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Errol

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My art reflecting my life . . . at the time [Feb. 7th, 2011|08:03 pm]
Errol
So I was looking through my past pieces on writing.com and uh, damn! I really was in a dark place when I wrote most of those things. Every time I started to read one of them I literally had to keep from throwing up from the negativity that blasted me with my own words. So is this how you felt when I read what I wrote Jon? Wait, I don't even know if you read my shit but, whatever. I guess a good takeaway from this is if I'm repulsed by what I read then, I must be in a better place now. And that's alllllllright. Now it's time to maintain it as long as I can.

However, I'm fresh out of ideas at the moment. I was hoping to start up one of my past projects again but, man, I'd have to be at that same place again to even begin to continue them, and I like where I am right now. So now of course there's the sudden fear of going back to that black spiral when I come back home. I so hope not. The truth is though here I have few responsibilities, few worries, few vices and few opportunities to over-think myself into depression. So it's easier to just excercise my troubles away. That's definitely gonna change when I get back. I just hope my time here has enabled me to strengthen my psyche and reinforce my resolve to deal with issues I'll have to face coming back to civilization, to real life.

On a related note, Emily Dickinson came to mind about how I should proceed with my writing life. She wrote thousands of poems and stories but only a dozen were published when she was alive, and most, if not all of it were written in seclusion as letters to her friends. Now I'm not saying I'm gonna go hole myself up in my room, or in a cabin somewhere a la Henry David Thoreau, but I'm starting to find my lack of ambition to publish my works into the world not as disconcerting as I did before. In other words, it's not starting to matter anymore whether I become a successful writer or not. I'm perfectly comfortable just posting all my works on LiveJournal for my only three readers. Or this might just be the runner's high talking haha! I don't fucking know.

Corny as it may sound, Agent Smith and his many clones comes to mind with what he said to Neo. "It is purpose that creates us, purpose that connects us, purpose that pulls us, that guides us, drives us, defines us, and binds us." I'm thirty two, and less than a month to thirty three, and much like Princeton on Avenue Q, I have yet to find my true purpose. Despite the financial issues I have with my family, or issues I have at work (which by the way I have to keep telling myself, is all in my head), my greatest worry is not finding my purpose in life.

Ok, I can see that spiral beckoning. I'm stopping here. I wrote more than I should have. And as much as I am tempted to just erase all this like I normally do and let it disappear into the well of my soul, I'm leaving it here. I'm a give catharsis a go for once.

Eh, to be continued.
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Thank you LiveJournal restore save draft function. [Feb. 6th, 2011|10:42 pm]
Errol
So yeah, posted below was supposed to be yesterday's post, but forgot to post.
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Yeah it's been to busy a day to spin up anything creative, so I'll just post me a normal life and feelings and shit entry. Although I probably should logged on earlier cuz I'm too exhausted to even write about whatever's on my mind or heart or soul or whatever. What sucks is, my day isn't over yet, and I have to go to work in about an hour. Oh well ey!

Write now, I'm about to post my all connected pilot story on writing.com. My three readers can either get an account on it and read it (along with all my old stuff) or you can just wait until I find some other way to post where everybody (again, you three) can read.

Other than that I'm on another malaise. Last time I felt like this and wrote about, I thought it was the start of my mood spiral, but then I called Shenanigans the next day. So, I'm withholding judgment, and just chocking up today as being blah. Blah because I didn't get the satisfaction I normally got after a work-out, where endorphins put me in a "don't give a fuck" mood. I did for a while, but then I started giving a fuck. Sonuva bitch! Without it, I don't feel as confident and sexy, so I don't come off as confident and sexy, and that's just me being selfish to the ladies. (Here? Ladies?)

That's about it. My story is posted. Got nothing else to say. Got to get ready for work. May be a triple Rip-it night tonight. Stay strong muthafucka. Stay strong.

At a later date . . .
------------------------------
And this is today's post, in response to above post, which I hope I don't forget to post. How many more times can I say post? Post post post post post post post post post . . .
------------------------------
So as predicted, yesterday was Shenanigans . . . sorta.

Man these mini mood swings are really doing a number on my psyche. It's like, I start out feeling all invincible and shit, like ain't nothing break my stride, nobody gonna slow me down, oh no, I gotta keep on movin' (Thank you Matthew Wilder). Then, something triggers a negative thought in my head, and I'm like, "No! Don't think about that! Forget about it!" But of course the more I try not to think about it, the stronger it gets, and then "Crack!" There goes my armor. I feel all bummed. I write entries like the one above. Then I either take a nap, eat, flirt with a girl, then slowly but surely I start to rebuild, to my former glory as "We Are The Champions" plays in my head (or my I-pod). And thus, the cycle starts anew.

