#what is the alternative anyway

If you want a direct alternative there's Revolt, which is a free, open source discord clone.

Oh...

It's even worse than I thought.

Time to go back to IRC.

I recommend Element; it's very similar to Discord and has basically the same features but it's privacy-focused and both servers and DMs can both be encrypted so only the actual users of those rooms can read the messages.

This means unlike most popular chat apps, including and especially Discord, Element doesn't sell your conversations or tracking data to advertisers, because the company literally doesn't have access to that data in the first place.

I've used it for years and I think it's a natural fit for Discord users.

sighs. saves for later

If anyone is wondering why this is a reason to worry, the rumor is that Discord is looking to become a publicly traded company on the stock market. For (tech) companies, this usually means focus on improving (or even maintaining) the user experience is abandoned in favor of doing whatever the company thinks will result in short-term stock market gains, ie, enshittification.

The first time the hero comes through, he stops without so much as a hello.

“Greetings, traveler! Here to make a - ” the merchant starts to say, before the man cuts him off.

“Yes. Show me,” he says shortly.

The merchant eyes him, irritated, but opens up his pack to reveal what he’s got. Nothing much at the moment, a couple potions, a battered helmet, a semi-decent dagger, and a few loaves of bread and cheese.

The hero studies the goods, barely glancing at him. Finally, he points to the cheese and the potions, pulling out a sack of gold. “I’ll take those. You can have five swords, two basic armors, a bow, and a couple gems.”

Great. Because that’s going to be fun to carry, the merchant thinks. The hero still hasn’t said so much as a please or thank you.

“Nice weather we’re having, eh?” he says passive-aggressively as the hero pulls everything out of his own pack. It’s off-script and they both know it, and he instantly regrets it.

The hero blinks at him, startled, glancing up at the sky as though he just noticed it was there. “Er. I suppose it is, yes.”

The trader bites his lip and gives him a tight, polite smile, not trusting himself to speak again. They trade the goods and gold in silence, and as the hero closes up his bag again, the merchant says the send-off.

“Safe travels, adventurer!” he says, and if it’s a little too perky to be genuine, well, at least it’s on script.

The other man pauses briefly, as though caught off guard, before he seems to shake it off, hopping back on his horse and riding off without another word.

Ugh. Heroes.

…

He spots the same horse coming towards him a couple weeks later, on a different road, and sighs internally.

The horse stops before him, its rider clambering down. It’s definitely the same man, though he’s got slightly better armor now, and is armed with a battle-ax rather than a sword.

“Greetings traveler! Here to make a trade?” He asks.

The hero shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Hello, yes, I am,” he mumbles.

The merchant raises an eyebrow. “Oh, we’re not above saying hello anymore?” For heaven’s sake, what is wrong with me?? He wonders, cursing himself.

But the hero just blushes slightly, visible even under the helmet. “No, I’m not. I just…sorry.”

The trader flushes too. “It’s fine,” he mutters, quickly fumbling to open his pack and get this encounter back into familiar territory. He’s still got two of the swords from last time, plus a few healing and stamina potions.

The hero opens his own pack. “I’d like to sell this,” he offers, pulling out what the other man recognizes as his old armor. “And, uh… I’ll take one of those swords,” he says, pointing to it.

The merchant blinks. “One of…these swords?” He asks, confused.

The hero looks faintly irritated. “What other swords would I be talking about? Yes, one of those swords,” he snaps.

The merchant looks at the fine battle-ax strapped to the hero’s back, and then down at the crappy, slightly rusted junk swords the hero had just sold him two weeks earlier. “Okay, fine, weirdo, here’s your sword, again,” he says under his breath, handing him the marginally better of the two.

The adventurer looks at him with a strange combination of scandalized and fascinated. He takes the sword, passing him the gold for it, and turns to leave. At the last second, he spins on his heel back towards him. “Thank you,” he says awkwardly, and then turns quickly back and leaps on his horse, taking off.

“You’re… welcome?” The trader says, watching him gallop away down the road.

Huh.

…

He’s not particularly surprised to see the man again the following week, this time coming swiftly down one of the roads from the mountains. It’s hard to tell, but it almost looks like he perks up when he spots the merchant, his horse slowing down in front of him.

“Hello again,” he says, looking up at the man on horseback and deciding fuck it, he’s barely gotten the script right with this one anyway. “Haven’t been eaten by any dragons yet?”

The hero, to his surprise, grins. “Not yet.”

“Well…” he flounders a bit, not sure how to actually make conversation like this. “Good, then.”

The other man laughs, sounding startled. “Yeah, that’s how I look at it.”

He gestures to his bag. “So, would you like to make a trade?” he asks, grinning.

The rider suddenly looks…almost horrified. “I’m…I’m so sorry,” he stammers. “I don’t have anything to sell. I ran into another trader a couple days ago and I needed the gold, so I sold everything extra I had on me.”

