Cover band

The Mid-Week Blues-Buster is only in its third week, but I but the concept behind it is great, and will have me coming back... 500 words (a loose 500, 300 to 700 is fine) using a song and its video as a prompt. For this week, it was Gerardo Ortiz - Este Amor, a cover of Bob Marley’s Is This Love. I quite like being sung at in a foreign tongue, especially when it is something familiar. I’ve had it happen in a few different languages in my travels over the years. There’s a bit of me in this story, some elements are friends, and some of it is based on other patrons I've had a drink with.

There wasn't much to the bar, but then again there wasn't all that much to the town. Sure, it was on the tourist track, but everyone left after snapping a few pictures and buying some ethnic trinkets to show folks back home how adventurous they were. Unlike most others, I hadn't moved on. Don't get me wrong, there wasn't anything that made this town special. I wasn't seeking a higher spiritual truth like some of those who clambered over the ruined temples (it isn’t sacrilegious if no-one still believes in those gods, right?) nor was I trying to find myself like the ones who were living out of their backpacks and seeing the “real world”. I was here because I just couldn't be arsed any more. Booze, internet and passable food... what else could you want? After about five months, they even stopped trying to sell souvenirs to me. I didn't kid myself that I fitted in, but at least the locals left me in peace. More than I could say for the tourists - they were always trying to ingratiate themselves with me. Thinking I could give them an easy way to connect, so they'd have a bit more of local colour to add to their stories. Wrong!

There wasn't much to the bar.The beer wasn't even cold. But then again in this climate, nothing was. The breeze stirred by the rickety ceiling fan was barely enough to keep the flies away, but sometimes you have to be thankful for the small things. My stool on the verandah was empty, so I took my accustomed seat and began drinking mechanically, watching the unfocused haze of the sunset. A Zen Master has nothing on me, I can sit for hours as long as the succession of beers isn't interrupted and no-one tries to talk to me. Sighs escape me periodically, but I couldn't tell you why. Not contentment. Not sadness. Not even ennui. Apparently there's a word in the local lingo that sums up this state I'm in so perfectly that I could be the poster boy for it, but I don't care enough to learn how to pronounce it.

There wasn't much to the bar. But then again, there wasn't much I was after. I wasn't running from anything and I hadn't burned out. Life here was simple. Predictable. Peaceful. I had a good thing going. The tour guides that often drank here after the last bus departed were more excitable than usual tonight, talking excitedly. Just as the mosquitoes were coming out, a couple of guys rocked up with some instruments. A fiddle, a flute and a harmonica. Normally, that'd be enough to make me head home, but I still had a couple of drinks in front of me to get through, so I stayed and listened. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. I had been dreading something "traditional" that the tourists all lusted after but sounded like cats being strangled with their own tails. Instead what greeted my ears was real music, just done differently. It'd take me a while to pick the songs, as they were singing the lyrics in their own language. Who would have thought that a pub cover band with those instruments would work? The Beatles. The Doors. Marley. A bit of Zep. As the night wore on, the music got more recent, but somehow it was still great. Even some that I'm embarrassed to admit to knowing... Aqua. Rednex. That chick with the annoying voice who was everywhere a year ago. The beers had run out, so against my better judgement I swapped to the local rotgut. Still they played on, getting weirder and more eclectic. Stuff I'd heard my parents listen to that I couldn't name, but I knew. When I recognised the notes to Somewhere Over The Rainbow, I started to feel tears trickle down my cheeks. I had a vivid childhood memory of watching Kermit playing his banjo and belting out a song on a similar topic. Not the same tune, but it hit me powerfully for some reason. Maybe I should blame the booze, but I decided that tomorrow I'd head back home.

The Ogre's Arms

I missed last week’s Monday Mixer because we were visiting the in-laws for Tet. A nice peaceful time, but internet free. The words I picked for this week are derisive, taproom and cosh. Looking for a picture to go with it, I had to pick this one from World of Warcraft. It’s making me homesick a bit, but while I enjoyed my time spent there, I’ve moved on now.