Age, experience and wisdom has taught me to better deal with the ebbs and flows, but it doesn't stop it from sucking. Guess if I don't fuck shit up too much, I'm doing alright, and I can lament the times when I'm blah, and cherish the moments when I'm AWESOME!

As for the next story, or the continuation of the last one, it'll have to wait.
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Ha ha! Silly me. [Feb. 4th, 2011|07:29 pm]
Errol
Well I thought I was done writing for a while but apparently I still have juice left. So to my three recognized readers, I continue . . . 'til I come up with another "end" or run out of juice. Whatevers clevers.
---------------------------------------------

“That’s a good question,” said a voice behind the battle ragged group. Fire rose from Gil’s eyes, recognizing the speaker’s voice.

“You have a lot of explaining to do halfer!” He spat, rising from his feet and bolting to the individual whom he called a derogatory term for his race, “you and the female norm who calls herself the Head Scryer of the Temple of Hawkstone. I knew this was supposed to test the girl’s ability to organize an expedition and search for an ‘artifact,’ but the killer giant lizard?!! Was that necessary?!!”

“I apologize Gil.” The aforementioned female norm replied. “This was not part of the plan. The portal was just supposed to open, and Tanya and her group were to just proceed on to the next phase of the test, the dungeon. We don’t know what went wrong.”

“Well it’s a good thing you came in time to rid us of this beast before it swallowed the poor boy.”

The two arrivals looked at each other, and then the little one spoke.

“Actually, we had nothing to do with it. It was all the boy’s doing.”

Gordon, the boy, snapped out of his reverie and spoke. “Really? I did that?”

“Indeed. Impressive for someone who involved himself with bad company to make a forged scroll, of which by the way, I’m disappointed in you for doing.”

“Come on Meranom. I can’t possibly believe that a fireball that huge and powerful could come from our second hand wizard. I’ve seen you cast spells and I’ve yet to see you conjure anything that massive, and that quick for that matter.”

“I was thinking the same thing. You and I have a lot to discuss Gordon, after we figure out how the giant lizard appeared out of what we thought was a harmlessly manufactured portal.”
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It's not much, but it's a start. A suivre.
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Hooray, the end [Feb. 3rd, 2011|03:30 pm]
Errol
But first, my thoughts on life. Ah fuck feelings!! And Bink, FUCK YO THEORIES. Here it is.
------------------------------------------
And here I am, inches away from being food for a snarling, drooling monstrosity with a breath I can only describe as a conglomeration of all the animals in the worlds' feces. What a sad end to my sad pathetic life. Should I be surprised that it came to this.

“Holy Pillars of fucking Valesium man!! Didn't they teach you to fight shit like this in your stupid university?!!

“Come on lad. Don't freeze up now. Use what you know. ANYTHING DAMMIT!!”

I didn't think it'd come to this.

“I lied.” As if they misheard the worst thing ever to mishear they shook their heads.

“You what?!!”

“I . . .I . . . lied ok. I really didn't graduate from the University Concentrated on Learning the Arcane.”

The look that was once intense focus on the beast now became burning rage towards me. Yes, follks, I lied. I couldn't cut it as a full-fledged wizard. I made it about six months before I was kicked out. Ok, that's not true either. I left. It wasn't the long hours and lack of sleep. I didn't mind that at all. It wasn't the cost to study there. In fact they have a pretty good loan program. Speaking of loan programs, remember that “messenger” who threatened to rip my still beating heart from my chest for recompense? He wasn't a UCLA loan officer. He was sort of an enforcer, of those who didn't pay the Toad Alley Reapers in time for “services rendered.” I couldn't go back home without having graduated, so Beedy, who actually failed out, knew a guy, who knew a guy, who knew a guy, who could get us some forged scrolls. He said he could do everything from land titles to proof of royalty, given the right price. We didn't have much to give, but they said it was ok. We can pay it back later in installments. And that's how they hooked Beedy and me.

“A FORGED SCROLL!! I knew you were too good to be true. Damn me for being so blindly desperate."

“I swear to fucking Jeebus kid you better hope this thing kills one of us cuz if it doesn't, I will rip your square head and shove it up your round asshole!!”

