Amber Liquor and Friendship

Now let me tell you tales of high adventure.....

DaddyBear the Minivandian leaned back into the cushion upon which he sat, reflecting on the events of the past few days.  He had travelled with Jack the Mad Holy Man across Mordor to meet with other members of the Guild of Armaments.  Together with his compatriots Jay the Maroune, The Ancient Mariner, and AyDee the Lifesaver, he had gazed upon and tested many items of both stabbiness and blasting.  He had met Kathy the Feline Warrior, with whom he had conversed many times on the magic elf box, and whose writings he hoped would be good guidance to his wife and daughter.  He had even met and hailed Mas the Ayoob, Oliver of the North, and The Gunny, honored warriors who had also gathered in the City of The Saint.

He had considered the merits of the latest wares from many craftsmen, as well as admiring the work of John of Ogden, may he enjoy his time in the hall of heroes.  Of particular interest to him had been the throwers of pellets and the wizards who made devices that made distant items seem to be directly in front of the warrior.  Many artisans of cloth and leather were also there, showing off the fruits of their labor.  DaddyBear had purchased several small tunics emblazoned with subtle symbols that signified his membership in the Guild and an owner of weapons.  Some of these he would wear himself, some were gifts for friends, and one special one would be given to his daughter, Listener of the Firetales.  She had remained at home to assist the Woman of Eire with the Young Prince, as he was having to learn to master the great strength and energy that came with his heritage of the North Men and could be a handful.

He had also listened to the utterances of leaders and those who wished to lead, and his heart was heavy with dread for the future.  Those who wished to lead after the revolution of voices in the coming autumn all lacked anything that made the Minivandian want to gird his loins and wade into conflict against those who wished to oppress the free people.

He had watched Oleg the Wizard work his particular brand of magic upon the young women who came into contact with him.  The Minivandian had come to believe that Oleg had more of an innate magic of enchantment, such as can be found among the elves, instead of a learned skill.  When he had seen women held in thrall by the wizard, he had seen no evidence of a charm, incantation, or potion in use.

DaddyBear was at that time surrounded by friends, both old and new.  Mistress Squeaky was seated across from him, and she was singing songs of both joy and sadness with Mistress Fatale of the Phlegmoix.  Canis the Lawman, Mistress Fatale's mate, sat and discussed the issues of the day with Jay the Maroune, Matt the Giant, and Rick the Brave.  Awelowynt the Wookie sat among the group also, offering drinks of his elixir from the bottom of the world, which went well with the liquor of corn that DaddyBear had brought with him.

The Minivandian drank deeply from his glass of amber liquor and smiled to himself.  He was far from home and hearth, but he was among fellow believers in freedom and truth, and that was almost as good.  In all his quests, he had never known such good company.  Even though he was far from the lands of his family, he was with his tribe.

Tomorrow he would travel back across Mordor to the land of blue grass, fast horses, and strong drink.  But tonight, he could bask in the warmth of good companionship.

As he grew grayer and age began to rob him of his strength, he would often look back on that evening and remember the talk of his companions and their friendship, and that would bring a smile to his lined face.  But before he reached that state, he had many quests and adventures, sometimes with other members of his tribe, and sometimes as a lone warrior.  But those are tales for another day.

Market of Destruction

Now, let me tell you tales of high adventure......

DaddyBear the Minivandian looked up from his scroll of wisdom as his mate approached him.

"Mate of mine, I tire of the flesh of the semi-flightless bird.  The children and I would like to eat meat pies made in the style of the Italians tonight." Irish Woman purred as she laid her delicate hand upon his shoulder.

"Of course, love of my life.  Do you wish to prepare this delicacy yourself or should I purchase them from one of the merchants in town?" the Minivandian answered.

"I have contacted a merchant, the Hut of Pizza, who has agreed to have several pies ready for you in a few minutes." she replied, her Celtic green eyes shining in the lamplight.

"Then I shall go hence, and fetch our dinner from the good merchant.  Do you wish for me to get anything else for you, my love?"

"A flask of the bubbly concoction of Atlanta to mix with my corn liquor tonight.  Oh, and your son, the last scion of my house, requires milk and eggs.  He has been eating as if he were a horse in the field.  I fear that he is about to sprout like dragonbane under the June sun."

"I shall stop at the Walled Market to get these items on my way to fetch dinner, then.  I need to pick up a few things for myself."

"Do you think that wise, my lord?  This is the day after the day of Thanksgiving and the heralds have sung songs of bedlam at all of the markets this morning."

"I shall not go unarmed, and the rioting should be over by the time I arrive."

"Go carefully, my love.  I would not wish to lose you to a harpie of the Soccer clan because she thought you might have eyes for the same gadget she lusts for."

