badgerthoughts

Writings and musings of a badger.

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There is no try…

Posted by R. Hans Miller on July 9, 2020
Posted in: Uncategorized. Leave a comment

My wife’s latest writing collected in a blog post with links. She’s helped me at the paper by writing things that give people tips on how to be productive or contribute during the pandemic.

For the amor of language

I started this blog in 2015. It’s 2020 now, and I haven’t written as much as I would have liked throughout the years. It’s not because I’ve not been inspired. I talk about and work with language every day. I’m working with some of the best and most inspiring writers of my editing career. I’ve worked hard to step up my editing game by studying, reading, writing. However, the most difficult thing is to edit my own work. As soon as I hit “post” or “publish”, I read over my written words and sigh, “Oh no. A typo.” Or I’m afraid something could be misinterpreted, and I immediately delete. It happens to many writers, aspiring and established. The fact that I know this doesn’t soothe my perfectionist nerves of putting a little piece of me out into the world. It’s this fear that has kept me from doing what was…

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Eavesdropping

Posted by R. Hans Miller on April 15, 2019
Posted in: Creative Writing. Tagged: Creative Writing, Game Store, purple hair. Leave a comment

I’m standing at the counter when a young girl comes into the store, blonde and purple hair bouncing about as she skip-walks up the main aisle to the counter.

“I see some purple,” says the lady behind the counter.

“I’d heard someone had gone purple for summer,” says her husband.

“I did,” the girl says. “Mom said I could pick any color I wanted. I just hav’ta change it back to blonde or a dark color ‘fore school starts.”

“You’ll notice, neither she or her ma asked me,” said the girl’s father. “Which is probably best, because I’d have just ruined her fun.”

“Nuh-uh, dad!” says the girl. “You would have let me do it, because it’s summer and I got all As and Bs and you said I could do my hair however I wanted if I got all As and Bs.”

“I suppose I did,” he says. “What was the book you wanted to come in for?”

“Oh, yeah. Do you have Players Handbooks for D and D?”

“Let me check. I think we might be sold out, but I’m not sure,” says the woman.

“Sorry, sweetie,” says her husband. “We sold the last copy this morning.”

“Oh. Okay.” Says the girl.

“Can we order it in like we did those dice last week? Kiddo’s been asking for one since our game last Sunday.”

“Sure.” Says the lady at the counter. “Takes about two days usually, but our truck’s due in tomorrow, so we can call and see if they can get it shipped in with that. We’ll just need your number and payment in advance to place the order.”

“Great.” Says the girl’s father. “See, kiddo. We’re all set.”

“Awesome! This means I get to come to the store TWICE,” says the girl.

Ouroboros

Posted by R. Hans Miller on February 22, 2019
Posted in: Short Fiction. Tagged: Fantasy, Fiction. Leave a comment

Ouroboros

© R. Hans Miller

Darra looked at the small group of coins in the palm of her hand and counted them carefully in her mind. Four silver stars, two copper bits, and one half of a gold tip. Not much, but sufficient to get her on a ship to the port of Delsoy. The only problem was that it wouldn’t cover the cost of food on the trip. Three weeks at sea with no food wasn’t an overly appealing proposition, but it wasn’t like she could stay in Port Acnoy.

Bracing herself for an unpleasant conversation, she walked downstairs from her small room above the tanner’s shop. She’d already paid off the rent she owed him, but she knew he was unhappy to be losing the income he’d gotten during her two year stay.  She felt bad. After all, he’d been kind to her and it wasn’t his fault that she had to leave. True, she wouldn’t miss the smell of tanning chemicals that permeated almost everything she owned, but she would miss his smile and breakfasts she often shared with him and his apprentice, Kalen. It would take a while for someone to agree to rent the room above the smelly tannery, and the tanner would skimp on his own meals in order to make sure Kalen ate well.

“Oh, well,” she thought. “Nothing for it, but to go ahead and get it over with.”

The steps to Darra’s room ran down the outside of the building to the front of the shop, which had no walkway in front of it. A small courtyard filled with stretched hides stood in front of the place instead. Most of the pelts were rabbit this time of year, though one bright red fox stood out from among the rest.

She paused for a moment when her feet hit the cobbled surface of the courtyard, and did the usual morning checks most do when leaving the house. She’d tucked her purse into her blouse after counting the coins within. Then she reached into her travelling bundle to make sure her spare clothes and her mother’s shell necklace were where they ought to be. Finally, she checked to make sure the dagger Kalen had given her as a going away gift was on her hip. She’d need it. It was dangerous to travel between continents. Especially for a woman.

The sun hit Darra in the eye as she looked up. It was just cresting over the top of the eastern wall of the courtyard. She needed to move it, if she was going to get on a ship to Delsoy this morning, especially if she was going to find a ship that not only had space for her, but work she could do to earn something to eat along the way.

She knocked on the shop door. Nobody answered.

“Come on Tekker. I need to get going. Open the door.”

Still nobody answered. Tekker was either more upset than she thought, or he’d overslept, which he sometimes did. He wasn’t as young as he used to be.

Darra banged on the door again, much harder this time. So hard that it almost hurt her hand.

Still no answer.

