Lidarion: Chapter 7

Saintcitia was nearly two days from the contested Lidarion border. What had started as a single church not far off the Kings road had over generations become the spiritual and educational capitol of Lidarion. There were hospitals and libraries, shrines and monasteries, even the wild elves had planted a small sacred grove of trees and plants. The Priestess that had begun her hand built stone walled, one room church left behind no evidence of her reasoning, none of the other who arrived to help ever received and explanation, or passed it on if they did. The only thing anyone knew for certain about her flash of inspiration, was that she would not be the last to receive it.

Trent had seen Saintcitia on the horizon backlit bit the overeager rays of predawn light. By the time he had reached the city gates the sun was well into its trek across the sky. The guards at the gate had confiscated all his weapons leaving only Brandon after he explained the contents of the sheath. No one in this town was a stranger to death, but neither were they immune to the burdens of regret, loyalty, and heartbreak. The reverence the guards had while they directed him to the Saintcitia hospital was almost more than Trent bear.

He felt like he was moving in slow motion. The city flew around him as if he were a boulder in a busy river. He knew it was impossible, but the closer he got to the hospital where Lisa was working the heavier the sheath felt.

He had considered it for two days and still had no idea what he was going to say. The infinite echoes of his own mind blaming him got louder by the second. He barely heard the smiling nurse but followed down the hall in the direction she pointed. He could hear nothing now but the deafening howls of his own judgement.

She came out of a room into the hall, a smile on her face. He saw her lips move and knew what she was asking, they were frozen in the eternity that was the deepest silence he could not find the words to end. Her smile shattered like cheap glass. Her lip quivered, he saw her mouth the question again but she already knew the answer. He pulled the sheath off his back for a thousand lifetimes, she was sobbing on the floor. His vision began to blur. He knelt beside her and could feel himself apologizing over and over again. She took the sheath and wrapped herself around it. She sank to the floor wailing with full body sobs.

The XP: Chapter 7

Bob and Blackout appear back at the front entrance of The Hall. Their avatars are ghostly see through versions of their characters.

“What the hell was that?” Bob exploded.

Blackout stretches. “I dunno but whatever it was, it was painful.”

Stygian’s ghost appears. “Ooooo kay. Hows about we try that again but without the part where we 

suck?” He said. Bob and Blackout nod in agreement.

“For real though Blackout you need to be quicker on your spot heals.” Bob pointed out.

“Oh, you’re gonna blame this on me? I was supposed to run the waterfall remember? And what about Stygian skipping his countdown timer and blowing his enrage early?!” Blackout exploded.

Stygian holds up his hands “Woah, woah, woah! I was just trying to –“

Bob turned on him. ‘You were trying to be the Hero! We could have recovered if you hadn’t gone all Die Hard on us!” She yelled.

Stygian got in Bob’s face “Gee I’ll remember that the next time you drop your music to get into the fight because you got bored!” He yelled.

“That’s not the same thing!” Bob shouted right back.

Trart’s Ghost faded in. “Oh man that was so Awesome!”

Bob spun on Trart “And you –“

Trart floated right through Bob. “We got our butts kicked! How cool was that! Does the fire wave always explode like that, cause it looked so cool!” He rambled on pacing back and forth.” He stopped and looked at the others. “Are we going again?” He asked with excitement.

Bob had completely lost the momentum of her anger and was caught off guard. She glared at him. 

“On one condition.” She offered.

Trart smiled sheepishly “I remove the key binding to auto run?” He offered.

She nodded. “You remove the key binding to auto run.”

Trart smiled. “Deal!” He shouted as he ran back in through the hall gates.

By the time the group returned to the room where they had fought the Keeper of Forgotten Promises they found the boss dead. Torcano was standing on its corpse. Their bodies arranged to spell out ‘U SUK’.

Bob glared up at Torcano. “Oh look, the GM has discovered humor.”

