The Golem Fight

A golem. I think I'm spelling that right. I'm not really trained to take on these things, having majored in Calc Studies, so I'm not even really sure what the hell they are. All I know is that it was like 3 storeys tall, built like the Michelin Man but made out of rock, and pissed off.

It was walking down the strip, well, THROUGH the strip, destroying everything it touched. I had only one plan and it wasn't a great one, as Matthews repeatedly let me know. The Bat was useless, of course, so it stayed behind. But I still had my dirtbike and several sticks of dynamite that I'd hauled up from some Calc-ridden crypt. And Matthews had the set-up for the ramp in my van. It was a perfect idea, but it also had to be executed perfectly.

And the plan was to ramp off with the lit dynamite strapped to the bike and hit the golem right in the throat, while I backflipped off the bike to safety. I've been practicing the backflip for a while now (ok, ATTEMPTING the backflip, it's hard to do) so I thought I was ready. I didn't know the timing on the fuses so I just eyeballed it.

Before I jumped, I gave my wallet to Matthews; I'm not sure why. There's not a lot in there but maybe it'd make it easier to identify me afterwards. We set up the ramp ahead of the thing's trail of destruction, so I just had to wait until I got a clear shot. And soon enough, that stony bastard's head was right in my sights. I only lit one stick of dynamite, thinking that the rest would go easy enough. I counted to 5 and then revved the engine.

I was airborne before I knew it and aimed right on the neck. It was perfect. But as I tried to dismount, my pant leg got caught up on the kickstand, so I was fighting that in free fall. I managed to get free but now I was just flying straight at the rock monster's crotch. I curled up into a little ball but still hit it pretty hard. And the bike was right behind me as I fell to the ground. I'd aimed it up dead on, apparently, but mis-timed the fuses. They were still lit and ready to blow as the bike landed right next to me.

I'm not sure exactly what happened next but I woke up in the sewer. I guess I rolled into a grate. Afterwards, I learned that the blast took out the bastard's legs and he fell over, so part of my plan worked. But then it just kept on crawling through the city until some other Adventurers finished it off with backhoes and bulldozers. Should've thought of that.

Live and learn. Earned enough from the city to finish paying off that old bike and start paying off a new one.

The Bone Beast

I finally met the Bone Beast today. I'd heard about it from other Adventurers but I never really gave it a thought. The thing is enormous, about the size of a semi truck. It's just a mass of Calcoid parts, all jumbled together. When it needs legs, it forms legs; when it needs arms, it makes arms. It's hard to just watch the thing without going crazy.

Then I heard the music, if you can call it that. My ears have been numb to normal sound since my days as bass player for "Ample Supply of Rusted and Disappointing Loot." (We rocked but there wasn't really a market for a band that sang about being disappointed back then. Maybe we could start it up now). Matthews described it as "atonal, flute-like, unearthly music," before he ran off. All I know is what I saw terrified me.

People who were listening to the "song" were doing just like the other guys said, immediately turning into Calcs. The goddamned clanky sons of bitches were just leaping out of the skin of the these people. And they just started dancing to the "song," like they didn't have a care in the world. It creeped the hell out of me.

I, well, I ran too. Too many Clankers.

Dirtbike Jumps

I've been doing lots of dirtbike jumps lately, since there ain't been a lot of clanky activity. Matthews declares them "badass" and I can't deny it. They are definitely badass dirtbike jumps. There's an art to it, and it helps with business. Like they call up an Adventurer and he comes flying into town off of a conveniently placed ramp. You have to place those ramps yourself, though, so you try not to let the clientile see you setting them up.

It's hell on the dirtbike though, I've gone through like three. Cost of business.

Not 'Blogging' for a awhile, guys

The dirtbike sped along the winding lane.
I saw the ledge and knew what must be done.
I took fierce flight but it was all in vain.
Jonesy Sawbones, zero. Gravity, one.

My leg was splintered right above the knee.
The bike burned bright, flames rising to the sky.
I was prepared to let my soul fly free
And go fight Calcs in the Great By-And-By.

But look! An ambulance! Oh, welcome sight!
I knew that I would die another day.
But doctors said I could not ride or fight
Or do anything awesome. What dismay!

Not being able to do what you love
is like a Calc hoarding a precious Glove.

-

Not gonna update because I think I'm accidentally writing poetry on account of the meds. I'll have to make sure later.

Hard Day

Hell.

I try to keep up with something -- this blog, for instance -- and I forget about it until something really shakes me up. Sometimes you just gotta say what's on your mind, you know?

So I was doing my thing in some filthy Calcoid dive, taking with me a fellow hunter who's been coming along more often lately.

While we were cleaning out a room, out of NOWHERE, this lone Calc jumped out and bit a huge chunk out of Donovan's arm. He screamed out, and I looked over, seeing a most terrible secret revealed.

Donovan's very flesh had been peeled back, and underneath, I could see the arm of a Calcoid!

He had been one of those filthy mongrels in disguise all this time!

He was probably trying to lull me into a false sense of security and planning to dispose of me once I trusted him enough to let my guard down.

The terror in that THING'S eyes as I smashed its head in with my trusty bat was almost believable.

I'll give it this, it was strong for a Calc. It took me a lot of swings to settle the matter with any real finality.

It makes me sick to think I called it friend.

I don't know how I'm going to break it to Mrs. Donovan that her husband was a Secret Calc Infiltrator.

Controversial Tactics

So I'm in the shop after a typically shitty haul, and some of the boys are having a rather loud argument.

I walk over to see what's going on, and I find out there is apparently some debate going on, about setting up "Trap Dungeons" for Calcs.

The process is pretty simple, actually: someone puts some rare items or gold in a dungeon filled with trap mechanisms, and sure enough, the Calcs rattle in like vultures to a corpse. Once the Calcs are caged, the owners of the dungeon sell the right to kill them to some sissies who are too afraid to hunt Calcs on their own.

I will be the first to say it's not sporting, but I also think its God-damned awesome.

Think about it: it's about time someone made some real money off of killing Calcs, and they don't deserve the respect we afford more noble creatures such as deer and boar.

I only wish I had the resources to start a dungeon myself.

I know who you are

That stupid son of a bitch went too far this time.

I was leaping down the stairs after I got a call from the DA who said he had Calcs in his closet, and the rest of his house.  I had The Bat strapped to my back, I hopped on my dirtbike and I was ready to go. Then I noticed my tires were flat.  Slashed, actually.  And the engine had a spray-painted Calc face on it.

Only one asshole would pull this kind of shit and it's not a fucking Calc.   Calaveras. That Calc-loving son of a bitch would do anything to slow me down.  He's all about getting the Calcs full rights and putting restrictions on killing those assholes.  Like we're gonna run out of Calcs. I swear that asshole is like one step ahead of me.  He's probably a Half-Calc, like that bitch from "Psycho."

And yeah, I just wheeled the bike to the service station, grinding the rims. It was too heavy to carry.