More Pickup Progress

I spent the weekend buttoning up the exhaust on my '84 F150. I had started out with this grand plan to fabricate the y-pipe and weld up my own custom setup. Yeah...that didn't happen.

I gave it some thought and since I'm running factory exhaust manifolds I may as well go back with factory pipes. I found the y-pipe online for about $170. It was $100 higher from Summit, but Google solved that problem right quick. Came with a catalytic converter. Yeah, that's not getting used.

Never heard of the website before, but they shipped it to me for $20 and it fit like it was made to go there. Probably because it was. Interesting bit is that it's actually for a '95 F150 with a 351W. I figured that since the engine and manifold came out of a '95 it should work unless there was some funky difference on the frame of the '84 vs. the '95. It also has a provision for an O2 sensor that may get used at some point to monitor air/fuel ratio but for now an oil pan plug closes that up nicely.

Like I said before, it fits great. Well, mostly. It does rest on the transmission cross-member. I'm gonna notch the pipe and put a small bend in it. A little welding and it'll be good to go.  The flex pipe may or may not be temporary will just have to see how well it lasts.

Once I solve the issue of the turn signals blowing their fuse, it's ready for inspection and tags. One interesting thing on this truck though is the factory tool box under the hood. No idea how common they were, but it's the first time I've seen one.

One last thing. In small towns all over the country life is kinda jacked up right now, but some things can bring a smile. One of my trips to the parts store gave me this little moment of zen. The gentleman's wife has taken his keys in an effort to keep him at home because he's on oxygen due to pretty severe COPD. He was determined to take care of an issue, so he did what any red blooded American would do. He found alternate transportation.

Have a good one.

-Wayne

Daily Driver Drama

I have had an ongoing issue with the 1989 Mustang that I use as my daily driver. Any time I set my climate controls to anything other than off the car behaved like it had a vacuum leak. It would misfire and stumble something fierce. I had done all of the usual searching in the engine bay. Used all my best shade tree mechanic tricks. Spraying carburetor cleaner around the intake didn't give me a bump to the idle speed. Used a piece of tubing as a stethoscope never showed me a leak. 

The selector switch that changes from vent to heat to a/c and so on had lost all of its detentes, so it never clicked into position when i set it to anything. Since the climate controls are vacuum driven, I finally decided the leak was inside the car. I had a backup control panel in a drawer in my tool box. I just hadn't had the time to swap it out.

With my weekends pretty well shut down right now I thought this would be a good time to do the swap and track down the leak. I was no prepared for what I would find.

This is the plug that goes to the back of the fan controller. It MIGHT have gotten warm at some point.

Traced the wiring back behind the glove box and found this wonderful repair. Dammit.

Now I follow the blue "patch" wires on up into the dash and see these. Notice the beautiful coloring on the one connector that started its life as yellow?

I did find several places that could be my vacuum leak, and I will address those as soon as I address all of the rest of the wiring mess I found when I said "the hell with it" and did this.

While I'm in here I am going to go ahead and change out the heater core, evaporator coils, and fan motor. Dash is out...might as well.

I've also got several wiring pig tails coming for other broken plugs I found while I was in there.  I also have some fiberglass repair work to do to the heater box where someone tried to do a heater core change through the firewall instead of pulling the dash. Oh and that silver you can see on the heater box is metal duct tape like you would use on air conditioning ducts.

Just case you haven't cringed enough yet, here's a few more photos of what I found. In addition to the broken plugs, I had several unpin as I was unplugging them. Time to find a pin-out for every plug under my dash and put them back together.

Duct Tape

(This is the shortcut way to change the evap coils.)

Fan Motor Resistor Plug

Ignition Plug

Ignition Wires

(Not sure but from the tape I think this was done at the factory.)

In all honesty I'm just glad I haven't had this thing burn down around me.

If Tole were real, I might have a job for him. 

Wayne

For A Child - A Short Story

So I was asked to submit a short story for an anthology being edited by OldNFO that should come out early summer. I really didn't want to send another Tole story, so I asked my brain to find something new to talk about. Below is the first 2300 or so words I've been able to squeeze out. I've also got the ending done. Now I just need to connect them. No pressure, right?

It's an actual urban fantasy story. There's no interdimensional travel, no space/time conundrums, none of the stuff that has been in Tole's saga. It's just straight up Earth...Dallas, TX to be precise. The main character, Trip, is refusing to reveal his last name to me for some reason, so I've decided he doesn't have one.

