Creative Writing – Page 6

Notes on Physics

The Probability Maxim: All possibilities are played out somewhere in Probability.

The Probability Paradox: Probability travel links universes into continua that invalidate the Probability Maxim. First noted by the Wyrm philosopher Ryzan in 720 BC.

Artonic Quantum Theory: Artonic energy can only be expended in discrete units or quanta. This limits the amount to which Probability can be fractured, thus restricting which universes can be reached from any given universe and creating multiple interlaced continua – thus preserving the Probability Maxim. Disproven when the energy value of the Artonic Quanta was shown to be beneath the minimum necessary to fracture Probability.

Meta-Probability Theory: Championed by Zurvár physicist Àeksùl this theory proposed a second dimension of Probability, creating continua inaccessible to standard Artonic Probability travel. Fell into disfavour after the death of Àeksùl in his tragic laboratory disaster.

Harmonic Probability Theory: Probability can only be fractured in discrete units, restricting what universes are accessible and creating multiple interlaced continua – thus preserving the Probability Maxim. The currently accepted solution to the Probability Paradox.

The Russian Village

When I was kid I was really in to the paranormal (I still am, although I like to think I’m a lot less credulous today than I was back then). At school we had a book club where they’d hand out a catalog three or four times a year and (if you could convince your parents to fork over the cash) you could put in an order, and a couple of months later the books would arrive and get handed out. Now and then the catalog would contain books about monsters, ghosts and other “unexplained mysteries” and I’d always convince my parents to buy them for me.

In one of these books – it had a rowboat being capsized by the Loch Ness Monster on the cover – there was a story that has always stuck with me.

It was about an isolated village in Russia. Just over the hill from this village was another village that had once been run by monks, but in the middle ages there’d been an investigation by the Tsar’s troops who’d discovered that the Monks were devil worshipers and had put them all to the sword. Ever since, the village had been abandoned, and even though it was surrounded by fertile land the locals wouldn’t graze their sheep on it because it was ‘cursed’. The buildings were mostly collapsed, but the church belltower was still standing on one side of the village square, which was surrounded by stone benches.

The only people who used to go to the ruins were the local youths who’d prove how brave they were by trying to run from the top of the ruins to the bottom and then back between when the sun started to set and when the last rays left the belltower. There were all kinds of stories about what would happen to anyone who failed, but no one ever came to any harm, although no one would visit the ruins after sunset.

Now supposedly in the late 1800s a teacher named Swerts was sent to the village by the government to help “modernise” the area. He’d been brought in from Germany and was highly dismissive of the Russian peasants and their beliefs. When he learnt about the ‘cursed’ ruins, he decided that he was going to prove there was nothing to the story, and announced that he was going to spend the night there. The locals tried to talk him out of it, but he was insistent and eventually convinced some of them to assist him. They set out in the afternoon before a night of the full moon, and helped him get into the belltower by stacking up some of the benches from the square. They then hurried away, promising to come back and help him down the next morning.

When the sun came up they headed back to the ruins. They reached the square and called for Swerts, but he didn’t respond. After some nervous discussion two of the bravest men climbed up into the tower. On the top floor they found Swerts, huddled in a corner in terror with his arms wrapped around his head, weeping quietly and whimpering under his breath.

They couldn’t get any sense out of him, but they managed to get him down the tower and into the square. Here he went into hysterics, shrieking in German and apparently gesturing at the piled up benches. In the end one of the villagers had to knock him out, and they carried him back to the village.

After several weeks there was no change in Swerts’s condition, so the villagers sent a message to the authorities. A new teacher was sent out, and Swerts was sent back to Germany, where he was confined to a lunatic asylum in Cologne. No one dared to visit the ruins again, and after the Soviets came to power the site was cleared and the land put back into production.

As I said, this story stuck with me for some reason, always floating around in the back of my head. As I got older I discovered that most of the stories in the book were excitingly rewritten but exaggerated accounts of well known (and often completely debunked) ‘paranormal’ incidents, but I never found any other references to that particular one.

Then a few years back a friend of mine moved to Germany for work and ended up living just outside Bonn (which is just down the road from Cologne). I jokingly asked if he could say hi to Swerts at the local lunatic asylum for me, and in the resulting discussion ended up telling him the whole story. It turned out that one of the friends he and his wife had made was a member of the local historical society and he’d said he’d ask her if any records were available.

