Wyvern

Dawgrim scratches his wavy toupee over Skirla’s Sex Ed woes, once again trying to apply the character of Skirla to Signe and having a hard time with the logic of it all. His thoughts are put on hold at the mention of the specific tests that Skirla is studying for, however, and his "thinking" returns to the state of the study aid in his pants as he throws his protective glasses to the side. The toss is made with such wild excitement that the glasses fly across the room and land on the inert body of Blarr, who is once again writhing in a puddle of his own drool over the generous Skirla visuals. “F-f-fore-l-lingerie?” Dawgrim jumbles the words along his tongue as his eyes focus on the position of Skirla’s legs, glancing up ever so often to check on the position of her finger on the shackle or the gleam in her eyes. He shakes his head a bit to get a grip, only to croak as Skirla shifts her legs again, sliding them smoothly against each other before crossing them in the opposite direction. “*Ahem* Err, I m-mean…” Wyvern scrambles for his script, holding it up with a trembling claw to see what he means. “I-I mean, d-d-don’t give up hope on Home Hogssswill yet Skirla! There’s still plenty of time to study, and w-we can work through the subjects together. After all, h-how hard can a lingerie test really be? I mean, you’re already wearing some now, right?” Skirla slowly leans back, casually pulling at the neckline of her white blouse and staring down into it. She turns to Dawgrim with a calculated expression of sadness and slowly shakes her head. “OH.” Dawgrim stammers for a moment, his tail painfully rigid over the new development. “Uuuuuhhhhhhhh… uhm. N-n-nothing we can’t fixxx. I can uhhh, show you some lingerie, I should have some around here somewhere.” Dawgrim begins digging through his pockets for panties, fumbling through a variety of undergarments borrowed from Signe’s drawers and getting his claws tangled in a bit of black lace. Skirla shifts herself off of the Detenshun Tayble as she watches him squirm, moving towards him with that leisurely walk of hers. “And what about foreplay?” Skirla watches as Dawgrim suddenly stops rummaging through his pockets, cracking a smile over his new awareness of how close she’s standing. She lifts a finger to her lower lip in as innocent a manner as she can muster. “Is that… playing with foreskin?” “Uhhh no. I mean, yes!” Dawgrim’s breathing practically steams out of him as he flails for a response. “No, uh yes, errr, sssometimes…?” The cameras wobble back and forth with Dawgrim’s response, their circuits buzzing a tad over the heat of this week’s acting, the cameramen having ceased to pay attention to the technical side of things. The screen goes plaid as Signe seizes the opportunity to step outside the script, her tossed schoolgirl skirt dropping conveniently over the lens. --- Next time, on Dawgrim’s… is she…? oh wow.

Last time, on Dawgrim’s Reek… *Cue an extreme close-up shot of a cross on a chain, with tiny wisps of smoke failing to obscure the creamy flesh surrounding it.* Skirla Innosensual, New Girl in School, introduced herself with all the shyness and timidity expected of a newcomer at Gobulard Academy. *Cue an extreme close-up shot of Skirla’s moist pink lips hovering next a boom mic, parted ever so slightly as if ready to swallow it whole* Having befriended Dawgrim as a study partner and having already put him through several all-nighters worth of intense studying, Skirla has offered a whole new meaning to the word “cram session” at Gobulard. All thanks to her responsibility and clear stance on chastity. *Cue an extreme close-up of the back of Skirla’s short plaid skirt in motion, giving the audience an idea of what Blarr must have been panting over in the last ep.* But with Blarr preparing a new evil scheme, and the Home Hogswill crown hanging in the balance, will our hero Dawgrim be able to step up to the plate and show the Academy what sort of hunk he truly is? *Cue a distant shot of Dawgrim, looking tiny in the distance as he glances over an encyclopedic tome cradled in his arms. He looks up from the pages of the Sex Ed manual with an excited and slightly bewildered look on his snout.* Find out, on a brand new episode of Dawgrim’s Reek. --- The cameras flicker on to the familiar back-drop of the Gobulard Academy Library, which is almost identical to the setting of the very first episode of the soap in its simplistically titled sections and mead keg drinking fountains. While the re-hashed setting screams “geld savings in design,” a few new sets of tables have been scooted into the Mighty Pen Library for the occasion, with each of them bearing a crooked sign with a particular purpose in mind. A table with chains and shackles labeled “Detenshun tayble” sits in a dark corner between a rack of hard cover “Armor” books and a wide row of collectible orcish punishment magazines, just waiting for an unfortunate goblin with an overdue book... though judging by the table’s coat of dust, truly literate goblins seem to be hard to come by. Elsewhere, in a brighter corner of the Library, a table with major dents riddling its surface labeled “Book Clubbing Club” rests adjacent to the “Weapon” and “Hobee” shelves, with a tattered “1001 Good Ways to Use a Book” tome resting in one of the table’s many indentation marks. The cameras pan over the rest of the library, and pass by a “Chyldrin’s” table and a tiny “Studee” table before arriving at the “Kool Kids” table. The title of the show immediately blocks the characters seated at the table from view. Dawgrim’s Reek Sponsored by Almost Dragonic Brand Counterfeit Library Cards™ “So…” Blarr leans forward, forcing a grin through his darkened shades. The interior lenses of his sunglasses contain pictures of the troglyodyte previously scheduled to play Skirla, in an effort to prevent any more unnecessary gaping accidents. “Is it a dare?” Dawgrim scratches a claw over his wig of fine hair at the opposite end of the table, reading over the script in front of him with an air of uncertainty. “Lemmee get thisss straight. You’re daring me to asssk Skirla-” Dawgrim squints at the script’s choice of words in disbelief. “One of the ‘plainest and most boring’ gals at Gobulard, out to Home Hogswill?” “That’s right. And if you do ask her out, and act as her date over there, then I will swear off of Academy girls for the next six years.” Blarr leans back in his seat and suppresses an evil grin, not wanting to reveal his true intentions of stealing the Home Hogswill crown when the judges get a load of Dawgrim and Skirla. “Here’s your chance to end my Evil Orcy days for good, Dawgrim ol’ pal! Consider this my atonement… that is, if you ain’t chicken.” Dawgrim tugs at the open collar of his beige suit shirt as he continues reading through his dialogue, trying to find a proper tone of voice to deliver his lines in but finding his own feelings a little far removed from the script’s chosen adjectives. “Well… She’sss a bit ‘dull,’ but I’m always up for a challenge. Especially when it comes to stealing the ‘pure.’” Dawgrim brushes one claw through his wavy hair and places his other on his imitation gold belt buckle, winking at the cameras with a sly look on his snout. “It’s a dare.” “Great.” Blarr shakes Dawgrim’s claw with an evil grin, then points over in the direction of a long shelf of books. “Why don’t you go and ask her right now? She’s browsing over there, on the other side of that fiction rack (or at least that’s what.the script says, I can’t actually see with these glasses)” Dawgrim nods and immediately hops to his feet, his eyes brightening over the thought of more Skirla camera time. The Gobulard Academy hunk makes sure his wrist collars are properly buttoned, pops an Almost Dragonic Brand Magma Flavored Breath Sizzler™, and swings his tail with a swagger as he struts his way over to the shelf where Skirla is browsing. He passes by a handmaiden in a sexy librarian outfit, paying her no mind as he leans against the opposite side of the shelf where Skirla browses. He waits until he spots the familiar color of Skirla’s nail polish as she reaches for a title, then hisses to her between the tiny crevices of the books. “Skirla. Fancy meeting you here.” “Dawgrim.” Dawgrim goes a tiny bit red at the innosensual sound of Skirla’s voice, his eyes and feet immediately following her finger as it smoothly trails along the tops of the titles on display. He follows the finger as it moves progressively deeper into erotic fiction territory, leading him closer and closer to the end of the shelf. “So, I did my homework for that part of the assignment you gave me…” Dawgrim adlibs in a dreamy voice, the script suddenly not quite as important as Skirla’s finger trail. “It made a lot more sense after you showed me how to do it first-hand...”