Torcano laughed as he looked down on them. “That was hysterical you guys.” He said as he floated down to the ground. “Blackout was all -“ He ran back and forth flailing his arms “Ah I’m on fire!” He stopped running next to Trart. “and you were all ‘watch my Leroy Jenkins impression’ which is way funnier in person than it is on the internet.” He laughed.

Bob shook her head. “We are on the internet you tool.” She grumbled.

Torcano walked over to Bob all smiles. “Oh come on! You have to admit, that was funny.” He said as she shook her head.

“Oh sure, it’s super funny to someone who can’t die and wields a special weapon that can kill anything in the game in one hit. It’s super easy to talk trash when you’re an immortal God.” She glared at him.

Torcano’s mood drops. “I was just kidding around Bob.”

Bob moved away from him. “Kid around with someone else.” She spat.

Torcano shuffles toward the door. Blackout follows Bob and Stygian looks at Torcano.

“Thanks for taking care of the boss though.” Stygian offers.

Torcano nods and then disappears in a blink of light.

Trart looks in Bob’s direction as he walks over to where Stygian is standing. “What was all that about?” He asked.

Stygian looked in Bob’s direction as well. “About two and a half years ago, Torcano and his brother got Jobs as Game Masters. They dropped the guild and started working for the game. Bob started skirting the line of breaking the EULA and they’ve been picking at each other ever since.” Stygian explained.

Trart looked up at Stygian’s giant Helm. “That why you quit back in the day?” he asked.

Stygian looked down at Trart. “Not that it’s any of your business but I left because the game stopped being fun.” He clarified.

“Still it was awful nice of him to take the Boss out for us!” Trart shouted in Bob’s direction.

Bob walked back over to Stygian and Trart. “Yeah sure, nothing says ‘nice’ like showing off and taking one swing with the GM weapon.” She spat.

Trart pointed at the dead Keeper. “Soooo, you don’t want you’re share of the loot?” He asked.

She stepped between Trart and the Keeper. “I’m angry, not stupid.”  She clarified, as she opened the loot window. 

University of Console Heroics: Chapter 7

Clay is sitting alone at a large group study table surrounded by psychology books.  He is furiously writing notes in his notebook and referring back to the closest open book every few words. He finishes a sentence, puts his pen down and stretches his writing hand. From somewhere under the pile of books his cellphone rings. He shuffles books one by one until he unearths his phone and answers it. “Yo?”

Porter is on the other end, there’s music in the background and the sound of laughter. “Sup? You coming over tonight?” He asked.

Clay looks at his work spread out on the table. “Not tonight dude I got midterms to study for. I got a paper due on Wednesday that’s killing me.” He whispered.

Faith, working on her own homework at the table across from him, shushes him quietly. She has her finger over her lips but cannot keep from smiling. Clay nods and looks down at his notes.

Porter is almost drowned out by the sounds of the party around him. “Midterms, seriously? Nobody cares. You’re missing out on the really important shit dude!” He yelled as Clay turned the volume on his phone down as far as it would go.

Clay hunched over further and whispered into the phone “I’m pretty sure I’m not. I can’t put hang overs and Venereal diseases on my transcripts so I think I am actually taking care of the really important shit.” He finished.

Which didn’t matter because Porter had lost interest in talking to him. “Whatever dude, later.” 

He ended the call. Clay put his phone back in his pocket and returned to his work.

Several pages of notes later Clay once again began to feel his hand cramp. He put his pencil down and stretched his hand out again. A folded up piece of paper landed on his notebook. He unfolded it to find a note. “Rough call?”  Clay looked around the room to find Faith, the girl who had shushed him earlier looking at him with a smile on her face.

Clay flipped to clean page of his notebook. And wrote a reply, which he held up to show her. “Yeah sorry about that, didn’t mean to disturb you.”  She nodded and he put his notebook back on the table.

She scribbled in her own notebook for a second and held it up. “No worries.”

He scribbled a new note on a fresh sheet of paper. “What are you studying over there?” he asked.

She flips her closest book up so he can read the title. ‘Detail Oriented Crisis Management: The mind set of Survival Horror.’ Clay nods and she drops her book back down.