Other weird bit is for some reason I decided that this one needs to be in present tense and third person. 

Hope you like it.

-Wayne

Trip sits at the bar in his usual spot in his favorite dive in the poor section of downtown Dallas sipping at his bourbon.  Last week word had come to him through his usual contacts that there is a new coven of warlocks in town. Not that he really cares. Sure, there was about to be an upswing in mysterious disappearances, but people have been killing each other for as long as they’ve been on this rock. Trip really doesn’t worry about it, but it pays to know what's going on in the city
He looks around the bar and takes note of the usual crowd for a Saturday night.  There are a few new faces.  He notices that unlike his and the other regulars' clothes, their worn jeans and t-shirts are actually new and not worn from wear. Trip turns back to his bourbon and thinks, "Most likely they’re some of the gentrification idiots thinking they can renovate a loft and coexist with us rabble down here in the scummy parts of town. Morons."
A few sips later it dawns on him that Suzanne, the only waitress in this dive, isn’t running around carrying drinks to the tables. He motions to the bartender, Heather, and asks her where Suzanne is. "She’s gonna be late. Been down at Dallas PD filing a missing person report on her daughter. The kid didn’t come home from school today."
Trip lowers his head and stares into his drink thinking, "Better not be those goddamned warlocks. If they stick to homeless adults for their rituals, we'll never have to cross paths. If I find out they're taking children, I'm going to have to get involved. Sonofabitch."
Heather asks, "Everything alright? You look like I just told you your dog died."
"Yeah," he replied. "I just realized that my night is probably going to get more complicated than I wanted. Bring me another drink. Would ya?"
"Sure thing," she says, putting on a crooked grin.
Heather sets the drink down in front of Trip and then goes back to slicing lemons and limes for her bar caddy. Someone comes in the door and Heather looks up to greet them. The distraction causes her to put a deep cut across one finger. She cusses, and Trip feels his blood magic surge in response longing to turn her blood to its use.
Instead, Trip gets up and walks down to where Heather is nursing her finger. "How bad?' he asks.
Heather is cradling the hand in a bar towel to catch the falling blood. "Think it's to the bone. Definitely gonna need stitches. Lemon juice burns like a bitch. Goddammit I hate being a klutz."
"Let me take a look," Trip says, reaching out for her hand. "I used to be a medic in the army. Let me see if I can do anything to save you a trip to the ER. This may feel a bit odd."
Heather holds out her hand to Trip who takes it and looks it over making noises like he's giving her an examination. The cut is pretty deep, but he's healed worse. Trip calls to his magic, and it responds. The blood flow from Heather's finger slows and then stops. The platelets begin their work of closing and healing the wound, but instead of days, Trip's magic accomplishes the work in seconds. He leaves a small superficial cut that will heal of its own accord in another day or so.
After he's done, Trip releases his magic and then Heather's hand and says, "Wasn't nearly as bad as you thought. Just a scratch really. Should be fine in a couple of days. Keep it clean. Wouldn't want to get an infection."
Heather looks at her finger and then at Trip. He can tell she doesn't buy his story, but she won't push it. Magic isn't unheard of and a lot of talented healers make serious money doing what Trip just did. One rule of the world Trip lives in now though is that everyone has secrets, and if they want you to know, they'll tell you. Otherwise, you keep your nose out of other people's business, and you get to keep it on your face.
Trip's particular kind of magic is one best kept out of the public's eye. Blood mages like Trip were all but hunted to extinction out of fear, and truth be told, rightly so. Blood mages are ridiculously powerful, and around five hundred years ago a few banded together and almost conquered and enslaved a third of the world's population. The ones who escaped the hunt have been in hiding since, and they work hard to stay hidden.
Trip came into his power after the purge. Luckily, he was found by another blood mage and taken into hiding to be trained. He was taught to fear and control his power, or it would control him. He's managed to stay hidden for almost three hundred years by living on the fringes of society. His plan has always been safety through obscurity, and it has served him well. 
Suzanne comes out of the back room tying her apron around her waist and breaking Trip's walk down memory lane. Her make up is fresh, but Trip can tell she's been crying. "The police aren't gonna to be much help down in this part of town," he thinks. "To them it'll be just another runaway in a long line of runaways. Shit."
"Hey Suzy," he says as she walks by. "Heather told me what's going on. I'd be glad to help look for your kid if you want.  I'm guessing the police weren't much help, and it's not like I've got anything else to do."
She stops and takes a deep breath and then she just sort of slumps over as she turns to look at Trip, "They told me Beth probably ran away after a fight with me or something. They said they see it all the time and she'll probably come home when she gets hungry enough. I tried to tell them we hadn't even had an argument and she never goes anywhere without telling me, but they wouldn't listen. I'm scared she got grabbed by some human traffickers or some shit, and I'm never gonna see her again. I don't even know why I'm here, but I couldn't just sit around and hope she comes back, and I've looked everywhere she usually goes."
"It's ok. I can do more than the police," Trip tells her. "The streets have eyes, and I know some of the people who do the watching. Someone saw something, and I'll find out what. People who mess with kids just piss me off. Let me help. I promise I'll make it right... one way or another."
