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By TERA STARFARE
October 15, 2006
Needless to say faithful readers the person that reported this vicious attack upon their person to me prefers to remain nameless but in the interest of warning all the good citizens of our fair city I thought it best to report all the details exactly as they were told to me dreadful and horrifying although they truly are! Beware of all SQUIRRELS!!!!
I never dreamed slowly cruising on my motorcycle through a residential neighborhood could be so incredibly dangerous! Little did I suspect — I was on Brice Street — a very nice neighborhood with perfect lawns and slow traffic. As I passed an oncoming car, a brown furry missile shot out from under it and tumbled to a stop immediately in front of me. It was a squirrel, and it must have been trying to run across the road when it encountered the car. I really was not going very fast, but there was no time to brake or avoid it — it was that close! I hate to run over animals, and I really hate it on a motorcycle, but a squirrel should pose no danger to me. Right?
I barely had time to brace for the impact. Animal lovers, never fear. Squirrels, I discovered, can take care of themselves very nicely! Inches before impact, the squirrel flipped to his feet. He was standing on his hind legs and facing my oncoming Valkyrie with steadfast resolve in his beady little eyes. His mouth opened, and at the last possible second, he screamed and leapt!
I am pretty sure the scream was squirrel for, "Bonsai!" or maybe, "Die, you gravy-sucking, heathen scum!" The leap was nothing short of spectacular… He shot straight up, flew over my windshield, and impacted me squarely in the chest. Instantly, he set upon me. If I hadn't known better, I would have sworn he brought 20 of his little buddies along for the attack. Snarling, hissing and tearing at my clothes, he was a frenzy of activity. As I was dressed only in a light T-shirt, summer riding gloves and jeans, this was a bit of a cause for concern. This furry little tornado was doing some damage!
Picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a T-shirt and leather gloves, puttering at maybe 25 mph down a quiet residential street, and in the fight of his life with a squirrel, and losing!
I grabbed for him with my left hand. After a few misses, I finally managed to snag his tail. With all my strength, I flung the evil rodent off to the left of the bike, almost running into the right curb as I recoiled from the throw. That should have done it. The matter should have ended right there.
It really should have. The squirrel could have sailed into one of the pristinely kept yards and gone on about his business, and I could have headed home. No one would have been the wiser. But this was no ordinary squirrel. This was not even an ordinary angry squirrel. This was an EVIL MUTANT ATTACK SQUIRREL OF DEATH!
Somehow he caught my gloved finger with one of his little hands and, with the force of the throw, swung around and with a resounding thump and an amazing impact, he landed squarely on my BACK and resumed his rather antisocial and extremely distracting activities. He also managed to take my left glove with him! The situation was not improved. Not improved at all.
His attacks were continuing, and now I could not reach him. I was startled, to say the least. The combination of the force of the throw, only having one hand (the throttle hand) on the handlebars, and my jerking back unfortunately put a healthy twist through my right hand and into the throttle. A healthy twist on the throttle of a Valkyrie can only have one result - Torque!
Torque is what the Valkyrie is made for, and she is very, very good at it. The engine roared and the front wheel left the pavement. The squirrel screamed in anger. The Valkyrie screamed in ecstasy. I screamed in, well. I just plain screamed.
Now picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a slightly squirrel-torn T-shirt, wearing only one leather glove, and roaring at maybe 50 mph and rapidly accelerating down a quiet residential street on one wheel, with a demonic squirrel of death on his back. The man and the squirrel are both screaming bloody murder.
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With the sudden acceleration, I was forced to put my other hand back on the handlebars to try to get control of the bike. This was leaving the mutant squirrel to his own devices, but I really didn't want to crash into somebody's tree, house or parked car. Also, I had not yet figured out how to release the throttle… my brain was just simply overloaded. I did manage to mash the back brake, but it had little effect against the massive power of the big cruiser.
About this time the squirrel decided that I was not paying sufficient attention to this very serious battle (maybe he was an evil mutant NAZI attack squirrel of death), and he came around my neck and got INSIDE my full-face helmet with me. As the faceplate closed part way, he began hissing in my face. I am quite sure my screaming changed intensity.
It had little effect on the squirrel, however. The RPMs on the Dragon maxed out (since I was not bothering with shifting at the moment), so her front end started to drop.
Now picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a very raggedly torn T-shirt, wearing only one leather glove, roaring at probably 80 mph, still on one wheel, with a large puffy squirrel's tail sticking out of the mostly closed full-face helmet.
By now the screams are probably getting a little hoarse. Finally I got the upper hand… I managed to grab his tail again, pulled him out of my helmet, and slung him to the left as hard as I could. This time it worked — sort-of — spectacularly sort-of — so to speak.