"So I shall, my darling.  I shall be back within the hour."

DaddyBear armed himself with Vaslav, his mighty Czech pellet thrower, and Gnarlthing, his blade of sharpness and stabbiness, then made his way to his trusty steed, Silverrust.  Driving through the countryside to the Walled Market, he could see evidence of the horde that had descended upon the market district.  Metal carts, normally kept neatly lined up by the store owners, were strewn throughout the lot of parking, and refuse from the boxes of gadgets were blowing across the ground like brightly colored tumbleweeds.

As he approached the entrance to the market, he saw that the signs and handbills that were normally affixed to the windows had been ripped down in a crush of humanity.  The young lady who normally greeted him on entering the store was sitting on the floor, hugging her knees, and crying softly.

DaddyBear made his way to the food area, and found the milk, elixir, and eggs that were required by his lady love.  The shelves of food were in disarray, and several work crews were making heroic efforts to reorder them, but DaddyBear could tell they would be working through the night to bring things back to normal.

Out of curiosity, DaddyBear took a walk through the aisles of the magic elf boxes.  He wished to see if any remained, and to see if prices had come down.  He found to his surprise that all of the magic elf boxes, be they large or small, were gone.  The leader of the group that cared for this area was walking through the lane of the portable magic elf boxes, his blue shirt rumpled and torn.  He had a look as if he could not see what was in front of him, instead focused on something thousands of yards away.  DaddyBear heard him speaking, and leaning in found that he was mumbling "I'm sorry, we only have two of those.  Please get back in line." over and over.

Leaving the poor wraith to his fate, DaddyBear hurried to the front of the market to pay for his items.  There he found things mostly in order, but the young man to whom he gave his items and money wore one arm in a sling and looked as if he had warred against the foulest of trolls that day.  Inquiries as to his state only brought a blank stare and a growled answer of "Black Friday".  DaddyBear made a sign against evil behind his back at those words, and prayed to the gods of his ancestors that he would never meet a Black Friday, which must be a curse upon whatever land it decides to ravage.

DaddyBear walked back to Silverrust, looking back over his shoulder at the devastation, but also watching those around the lot of parking.  The horde that had done so much damage might still be in the vicinity, and he had no wish to be mobbed for his milk, eggs, and bubbly elixir.

Upon reaching the Hut of Pizza, DaddyBear found the same shell-shocked faces, and was amazed at the number of meat pies that were waiting for others to pick up and take to their homes for dinner.  The wizened crone who waited upon him whispered at how they were almost out of cheese, and had made an urgent call for help from their supplier.  DaddyBear thanked his ancestors for bringing Irish Woman to him, she with the foresight to order dinner before the hordes decided on Italian pies for dinner.

Thus did DaddyBear acquire the food his family required, and upon returning to his freehold, he thought long and hard about his decision to stay close to home that day.  Had it been an angel that told him to stay away from the markets this day, or had one of his ancestors joggled his mind into staying home with the Young Prince instead of trying to find a new boomstick or the magical brass talismans needed for them to create fire and smoke?  In the end, he imbibed a dose of bubbly elixir of Atlanta mixed with the fine corn liquor of Kentucky and just thanked his luck that the horde had stopped at the Walled Market and not his village.

DaddyBear the MiniVandian

Now let me tell you of the times of high adventure......

DaddyBear of the MiniVandians stopped his semi-reliable steed. Patting the steering wheel, he thought of his quest: Retrieve the supplies listed by his lady love, find something extra for a tasty mid-day meal, take along his son and heir to his kingdom, and return home before the beginning of the gladiatorial match between the Bearmen of the City of Winds and the Holy Ones from the City of the Crescent.

Taking a deep breath, he dismounted his dented steed, and went to the back to retrieve The Young Prince from his Chair of Protection. Holding tight to his hand, he led the Last Scion of his wife's clan to the doors of the market. In order to not bring the ire and attention of either of the two local tribes, neither he nor Boo wore crimson or azure, but he made sure to talk quietly to Boo about the inter-tribal competition of the previous day. He did not want the natives to suspect that he was a stranger in a strange land.

Retrieving one of the silvery conveyances at the entrance, he placed Boo in its seat so that the young boy could have as good a view as he did and would be unable to run away to be raised by gypsies in the Aisle of Canned Food. First to come was the Place of Produce, where he was to acquire fruit for lunches. Apples, green and tart with the smell of autumn, were the first to be chosen and placed in his cart. Next came a rare find of late season pears, with all the sweetness of the summer sun. His last challenge in this place was the banana, favorite fruit of the children and base ingredient for his magical spiced bread. This prize was not to be gained without a trial, of course. A wizened crone, wearing the blue robes of the largest local tribe, was slowly working her way through a task of touching each and every banana, both those of the yellow sort and those of the green.