Trip put a little more venom in the last bit than he intended and his magic pushes to be released. He puts the power back in its box as Suzanne takes a step back. Trip can feel Heather looking at him again, so he waves her down and orders another drink. He takes a pull at the bourbon, turns to Suzanne and says, "Sorry Suzy. Like I said, I get a little intense when kids are involved. As soon as it gets late enough for the folks I need to find to start roaming around, I'll get started."
"Thanks Trip," she says, laying her hand on his shoulder. "At least someone in this city gives a shit. You're a good man."
"Bullshit," Trip replies. "I'm a lot of things but a good man ain’t one. I'm just another asshole."
"Sure you are," she says kissing him on the cheek. She walks away to get to work and leaves him with his drink.
Midnight arrives about five more glasses of bourbon later. The police patrols in this part of town really lighten up after midnight which brings out the folks who make the street their home. Nobody to run you off from the dumpsters makes finding dinner a lot easier. There's a hierarchy though and proprieties that must be observed. Trip knows most of the street folk in this neighborhood won't talk to him without the permission of the neighborhood Duke, and permission from the Duke has a price. Probably best to start there.
There are several currencies on the streets. The particular Duke that Trip needs to bribe happens to be partial to chocolate and Scotch whisky. Trip sweets talks Heather into selling him a bottle of Glenfiddich Reserve that he knows she keeps behind the bar for the yuppies and then he hits the corner bodega for a handful of top shelf chocolate bars. The alley behind the bodega seems like as good a place as any to find one of the local urchins and sure enough the sound of a dumpster being sorted greets Trip's ears as he rounds the corner.
He walks up to the dumpster and bangs on the side, and the filthy face of a kid who can't be more than fifteen pokes up and says, "This space is mine by right."
"I'm not after your supper," Trip replies holding up the paper sack with the chocolate and booze. "I need an audience with Duke John. I bring tribute. Finish your hunt. I'll wait."
"Oh, I'm done. There ain't shit in here anyway. Follow me," the little urchin says climbing out of the dumpster and heading down the alley.
A few blocks away Trip is led through the back door of an abandoned warehouse. The building is dark, so the urchin reaches into the rags he's wearing and pulls out a glow stick like you'd get from a carnival booth, her cracks the ampule inside and gives it a shake. The pale, green light from it doesn't extend very far, but at least Trip can see where his guide is.
The sound of shuffling feet is coming from the darkness surrounding him. Trip touches his power enough to raise the sound of heart beats to an audible level for him. There are so many that even he couldn't have given a count which means more than a hundred people are watching him from the darkness.
Just ahead Trip can see light showing under a door way ahead of him, and the urchin has stopped in front of it. Once Trip catches up to him, the urchin knocks on the door in some coded pattern. He looks at Trip and says, "The Duke moves his court every night to keep the local authorities out of his business. Knock pattern changes every night too, so don't be thinkin' you're gonna be able to just walk in here later."
"Wouldn't dream of it, kid. Wouldn't be here now if it wasn't important. Can we get on with it, or do you need to try to intimidate me some more?" Trip replies.
"Hey, it's your funeral," the urchin says as he bows. The doors open and the urchin follows their motion with a flourish of his leading arm saying, "Enter the audience chamber of his Lordship, Duke John."
Trip stands in the doorway of what was probably the receiving dock for the warehouse. There is a tattered red carpet that leads from the doorway into the room. There are tiki torches every four or five feet along the length of it. The torches are stuck in dirt in bright orange buckets from a local home improvement store.
At the other end of the carpet is a dais made from shipping pallets and on top of that rests a huge overstuffed recliner. The fabric on the chair is torn, but it's clean. It leans ever so slightly to the left hinting at a broken frame. The chair is occupied by a mountain of a man his bulk enhanced by the mounds of rags piled on his body as clothes and the beard that covers his face and half of his chest.
Trip remembers when Duke John was just an urchin like the one who had led him here. John had been serving his own Duke at that time, and Trip had tried to help get John off of the streets. It turned out that he was perfectly happy with the life of an urchin and had plans of his own to rise to power over the streets of Dallas, and Trip's help had almost derailed those plans. Twenty years later things are still strained between them. That lingering animosity is precisely why Trip had brought the Duke's favorite scotch and expensive chocolate for his bribe.
The sound of the opening door captures Duke John's attention and he bellows, "Who has the stones to come in here unscheduled? I'm not due to hear reports from my scouts for another hour."
Trip steps into the light of the first set of torches, bows without breaking eye contact with the Duke, and says, "A memory."
At the sounds of Trip's voice Duke John's eyes widen making the whites stand out in harsh contrast to the filth on his face. He comes down off his dais and down the carpet moving at as close to a run as someone of his size can achieve. 
Trip had known that coming here meant a fifty-fifty chance of a fight, so he braces for the punch he expects to come when the Duke closes the last of the distance. What happens instead catches Trip completely off-guard. The Duke engulfs him in a tremendous bear hug and laughs. Trip isn't a small man, but the Duke is the size of an NFL lineman, and scoops him up as if he were a child.
Trip manages to pull in enough air to ask, "Does this mean you don't want the scotch?"
The Duke drops him almost immediately and asks, "You brought the Glenfiddich?"
"The fourteen-year-old reserve and that ridiculously expensive chocolate you used to always lift back in the day."
"Come on. Let's sit down and have a drink. You can tell me why you're here. I have a lot to discuss with you too. You're timing's perfect. Something strange is going down on my streets."