Picture a new scene. You are a cop. You and your partner have pulled off on a quiet residential street and parked with your windows down to do some paperwork. Suddenly a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a torn T-shirt flapping in the breeze and wearing only one leather glove, moving at probably 80 mph on one wheel, and screaming bloody murder roars by, and with all his strength throws a live squirrel grenade directly into your police car.
I heard screams. This time, thank goodness, they weren't mine! I managed to get the big motorcycle under control and dropped the front wheel to the ground. I then used maximum braking and skidded to a stop in a cloud of tire smoke at the stop sign of a busy cross street. I would have returned to "fess up" (and to get my glove back). I really would have. Really… Except for two things. First, the cops did not seem interested or the slightest bit concerned about me at the moment. When I looked back, the doors on both sides of the patrol car were flung wide open. The cop from the passenger side was on his back, doing a crab walk into somebody's front yard, quickly moving away from the car. The cop who had been in the driver's seat was standing in the street, aiming a riot shotgun at his own police car.
So, the cops were not interested in me. They often insist that we "let the professionals handle it," so I decided that discretion must surely be the better part of valor! What the heck! That was one thing. The other?
Well, I could clearly see shredded and flying pieces of foam and upholstery from the back seat of the cruiser. But I could also swear I saw the squirrel in the back window, shaking his little fist at me. That is one dangerous squirrel!!! And now he has a patrol car. A somewhat shredded patrol car… but it was all his!
I took a deep breath, flipped on my turn signal, made a gentle right turn off of Brice Street, and sedately left the neighborhood. I decided it was best to just buy myself a new pair of gloves, a new T-shirt — and a whole lot of Band-Aids.
The Valkyrie purred contentedly as we left the scene.
((Original Author Unknown))
For the Best Non-Magical
Weapons and Armor
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By LADY WYHEREE RAVENLOCK
Katarina DeGlause
During the wee hours of October 27, I was working my usual shift at the Inn. The crowd was sparse, so after making a new drink (something called a Kryponite Kooler), I took care to be sure those at the bar had drinks, and watched a very talented sword dancer execute the most incredible and difficult dance I have seen The Dance of the Apple Blossom.
As the dance was ending, I noticed my friend Lydia deep in discussion with a girl I had just met named Katarina. I thought I heard the word "cousin" said more than once. The longer the two ladies spoke, the more distressed Lydia became, so I kept a careful eye on my friend to be sure she was not is any danger. Finally, Lydia walked away from her cousin, only to Katarina follow her, her hand straying to the hilt of her sword. Then she drew the sword from its sheath, and leveled the blade at Lydia.
I have little tolerance for such behavior during my shift, so I asked Katarina to put the sword up, reminding her that any such actions during my shift were indeed my business. When Katarina ignored my request, I readied my magic in case the situation intensified. Then I felt a strange pulse an unfamiliar magic, coming from Katarina towards Lydia, so I aimed a narrow bolt of ice between the women to separate them.
Tara asked to speak with me then telling me that Katarina did not intend to harm Lydia, that she was just frustrated and angry, and asked me not to interfere. I agreed until I saw Katarina's sword raised high over a helpless Lydia. I did as I told Tara I would and the blade shattered as elemental ice struck it. Erinalle also made to rescue Lydia from
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her murderous cousin, only to be yanked to safety by another patron, Gideon. The Sword Dancer, Sadi, also drew a blade in defense of Lydia.
Katarina then tossed the hilt from her hand, and advanced on Lydia again. I could see a stone in her hand, which seemed to be the source of the earlier magic I felt. Tara blocked Katarina's movement by moving chairs and stools in her path while I aimed another narrow bolt of ice between the cousins. Finally, after realizing she could make no headway against Lydia while she was surrounded by friends, Katarina left the Inn and stalked into the night after snarling out threats to her weakened cousin.
Lydia Loran
Once the crisis was over, Tara commented that Katarina seemed to be mad not in control of herself. Erin took charge of Lydia's care, and helped her up to her room with the aid of the freshly arrived Connar. As Tara departed for the night, she asked that Lydia be protected until answers to why her cousin wanted her dead could be found, and I assured her that Lydia would not be left alone. As I made to phase back to the Sea Wolf, I saw that Lydia was indeed safe for the evening. When next I see Katarina, I will have many questions to ask her.
"When you need more than skin, Hellballs Leather Goods. After all, it's your hide you are protecting."
To place your order or for more information contact Woody Sprite. You can leave a message for him at the Red Dragon Inn.
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