-Preamble-
BTW, I forgot to mention, I'd like to thank Theresa Milstein (check out her blog) and Khnoum for their support, Okurokami may never have gotten done if it weren't for their interest.
Now I can finally post other stories.
Some of you may recognize this story as taking place in Terry Pratchett's Discworld, however, some things might strike you as unusual. That would be because it is actually set in the universe of the Discworld MUD.
What are MUDs? Hmm... Without getting technical, MUDs are the ancestors of MMORPGs. Essentially, it's a text based game in which the players create a character and control them through text based commands as they explore the world, bake pies, slay creatures, learn musical instruments and whatever else the developers have thought of. TDTTOE. ; j
I've been mudding for a long time, and the only MUD I ever play at all anymore is the DW mud. I wrote a couple of stories for one of the player run in-game newspapers (the AM-Daily, the best newspaper on the disc!), and of course it is rife with DWmud jokes and references. For instance, about bows being useless: you can buy them in the game but they haven't been coded in yet so they don't do anything (as far as I know) except let you look cool when people take a gander at your visible equipment.
I'm hoping it might still be entertaining to read, so here it is.
Now for the story.
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| A lion... And sand. The stuff of nightmares. |
Ok, I'm exaggerating, it hasn't just been lions: there
have also been vultures, scorpions, and enough sand that I won't even be able
to hear the word sandwich without shivering in disgust. Come to think of it, I
think I might even have fought a desert wolf, or coyote or something last
week... but it might have been a lion in disguise. My mind feels fuzzy, or
perhaps sandy? I shouldn't be surprised, sand seems to be getting in everywhere
else, why would my mind be any different?
Or maybe the sun is getting to me. I'm thirsty and banged
up pretty bad, and I'm out of tea... For now, there are no lions in sight, they
must be hiding under some dunes or something... I think I'll sit down a bit...
and rest... I wonder if I'm dying?
Father told me I'd end up like this -it was more of a
shout really, and it was cut off by the sound of me slamming the door hard
enough to crack it as I left. Yes indeed, he told me I'd come to this end. Of
course, he didn't specifically say anything about lions, it was more of a
nonspecific lion-free forecasting of a sordid ending.
It all started with the town dance… We had fun, laughed,
and danced together the entire evening. We did the same thing at the next dance
as well, and the one after that. We started trying to find opportunities to see
each other. It wasn't easy considering how far apart we lived from each other.
 |
| Just a small segment of the carriage routes in the mud, full map is here |
Ye gods, it all sounds so banal in retrospect.
My father was, still is as far I know, a hunter and we
lived in Slice. We weren't poverty-stricken but we had nothing to spare
either.
My dance partner claimed to come from "somewhere in
the Sto Plains" but forgot to tell me that he was the offspring of some
very minor baron in Sto Helit. Well, when his parents heard about our budding
romance they quickly decreed that I wasn't good enough for him.
Pah... I'd spit if I had any moisture to spare.
Their title didn't change the fact of what they are:
pretentious merchants, cabbage peddlers. What else is there in the Sto plains? Of
course I only discovered all of this later...
It was a nice dream. We were going to run away to
Ankh-Morpork and make it big setting up a business importing Lancre furs. This
was going to be facilitated by the fact that I knew a good number of Hunters in
Lancre through my father. Yeah well, that was a bust. When he didn't show up at
the appointed time and place, I figured he had chickened out. Still, I wanted
to make sure, so I paid him an unexpected little visit.
In retrospect, I wonder why I was so surprised at finding
him in the arms of a pasty faced milk-maid cow-woman. I was introducing his
rear end to my foot and giving him a free lesson in good manners when he had to
gall to draw his puny “made in” Ankh-Morpork foil on me. Well that tore it, I
drew my longsword, good Ogg-forged steel of course, and made confetti out of
his toy sword and his fancy pants dancing moves. Didn't hurt him -much- but the
cow woman was screaming her over-sized lungs off and I just knew the watch
would turn up shortly. So I got one last good kick in on the good-looking
foppish sap who had previously pretended to have been my paramour and made a
discrete exit.
Well, from then on I took to the adventurer's life. I
sold my useless bow in a general store, and hit the road. I met a few good
people, a bunch of bad folk, and some people that were out of this world.
Overall it wasn't an experience I enjoyed, in fact I had decided to
forget... which brings me to my current
predicament: I got lost looking for the Klatchian foreign legion.
I don't remember when I ate last, and that's probably a
good thing since it was probably raw lion. I'm wearing a lion pelt I found next
to a dead hattite priest. All of my original clothes and armor have either broken or fallen apart. My sword is so notched
it feels more like a blunt instrument than a blade. In fact, every now and then,
I get the distinct impression that I've gotten better at wielding blunt
weapons. Maybe that's the heat delirium talking... Speaking of delirium... Is
that a horse I hear?
Impossible...
Is that a... What is that?
A leopard print frog on the back of a horse?
A mirage, surely…
No, I can see it a bit clearer now, and I wish I didn't.
It's a severely acned potbellied gangly young man wearing a leopard skin over his shoulders, a
leopard skin loincloth, and a leopard print push up bra (no comment). For lack
of a better word he can only be described as riding the horse... Though that is
stretching the word. He seems to be barely hanging on and in grave danger of
biting his tongue off.
Whoops, there he goes in a flying tangle of leopard clad
stick-like limbs.
I should knock him out and take his horse before he spots
me... Drat too late.
He picks himself up with surprising dignity considering
his ludicrous appearance.
"Greetings, fellow barbarian! I am Deep Lover,
mighty warrior." he said with an air of shaky self-importance.
Deep Lover? Seriously?
My doubts must have been obvious because he then admitted
rather bashfully:
"Ok, ok... my name is Repo... Repo Leved. I just say
I'm Deep Lover 'cuz a dwarf lothario told me it would help seductionate ladies
of your gender, beggin' your pardon miss. At any rate it works as goodly as
this here horse I'm testing... Pfeh. Now where did I put that scroll..."
he trailed off into mumbling as he started digging around in a leopard print
satchel.
What a curious character... But this could be my ticket
out!
"You know, I'm actually better at this magicking
stuff than at barbraining, as I call it. Haha... Course pa would never have me
going off to learn it proper: I had to become a barbarian, just like him and
his pappy before him... Oh well. Would you like to come back with me to the winter camp? But where
did I... It's simple really... All I need..." once again he trailed off
into incoherence.
Whoever he is, he doesn't seem interested in my answer.
He is reading from a scroll whilst holding a golden ring, capering, and moving
his hands in a pattern that looks suspiciously like the Macarena. A flimsy
looking plywood door pops into existence after he traces a rectangle in the air
with his finger... A magical portal to somewhere else. I hope.
I am ready...
Or maybe I'm not.
I don't know what's coming but I'm looking forward to
finding out.
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