The merchant shrugs, a little confused that he seems so upset. “It’s okay. Do you want to buy anything? I don’t have much with me, but I’ve got a few things.”

The hero brightens, and quickly slides down off his horse. He hurries over to the merchant, who offers his pack.

He’s low on inventory again, traveling light for the journey through the mountains. He’s only carrying a couple of arrows, a stamina potion, and a pair of basic boots.

But the hero barely glances at them. “I’ll take everything,” he declares, pulling out a large pouch of gold.

The merchant stares at him. “You don’t even have a bow,” he blurts out.  

The hero flushes slightly, but manages to stare him down. “Maybe I’m planning on getting one,” he says defensively.

The merchant opens his mouth, ready to argue, and then closes it again. What the hell, it’s less to carry anyway. He shrugs, accepting the gold and handing over the items.

The other man looks pleased. His boots, the merchant notices, are much nicer than the ones he just bought. He chooses not to comment, instead simply smiling at him. “See you around, then.”

The hero smiles almost shyly back, and reaches back for the reigns of his horse. “Yeah, I’ll…see you around.”

They part, and the merchant continues on up the mountain, his pockets heavy and bag light, his steps cheerful.

It was a good day.

…

The fourth time he sees the hero, he promptly freaks out.

The man is covered in blood, leaning heavily against the red-splattered coat of his seemingly uninjured horse.

He grins at the merchant, even though he looks exhausted. His face is pale and drawn, and there are dark circles beneath  his eyes.

“What the hell happened?” he demands, horrified.

The hero, oddly, smiles wider, though he looks a little sheepish now. “It’s really not as bad as it looks - ” he starts to say, but the merchant is already vigorously rooting through his bag.

He finds what he’s looking for, pulling out the only two healing potions he’s got on him. “Drink these,” he orders, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The bloodied man perks up at the sight, automatically extending his hand to take them. “Ah, thank the gods,” he breathes. “I was all out. Here, I’ll get my gold.” He twists towards his saddlebag with a grunt of effort, and the merchant can now see the giant claw gashes that rake down his shoulder and across his ribs.

The merchant shakes his head fiercely. “No, no, you’re not going to pay me, you’re injured. Just take the damn potions.”

The hero stares at him, the tiny bottles lying in his massive palm. “You’re just…giving them to me? You’re not selling them?”

He glowers back. “Obviously, you moron, you’re covered in your own blood.”

Still looking slightly befuddled, he closes his hand around the vials, holding them close to his chest. He pops the cork out of one, downing it in one go and making a face at the bitter taste.

Already, he can see the hero’s color improving, and he stands a little bit straighter as he swallows the second bottle. He sighs, the pinched, pained look on his face easing. He rolls his shoulder a bit, and the merchant can see under the armor that the skin is smooth once more. He looks at the merchant, a smile at the corner of his lips. “Thank you,” he tells him earnestly. “I won’t forget this kindness.”

The trader shrugs, feeling a little awkward. “Anyone else would do the same.”

The hero looks at him, all trace of the smile gone. “No,” he says seriously. “They wouldn’t.”

He opens his mouth as though to say something else, and then glances down at himself and pauses. He chuckles. “I should probably find an inn and clean up, shouldn’t I?”

The merchant snorts. “Unless you want what’s left of your armor to get all gunked up.”

He snickers too. “Yeah.”

“Well hey, I’ll keep an eye out for some nice new armor for you, if you’ve got the gold,” he tells him, jokingly dipping his voice into his script-tone.

The adventurer’s face flickers, looking almost uncomfortable. He smiles, but it looks forced. “Right.”

The merchant bites his lip, desperately looking for a way to get rid of the suddenly tense atmosphere. “Seriously though,” he finally says. “Keep your healing potions stocked, okay? I don’t want you showing up again looking like you’ve been a wolf’s chew toy.”

The other man grins. “I definitely will.”

He turns back to his horse, wrinkling his nose and swiping at the dried blood on its coat. Finally, he climbs up, and the other man is relieved to see him moving fluidly and painlessly. He looks down at the merchant, his cheeks pink. “I’ll see you soon.”

The merchant watches him ride off, and believes it.

…

It’s almost six months before he sees him again, long enough for him to be concerned, but finally the merchant is sitting at the side of the road, a cloth with his goods laid out across it in front of him, when he sees the very familiar horse coming at a steady, swift speed towards him.

The trader straightens up, a smile tugging at his lips as he sees him coming. It fades as the horse gets closer, and he sees the rider’s expression. He looks different than before, strangely focused. He seems…determined.

He’s swinging down off the horse almost before it fully stops, and marches over to the other man. “I brought you something,” he blurts out before the merchant can even greet him.

He blinks at him, and gets to his feet to face him. “You did?” he asks curiously.