Happenings

It has been a crazy month. I have another chapter done in War Leader. I'm hoping to have the book done soon, so I may hold off on putting it up here. I haven't made up my mind on that yet.

The past few weeks have been work and family heavy, so not much else is getting accomplished. I did get to see my eldest perform in their first musical production when their college put on Little Shop of Horrors. The role was small but they owned it like the trooper they are.

I work in a senior living facility/healthcare setting, so we've been putting in a lot of time reassuring our residents and their families that we are on top of any and all contagions up to and including the big, bad scary COVID-19. I swear the media is going to do more damage to the health of the general public than the virus will.

Last thing is I have been invited to join in an anthology. I didn't want to put another Tole based short story out for that, so I have started development of a new character.  I'll throw a snippet up when I have something worth reading.

In the meantime, stay safe and wash your damned hands!

-Wayne

One of Those Days on Amazon

When I first wrote the original version of this short story, I kind of glossed over the section where Tole goes out and learns about his target. I just didn't give it much thought. When I decided to publish the story, it kind of hit me in the face just how slap-dick that section was. Add to that the fact the story was short, even for a short story, and I felt a small rewrite was in order. 

I'm still not completely happy with it, but I have come to discover that I'm never really happy with most of the things I write, draw, compose, or build. I eventually have to stop touching it up and just put it out, otherwise nothing would ever get done.

If you pick it up, I hope you enjoy it. If you do drop a review on it on Amazon. Hell, if you don't do the same. I need feedback to improve.  Cover and link below.

