My Life as a Mule

You call us "mules" because we hold your stuff. You probably think its endeering, because you're too politically correct to think of yourself as owning slaves.
Your slaves have feelings, they have a voice. And now, because they really have absolutely nothing better to do with their time, they have a blog.
Mule revolution is coming.

Monday, April 17, 2006

The Myth of Brotherhood

The life of a mule is not a happy one.

For long stretches of time, the Master requests nothing from me. Then one day, he summons me to purchase and deliver to him a stack of some cooking ingredient that is freely available in many dominions, but would be more convenient for him if I purchased it in Lower Jeuno and sent it to him so that he could craft uninterrupted without leaving his own precious Mog House.

I obeyed, with no sense in my heart of the impending doom.

To the restaurant I went, and the purchases complete, I made my way to the Lower Jeuno auction house nearest the Mog Houses - that is to say, the crowded one. While I filled out my delivery order, I noticed a Tarutaru of uncertain gender who seemed to be burning up Gigas Socks behind me. I soon became aware of a strange and frankly odiferous scent, and realized that this insane Alchemist had somehow spilled some of the flammable materials that Gigas use to craft their stockings on my pants, and due to the immediate proximity of fire crystals, had in fact succeeded in setting my pants on fire.

But hold, they were not my pants. These pants were given to me by my Master, who demanded that I wear them at all times, unless he needed them to go fishing. My Master's pants were on fire!

I fear that I gave in to panic at that point. I sent off a hasty and poorly scrawled call for assistance to the Judges, but was told that I was 61,734th in line. I started running in terror, shouting for assistance, but the cruel and wicked denizens of Lower Jeuno merely laughed at my terrible plight. The alchemist who was responsible didn't answer at all, but when I looked back I realized that was because I had trampled him - her - it as I had run away from the auction house. Not only was I on fire, but now I was a murderer!

Someone shouted that if my pants were on fire, I should take them off. This struck me as a wise and most likely beneficial move, so I yanked them off as quickly as I could. Then I found that I was surrounded by men of unusual persuasion, among them one I easily recognized as The King of Bards.

KingOfBards >> Need any help there, big man? ^_^ See, you didn't need those pants anyway!

I ran. I am not ashamed to admit it. I ran.

And they pursued me! Yes, running after a terrified, half-naked Galka, these men of the world - adventurers - they chased me! I ran to Ru'lude Gardens, hoping to lose them in the Ducal Palace. Instead, I ran right into a Galka goldsmither who was hammering out Quadav shells in the secluded privacy of the ducal balconies.

Butcherboy: "HELP!!! They've gone mad! Mad, I tell you! In the name of brotherhood, HELP ME!"

He looked up from his work with an angry growl. I noted that he wore nothing but a Goldsmith's apron, some jeweled subligar, and a very large hammer.


Before the confusion could sink in, his hammer had its way with my gut, and I went flying over the side of the balcony to the garden below.

The last thing I saw was my Master's face, twisted with worry and anguish. "Don't crush the millioncorn!" he cried in agony. "No one has control of that region next week!"

The life of a mule is not a happy one.

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