I really like this little story, Degorram. It's definitely an inspirational piece for those writers going through rough periods or experiencing a block, and is also a comfort to us folks who always have pieces of childhood embedded in their hearts. I like how the story is framed sort of like a children's story, with the mythical depictions of the muses and the wonder evoked over ordinary things, and I became involved in the fate of Silverthread's muses as it progressed. The ending, with its birth of a new muse, was an interesting touch as well. Nicely done Dego, glad to see your muse is still in tact. :-) Thanks for dropping by and sharing this!

Good poem, cryptomancer. You manage to paint an interesting metaphorical picture of your internal emotions here, with the halls of locked doors and echoing voices. The concept of leaving things unspoken out of fear of the echoes they'll evoke is something I can relate to, and I'm sure that many people here can sympathize with the move to hiding deeper and deeper into oneself. I only hope that the Pen still provides you with an outlet to speak to others when you need someone to talk to, and that the world within you is still alive and well. Would certainly be a shame to see a talent like yours go to waste. Take care, and thank you for sharing this here cryptomancer. :-)

Very interesting poem, Jason. :-) I really like how carefully you've worded and structured the sexual imagery of this piece, and the dark outcome of the encounter also provides some food for thought. There's plenty to consider and dissect here, like the repetition of "I unleash the gun" and the "convenant" favored at the end... but without analyzing the poem too much. it makes for an interesting read, language-wise. The one metaphor here that I'm still struggling to associate to anything is the "mushroom" of the sixth stanza, which feels sort of out of place to me... I'm guessing it may refer to the mushroom cloud of an explosion in retrospect, but you may want to clarify things a tad there. Anyway, thanks for sharing this here Jason. :-) And since I don't believe I've formally introduced myself, welcome to the Pen!

The news cameras cue up to total darkness as the Almost Report news medley plays away in the background, with a few extra jubilant notes added in as still frames of CheerMynx from various episodes of the Report slowly move by. The pre-recorded strip of pictures flashes through an image of CheerMynx running around tarred in feathers, a pic of CheerMynx decked out in Dreamer-inspired white pirate gear, and a picture of an exuberant bouncing CheerMynx in her more traditional cheerleading fair before coming to a grinding halt. The view pans out a bit as the sparkly pink font of the show’s title materializes through a series of shaking pompoms. Stars in Stripes Almost a CheerMynx documentary Static flashes across the screen until the visuals refocus on the make-up room of the Almost Report, with its familiar faded mirror bulbs and trash bin full of Almost Dragonic Brand Beauty Boar Balm™. The focus of the cameras is a troglyodyte dressed in a pink open-collared flame design shirt, who sits on a stool and moves a powder puff from one webbed hand to the other. “One thing I noticed right off the bat with CheerMynx was how little work needed to be done in fixing her make up or style… she’d done all the necessary adjustments well in advance, leaving me with only a few tiny details to add in.” The troglyodyte gestures to the cameras as the words “Spinky K – Almost Report Make-Up Specialist” appear under his face. “More than I can say for some folks on the Report, like a certain almost dragon who ends up looking like hell regardless of-“ Spinky’s sentence is cut off by another bout of static, which roars across the screen for a few minutes. The waves of gray are eventually replaced by a view of a toy factory, where an assembly line of wood golems is working on chipping away at a series of treant action figures made out of bark. The cameras move past several design parchments before focusing on a suited high-elf seated on a throne-like recliner. “I knew that CheerMynx was action figure material from the moment she stepped into my office and proposed the idea for an Almost Report toy line.” The high-elf adjusts his ivy green tie as the words “Elvanus Mirweather – Brimwood Toys & Arrows Representative” appear under his face. “It was more than just her good looks, it was the way she carried herself. A cheerful and exuberant demeanor, the ‘action’ to compliment her figure. I’m still trying to figure out why someone like her would spend time with an almost dragonic lowlife like-” Static once again clouds the screens until the image is replaced with a shot of the Pen’s medical ward, which is empty save for one bed occupied by a rather pale-looking troglyodyte. The cameras circle around the room, searching for a perfect angle to watch the troglyodyte speak from. “CheerMynx is one of the best actresses I’ve had the pleasure of working with. She’s always brought her all to ‘Dawgrim’s Reek.’” The troglyodyte gestures with a dehydrated hand as the words “Pip Squeawell – Actor of Blarr on ‘Dawgrim’s Reek’” appear under his resting head. “She always has her lines down flat as well, which is rare in a show headed by an almost dragon like-” Static crosses over the screen again, droning out Pip’s words and roaring away for a while. The image is eventually replaced with total darkness, at which point some cheap text suddenly flicks its way into view: Wyvern Q. Almostdragon was unavailable for an interview The text vanishes, only to be replaced by a tinier sentence, meant to be more subtle but still very clearly visible given the black background: (he was playing with his CheerMynx action figures) The kazoos cue up again in the background for an 80s end theme montage, playing away as the credits begin rolling up the screen vertically. Amongst the credit listings is a column dedicated to “News Items Neglected for Documentary,” which lists: http://www.patrickdurham.net/themightypen/index.php?showtopic=16673</a>'>Werewolf XLIII ~ http://www.patrickdurham.net/themightypen/index.php?showtopic=16618</a>'>Open Mic Night ~ http://www.patrickdurham.net/themightypen/index.php?showtopic=16583</a>'>Wizardry Academy Polling Booths ~ http://www.patrickdurham.net/themightypen/index.php?showtopic=16579</a>'>Continue the Story ~ http://www.patrickdurham.net/themightypen/index.php?showtopic=16624</a>'>Food for Thought ~ Food for Thought 2.0: Euphemisms ~ http://www.patrickdurham.net/themightypen/index.php?showtopic=16616</a>'>Action and Fear Blanks Happy Birthday, CheerMynx!

"Terribly sorry about that, Racouol." Racouol raises a brow at the sound of an unfamiliar grainy voice, and turns his head only to step back with a start. The door he had passed through, which now had a growing puddle of boot juice advancing towards its floor cracks, appeared to be speaking to him through its fancy keyhole. The door creaks open a little more so that the copper doorknob is directly facing Racouol, then continues in its eastern European accent. "Didn't mean to overpower you like that, I mistook you for someone else. You see, Woody the Office Door summoned me to... oh, wait a minute, here he comes now." "Racouol!" Wyvern barges down the hall towards the Cabaret Room, waving an Almost Dragonic Brand Geld Mining Travel Guide™ in claw and gesturing enthusiastically. "You jussst gotta see this guidebook!" The door silently creaks open, ready to execute the perfect timing of its Triple Splinter Overpower Pseudo-Slam... OOC: Glad to hear your journey is going well Racouol. :-) Fill us in with more updates when you can!