Concerned, she tried the handle to the door and quickly yanked her hand away. Something wet and sticky was on the handle. “Gross,” she thought. “Why do tanners always have to be so gross?”

She wiped her hand on her dress and used a scrap of cloth from the nearby wash bin to try the handle again. The door opened with a slight creek on its brass hinges.

Now, Darra was really concerned. It wasn’t like Tekker to leave his door unlocked at night. Both she and Kalen had keys if they needed in for any reason, and he lived alone, his wife having passed away thirteen years ago from Consumption.

Afraid for her friend, Darra pushed the door fully open and stepped into the dark interior of his workshop.

Something crunched under Darra’s shoe as she stepped in, and she looked down. An awl was under her foot, and she was lucky she hadn’t run its curved point into her foot. It poked out from the sole of her shoe at an odd angle, having just barely missed the arch of her foot. She bent down, and pulled the tool from her shoe, and took another step into the building.

At once, she knew something was horribly wrong. Several other tools lay on the floor, akimbo. The leather bits Tekker used to make necklaces were strewn about on the floor amongst them. The trade counter that took up the majority of the front of the building was completely empty, most of the leather goods that were usually displayed there lay in a heap at the far end. Most importantly, the cash box lay on the floor, its lid pried open with some crude implement and only a few small coins on the floor.

“Tekker,” she called.

No response. “Tekker, are you home? Are you ok?”

Still no answer. Darra picked up the few coins she could see, and walked towards the door at the back of the shop.

Her hand was almost on the doorknob when two wiry men burst through the door and grabbed at her. One of them covered her mouth with a foul smelling cloth while the other pinned her arms to her sides. She struggled for a moment, then the world began to slowly fade away. Her eyes fluttered and the last thing she saw was a scraggly black beard and green eyes with a diamond tattooed between them.

Eventually, she came to. She was surprised to find herself alive, and more pleasantly surprised to see Kalen’s form seated at the table next to her bed. She was back in her room, lying on her bed. She moved to sit up, but dizziness overcame her, and she lay back down.

She must have made a sound, because Kalen quickly moved to the side of the bed. “Here, drink this,” he said, and put a cup to her lips. Something hot and bitter ran down her throat as she drank. At first, it was repulsive and she nearly gagged on it, trying to spit it out. Kalen was stronger though, and made her keep drinking. Soon, the horrible residue in her mouth was rinsed away and she could taste the hot chocolate with mint. A few minutes later, her head settled down, and she was able to sit up.

Kalen had sat back down, still holding the cup and looking at her.

“They’re gone,” he said, finally. “Not sure how long it’ll be before they come back, but they’re gone. I chased them off before they could…um…”

“You know.” He looked away, embarrassed.

“I know,” she said. “Thank you.”

Silence for a moment while she let her head clear.

“Who were they?” she finally asked.

“I’m not sure. They been by the tannery a few times last couple of days. Not sure what they wanted. Tek would send me out to scrape hides whenever they was around, but he was always nervous after they went. I guess I know why now.”

It finally occurred to Darra to ask, “Wait. Where’s Tekker? Is he…”

She didn’t need to finish the question. The look on Kalen’s face answered it before she was finished saying the old tanner’s name.

Tears streamed down her face. She kept picturing the last conversation she’d had with Tekker, and wishing it had gone differently. He had been upset that she was leaving, and hadn’t thought a spoiled affair with a rich man’s son was reason enough to leave a city as large as Port Acnoy. There were plenty of people here. She was a pretty one, he’d said, and surely she could find a good man to settle down with here. He’d meant Kalen, but Kalen was too young. She’d lost her temper and told him that if he thought Kalen was so damned wonderful, maybe he ought to marry him.

Kalen opened his mouth to say something, but a loud knock at the door interrupted him. Startled, Darra shrieked and jumped up, running to the other side of the room.

Kalen motioned for her to be quiet and drew a dagger from his belt. “Who’s there?”

“It’s the constable. Open up,” a voice from outside commanded.

Looking relieved, Kalen opened the door, peeking out first to make sure it really was the constable.

Two large men in red and green uniforms walked into the room. Both wore bronze badges on their left breast and carried cudgels and long knives on their hips. They stopped when they saw Darra, back to the wall, holding an awl in her hand that she’d apparently never dropped, blood on her right hand and her skirt.

—–

Eight weeks later, Darra and Kalen disembarked from a ship in Port Delsoy. The left side of Darra’s face bore a skull brand, barely healed and glossy in the afternoon sun. A guard stopped to question them. Kalen did all the talking. After seeing the papers with the Port Acnoy barrister’s seal on them, he’d let them go, advising them to stay at an inn on the edge of town.

Soon, they were in a small room with one bed.

Kalen offered to sleep on the floor. Darra took a breath, looked as if she was about to protest, then simply nodded and laid down with her scar against the cold pillow.

Kalen looked at her, lying there. For the millionth time he wished he could say something that would make a difference. There was nothing he could say though. She’d been accused of murder, and the evidence had been damning enough. She’d had blood all over her hands from opening the door, a bloody awl in her hand that was just the right size and shape to make the puncture wound that had killed Tekker.