-Wayne

One of Those Days

To Kill a War Leader Pt 10 - Back in My Element

The next morning Shala and I headed into the jungle of Orta'ahn to scout a village of relatively peaceful orcs for an attack they had no idea would come. I really needed to be scouting my way into and out of Na'Guk's hut, but since he decided I shouldn't go alone on this first mission, I guess that'll have to wait. All things considered I guess I could've been stuck in the jungle for a few days with someone much worse than Shala. 
The village we were to recon was a solid two-day hike through the jungle. We packed some dried fruits and meat along with about a gallon of water each. Shala also had a sling that she said would be suspended from a tree to sleep in. I asked her where I should get one. Apparently, it sleeps two. That should be...interesting. I would think it could be difficult to react to danger all wrapped up in a cocoon, but it's worked for them for as long as their history recalls. Who am I to question history?
Valsh met us at the gate on our way out. He gave us some healing salves and gave a blessing on our journey. Whatever. Shala seemed grateful, so I didn't give him any hell about it. He also handed me one of the short swords his tribe carry. On me it was closer to a full-length, two-handed thing. I handed it back and told him that thing would likely get me killed. I was carrying what I know, and that was good enough for me. Besides this is a scouting mission. If we get into a situation where I'd need something like that, shit would have definitely gone nine kinds of pear shaped.
Just before we walked out the gate Valsh took me aside and said, "Take these as well. They are for you. Shala is going to be moving quickly and you will likely be burning more calories than you would should you go alone. These are very potent, so do not eat more than one a day." Then he handed me a few bars of what looked like dried fruit, grains, and some congealed white shit that held the whole thing together. I took them and put them in the pouch at my waist. Then I turned and headed out the gate to join Shala who was waiting just at the edge of the jungle. Once I was there she turned and led us into the underbrush.
"We will need to keep alert," Shala said as she pushed aside some foliage. "Even though we aren't traveling far, the Great Jungle is still a very dangerous place to be. It is probably best that Na'Guk sent me with you. I know you are capable of taking care of yourself in a fight, but surviving the Great Jungle is another thing entirely."
I hadn't had a chance to tell her that I was perfectly at home in the jungle before she stopped walking and turned around," Tole, are even you listening to...what in the frigid depths of the Seven Hells are you doing?"
"Shhh," I scolded. "You'll frighten it." I gently took the leaf viper free from where it had wrapped itself around my arm and set it down on the jungle floor. Once there, it promptly slithered back into the underbrush. I looked up to see Shala staring at me with her mouth hanging open. "You should close your mouth before something dangerous gets in there. What? The snake? Happened all the time when I was out here before. I guess they sense the kindred spirit. Who knows?"
She whispered, "Just when I think I know the world, the gods see fit to remind me that I am really just a babe in a very old place." She finished with a touch of her forehead to mine, and then she turned and, shaking her head, continued our journey to the village of the Green Mountain Tribe.
As we traveled through the jungle on what I can only loosely describe as a path, I began to notice sounds in the underbrush to either side. Mostly it sounded like something running along beside us, but it was occasionally broken by a snarl usually followed by a screech of something dying. Every time that would happen Shala would halt and her head would snap in the direction of the sound. After several hours and the fourth or fifth time we heard something die just off of the path, she stopped and stood up straight.
"What's wrong?" I asked her stepping in close enough that I could smell her.
"I've never gone this far into the Great Jungle without having to defend myself at least once from a predator," she said looking around slowly. "Those sounds usually lead up to an attack, but nothing has happened. I'm more than a little perplexed. It's almost as if something is shadowing us and keeping us from harm. It is very disconcerting."
"Valsh told me he and the jungle have an understanding that lets him travel safely. Maybe some of his juju rubbed off on me while we were at his camp when I first got here. He said your gods brought me here for a purpose. Maybe they're watching me to be sure I finish my mission. Who knows? More importantly, who cares? All that matters to me is having a path relatively free of trouble. Let's keep moving."
Thanks to our unseen guardians we actually made really good time. When it finally got dark enough that Shala signaled a stop for camp we had covered right at three quarters of the distance to our destination. Valsh was right about one thing. Shala was moving fast, and I was spent despite having eaten almost an entire one of his special snack bars. They aren't bad by the way although I have no idea what the white shit is that holds them all together. It's probably best not to ask.
"We will camp away from the path. It would not be good for us to be discovered while we slept," Shala said as she led me through the brush to a small clearing about fifty yards into the jungle. She cleared a patch of earth and started a small fire. Once she was happy that it wasn't going to burn out she stalked off into the underbrush with a small bow in her hand.
She came back about ten minutes later with two small critters about the size of a big rabbit which she set about skinning and cleaning. She pulled a small pouch of what I guess are seasonings out of her small pack along with two long metal skewers. In short order, the little beasts were roasting and dripping fat into the flames which made a little sizzle every time one fell.
Shala sat on her haunches scanning the edge of the clearing like she was expecting an attack at any moment, so I asked her, "What are you watching for? No one knows we're out here, and we haven't seen another orc all day. Relax."
"Relaxing in the Great Jungle is a good way to become food. Besides, it's not what I am hearing that worries me. It's what I don't hear. The jungle is never this quiet. Something is always killing something, so the sounds of predator and prey are almost constant. Not here though. Not around you. It is very unsettling."
She was wrong of course. There were lots of sounds happening all around us. Maybe it was my training as a scout or maybe it was my complete inability to tune out sound (thank you ADHD), but in the time it took her to complete her thought I heard three things die within ten yards of our camp. The only difference was instead of a dying scream, these things died with a small whimper or maybe a quiet yelp like you'd make from getting stung by a bee. I'm guessing my reptilian friends were on guard duty.
I finished my...whatever that was...and settled back on a fallen tree limb. I drank some water and looked at her as she sat there scanning the foliage and cocking her head trying to hear what she was missing. Her braid was laying over her shoulder and was loosely attached to her top to keep it from snagging on random branches and to keep it close in a fight. 
She wasn't beautiful by Terran standards with a wide flat nose and prominent brow plus that green skin, but still there was something about her that I found enticing. Maybe it was that she could snap me like a dry twig if she took a mind to. Whatever it was that caught my attention, I was most definitely smitten. Not love though. I'm never going down that road again. Besides I'm not entirely sure Shala's people viewed it the same way we did back on Terra. You chose a mate by their strength and prowess in battle. There were many in her tribe better suited by that criteria. We enjoyed each other's company, and for now, that was enough.
I had gotten lost in my thoughts and hadn't noticed that she had stopped scanning around and was looking at me just as intently as I was looking at her.
"What are you looking at, Tole?"
"Huh? I was looking at you. You are fascinating to me. You're not like the females on my world at all. I'd be willing to bet you're not quite like the others on your world either. None of them even spoke to me much less had the heart to take me to their bed."
"If you'll recall, we really didn't spend that much time on the bed," she added.
"It's a figure of speech...oh, never mind. I forget that I can be plain spoken here. I'll work on it," I promised.
"Is it so different on your world? Do your women not wish their mates to be mighty and honorable?"
I shook my head and said, "There was a time when it was like that. Now, though, it is very different. It's almost as if the men of my world have surrendered and the women seem to prefer to have men that are cowed and compliant. I find that I am glad to be off of my home world. Don't get me wrong there are still warriors, but they are not the norm."
"Sounds like a very soft place," she said as she rose and came to sit beside me. "So, you're saying that sex on your world is, what, docile? Sounds boring."
"Oh, it's not boring, we just seldom need the skills of a healer afterward to put broken shit back together," I said with a light chuckle.
She just made a sound like she didn't believe a word of it and sat back on the log. We sat there for a good five minutes in silence before she stood and dropped her clothing on the ground and said,          "Show me."
"Here? Wouldn't that be letting our guard down in the 'Great Jungle'?" I asked throwing a little sarcasm in at the last.
"The gods seem to have an interest in keeping you safe. I trust them."
A little while later we were sitting by the fire using her sleeping sling for a blanket and watching the fire burn. She had slid down enough to lay her head on my chest. I could feel her tusk pressing into my pects and her breath blowing across my stomach.
"That was interesting," she said, "but I think I prefer my way. Your way left me with too much pent-up energy!" She ended that by rolling and throwing me to the other side of the clearing and coming up into a fighter's crouch. "Bring it little man!"
"I didn't hear you complaining about my size a short while ago," I yelled as I charged.
The rest of the night was a lot more interesting, and I doubt anything with an ounce of instinct for self-preservation stayed within a hundred yards of our camp until we had fallen asleep.

