Boredom contra Rage, Twenty-Eighth Aphorism

Pity is the virtue of losers.
Mercy, the gift of the courageous.
Pride, the condition of generosity.

Boredom contra Rage, Twenty-Seventh Aphorism

To be truly miserable, to be tragic as gods: How else could we ever know happiness or success? Polytheism knew well the benefits and dangers of how to forget: with fire, iron, blood. It is a virtue that is an “unknown unknown” among us.

Torsche “HUNGERFIELD” Veragaard.

I am Torsche Veragaard, but most simply call me Hungerfield. Treasure-hunting is my profession. Really though, I simply like to experience new and sometimes forbidden planets because I like being where no one has been or where none are allowed to go.

My family is large. I am the youngest of four brothers and four sisters. I love my family but I had to leave their home on earth. My siblings came in sets of twins. First Andrew and Chris were born; identical twins. Then Edith and Rebecca, also identical. Next, Sophie and Stannislav. And finally, Zack and Triana.

Skip to my mother’s death and I am born. My mother, Linda Bloom, was an animal trainer and veterinarian. She married my father, Olaf Veragaard, a genetic engineer. It took him a long time to warm up to me, if he ever did …

I am on good terms with my family. The brothers all became rocket scientists and the sisters all became artists. As a young child, I made friends with a group of sprites that lived in the forest near my family’s industrial farming complex. They took me to their homeland, taught me their language, and showed me how to be a spritely warrior. I spent what seemed to be a lifetime among my sprite friends, whom my family referred to as “imaginary”—but they just turned invisible when my siblings came around. When I returned from the sprite homeland, I discovered that several years had passed, that I had been declared missing and presumed dead. I also discovered that during my absence my father had died.

Upon returning home, a strange ship crashed about 3 miles away from our farm. It contained hideous aliens that killed and destroyed many of the animals and workers on our farm. My family and a few workers survived because my “imaginary” friends and a mysterious nymph (whom I fell irreversibly in love with) fought them off as a boon to me for adventuring with them. I have nightmares and sleepless nights when I dream of the aliens.

I keep to myself when no one else is around.

No, I have never killed anybody.

I want to learn alien languages and marry the mysterious nymph who saved me and my family from the aliens.

I wield a whip, bolas, net, greatsword, my fists and feet, and mithral breast plate. I wear a t-shirt that says, “NO FAT CHICKS.”

I do good if I can. At least, I do no evil.

Good can arise spontaneously or be so cultivated by method. True good is to create a method that accomplishes lots of “little good” spontaneously.

I freak out when I’m near cold-iron. To touch it causes me terrible agony.

My passions are danger and play.

I’m good but I’m not a paladin about it!

Boredom contra Rage, Twenty-Sixth Aphorism

Monotheism always creates itself out of a Wrathful God, that is, a Resentful God. A petty God who is a banker-judge, who keeps exact accounts (of pain, sin, trauma) and exacts payment in full, often with severe interest (“seventy times seven”). A God of archive and memory–God of civilized culture.

Boredom contra Rage, Twenty-Fifth Aphorism

Rage never treats anger as a decoration, polished like a trophy in a glass case.