January 23, 2016 at 1:24 pm #34492
@Alice Yep, that’s the one! I think all of three people have read any of it, but it’s brilliant fun all the same. :)January 25, 2016 at 10:40 am #34542
@Ash: I gave it a quick read, you should definitely continue! Your quality of writing and ability to paint a scene is really inspiring!
Also finally got round to Chapter 3, less Ru and Andola and more spoopy scary dark elves A Grand EscapeJanuary 26, 2016 at 2:19 pm #34571
@Alice Thank you! I had to stop and finish that blasted thesis, but now that I’m recovered I think I can occasionally go back to writing things for fun. I’ve been enjoying reading yours, too!March 7, 2016 at 3:21 pm #35664
Interesting NPCs will no doubt end up getting a lot of coverage in my new Skyrim fanfic series. I just completed Birds of a Feather quest and plan on writing about that next. The fanfic will be at http://gameduchess.com/tag/fanfiction/ and I have a video up on it on YouTube at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QmTRczH0Rl0September 23, 2016 at 4:30 pm #38861
Rumarin and some other Skyrim-type people moved into my head and wouldn’t leave me alone until I wrote about them: http://archiveofourown.org/works/8106997/chapters/18580018
And it’s nice to know I’m not the only one. :)September 24, 2016 at 2:05 am #38862
Awesome, it slays me to think of Ulundil and Arivanya arguing over Rumarin’s prolonged stay.
I imagine no one would be happier about Rumarin’s popularity as a marriage candidate than Ulundil. Like, “You’re getting married? Does this mean you’re finally moving out?”September 24, 2016 at 6:57 am #38864
It’s a tiny part of why I almost never send Rumarin away, because I always imagine some awkward scene playing out when he gets back to Ulundil’s place. “Hi, I’m back!” “Noooo!” (Yeah, okay, the real reason is I love having the character around, but still.)August 19, 2017 at 11:16 pm #41119
I got bored and made another dumb story. I don’t have anywhere else to post it so why not this place.
Somewhere out in the distant galaxy is a rest stop. A place just off the highway of stars, where the journey from all corners of the universe intersects. Maybe there’s a diner, or some old dive that plays tunes with a sad riff or a slow beat, on a jukebox that never shuts up even when you forget to feed it. There might be an odd mix of clientele, a scoundrel or smuggler from parts unknown, with nothing in common save the job. And when two such space-weary travelers decide to strike up a conversation, having left all manner of existence behind them, the first question is almost always the same.
So, how did your world end?
Some say war. Others say nature. Some will blame ignorance; others will claim hubris did their species in. Often times, two people from the same world can’t even agree on an answer.
But if you were from the Planet Earth, the answer was always the same. Sure, the details might get sketchy, and no one really knew how the portal to the Otherverse opened in the first place. But pretty much everyone knew who to blame.
It was Cliff.
In his defense, Clifford P. Wiggins didn’t ask to be selected for mayoral duty that fateful November morning. He didn’t want to be that guy. In fact, the day the summons arrived in his quaint suburban mailbox, Cliff, to his credit, tried everything in his power to skate on his civic duty, using the same tried and true excuses he employed on every jury summons he’d received for the last forty years. He told them his job didn’t give him paid leave. He had relatives who were old and needed care. He even busted out the old no habla inglés, a foolproof technique he loaned from his Mexican grandmother. But unfortunately for him and the planet, whatever luck he had in dodging jury duty came back tenfold when it came time to serve as mayor.
Of course, if you’re a Cliff apologist, you might point back to the decision 30 years prior to rotate mayoral duties among the citizens of Goodsprings. It was a move Cliff had voted against, but one easily passed by a cynical society tired of the same old politicians. The idea was that by leaving the selection of leaders to random chance, there were no promises that had to be made to corporate interests, or false hopes raised by a candidate’s lies. And sure, a random draw made it very likely the town mayor was someone who didn’t know what the hell he was doing. You might say that was the point.
And historians will point out that Cliff, when not asked to be the guardian of a transdimensional gateway to a hellish, mirror universe, did a dandy job as mayor. He balanced the budget, introduced a progressive tax plan, and helped fix three separate potholes that had been bothering motorists for years. He raised money for education, refurbished a local park, and even hit a home run at the municipal softball game. Cliff might’ve been the most successful mayor Goodsprings ever knew, if it weren’t for the whole end of the world thing.
Even then, the discovery and subsequent excavation of the site might’ve not fallen in his purview if not for the landmark gerrymandering reform he instituted earlier that year. Perhaps then the decision would have gone to the democratically elected mayor of Sandy Valley, or Nipton, or even someone in the governor’s office. Perhaps even the President. But as it stood, history and district lines deemed that the dig site was clearly in the town of Goodsprings, and thus the decision to excavate it fell to its current mayor, Cliff.
Which, of course, made it all his fault.
Goodsprings wouldn’t last the day. Nevada, the week. And as the decades passed and the cascade of monsters scarred the earth from Vegas to Hoboken, it was never really clear whether people really blamed Cliff or if it was just another meme. Maybe Cliff was just the modern day version of Catherine O’Leary’s cow, the one that didn’t kick a lamp and didn’t start the Chicago fire, but came from a story so outlandish people found a way to stick to it.
For all anyone knew, Cliff didn’t even exist. But if you somehow found your way to the end of the world and some weird looking alien asked you how it all when to shit, it sure made for a better tale than war or hubris.
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