Picture from here, nestled in scenic Loch Modan if I am not mistaken

“You call this a stout? It’s paler than an albino’s ghost!” The derisive comment was greeted with a range of chuckles from the assembled drinkers. “About as full bodied, too!” Such comments were common in the taproom of the Ogre’s Arms, and nowadays Magnus let them wash over him. Occasionally he’d even join in berating his own stock. Not so when he’d first opened his doors. Back in those days, before his beard was even long enough to braid, he’d leap over the counter, cosh in hand, ready to blacken eyes and split lips for insults to his family’s recipe. Nowadays though, he was older and wiser. In the lowlands, things were different. Dwarves were still dwarves, but sense of self superseded that of clan and kin. Looking round at his regular patrons, Magnus realised that they were now dearer to him than those he’d left behind in the Clanlands.

Stars

I heard that October the 4th we were meant write something about Stars. Rather than whipping up a piece of fiction, I thought I'd instead write something based more on fact. These snippets are some observations about observation of stars, both here and back home. The picture is of the star chart from that most fantastic of games Star Control 2. The name Snellopy comes from there, his race is the Spathi, and their sphere of influence is marked out in yellow.

The sky in Hanoi is usually pretty sparse - there's plenty of smog, light pollution and other nastiness up there, so it's rare that you'll get many bright twinklies. On quite a few occasions we've been walking and my wife has said "Wow! Look how many stars there are!" and there's been maybe six, maximum. She said it wasn't always like that, back when she was a kid, things were different. There were lots of them. She used to fall asleep on the roof of their house, looking at them, and recalled being groggily carried downstairs in her father's arms.

I've seen lots of stars, not just on charts of various science fiction games when I'm battling aliens. I used to work out bush. When holidays came, we'd team up and drive back to civilization. One time on a drive when it was my turn to sleep, we were going past Brunette Downs on the Barkly Highway. It's a cattle station larger than Northern Ireland, so there's obviously not much light pollution going on. I only woke up after we'd stopped, and so my eyes were perfectly adjusted to the darkness. Looking up, I was amazed by the pinpoints scrawled across the ceiling, far more than I'd ever seen before. I pissed all over my feet as I leaned back in amazement, trying to get it all in.

At Tet a few years ago, I excitedly called my housemate out to have a gander at the skies. Just like me back when I'd been working in the Outback, everyone here had taken advantage of the holiday to get the hell out of Dodge. The roiling tendrils of pollution had relaxed their grasp on Hanoi somewhat, and we could see maybe 20 or 30 stars. But that wasn't what was so amazing to me - happily, I pointed.
"What?" he asked, "It's just Orion."
"I know," I replied, "But this is the first time I've seen the bugger in the flesh (so to speak) and he's not standing on his head. Damn you northern-centric celestial cartographers!"

I just got a necklace made for Tho. Originally it was going to be for her birthday, but just after I had paid the deposit she forbade me from getting anything custom made, so I kept it around for a while longer until a suitable occasion arose. It was of a starred star - A gold star (from the Vietnamese flag) with the Southern Cross (from the Australian flag) picked out on it in four sapphires for the cardinal points and a diamond for the wee one. It looks quite good if I say so myself, and it’ll be perfect to pass down to Madeline too.

We're now looking to head back to Australia soon, and while Tho did see a more representative smattering of stars when we were there for a holiday, I will make sure she gets to see them in all their glory. I didn't spend enough time looking at them before, but after losing them for the past few years, I'll try not to take them for granted in the future. There's probably a lesson there, I'd say, but I’m a slow learner.

Sky-Blue Sparkle-Pony Redux

I started this piece last year, here's a link to the original post. After I started it  I did some research, which made me not want to continue, as I banged into good old rule 34 (If it exists, there's porn of it). Instead, I extended the introduction to it (which follows after this) and left the story for a later date, which turned out to be today. I kept the paragraph from before, and added a couple more.