Wyvern slithers his way into the reading alcove bearing a beak-shaped Almost Dragonic Brand Feather Duster and Smoothener™, which comes complete with its own prey-scented bow and hooted birthday telegram. The overgrown lizard drops the gift off at the door and shifts his way through the stacks of lighter reading, pausing at the heavier textbooks to dip a claw into the "Happy Bird-Day Patrick!" cake and taste its icing. The overgrown lizard then shifts and seats himself on an instructional book entitled "Catching Vermin with Catchy Slogans," placing the accompanying glasses on his nose before an idea seeps its way into his seedy head. Wyvern grins and digs into his Hawaiin party shirt, only to pull out an Almost Dragonic Brand Sootsy Pop™. He holds the little obsidian black lollipop up to the light for a moment, tilting his head and examining it with a curious expression. "How many licksss does it take..." Wyvern blanks on the rest of his sentence and twitches as the image of Signe with a lollipop pinched between her fingers immediately pops into his head.... OOC: Happy Birthday, Patrick. :-) Hope you had a great one.

The news cameras slowly flicker on and focus on the dining area of Celes Crusader’s Café, which has been refurbished to its original elegant state after the questionable décor of last week’s Dawgrim’s Reek. The cameras move by a few strips of yellow “Private Investigation” tape and pause at a serving counter, searching for a figure of authority to explain the fine lines that surround the area like a crime scene. They scan over a series of numbered evidence locations until they spot Wyvern, who looks like an (un)lawful official in his gray tailored scale suit and optical geld illusion tie. The overgrown lizard adjusts the brown gloves that barely cover his claws as he stares down at a spot where many troglyodyte medics and investigators have gathered. His slightly weary eyes examine the pale body of the troglyodyte actor who plays Blarr on “Dawgrim’s Reek,” which is still twitching and very much alive but clearly out of its element. “Sssssooo, what’s the diagnosis?” A troglyodyte in a lab coat tilts his head up with a frown, moving away from the deep carpet stains that surround Blarr’s body. “Excessive saliva loss, leading to dehydration and fatigue.” The doctor watches as Blarr gets lifted into a raft used for traveling through sewers to reach troglyodyte first aid facilities, then shakes his head. “Seems like he started panting and just didn’t know when to stop. He’ll be fine, he just needs to recover.” “Hmmm, I sssee…” Wyvern scratches one of his horns and broods over the thought of medical bills for a moment before turning and noticing the cameras. “Oh! Hello there, welcome to the Almost Report. Uhmm, in current Pen news, Werewolf XLIII: Mad Wolf is officially open to asssylum inmates who wanna sign-up, and-“ “Wyvern.” A troglyodyte wearing a sleuth cap interrupts, adjusting a magnifying glass in the front pocket of his miniature coat and clearing his throat. “There’s a room over here I think you should see.” “Right.” Wyvern tucks his tail as close to his black slacks as he can muster and trails behind the inspector troglyodyte, careful not to disturb any evidence in his path. The almost dragonic reporter turns his head to speak to the cameras as he maneuvers through a narrow gap between dining tables. “Thisss new Werewolf thing is hosted by recent birthday pennite Patrick, who dessserves a round of applause for all his Pen contributions over the years. We appreciate ya Patrick! Also, birthday wishesss go out to Alzorath, who continuesss to rep the artistic side of the Pen.” Wyvern comes to an awkward halt as he notices the back lounging room that the troglyodyte has chosen to inspect, suddenly becoming very self-conscious and tugging at the collar of his shirt nervously. The overgrown lizard feigns innocence as he slowly steps into the room, pretending to be caught off guard by the overturned furniture, the rug burns, and the occasional stray articles of clothing. Wyvern’s nostrils flare up over the intoxicating fragrance that still lingers over the room’s many violated regions, savoring the familiar musk of a certain succubus’ fleeting satisfaction. He breaks into a bit of a sweat as he eyes the faint outlines of scratches on the cushions of a broken easychair, failing to connect them to fingernails, claws, or tails but remembering very well how they got there all the same. The almost dragon blushes as he spots a familiar red pleated skirt dangling from the rim of a sofa turned on its side, snatching it and hiding it behind his back as the troglyodyte inspector continues to search aimlessly. “Errr, n-n-nothing to ssssee here I think, eheheheheh.” Wyvern grabs the troglyodyte inspector by the arm and begins pulling him towards the exit of the messy lounge, not wanting to stick around long enough to see if any embarrassing Almost Dragonic Brand products turn up. “N-not much as far as concrete evidenccce goes anyway, unless you want to use it for stand-up at Snypiuer’s Open Mic event.” The inspector glances at Wyvern suspiciously before a voice from the Café’s central kitchen disrupts the investigation at hand. “Hey Wyvern, come take a look at this!” Wyvern perks up and takes the opportunity to immediately race out of the lounge, pulling the troglyodyte inspector along with him as his claw clings fast to his arm. The overgrown lizard dodges past a variety of cooking utensils and racks of plates until he reaches a wide circular counter that makes his eyes widen a bit. The troglyodyte formerly scheduled to play the role of Skirla Innosensual rests on top of it, his wrists tied behind his neck by the head of a leather whip and his feet crossed and tied together by a knotted black fishnet stocking. The troglyodyte’s would-be wig is tied around his mouth as a gag, and a mysterious black film tin rests at his side. Wyvern clears his throat and moves in closer to inspect the film reel, his eyes growing wider as he reads the gliding cursive written on the front of the tin. The words are accentuated by the mark of a familiar shade of red lipstick, which replaces a period at the end. “Next time, on Dawgrim’s Reek… For Wyvern’s eyes only”

Dawgrim freezes and sniffs at the now slightly pheromonal haze surrounding him, immediately connecting it to the undeniably sultry sound of Signe’s voice as she reads her first line of dialogue. Some vague attempt to sound more innocent seems to be present in the succubus’ tone, but the deep sinful quality of her voice is impossible to hide… the sound of someone who knows what they want, and knows that they’re going to get it. A delivery that might be compared to the role-playing vignettes people come up with for a little excitement before sleep, playful and self-aware. Wyvern gulps and raises a shaky claw to his wig, adjusting it over the sweat that seems to have already broken out over his forehead. Twisting his tail stinger on the ground and deciding that he shouldn’t count his chicks before they happen to be succubi, the lizard takes a deep breath and turns around to face Skirla with the flyest Dawgrim smile he can muster. Which is promptly reduced to a transfixed gaping jaw when he gets a load of her outfit. “Sssskirla...” Wyvern’s eyes criss-cross as they follow the curling trail of smoke past the succubus’ blushing cheeks, working their way down her neck until they practically collide upon noticing the expertly placed religious symbol sizzling in her cleavage. The reptilian actor shakes his head a little and pinches himself in an attempt to regain focus, only to have his forked tongue roll out at the sight of the New Girl’s excuse for a skirt. “Sssskirla.” Skirla glances upwards for a moment to maintain her innocent look, tilting her hips a bit to give Dawgrim a slightly better angle of her thighs. “Yes, Skirla. Innosensual.” Skirla raises a hand to her hair and plays with one of her braids as she speaks, her hand motions far too slow and suggestive to convey anything even close to an innocent girl’s nervousness. “I’ve heard so many nice things about you, Dawgrim. It is Dawgrim, isn’t it?” Wyvern croaks and lifts his script up to his face with a trembling claw, trying to remember his character’s name. “Y-y-yesss.” Wyvern tries to regain some control over his dialogue by repeating to himself that Skirla is only a character, but only grows twice as aroused when he considers the actress in question and their many memorable play times together. He speaks in an un-Dawgrim-like squeak reflective of his excitement. “I-in the flesh.” “Nice to meet you, Dawgrim.” Signe smiles a knowing smile that could pass for an innocent smile, her eyes reading Dawgrim like a book. It takes a minute or two for her to pull off the blushing trick again. “I’d like us to be friends. Would you like to be my friend?” Dawgrim nods vigorously, the reaction almost automated in his mind. “Good. Because I really need a study partner.” Skirla’s lips put the emphasis on “really,” almost kissing the syllable as it falls from her mouth. “And I thought, maybe we could help each other study.” Dawgrim nods and stammers a little under his breath, his eyes widening into huge saucers as Skirla shows him the Sex Ed book she plans to study from. An encyclopedic tome that bears the promise of more than just biology, with over 200 pages bookmarked. “I uhhhh…” Dawgrim clears his throat and tugs at his collar, accidentally pulling off his lunch bib and revealing more of his scaly chest in the process. He uses the bib to wipe the sweat that’s gathered around his neck, then tosses it aside and searches for his place in the script in vain. When he finally speaks, it’s almost in a whisper. “I mean, uhhh… I guess we could give it a shot.” The camera lenses turn to Skirla Innosensual for a reaction, only to steam up and lose focus as the heat of the situation proves to be too much for any equipment to handle. The sound of Blarr’s panting is the last thing that’s heard faintly in the background as the visuals snap to black.