The worst part though, was Kalen’s own testimony. He had been as honest as possible. He’d told them that he came into the workshop and seen three figures in a struggle at the entrance to Tekker’s private quarters. One of the figures had fallen while the other two scrambled to get around him and out the door. He’d been surprised to find Darra there, and had taken her up to her room. Shortly thereafter, she’d woken up and he was just telling her what had happened when two guardsman came in. The physical evidence pointed in her direction, and he hadn’t seen enough to verify that she’d just gone into the shop.

The two gem dealers that she’d struggled with both claimed that they had shown up to find her over Tekker’s body. They said they’d come to pick up some cargo the tanner had asked them to take to relatives he had inland, near the capital.

Darra had been convicted and branded. It didn’t help matters that her former lover was the judge’s nephew. A nephew that was close to his uncle and was not the type to let an insult go unpunished.

Darra had been put in jail and was awaiting the quarterly slave auction when luck struck.

One of the constables hadn’t believed any of what was said in the trial, and had kept a close eye on the gem dealers. Two days after the trial ended, long enough not to arouse suspicion and soon enough to be a pragmatic escape, the two had booked passage on a ship headed southeast. During their testimony, they had both said they were leaving for the capital in the near future to finish a large transaction, so the constable had thought their change of plans odd.

A quick search of the traders’ personal belongings later, and the truth came out in the form of six leather masks and a pile of coins. The leather masks were worn by a cult on the southern continent that was banned in Port Acnoy. The coins contained the one that Tekker used to stamp all of his work.

Darra was released the next day, and Kalen had brought her back to her room. He owned the shop now. Tekker and his wife hadn’t been able to have children, so he had left the shop to his apprentice.

Darra refused to speak for the first two weeks. After that, she mostly spoke just loud and long enough to get her point across. Otherwise, she was silent, and kept her face hidden, ashamed of the mark on it.

The city had paid her two gold tips for her trouble. That was all. That was the standard. Branded a murderer and a few coins and a bit of salve to reduce scarring was all she got.

Kalen had done well in the shop for the first few weeks. The novelty of a new tanner soon wore out and the lack of opportunities to see the murderer of tanner’s row soon put a stop to that though. Darra wouldn’t come out of her room and Kalen wasn’t as skilled as some of his neighbors. Once Tekker’s work was mostly sold out, there was little business to be had.

Soon after, she’d talked him into leaving town with her. He sold the shop to the neighbor’s senior apprentice, and they’d brokered passage on a ship to Port Delsoy. He needed to find a new master to finish his apprenticeship with. She needed to leave town to find some way to move on with her life. None of the tanners in town needed an apprentice, and the pain of the place was more than she could overcome.

So here he stood, looking at the back of her head, wishing he could tell her everything would be alright, but knowing nothing would ever be alright again.

—–

Darra walked towards the cottage that she and Kalen called home. They had been in the town about a week before Kalen found employment. He wasn’t apprenticed to a tanner, but he’d been hired on by a local tanner to haul in pelts from the nearby village of Brownhaven. In exchange, the tanner allowed them to stay in the cottage that had belonged to his deceased brother.

Upon entering the cottage, Darra set down the pile of clothes she had brought home to wash and set the bucket of leather scraps down by the small loom she used to make them into pot holders. These and other odd jobs allowed her to contribute to the household finances. It had taken her quite some time to get clientele, but after she had taken extra care in trying to save the blacksmith’s wife’s favorite dress, folks had begun bringing her work, and spreading word of her story of false conviction.

They had been here just over seven weeks, and the place had really begun to feel like home. She had even begun to see Kalen in a different light. He wasn’t the fifteen year old kid she’d met three years ago. He was kind, thoughtful and intelligent. He took care of her, and let her enjoy the quiet that she needed to heal from the events of the past few months.

She sat down and began to cut onions at the small table in the middle of the cottage, and was thinking about how she might feel toward Kalen when she remembered that she needed to get Matron Gavay’s dress hemmed before she started dinner. She reached into the bundle of clothes to feel for the silk cloth, but instead found something firm and rough in shape. Curious, she pulled the unexpected object out of the bundle.

—–

Kalen arrived home late that evening. He was pleasantly surprised to see that the door to the cottage was still open. Darra left it open during the day, but often shut it at night because the cold air made the scar on her face hurt. He’d usually worked outside, or in a shop with one side that opened completely during the day, so a cloistered cottage made him slightly claustrophobic.

“Darra? You here?” he called, as he approached the entry. “I’ve brought fresh venison for dinner.”

He stopped solid when he entered the cottage. Darra sat on the floor in the corner, hugging her knees to her and hiding her face in her skirt. A black cultist mask with a green gem in it lay on the floor by the table. Bits of onion were strewn about the floor. A Port Acnoy constable’s badge, stained with dried blood, lay on the floor next to Darra.

—–

Darra apologized to Matron Gavay the next day for the delay in hemming her silk skirt. The old lady clucked at her and told her not to worry about it.

“After all, m’dear. It is quite a scare to get that sort of thing dropped in your lap. It isn’t every day one gets a threat from the cult of the god of woe delivered with the linens.”