It turns out that there was a lunatic asylum just outside Cologne in the late 19th century, and although it was destroyed during World War II some of the records survived. Looking though these (they’d recently been digitised) she found that a teacher named Ralf Swartz was admitted to the asylum in 1882 with ‘hysterical paralysis’ after a trip to Georgia. He remained an inmate until he died of a seizure in 1907 and in all that time was completely non-communicative. He simply repeated just one phrase, over and over under his breath – Die heiligen Brüder nicht gerne auf dem Boden sitzend.

“The Holy Brothers don’t like to sit on the earth”

The dâ vamikèd

The Zurvár people have a large store of legends and myths, many of which are specific to particular Houses. One story shared between almost all Houses however is the dâ vamikèd, or “Tale of Creation”, which seeks to explain the origin of the Zurvár and their culture’s strong relationship to the ocean. Versions of the story have been traced back for over 700 years, and although variations abound, the core narrative of the tale remains constant, with “the Creator” (ràvamiket) making the five important elements of Zurvár existence in a specific order common to all versions.

The version of the dâ vamikèd presented here is taken from the well respected collection of Zurvár myths and songs collated and translated into English by Gâron Kár Vèelisavik in 1987.

The Tale of Creation

In the time before the sun, the Creator needed to cross the Great Ocean. So with his hands he crafted the first boat and set sail on his journey.

But it was dark on the ocean, and the Creator could not see his way. So he took coals from his stove and threw them into the sky. They became the stars and lit his way so he was no longer lost, and he continued on his journey.

But the Ocean was empty of all life and the Creator grew hungry. So he took splinters from his oars and threw them into the water. They became the first fish. He caught a fish, and cooked it on his stove, so he was no longer hungry, and he continued on his journey.

But the journey grew long and there was no sound on the ocean but the wind and the waves and the creak of the boat. The Creator become downhearted. So he tore pieces of cloth from his sail and threw them into the air. They became the first seabirds, which danced between the waves and filled the air with their cries. He was no longer downhearted, and he continued on his journey.

But the Ocean was wide and the Creator grew lonely. So he took twine from his ropes and knotted them together. They became the first Zurvár and provided him with the company he craved. He was no longer lonely, and he continued on his journey.

After many days of sailing, the Great Ocean came to an end. The Creator beached his boat on the far shore and talked with the Zurvár, teaching them to dance and sing like the seabirds, to catch and cook fish, to navigate by the stars and to build boats of their own. He no longer needed his boat, so he pushed it into the water and set it aflame. But the boat did not sink, it burnt brighter and brighter, then rose into the sky and became the sun.

And to this day the Creator’s boat still sails across the sky every day to remind the Zurvár of the Creator and all that he taught them.

The sequence of Boat, Stars, Fish, Birds and Zurvár (often represented by the knots tied by the Creator) is found in many aspects of Zurvár society, including the standard suits of playing cards and the days of the traditional five day week. The importance of the number five to Zurvár culture is also often traced to the Tale of Creation, although it is unclear whether the primacy of five derives from the five elements of the story, or vice-versa.

The Creator character of the story has never been worshiped by the Zurvár. He (or in some versions she) is not viewed as a god, but as an important and respected ancestor. Some Houses claim direct descent from the Creator via long and complex genealogies, some of which have been proved to be accurate for as far back as the early 1100s, although nowdays those who take such tales as literal truth are far and few between.

All Your Questions Answered

What was the first meme ever created?
Put a rock on your head and walk like Ugg does. It became popular during the spring of 38,423 BC, but was completely played out by late summer.

What actually happened to JFK?
During surgery for a cranial blood clot in 1960 a surgeon operating on orders from the British Royal Family inserted a small, radio controlled explosive in his skull. This was set off in Dallas by an MI6 operative when Kennedy started making moves to reveal British Intelligence involvement in the Sudan.

You have just become the emperor of the Roman Empire. What do you do now?
Poison my mother and marry my horse.

In your honest opinions, will the sitcom “Friends” have an anniversary reunion of some sort this year?
The studio won’t allow it. If all six actors are ever in the same location again Matthew Perry will reclaim his horcruxes, evolve into his final form and cast the Earth into a bottomless abyss of torment and hellfire for all eternity.