He scribbled a new note and held it up “What’s your name?” He asked.

After a moment of scribbling she held up her reply “Faith Northridge, what’s yours?”

He held up the sign he had already prepared “Clay Rodgers”

She nodded and held up her next sign. “What’s got you buried under books over there?” she asked.

Clay holds up his primary book titled ‘Way of the Gun: The psychology of crime.” She nodded and Clay dropped his book back down.

She was writing for a minute before her next sign appeared. “Thug Studies major?” she asked. Clay nodded.

He held up his next sign after a minute of hesitant writing. “Does that bother you?” he questioned.

Faith shook her head and scribbled a reply. “Why? Should it?” She asked. Clay shook his head silently they stared at each other for a moment, Clay smiled at her and she looked down at her work. He fiddled with his pen for a second and then returned to his notes. Each of them was smiling as they continued their research.

Clay had become completely entranced with his reading. He had lost track of time and the only reason he stopped was the Library intercom announced that the building would be closing in fifteen minutes. He looked up from his reading to notice that Faith was still there and had apparently ignored the intercom message. He wrote a note on a piece of paper, folded it into a little paper football and tossed it onto her table. It finally broke her concentration. She looked over at him and he pantomimed opening the piece of paper. She did and found the note “Care to join me for dinner in a place where we can speak for ourselves?” It asked. Faith looked back to Clay, smiled warmly and nodded her consent. 

Clay smiled and packed up his work. Faith followed his lead. Clay looked over to her table and for the first time saw that she was wearing a Nu Tau Delta shirt. Clay paused for a second and raised an eyebrow.

Faith finished packing her things and walked over to Clay’s table. She noticed his Rho Sigma Gamma patch on his bag but didn’t say anything as they walked out of the Library together.

Just past nine in the evening, the sun had gone down a long time ago and even though it was getting close to the warmer months there was still a little chill in the night air.

Clay couldn’t help himself. “Well, this could be interesting.” He commented.

“How so?” She questioned.

He shrugged. “A member of NuTau and RhoSig going to dinner together? Doesn’t that break a bunch of your sorority’s social rules?” He asked trying to sound causal about it.

Faith shrugged her shoulders. “I didn’t think a member of Rho Sigma Gamma would care about social rules.” She pointed out.

He smiled. “I don’t but I also don’t want you getting in trouble for being seen with me.”

Faith laughed. “Why don’t you let me worry about that. Although I probably should be worried shouldn’t I? You’re RhoSig and a Thug Studies major. They don’t get much more dangerous than you.” Sarcasm dripping from her lips.

Clay pretends to be shocked. “Are, are you making fun of me?” He asked with more affront then he felt.

She nodded. “You were in the library of your own free will, doing homework and you turned down a chance to party. How bad could you really be?” She asked.

Clay throws a finger up to make a counter point, realizes he doesn’t have one and then nods in agreement with her. “Point taken” He accepts, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pockets.

She takes a few steps to catch up with him and then slides her hand through the gap of his elbow linking arms with him. A smile on her face. “So where are we going for dinner.” She asked.

Clay thinks about this for a second. “Good question, where are you allowed to be seen?” He asked.

Faiths smile falters for a second and she shakes it off. “You and I both know it’s not really like that.”

Clay realizes she took his comment seriously. “Sorry, I was trying to be funny.” He clarified.

She shook her head “It would be funny if you weren’t so obviously worried about it.”

Clay shrugged his shoulders. “You’re the first member of NuTau I’ve actually talked to. I’m basically operating off of rumor and gossip.”

Faith considers this for a moment and then smiles. “How about this. For tonight, it’s just Clay and Faith. We’re not our associations, we don’t have social rules or organizations making us dance like puppets. Just be Clay Rodgers spending the evening with Faith Northridge.” She settled the issue.

Clay nodded in agreement. “All right then. Where would you like to go?” He asked.

Faith smiled. “You gotta decent fake ID?” she asked. He nodded. “We’re going to the AO bar then.”