*****
As our school expanded, so did our playground areas, and our playground duties. I picked up one in a new area, which was forlorn and lifeless as it was just used as a thoroughfare. Practically my only companions there would be the occasional teacher passing through... and Sky-Blue Sparkle-Pony. Our sports supplies arrived (nearly a term late, of course), and the area sprouted badminton nets and a basketball hoop, so there was an explosion in the student population. Through long months of playground duty, Sky-Blue Sparkle-Pony stood vigilant guard with not just me, but other teachers on duty. Though I think she went largely overlooked. Incongruous, yet easy to miss... light blue, with a smattering of rich dark purple stars on her hind quarters and matching hooves. Her mane, flowing free in the wind of the ether. Her face was joyous yet solemn at the same time, and she had a wistful look in her eye. Sky-Blue Sparkle-Pony had a coat that felt like suede. “Merely” a sticker, placed by some happy student on one of the windows, unnoticed by most. I always greeted her as I walked past, and waved goodbye when I went off duty. 

Its the little things, the silly things, that I keep looking for. Who needs a gorgeous sunset over a beach, or other magnificent sights on a grand scale, when you can have tiny patches of wonder. Lower the bar, and keep your eyes peeled for small gifts. Then your joys are abundant, and the payout is even greater when you do see something large and awe-inspiring.

I kept meaning to take a photo of Sky-Blue Sparkle-Pony, and even though I always had my camera on my hip, I was hesitant to do so. It may have been I just wanted to hold her in my mind, pristine and ranging free, instead of corralling her in a soulless picture: slightly blurry, miss-filed and then forgotten. Then one week she was gone. That doesn’t mean she didn’t touch my life. A damp and miserable duty meant there wasn’t many kids to supervise, so I spent time daydreaming about her instead. Where she came from, and where she went, because she couldn’t have have been only a sticker. I started to write a short silly story in honour of Sky-Blue Sparkle-Pony as a creative writing exercise one night, but then we went to bed after the first paragraph. Sky-Blue Sparkle-Pony was in my mind as I was drifting off to sleep, and I couldn’t help but think there was something familiar about her.

A bolt from my subconscious jolted me awake... Sky-Blue Sparkle-Pony was a My Little Pony! I wasn’t completely sure, but my hunch felt reasonable. So I started poking around, trying to find out if my suspicions were true. Her form seemed similar to the ones on their website, but I couldn’t find an exact match. Maybe a knock off? Maybe I was wrong? I tried an image search, with a few terms thrown in to narrow it down. I found her! How I wish I hadn’t looked! My poor Sky-Blue Sparkle-Pony. Good old Rule 34 strikes again. At least it wasn’t too extreme. After that, the wheels fell off my version of happiness for her. My inner child isn’t just an inner child, but more of an complete unit... I don’t really have much space - or use - for an outer adult (except maybe to buy booze). I’m happy and confident with my inner child, and while I don’t mind rainbows and bright shiny colours, I wasn’t  so sure I can knock out a paean of happiness to Blue Belle the My Little Pony. To Sky-Blue Sparkle-Pony yes... but it may take a little coaxing to get her to trot back into my life [it did, more than a year went past with the document sitting in my unfinished folder]. At the time I expanded this explanation as the writing exercise instead. That made two unfinished stories in quick succession. Let’s hope that someday, the publication deals come as thick and fast and easily!

Sky-Blue Sparkle-Pony

The herd stirred, and nickered softly in the glow of the Aura of Happiness. It was time for them to go out into the myriads of worlds at different periods in the timestream, taking sadness from other beings. The stallion whinnied in benediction, and dismissed them with a flick of his tail. Sky-Blue Sparkle-Pony galloped without motion, and after an infinitesimal moment that somehow seemed stretched, she began seeking her place and purpose. She was hoping for an improvement over last time, when the only way she had been able to bring joy and happiness was by being eaten. When she was depressed, she could still feel the tiger’s claws rending her. It had taken the herd many revolutions indeed to be able to summon her back into existence.

As her form became nebulous and malleable, Sky-Blue Sparkle-Pony concentrated her will into a bright point of actinic fire. It seemed that it was her turn once again to be inanimate. She slowly solidified into a new form. Sky-Blue Sparkle-Pony tethered her mind to what had once been her body, and slowly drifted on the astral currents, to better observe her surroundings. How cute! Sky-Blue Sparkle-Pony cavorted amidst a range of cheerful flowers, mythical creatures and brightly coloured animals. Her essence pinned to the sheet of stickers, Sky-Blue Sparkle-Pony was rather limited in what she could do, but in such a situation her mission - that of bringing joy - seemed to be almost over before she began. Being so small, her psychic influence would be weakened, but she was certain she wouldn't need it.  And she even looked a bit like her true form!

