"Pathfinder, Vol. 4: Origins" by Various Authors

BOOK TITLE: Pathfinder, Vol. 4: Origins

AUTHORS: Various

YEAR: 2019

GENRE: Graphic Novel

SUBGENRE: High Fantasy

GRADE: B

It’s a good thing that this book has the Pathfinder name attached to it, because these individual stories of each adventurer read like a session zero from a tabletop RPG. You’ve got a warrior, a cleric, a wizard, a sorcerer, a thief, and a ranger recounting their origin stories to the head of the Pathfinder society in order to prove their worth to her. They start off with a quest or a job of some kind and end with either a life-changing revelation or a desire for more adventures. This is basic character building 101, especially when creating new ones to use in role-playing games. It doesn’t have to be overly complicated, but I appreciate the authors putting in the extra work to make them feel fleshed out. That’s part of the fun in playing a pencil-and-paper RPG, which also overlaps with being an author. Fun is the number one priority of any gamer, but playing D&D or Pathfinder can be training for budding authors wanting to break into the industry. It doesn’t have to be the end goal, but it could be if the player or DM wanted it to be.

Having said that, I do wish the more dramatic and heavy parts of these stories had more time to breathe instead of just bolting from one scene to the next. The wizard discovered that he comes from a family of ruthless slave traders and wants to abandon them. The monk who hires the thief wants to rescue his sister from being traded like a slave herself. The barbarian who saves the fighter’s life has a history of surviving horrible violence. These moments shouldn’t be glossed over so quickly. They need to be drawn out. They need to be expanded upon. Otherwise, it’s over too soon and it’s a wasted chance to make the reader feel everything that’s going on. Sherman Alexie, the author of War Dances, is a master of making everything feel important and heartbreaking. I don’t get that sense when I’m reading this graphic novel. It could be because it’s a graphic novel and they’re fast reads by nature. But still, I would have loved to spend more time in these heavy moments to make the characters feel even more human than they were before.

The closest I got to feeling anything for the characters was Kyra the Cleric’s story. She serves the god of redemption and yet finds nothing redeeming about the prisoners she and a paladin take with them on a rescue mission against blood-sucking demons. Her hypocrisy is a major character flaw that makes her feel three-dimensional. And it’s her experiences with the paladin that make her overcome this flaw. Not all redemption takes place on its own. Sometimes we all need somebody to show us the way. We as people don’t often know that we’re making mistakes or going down a bad path until someone else points it out to us. It’s what we do with that information afterwards that will make or break our redemption arcs. That makes a lot of sense to me and it’s why Kyra’s story is my favorite out of all the ones I’ve read in this book.

Overall this was a fun graphic novel to read. Even if you don’t play tabletop RPG’s, you’ll get some enjoyment out of this as a standalone fantasy story. Yes, I know it’s the fourth volume of a much larger series, but it stands out enough on its own that the reader won’t be confused about which part of the story goes where. That’s what good books should do regardless of where they are in the series: stand out on their own and not have to rely too heavily on their back catalogue for vital information. Pathfinders Origins gets four stars out of five. Not perfect, but ultimately a nice way to spend some alone time with your nose in a book. Well done to everybody who was involved in the making of this story from the authors to the artists.

Social Justice Warriors

***SOCIAL JUSTICE WARRIORS***

You’re in no way obligated to get in political discussions with people who don’t want to change. But if you do, a common slur you’ll hear a lot in those discussions is SJW, or Social Justice Warrior. This gets tossed around by people who think their opponents get offended by everything or are too politically correct. If you ever get called a Social Justice Warrior, don’t be offended. Say thank you. You know why? Well, all you have to do is take a look at the last word in that slur: warrior. Sounds badass, doesn’t it? When I think of warriors, I think of big muscle men with battleaxes and spears. Or it could be a fierce and tough-minded woman with a bow and arrow that doubles as a striking blade. Either way, there’s nothing wrong with being called a warrior. Dungeons & Dragons characters hear this all the time and they give their thanks.