You know what it was? I couldn't take the pressure. I didn't think I had what it took. I was told by Professor Lazuli, that in order to know the Arcane, you must embrace it with full force. Hold on to it until your muscles ache, your body trembles, and your mind wanders into confusion. Then, with unknown reserve you crush this malevolently beautiful force until eventually, it becomes a part of you. If you're not willing to do that, then you should leave now.

So I left. Six months and I already knew I couldn't muster up that type of courage, that resolve. I still wanted to get some sort of magical training, so instead I applied to the Generic Conjuration College.

“GCC?!! You went to GCC?!!"

"Holy Hand of Malaten! We hired a second-hand wizard!”

“Aaahh fuck! Why did our last guy have to be a fucking pervert?!!”

“I did a semester in the Prestidigitatorial Cantrips College.”

“SHUT UP!!” They both yelled in unison. I should have taken my mother's advice and tried to join the Hawkstone Guard. I could have been Gibson's punching bag training as a paladin of the Rubine Order. Heck, I could have just worked under my father making horseshoes and stovepipes for a living. Nope, I had to go try to be a damn wizard, but now I was gonna be lizard food. And as it lunged at me . . . everything went blank.

How disappointing that my death has to be just as boring. I feel nothing. I see nothing. I hear nothing. I guess I could have been something if I tried harder. Sorry Gemma, I was suppose to be . . . no. I can let my parents down. I can let my brothers down. I could care less if I see the tramper and stump again. And Tanya . . . like I could ever get a girl like her. But that doesn't matter. If there was a reason I was to make it out of here it would be for her. To crush her hopes of me being the next Meranom, or Veracosa, or she dared say it, Lyganstel. That's not going to happen. To use a tramper's swear word, oh fuck that?!!

When I got my senses back I took stock of what I saw in front of me. Gil was to my right, mouth wide open. It looked as if he was about to tackle me from harm's way, but stopped mid stride. Bev was behind me. It seems she was thrown off the beast, and right over me. She too was about ready to grab me and drag me down, but like Gil, was dumbstruck. Tanya had come to, wide-eyed, and hand over mouth. My feet were firmly planted on the ground. My hands were fully extended, smoke rising from them like wispy snakes climbing imaginary vines, hot, and trembling. And paces in front of me was a large, charred pile of flesh, bone and ashes, still smoldering, and looked to have been blasted back by some fiery, malevolent force that I could only equate to as a fireball.

Gil was the first to speak. “Alright son. Now I'm confused. Are you or are you not a real wizard?”
--------------------------------
And cut. This is my pilot story. I forgot how I explained it to Bobby and Jon, but it can be both a story on it's own, or trail off into other chapters. Though seriously, there's too many unanswered questions for it to be on its own but, that's good for now. And yes, it's a draft. It needs a good amount of work. But hey, it's complete. I like it. Read it. If not, fuck you!! Fuckn . . . cock chaos!!

Ok back to stupid feelings . . . but that will have TO BE CONTINUED
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This'll be done tomorrow. Guaranteed. [Feb. 2nd, 2011|05:52 pm]
Errol
I wanted to post some other shit about my thoughts on life or something poignant like that, but I took too much time doing this. That's alright, cuz sentimentality will have to wait. I have a story to finish dammit
---------------------------------------------
Bertie tried his best to show concern about me leaving, but really, he didn't care. It was only as a favor from my brother Garzon that I got hired in the first place. I mean why turn down your most frequent customer and the only person that can shut you down for not being up to par with the health and sanity codes of the city? And the feeling was mutual. I can live without zapping another rat ever again.

As we walked towards our destination, I tried my best to make conversation with Tanya. What I wanted to say was,

“So, Tanya, what's a beautiful girl like you doing with dangerous company like them?” What came out was.

“So . . . uh . . . sunny day . . . right?”

“Um, yeah. It is.” Oh man. What do I say next? My brothers always talked to girls. What did they say? Nice breasts? No I can't say that?!!

“So Gordon.” Gil said, breaking me out of my internal freak-out. “You know why we need a magic user for this right?”

“Uh . . . yeah, of course I do.” I didn't.

“No you don't.” He said, as if he read my mind. “Look, this particular tree in this forest can only be found by somebody who has the ability to sense magic. Now we figured Tanya was able to do so, but as a cleric of the Scrying Eye, she can only detect runes, magic writing, all that nonsense. But I'm sure being an avid practitioner of magic you already knew that.”

