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.

Present Tense: Why the hell not?

A late entry - due to Tet and no internet at home. Chuck Wendig's soon to be released book Blackbirds is all about death, and written in the present tense. So he asked us to write in the present tense too. 

Why the hell not?

"Same again," I mumble to the barman, my gaze skittering away before I can catch the knowing sneer in his eyes... the same drink, and the same shitty luck trying to pull a bird. I probably should head home instead of having this roadie, as there's not likely to be anything apart from swamp donkeys still out at 2 AM - especially in this joint - but hope has gotta spring eternal. A swig or two, and I decide its time to have a slash. I've learnt my lesson from previous evenings here, and take my beer with me. The dunny is none too clean, but that's better than some dickwit making off with my drink.

As usual, the pisser is covered in chunder. More than one person's spew, by the amount. I go into the cubicle, but of course the door doesn't lock. The usual cigarette butts are accompanied by a huge turd bobbing in the bowl like a baby hippo on a mudflap. Its moments like these I'm glad I'm a bloke. I light a smoke and glance around at all the graffiti. There's something new from last week, its not just the same old I FUCKED YER MUM bullshit. Down low, scrawled in bright red lipstick is For a good time call... a number, and then Why the hell not? Why the hell not? I think to myself. It'll probably just be a random number, some geezer with his teeth in a glass on the bedside table, but should still be good for a laugh.

I fish my phone out of my pocket, and use the motion to give my todger a shake dry. I punch in the number, cackling to myself. "Why hello, there," a voice purrs in my ear, all throaty and suggestive. My jaw literally drops, and the durrie falls unmourned into the toilet. My. Fucking. God. I pull myself together, it's probably just a bloody phone-sex chat line, and I'm racking up a bill of five bucks a minute or something. I look at my phone, and the number, but no, it's legit. I stutter and stumble through a conversation that’s almost incoherent due to her sultry tones. As luck would have it, she’s out tonight too, just a few blocks down from here, so I’m off like a bullet, hand’s shoved into my pants to conceal my boner as I walk out the door, smirking at the bloke behind the bar.

The sea breeze helps to sober me up somewhat as I trot along the foreshore, but I needn’t have worried as the bouncers here don’t do much unless your shirt is caked with chunks. A casual nod as I walk in then I’m scanning the bar for someone fitting her description, black hair, red outfit. There by the bar is a vision in fuck-me-boots, a short skirt and a top laced up the back like a corset. I’ve just the right amount of dutch courage in me, so I saunter up all casual like and say “Hi. I’m Steve, we talked on the phone...” hoping against hope it’s her. She smiles and leans in so she can be heard above the music, pressing her boobs against me “Hello there, I’m Nikki!”

We shout a bit back and forth for a while but while it seems she’s digging my company it’s hard to carry out a conversation like this. “Do you want a drink?” I yell, thinking maybe we can move to a table away from the music and yarn. She nods and smiles then shouts something to the barman. When her order arrives, she lifts her skirt scandalously high - but I’m not complaining - and pulls a twenty from a flame-red garter belt, waving away the change. She passes me a shot glass, and a feel a twinge in my guts... tequila and I haven’t been on speaking terms since my graduation party. But watching her jam the slice of lemon between her tits I’m raring to go. I come up smiling (of course), loving the jealous looks from all the other guys around. She puts another slice in my mouth, and throws back her shot, kissing me hard on the lips. “Lets get out of here, go somewhere a bit more quiet, yeah?” I nod hell yes, draping my arm around her waist and chance my luck giving her arse a squeeze.

We go down the steps and start heading towards the obvious destination - the beach. I’m trying to think of angles I can use to try and get her home. But even though she seems keen I’m worried she’s a hooker, because I’ve drunk most of this week’s pay already. Luck like this isn’t normal for me, so it feels strange. We walk over the dunes, towards the lighthouse and I say the first stupid thing that pops into my head “It’s a shame we don’t have lighthouses that warn us from bad decisions isn’t it?” Nikki laughs quietly and I rush on, trying to cover up, “Sorry... I was just trying to be romantic.” With a shrug she pulls me into a kiss and we tumble down onto the dunes. That tequila must have hit me harder than I think, as I follow up with this clanger “Sorry Nikki, but I’ve gotta ask, what’s your job? You’re not a prostitute are you? I’m broke.” I grin sheepishly, going red with embarrassment. Another small laugh escapes her lips, and I look up, hopefully. “No,” she answers “I’m a succubus!” Her eyes glow red and a mouthful of fangs are the last thing I see.

*****

The start for me was a doddle to write, as I know the inside of all sorts of bars, some quite well. An easy part of write what you know. Picking someone up in a bar? Not such an expert. I know what my face looks like, so I rarely bothered in the past, pretty certain I'd get shot down. And its not like I want to practice it now, seeing as how I'm happily married and all. So the end of my story feels a lot weaker to me. And while I speak with a fairly foul mouth, I don't often write fiction with it (I do in emails and instant messages and such), so that was a change too.

You bought her what... on Wednesday

Back from a cold Tet with questionable food (such as boiled tongue and intestine, which always made me wonder what the hell happened to the rest of the pig) here's a double entry for Julia's Place, the Wednesday one and you bought her what.

Waffles

Wednesday was always waffles. Waking early, we’d wend our wandering way, walking to Wally’s. Warmly welcomed (as always) we waited, while whistling wafted in with the mouthwatering scents. Watching for a wink or other sign of the present, I would listen to whispers of another time, way back in the past. Where there’s a will there’s a way they say, but Alzheimer's can sap your willingness - make you wish for what is fleeting, like a whimsical wisp of smoke writing wavering words. The rest of the world could wait. For the pair of us, Wednesday was always waffles.

*****
Go Jump

As we’re cleaning up the empty bottles, we can’t help but spill the beans. The details from the original agreement are hazy due to a similar drinking session - we’re not sure if it was making her a mother-in-law or presenting her with a grandchild that got the guernsey, but through teaming up we’ve covered all bases. “Go check your credit card details, we put it on yours, of course!” Some tandem parachute tickets, as was suggested in jest at last year’s birthday. Dad can’t help sniggering - until we inform him that we got some for him as well.

*****

We didn’t actually cross the line for this one before the timer (mum’s 70th) ran out. But we still threaten it from time to time.