And while we’re on the topic of warriors, suppose you’re a D&D player who prefers another character class. Okay, no problem. You can be an SJB (Social Justice Barbarian). Barbarians sure as shit have enough rage to care about their causes. What about SJC’s (Social Justice Clerics). Since clerics have the ability to heal their party members, they could easily be useful for when a protest goes awry. And don’t forget about SJP’s (Social Justice Paladins). If you’re too laidback to be a barbarian but you still want to be a warrior, be a paladin, the bringers of truth and justice. But maybe SJW can mean something else entirely: Social Justice Wizard. Some people would rather use magic than engage in close quarters combat. Maybe the wizard specializes in pyromancy, which is bad news for any Nazi marching with a Tiki torch. Maybe the wizard specializes in cryomancy, which means the only snowflakes you have to worry about are the ones freezing your balls off. So many possibilities!

Okay, so you’ve seen all of those different character classes, but you still want to be a Social Justice Warrior instead of anything else. No problem! You know who else wanted to be a warrior? WWE Hall of Famer The Ultimate Warrior. He wanted to be a warrior so much that Warrior became his legal name. No kidding! And now his wife and children have Warrior as their last name. Call me crazy, but I’d love to see a big muscle-bound wrestler in tassels and face paint called The Ultimate Social Justice Warrior. The only difference is, The USJW can actually wrestle. And his promos make sense. And he’s not a racist. Or a homophobe. Or a guy who’s happy about Bobby Heenan having cancer. Or a…you know what, you probably get the picture by now.

Maybe professional wrestling isn’t your cup of tea, and quite frankly, there are times when I’m watching WWE and I can’t blame you for that. How about some videogames instead? If you want to see some real Social Justice Warriors in action, look no further than Final Fantasy VII, everybody’s favorite in the series and a true classic. The main characters in that game were part of a pro-environmental faction called Avalanche and their goal was to stop the evil mega corporation Shinra from draining the planet of its spiritual energy to make a profit. Yes, you heard me right: Barrett Wallace, Cloud Strife, and Tifa Lockhart were all a bunch of tree-hugging hippies. And they won! Of course, with Barrett’s arm cannon, Cloud’s big ass sword, and Tifa’s martial arts abilities, the writing was on the wall for the Shinra Corporation.

If somebody calls you a Social Justice Warrior in conversation, say thank you and be on your merry way. And while we’re at it, what does that make Keyboard Warriors? I could imagine that it takes a lot of power to smash a keyboard over someone’s head without breaking your damn weapon. You know who would make good Keyboard Warriors? Going back to my wrestling examples, the entire roster of old school ECW. Those guys would hit each other with trash cans, steel chairs, cookie sheets, and cheese graters (holy shit, that was brutal!). If you gave Tommy Dreamer, the Sandman, or Bubba Ray Dudley a computer keyboard, do you think they’re going to smash it across their opponents’ backs? You’re damn right they will! If it’s not nailed down, they’ll use it in a hardcore wrestling match. Hell, they could probably beat people to death with rolled up copy of Hustler, right?

Of course, as tempting as it may seem, beating the shit out of people during political activity is not recommended. I know, I know, you’re going to call me out on this because I have a bunch of violent political songs in my two poetry books Confessions of a Schizophrenic Savage and Necrograph. Those poems are fantasies, but political violence in the real world is much more dangerous. Separating fantasy from reality is what’s going to get you by in this world more than anything. Okay, so you can’t show up to a protest riding a warhorse while carrying a bastard sword. You don’t have to. You can still be a warrior in many other ways. Fighting the good fight doesn’t always mean throwing fists (unless you’re defending yourself in a life or death situation, which is a whole different story entirely).

You can’t ride on a fire-breathing dragon, but you can lift your head as high anyways. You’ve got this. You can win the big one. All you have to do…is BO-LIEVE! Goddamn it, another wrestling reference! Well, I suppose it’s better than doing all of your warrior business on a pay-per-view called Great Balls of Fire. We’ve got ears, say cheers!

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

Going back to the topic of Final Fantasy VII and their environmental stance, I wrote a first draft novel a few years ago called Filter Feeder which is basically the same thing, but with clam fishing and the Materia are magical clam shells. Filter Feeder’s Sheila Victor is a dead ringer for Final Fantasy VII’s Scarlet, so that’s how I’m going to draw her. You know what I’m hoping for? I hope when I eventually go back and have Marie Krepps beta read Filter Feeder, she won’t find too many similarities between the two stories. Maybe some, but not a lot. Well, I can always wish in one hand and shit in the other to see which one fills up first!

***AMERICAN DARKNESS 3***

Remember how I said that real world violence is a bad thing? Well, it doesn’t get any closer to the real world than this next story idea I have for American Darkness 3. It’s called “Belts and Welts” and it goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

1.      Owen Hall, Angry Father

2.      Valerie Hall, Lenient Mother

3.      Leila Hall, Bratty Teenaged Daughter

PROMPT CONFORMITY: To be announced.

SYNOPSIS: In the Hall family, Valerie spoils Leila and gives her everything she wants, including the right to back-sass Owen and completely disregard his authority. Over a lengthy period of time of being disrespected, Owen has his breaking point. During a family dinner, he and Leila get into a heated argument in which the bratty daughter mocks everything her father says. Having finally snapped, Owen does something to Leila that has never happened to her before: he beats her severely with a belt and promises more beatings if the disrespect continues.

OOC: You know what? This might actually be more controversial than Puberty X Piracy.

***TELEVISION QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Tell me, Brian, how does it feel to be the least cultured guy at a bus station?”

-Stewie Griffin from “Family Guy”-

Five Finger Death Punch X Shinedown Concert

***BEFORE I BEGIN***

Halloween has come and gone, so I’d like to speak a little bit about mine. As many of you know, it’s one of my favorite holidays of the year due to the dark fantasy creative fuel that comes from it. Ghosts, goblins, mummies, warlocks, necromancers, Halloween has the whole nine yards. I could write short stories and novels for days with this kind of inspiration, as dark fantasy is one of my favorite genres of books, movies, and videogames. Because I love scary themes so much, I dressed in a Slipknot mask (Mick Thomson’s take on Hannibal Lector), red Hawaiian shirt, blue pajama pants, and green cloak. Reina referred to my costume as a “random creepy guy” and I couldn’t really disagree with her. I collected a few frightened reactions on Halloween as well as a shit load of candy from Reina and I venturing to different neighborhoods in Port Orchard. It was a fun night, but make no mistake about it, at my weight and my age, it was an endurance test. I begged my mom to take me to the chiropractor after Halloween and that’s what we’re going to do sometime this week. I’m not as energetic as I used to be, which is why whenever I go to concerts, I now pick seated tickets instead of general admission floor tickets, which makes a nice segue for the main topic of this journal.

***FIVE FINGER DEATH PUNCH X SHINEDOWN CONCERT***

This coming Saturday November 5^th, Five Finger Death Punch is going to headline a show at the Tacoma Dome with Shinedown, Sixx AM, and As Lions opening for them. I’ve been a Five Finger Death Punch fan since 2012 and continue to rock out to their badass speed metal and melodic tunes. I only started listening to Shinedown on a regular basis when WWE Raw used their song “Enemies” for the opening theme music. I’ve only heard one Sixx AM song my whole life and that was “Rise” (damn good song if I say so myself). I’m not familiar with As Lions, but I hear the singer is the son of a heavy metal legend. Four badass heavy metal bands, one night of awesomeness. I may be doing some writing or other art work that day, I may not, depending on my energy level during that general timeframe. I jokingly refer to music concerts as one-day vacations, which means despite my temporary absence from the internet, I’ll always be back for creative work. In the words of Ivan Moody, “Let’s burn this motherfucker to the ground!”

***DEMON AXE, CHAPTER SIX***

Detective Shawn Henry is having a busy night at the crime lab doing some bureaucratic bullshit for what should be an easy case. Naturally, he’s exhausted and bored out of his mind. He can’t wait to get home to his family. Roger Zee, who waits in the shadows for Detective Henry to be by himself in the crime lab, holds him hostage at blade-point and even reveals that Shawn’s family is also being held hostage in a mysterious location. Roger will let the Henry clan live in exchange for unlimited access to police resources, whether it’s computer databases, cop cooperation, or those lovely pieces of military equipment they love to flaunt so much. Will Shawn crack under the pressure and give into Roger’s demands or will things get bloody in a hurry?

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

As long as I’m opening this journal with a brief discussion of Halloween, I might as well bring up the biggest piece of dark fantasy news of all, the next entry in the Dark Fantasy Warriors collection. World, meet Bradshaw, a badass Kord-worshipping cleric whose biggest claim to fame is texting during a battle with a bloodthirsty dragon. He let his party down in a big way, but he still looked like a champ doing it. Bradshaw was a D&D character in the short story “Emoticon Artist”, being controlled by a sorrowful millennial named Beth Bradshaw. In fact, all of those D&D characters were named after the players’ surnames. That is what a creative genius I am. Cue the eye rolls.

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Right between your eyes! Nowhere to hide! Click-clack, reload! Click-clack, unload! Life ain’t on your side! You’re out of time! Click-clack, reload! Click-clack, unload!”

-Five Finger Death Punch singing “No Sudden Movement”-

Emoticon Artist

“Whoever left the Eagle Eye of Aragon in this dump should have his head chopped off,” said the brutish orc warrior Knox, who grinned at his war axe in anticipation of carrying out that threat. The odors of shit, piss, and rotten metal in this junkyard assaulted the nostrils of everyone in his adventuring party and made keeping their lunches down a fight to the death. The sight of human and rat bones congregating among the junk heaps did no favors for their nauseated stomachs.

“Yeah, I’m not happy about being here either, Knox,” said the scrappy, dust-covered gnome thief Christopher. “But my sources tell me the Eagle Eye is somewhere among these piles. Somebody wanted to get rid of it in a hurry to avoid being caught by authorities. They didn’t do a good enough job of it.”

“Let’s just get the cursed thing before Lord McCain shows up,” said the heavily armored cleric Bradshaw, who held his spiked mace with confidence and passion. “Then again, I wouldn’t mind throwing down with that creep.”

Each adventurer took separate routes in digging through these trash piles so as to expand their search. They dug with quickness and strength so as not to spend too much time getting dizzy from the shitty odors. Once one pile of trash was sorted through, another was and the cycle of dirty clothing and shivers of disgust continued all over again. Christopher gagged and coughed as he dug to the bottom of his pile and found a used sheepskin condom. He threw it off to the side and nearly hit Knox in the face with it, to which the savage orc barked at him to be more careful.

“Looking for this?!” said a deep, ominous voice at the junkyard’s mesh fence entrance. The adventurers got in their fighting stances and pointed their respective weapons at the dark robed figure covered in glowing red auras known as Lord McCain. The Eagle Eye of Aragon glowed a brilliant shade of yellow that rivaled the morning sun itself. The adventurers shielded their eyes with their arms so as not to be blinded by this beautiful gem.

The snake-faced wizard grinned at the party while bearing his fangs and slithering his tongue. As if swallowing a pill, Lord McCain gulped the Eagle Eye down and sent a storm of electricity through his own body. The party watched in wide-eyed awe as McCain’s robes disintegrated and his green scaly body was growing with bulging muscles until he had morphed into a full-fledged dragon. The partiers swallowed saliva and nearly shit themselves at the sight of this transformed mega-demon, who screamed so violently at his foes that a gust of wind blew past them and sent Christopher rolling backwards.

Knox quickly pushed the fear to the back of his mind and smiled like a slasher, long tongue, drool, and all. “Is that how we’re going to do this?! Fine by me, McCain! I’ll drink your blood like a cold frosty beer!” With his gigantic axe raised to the sky, Knox charged at the dragon with bloodlust in his eyes, slobber flowing from his chin, and train-like power in his legs.

Fantasizing about slashing the shit out of Lord McCain would have given Knox a bulge in his fur shorts the size of an elephant’s trunk, had it not been for the sudden ringing noise interrupting his bloody thoughts. He looked back and saw Bradshaw texting on his cell phone and not paying attention to the battle at hand. “Hey! Moron! Put the phone away! There’s a pissed off dragon in front of us!” shouted the orc brute.

That momentary distraction allowed the vicious beast to grab Knox by his ankles with one massive, razor-sharp claw and drag him across the dirt ground, causing him to leave his axe behind. “Bradshaw! Put the phone away and help me!” The cleric continued to text on his cell phone like he was writing the next great novel. “Bradshaw! No!” shouted Knox as he was hauled up into the air and had his entire upper body chewed off by the blood hungry dragon, like his massively muscle-bound body was just a corn dog to the transformed beast.

Bradshaw was left all alone to text on his phone and to potentially be eaten by this drooling monster. One earth-shaking step at a time, the dragon stomped his way over to the cleric, who never took his eyes off of his phone and whose thumbs were moving at the speed of light. With one powerful whack, the dragon knocked the phone out of the holy warrior’s hands.

“Hey! What was that for?!” whined Beth Bradshaw, a chubby young lady with a ponytail and a Star Wars T-shirt barely covering her tremendous features.

While Cody Knox and Brenda Christopher sat at opposite sides of the dinner table with their faces in their hands, Colin McCain, the Dungeon Master, pointed his sausage finger at Beth and said in a hushed, angry voice, “You know full well that I don’t allow texting during D&D sessions! It’s fucking rude! If your internet life is more important to you than playing with your friends, then go the fuck outside and do that shit!”

Tears stained Beth’s jowls and fogged up her glasses. “I’m sorry, Colin. I just…” Before she could finish her sentence, her surprisingly durable smart phone vibrated on the kitchen floor. Instead of honoring her DM’s wishes, she picked up the phone and texted rapidly some more. The tears were really pouring from her eyes at this point.

Colin pulled his ponytail tie out of his hair and with one sweep of his bulky arm brushed the character sheets, rule books, and potato chips off the table to snap Beth out of her trance. Cody yelled, “Hey!” as some of the potato chips ended up in his blue jeans-wearing lap and on his Sepultura T-shirt.

Beth looked up at Colin with pleading, damp eyes and softly said, “I’m sorry! I really am! I have to take care of this or else…”

“Or else what? Your online buddies will have to go without goofy emoticons and poorly-spelled words for ten more seconds?!” shouted Colin while his palms were firmly pressed against the table.

“Come on, Colin, leave her alone! Can’t you see she’s in tears?” said the skinny brunette Brenda, who held her arms in front of Colin like a failed attempt to shield Beth from the DM’s wrath.

“Tears? Tears?!” yelled Colin. “What does this crazy bitch have to be sad about?! The latest edition of Pokemon Go hasn’t come out yet?! The coffee machine is jammed?! Banana Republic ran out of khakis that don’t cut off the circulation to her brain?! You know what?! I’m putting an end to this crap once and for all! Give me that stupid phone!”

A tug-o’-war ensued between Beth and Colin over the former’s phone with Cody and Brenda trying to separate them. The two obese nerds nearly pulled each other across the table as they shouted incoherently over the reasonable-minded Cody and Brenda. One powerful jerk yanked Beth onto the table, which broke in two upon bearing her weight. She cried relentlessly into her arms while Colin scowled down on her with an animalistic fury. Brenda scowled back at him and said, “Now look what you’ve done!”

It was the baldheaded Cody who ended up with the phone in his hands. His expression changed from urgent rage to a saggy frown when he actually read the text message war in front of him.

“Cody!” shouted Colin. “Give me the goddamn phone!”

Mr. Knox held out a hand in front of the GM’s face and somberly said to the gaming group, “Beth’s grandmother just died in the hospital.” Beth continued to flood the broken table with tears and assault the ears of her friends with painful sobs. Cody and Brenda leaned down to pick her up to her knees before engaging in a loving, emotional group hug.

Brenda looked up at the stone-faced Colin and asked, “Are you going to hug her or what? She needs us right now, Colin. For the first time in your life, quit being a selfish ass and be there for your friend!”

Colin solemnly looked down at Brenda, Cody, and Beth and shook his head before walking around them and strolling into the living room. Feeling abandoned, the remaining three friends continued to hug and rub each other’s shoulders while Beth unloaded more tears and snot onto the shattered wooden table. “How can he do this to us?” she asked. “We’ve been his friend since high school. We’ve been through everything together. We rescued him from bullies. And all he cares about is his stupid game!”

The group hug was tighter and the hand-holding was firmer. Cody even planted a gentle kiss on Beth’s forehead. It had nothing to do with romance and everything to do with Beth losing two people in one night: first her grandmother, and then her friend of so many years.

And then the group huggers heard the sound of car keys jingling behind them. The keys belonged to Colin, who told his friends, “If you want a ride to the hospital, the car’s parked out back. We’ll even stop for some McDonald’s along the way. I’m buying.”

All three brokenhearted friends slowly stood up while Beth weakly smiled at Colin and said, “Thank you for understanding. Let’s go.”

Minnie-Moo

Most people went to places like Bellingham Forest to get away from their daily routines. For druid sorcerer Derrick Mango, the forest WAS his daily routine. He had his own log cabin in the darkest part of the woods where nobody could disturb his introverted microcosm. If they did, those people were met with scorn and violence. Derrick valued his privacy more than anything else in this world. One bright May morning, his privacy would be violated in the most savage way.

The sun shone brightly through the cracks of each individual log that made up Derrick Mango’s cabin. Not one single beam of light was enough to stir him from his slumber, which he could be found wearing little more than bearskin boots, wolf skin pants, and a rabbit skin blanket while sleeping on a bed stuffed with bird feathers. He snore was as quiet and friendly as a lethargic puppy’s.

If a mere sunbeam wasn’t going to wake him up, the loud thud against his cabin wall would. Derrick’s eyes snapped to life as he gazed into the crack that formed as a result of a pole axe strike. At first he was frightened, but then his brows furrowed into anger and he dismissed that first shot by saying, “Goddamn kids!” He threw the blanket off and stood up to confront the invader of his privacy.

And then there was another pole axe strike. And another. And another. Each smashing attack blew a gust of tree bark against the hermit’s body. Now was the perfect time for him to be scared. These weren’t just some damn kids. Whoever was defiling his cabin wanted him dead. But why?

Derrick looked around for a place to retreat, but all four walls were being pounded on while the sounds of animal grunting could be heard from outside. Soon the cracks in the wall turned into full-sized holes and the druid could see what was after him: demonic cows. He wiped his eyes just to make sure his vision wasn’t impeded from the sawdust, which it wasn‘t. There really was an army of cows with pole axes trying to break the walls down.

Chunks of the ceiling were falling down upon the forest warrior, which would have meant the end for him, but was actually his salvation. In one swift movement, he dashed towards the nearly demolished wall, leapt through the nearest ceiling hole, and scaled a tree that happened to be right next the cabin. Derrick climbed with such speed and grace that he made it to the top like the super athlete he was. It was a good thing he was so up high since his cabin collapsed after a few more blows from the demon cows.

“What do you freaks want from me?!” yelled Derrick from his treetop nest.

The cow warriors surrounded the thick tree and the leader of the pack finally gave him the answers he needed. “We know she’s here. She’s the one the Bellingham villagers refer to as Minnie-Moo. Such a disgustingly cute name for a disgusting creature.” The sound of a gentle meow caught everyone’s attention and there was the fluffy black and white cat Minnie-Moo curled up in the tree with Derrick. “That would be her! Throw her down here and I’ll spare your life!”

Minnie cried and pleased with Derrick not to surrender, the latter of the two already getting sick of all the bullshit surrounding his invasion of privacy. All he wanted was to be left alone and he had his chance right then and there as he glared at the frightened fluff ball. But instead, the loner needed more answers. “What did this little feline do to you and your clan of circus freaks?”

“She drank from the pool of our most sacred milk. We use that pool for holy rituals and Minnie violated those terms when she nearly lapped it all up. Gluttony is one of the worst sins this world has to offer and she shall be punished for it. Throw her down right this instant! No more questions!” shouted the leader.

Except Derrick couldn’t throw her down even if he wanted to; Minnie was already leaping from treetop to treetop. Some of the bovine warriors charged after her while others stayed behind and started rocking Derrick’s tree back and forth in an attempt to bring him down hard.

The normally nimble hermit tried to stand up and walk across the branch, but the trembling force of each shake caused him to lose his balance and land on his balls. Derrick Mango let out a shrill of pain while desperately clutching his last means of having children. He would have spilled off to the side and be at the mercy of these ridiculous, but fierce fighters.

Emphasis on would. Minnie was dashing across the treetops in circles and flew right into Derrick’s face with her claws stretched out. The agony of having cat blades in his cheeks caused the druid to temporarily ignore his ball pain and spring to a standing position in an attempt to shake off the rogue cat.

The previous shaking from the cow clerics loosened the tree so much that when Derrick danced around, it fell over and he and Minnie rolled down the hill together at a faster speed than the heavy cows could keep up with on their stubby legs. The screaming in pain and the firestorm of curse words would have been more audible if they weren’t vibrating off of Minnie’s stomach. The blasphemous animal dug deeper into Derrick’s face as a means of holding on tightly for this bumpy ride.

The crash and burn would eventually happen at the bottom of the hill, where they landed hard in a rapid river that began carrying them away underneath the water. Only at the threat of drowning would Minnie let go of Derrick’s face and doggie-paddle toward the surface.

The bloody wounds in the pissed off druid’s visage and his already aching testicles only pissed him off even further. Just when the bovines had reached the bottom of the hill looking for their prey, Derrick pulled Minnie underneath the water. Little did they know the bovines lost their trail and they were ready to give up.

Except Derrick wasn’t pulling Minnie underneath for her safety. He did it because he wanted to scream obscenities at her for putting him in this position in the first place. The bubbles in his lungs muffled most of what he was saying, but it was basically along the lines of this whole mess being Minnie’s fault because she led these “freaks” to his hideout and almost got the both of them killed.

He could have gone on forever ranting and raving while not caring if he or Minnie drowned. But luckily, they didn’t have to worry about being underwater indefinitely since the river dropped them off at a shallow part where Derrick could be on his knees and Minnie could swim to the surface. Both survivors of the bovine rebellion coughed, hacked, and wheezed until every last drop of water was out of their noses and throats.

By the time Derrick was done coughing, his testicle pain flared up again and he was screaming while banging the shallow ground with his fists. Meanwhile, Minnie was curled up at the edge of the river like she wasn’t in danger of dying just now. Typical cat behavior: always ignoring humans in their time of need.

Derrick stood up in the raging river and pressed his thighs together while basically tiptoeing his way to where Minnie was laying. His balls were almost ruptured, his face was still bleeding, and he was in a “don’t fuck with me” mood. Hell, his rage alone would have gotten him a victory over that entire squadron of cow people. But the only cow-like creature he had his flaring eyes on at the moment was Minnie.

“You sick little bitch!” shouted Derrick Mango as he inched closer to the shivering cat. “You nearly got my ass killed. You led those demons to my cabin all because of some stupid milk fiasco. Well, it’s a good thing all that milk made you fat, because I want some chow and you’re the only living thing here with meat on your bones!”

Derrick raised his hands in the air monster-style before his ball pain acted up again and he tumbled over to the side of the wet cat. He cried and bitched and moaned while holding his poor aching groin. “Why, sweet god, why?! What did I do to deserve this! Why me?! Why not somebody else?! I didn’t do no harm to anyone!”

Minnie stood up from her sleeping position and licked the salty river off of Derrick’s nose, which was pretty much the only part of his face that wasn’t soaking in blood. The druid said, “Oh come on! Stop making it so hard to be pissed off!” Minnie purred and licked him some more. “I’m serious!” More purrs, more licks. “Don’t make me go all lovey-dovey for you!” Even more purrs, even more licks.

“Ah, who am I kidding. You saved my life just by clawing my fucking face. I guess that squares things between us. That, and you are kind of cute. Cuter than those stupid humans in the village.” Derrick proved his affections by scratching Minnie behind the ears.

“Minnie-Moo, are you alright?!” That cutesy voice belonged to a village girl no older than seven years. She was dressed up like a doll with her thick white dress and wool boots. As soon as she saw Minnie, the cat ran up to the girl and jumped into affectionate, loving arms. The girl looked down at the wounded Derrick and said, “Thank you for saving my kitty!”

“Oh, no problem. If you wanted to pay me back, you could bring me a healer. I’m kind of in a lot of pain right now,” said Derrick.

“Okay!” said the village girl as she turned around and skipped away with Minnie-Moo in her arms.

Derrick rolled over and slowly removed his hands from his aching balls before saying to himself, “Saved by the fucking humans….damn it! Oh well.”