Clay smiled. “What about dinner?” He asked.

“Don’t knock their wings until you try them. Plus this way we can settle the check fair and square, looser buys?” She asked.

“Looser of what?” Clay asked as they headed in the direction of the bar just off campus.

Faith’s smile picked up a predatory edge. “The only game that matters, pool”

Clay stopped walking for a second Faith separated from him as she turned around to face him while waking backwards. “I suck at pool” He admitted.

She nodded. “Good. I have more fun when the guy pays anyway.” She smiled turning to walk forwards again. He trotted to catch up and they linked arms again.

Catastrophic Personality Adjustment Counseling: Part 2

Zombie is pacing his counselor’s tiny office. She is looking through his journal. She pays him almost no mind even though he is clearly frustrated. “So that was my first counseling session.” She read out loud from his journal. “At first I wasn’t sure how to go about it, being a zombie and all that. But pretty quickly I realized that my counselor was right. I don’t know much about what kind of person I was before I died, but once I started writing I couldn’t stop, and what I was writing was opinionated and insistent. I had strong feelings about my new life, the world I found myself in and my experiences in it, which ranged from amazing and enlightening to frustrating and infuriating.” She finished the entry and closed his journal. Finally looking up to watch him pace. “So, this is your tenth session. By all accounts you’re doing very well.” She complimented him.

His pacing slowed but did not stop. “If you say so.” He grumbled.

She put his notebook down and picked up her notepad. “Something on your mind?” she asked.

He flopped into the couch with a heavy sigh. “Breathers.”

She scribbled a note. “What have I said about that world?” Her reminder came offhandedly, the way a parent chastises with an obvious question.

He rolled his eyes and stifled the urge to start pacing again. “Racism is a tool of oppression and while you can and must resist the powers that oppress you, never underestimate the poisonous ease their mindset has in corrupting your view of the world.”

She looks up from her pad. “That sounds more like something the Zombie Rights Activist Rigor Mortis would say.”

He met her gaze. “It’s not ‘like’ something he would say, it’s something he did say.”

She wrote a note. “And how much of Mr. Mortis’ work have you read?” She asked.

He shrugged. “Enough to know that the Z.R.A isn’t exactly the be all and end all of justice for my kind.” He watched her carefully.

She stopped writing. “What’s been bothering you about the living?” She asked. Setting her notepad down on her desk.

He tapped his temple three times. “They’re obsessed with brains.”

She pulled her feet up on the recliner and covered them with a blanket. “How so?” she asked.

He leaned forward on the couch. “Every licensed restaurant that serves Zombies serves mainly cow brains. The really high class joins that serve human brains, follow the law and serve certified death row inmates, and those places are expensive, so a majority of the population sticks to cow, which I am more than fine with.”

“Have you ever tried human brain?” She asked with nothing more than curiosity in her voice.

He shrugged his shoulders. “Once.”

“And?” She asked encouragingly.

He sat back in the couch and looked up at the ceiling. “My roommate is a dishwasher over at the Cranium Café. He was given some left overs one night and we tried it. Neither of us was terribly impressed. I found the flavor and texture to be too…rich.” He sat upright again. “Look, not a single zombie I’ve ever met obsesses over brains. We eat when we’re hungry and I’m just as lazy as everyone else who actually has a pulse so I go to Brainagain’s and I eat, Big deal right? But at least twice a day at work I hear ‘Hey man I ain’t a corpseaphobe but you keep looking at my skull like that and I’ma get pissed off’. Like dude! You face is on your skill and I have to make eye contact with you to do my job you idiot!” He angrily flopped back into the couch, once again staring at the ceiling in frustration. His eyes searching the tiles for some sort of sense. “Just because I’m a zombie doesn’t mean I have an uncontrollable desire to eat every brain I see”

She leaned over and grabbed her pad and scribbled a quick note. “So you’re being mistreated by your customer base?” She asked while writing.

He shook his head. “Not all of them, just the ones who ‘aren’t corpseaphobic’”

She set her pad down in her lap. “You can report them. That kind of harassment is against the law.”