Of course, everyone knew what had happened. Port Delsoy was a large town, but it was also a very quiet town. The men all worked on the docks or in the market square and the women all worked in the market square or in the house of the local lord. As a result, gossip travelled faster than a catamaran in a hurricane.

Kalen had fetched the local authorities. They went by sheriff here, rather than constable. The uniforms were yellow and red, and the badges a simple black iron circle on their left breast, but that was the only real difference. They asked Darra several questions, demanded to see her letters from the barrister in Port Acnoy again and questioned the townsfolk that had given Darra work that day. All of them had been properly astounded that the cult was active in their peaceful town, and shocked that such a sweet young girl as Darra would be involved in something so adventurous.

The sheriffs had chalked it up to a practical joke, and told Darra to contact them if she noticed anything else that seemed threatening. Kalen had stayed home from work the next day to help her weave leather, or so he claimed. She knew he was there to make sure she felt safe.

She was fine with that.

—–

Two months later, Darra had begun to feel safe once again. No further tokens of animosity had shown up and she had begun to think that maybe the guards were right. Maybe it had just been a bad joke. The gem in the mask wasn’t even real. Just a piece of green glass that Kalen had easily crushed under the heel of his boot.

Today, she had spent the majority of the day with Matron Gavay, helping her with her fall cleaning. Darra was walking home with a lighter step than she’d had in a long time. Matron Gavay was a bit eccentric, insisting on worshipping nature spirits, no matter how many times the local priests knocked on her door to extoll the new gods. Frankly, Darra thought that was half the reason Matron Gavay kept at it. She was a bit on the lecherous side and the priests were easy on the eyes.

Today they’d been cleaning the cobwebs from around the chimney on the second floor when three of the priests had stopped by to drop off scriptures and medicinal tea for Matron Gavay’s arthritis. They’d left an hour later with scowls on their faces and the scriptures still clutched in their arms. Matron Gavay had smacked the last one on the rump as he walked out the door and said, “Try again next week honey.” Darra hoped the priests hadn’t heard the belly laugh she and the Matron had shared before finishing up the day’s chores.

She was a few blocks away from the cottage when she thought she heard something behind her. She turned to look, but the street was empty except for a dirty white dog gnawing on a stick. She turned around and began walking again, stepping up the pace, if only to work off the nervousness that had begun to creep into her bones.

Suddenly, she was lying on her back with cobblestones pressing painfully into her back and a heavy weight on her chest. She struggled to rise as she felt something warm and wet begin to work its way through the cloth of her blouse, soaking her stomach in slimy warmth. Some sort of thick canvas covered her head, and she began to smell something familiar when she lost consciousness.

—–

She awoke in her own bed with Kalen again sitting by her bedside, hot chocolate at the ready. Matron Gavay was there as well, and the two of them were speaking quietly. Darra heard something about cult masks before they both realized she was awake and stopped their conversation.

After her head cleared, she began to piece together what had happened. Kalen had gotten worried when she hadn’t returned home by sunset and had gone looking for her. He had found her near the cottage with a green and black canvas bag tied over her head. The body of a white dog had been tied to her with leather cords and a pungent smell hung about the bag on her head. According to the sheriff that had come to help him when he called, if Kalen hadn’t found her, Darra would have eventually died from the chloroform and other inhalants the bag had been dipped in.

Darra didn’t leave the house for nearly a month. For almost three months, Kalen had to accompany her whenever she couldn’t see the front door of the cottage. Eventually, she began going to Matron Gavay’s home on her own, but she always changed her route, and she never went without her knife.

—–

It was quiet for a time. The sheriffs kept looking for Darra’s assailant for quite a while after the attack. After all, in a town as quiet as Port Dorsey they didn’t have much else to concern themselves with. Then Darra was attacked twice.

The first time, two shadowy figures stepped out from behind a building wearing the masks Darra had come to fear. She screamed and pulled her knife. The two men just stood there, looking at her for a few minutes. Then they dropped an object on the ground that hissed and smelled of rot. Darra ran back to the cottage and Kalen and sheriff Mullay had begun taking turns walking her to Matron Gavay’s home, where she was now working on an almost daily basis.

The final attack was much more blatant and much more painful for Darra. It was nearly two years after she and Kalen had moved to Port Dorsey and it was time again for Matron Gavay’s fall cleaning. Kalen was away getting a particularly large order of pelts from a trader a few days travel from the port and Darra had been invited to stay with the Matron while he was gone.

“No need being alone when your husband is gone, dearie,” the Matron had said. “Not when there’s an old woman who would enjoy your company and share her cookie recipes with you.”

Darra had just set the last batch of cookies to cool, and had turned down the flu on the oven when she heard a screeching sound and a heavy thunk from Matron Gavay’s private room. Concerned that the Matron might have fallen and hurt herself, she’d rushed upstairs to help her friend.

As she approached entered the room, she saw Matron Gavay sprawled on the floor, red fluid leaking from a large knot on the side of her head. Before she could get to her friend though, something heavy hit her on the back of her head, and all she knew was blackness and pain for several seconds.

When she awoke, the candles had burned themselves out and the room smelled of iron and death. Bits of sunlight streamed in from a cracked shutter, and Darra watched dust motes do battle with beams of light for a few seconds before she realized where she was.