Later, a little girl skipped into the room, singing a nonsense song to herself. Upon seeing the stickers, she squealed with glee. Picking them up, she raced out of the room and Sky-Blue Sparkle-Pony could already feel waves of happiness washing over her. Lying on a rainbow mat in another room was a baby, being attended to lovingly by her mother. The little girl sat down and began carefully peeling the stickers off one by one. She put them on the toys, showing each one to the baby and waiting for its smile before adding another. The mother stuck a cartoon mushroom on her daughter's nose and this was met with a flurry of giggles and stickers applied generously to all three. Sky-Blue Sparkle Pony was given pride of place on the baby's forehead and the camera came out to immortalize the fun.

Feeling the gentle tug back to the Plane of Joy, Sky-Blue Sparkle-Pony savoured a final moment with this family and coalesced under the rainbow stars. After resting for a while, she sought out the stallion for guidance. Pawing the ground in confusion she asked why she was sent on that mission - that family already had an abundance of goodwill, her efforts would not have had an impact. "My child, happiness was restored to you. Sometimes we must think of ourselves if we are to truly serve others."

What am I?

I don’t do many self-reflective posts here, mainly because the bulk of my readers don’t hang around - they follow the link from various flash fiction pages, read that entry and leave. That’s fair enough, and completely understandable as I do pretty much the same thing to them. So the few times I’m not posting a response to a prompt, it feels a lot like I’m talking to myself (and if you’re reading this, I appreciate it). However, I do talk to myself a lot in person, so it’s not really that big a deal.

Chuck Wendig’s recent post about “aspiring” writers raises a whole heap of good points, and really has encouraged me to think about carving out more writing time (tricky at the moment, with parent teacher meetings but they’re pretty much done now). I know I don’t want to be a full time writer at the moment, as teaching is still too much fun, but I reckon I’ve a few books in me if I focus and pound them out. Short pieces are far more fun though, and easier to complete, so the temptation is there to just do them instead.

But more than that, it made me think of how you define yourself as something. Long long ago, back in the halcyon days (or bad old days, depending on your point of view), I could most definitely define myself as a gamer... it was quite common for me to play for a good 6-8 hours a day on a week day, and double that on a Saturday or Sunday.

I still think of myself as a gamer, even though nowadays, I would guess I’d spend maybe 2 hours a week gaming maximum. And the last game I bought was Bookworm Adventures 2 (an awesome game sort of like combative version of scrabble) released by Popcap Games, and I’ve been loving Unicorn Dash on my phone, with its vibrant colours and simple - yet layered - game play (there’s only two things you can make the unicorn do, jump and smash through obstacles). Often people who play computer games are divided into camps, the hardcore and the casual. In the days of TaLA and NWN, I described myself as a hard-core casual player. By that I meant I know that I knew I didn’t have any great skill, but I enjoyed myself immensely, put in as many or more hours than the guys who had the leet skillz, and for the parts of the game I was interested in I had an extensive, encyclopedic knowledge. 

Unicorn Dash - as bright and garish as my shirts.

So if by harking back to an earlier time I am still able to call myself a gamer, can I project myself forwards in time and consider myself a writer? I guess so, if I especially if I up my output. At the moment though, TOR is being screwy, so I am having trouble posting comments to blogspot, so I don’t even know if I’ll be able to put this post up, too. But even if I can’t, that won’t stop me from writing.

Tails

This week isn’t really fiction, this is pretty much what happened. My lucky coin was one of the 1999 Year of the Older Person coins (I still have one here with me for important decisions) and we favoured it because we had a mate at Uni who was a mature age student - but not that much older - who was full of excellent advice. We still call him Wise Old Mr. Emitt now.