Zombie snorted a sarcastic laugh. “So is refusing service based on your pulse or lack thereof but guess how many places I’ll never be allowed to shop in.” shoved his hands in the pockets of his hoodie.

She twirled her pen for a moment and then clipped it to her pad. “You seem to be developing a very strong sense of right and wrong.” She pointed out.

He shook his head without looking up from the couch. “Maybe, it feels more like I’m developing a finely tuned understanding of ignorance and the sheer ineffectiveness a single person has over the course of history.”

“How so?” She asked.

“Regardless of how stupid some people are, I know there are stupid zombies as well, and with the basic understanding of math that I have I can pretty much tell you that if we don’t already, zombies will soon outnumber living humans.”  He sat up and looked at his counselor. “Look the LAST thing I want is for any of the human apocalyptic wet dreams to actually happen, but like I said, humans aren't the only ones who are stupid.” He clarified.

She grabbed her pen and scribbled another note. “Is this a casual worry or…”

He shook his head. “Like I said, every zombie I ever met is just as lazy and laid back as almost every human. But someone’s putting up the resistance signs, someone is writing the literature encouraging us to give the humans what they desperately say they want.”

“And is that what you believe? That humans actually want to face a zombie apocalypse?” She asked.

He shook his head. “Hell no, I’m a zombie and I don’t want a zombie apocalypse, no human actually wants one either.”

“Why do you think they are obsessed with the fantasy then?” She asked.

“They lack a proper concept of scale.” He started. “Human beings have made it a long, LONG way in history on nothing more than fear and ingenuity. They allow the most close minded, fearful and richest among them to lead the rest, most of whom are willfully ignorant bastards that carry around the biggest guns a human can carry and yet still they run in terror at even the mention of equality. This cycle repeats every generation without fail and we have never, not once, learned from it.” He finished, his shoulders slumped.

“You said ‘we’ just then, why?” She asked,

“Because I came from them, I used to be them, just because I don’t have a pulse, and cannot remember being one of them does not entirely sever me from the consequences of their decisions as a species.” He clarified.

“What history lesson would apply to this situation in your opinion?” She asked.

He waved his hand almost dismissively. “Pick and era. Women’s rights, Civil rights, the ADA, same sex marriage, This country has a long, terrible history of holding itself together by targeting a minority and keeping them as marginalized as possible for as long as possible. And those groups didn’t have sixty years of fiction stacked up against them.”

She nodded. “The media has never been kind to the undead.”

He got up and started pacing again “I had hoped after ‘the gays’ became ‘people’, that we might have an easier time of it. But for some reason the LGBTQ population got right in line with the rest of the masses and joined in their hatred for the next new minority. Why humans celebrate getting to the top by kicking the people below them is beyond me.”

She tapped her pen on her pad a few times considering her next question. “Is it really that simple?” She asked.

He shook his head. “Of course not, there’s no part of this that’s simple. But even after ten years it doesn’t feel like humanity is willing to see this situation as anything other than an apocalypse, which to be fair is vast different than the Gay marriage era, because no matter how hard the Tea Party tried to spread the rumors, people refused to believe that gay men were going to march around the globe in a thoughtless mass chanting “coooooooooooks!” and eating straight men from the waist down.” He said down smiling at his horrible joke.

She suppressed a smile herself. “That would have set them back in their quest for equal rights.” She added.

He stopped smiling. “I am being serious though, it doesn’t seem to matter what kind of person I want to be, just what kind of monster Hollywood fantasizes I am.”

She pulled her feet out from under her blanket and sat forward in her chair. “Everyone struggles with who they want to be versus who they are perceived to be.”

He shook his head. “I don’t like it.” He shoved his hands back into his hoodie pockets.

She nodded “Welcome to humanity.” She replied, standing up.

He stood as well and moved toward the door, stopping with his hand on the handle. “So if a vegetarian is someone who eats only vegetables then why are so many people proud of being humanitarians?” He asked.