She was lying on Matron Gavay’s bed, something cold lay in her right hand, and her hair crunched with dried blood when she looked to see what the cold object was. It was Matron Gavay’s hand, cold and stiff with rigor mortis.

Darra lept up off the bed and realized her mistake too late, her eyes rolled up into the back of her head and she fell to the floor.

When she regained consciousness, she stood up slowly. The house had warmed up and the smell of death hung heavy in the air. Matron Gavay lay in her bed with a black dress on. Her head was wrapped in bandages with a green and black leather mask strapped on over the top. Her throat had been slit, but not side to side. Whoever had killed her had cut just the left side jugular vein, lengthwise from chin to sternum. Strangely, there was no blood.

Darra sank to her knees on the edge of the bed and cried. Who would believe that the girl with the murder brand on her face hadn’t killed the old woman? More importantly, how could she bear the loss of her one confidant besides Kalen?

Eventually, she went to fetch sheriff Mullay. She figured that he would listen to her story before jumping to conclusions.

Darra was right. Mullay and his superior both listened to her. After some discussion, she was surprised to learn that she wasn’t considered a suspect in the crime. The knot on the back of her head was proof she’d been attacked, and the absence of blood in the Matron’s body and in the room, except for a small stain where her head injury had bled onto the floor showed that Darra couldn’t have done it. Besides, Matron Gavay was a large woman and there was no way that Darra could have lifted her onto the bed on her own, and her only possible accomplice was away on business.

Darra went home, and didn’t go further than the outhouse for the next two days. When Kalen got home, she simply said, “We’re moving. I can’t stay here.”

—–

Two days later, they had packed up their belongings on an old mule they’d bought. Darra finished cleaning out the cottage, making sure it was ready for the new tenant, a young man that Kalen had helped find to replace him. Soon, they were on the road, heading inland to a village that Kalen thought might be remote enough for whoever was harassing Darra to have a hard time tracking down. He had made a few acquaintances there, and thought he might be able to get on as the local tanner’s apprentice and that Darra might be able to find work in the local inn.

The village was named Morana, and it was far to the west of Port Dorsey, in the foothills of the nearby mountain range. There were more goats and oxen than people, and Darra thought that might be exactly what she was looking for.

As they walked along, Forney the mule trailing slightly behind them, Kalen talked about their new home.

“The best part is, the only people that visit there are the trappers that come down from the mountains and the traders who want their furs. Nobody will mess with us, and we can just live in peace.” He smiled.

“Maybe we can even start a family?”

Darra blushed. She hadn’t thought about having children in years. Not since she’d called it off with Lord What’s-His-Name back in Port Acnoy. She had been too worried for her own safety, and then the safety of those she cared about. She was grateful that Kalen had never been attacked. Travelling for work had always kept him safe, and she always counted it a blessing that he hadn’t found truly local work in Port Dorsey.

The young couple travelled in peace for three days, making plans for the future. They had talked more about children, and decided to begin a family once they had been in Morana for a year with no intrusions from what they were walking away from.

At noon on the third day, the road forked and they took the path to the right, heading toward the mountains. The road started to slope upwards, noticeably but not so steeply as to challenge them as they walked. By the time the sun was setting, Darra was having to slow her pace as the air had become slightly thinner than she was used to and the scar on her face had begun to burn a little. Fortunately, after using different salves for the last couple of years, the scarring was mostly faded, but the skin was still very sensitive to temperature changes.

They rounded a bend in the road, Kalen promising that a good campsite was just a few more minutes up the trail, and stopped short.

Three men in gray uniforms stood in front of them. Black leather masks covered their faces. None of them spoke. They simply stood, blocking the path.

Darra and Kalen both drew the knives from their belts while Forney stopped between them.

“Finally decided to quit hiding, I see,” said Kalen.

The figure in the middle nodded slightly.

“Good. Maybe we can just finish this tonight?” Kalen continued. “I think we’ve all had enough of this game.”

Darra stood, staring at the three men. Each of them seemed familiar somehow, though she couldn’t place them. If they’d just take off their damned masks, she knew she would know each of them.

The two men on either side drew their blades. Short swords. The moon shone off the blades as they each took a few steps to their respective sides to give themselves more space to fight.

The man in the middle stood still.

Darra couldn’t take any more.

“Who are you,” she said. Her voice was calm, and that surprised her. She had expected a scream of rage, but after a second, she realized that she was just too resigned to the situation to muster up that kind of energy.

The man in the middle cocked his head off to the side, his mask showing a bit of beard underneath.

“You mean you don’t know?” said a familiar voice.

The man reached up and casually took his mask off. Tekker’s face lit up in the moonlight, especially where he’d applied white makeup around his eyes to make them stand out under the mask. “I’ve been following you for two years. I would have thought you’d have at least guessed at my identity by now.”

Darra stood in place, stunned.

“I mean, my girl, it only makes sense. I introduced you to my second cousin, and you rejected him. I offer you my apprentice, so that I could keep you around. I did everything I could to have you living well as we brought you into the fold, but no. You decided to leave. To leave me and my friends here…”

“Oh. You don’t remember them either, do you?”

“Gentlemen, please illuminate the poor girl.”

