8FOLD: Mighty Medley # 7, July 2014, by Messrs. Alambre, Brenton, Jurich, Perron & Russell

Andrew Perron pwerdna at gmail.com
Sat Jul 5 10:07:45 PDT 2014


On 7/1/2014 7:01 AM, Tom Russell wrote:

<snip>
>     Much later a grinning and somewhat inebriated Sturmbannfuhrer Oustler
> walked through the snow back to the Reichsmages chapter house.  He'd
> enjoyed the evening more than he'd expected, and Frau Margarette's company
> had been delightful.  He felt a flicker of regret that he would not have
> the opportunity to pursue her further acquaintance, but he had work to
> do.  Still, his presence and subsequent departure from the Yule festival
> would make an excellent cover story.  The hard working necromancer,
> known for years to be obsessive in his researches, tries to do a magical
> experiment while half drunk after a party.  The resulting explosion
> destroys the building and kills him, leaving no trace of the body.

Well that was an information-dense paragraph. <3

>     Oustler first went to the staff common room.  He deliberately placed
> both hands on the back of a steel framed chair, using the iron in its
> construction to ground himself so that no negative emotions or magical
> emanations could radiate into the environment and contaminate the local
> aether.

Ooooh, nice. Cold iron!

>     To obliterate your soul is neither easy nor painless, and requires a
> single-mindedness that is quite rare these days.

Hrm. Okay, question - what are we treating the soul *as*, in this case? 
There's a lot of different takes on it both in religion and in fiction. Is it 
an integral part of the self (apparently not, in this story)? Is it a "get 
into the afterlife free" ticket? Is it some immaterial source of ethics and 
nice feelings? Is it an agglomeration of "life force"? I'm good with any of 
these takes, I'm just curious as to which you're following.

>     "Of course," nodded Adams. "I'm sure you can be quite intimidating.
> They would've been all a-quiver, girlie."
>     The blonde backhanded the tree; it fell over, uprooted.
>     "As am I now," said Adams. "Apologies, miss..."

Heeheehee.

>     "My name is Hank," said the blonde. "Hank High."
>     "Pardon me saying it, but you're awfully curvy for a Hank," said Adams.
>     "I decided some years back that my name was Hank and that I was a
> man," said Hank. "And so that's who I am and what I am. Want to make
> something of it?" Hank grinded left fist into right palm. "I'd be glad
> if you did."

<3 <3 <3

> It is Tuesday afternoon and, in full costume and with his usual
> theatrics, The Common Cold splays on my couch. I think; The Common
> Cold has forbidden me to look at him during our sessions.

Fascinating.

> He knows what’s going on in that
> head of his; he simply lacks the vocabulary to explain it fully.

I know a lot of people like that.

>     "What does the voice tell you?" I ask. I hear my own voice echo
> inside of my grandfather clock. I hear a few subtle chimes within.

...is he inside the clock?

>     We laugh. He leaves. The Common Cold will come back next week, his
> confidence drained. We will have the exact same conversation, and he
> will again forget to pay me.
>     Great villains are not born over night.

Hmmmmm. Interesting.

>     I'm a good dog. I lay still.

Puppy!

> Curled up on rug by the window.
> Watching the sun go down. I'm not allowed outside while sun's up. Only
> when sun is down.

...o.o

> Yes! He places the hood
> over my head. Makes sure I can see. He places the harness on me. Makes
> sure cape isn't in my way.

Hmmmmmm!

>     Higher and higher. Faster and faster. So many smells up here! So
> many sounds up here! So many stars up here! Wind pushes from below and
> from the side. Whispy clouds are racing. I chase one. It's soft and it
> falls apart in my teeth. I bite and it comes apart and tastes like
> rain water. I see another trying to get away! I chase it! Chase! Ha ha
> ha!

D'awwwwww ^.^

>     I catch up and bite his arm. Not too hard. Mustn't hurt. He tries
> to shake me off, but I don't let go. I hold on good and shake. Shake!
> He shakes all over! His shoes go flying off! Shake shake shake! He
> goes limp. I drop him on the street. Sniff sniff. Yes, he's still
> alive. He stinks of sweat and urine, but he's still alive.

Awwwwwwwwww

>     I bark! My special loud bark! The police will hear. The police will
> come. They'll find this man and lock him in a cage. He won't be
> allowed to go outside or run or jump anymore. He didn't follow the
> rules.
>     Not like me. I'm a good dog!

Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww! That was great.

Andrew "NO .SIG MAN" "Juan" Perron, such puppy! Wow.




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