Easter Morning
So I got up too late and missed Easter Sunday. :( That's worse than missing Christmas. I feel like such a heathen.
I'll listen to a sermon Pastor Kelly posted online to make up for it. He really is an awesome preacher... I'm just used to my pastors really liking me, and I don't get that feeling from him, whatever my mom says. Did you know I once got a pastor to like me by kicking him? Long story. Maybe I'll share it sometime.
I'm really starting to be disappointed in Jayden. Not as a character, just in his position where I've placed him in my Seattle game. Maybe in another game, with different players, he would have worked. Not here.
Or maybe it's just because my dice were cursed. My damage was high every time I didn't hit, and damage reduction made all of my other hits useless. I hate the undead. My rapier-specialist rogue really hates the undead.
On the bright side, that dungeon that we’re exploring is absolutely huge. I’ve got to map it all in 3d, just for the heck of it. 5’ x 5’ squares really come in handy when it comes to measurements, though I still want Paul to give me the grid after we’ve gone through the entire thing.
To make my day more interesting yesterday, ta da! I locked my keys in my car. Fortunately I noticed right away, and we were doing errands before we started playing our game, so I got Paul to drive me back to my house really fast to grab the spare set. Go me.
Friday I drove Annie to a school dance and back, and I managed to get some writing done. I really do love Merrily. She's going to make my books much more interesting. Anyway, I think this is where I'll first stick her: the chapter doesn't have a title name yet (and this is just my new, rewritten intro).
The cart path was made of dirt and grass.
During monsoon season, the grass would be green and soggy, plastered down flat from the rain and flooding this region experienced. The little dips in the road would be mud puddles, and the farmers would dread having to take the road for fear that their wheels would be mired, and there had never been room for two carts to pass each other. After monsoon season, the dirt gained a new color: a rich, dark red-brown as the grass rose, thankful not to have drowned. But at this time of year (today especially) it had dried into a long ribbon of white blades, raised in salute to the sky and the blurry, indistinct sun. Waves of heat rose from the road, and the ground was so dry what earth was showing had transformed into a fine red powder that crumbled at the touch.
Merrily was forcing herself to breath through her nose, but she was used to sprints, not long distances, and the distance she had already traveled had worn her out. She was a young girl, sixteen, and she wore a yellow dress with lace trim on the collar, which was damp with sweat. Over this she had on a light cotton hood and cape, to keep the sun off her face and neck, and the sandals that she had brought were in a small bag slung over one shoulder that hit against her side as she moved. She was running barefoot along the line of dirt worn into the path, kicking up red dust behind her with every pace.
In the distance a blurry, indistinct form of a tree appeared. Merrily frowned, and decided that she would rest once she reached it. Her speed increased, because it seemed to her that the faster she went, the sooner she could rest. She arrived panting heavily through her mouth, her chest rising and falling as she held on to the tree.
She had left her house running, and had not turned back when she remembered that it would have been a good idea to get a skin of water. She had removed her sandals when she decided that they were slowing her down, but was starting to regret it, as used to going barefoot as she was.
A cartographer that once passed through the area when she was little had told her parents that their home was a little under fourteen miles away from the city gates. This tree served as a halfway point. Seven miles left, but the town wasn’t even in sight yet, and there was a large hill to climb soon; it may have been seven hundred miles, Merrily didn’t feel she could do it without some water. She could have sold her soul for some water. Or a horse. Or perhaps a cold pitcher of grape juice, spiked with fruit liquor, served with a rhubarb and strawberry tart. Ice floating on the top-ice! She’d had ice before, once. She’d sucked it until it was gone, savoring the exquisite chill that came with something that cold on a hot day. Her mama had laughed, and told her to remember it.
Merrily got to her feet and began jogging. There were other landmarks along the way besides this tree. Soon there would be another cart path that merged onto this one, and she could ask one of the people in the houses over there for something to drink, if she didn’t go straight to their pump first. She’d rest there. Then after that there was a hill, and a large rock stood out on the left of the path at the bottom. She’d rest at both the bottom and the top. And on the way back down that hill she’d run as fast as she could.
The countryside was beautiful. To the right of the path were fields of pale yellow wheat, to her left there was a very small cliff, on the top of which grew Penelope’s uncle’s potato field. And once over the large hill, she would be able to see the town Redell, on the top of another hill with its pretty white buildings and the spires of the local temple.
