Imagination is everything…
Archive for November, 2008
Holy Spam Batman
Nov 18th
This morning I woke up to find my inbox full of emails asking me to moderate comments. Considering the current visitor rate on the site, I wasn’t surprised to find that all of these coments were spam.
To be proactive, I’ve activated the Akismet Plugin. This plugin will filter comments as they come in and only post comments which it knows aren’t spam. Now, your comments might be picked up as spam at first, so I’ll be reviewing comments marked as spam on a daily basis.
Akismet is supposedly a smart program that learns from its mistakes so, as time goes on, it should be making less mistakes, all the while making my life a lot easier. 
Who Will Make Our Shawarmas Now?
Nov 17th
Tonight we saw one of the most epic battles that I’ve ever seen in DnD, and it came with some good and bad surprises.
First, the group was able to convert an enemy to their ranks. Bharash, a Dragonborn Warlock, will now be accompanying the group during their weekly adventures. Welcome Bharash, hope you have fun!
Second – and this is the sad one - Omar, the death-prone 50 year old elf, died during the battle today. His unconcious body was burned to a crisp as a skelleton blew up beside him during battle. This caused his total hit points to drop below the negative value of his bloodied state, which means he is pretty much un-resurectable.
Omar, with all your misfortune, its only fitting that you die once again. We hope you Rest in Peace, although much of the dead have been doing quite the opposite lately…
Strawberries & Secrets
Nov 13th
After several seconds, the pain in Jecthor’s abdomen had grown to an almost unbearable level. Herman quickly circled him and, using his staff, gave three quick taps on the courier’s back. As the third tap hit Jecthor’s back, he let out a loud, pink-coloured, strawberry-smelling belch. The burp was loud enough that it resonated with Herman’s kettle, causing it to spill over to the side.
“Uhh… what was that?!” Jecthor asked in a demanding tone.
“Oh relax,” Herman said, “your skin isn’t purple!”
“What?!”
“Calm down! It was nothing lethal, and you’d only be purple for about a week,” Herman said, trying to console the young man. “It’s actually the base alchemical fluid stage that i am stuck at. After that it’s the different components needed for each different effect. According to the book, knowing you got the base potion right is by drinking a sample and see if your skin becomes purple… or was it blue… hmm, maybe pink… Regardless, I think I may have used too much Otyugh dung in that last brew…”
Otyugh dung? Jecthor decided his stay here has come to an end, storm or not.
“Uhh, Herman, sir. I err… believe it is time for me to head off. I must return to Fort Caspien.”
Herman nodded slowly. “Eh? Allright. I must return to my work. Go, go, and close the door please.”
The old wizard, still ignoring the letter Jecthor had brought, walked the courier out. Jecthor stood outside in the stormy weather, the rain having eased its fierce pour. As he walked out of the forest and back on the road to Fort Caspien, Jecthor pondered into his thoughts.
What kind of research is this madman doing? He thought, wiping the rain from his brow. I saw no library or no alchemy lab, just a crazy old coot. I do not know what business General Minso has with him, but as far as i am concerned about this codger is that maybe he really is just some old crazy hermit.
Jecthor felt his stomach rumble and let out another small burp, which again tasted like strawberries.
***
Herman watched the courier walk away, then headed towards an unlit sconce at this kitchen wall with his book tucked underneath his arm. He pulled the object sideways and a wall panel slid away. He took a nearby torch and walked down some stairs until he reached a room.
In that room was a few alchemist’s benches with beakers and vials of different shapes and sizes, some of them containing a sort of liquid bubbling near burners. There was also a few dusty bookcases with various books, letters and scrolls all neatly arranged. Indeed, Herman kept himself a wizard’s study, but preferred the more subtle abode of a house. After all, what better way to announce a wizard’s home than a big tower.
Feeling tired, Herman set down the book on a small table and went to his bed nearby.
As he slept, a dream of the past flooded his mind.