Last time, on Dawgrim’s Reek… *Cue a brief flashing image of Dawgrim tackling Blarr to the floor, which cuts to black as an ominous bass riff booms away in the background* Dawgrim’s best game backfired as Evil Orcy spread his scripted rumors, greatly diminishing both suitors chances of courting Triska to Home Hogswill. *Cue a long shot of Gurt with his arms raised to the sky, continuing to cry out “Nooooo” long after all the rest of the actors and camera crew have left.* But with Dawgrim ready and willing to connect with Triska and take their intimacy to new heights, will our goblin hero be able to advance his quest for Home Hogswill stardom while clearing up any miscommunications? *Cue the image of Dawgrim standing on a soap box with the words “Triska, Wanna Date?” scrawled over his chest in block white letters. The image lingers on the screen for several minutes before very slowly fading out.* Find out now, on an exciting new episode of Dawgrim’s Reek! --- The cameras focus in on a set of rickety wooden tables that have been aligned in a corner of Celes Crusader’s abandoned café, with Almost Dragonic Brand Borrowed Specter Sheet Painting Covers™ acting as tablecloths and an arrangement of knives and mini-pitchforks placed as dining utensils. An orange “Home Hogswill - Coming Soon” drape hangs over a circular buffet where a wide variety of different gruels are being served, with each lumpy tray offering a varying tint of the same dull brown-ish color. A special tray marked “Almost Dragonic Brand Extra Bubbly Swine Slaw™” has the least amount of gruel on it by far, though whether that has to do with the set design or the actual size of the Swine Slaw package is anyone’s guess. The cameras shift past a few stray cameramen and a little tin wash basin until they arrive at the two focal points of the near-empty Gobulard Academy Messhall, Dawgrim and Blarr. The obnoxious text of the show’s title promptly blocks the characters from view. Dawgrim’s Reek Sponsored by Almost Dragonic Brand Extra Bubbly Swine Slaw™ - “oink oink, good” “Well… this ssstinks.” Dawgrim sighs and sweeps his claws through his backward wig of wavy black hair, his tiny white lunch bib covering only a quarter of the chest scales displayed through his half-buttoned tan shirt. The Gobulard hunk loosens the “D/T XXX” belt buckle holding his breeches in place, and stretches his custom black leather wing covers as if they were mini-jackets. He dabs at his gruel with a claw, then shoves it to the side and glances over at Blarr with a look of contempt. “You know… if it weren’t for you, I bet I’d be knee deep in Trissska affection right about now.” “Oooh zip it.” Blarr scoops up a handful of sloppy gruel and stuffs it into his mouth, chewing glumly. “I spread another rumor that we broke up and decided to switch our sexual identities back to normal. What more do you want?” “What more? How about the soon-to-be Home Hogswill Queen cradled in my arms?” Dawgrim pulls out his sharpened comb from one of his shirt pockets and points it at Blarr, only to raise a brow at his rival’s sudden heated expression. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re still pursuing Trissska as well? After what you got us into?! Gimme a break!” “Right you are, Dawgrim. And I’ll continue to compete for her paw, or my name isn’t Evil Or…” An awkward silence falls over the two actors as Blarr pulls out a script from his pockets and flips through the pages, scanning over the words until he reaches the correct passage. “Blarr. No Evil or Or, just Blarr.” “Have it your way, uhhh… you don’t ssstand a chance.” Dawgrim stumbles over his lines a bit as he recovers from Blarr’s gaffe, rapping his claws along the edge of the table in a nervous twitch. “She’d never date sssomeone who eats ssstandard goblin gruel like that anyway. You aren’t getting anywhere until you try Almost Dragonic Brand Extra Bubbly Swine Slaw™ - ‘oink oink, good.’ Man, I need a drink.” Dawgrim turns his back on Blarr and shifts off of his bench with a snap of moldy wood. The overgrown lizard pulls out his script once his back is turned to the cameras, swinging his tail left and right as he wanders over to a beverage keg while reading. He examines the next section of plot, silently rolling his eyes at the thought of yet another wigged troglyodyte entering into the picture. Wyvern pauses, however, as he notices a little list of items scribbled in calligraphy on the lower right-hand corner of his script page. He scratches one of his horns at the “Wyv~ go and buy…” line that heads the list, and mutters the items to himself as his mind works over the not-so-puzzling list. “Handcuffsss… black silk ssscarf… honey…?”

"... Wyvern Q. Almostdragon, with another song to sing for you swell guys and gals tonight." Backstage, Wyvern stares at his song "Snypiuer's Geld" with a glum expression, feeling distinctly inferior with his near identical lyrics and lack of dynamic live band. The overgrown lizard grumbles nervously as Ed Salamander clears his throat and repeats his name, pronouncing it "Wayvern" this time rather than "Whyvern." The reptilian Elder rolls his eyes and crumples up the sheet of paper with the song on it, tossing it to the side and mumbling something to a troglyodyte assistant of his before wandering deeper backstage. "Wivern... Weevern Almostdragon?" Ed Salamander scratches his head, then pauses as a troglyodyte with a violin case steps out onto the stage and whispers something into his ear. "Oh, well alright... Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Almostdragon's song is apparently going to be substituted by an interpretive dance number this evening. So here's Wyvern, with his dance, 'The Life and Death of Almost Dragonic Brand Ad Poster Leotards™'" The lights dim as the troglyodyte pulls out his miniature goblin violin, playing its whip wire strings with a sharpened funny bone. Wyvern steps out stage left, dressed in only an ill-fitted paper leotard baring an advertisement for Almost Dragonic Brand Scale Softening Lotion™. The almost dragonic dancer raises his arms and wings and tippy-toes forward ballerina style, only to collapse into a heap and roll on the floor to convey the effect of the leotards being created... that, or he slipped on his tail. Scrambling back up to his feet, the overgrown lizard begins dashing across the stage in zig-zagging lines meant to represent sales charts, only to start running in a straight line down until he reaches the very front of the stage. He drops to his knees with a wail and digs his claws into the upper part of his leotard, ripping the paper open as the goblin violin reaches a crescendo. Wyvern waits several minutes for an applause, frozen in place, until he realizes that even the crickets have been put to sleep. "Eheheheh... tough crowd. Guesss it's on to Plan B." Wyvern stands back up and clears his throat loudly, then scoops up his tail and plucks off four geld-attracting magnets that rest on it. He flashes a wide grin to the crowd as he begins juggling the magnets while tap dancing without the necessary shoes, lasting all of 10 seconds before the magnets fall and land on his feet with a painful clatter. Silence. "Errr, Plan C... Ssssuccubi humor!" Wyvern bites his lip and adjusts a loose hanging strip of paper around his neck like a tie, visibly nervous. "Knock knock. Who'sss there? No one, that'sss just the sound of the bedpost. Ah-HAWHAHAHAHA!" Wyvern's forced laughter echoes through the otherwise quiet Conservatory. "So uhhh, a succubus, an almost dragon, and a naked priessst are sitting at a bar. And ummm, lessee, I remembered thisss one in rehearsalsss..."