I'll listen to a sermon Pastor Kelly posted online to make up for it. He really is an awesome preacher... I'm just used to my pastors really liking me, and I don't get that feeling from him, whatever my mom says. Did you know I once got a pastor to like me by kicking him? Long story. Maybe I'll share it sometime.
I'm really starting to be disappointed in Jayden. Not as a character, just in his position where I've placed him in my Seattle game. Maybe in another game, with different players, he would have worked. Not here.
Or maybe it's just because my dice were cursed. My damage was high every time I didn't hit, and damage reduction made all of my other hits useless. I hate the undead. My rapier-specialist rogue really hates the undead.
On the bright side, that dungeon that we’re exploring is absolutely huge. I’ve got to map it all in 3d, just for the heck of it. 5’ x 5’ squares really come in handy when it comes to measurements, though I still want Paul to give me the grid after we’ve gone through the entire thing.
To make my day more interesting yesterday, ta da! I locked my keys in my car. Fortunately I noticed right away, and we were doing errands before we started playing our game, so I got Paul to drive me back to my house really fast to grab the spare set. Go me.
Friday I drove Annie to a school dance and back, and I managed to get some writing done. I really do love Merrily. She's going to make my books much more interesting. Anyway, I think this is where I'll first stick her: the chapter doesn't have a title name yet (and this is just my new, rewritten intro).
The cart path was made of dirt and grass.
During monsoon season, the grass would be green and soggy, plastered down flat from the rain and flooding this region experienced. The little dips in the road would be mud puddles, and the farmers would dread having to take the road for fear that their wheels would be mired, and there had never been room for two carts to pass each other. After monsoon season, the dirt gained a new color: a rich, dark red-brown as the grass rose, thankful not to have drowned. But at this time of year (today especially) it had dried into a long ribbon of white blades, raised in salute to the sky and the blurry, indistinct sun. Waves of heat rose from the road, and the ground was so dry what earth was showing had transformed into a fine red powder that crumbled at the touch.
Merrily was forcing herself to breath through her nose, but she was used to sprints, not long distances, and the distance she had already traveled had worn her out. She was a young girl, sixteen, and she wore a yellow dress with lace trim on the collar, which was damp with sweat. Over this she had on a light cotton hood and cape, to keep the sun off her face and neck, and the sandals that she had brought were in a small bag slung over one shoulder that hit against her side as she moved. She was running barefoot along the line of dirt worn into the path, kicking up red dust behind her with every pace.
In the distance a blurry, indistinct form of a tree appeared. Merrily frowned, and decided that she would rest once she reached it. Her speed increased, because it seemed to her that the faster she went, the sooner she could rest. She arrived panting heavily through her mouth, her chest rising and falling as she held on to the tree.
She had left her house running, and had not turned back when she remembered that it would have been a good idea to get a skin of water. She had removed her sandals when she decided that they were slowing her down, but was starting to regret it, as used to going barefoot as she was.
A cartographer that once passed through the area when she was little had told her parents that their home was a little under fourteen miles away from the city gates. This tree served as a halfway point. Seven miles left, but the town wasn’t even in sight yet, and there was a large hill to climb soon; it may have been seven hundred miles, Merrily didn’t feel she could do it without some water. She could have sold her soul for some water. Or a horse. Or perhaps a cold pitcher of grape juice, spiked with fruit liquor, served with a rhubarb and strawberry tart. Ice floating on the top-ice! She’d had ice before, once. She’d sucked it until it was gone, savoring the exquisite chill that came with something that cold on a hot day. Her mama had laughed, and told her to remember it.
Merrily got to her feet and began jogging. There were other landmarks along the way besides this tree. Soon there would be another cart path that merged onto this one, and she could ask one of the people in the houses over there for something to drink, if she didn’t go straight to their pump first. She’d rest there. Then after that there was a hill, and a large rock stood out on the left of the path at the bottom. She’d rest at both the bottom and the top. And on the way back down that hill she’d run as fast as she could.
The countryside was beautiful. To the right of the path were fields of pale yellow wheat, to her left there was a very small cliff, on the top of which grew Penelope’s uncle’s potato field. And once over the large hill, she would be able to see the town Redell, on the top of another hill with its pretty white buildings and the spires of the local temple.