Lidarion: Chapter 6

With the death of the Ogre the Orcs lost their advantage and gave up what little headway they had made into the barn. In less than thirty seconds the fight had moved outside into open field and the orcs scattered for the safety of houses.

Brandon looked at Trent in both awe and annoyance. “I don’t know if I’m more pissed off or impressed.”

Trent shook his head. “Either way, be it later, teams of two. Search the houses. Hopefully we scare 

them off, I don’t want to ruin this village any more than we already have.” He said as the rest of the soldiers grouped up into teams of two, leaving a pair to guard the barn. The other pairs quickly headed for the closest houses leaving the furthest building for Trent and Brandon.

The Building furthest from the barn was also the biggest. The village gathering hall. It only had a few rooms but they were spread out on two floors. They approached the front door which was hanging loosely open, moving back and forth a few inches on its damaged hinges. Trent and Brandon stood to the sides of the door and Trent pushed the door open with the scabbard of his sword. Nothing moved inside the building in response. The pair moved into the building covering each other’s backs. Far in the distance they heard the faint sounds of combat and then silence.

Brandon moved off to the left toward a door that would take him to the room where the stairs to the second floor were. Trent moved to follow but Brandon reached the doorway first. He stopped in the doorway for a moment and Trent moved to join him. As he got closer Brandon dropped his sword and Trent saw the back of his tunic turn dark with blood. The Orc kicked Brandon off his rustic blade and Trent blocked the Orc’s first swing and with a flash, severed his head from his body. The head went rolling across the floor and the body dropped lifelessly to the ground. Trent knelt to check on his friend.

He was already fading. His midsection a sloppy mess. “Look Trent, I come with a convenient carrying handle now. Lisa should like that.” His humor did not stop tears from coming to his eyes.

Trent was filled with equal parts fury and utter helplessness. “You are the dumbest bastard I know.” He said.

Brandon gave a bloody smile. “Don’t say it unless you mean it buddy.”

Trent. “What the hell do I tell her Brandon?” He asked.

Brandon was fading out, unable to focus. “Take me to her...tell her myself. Don’t take too long though, you’ve always been, the slow, one” His body didn’t go limp, He didn’t close his eyes, and there was no last gasp. Everything thing that Brandon was just silently vacated the bloody mess that used to be his body.

If Trent had any actual memory of what happened next he had never admitted it. The other members of the unit all swore that he alone killed the rest of the Orcs, even the ones that tried to run were chased down and ended without mercy.

By sunrise the rest of the unit had policed the orcs and the Troll a few hundred feet away from the village. The fire stank of burning flesh and moldy clothing. On the opposite side of the village Trent built a funeral pyre for Brandon. He watched over the fire alone until there was nothing but ash. He took Brandon’s sword and using the only anvil and hammer in the village, broke the blade off the handle. Filled his scabbard with his ashes and tied the handle into the scabbard, sealing the twine with enough tree sap to settle his fears of it popping open.

The raiding party had slaughtered the livestock and horses, the village was still standing but the next few months of their lives would be hard. He combined his and Brandon’s things into one pack, created a shoulder strap for Brandon's scabbard, and got ready to leave the front lines.

The eldest member of the unit approached him as he was getting ready to leave. “The war isn’t over.” He stated.

Trent didn’t even take his eyes off the horizon. “It is for me.” He said with finality, before taking off on foot, 

The XP: Chapter 6

The Group has killed the second to last boss in the Hall of Shattered memories. A monster that had once been a talented human thief had made a deal with a demon to travel freely throughout time. He had no way of knowing that the more he traveled through time the more of his soul the demon sucked into a giant hourglass. Once his soul was trapped entirely he was doomed to spend an eternity defending the Demon’s Cavern of stolen souls.

They had chosen the Hall of Shattered memories for two reasons. The first was that the Thief of Time was easily considered one of the best tests of end game content. Each player on a team had to know their roll and execute it perfectly. The fact that the dungeon was limited to five players and end game content ranged from fifteen to forty players was what made it such a good test. It was an easy gauntlet to run Trart through so he could quickly learn all the skills a Rainbringer relied on.