“Of course. I knew it before you even said it.” Actually, after he mentioned Scrying Eye, it call came back to me. “Clerics of the Scrying Eye followed the doctrine of Xerage, the Angel of Knowledge. I remember taking a religion course, just so I can get that part of my requirements done. They also go out and look for artifacts that lead to knowledge about the Ancient Ones. Oh that makes sense now.”

Then again it didn't.

“From what I remember, these particular artifacts are well guarded by all sorts of traps and dangerous beasts.”

Oh crap!

“Well that shouldn't be anything for you to worry about right?” Tanya included. “A wizard of your degree should see this as nothing but a challenge.”

“Sure.” I squeaked, trying not the let the chunks from my queasy stomach eject from my quivering mouth.

“And, we have Gil, a battle hardened veteran of the War and Bev, a . . .”

The tramper, who had no interest in the conversation, suddenly turned around.

“Yeah, Tanya. What the fuck am I?”

“ . . . A deadly woman with twin daggers?”
“Save it sister. I don't need you fluff me up.” The awkwardness lingered up until we entered the forest and reached the marked destination on the map.

“Alright lad. Work your magic.”

I really should have prepared better for this. If I were a good wizard, I'd have asked more questions about this whole trip, did my research in the library, contacted my colleagues to get their input in the matter, and gathered the necessary tools and materials to do this task efficiently, and effectively. Truth be told, I had no time to ask questions, no access to the Library of Arcane Matters, and no colleagues to consult. Well there was Beedy, but if you knew him, he'd have been worthless too. And, the only materials I had were to restore spoiled food, kill small rodents and insects, and see through wood to detect said vermin. As I took out the crystal that I use to do what I did I cursed myself. What in Abyss did I get myself into? It'll probably take the stump five minutes to see through my bunk skills. Then what? I suspect the tramper will stomp my guts out. I'll never see Tanya again.

This really sucks. I should just come clean and . . .

“Hey I found something.” I called out, almost ready to cry out of sheer joy that maybe my guts won't be stomped out.

It seems while I was scanning the trees, looking through my crystal, shooting in the dark, I actually hit something. Through my seeing-through-wood crystal, I saw writing that I suspected Tanya could read. I gave it to her, she read, and as she uttered those strange words, the tree began to glow, so brightly that we had to shield our eyes. Once the glow subsided, a portal formed in the tree. And out of the portal charged the largest, ugliest, meanest lizard I've ever seen.
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And, full circle. The exciting conclusion tomorrow. Sit tight my three only readers haha!
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Don't shit where you eat he says [Feb. 1st, 2011|09:38 pm]
Errol
I've been struggling with that dilemma for a while now, and so many questions I'm trying to answer. Like for example, what if you haven't shit in a really long time? I mean how long really can you hold your shit before you just have to just let it all out? And, yeah it is where you eat but, you know, if you come prepared with some Glade or something, it won't smell that bad. And yes, there's a lot of people there you know who eat at the same table. How do you know they're not doing the same thing? What if, you only shit at night, when everybody else is asleep, then clean it up after? Then again, it seems somebody is always awake at all hours so that might be a little difficult. And, there's few places, if any, to really take a good shit without somebody walking in and catching you. All's I'm sayin' is, yes, it's impractical, unethical and most importantly illegal to shit where you eat. But, like most taboo acts, people do it anyway. What'cha gonna do brother?!! What'cha gonna do?!!

So, on a lighter note . . .
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She had long, blond hair, sleepy, green eyes and the softest cream skin. She walked with an elegant grace, until she almost tripped over a loose floorboard. She held leather bound, gold trimmed book with her delicate hands against her soft bosom. And she was walking towards me, a crooked, unsure smile. And as her lips parted she said the words,

“Hey there lad. How about a table, ale and your finest mutton.” I was quite taken aback how deep and gruff her voice was.

“Hey!!” he growled, snapping his fingers at me. I come out of my reverie, and quickly realize it was the stump talking. “You deaf or something?!”

“Oh no, no, no. I don't work here. I mean I work here but I don't, uh-”

“Pay no mind to our rat-catcher.” Bertie interjected as he cuffed the back of my head. “He's a bit slow. Shawna here will give you whatever you need.” A buxom waitress who's only lot in life is to serve drinks, sleep with strangers with deep pockets and berate would-be wizards strolled towards the group and directed them to an nearby spot.

“And finish your ale quick and get back to work.” he punctuated his point with his fat finger on my nose.