Picture lifted from here

 *****
The coin seemed to spin in slow motion, the light glinting and flashing as my future spun round and round. I’d weighed up the pros and cons for the decision, and at the time, both seemed equally sensible choices. So what better way to break the deadlock then by calling on Lady Luck? I snatched my favourite coin out of the air, and said to myself “heads, high school English and Computing, tails, primary teaching.” I opened my hand and the spiral glinted up at me. Course applied for: Graduate Diploma of Education - Primary I jotted down on the form.
*****
Woops, forgot to say this the weekly prompt from Julia's Place and the topic this week is flipping of some sort.

Grunt Smash-Kill's Kultchurul Speshul

The shitty weather has my motivation for writing pretty low, and I listlessly opened about 10 documents today, getting bugger all down. To try and shake myself of the inertia, I dug out an old favourite, and tried my hand at some editing. This wasn’t editing for spelling (as you’ll soon see) but more editing for ideas (taking out all the D&D specific language)  and in-jokes.

Back in the good old gaming days, we used to play Neverwinter Nights on the Bloodaxe Realms server. There was varying amounts of roleplay, which made for some good story telling, but a lot of those tales didn’t make much circulation (and sometimes we had server downtime, when we couldn’t play), so to encourage some cross-pollination to the forums, a few of us started alts who were reporters for the Bloodaxe Chronicles, a largely IC newspaper. We did tend to cheat though, as often we were DMs so could invisibly eavesdrop when people thought they had a private conversation going on. For my part in this, I used Grunt Smash-Kill, a forest ogre who used phonetic spelling to blatantly telegraph how thick he was. We never had the attention span previously to play pen and paper D&D, but NWN was perfect.I loved the live story-telling facet of it; not to mention the social interaction that was hard to get when I was working out bush. And smacking things about with axes was just the icing on the cake.

I still use Grunt Smash-Kill, to get a better idea of characters for longer pieces I’m (slowly) writing I have him interview them. Yesterday morning as I was finishing the editing, I looked at this picture of him I took long ago, when I first posted this on the BAR forums, and thought, the NWN graphics were good for their time, but they don’t exactly look like Grunt in my imagination. So I thought I’d draw him. Well, he still doesn’t look that flash hot, but it was fun playing in paint making him, but its not something I’m going to do regularly. My attempt is below the story. I'm happy with how the head came out, and liked that I could fit a TaLA compass in as an earring.

Hi, it me, Grunt Smash-Kill, doing a speshul report for de Bludaxe Kronnykul. I fort we wer supposed to pay for de intervews we do, so I took out lots of muny from der kitty. I woz torking to Jergen de editter de ofver day, and it look like we don’t pay for intervewz. But me awlredy sined the chits saying I use de muny on Kronikuls work, so I have to spend it sum how. Jergin and de uvver writas dey are awl busy, doing improtant stuf, so I fort I would lift de tone of de paypa, by doing sumfing kulturul.

Since de Relms are mulit-cullyturul, I hav browt wiv me Yarrow de elf (he werks on de paper, he is a printa, and a elf, to) and Nugget de derwarf (he is a printa to, but a dwarf wun). Wave to de reeders, guys. I am riting heer dat dey is waving, even dough Yarrow is not, he just rolling his eys. I woz going to bring de gernome we had werking here too, but I can't find him. We is going to do a pub crawel, and talk about de atmusfere, de drinks, and the bars of de Relms. You boys hav anything to say before we start?

Yarrow: Are you sure we are allowed to do this, Grunt? Get paid for it, and drink on company funds, no less?
Nugget: Shut up, ye blathering tree-hugger! I'm betting a sack of gold I can drink ye under the table, and may the Great Smith kick me in the bollocks if I fall before ye.
Grunt Smash-Kill: Yay, dat wat me like to heer. On wid de show.

I have prepared dese cards for us to fill in, so yu, de consering readers, can see wot we fink of de plase.

Disgription of bar.

Reviewer: Me, or one of de uver too
Starf: Wot de starf ar like
Drinks: Wot de drinks ar liek
Ambyance: Wot de playse is lik
Overall: De score for de place, owt of a total of uh, 4? Yeh, 4 is a good numba, nise and hi.

Closink comments.

OK, yu got de idea? Good, we start now!

***** 

Ower first stop is de seenic and beutiful Sly Fox Tavern an in. Estabbelished more dan 500 yeers ago by Captin Merder so thay say, it has solid oak timbas and a nise frontage in Goldport. And it a very classy playse, non of de winders are smashed.
Y: Oh dear, that sounds worrying for the later ventures. I must admit this is my usual watering hole, and I don't go to the seedier dives around the Realms. Mayhap it will be fun to go slumming with you gents.
N: Shut yer yap, ya whiney pointy ear. Mouths are for putting ale into, not letting words out of.

Reviewer: Nugget
Starf: Very friendly, though the barmaid wasn't as friendly as she could have been, kept saying once she had gnome, there was no going home.  Those wee fellas get around, hey!
Drinks: A good range, the fire ale might have been a bit watered down though. But what do ye expect from a place in Goldport?
Ambyance: It's a bar, with beer, and chairs. What more do ye need? Guess you don't really need chairs if it comes to that.
Overawl: 3 hammers

Reviewer: Yarrow
Starf: The barman certainly knew his trade, and even unearthed an amphora from the Windward Mist Estate for me, when I handed over the coin. I was most impressed with the barmaid's rebuff of Nugget, a higher score for the place because of it!
Drinks: The Mist was of an impeccable vintage, and I could taste elements of rowan, oak, honey, nutmeg and just a soupcon of ginger.
Ambyance: The throw rugs from Vesi are exquisite, and set off the tapestries from the Dutchy of Sattan with a wonderful frisson.
Overall: Three and nine tenths acorns.

Reviewer: Me
Starf: dey woz good.
Drinks: dey woz good.
Ambyance: it woz good.
Overall: 4 uh, 4, rocks? Yer, rocks.

GSK: Guys, wot yu fink of de Sly Fox? I fort it wuz good.
N: Aye, the ale flowed well.
Y: Philistines!
GSK: Hey, Yarrow, give me yor hand, OK? I wanna show yu a trik.
Y: What sort of trick? I'll not be fooled easily by a simple forest ogre.
GSK: Nah, nah, it not dat sort of trik. Tanks. Next, we ar going to de seedyest dive in de Relms, my favorite and yurs - Der Black Unicorn.
Y: Argh, I'm too young to die!
N: Shut up, ye whiny elf, afore I tap ye with me hammer.
Y: No! No! Help! Help!
N: Ye asked for it!
*Clunk*
Y: Urgh
*Thunk*
GSK: Tanks, Nugget, lets load him on de boat befor he waykes up.

 

Set in de squawlid sity of Sajona Keep, de Blak Yewnikorn does a birisk trade in de dodgeyer tipe of clyientell. Nugit, he shoud be OK, but Yarro, he a bit too weedy, so it a good ting he with me and has stoped skreeming - most ov the tiym.

Reviewer: Nugget
Starf: I'd have to be pretty damn drunk to chat em up. It's a male half orc, but there's pickings to be had outside.
Drinks: A fair range. They don't taste that great, must be something in the water here that they cut it with. But it don't matter, yer only renting it for a while, and it still kicks like a mule.
Ambyance: It's a bar, with beer, and chairs. And gambling! Hot damn! Goldport must be a bit backward, as the Merchant’s Guild makes you leave the tavern to find a good game going in the Casino.
Overall: 3 hammers.

Reviewer: Yarrow
Starf: A low-brow, grunting, thick-headded male half-orc, that you wouldn't trust to open a bottle of wine, much less pour.
Drinks: There was an ample range, but the glasses were filthy, so I'm docking points. Blood, spit and bile are not common elements of wine making where I'm from.
Ambyance: I'm going to die. There's no place like home! There's no place like home! There's no place like home!
Overall: -7 acorns.

Reviewer: Me
Starf: dey woz good.
Drinks: dey woz good.
Ambyance: it woz good.
Overall: 3 rocks.