The second reason was that after the Thief of Time’s death cut scene the entire dungeon reset allowing them to run in it multiple times a day. Every other dungeon had a daily lock out which mean they would have a much harder time recovering the cash they spent on gearing Trart.

On their way out of the Dungeon for the twelfth time Trart asked the question Bob had been waiting the last two runs to hear. “How come we never fight the final boss? I know I owe you guys a bunch of gold but this is really, really boring.”

Bob smiled. “Aside from engaging the daily lockout, It took you three attempts to do everything you needed to do so we could kill the thief of memories. The Keeper of Forgotten Promises is easily three times harder. So, do you wanna pay off your debt nice and quick or do you wanna screw around?” She asked.

The others were behind Trart all praying for the right answer. Trart thought about it for a second 

looking guilty “Would you be super pissed if I said screw around for a bit?” He asked. The others silently celebrated and cheered behind him. By the time he spun around they were standing normally.

Bob’s smile was much larger. “I wouldn’t mind screwing around for a bit. And besides, we can always finish up the last five runs tomorrow.” She pointed out. “All right then, let’s screw around. Now listen up. Here’s how this is going to work. The Keeper of Forgotten Promises is half a step below end game content. I will be playing Dreams of Unbridled Fury and Etude of Ebbing Sanity.” She explained.

“When did you learn to play two songs at once?” Stygian asked.

Bob waved her hand. “Long story short, I paid The Matriarch to take me to and run me through the Theater of a Thousand Solos. There’s a specific boss that gives intertwining songs as a custom perk.” She explained. “Blackout I need you to consistently cycle Serenity's Waterfall, I know we’ve run this before just you and me, but we’ve got two more people to cover.”

“The only reason we were able to two man this place was because I was direct healing you for most of your life every second. If I run Serenity's Waterfall it’s gonna leave you exposed.”

Stygian stepped forward “Not as much as you might think.” He offered.

Bob nodded. “You are more right than you know. This fight normally requires a tank and an off tank. So this entire fight consists of you taking an absolute pounding.”

Trart stepped up. “What about me? What do I do?”

Bob turned to Trart. “You get to go hog wild. Stygian is gonna pull more agro than you ever thought possible which means you get to use every aspect of that pretty little gun we bought you. I want you to be a trigger happy death dealer. Bring the pain and bring lots of it.” She demanded. “Now is everyone clear how this is going to work?”

They all nodded.

Bob turned toward the entrance. “All right then, let’s do this.”

The others followed her into the Dungeon.

University of Console Heroics: Chapter 6

A little over a month into the semester the auditorium for History of the Second Dimension was a lot quieter than it had been on the first day.  Sanders was sitting in what had become his usual spot near the front of the room. The other students were either waiting quietly for the professor or having hushed conversations.

The door opened and Professor Banister walked into the room with his satchel over his shoulder and the large stack of papers that was the student’s first essay. He set them down on the front table. “I have finished grading your first papers. Please note that I graded rather generously and commented on improvements I expect to see from now on. For those of you that are asked to do so, please come see me after class, my office hours are in the syllabus. After you get your paper we are done with class for the day, please use your time wisely and review your work.”

Without another word Bannister left the room. The students waiting until the door shut behind him before rushing the front of the room to get their papers. Sanders waited for the mob to clear out. When he left his chair there were only a few papers left on the front table. He found his and looked it over. There was a red C– on the first page. Below it was a note ‘Very thorough paper but there is no drive, no statement. You’re just reciting the events that happened when you should be exploring why and how they happened. Please see me during my office hours.’ 

Sanders moved back to his chair and shoved the paper in his bag, zipped it up, threw it over his shoulder and left the room.