A crimson spotlight flashes down upon the portal voting booth, catching the attention of numerous pennites and even causing the paralyzed sticker-bearing mage to jerk his head slightly to the left. The light brightens and begins closing in as “Ding-Dong, Wiggly-Wong, Polling Song” is heard chanted in the distance, sung in unison to the tune of the communist ode to Stalin, “Thank You, Great Leader.” Pennites and wizards alike begin backing away a bit as a troop of troglyodytes marches onto the scene, dressed in red and bearing sharp sticks with red flags. “Diiiinnnng-doooooonnnng, wiggly wooooonnnnng, polling sooooooo-oonnnn-nnnnnnnnn-nngggggg!” A shaky catapult with a wide platform in front of its arsenal slowly rolls onto the scene behind the sparse rows of troglyodytes, creaking and shuddering ever so often as it passes over a bump. Above the unstable arms and chipped red paint of the catapult, a wholly capitalistic flag bearing a geld piece insignia on it flies high. The wooden machine chugs along until its within range of the voting portal, where it comes to a slow grinding halt. The troglyodytes immediately stop their song and march and turn so that they’re facing the catapult, their webbed hands raised to their chests. On the platform at the front of the catapult, Wyvern shifts out of his stool of a throne, spreading his arms and grinning like a true politician. The overgrown lizard adjusts his polar bear fur hat and coat (which has an anti-global warming voucher sticking from its pocket), and makes sure that his red geld insignia tail flag is properly tied in place. Once he's sure he looks presentable, the almost dragon pulls out a geld-painted megaphone and lifts it to his snout. "Ladiessss and gentlemen, comrades in geld, beloved voting public!" Wyvern glances left and right over the considerable turn-out, suppressing his grins for half of a frown. "I would like to bring to your attention that the candidatesss for the Wizard Academy of Plane Iota-Psi-Nine are all corrupt beaurocrats, bent on exploiting the inssstitution for geld and personal gain! And sssince I'm the King of corrupt beaurocrats bent on exploiting institutions, I suggest that you refuse to comply with their voting ballets, and turn your allegiance to me inssstead." Wyvern picks up his tail and waves the flag tied to it, pacing back and forth on his platform and gesturing to the crowd. "My radical Red Party is focussed on only the purest forms of capitalism and exploitation, and will start up at 7:00, in front of Tanuchan's place, after the whole voting thing. And sssince you'll have elected me, we can draw geld from the Wizard Academy once the party's run out of free Bruteweiser." Wyvern flicks his forked tongue in and out quickly with a grin. "Alssso, as the new Wizard Academy leader, I swear I will use all of my ability to last 4 daysss as Signe's 'political' consort. Just no promisesss if she breaks out the Marilyn Monroe dress." Wyvern tugs at his polar bear fur collar at the thought, tearing off a tuft of it by accident and tossing it aside. Examining the various spectators, Wyvern's gaze comes to a halt as it becomes fixed on Curiosity the Ferret. "You there!" Wyvern points at Curiosity with an excited grin. "You look like you have quessstions concerning my campaign. Which is perfect, sssince I packed a bunch of free Almost Dragonic Brand Promotional Propaganda Pamphlets™ for just the occasion! Here, I'll send you some, entirely on the house." Wyvern gestures to two troglyodytes, who load up the head of the catapult with a giant sealed bag full of pamphlets. The firing arm of the catapult is slowly pulled back as Curiosity continues to ask questions left and right, his sweet and innocent face showing no signs of understanding the danger of the situation...

At one point in Jim Jarmusch's new film "The Limits of Control," a scene where the Blond speaks to the Lone Man about movies leads to a line about how the best films are those that leave you with images which you can't remember if you'd dreamed or seen in a film. I think this is a good way to think about the latest opus from the director that brought us timeless flicks like "Dead Man" and "Ghost Dog," as Jarmusch always has a keen eye for interesting details and finds ways to draw beauty from the mundane. "The Limits of Control" focuses on the silent meditative aspects of a journey while ignoring what the journey is actually about... plot details are exceedingly vague, if existent, which has led many critics to pan the movie for its lack of narrative structure. I think that it works well, however, and allows the audience to have their own meditative experience watching it. The dialogue in the film is very sparse, and when it arrives it's often a slight variation of dialogue repeated elsewhere in the film... yet it remains observant and often-times interesting, not to mention hilarious once in a while. Miscomunications between people have always been another of Jarmusch's fortes, and the inability to communicate is used in some very comic and interesting moments that play around with the audience here. The movie boasts a cast of truly exceptional actors (Bill Murray, Gael Garcia Bernal, John Hurt, Tilda Swinton), but many of them appear for only 5-10 minutes for a brief conversation to break the film's long spans of silent thought. Isaac de Bankole is the only actor who gets major screen time, and he does quite a good job of conveying the emotionless work ethic of his character as we follow him through the streets of Madrid, his face constantly cold and removed from the rest of society. It's very much a film about the experience of solitude, the long stretches of time without people and the feeling of being removed from it all. Also noteworthy in the film is Paz de la Huerta, who provides an interesting element of temptation whenever her sultry character comes on screen, flaunting her nudity in every scene she graces. The Lone Man remains emotionally removed from her, yet as the film progresses, we realize it may have been slightly less so than other characters... one of the few hints of emotion we're able to obtain from him. Throughout the film, the Lone Man visits an art museum in Spain with paintings reflecting different things he see's and experiences. The final image he views in this museum is a painting of a veiled painting... the greatest remove. "The Limits of Control" may not be Jim Jarmusch's best movie, but it is a great film worthy of his repertoire and I can't help but feel that this is the sort of film he's been working up towards... Increasingly long silences, languid pacing, and more unabashedly artistic and poetic flourishes than ever. The film is not without it's flaws... there are a few too many shots of Isaac de Bankole walking to unknown locations, and the final confrontation with Bill Murray was a bit of a let down. It is still another great achievement from one of my favorite directors, however, and well worth checking out if you want some beautiful cinematography and something that sends you into a kind of trance. Thumbs up.