GSK: so wot yu guys fink? Pretty good huh?
Y: By the Treemother! I... how... we... Hobgolins!...
N: Damn right, boy-o! The Hobgoblins on the road there are great, ye get to fight yer way in sober, and ye get to fight yer way out drunk, so you can compare your scores, and wager on which way ye are better at it. Now that's what I call service!
GSK: Lets go to de next one. Onwerds to Raypier Isel.


Nestlink amungt de trees, on a rarely uzed road, is de Hilltop in. Dis was ower next stop.

Reviewer: Nugget
Starf: Staff are real friendly here. Not many travellers to entertain em with stories through the long cold night. Yeah, that's it... stories.
Drinks: Good spirits, and not just the drinks if you know what I mean, hey hey!
Ambyance: The only way to improve this place is by hiring barwenches with beards!
Overall: 4 hammers

Reviewer: Yarrow
Starf: The thrice-damned waitresses wouldn't keep their hands off Nugget, and were very lax in bringing my wine, so they lost some points there.
Drinks: The wine, when it came, was of a high standard, with overtones of raspberries, dandelions and cornflowers, and hinted at undertones of elm. Superb!
Ambyance: The weapons crossed over the hearth were a bit dwarvern and barbaric, but with the banditos in the area, I can understand. The grounds however, are its strongest selling points.
Overall: Three and two third acorns.

Reviewer: Me
Starf: dey woz good.
Drinks: dey woz good.
Ambyance: it woz good.
Overall: 3 rocks.

GSK: Opinyyons?
N: Hot damn, I'm gonna retire from the paper and set up a mine near there!
Y: You are an animal. Beastly, just beastly!
N: Nah, its merely me animal magnetism shining through. If I had any more of it, I'd even be beating even the elven lasses off with a stick.


Next we keep followying de parf parst tha hill ov de wanderererer, and we get to Windhaven. It has a sleepy little bar, and we see wot it like.

Reviewer: Nugget
Starf: A bit listless since the last one.
Drinks: A small range, it'll do. Nothing stood out as great, but not too much was watered down.
Ambyance: The last place was better, maybe we can swing by there for one for the road?
Overall: 2 hammers

Reviewer: Yarrow
Starf: Helpful as they could be with their limited stock.
Drinks: A paltry selection of ales, so Nugget was less then impressed, but they managed to dig up a gem of a vintage for me. It sung with a joy de virve and was refreshing to the palate and the senses. Kudos to the wine waiter, extra points!
Ambyance: Little furniture, apparently there had been some trouble with patrons a while back, and business had been slow since, making it difficult to refurbish.
Overall: Three and five sixteenths of an acorn.

Reviewer: Me
Starf: dey woz good.
Drinks: dey woz good.
Ambyance: it woz good.
Overall: 2 rocks.

GSK: It woz good. Dat sums up de pub.
Y: If it wasn't for that bottle of wine, it would have gone bad for them.
N: Can we go back to the last place? I think the little filly fancied me. I have a spell to make a beard grow, you can just leave me there if ye like.
GSK: Wear is yur cents of jurnalistic integgeretty? We hav to do dis, and finish, otherwise we will hav to hang ower heds in shame. Yu want dat?
Y: But we're not reporters.
GSK: Dat don't matter. I am, and we gotta do dis for de loyal reeders. On to de next placye!


De eleven settlemettlement of Swaying Bows is in the Forrest of Splender is closed to outsiders, but dat not stop dis plucky jurnulist, and his meri band of reviewers.
N: Oi, why we stopping here? This is a tree-hugger forest, not a bloody town!
GSK: But it hav a bar.
Y: You can't go in there! It's forbidden to those who aren’t Children of the Treemother!
GSK: Dat OK, if me see any, I tell dem to go away.
N: Yer not getting me in no panty-waist elf town, bar or no bar!
GSK: Why? Yu scared dey can drink better dan yu?
N: Them's fighting words!
GSK: Go on, pruve me rong den!
N: Right! Watch me then! No road block will keep one of the Short Folk from his ale! Stand back.
Y: I can't let him in there alone, I'm going in. But if anyone asks, I don’t know either of you.
GSK: Now my turn. Hrm, I need a dis guys to trik de gards.
*Rustle Rustle*
Border Patrol: Halt!
GSK: Hi, Me Grunt Smash-Kill... errr..., Hi, me called Leef. I is a elf. Can I come in? I need to, uh, climb a tree. Yeah, dat it. And pat a fluffy bunny too.
Border Patrol: You're an elf huh? That's why there's a branch on your head?
GSK: Wat? Oh, dat! I not notice it, me elf, I ar used to trees all de time.
BP: Yeah, right. No go, buddy.
GSK: Wot if me say me is Grunt Smash-Kill, de reporta for de Bludaxe Cronnykuls, can I come in den? I am doing a story on elfses and stuff.
BP: Nope.
*Clunk*
BP: Urgh
*Thump*
N: Will ye stop yammering, Grunt? You've got the funds for the trip. Hurry up.
GSK: Tanks, Nugget.