DaddyBear stood still, waiting for the toucher of the fruit to finish her ritual and move on. As he waited, he made sure not to look at her nor do anything to draw her attention. A conversation with the matron of the fruit market could stretch his quest into what would seem like years, and he would lose all hope of getting back to his abode before kickoff.

Eventually, the crone moved on to the papayas. DaddyBear was able to claim his prize of bananas, which were neither too yellow nor too green, and had none of the brown-black spots that would cause his love to keen in a high voice upon his arrival home.

Then did DaddyBear and Boo brave the Aisle of Bread, where women with large crowds of apes hanging both from them and from their carts clogged the way. Stealthily making his way between the clots of badly behaving demon-children, he retrieved a loaf of both bread that is dark and that which is light.

Next came the Aisle of Salted Meat and Cheese, which was mostly deserted. DaddyBear wished he had brought with him Othuring, his magical club of clueage, as his instincts told him that silence here meant ambush. Retrieving the blessed meat of the sows belly, he then moved on to gather the mystical sausages and sliced meats of Oscar Meyer, peace be upon him. As he started building up speed to head to the Aisle of the Chicken and the Cow, he was able to get the sticks of cheese which bring such joy to BooBoo. Upon seeing their entry into the pile of goods in the cart, Boo began to ask for them, but was satisfied with a promise of riches and cheese upon completion of the shopping expedition. Eggs and milk, which had to be low in the fat of the cow so that his lady fair could drink of it, were placed safely in the cart while DaddyBear scanned the shelves for danger.

Next came what he knew would be most dangerous part of his quest: the Aisle of Beauty. His Lady Love, the Woman of Eire, had bidden him to find for her the magical elixir that rendered her ginger tresses soft and fragrant. Knowing that this would be daunting to a barbarian such as her husband, she had written down in small words the exact wizard that made the potion and which herbs were in the particular potion that she preferred She had written the runes to be found on the label in large letters so that he would be more likely to select the correct bottles.

DaddyBear took a deep breath and entered the aisle, which began with the Gates of Madness. This is where Protection of the Feminine could be found. Glancing down at his list, he was reassured that he did not need to select one of the softly colored boxes from its shelves. Further down the aisle, the elixirs of hair began to form their ranks. Staring blankly at his instructions and then the shelves, he began to search through the myriad flasks to find the exact combination of herb and fragrance he had been instructed to find. His heart skipped a beat as he found the first part, the emollient of cleansing. Next he began to scan the shelves for the next part, the emollient of softness. Looking once, twice, and even a third time at each and every bottle produced no luck. He began to feel his heartbeat quicken as he knew that his time to finish the puzzle before he could get home to see the beginning of the games was running shorter with every breath.

Finally, after much bending and peering to see back into the depths of the shelves, he spied the last bottle of the magical potion, tucked back behind bottles of another sort. Heaving a sigh of relief, he began pushing Boo down the aisle towards the place of payment.

At that moment, he felt a tug at his sleeve. Turning towards the new danger, he found a small, gnomish woman smiling at him. She immediately began bombarding him with the particular patois of the locals. Listening closely, he realized that the woman knew his wife, and recognized Boo. She was the mother of one of his comrades at the Center of Finger Painting and Mud Playing. DaddyBear briefly considered taking Gnestor,  his Blade of Sharpness and Stabbiness, and cutting off the sleeve of his jacket in order to release himself from her grasp, but opted to smile and exchange pleasantries with her until she moved on.

Surprisingly, the usual battle to exchange coins for his goods went smoothly. Glancing at his timepiece as he made his way back to the Minivan of Dentage, DaddyBear realized he had time to get Boo a much deserved meal on the way back to his home. A few minutes later, he presented his progeny with the blessed nuggets of yard fowl, fried potatoes in the style of the Snaileaters, and a cup of milk. For himself, he only acquired a flask of the bubbly Elixir of Caffeine. They travelled to the home of his family, where his mate met him at the door with a hug of homecoming. The magical box of entertainment answered to his incantation and showed him the ceremonial beginning of the competition. He had completed his quest in time.

So did DaddyBear retrieve the supplies for his family. Many times did he return to the market, but this day he did so without having to spill blood. And when he grew older, and the crown grew heavy upon his head, he thought back to the days of braving the Aisle of Beauty unarmed, or searching for unblemished fruit in February while being hunted by Scouts of both the Male and Female variety who wanted to sell him something, and it brought a smile to his noble visage.