The sword wielding man on the left pulled off his mask and Darra felt sick to her stomach. Her former lover from Port Acnoy looked at her, a smug grin on his face. He was always smug though. That was one of the reasons she’d left him. Well, that and his loyalty to his wife, but she supposed that last one was as much a redeeming quality as he would ever grasp.

The man on the right removed his mask as well, and his face took a moment longer to recognize.

“Hello miss. What can a constable do for you today?”

It was the constable that initially arrested her. A contemptuous sneer on his face told her exactly what his interest in her was. He wanted revenge. She’d had the dumb luck to look guilty on his shift, and he’d looked like a fool when she was pardoned.

So many feelings rushed through Darra’s chest that she didn’t know which one to focus on. Finally, she found one.

Its name was Rage.

Darra leapt forward, her knife slashing back and forth wildly. She heard screaming which might have been her own, but she couldn’t be certain. The only thing that mattered was killing the man who had tortured her these last two years.

The three men were stunned. None of them had expected the tiny woman to fly into a murderous rage. Until now, she’d always broken down and clung to Kalen in fear.

The element of surprise was just what she needed. The dandy and the constable both dodged to the side, staying clear of her blade. Tekker wasn’t so lucky. Before he could even pull out the blade he hadn’t drawn, she was on top of him.

Her first slash went across his right shoulder, cutting through the fabric there and allowing blood to squirt out, splashing her white blouse with red splatters. Her second caught him just under the left eye, from cheekbone to lip. The killing blow was a stabbing thrust just below the sternum, up into his left lung. He fell to the ground, a gurgling sound escaping coming from his throat as he struggled to breathe but drowned in his own blood.

A moment later, a blade pierced her heart. It came from behind her. A long dagger, its sharp edge severing tissue as a deft hand peels the hide off a rabbit. The last thing she saw was a satisfied smile on Tekker’s blood-flecked lips.

Kalen stood over Darra’s corpse, blood dripping from his blade. Finally, he saw the peace on her face that he had thought lost forever after the events at Port Acnoy. These last two years had been filled with despair, loss and pain for the two of them. But no more for her. She was home now. He had done his priestly duty.

Forney brayed and wandered to the side of the trail to begin nibbling grass.

We Reap What we Sough

Posted by R. Hans Miller on February 21, 2019
Posted in: Poetry. Tagged: Baldr, Norse Mythology, Odin, Poetry. Leave a comment

We Reap What we Sough

Such a strange thing – that which makes the downfall of Baldr.

A purple vine, nettled and creeping up a wall of stone

and mortar – lifting up, but made to falter.

 

Like the whetstone – which caused the war, and in so doing,

murdered the farmers it was meant to help.

Leaving Odin to finish the mountainous chore.

 

The aftermath of that first sacrifice – no matter the effort,

the furrowed earth does not lend its strength to the one

who wields the sickle – that cuts himself short.

 

*Image courtesy: Pexels.com 

Finding a Lost Love – or – Adding to the Mana Pool

Posted by R. Hans Miller on March 24, 2015
Posted in: Uncategorized. Tagged: #BadgerThoughts, #Geekery, #MagictheGathering, gaming, Magic the Gathering. Leave a comment

I mentioned a few posts ago that 2014 had been quite a hectic year for me. There was a divorce, a degree, a new job, a new apartment, a new *girlfriend, another new apartment and enough chaos at the day job to make any anarchist cry in joy. It was a stressful year, but a year filled with wonderful reconnects for me. There were many moments where I found little bits of myself that I’d forgotten.

One of those things was Magic the Gathering.

RareDragon Continue Reading

He Lived Long and Prospered: RIP Leonard Nimoy

Posted by R. Hans Miller on February 27, 2015
Posted in: Uncategorized. Tagged: #BadgerThoughts, #LLAP, #RIPSpock, Leonard Nimoy, SadBadger. 2 Comments

The weather is gray today here in Texas. But, something tells me that it’s gray for all geeks and nerds everywhere. The light of logic and wisdom has dimmed down a bit, because we lost our most beloved Vulcan today. Leonard Nimoy passed away from COPD at his home, and all of the geeks and nerds around the world are heartbroken.

I feel like I’ve lost a second father. Star Trek was so inspiring and amazing to me during my formative years. It helped me grow up and opened my mind to diversity and allowed me to feel like less of a freak because of my wildly overactive imagination. Spock in particular taught me the value of logic and humanity. When I was hurt by bullies or life in general, I often pretended I was Spock until I could get myself to a private place where I could be angry or sad or just feel horrible in peace while I processed whatever had happened to me. I could relate to him as the outsider in the group of cool kids. He made me realize that, even though I was a nerd and and outsider, I could make friends that were amazing and true and worthwhile.

As an adult, I’ve come to respect Mr. Nimoy for more than his role as Spock. He was a writer, a photographer, a voice actor, and so many other things. Talent overflowed from him and inspired hundreds of thousands, if not millions.

I’ll miss him. I never had the opportunity to meet him, but I’ll miss him terribly. He added so much to my life, and the lives of those around me. I can only imagine how much his passing impacts his family, friends, and fellow cast members.

Spock

Rest in peace Spock. We love you.

