen more closely. “I think one of your friends is down there,” commented the swort. “Thanks, that is very helpful,” he thought in reply, pleased that he was getting the hang of communicating with his newfound weapon. “And here I was thinking I had found the local pub.”

“Oh great, I get found by a half-cast comedian. I better buy a lottery ticket.”
“What is a lottery ticket?” asked Dayel curiously. “Never mind,” came the thought reply, as the swort settled into a funk.

Dayel heard a lone voice coming from the passageway, and he set off slowly to investigate. As he got closer to the noise, he realised it was the voice of the martial artist. With interest, he crept slowly forward. She was moving purposefully down a tunnel, muttering to herself. “I can do this, I mean, why shouldn’t I be a good adventurer? I can adventure as well as anyone, and certainly better than that bloody dwarf. Still have a headache though, and I am sure I am getting a cold. Still, that won’t stop me…”

As Dayel followed her, she came out into a small chamber in the rock. She was caught up in her own thoughts, and seemed oblivious to her surroundings. There was one other passage coming off the side of the chamber, otherwise this seemed the end of the route. Dayel was not particularly concerned, however this quickly changed as he once again heard a voice “So Mr Sharp-Eyes, reckon she will notice the charming orc family in time?”

Dayel 04 07 06

“I’m getting sick of this, I reckon I could do ok running my own adventure!” said the martial artist grumpily. “What do you mean? This is my party!” cried Mal the Magic-user incredulously. “You lot are going to make me rich!”

“You know what, I reckon she is onto something,” said the Ranger, and the others started looking thoughtful. “Yeah, I mean, it isn’t like we won’t run into each other oot and aboot, eh?” said the Illusionist. “Maybe we should all give it a try”

“Well, I can certainly look after myself” said the elvish cutpurse, a defiant look in her eyes. “Man, I’m getting low on gear anyway” replied the Ranger, at which both he and the dwarf looked concerned. “Don’t come crying to me!” said the dwarf, looking defensive. “It’s not like I have enough Moldavian Marching Powder to go around. You planks will have to get your own – unless you want some Mal?”

As Dayel watched incredulously, the party said brief farewells and set off separately. He was very curious as to what each of them would get up to, but he wondered who to follow. Mal stood in the centre of the chamber, his arms folded defiantly. As he considered this, Dayel realised that if he simply went about his previous adventuring, he would doubtless come across most of them in the labyrinth of tunnels. With a bemused smile, he hoisted his pack and adjusted his swort. “Go easy, I’m still here you schmuck” came an indignant voice in his head. At least he knew he would not want for company.

Fearing the score

I spent this last weekend in the Megalong Valley with friends for a Yuletide thingy. It is a bit of a tradition, involving Christmas dinner, lots of mulled wine (not that kind shroom) - in fact, about 6 litres of it, plus plenty of gin, wine women and song. Actually, nobody sang, but there were women there.

The Megalong Valley is very long, although it appears that it wasn't named by an impressed teenager. It also gets no TV reception, so one of the guys Gary (of German descent, no less) who has recently acquired a set top box, decided to record the weekend's World Cup matches and watch them when he got home last night.

Unfortunately for him, the Valley (as the locals call it - ok, I have no idea what they call it) does have patchy radio reception, so it took little time for the rest of us to know the results and scores. There were upsets, so of course a lot of conversation about the games, despite the fact that none of us actually saw them. With the scores involved, it seemed that some of the games must have been fascinating, others less so, but all fuel for discussion nonetheless.

Then there was poor Gary. The rest of the weekend involved giving him so much grief that I suspect the Geneva Convention may have been violated. Measures included drawing implications from the colours of peoples' clothing ("gosh, you are wearing a yellow t shirt with those jeans - you must have been gutted with the result last night" or "oh look, that jacket is green and red - aren't they the colours of Portugal?") right through to arranging his 1 year old son's food on his tray so that they just maybe showed F1 B0.

I guess you had to be there, as all ended in Gary spending most of the weekend running around with his hands over his ears chanting "la la la la la" - to our endless amusement. But even in the midst of fairly drunken wandering about the homestead with drink in hand and bon-bon Christmas hat in place, we didn't tell him the scores. Well, we did, along with about 45 other scores, so he happily went home and watched the games last night. The pugs and I made an executive decision to watch the replay yesterday afternoon - I think I fell asleep before they did. I did get up to play basketball though - aren't you glad I shared.

So I survived a weekend without the TV, or the X Box, but the question now is - who will take it out? Not the garbage, the Cup?