Reviewer: Nugget
Starf: Goddamned dirty, stinking, filthy tree-huggers!
Drinks: No ale! No spirits! Only Wine! Why have you forsaken me, Great Smith?
Ambyance: Trees, grass, animals. Yuk.
Overall: 0 hammers

Reviewer: Yarrow
Starf: Courteous, polite, well mannered, cultured, refined - in short, all the upstanding virtues you would expect to find in the Children of the Treemother.
Drinks: From famous vintages such as Birches to boutique drops such as Waning Moon Chardonnay, this place has it all. Huzzah! Huzzah for the fine folk of the Inn of Swaying Boughs!
Ambyance: Superb and stunning, the indoors and outside blend in a way that heightens and highlights nature in all its glory.
Overall: 40,000 acorns. No, no, I take that back. A sacred grove of majestic oak trees.

Reviewer: Me
Starf: dey woz good.
Drinks: dey woz good.
Ambyance: it woz good.
Overall: 3 rocks.

Y: I thank you Grunt for bringing me on this trip, it has been far too long since I relaxed in the sacred Forest of Splendour. My soul has enjoyed a surfeit of the balm that is fellowship with my kind again.
N: Shut up yer whiny elf, after drinking with your kin, hearing you gabble on like that is enough to make me puke.
Y: Haha, I wager it is because you cannot hold your liquor good dwarf!
*Clunk*
Y: Urgh
*Thunk*
N: Ye asked for it. Any more blathering and ye'll get it again where your torso forks, and next time I'll have me helmet on. Get up ye whiny baby, it was a mere tap with me forehead.
GSK: Lucky de next place is close.

 

On de side of Merchents Rowd, neer de damp cave where dey stor dere drinks, is the Lost Way In. Not menny peepil stop heer, insted pusshing on to de next town.

Reviewer: Nugget
Starf: A personable enough crew, especially after the last place.
Drinks: Black Orc Brew, and Black Orc Brew only! Praise be to the gods of drink!
Ambyance: With a drink like that, who needs atmosphere, only a place to convulse!
Overall: 4 hammers

Reviewer: Yarrow
Starf: A surly mob, just shy of outright hostility.
Drinks: They only had Black Orc Brew on tap, not a scerrick of vino to be found. Foolishly I tried it, on the urgings of Nugget, his hammer and his forehead. I seem to have lost the power of sight, and all control over my bowels. This is the end, I hear You calling me on to my rest. Treemother I commend my spirit unto Your hands. Nugget tells me this must have been a weak batch, especially watered down for me.
Ambyance: Using the word dive to describe this place misses the opportunity to label it with the often misused phrase "pestilential cess-pit".
Overall: Burn this place, and get a druid to exorcise the ruins, pay them as many acorns as needed.

Reviewer: Me
Starf: dey woz good.
Drinks: dey woz good.
Ambyance: it woz good.
Overall: 3 rocks

Y: I'm gonna be sick. Again.
N: Heh heh, here ye go, pointy ear. Use me helm, ye'll need to cover the eyeholes with yer hand, and mark me, it better be clean when ye return it to me. Yer not such a bad sort, after all.


Dat concludes de pubcrawl. Of corse, dere are more in de Relms, but we are out of munny. So pleese by dis ishu of de paper lots of times, so we can continue reserching for yu. Dis is Grunt Smash-Kill singing off.