Wizard World Austin Comic Con Comes to Austin: Finds that the geeks are already here.

Posted by R. Hans Miller on January 15, 2014
Posted in: Uncategorized. Tagged: Austin, geek, nerd. 2 Comments

Austinites may have noticed an influx of costume bedecked heroes and villains in late November. Wizard World’s Austin Comic Con was in town November 22-24. The Austin Convention Center estimates that approximately 10,000 science fiction, fantasy and pop culture fans attended this year’s event. Many of the attendees proudly refer to themselves as geeks.

What is a geek? The word has grown since high school. It used to refer to the socially awkward bookworm in the front of the class whose social skills (and hygiene) might be found lacking by his peers. That geek has grown up and decided on a new definition.

According to actor Simon Pegg, “Being a geek is all about being honest about what you enjoy and not being afraid to demonstrate that affection.”

Geek culture has grown throughout the country, including Austin, over the last decade. Its presence can be seen at the box office, the hospital room and in the economy.

Superhero movies have generated a great deal of money over the past five years. Warner Bros’ The Dark Knight Trilogy grossed just under $1.2 billion domestically, while Marvel’s three Iron Man films have brought in an estimated $1.04 billion.  Marvel also put a great deal of leverage into the success of not only Iron Man, but also its Thor and Captain America franchises by raking in over $623 million with The Avengers.

More geek movies are on the way. Marvel will be releasing sequels to Captain America, Iron Man, and The Avengers. Meanwhile, DC is planning on a superhero mash up of its own with the sequel to 2013’s Man of Steel featuring Batman in what several attendees at the convention suspect will be a lead up to DC Comics’ superhero team the Justice League hitting the big screen.

“It’s going to be epic,” said convention attendee Michelle Stone, who was dressed up as Wonder Woman. “We’re going to see the League better than we’ve ever seen it.”

Geeks have grown into a large part of the local community. With major technology employers like Apple and Dell in the Austin area, geekdom has come to stay in Austin. That nerd at the front of the classroom now designs products for those technology powerhouses, and he shops local.

Perhaps one of the most obvious examples of the growing geek culture is Austin’s Dragon’s Lair. When David Wheeler first opened the store in 1986, he had two employees and the store wasn’t much larger than a walk-in closet, with some products shelved in the restroom hallway, said Dragon’s Lair events manager Brian Burrow.

The store grew, moving to a two story house in the mid-90s, then to its first regular storefront on Burnet Road in 1997. In March 2013, it moved from still another location on Burnet road, and more than doubled its floor space. The store now occupies a 10,700 square foot retail space in West Anderson Plaza and employees about 30 staff.

Geeks are active members of the Austin community. The 501st Legion, Vader’s Fist, Star Garrison is a group of Star Wars fans that cosplay (wear movie grade costumes) as stormtroopers, sith lords or other Imperial characters from the Star Wars movies. While the organization’s original purpose was to be a fan club, the group works with community organizations to raise money for a variety of causes. The Boys and Girls Club of America, Make a Wish Foundation, Toys for Tots and Relay for Life are just a few of the organizations that the 501st works with.

“It’s really rewarding, you know,” said Dagan Aseere, a stormtrooper in Star Garrison. “We go visit kids with cancer in the hospital here in Austin and in Houston, and you can just see our visit made their day.”

The economy benefits from all of this geekery as well. Tickets for Comic Con cost anywhere from $40 to $700, and conference attendees paid in total about $490,000 in admissions fees, a portion of which goes to the Austin Convention Center. An estimated 45 to 50 percent of the attendees travelled to the convention and spent their money at motels, local eateries and local shops such as Austin Books and Comics, who had a booth on the sales floor at the convention.

Next year’s Wizard World Austin Comic Con is scheduled for October 2-4, 2014. No need to wait that long to see local geeks sporting capes or lightsabers though. Keep an eye out and you’ll find Star Trek tribute bands playing to a mass of thriving geekdom. You might even see a stormtrooper out and about at HEB.Image

mmmm….. Balogna….

Entertaining our inner elven year old.

Posted by R. Hans Miller on January 3, 2014
Posted in: Uncategorized. Tagged: Humor, Jokes, LifeInGeneral, Parenting. 4 Comments

It’s amazing how easy it is to make a child laugh.Image

My son and I were driving home from a friend’s place the other day. He was staring out the window, looking ever-so-bored. Since I don’t get nearly as much time to spend with him as I’d like, I decided that he needed entertaining. After all, time with Dad should not be ever-so-boring. I decided to tell him the following joke:

Joe was walking down the street, and passed another going the opposite direction. The man was snapping his fingers in a very stylized rhythm similar to a jazz band playing rag time. Curious, the Joe asked the second, “What are you doing?”

The second man smiled and said, “I’m feeling the beat man. I’m feeling the beat.”

Joe continued walking, and soon came across another man that was walking along snapping his fingers. This man seemed to be snapping faster as if a disco tune were playing in his head. Joe asked, “What are you doing? Feeling the beat?”

The third man said, “Naw, I’m feelin’ the groove man. I’m feeling the groove!”

Smiling, Joe walked on.

He soon encountered another man who was walking along snapping (rather unsuccessfully) his fingers. Smiling, Joe again asked a question, “Excuse me sir,” he said, “are you feeling the beat?”