The news cameras flicker on to the soothing sounds of easy listening kazoos, focusing in one what appears to be a yellow slab of stone. The block is decidedly aged, with cracks running along its surface like veins and an odd hieroglyphic of a jagged almost dragon surrounded by piles of riches on its front. The cameras pan out a bit to reveal that this stone block rests in between two similar stone blocks, surrounded by two more similar stone blocks, each of which is between two stone blocks… The visuals continue panning out in what promises to be an elegant pyramid shot, but which ends up being nothing more than a bunch of blocks tossed into a messy pile over the once open space of GeldrinHor’s bard storage facility. The cameras pass over several more pictures scribbled on the stones, including a jagged etching of a geld thunder storm and a curving sketch of a succubi heatwave. They pause when they arrive at a tail stinger that looks a little too three-dimensional to belong on a block, and zoom in a tad before the stinger shifts away and its owner starts hogging the lens-time. “Greetingsss, welcome to the Almost Report.” An extra-close shot of Wyvern’s nostrils zooms out to a fuller view of his head, complete with flat pharaoh helmet piece stuck at an awkward angle between his horns. The overgrown lizard strikes a claws up to the cameras and flashes a salesman grin as he continues. “In belated honor of Ozymandias’ birthday, we’re offering you the very latest in Egyptian geld investing. Jussst submit a donation of 300 geld or more, and you’ll have your very own ssstock in this yet-to-be-constructed pyramid golem. To reap the geld benefits when the golem is put together and ssstarts raiding, just call 1-900-SCA(M)RUB today!” Wyvern hops off of the block he’s sitting on and begins wandering past the rest of the scattered stones, trailing a claw along their hieroglyphics while the mummy wraps of his shirt and breeches rip this way and that over his wing and tail movements. The overgrown lizard pauses as he reaches a slab with a picture of a radio bearing the insignia of the Wizardry Academy of Plane-Iota-Psi-Nine, with musical notes popping out of it. “In Pen entertainment newssss, the runaway hit sssingle ‘Ding-Dong, Wiggly-Wong, Polling Song!’ has reached the top of the Pen music charts, moving above Mira’s hit single ‘#67’ and every single recording by the Racouolettesss ever. You can hear the song for yourssself by visiting the recent Conservatory polling booth, hosted by Tanuchan and Stephen.” Wyvern nods and whistles to the tune of the song as he passes by several more pyramid golem pieces, coming to a halt when he reaches a block that’s abandoned the subtlety of hieroglyphics for a blatant advertisement. Scrawled across the face of the block are the words “Dawgrim’s Reek – late afternoony snack to darky sky, GST (Goblin Stupidity Time).” “In entertainment newssss: ‘Dawgrim’sss Reek’, the soap opera smash hit amongst goblin teens and perverts alike, is rumored to be hitting viewers with some unexpected plot developments in next week’s ep. Be ssssure to tune in so the show can gross more geld… errr, keep things entertaining.” Wyvern taps at the block with one of his claws, chipping away at one of its corners. “Alssso, don’t forget to check out Patrick’s Tale of Tug for some alternative programming.” With that, Wyvern waves a claw to the cameras and darts over to the other side of GeldrinHor’s storage space, suddenly noticing the golem hand that’s attempting to crawl off on its own. The regular sound cuts out as the call number is repeated in as bland a troglyodyte voice-over as the Report can muster: “1-900-SCA(M)RUB.”

Wyvern’s scales practically melt under the motions of Signe’s hands as she ties the ribbon around his neck, her deft fingers touching all the most sensitive spots on his neck before finishing with a little heart knot. The overgrown lizard remains frozen in place as the succubus admires her work with a little smile, his tail rigid in spite of itself and possibly the only thing preventing him from feeling faint. Wyvern’s eyes slowly widen as he traces his claws over the ribbon, feeling its familiar texture, worn from who knows what sorts of uses and bearing Signe’s undeniable scent. An excited grin spreads across Wyvern’s face as the implications begin pouring into his head, and his rigid tail begins bobbing up and down like a hammer as the giddiness spreads through his limbs. “Ahhh- I-I m-m-mean, gaaaa.” Wyvern raises a claw to stammer something, only to break into a little almost dragonic dance instead, no longer able to properly contain his excitement. The lizard spins a few circles before his rigid tail connects with the lump of displaced carpet (now comparable to arguably one of the fullest geld bags Wyvern has owned). He topples over and slips, skidding over more Cabaret rug before landing where he rightfully belongs... At Signe’s feet.

"Sssssiiiiiigggggnnnneeeeee!" Wyvern races into the Cabaret Room and pounces to hug-tackle the experienced succubus, only to miss and cause the Cabaret rug to pile its way into a messy lump of reds and browns. The overgrown lizard promptly digs his snout from out of the pile-up and wobbles to his feet, his enthusiasm clearly written in his choice of attire... or lack there-of, since he'd dashed straight from bed and was still clad in his "World's Sexiest Lizard" night tee and geld bag boxers (made from real empty geld bags, mind you). Wyvern turns to Signe and flashes an extra-toothy grin, the tips of his wings curling in and out in an effort to contain his excitement. "It'ssss sooooo good to see you!" Wyvern takes a moment to drink in the image of Signe, his glazed eyes and slight leer emphasizing his statement a bit more than it needs to be. "Unlesss this is just yet another one of those dreams, of course. Errrr, wh-which is not to say that I have Signe dreams THAT often, for the record... Three times a week, tops." Wyvern sticks his snout up and rubs the back of one of his horns in the hopes of hiding a bit of a blush. He clears his throat loudly, and holds up a row of leashes dangling from his other arm for Signe to see. "Anyway, I heard you're looking for leashessss." Wyvern trails a claw along a diamond-studded leash, a sensory-enhancing velvet leash, a silver leash with a name plate, a black leather leash, an extra-tight copper leash, a flexible rubber leash, a spike-armored leash, an exquisitely soft satin leash, a flesh-tickling feather leash, an invisible wire-thin leash, and a festive leash with bells. A smaller leash, dubbed "enlargement leash", also dangles from one of the overgrown lizard's claws suspiciously. "Here'ssss everything I could find on short notice. Uhhh, which is n-not to sssay that I'm gonna w-wear any o' these." Wyvern stammers a little as he watches Signe's hands move to her hips, transfixed by the color of her nail polish as it works its way down her curves. ".... am I?"

A groan echoes from a booze-stained corner of the Cabaret Room as Wyvern shifts himself from under a half-torn advertisement poster and leftover lampshade. The lizard's clothes look extra soiled and slept out of an acceptable state... that is, even more so than usual. One claw holds an empty six-pack of Bruteweiser, the other holds a near empty 40oz. of the same beverage, trying with dubious success to keep his drinking habits steady. The reptilian Elder stinks of pirate broadcasting, Bruteweiser, and indeliberate BBQs. "Ugh." Wyvern grumbles something about never crashing Zool's old school art parties again, then digs into one of his pockets and pulls out what appears to be a mixture of straw and patches of tumbleweed. "Anyone want some o' this Almost Dragonic Brand Centaur Mother Hay™? My pocketsss seem over-stocked at the moment..." OOC: A belated Happy Mother's Day to all the pennite mothers out there, and to all the mothers of pennite's along with'em!