The taller man thrusts his hand out. He opens his fingers, and a necklace slips between them to land in the merchant’s palm.

He stares down at it, puzzled. The chain is golden, and there’s dirt caught in the links, like it had been buried at some point. But the part that really catches his eye is the green gem that hangs from it, wrapped in delicate golden tree branches. He studies it. It’s dusty, like the chain, but nonetheless there’s a glow to it, as though lit from within.

“It’s lovely,” he murmurs. “It looks…elven?”

He looks up at the hero for confirmation, and finds the other man is watching him, his eyes so bright they look as though they could hold the same light as the stone.

“It is,” he tells him. “It’s a Life stone.”

The merchant’s lips part in shock, and he stares back at him. “It’s not,” he whispers. “It can’t be. They’re a myth, they don’t exist.”

There’s a smile like sunshine spreading across the adventurer’s face, proud and warm. “They do. They do, and I found one. It took me awhile, but I found it, and now I’m giving it to you. As long as you wear this, nothing can harm you, ever.” He’s positively beaming by now.

“How - but - what - you can’t give this to me,” the merchant gasps, reaching out and trying desperately to hand it back. “You need this, I’m a trader, I don’t need it!”

But the hero refuses to take it, just gently pushes it back towards him. “I want you to have it,” he says softly, “because I want you to come with me.”

The merchant freezes, eyes growing wide. “What do you mean come with you?” he breathes, a bubble of hope and fear and something else, something warm and giddy, rising up within him until he feels like he could burst with it.

“I mean,” and he reaches out, wrapping his hands around the merchant’s and the necklace, clasping them and holding them as though his hands are as precious as the gem within. “Come with me. Ride with me. Go on adventures, with me,” he says, and the merchant sees his own hope and fear and that same warmth reflected back at him in the other man’s eyes.

“I’m not supposed to do that,” he says softly.

The adventurer’s eyes twinkle with mirth. “You’re not supposed to go off script and sass the adventurers who come to trade with you either, but here we are.”

And at that the merchant laughs, feels the bubble within his swell and burst, spilling out without his consent, his joy too big to be contained.

Gently, he pulls his hands away from the hero, and sees the worry and insecurity flash across the other man’s face. He looks down at the pendant in his hands, the green that glimmers up at him.

“It’s a good trade,” the new adventurer murmurs, and he puts the chain around his neck, feels the the gem settle against his heart. He looks back up at his companion, his own eyes shining. “I’ll take it.”

The other hero’s face splits into the most blinding grin he’s ever seen in his life, and he can feel it mirrored on his own as their hands link together, and he’s led over to the horse.

“Wait!” He cries suddenly, pulling away to rush back to his mat. Quickly, he sits down, pulling on the pair of leather boots he was going to sell. He hesitates over the armor, knowing he doesn’t really need it, and decides to leave it for the next hero or trader who comes through. Instead, he simply picks up the simple sword, strapping it to his hip as he walks back to his companion.

The other man makes a face at the sword when he sees it. “We’ll find you something better, I’m sure.”

“That’s okay,” the new adventurer says as he’s helped onto the back of the horse. “I know all the best places to trade.”

My father is a classic layabout lazy bastard. He's the guy that people try to stereotype people on benefits as when they call them "dole bludgers". Sits in a filthy house all day whining that his wife won't clean it up, gets a great idea for a new business every few months and gives up after two weeks when it becomes clear that starting a business is hard, does everything he can to avoid doing a single scrap of work in life, uselessly drags his feet when the government forces him to actually do some.

Or at least, he was, until about three years ago, when he was sent off to do mandatory Work for the Dole at a volunteer organisation. He'd done a lot of Work for the Dole in the past, of course, and like most people who are forced to do a shitty job under the threat of starvation, was neither enthusiastic nor particularly useful. But in this particular place, he was given a job that he could do better than anyone else (he was one of 2 men working with a legion of elderly women, and the only person able to easily haul around the heavy goods that the organisation works with). He quickly found himself with a job he could understand, he could see the clear utility in, and that his coworkers greatly valued him for. He started arriving on time every day, putting in the effort, getting shit done. He started caring about the results. And when his Work for the Dole time was up, he kept volunteering.

He's one of two people paid to work in that warehouse now (the other person being the manager), and he's a lynchpin of activity there, their sole regular and reliable source of physical labour. When he takes holidays, they have to plan around it, because his consistent hard work has become such a critical asset to their work. And he's not taking nearly as many holidays as he should -- he works extra unpaid hours, lifts loads that are somewhat heavier than he should be lifting, shoulders the work of others when they need breaks, and we all have to urge him to take more days off for his health since he's not a young man any more. For my entire life this man has been a pile of old mud in the shape of a human, and the instant he found a job that fulfils his needs, he won't fucking stop. He's gonna die in that warehouse and die happy.