Still snapping wildly, the man replied, “Nope.”

“Well, are you feeling the groove then?” the first man asked.

“Nope,” replied the fellow again.

Frustrated, and tired of being nearly slapped in the face, Joe said in an exasperated tone, “Well then, what ARE you doing?”

Still flinging his hand about rhythmically, the third man responded, “I got a booger on my finger an’ I can’t get it off.”

This joke, combined with the appropriate gesticulations and such drove my son into fits of apoplectic funny-bone exercises.

Apparently, I can still entertain an eleven year old boy.

So, tell me a joke…

Inspiring Leaders: A hopeful writer’s reflection on the 50th anniversary of JFK’s assassination.

Posted by R. Hans Miller on November 22, 2013
Posted in: Uncategorized. Tagged: characterization, Humanity, Inspiration, JFK, Parents, Writing. Leave a comment

Kennedy was before my time, but the impact his death had upon my parents and others old enough to remember that day fifty years ago always held me in awe. Each of them has their story of where they were and what they were doing when the news found its way into their ears. It’s very similar to how some of us can now reflect on where we were and what we were doing on the morning of September 11, 2001 when those terrible events unfolded for us.

My dad’s story has always been one of my favorites, and since he passed away several years ago, I’ll tell the story for him, though I’m not sure I can tell it as well.

He was a young man and had lived in Montana for only a short time. My father was an avid hunter, fisher and trapper, so as usual he was in the woods that morning. He had gone out, as he usually did, quite early in the morning to check his trap line, hiking by snowshoe up one of his favorite places for outdoors adventure. (Therialt Gulch, near Thompson Falls, Montana if I remember correctly.) When he returned to his car with his catch, the local game warden was parked next to him waiting for him to come out to review his tags and catch. Everything was legal and legit, but while they were talking about how well hunting and trapping season was going, the announcement that the president had been killed came over the warden’s radio. They were both shocked. They both stood out in the cold for some time listening for updates to come over the radio.

The thing that always hit me about the story wasn’t so much where he was or what he was doing, or even that he remembered those things. It was the fact that whenever he told this story you could tell that the impact on him as a person was profound. When he told this story, my dad wasn’t the imposing figure of fatherhood I usually saw him as; he was a man with a soul who had been hurt by the death of a leader he truly respected and admired.

My mom’s story is a bit briefer. She was in the sixth grade (My parents were separated in age by 13 years.) and her class had actually been watching a documentary in which Jackie Kennedy was walking people through the White House. So, basically, she went from having this beautiful put-together woman telling her about the happenings in one of the most important households in the world to seeing that same woman shortly after as she dealt with the tragedy of her husband’s murder.

Again, this is one of the things that humanized my mother and allowed me to see her as a individual dealing with the death of a leader.

I think leaders like JFK and Lincoln are important. Even if we look at their fictional counterparts. Would the Red Wedding scene really matter to us in George R.R. Martin’s works if we didn’t look at the Starks as leaders?  How would stories have played out without Allanon there to guide the Ohmsfords during his life and inspire them in death? How differently might things have turned out for Middle Earth if it weren’t for Gandalf? Who’s memory would the companions have stood behind if Sturm and Flint? Of course, this list wouldn’t be complete without mentioning the original ruler of Camelot, King Arthur.

Every good story has iconic characters. Characters that are part of the core of the experience of “living” in the realm the author has created for us, whether they see the end of the novel or not. They have a profound impact on our reading experiences.

I know that many people will look at the characters I’ve listed above and say that it’s wrong to compare them to JFK. However, I think that they’re fictional equivalents of him, and reality being more important than fiction, perhaps they should examine their perspective and the reality of JFK’s life. He was a good man and a good president, but he wasn’t perfect, no more than any of the fictional characters listed were perfect. Gandalf was blind to Saruman’s treachery; Allanon was a manipulator who had negative impacts on the lives of those he manipulated, even if he did save the world; Sturm was an amazing young man as well, but he still lied about his knighthood. Similarly, JFK was an amazing man who inspired our entire nation, but he had his faults.

I think it’s really the characters’ or peoples’ faults that make them so inspiring. It’s what they accomplish in spite of their faults that amazes us. Kennedy inspired us to the send a man to the moon. He was a war hero who commanded two PT boats during WWII. He fought for civil rights. And he made an entire nation believe that we were good and could be better. He did all of that and more while being human. He’s doubtless inspired many writers, whether to write a book about JFK himself or to base a character on him. I hope I write a Kennedy that makes my work come alive and let’s people see their humanity, just like Kennedy’s life let me see my parents’ humanity, even when I was just a kid in awe of all things grown up.

Rest in peace Mr. President. Thank you for making the world we live in just a bit more human.

Gluten Intolerance: Getting off the food grid in Austin

Posted by R. Hans Miller on November 13, 2013
Posted in: Uncategorized. Tagged: Austin, Gluten Free, Journalism. 13 Comments

This is the article I wrote for my journalism class.  Not quite the way I want it, but I think it’s got potential.  I especially like that I found a way to write what I know about and about something that has a serious impact on me.

Continue Reading

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