Which Ninja Turtle would you be and why?
Giotto – the one the other Turtles were too scared to talk about.

Traffic jams start and stop for no evident reason sometimes. What are some interesting explanations for this phenomenon?
Deep underground there’s a civilisation of malicious, degenerate dwarfs called Deros. They use mind control machines to make people randomly slow down their cars to cause traffic jams and accidents, and hence spread despondency, hatred and despair to the human population.

Why isn’t Glenn Beck on the radio anymore?
He finally evolved from his larval form. They tried to keep going with the show, but had to banish him back to his home dimension after he devoured three separate production teams.

Why do cats like boxes so much?
They’re all publicity whores by nature, and are trying to muscle in on the fame of Schrödinger’s Cat (sadly most cats lack the intelligence to comprehend the macro-scale implications of quantum entanglement, or notice the bit about the vial of poison).

Which famous person is thought to be dead when she or he truly isn’t?
Niels Bohr. As long as he remains unobserved he’s immortal.

Has the ABC finally admitted that Mr Squiggle was a Puppet?
Please, this is such an obvious COVER UP. Mr Squiggle was a living, breathing lunar ALIEN – this is simply the latest LIE from the New World Order to hide the TRUTH about the soulless deals the NSA and Illuminati have made to SELL US ALL OUT to the extraterrestrials. Sure Mr Squiggle is just a puppet, like Denver Airport is just a transport hub and Kurt Cobain shot himself. WAKE UP SHEEPLE!!!

The year is 2213, what is your most realistic idea/view of how everything will be?
Well if man is still alive, and woman can survive they’ll find that they’ll need to wait 312 years to be featured in a Zager and Evans song.

Which movies best represent their respective decade within popular culture?
Battlefield Earth is a surprisingly accurate depiction of the 2020’s when the… I’ve said too much.

Why is Garden City being evacuated?
The real question is why have people been allowed in there at all for the last twenty years?

Why do people willingly chose to be Juggalos?
Well the kids, they listen to the ICP music, which gives them the brain damage, with the rainbows and the magnets, so they don’t know what dressing and behaving like a civilised person is all about!

Why were there no new TV shows this week?
TV has finally run out. Too many houses with multiple TVs finally exhausted the supply. From now on there will be nothing but repeats, forever.

What’s your best joke about a specific nation?
An Elbonian walks into a bar with a pig on a leash. The Bartender says “Hey, you can’t bring that pig in here!” “Pig!?” replies the Elbonian “That’s my wife!” (The joke is that he’s too poor to marry a cow)

Why do toasters always have a setting that burns the toast to a horrible crisp, which no normal human being would eat?
It’s so when FEMA and Barrack HUSSEIN NObama steal half your electricities you’ll still be able to make toast.

If his name is Chuck E.Cheese, what does the “E” stand for?
Emesis. It goes along with “Chuck” and explains what happens if you eat his food.

If you could make a disease, what would you call it, and what are the effects?
Contagious Botulotourettism. Sufferers randomly and uncontrollably shout the word ‘THAUTHAGETH!’ in the stupidest voice they can until they shake off the virus.

If Santa exists, but parents don’t believe in him, where do they think the presents came from?
Santa brainwashes the parents of the world to think they bought the presents. He does this by harnessing the Earth’s magnetic field – why else do you think he’s based at the north pole? To maintain the illusion, he debits the parents’ accounts by an appropriate amount, which – combined with the fact that the elves are paid only about 25 US cents a day – makes him one of the richest individuals on Earth. The US Government is aware of this massive scam, and set up HAARP to try and disrupt his nefarious brainwashing apparatus. Results so far have been mixed.

How does McDonalds food make your farts smell like McDonalds so quickly?
All McDonalds food contains the carefully collected and dried sweat of an alien being Ray Kroc captured outside of Roswell New Mexico in 1947 (this creature is the model for Ronald McDonald and actually appeared in several early McDonalds commercials). Amino acids in the sweat make the food highly addictive, but certain alien salts are immediately absorbed by the stomach lining, circulated through the blood and deposited into the intestines, where bacteria rapidly convert them into gas. These salts bond strongly with volatile compounds in the food, and carry them through this entire process, with the result that the resulting rapid flatulence strongly smells of the original food.