Stone Legends
Nov 13th
Ivel, Piknen and Dugar walked down a large hallway, lined on each side by massive stone statues representing various dwarves of times past. The hall of Heroes, as it was called, was located within one of the deepest tunnels of Adgad. While the walls were naturally formed ages ago, the floor was a smooth and polished marble, tended to meticulously on a daily basis.
The hallway finally ended at a large doorway situated between the two legs of a giant, seated representation of a dwarf far more stunning than the many heroes – a representation of the dwarven god, Moradin.
Two stout, heavily armored dwarf guards stood with battleaxes crossed, guarding the door. Dugar walked in front of his companions and spoke, “We come seeking audience with the elder, Lacidin.”
“What be your reason to see the elder?” asked one of the guards, the one who’s helmet had a giant spike pointing straight up.
“We heard of the mission to Tarra. We got some heavy hammers and axes ready to cleave any nasties that need cleaving.” Dugar and his companions held up their respective weapons and smacked them on their shields at that.
“Very well,” said the guard, “you may enter.”
The two guards opened the door to reveal a large chamber that truly bespoke greatness. What was once the room reserved for the king of Claddigen upon his visits to Adgad was open before the three companions. Runes written in the dwarven tongue riddled the walls, accompanied by sculptures, speaking of great battles fought and won in times past. These sculptures were carved of the finest mithral mined within the deepest bowels of the kingdom. Luxurious tapestries depicting dwarven heroes cleaving the heads off of orcs, goblins and giants lined the back wall; before it stood a large throne of solid mithral – the throne of the king of Claddigen.
The room itself was a giant shrine to the dwarf god Moradin, for it was said that faith in him ran strongest in Adgad than in any of the other dwarven cities.
In front of the throne, however, was a simple chair made of stone, in which sat a gray bearded dwarf. Dressed in fine silk clothing colored bright yellow was the clan elder, Lacidin. Out of respect for the kings of old, he refused to sit on the throne. His chair was normally reserved for the King’s advisor upon his visit, and all other times for the High Priest of Moradin; but since the split between the clans, it now acted as the seat of the clan elder.
“Welcome, young ones,” said Lacidin in an old, withered voice, “what brings you here?”
At that, Ivel approached first, with a fist to his chest, “We come in answer to your request for hardy folks for the mission to Tarra.”
Piknen followed suit, with his fist to his chest, approaching the elder as well, “Our axes and hammers be itchin’ ta kill vile things ta aid the clan.”
“Ah…” the elder got up from his chair slowly. Although he appeared as strong as any dwarf with his large frame, his old bones had recently begun to wither with his old age, “it pleases me to see such vigor in the young, but I fear there are already some who have answered this call, and I cannot afford to send more than three of the clan to Tarra on this mission.”
Dugar opened his eyes wide at that, “but Lacidin, we have trained long and hard to serve the clan. Is there any way we could then join those who have already answered. There would be strength in numbers.”
“Ah young Gedoon,” started Lacidin, “your father helped us much in times past. He was a great friend of mine. Now he can’t even recognize me, with his memory gone as it is,” said Lacidin, gazing at the tapestries in the back, as if remembering times long gone. “I can sense the same fire and passion within you that he had about serving this clan. I think I can make this one exception and allow you to accompany the others. I will send a guard to inform them that you three will accompany them. You can meet them at the Old Stone just outside Adgad at highsun. They can explain the details of the mission to you then.”
“Thank you elder,” said Dugar, “we will join these fellows and serve Moradin well in this endeavor.”
With that, Piknen, Dugar and Ivel hit their chests with their fists, bowed, and made their way out.
***
The door to the throne room closed shut with a dry thud. Inside, Lucadin struggled to sit back in his small stone chair, breathing heavily as his many years weighed upon him.
His mind wandered for a second, lost in the legends written over every corner of the room, and then he began to think about what he had just done.
Stop it, he though to himself. There is no need to think of such things…
He looked back up at the statues of old, forcing his mind to think of better days, when a mysterious figure stepped out of the shadows behind him.
“Good work, Lacidin,” whispered the figure, “your clan might be spared after all.”
Lacidin could only sigh, his head down in shame.