As I sat down and slowly sipped on my spirit, I couldn't take my eyes off her. What was this beautiful creature doing with a burly stump and a foul-mouthed tramper.

“Ok so where the fuck is this golden statue anyway? I don't wanna spend any more time in this shit hole than we need to.

“Keep your voice down Bev. We don't want to attract any more attention than we need to, and I don't want spit on my food this time.”

“Oh I swear to Jeebus if that shit happens again I'll-”

“BEV!!”

“Alright. Alright.”

“Ok Tanya. Let's see that map in that book of yours.”

Tanya. Her name was Tanya.

“Right.” She whispered in a honey-flavored voice. Tiny sparks flew from the book as she opened it. I guess they we're used to it by now because they didn't even flinch. “It's a simple map really. “It just shows the path you take from Hawkstone, deep into the Griffin Forest and an approximate area where the underground passage is located. The only problem is finding which tree it would be under.”

“It's not marked.” The stump asked.

“Sorry Gil. It won't be that easy. Bev scared off our only way of finding it.” They both look at the tramper.

“Hey if that perverted son of a bitch wasn't peeping at me from behind a rock bathing at the lake, he'd probably have his balls by now?!!”

The stumpy they called Gil sighed. “For once I agree with Bev here. But you didn't have to chase him all the way down Dean's Pass just to castrate him in front of innocent travelers.” All the tramper Bev could do was shrug. “Where are we going to find another magic user?”

Spitting the last sip of my ale I blurt, “I'm a magic user.” Maybe I should have cleaned myself up first before pitching myself. Then again, would that have stopped them from laughing so hard they almost knocked the plate of mutton Shawna served them. Well, Bev and Gil laughed, but Tanya just looked at me, almost studying me. Could she feel the same way?

“Prove it.” She said. “Do something magical.”

I was dumbfounded. I doubt zapping a rat or erasing the green fungus that grew in their bread would have been the best way to present my skills.

“Uhh . . . give me a moment.” I ran to the cellar where I normally drop off my satchel. Yup, it was still there. I knew this would come in handy sooner or later. I placed it front of Tanya, as a gift. Gil snatched it and held it as if it were the leg of a roast fowl.

“What's this?” He asked.

“Open it.” I replied. He unrolled the scroll and all three proceeded to read.

“Well it is from the University Concentrated on Learning the Arcane.”

“Alright lad. You're hired.”

“You better not fuck shit up or you'll end up like the last guy.”

If they weren't stupid, they were desperate enough not to ask what a UCLA graduate was doing zapping vermin at a run-down tavern. And I was desperate enough not to ask why they needed magic to find a golden statue.
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False alarm [Jan. 31st, 2011|11:56 pm]
Errol
Uhh yup! So I thought I was going to the downward spiral. Turns out, I'm still on top. See, this is what happens when I try to write a journal entry before a work out, without my work out crack. I'm still trying to get used to the shift change, but I've been doing well so far. I still have the aforementioned routine. But, the zen is back, yeah!! And as far as management changes, bullet dodged. Everything is right with the world, still.

Anyways, proceeding . . .
-----------------------------------------------------------------

And that would have been the end of Gordon of Hawkstone's story. I probably would have lived the rest of my life as a token rat-catcher in a dive bar, or a bloody pulp somewhere in the middle of the forest, minus a scroll and my still beating heart. But it was not. I wasn't about to get away that easy.

I remember it being mid-day, after I zapped 3 rats, 6 cockroaches, maggots from the 9-day-old mutton and a nest of termites that Bertie failed to mention existed under the tavern floorboards. If I had not caught it in time, the whole tavern would have collapsed on me. But like I said, I wasn't about to get away that easy. As I sat down and took an ale break, three strangers walked into the bar: A lady tramper, a male stump, and the most beautiful girl I've seen in my life.

Now before I continue, I have to say something about trampers and stumps.

If you ever come across a tramper, you should do one of three things: Hold on to your coins, watch your back, and walk the other way. In fact, you should do all three. You'll know immediately who they are by their pointy ears, olive skin and gaunt features. I doubt there's such a thing as a fat tramper, or an honest one, or a sane one. I also have not seen a tramper that was not involved in anything dangerous or illegal. So yeah, watch yourself when they're around.

Stumps, or stumpies are a little more trustworthy. Just don't call them stumpies in their face or they'll knock you down to their size. They're half a normal person's size but twice as wide, and you'll never see one without some sort of beard, or mustache or some form of facial hair. Come to think of it they're a hairy lot. I guess it helps given their career choices. They're either miners, blacksmiths, stonemasons or anything involved in construction or repair. My father works with many of them, and he says they're all business when it comes to work. But once the forge fires have been put out and the doors are closed, ten mugs of ale later they're all fun and games. As far as I'm concerned they're the most hardworking, trustworthy people around.

And yes, a tramper and a stump passing each other would sooner spit in each other’s face than say hello. Never have I seen the two walk side by side, until now. I'm sure the patrons at the bar were thinking the same thing. I pondered it for two seconds, and then my eyes shifted to her.
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Fino alla prossima volta.
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Story break [Jan. 30th, 2011|01:20 pm]
Errol
Yeah I don't have time to continue the story today. Seems my normal writing location is locked up for the day so I had to go to the public computers where I'm limited to 30 minutes of usage. Maybe later in the day I'll write it if I'm adjusted to this new schedule by then. If that's the case, there's no point then in putting this entry. I mean, really, what now? All I'm doing is writing the words that are in my head into this journal. Seems silly really. Then again, this is more of a ritual now than anything. Wake up, take a shit, work out, shower, get food, write on journal, chill at office, work, go to bed. Somewhere in between I do a little walking, maybe buy coffee and a pastry, window shop, and have my weekly talks with Bobby Mac. That about sums it up. It's been a serene, zen-like sequence of motions so far, but the routine is starting to wear thin. And, word of management changes for the worst to come is not something I'm looking forward to. Once again, I believe my mood has reached it's peak and is now on its way down to the trough. All I can do now is raise my hands, push my lap against the safety bar and go AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

to be continued
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Runnin' on fumes [Jan. 29th, 2011|12:02 pm]
Errol
Still clawing. Still muthafukin clawin'!
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So after four years, I'm four years older, and ready to show what I can do. As it turned out, there wasn't much use for a newly graduated wizard here in Hawkstone. Meranom, the Duke's Advisor on Arcane Matters, already had all the interns he needed. I suppose I could have put my application earlier, but again, I still wasn't sure this is what I was going to be. After a year of lounging around the house, I found a job that put my skills to good use. It would have been longer had it not been for the constant demands of my father to get to work, the stories I had to endure of my brothers' toils of earning a living, and a certain messenger who reminded me I had school loans to pay. He was very convincing when he turned into a demon, grabbed me by the collar, and told me in the most colorful language that he would tear out my still beating heart for recompense if I were not to hold up my end of the contract. Thankfully, this didn't happen at home. There's no telling what would have happened then. Gesdon uncontrollably laughing at my plight, Gibson charging off to rid the foul demon then joining my brother soon after, my father taking turns with the demon grabbing my collar and emphasizing the message as my brothers well, you get the picture. Yup, finally found a job to put my skills to good use.

“Alright Gordy,” said Bertie, the proprietor of the Ogre and Hammer Tavern and my new boss. “If you see and rats down in this cellar, blast him with your magic. Got it? Oh, and if the food goes bad, try to make it fresher. If not, oh well. The customer will eat it one way or another.”
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I should really chill on the background and get to the story already [Jan. 28th, 2011|02:40 pm]
Errol
But, hey, it's extemporaneous. This is what in on my mind at the time and this is what I'll put. And, go!
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However, I was surprised about the resistance my mother had.

“Are you sure this is what you want to do? You know those schools are very difficult to get in. And learning all that magic? That's a bit dangerous don't you think? And who says you still can't get into the guard like your father. Or you can do the same thing your brother Gibson is doing. I'm sure he and Sephora can put in a good word for you to their master. And if that doesn't work out, you can always help your dad out in the blacksmith business.”

I thought she'd be excited about it. You see, before my mother married my father and settled down with him, she was a scribe. Weird right? But in Galena, women were not only allowed to be scribes, but also encouraged. I remember her telling me how strange it was in this whole continent, all women could hope to be are housewives, barmaids or princesses. She said they could be other things but it still disturbs me to this day that those words would come out of my mother's mouth.

If it wasn't for my little sister, Gemma, who thought it was the most spectacular thing ever, and constantly made up stories about me one day being a great wizard.

“Think about it. You could be the next Meranom, or the next Veracosa. Oh oh! Dare I say it. You can be the next Lyganstel. Yeah!! I can't wait 'til you get back Gordy and show me all your crazy magic skills. It's gonna be sooo awesome!”

With encouragement like that, how could I have resisted.
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