What happens if you cut off a mole?
He’ll give you the finger at the next set of lights. But a more important question is how the hell did he pass the visual component of the licensing test?

How would it feel to be turned into an athletic woman’s shoe for eternity?
It’d be kind of soul crushing.

If you had a theme song that played every time you entered a room, what would it be?
The old Thames Television ident theme. Short, but attention grabbing.

What are some loopholes every Vatican City citizen should know?
When arrested, if you can recite the 51st Psalm in Latin from memory you can claim “Benefit of Clergy” and get off scot free. They also have to supply you with up to half a pound of holy water and/or incense on demand, which is why the Swiss Guard have those big puffy pantaloons (that’s where they keep it).

Dungeons and Dragons – Necropolis Part III

Wow, it’s been a while hasn’t it? Life getting in the way. But here we go with part III…

The task before the players appears simple, venture into the vast cemetery of Necropolis on certain carefully determined nights and place enchanted capstones on 26 pre-prepared pillars. Of course if it was that simple there would be no need for the Council to hire heroes to do it.

There are a number of threats to be encountered in the crypts and avenues of Necropolis, the majority of which are detailed below…

Grave Robbers: Theft from the graves and tombs of Necropolis has always been a problem. Regular patrols and threats of eternal damnation have historically kept this to a minimum, but with sensible folk increasingly too wary to enter the grounds, the patrols have fallen off, and a variety of vultures have turned up to take advantage. Small bands of opportunistic scavengers are not likely to prove a problem – many of them will be dealt with by the other threats – but could slow the party down. More dangerous will be the two or three well organised and heavily armed gangs that have moved in and are competing with each other for salvage rights. They are more than capable of engaging in running battles among the tombs and could easily put some of the players in graves of their own if they’re not careful.

Wandering Monsters: The dark force that has moved in to the heart of Necropolis has lead to a variety of undead and other unwholesome creatures taking up residence. Some of these have been brought in deliberately, some have been attracted by the presence of evil, and some are the result of spontaneous ‘resurrections’ among the internees. The outer regions of the cemetery play host to scattered, weak willed, non-intelligent undead, but the closer to the Avenue of Heroes the players venture, the more powerful and numerous these creatures will become. Worse, when the force becomes aware of the players and what they are attempting, it will start directing its minions to harass them directly.

Perhaps the most unexpected of the entities to have found their way into Necropolis are the vast things that have moved into the lakes. Getting to the pillars on the islands may prove very ‘interesting’ for the players.

The Force: The biggest threat the players face is of course the evil force vying for control of Necropolis. This is an alliance of several powerful Vampire Lords and a Lich, who aim to turn the cemetery and town into a stronghold of the undead. They are headquartered in the catacombs beneath the avenue of heroes and are carrying out a series of powerful magical rituals to corrupt the site, while also building a network of informants in the town. This network is in its infancy and as such it will take some time for the alliance to discover the great enchantment and start moving against it.

While the Alliance work together, they do not trust each other and are constantly trying to manipulate each other to gain the upper hand. This division could perhaps be exploited by clever players…

Anti-Heroes: Once the Alliance becomes aware of the players and their scheme, it will not only send ghouls, ghasts and worse things after them, it will also take a more subtle route. While the Priests and Clerics on the Council are devoted men and women of faith, some of the merchants are not quite so pure, and gold – particularly in large quantities – can open a lot of doors. One or two members of the Council will be convinced that delaying the progress of the great enchantment would be a good way to line their own pockets, and will go out of their way to make things a little more difficult for the players.

It should be noted that none of these merchants are downright evil. The forces arrayed against Necropolis are subtle, convincing, and skilled at manipulation. The offer of a bag of gold for – for instance – delaying a meeting by a day sounds like a harmless way to make some cash on the side. If the merchants were to be shown exactly who was paying their extra income they would be horrified – although it should also be noted that they have pointedly gone out of their way not to ask such questions.

One way or another their duplicity will be exposed when the players are given a corrupted capstone – supplied though a series of middlemen by the Alliance. Rather than protecting an area of the cemetery this will make it a haven for evil and act as an beacon immediately summoning all monsters in the vicinity. It will also weaken the entire enchantment, opening previously protected areas of the cemetery to re-infestation. The corrupted Council members will be just as appalled by this as the loyal members – some will immediately confess, while some will flee. Chasing down and recovering these fugitives could prove an interesting side quest.

As well as corrupting the Council, the force will hire several teams of adventurers to take on the players directly with ambushes and attacks. While most of these will be made up of lowlifes and mercenaries, at least one party will be virtuous heroes who have been conned into thinking the players are the enemy. This group could prove a valuable ally if the players can sort out the confusion, but will be responsible for destroying several activated pillars (requiring them to be re-activated with new capstones) before any resolution can be bought about.

The Wildcard: There is one wildcard in the players’ quest, and his name is Marcus. Marcus is an ancient and powerful vampire who has occupied a neglected and swampy corner of the cemetery for upwards of 300 years. Unlike most of his kind, Marcus is a recluse who avoids other beings – even to feed – and simply wants to be left alone. His alignment is Lawful Neutral and he has developed a deep knowledge of magic, even though his undead state affects his ability to use it.

Marcus’s quiet existence was disrupted by the arrival of the Alliance. They were surprised to find a Vampire already occupying their chosen home, but quickly altered their plans to offer him a part. He completely rejected their entreaties and told them to leave. This lead to a number of attempts by the Alliance to drive Marcus out, all of which he completely repelled. The two sides have now settled into a state of resolutely ignoring each other, although both would be extremely happy if the other were to vanish.

One of the pillars is planned to be located right in the middle of Marcus’s territory. While he is not evil, the presence of such a powerful enchantment would require him to abandon his home and start over elsewhere, something he is reluctant to do, to say the least. As such he will sabotage the pillar as soon as it is set up, resulting in the capstone crumbling to dust as soon as it is placed. He will do his formidable best to frustrate any further attempts to extend the enchantment to his corner of Necropolis, all while attempting to conceal his presence as he has done for the previous three centuries.

Despite this, a confrontation with the players is inevitable. They have several options. Killing him is possible, but difficult. Driving him away by other means may also work, but will gain them a powerful enemy. Striking a deal with Marcus is the best option, although it will be difficult to gain his trust.

The best way to gain Marcus as an ally is to agree to conspire to place a modified capstone on the pillar. If a capstone is supplied to him he will be able to modify the enchantments so that it appears to function, but does nothing. This will not seriously impact on the overall enchantment and will allow him to continue his solitary existence.

Once this is done Marcus will lend the players substantial assistance in their fight against the Alliance. His catacomb – while somewhat unpleasant – is a safe refuge from the creatures inhabiting the cemetery, and he has some rudimentary healing skills. He will also be a valuable ally in any final confrontation with the Alliance, being skilled in both combat, and basic spellcasting.

So that’s it for Part III. Part IV will contain an overall summing up of the campaign and a conclusion.

Updates

I haven’t been making any posts this week as I thought it’d be better to wait until I got everything transferred to the new server, but as is usually the case this is taking longer than anticipated. I now hope to get it sorted early to mid next week.

In the meantime, the video card on my home PC has given up the ghost, which means I’ll have to put it into the shop all weekend. No internet access for an entire weekend – especially one with temperatures tipped to get close to 40° – may well drive me mad, so when the Wyrmlog comes back up please don’t be surprised if it resembles Sixth World Problems.

On the subject of numerical world problems, please take a look at how much fun I had this week pretending to be a 14th century peasant who stumbled over an iMac and mistook everyone on Reddit for spirits and demons.

OK, that’s it. See you in the funny pages.

Happy Taumas!

‘Twas the night before Christmas and all cross the zone,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a drone,
The fire-ports were locked with their lasguns in place,
In the hopes that an enemy would soon show his face,

The guardsmen were sleeping, tucked up in their billets,
Dreaming of recaff and sizzling grox fillets,
For the rations were low, the supply lines were cut,
The Commander sat up with his rumbling gut,

Unable to sleep he pondered, and tried,
To figure how long they could last unsupplied,
Then on the perimeter sounded a klaxon,
He leapt to his feet, glad of such a distraction,

Across to a gunport he flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutter and lifted the sash,
The night vision auspex he pulled to his eye,
Providing a scan of the objects outside,

His bolt gun unholstered, preparing to shoot,
He beheld a Piranha and eight spikey Kroot,
And a little blue driver with a slit in his brow,
He knew in a moment it must be a Tau,

The Tau and his Kroot flew in over the ice,
And he whistled, and shouted (via translation device),
“Now Gnawer! Now Chewer! Now Nibbler and Biter!
“On Shaper! On Shooter! On Slicer and Fighter!