The news cameras flicker on and pan over an adequately spaced room, with a few plain wooden counters that have been rearranged in a crooked “W” formation over DeantheAdequate’s imitation werewolf fur carpet. Two sofas with adequate cushions are positioned at opposite ends of the W’s tails, and news sheets seem to be scattered over the different objects in a less-than-adequate organizational technique. Kazoos begin playing little sputtering notes akin to the opening to a heated news debate show in the background, only to die down anti-climatically as Wyvern steps in with a swoosh of his tail. “Greetingssss, and welcome to the Almost Report.” Wyvern plops down onto one of the couches and turns his snout to the ceiling for a moment, piercing one of the sofa cushions with his horns. “Reporting to you sssolo from DeantheAdequate’s quarters in an effort to create an adequate show for you thisss week. And in honor of his birthday too, of course.” Wyvern grunts and cocks his feet onto one of the counters, reaching between two of the sofa cushions and pulling out a crumpled news sheet. Stray sofa feathers flutter through the air as the lizard tilts his head to read it and trails his claws over the fine print. “Sssssays here that, according to Patrick, Tug’ssss father is pretty deep into gambling debt … surprising, since I ssseem to recall losing a hand or two to him back in the day.” Wyvern ignores the sound of snickering troglyodytes in the background as he examines the document and continues. “Anyway, Tug and his buddy Ssspot went on some sorta adventure, and folks’re a little sssketchy on the details of the story. You can help’em fill in the blanks by continuing it in the Cabaret.” Wyvern folds the news item into a messy paper airplane and tosses it into the air in a careless manner, only to flinch as the flight immediately curves around and crashes on his head. The reptilian reporter grumbles and scrambles over the counters to snatch up another news item, lifting it to his snout in the hopes of saving face. “In other urgent Pen newssss, Tanuchan and Stephen have decided to volunteer in the http://www.patrickdurham.net/themightypen/index.php?showtopic=16583</a>'>election day polling for the Wizard Academy of Plane-Iota-Psi-Nine. Apparently, that’sss some sorta orcish pig latin for ‘I oughta sign mine’ or sssomething.” Wyvern clears his throat and lies down over the counters in an exhausted manner, breaking their semblance of a “W” as he holds the news sheet over his snout. “In other exclusssive news on the subject, we here at the Report clearly endorssse the ‘Crimson’ party and predict a wide win margin on their behalf. More information on the sssubject as it developsss.” Wyvern tosses the news sheet aside and shuts his eyes, then turns only to fall off of the counters and face first into DeantheAdequate’s rug. The reptilian reporter grumbles as he lifts himself to his feet, clutching his snout in claw and muttering something muffled by the position of his tongue. “That about coverssss it for this week’s newsss, I suppose. Here’sss hoping this broadcast hit the ‘adequate’ mark in your ratings books… we’ll try our best to bring you sssomething more interesting next time.” Wyvern reaches under one of the counters and pulls out a white bag of Almost Dragonic Brand Products with the word “Inadequate” written across it. He glances in, then shoves the junk aside with a scowl. “Until then, this is Wyvern Q. Almostdragon, sssigning o-” The news cameras suddenly cut out, with the words “Inadequate Film Reel” flashing in red across a blank background. A “Happy Mother’s Day” scrolls across the screen at a lightning quick speed before everything flickers to black.

A hunched figure hooded in a dark cloak slowly slithers his way up to authorwannabe, his scaled wings and tail dispelling any sense of mystery his costume may have been attempting to convey. The figure looks both ways, then raises a claw to authorwannabe's ear and hisses: "Pssssssssssssssssst." The hooded figure moves in slightly closer, shifting a wing over the back of authorwannabe's head to heighten the false sense of privacy. "Jusssst between you and me, don't trust the Portrait... I hear he was painted by a mad artist in-between artistic phases, and that his rubber chicken slowly drove him to clucking insanity. Here." The hunched figure extends a ragged grey sheet, with spots of mold dotting it and a scent of decay lingering about it. Authorwannabe twists her nose and half-pokes at the rags, very much not wanting to hold them. "It's an Almost Dragonic Brand Borrowed Specter Sheet Painting Cover™. For protection, in case the Portrait ssstarts giving you trouble." The hunched figure drops the specter sheet at authorwannabe's feet when he notices her hesitation, turning his head briefly as if suspecting a surprise attack. "Just hang on to it for now. No specters will haunt you about it during the daytime, honessst. You can pay me the 300 geld for renting it later." The shady figure turns to leave before authorwannabe can so much as register a complaint, but stops short as he suddenly remembers something. "Oh by the way, here'sss my card." The hooded almost dragon hands authorwannabe a card with the word "WYVERN" scrawled on it in a jagged, child-like red crayon font. "That'sss 5 geld, by the way."

I went and saw Blu & Exile perform a free show at People's Park in Berkeley, either day before yesterday or yesterday... whichever was Saturday. (probably the day before the day before given how late on Monday this is being written). There was actually a large line-up of acts for the show, but I only went out to catch the last 40 minutes or so to see Blu's set. Chalk it up to a combination of me not caring enough about the other acts, me not wanting to stand around outside in near rainy weather, and me not exactly being in the music listening mood for the past week (and counting). I got there just as Bambu was performing the last two or three songs of his set, and he seemed like a cool act. His last track used a boom bap rock riff that got people bobbing their heads and raising their hands in the air. I thought he had a pretty good command of the stage and not a bad flow either. Pretty good Bay area act. Blu & Exile were the next to come out, and to be honest, their set was kind of lackluster and far from the best live performance I've seen from Blu. The vibe of the whole thing felt way too laid back, with Blu barely even trying on the mic and forgetting a number of his lines. There was also a person behind me who was continuously screamed obscenities at Blu throughout the set for some reason, which was very annoying and detracted from it more. Anyway, disappointing performance... good thing it was free.

While I realize that this story hasn't really even gotten started up yet, I do like the initial scene-setting Patrick. While the rainy graveyard imagery was somewhat typical of a sad occasion and didn't really move me, Sergeant Simms seems like the beginning of a an interesting character and I really like how you introduce the element of Vietnam only at the very end of the intro. The name "Nguyen" seems to ring some sort of bell for me... not sure if I may be connecting it to a historical figure or some other story, but it's odd and familiar in an interesting way. Anyway, this is not so much a review of your introductory post as it is a note that I'll be following the story as it develops, and will hopefully be able to provide more thoughts and feedback on it later. Thanks for sharing it here, Patrick.