Professor Banister’s desk was a monument of essay’s and paperwork. Each class had its own stack of assignments waiting to be graded and returned to their creators. His tiny castle wall of papers left just enough room for a desk lamp that lit what little actual work space he afforded himself. He was grading an essay with a red pen, making notations and commenting at the bottom of the page, giving further research direction. A knock at the door paused his pen. “Come in.” He automatically replied.

Sanders entered the tiny office, leaving his hand on the outside door knob. “You wanted to talk to me about my paper?” He asked.

Bannister looked up from his work and immediately recognized Sanders. “Yes I did Mr. Sanders, please come in and have a seat.” He motioned to the chair on the opposite side of his desk. Sanders closed the door set his bag beside the chair and sat down. “You’re a targeting and terrain management major aren’t you?” Banister asked.

Sanders nodded. “Yes sir.”

Bannister leaned back in his chair. “Then why take history of the second dimension instead of Study of the 3^rd Dimension with Malcolm Evans?” He asked.

Sanders shrugged his shoulders. “I felt like I needed to get outside my major for a while.” He answered.

Banister nodded. “And this class turned out to be more work than you expected?” He asked.

Sanders nodded. “A lot more.” He clarified.

Bannister sat up right again. “You’re a shitty liar kid.” Sanders was shocked but kept quiet. 

Bannister stabbed his finger into one of his taller stack of essays. “I don’t have an assistant genius. I grade ever one of these English junkyards myself. Your paper stood out like a sore thumb.” He chastised him.

Sanders cleared his throat. “That was, descriptive.”

Banister sat back in his chair again. “So was your paper. So enlighten me as to why you wrote a perfect paper that asked no questions, made no statements and drew no conclusions.”

Sanders didn’t flinch “It’s all original work, I didn’t plagiarize anyone or anything.”

Banister shook his head. “That wasn’t my point and you know it. You write about the history of two dimensional games like you grew up during that era, and yet your paper shows no bias. You’re a TTM major so why take this class at all if you’re not passionate about the subject matter?” He demanded.

Sanders shrugged his shoulders. “Honestly I just wanted a chance to get to know you.” He answered.

Banister was thrown for a loop. “Why not just introduce yourself?” He asked.

Sanders gestured to the office. “You’re a professor in the 2D era, I’m a TTM major. Without this class I don’t have a reason in the world to even walk into this building much less start a conversation out of the blue with a tenured professor.” He explained

Bannister raised an eyebrow. “Conversation about what?” He asked.

“Your career” Sanders replied.

Banister pointed to the essays all over his desk. “You’ve seen the last fifteen years of my career right here, and every time you sit in my class.

Sanders shook his head. “I mean your other career.”

Banister glared at Sanders “Is that what all this has been about?” He accused. “Figured you would try to dig up some gossip before you graduate?”

Sanders shook his head. “No. This is about me asking as friend and a student about your life before you became who you are today.” He clarified.

Banister leaned his chair back. “Whelp, sorry to burst your bubble kid, the story is nothing but a rumor and even if it wasn’t it would still be none of your damn business.”

“It’s either a rumor you wish was true or a truth you’re trying to forget. You can lie to everyone but yourself.” Sanders offered.

Bannister almost exploded out of his chair. “You keep running your mouth and I’m libel to flunk you right out of my class!” He yelled.

Sanders sighed and grabbed his bag. “I didn’t mean to antagonize you.” Banister straightened himself up. “I was kind of hoping we could actually be friends.” He finished.

Bannister glared at him again. “I don’t need any friends kid, I need A papers from you, from now on.”

Sanders nods sadly and stands up. “You can shut me out professor, but I hope you don’t” He stated.

Bannister wanted to explode again, but he kept his cool, sort of. “Give me one good reason I should trust you? So far you’ve been nothing but a pain in my ass. I have every right to drop you on yours!”

Sanders opened the door a crack and turned around. “The past burns us all from the inside out professor. We either have to let it go or perish in the fire. I’m just trying to be a sympathetic ear.” 

There’s a moment of silence. Bannister is stunned. Sanders leaves and closes the door quietly behind him. Alone again in his office with his thoughts Bannister starts tapping his pen on his desk.