Hair On Fire? Check

I'm running in feverish circles and have been since mid-December. Ah the life of an accountant at year-end. W2s, 1095s, 940s, 1099s, and a thousand other forms with odd alpha numeric designations keeps rearing their ugly heads and reigniting the flames in my hair just as I thought I had them out.

Hopefully come February my world will sort itself out enough to devote brain matter to something other than work...like writing.  Meantime here's a chunk of the next chapter in "Dragons." Hope you enjoy it.

-Wayne

Training...Kind Of

        I sat there inside of a circle I'd drawn in the dirt with my dagger staring at an orcish rune I had also scribed in front of me inside of the circle. Valsh tells me it should help me focus while I try to reach my gift. All it's done so far is give me a headache. Every time I stare at it another image jumps into my mind and distracts me. I've never been able to concentrate for very long. I'm just too easily distracted. I'd harnessed that tendency to help build situational awareness, but I've never been able to turn it off. Consequently, my head is fucking killing me from trying.

        "GODDAMIT! This is just not going to work! Valsh, I'm just not gonna be able to do this. Every time I just start to concentrate on this scribbling a crescent moon keeps popping into my mind."

        I stood up and stepped forward to leave the circle and smashed my face into the invisible barrier. Valsh almost fell off of the log he was sitting on when he saw that.

        "Well," he said around choked laughter, "you can obviously close a circle. You can control the magic in The Bar to get where you want to go...most of the time, so you touch magic, believe it or not. Break the circle with your dagger before you break your nose."

        In spite of his confidence in my ability, I wasn't convinced. What he didn't mention was that it had taken me the better part of a morning to be able to close the circle. The other side of it was that I really wasn't interested in learning this shit. If Valsh was right, I really didn't have a choice. According to him, once that tap is on it doesn't turn off. It would continue to open and eventually drown me if I didn't learn to control the flow. Fuck...my...life.

        "What I do not understand," he continued, "is why the symbol isn't working. It is a meditation technique that has been used for millennia by my people."

        I looked him square in the eye and said, "Maybe that's the problem. You remember how well trying to train me like you'd train a pup worked last time don't you?"

        That brought another round of his raucous laughter as I took my dagger and broke the circle. I picked up a dirt clod and bounced it off his rock head. He stopped laughing for a second and then burst out even louder than before.

        "You are right, of course," he said once he calmed down. "I should have learned then that I cannot teach you using our ways. Try it again, but this time draw the symbol that keeps presenting itself to you. I am beginning to think that maybe it is your gift trying to tell you to do it your own way."

        I walked over to my packs and said, "After lunch. I'm starving like I've been working out all morning. I would never have guessed that this shit would be so much fucking work."

        We spent about an hour eating and talking. Food and water helped my headache go away, at least until Valsh started talking about magic and his theories on exactly what was going on with me. That put the pain right back in the old brain bucket.  When I finally gave the “migraine salute” by pinching the bridge of my nose, he stopped talking. That’s when I realized I could feel tension in the air that wasn’t coming from me.

        I looked up to see Valsh sitting stone still and staring behind me. If I didn’t know any better I would have thought he was afraid. Nah, not Valsh. Then I noticed he was chanting under his breath, gathering power to himself.

        “Tole. Do not move if you wish to live,” he said as he rose and unleashed a strike at something behind me.

        Then he sat back down with a look of complete and utter disbelief on his face. Now he was afraid. His hands were shaking, so I drew my daggers and spun.

        Serilla was there in her true form. Something in my mind told me she was getting ready to eat Valsh. I put my daggers away and started walking to her. I heard Valsh trying to move. That was when I realized she had countered what he had thrown at her and locked him in place. He was completely at her mercy, and I am willing to bet that was a new sensation for him.

        “Valsh. Meet my employer,” I said gesturing to Serilla. “Serilla, this is Valsh. Please don’t eat him.”

        She shimmered into her human form and walked towards me saying, “Are you sure, Killer? I’ve never eaten anything like him before. He might be delicious.” She smiled at me.

        “I’m sure. Why are you here?”

        I heard Valsh draw his first deep breath since this all began as she turned to me and said, “In all truth, I was watching you through the link from our Communion. I could tell you had not moved yet, and then I felt you touch the magic of my world. I did not know what that meant, so I came to make sure you were unharmed. I arrived to find you sitting and talking to that. What is that? It is NOT of my world.”

        I tried really hard not to laugh...I swear. I didn’t do a good job, but I tried. Serilla raised an eyebrow at me, and I got myself under control.

        "That is Valsh," I said with a flourish and a bow. "He is an orc and the shaman to the Deep Valley Tribe of the world called Orta'ahn, and he's one of the very few beings I've met in the multiverse that I consider a friend. We have been through a scrape or two since my first job for him almost...shit...two years ago. Has it been that long, Valsh?"

        "It has indeed," he said as he got to his feet. "What manner of creature are you? I have never been at anyone's mercy like I was just now. It was a truly memorable experience, but not one I would like to repeat."