An annoying sound of pots and pans clashing rings across the soundboard as the cameras tune in to what appears to be a cardboard box leftover from last week’s Dawgrim’s Reek, set up to look like a mounted arcade game machine. Built complete with its own string of frying pans for sound effects and a troglyodyte with a set of puppets inside it for a graphics engine, the box certainly earns its Almost Dragonic Brand Enterlamement System™ seal of approval. The cameras pan back to reveal several of these cardboard boxes arranged in rows throughout Equester’s gamer-friendly carpeted living room, with a different set of sound effect frying pans dangling from each one. The cameras slowly lumber forward in an awkward and jerky motion that suggests that most of the troglyodytes in charge of camera work are manning the cardboard consoles. They pause when they reach a red box that looks slightly more legitimate then the rest, catching sight of a shiny booze-stain phoenix splattered on the side before a familiar scaly claw replaces it. “Greetingssss, and welcome to the Almossst Report – your one-ssstop source for this Summer’sss most expensive Almost Dragonic Brand Cardboard Golem Video Games™!” Wyvern skids in front of the red arcade box with a little twirl and tailspin, his blazing neon purple jacket reflecting enough light to be a challenging puzzle game in and of itself. The overgrown lizard tilts his backwards baseball cap further back over one of his horns and points one of his Almost Dragonic Brand Coin Swindling Power Gauntlets™ at the cameras in an enthusiastic salesman pose. “The hottessst carboard games your hard-earned geld can buy? Look no further.” Wyvern sticks out his forked tongue as a troglyodyte with a blowtorch peeks out from his position in the red box, firing the torch up for a moment to provide some proof to Wyvern’s statement. The reptilian reporter cocks a claw back and sneers. “Thisss little number, built in honor of Phoenix’s birthday and entitled ‘Flaming-Co.,’ is only 15 geld per game. Perfect for thossse with pesssky weenie awards that just won’t go away (hint hint).” The troglyodyte in charge of the blow torch fires it up again to demonstrate what sort of weenie damage it can really do, only to go wide eyed as the cardboard box begins to catch on fire. Wyvern grins and waves his gloved claw in a “nothing to see here” sort of way, clearing his throat loudly as he wanders off and leads the cameras to another cardboard gaming cubicle. “Or how about thisss relic of the past?” Wyvern taps a cardboard machine with the words “Text Based” written on the side with his wings, watching it wobble as the troglyodyte with Pen and paper manning the booth loses his notes. “Katzaniel’s Text-Basssed Game has been revived after a long absssence, and still playsss as well as it did 2 yearsss ago! Jussst don’t forget that the yellow bouncy ball is a sssymbol of the currency owed to Almost Dragonic Inc. for playing the game *ahem*” Wyvern’s neon jacket blinds the screens again for a moment as he turns to inspect some of the other cardboard consoles being offered, passing by the “I <3 Wyvern Fanclub” Game (which amounts to an empty box for Wyvern to seat himself in and a number of tickly feathers surrounding it as "play controllers") before arriving at an odd pink box labeled “Pom Pom Palace.” He scratches his scaly head over the box, having not seen it during this week’s set-up, and tilts his snout in to get a closer look at the two giant pompoms that seem to fill in the box’s central space…

Dawgrim stammers as he watches Triska chatter her way off set, his rigid tail going limp at the thought of the rumors spreading at a cheerleader rate. A few strands of stray white fur fall from the tip of Dawgrim’s snout as his mouth twitches from frown to grin to frown again. He hobbles forward, stumbling as he forgets his position on top of the soap box and accidentally tackling Blarr onto the floor in the process. The troglyodyte previously known as Evil Orcy doesn’t so much as flinch at Dawgrim’s collision, his face pale and continuously staring forward over the thought of what monstrous plotline he’d unleashed on the show. Dawgrim pays no mind to Blarr and quickly scrambles to his feet, getting the troglyodyte’s pant zipper caught on the tip of one of his wings and pulling the trousers with him as he turns to find Triska. “W-wait, Trissssk! I, Dawgrim, am officially coming out of the closssesst heterosexual goblin hunk tanning ssspa… that’sss what I was gonna sssay, see?! Come baaaack!” Dawgrim tilts his snout to the sky and slumps his shoulders in defeat when Triska pays him no mind, watching as she moves dead-center into a crowd of gossiping cheermates. Dawgrim’s scales droop as he turns back around to mope over his fate, only to suddenly perk up at the thought of a new degree of intimacy emerging from all of this. The goblin hunk reaches into his low-hanging pockets and pulls out an address book, which he flips through in an attempt to find an available spot between dates for a little heart-to-heart session with Triska... --- Next time, on Dawgrim’s Reek. *Cue montage of Dawgrim strapping a rainbow bandanna over his forehead, as if preparing for war* With Dawgrim’s sexuality up in the air, and Triska having already drawn her fair share of conclusions, our hero moves in to test the limits of his newfound approach. *Cue similar montage of Dawgrim strapping bright pink wristbands onto his scales* But with Dawgrim’s interest still focussed on Triska, will he blow his cover when the intimacy level reaches dangerous new heights? *Cue montage of Dawgrim attempting to strap on cow hide boots, only to fall over on his snout in an anti-climactic manner* Dawgrim’s Reek ep. 6: Blarrt-to-Heart

Last Friday, I went and saw the “I Heard It Today” tour starring Mr. Lif, Grieves & Budo, and Willie Evans Jr. at Bottom of the Hill in San Francisco. I must say, this show thoroughly exceeded my expectations, and I was expecting a good show. I got to the Bottom of the Hill (which is still my favorite venue in the Bay area by a mile) early, got some dinner and chatted with Willie Evans Jr. and Lif for a bit. The spot filled out pretty well by the end of the evening, and as always the sound quality and lighting of the venue were excellent throughout the performances. Willie Evans Jr. came out first to perform as the warm-up opening act. I wasn’t really as familiar with his material as I was with Mr. Lif or Grieves’s stuff, but I knew him by reputation and by the beats he’s produced for a number of solid hip hop artists including Mr. Lif. Anyway, Willie Evans Jr. put on an interesting set that incorporated projector screen visuals into the performance of the songs, and proved to be a good rapper in addition to being a good producer. Some notable moments of his set included a bit where he played a live performance video of Stevie Wonder and chopped up the video and vocals on the spot to rhyme over, and a song where he rapped over a beat that used the sounds of the NES game “Bionic Commando” while projecting a video of himself playing the game in the background. It struck me as a very creative set and I’ll be on the lookout for his stuff in the future. Grieves was the next to come out with Budo backing him up on beats and instrumentation, and they really killed it. I was skeptical about their set prior to seeing them perform at this show, since though I love their recorded material, the last time I saw them perform live at a Mac Lethal show they put on a pretty messy and lackluster set that left me unimpressed. It seems that they’ve learned from their mistakes and constant touring, however, as this time around they brought a very focused set of lively and interesting tracks that really held my attention and rocked the crowd pretty hard. They kicked things off with a great rendition of “Catapults” from their recent record, did some live standards of theirs like “Get Down,” and even got around to doing the track “Irreversible” which features Mr. Lif on a verse. A rare opportunity to see that track live, and it was done exceptionally well. Great set. Mr. Lif came out last, and reminded me what an amazing live performer and showman he is. Now that I think about it, this may be the first paid concert I’ve gone to where he’s been headlining, though I’ve seen him live for free at different rallies and events in the past and he’s always impressed me with his set. Still, this time took the cake for the best live set that I’ve seen from him… maybe because most of my favorite material of his has come out in the last few years. Coming hot off his brand new self-released album, he certainly showed the crowd how to wreck shop on the mic, and performed mostly tracks from his more recent records and two of the best songs from his old ones. Lif has a certain energy and bravado live that’s not present on his records, and he channels that energy into working up the crowd and getting hype on stage. He brought out Metro from the rap group S.A Smash as a hypeman and occasional rapper, and even got around to performing the hype S.A Smash track “Illy” with him to get the crowd bouncing. Lif also incorporated the projector that Willie Evans used into his set, which added another dimension to his music as well as some comic relief in the form of a scrolling list of taxes that Lif dubbed as being “bullshit” and a hilariously bad credit loan commercial that he wanted to show people. The highlight of his set was probably the rendition of one of his older tracks about an office work day, “Live From the Plantation,” where he threw on an old school hip hop track about going to work and danced to it while changing into work clothes. And yes, he did an amazing performance of the track as well. A really excellent show that exceeded expectations. Money well spent! Here’s a video of Lif performing one of the many stand-out tracks from his new record, “What About Us?”: