Tag Archives: humor

A Musical Interlude…

With apologies to REO Speedwagon, and in tribute to E. Gary Gygax, who believed that the entire room should be against you…

I can’t fight this piercer any longer
And yet, it clearly will not let me go
Its grip upon my innards has grown stronger
And the danger that I’m in is gonna grow
Cause the piercer was itself stuck to a lurker
Above, and it is coming down below
And it’s bringing with it some darkmantle buddies
And my hit points are about to reach zero…
But even as I stagger, I keep the priest in sight
He’s got some healing magic, and we just might win the fight
But he’s backing out the doorway, running off in fright

And I just can’t fight this ceiling any more…

References

http://www.toplessrobot.com/piercer.jpg

http://codinginparadise.org/images/lurkerabove.jpg

http://www.d20srd.org/srd/monsters/darkmantle.htm

(This was done in about 10 minutes, once the wretched pun hit me, so it might not be up to Weird Al standards. Pay me what he gets, and you get work of his quality. Pay me nothing, and you get this.)

Very Short Tales Of Non-Adventure, Part 1

For  a while, I’ve had in the back of my head assorted tales of things not going according to trope, mostly for the fun of it. Here’s the first, hastily scribbled (if a keyboard counts as scribbling) in an ICU waiting room a few days ago. At some point in the future, I might edit/polish it up a bit, or a lot, but for now, it meets the standard of quality I’ve always aspired to for this site: Free, and worth every penny.

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The tavern was old, dating back at least to the Second War Of The Four Lords, though some claim it was built on the spot where an even older building had burned down. Dark smoke curled like grapevines around the rafters, filtering the red, flickering, light from a dozen torches set around the walls. A crimson glow emanated from the kitchen, as did the smell of roasting meat and the sounds of the innkeeper barking orders at his apprentices.

The four of them sat in silence, the silence that comes from old comrades who know each other so well that communication doesn’t require words. Drerigari, the oldest, was eye-level with her oversized and overflowing stein, the benches here not being built with dwarven anatomy in mind. Gallian, sometimes called Blueknife or Bleeding Wind, seemed to slip in and out of the shadows, occasionally startling a server when one stopped by. Cerridian of Dry Lake was her opposite; loud, boisterous, and seemingly incapable of keeping still. Last was Sir Jerrem Mornfeld. Technically, he no longer merited the “Sir”; his oaths of service long-since voided by a matter of honor, but few would dare tell the huge man that, even if he was momentarily not wearing his almost legendary suit of giant-forged armor. He was, after all, still carrying a greatsword made of red crystal, one which muttered in dead languages and reeked of old blood.

Most of the tavern’s other patrons were wise enough to stay well away from them; even if the four lacked any malicious intent and wanted nothing but a quiet drink, everyone knew their kind, and those who drew near to such types would find themselves sucked in to their activities, intentionally or not. It was simply how things worked, as sure as the turning of the seasons. One old man, though, perhaps so old he no longer cared about his fate, pulled a chair over to their table and sat down, facing them.

The four exchanged glances. By unspoken decision, it was Sir Jerrem who spoke for the group this time.

“May we… help you?” he asked, his voice measured and eerily calm.

“No, no, no, no, yes… I can help you!” said the newcomer. “Heard you was going along the Old North Road, towards Crownbreaker Ford.”

Sir Jerrem nodded, gesturing for the man to continue. Though none but her allies saw it happen, one of Gallian’s unguessably large collection of knives made its way to the palm of her hand.

“Well, just thought I’d warn you, then, ‘bout the bandits!”

“Bandits.” Jerrem’s voice was now flat.

“Oh, aye. Small army of them. Hardly anyone can travel up the Old North Road. The weak they just plain rob bare, the strong pay a ‘toll’ to avoid too much trouble. Terrible thing.”

Drerigari snorted. “Have you no guards in this town? No patrols? No warriors?”

“Aye, of course we do! But the bandits don’t come out when they spy a great force of armed men tromping about, and we can’t root them out of their hidey-hole. No one knows where ‘tis, for one!”

Cerridian tossed a coin in the air, where it seemed to vanish, then casually plucked it from behind the old man’s ear. “So, a noseless hound could follow this trail. You know where they are, and you’ll tell us… for a small fee.”

“No, no, no, yes, a small one. Very small.”

Negotiations then commenced. When they were done, the old man left happily, and the four took out an old parchment map.

“Those bandits are ill news for this poor town”, whispered Gallian.

“True. Most trade has to go up and down that road. The bandits are causing these folk much misery.” Jerrem finished off  his drink.

“Well, there’s the place the old man described.” Cerridian’s finger circled a small squiggle on the map. “An old mill. Probably part of the remains of a great castle, filled with twisty underground passages.”

Drerigari snorted with laughter. “I know something of that! I’ll bet there’s warrens all through these woods. Using them, those bandits can pop up anywhere, anywhere at all. Clever rodents. Hm. I wonder what else might be lost deep down among those ancient halls?”

Gallian studied the map some more. “Can you guess the likely bounds of these tunnels?”

Drerigari’s finger traced a complex line around the map. Sir Jerrem followed after with a pen, making quick marks. They all looked at the completed project.

“I think I see what we have to do”, said Jerram. “I don’t like it, but we all know it’s the only way.”

Cerridian flipped a slim blade into the air, caught it, and stuck it back into his boot. “Yes. We’ll end up being a day late for our meeting, but if we go here,” he tapped the map, “and then here, we’ll completely skirt the bandits’ territory. We got our coin’s worth from the old man.”

Sir Jerrem began to fold the map. “We certainly did. One pointless distraction avoided, at any rate.”

The group departed the inn, completely avoided the highwaymen, and made it to their meeting in the capital without any incident, though they were mildly rebuked for their lateness.

The end.

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Rereading this, it occurs to me this band might someday run into Haldebard.

Learning The Ropes

Once more, continuing the slow process of restoring the fiction from the previous incarnation of this site… not sure why it wasn’t all brought over during the great migration, but, oh well. Today’s exciting adventure is a morally uplifting Horatio Alger type tale of a young woman who pulls herself up by her bootstraps to attain success in a traditionally male dominated field, making it appealing to liberals and conservatives alike.

Learning The Ropes

The young woman settled comfortably into the leather chair, and tried to look warmly – but not too warmly – at the paunchy, thin-haired man across the desk. Her blouse was unbuttoned just enough to be attractive without seeming slutty, and her auburn hair was almost, but not quite, perfectly styled. Her smile was practiced and perfect.

The man, whose nameplate declared he was Mr. Smith, sighed and made a show of looking at her resume. He coughed once, flipped the pages, then sighed again.

“Uhm, look, Miss…”

“Harcourt.”

“Yes, right, Miss Harcourt. Says it right here, ha ha, should have seen that”, he added in a dull, humorless, monotone, as if reading a joke off an invisible teleprompter. “I’m not sure you’ve come to the right place. We deal in, ah…”

She smiled again, almost genuinely. “‘Unique opportunities for talented individuals interested in working for future and current leaders in a variety of specialized industries’. I read your website.”

“Yes, well, the boys in marketing cooked that up very nicely, but I’m not sure you fully understand. Our..our clients demand a great deal of very special services.” He paused, then added for emphasis. “Very special.”

She nodded. “I have no problem with that.”

He rolled his eyes. “Let’s be clear..I’m not talking about sex. At least, not any normal kind.”

She nodded again. “I know. Look, I’ve done my research. How do you think I even found this place? I know what you do, and I know what I want. I think you’ll see I’m quite qualified.”

He glanced at the resume again, this time actually reading it. “Hmmm…black belt, sixth dan…not bad. Qualified on a variety of aircraft, I see. Just missed the Olympic biathalon team. Uhm…it says here you failed to complete your graduate work in biochemistry at MIT. Why was that, precisely?”

She paused and searched for the right words. “Ethics issues.”

“Yours or theirs? The ethics, I mean.”

Her face darkened. Genuine emotion showed through the cracks. “Those ignorant fools had no idea of the potential of my work! If they only understood…” she paused, coughed demurely. “We disagreed on certain elements of the moral boundaries of post-functional biological experimentation.”

He put the resume down. “In other words, they caught you mutilating corpses.”

She shrugged. “It may have been something like that. Does it matter?”

“Only a bit. You’re quite unlikely to be involved in that kind of work right off, you know. You have no real credentials in this field, and our clients will be more interested in your directly practical abilities. They tend not to value the input of new hires into the running of their operations.”

She folded her hands. “I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut when I have to.”

“Hmm. Well, frankly, openings at the moment are poor, but I think I can find some work for you. Uh… before I put your resume in front of prospective employers, though, I need to make sure there’s no particular fields you won’t work in. Do you have any quirks I ought to know about? Women, children, old men, kittens, genocide?”

She shook her head. “Not really, no. Not if the pay’s good and everyone’s up-front about what they’re doing.”

He let out a long breath. “Right. Fine. There’ll be some more detailed examinations, of course, but I think we can work with you.” He held out a clammy hand. “Welcome to the minioning biz.”

Continue reading

Two Cows, Special Lizard Edition

You Have Two Cows…

I’m sure everyone’s familiar with the “Politics explains by two cows” meme which was faxlore long before the Internet was invented.Over on RPG.net, there’s a thread which does the same for games. Because I am vain and egotistical, I decided to add an entry focusing on some of the games I’ve written…

Iron Lords Of Jupiter: When your Earth bull landed on the strange world jupiter, it had no idea it would fall madly in love with the Avalliania, the mysterious princess of the Green Cow people, and face endless trials as he struggled to protect her from the evil cows of the Iron Empire.

D20 Mars: Pretty much the same, just use “Mars” and “White Apes”.

GURPS: Lands Out Of Time: You thought you had prepared for the expedition well, but then a tyrannosaur ate your two cows.

GURPS: Tales Of The Solar Patrol: The Earth colonies on Venus are stricken with a lethal plague which is slaughtering their cattle! You are rushing two cows, selectively bred for generations to be immune to all disease, from the asteroid belt to Venus, when a fleet of pirate vessels appears on the astro-scope! Raise the nega screens and charge the atom guns! No matter the risk, the cows must get through! In the name of the PATROL!

Fields Of Blood: You can either spend the Resource Points to raise cows to feed your peasants, or you can buy another unit of light infantry and try to take your neighbor’s rich pastures for yourself…

Earth Delta: You will have two cows, and they’ll be totally awesome mutant cows with everything. At the moment, though, you’ve got one cow, and a note which says that second cow design is being heavily playtested and will be published shortly.