“To the top of the bunker! To the top of the wall!
“Now lift away! Lift away! Lift away all!”
To the top of the bunker the xenos all flew,
Boxes strapped on to the Tau and his crew,

The Commander spun round, as the ceiling hatch popped,
Through it the Tau and his porters all dropped,
He looked like a daemon, his skin pale and blue,
His oddly cleft face and his cloven feet too,

But a wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Showed the Commander he had nothing to dread,
Not speaking a word, they went straight to their task,
Resupplying each backpack and filling each flask,

Then raising salute with a hand sign quite strange,
They headed back out to the place whence they came,
The Tau primed the piranha, the Kroot gathered round,
And away they all flew, barely making a sound,

Yet to the Commander he yelled (via translator),
“Happy Christmas to all, for the Good that is Greater!”

POSTSCRIPT

(The Inquisition turned up at the rise of the sun,
Destroyed all the evidence and purged everyone)

Dungeons and Dragons – Necropolis Part II

I meant to get back to this much sooner, but here’s part II…

Back to Part I

The Council of Necropolis have determined that an evil force – of powerful but as yet undetermined nature – has taken up residence in the heart of the cemetery. It appears to be centered somewhere in the vicinity of the so-called “Avenue of Heroes”, a boulevard of the largest and most impressive tombs and monuments than run down to the largest of the Necropolis’s ornamental lakes. Rather than confront this force head on in a dangerous (not to mention expensive) battle, the Council have decided to place an enchantment over the whole cemetery, a massive Protection from Evil spell that will either drive out the force, or weaken it sufficiently to make a confrontation viable. This is where the Players come in.

The enchantment will be established and maintained via a series of stone pillars placed at carefully selected points within the cemetery. Each will initially offer protection to its immediate surroundings, but as more pillars are placed, their protective fields will grow in both range and power until the entire 5,000 or more acres of the site are covered. The setting up of a pillar requires a complex ceremony featuring elements of both Divine and Arcane magic – this can easily be done during the relative safety of the daylight hours. The final activation of each pillar however must be carried out at the stroke of midnight on a carefully determined date – failure to do so requiring a full month before the activation can be attempted again.

The Council require the Players to carry out these activations. They must venture into the Cemetery, carrying the carefully enchanted capstone for each pillar, and put in in place at midnight, facing down whatever horrors stalk the graves at night. Ample payment is offered, but will be only be delivered in full on a pillar by pillar basis.

There are 26 pillars to be capped in total, starting with those on the edges of the cemetery then moving inwards towards the Avenue of Heroes. Certain pillars present unique challenges – three must be placed on islands in the ornamental lakes and at least one is located with the extensive catacombs that riddle the site. For the enchantment to take effect no more than two pillars may be activated a week, so the task will take several months, during which time the evil presence at the heart of the Necropolis can be assumed to continue its growth.

Are the Players up to the challenge? And if so, what specific dangers and obstacles will they face? Tune in soon for Part III of Necropolis!

Dungeons and Dragons – Necropolis

Over the last few years the plot for a grand Dungeons and Dragons campaign has slowly assembled itself in my head. For various reasons it is unlikely that I’ll ever be able to run it as an actual game, so I thought I’d make it available for anyone who’s looking for something new and perhaps different to inflict on their playing group. Below, please find part one of the campaign sketch that I have decided to name ‘Necropolis’.

Over a thousand years ago the wise and powerful cleric Angevin passed away after a long life tending to the sick and destitute. His loyal disciples constructed a temple and small monastery around his grave, which over the years became a site of pilgrimage, attracting penitents and miracle seekers from across the known world. Many sick and elderly visitors sought nothing more than to be buried near the tomb of the blessed Angevin, and a cemetery grew up, tended by the brothers and sisters of the monastery, which grew rich and powerful on the bequests of the interred.

Over the centuries the burial ground grew larger and larger, and a town grew up to service the cemetery and its visitors. The great and powerful now sought to be buried there, with towering monuments and mausoleums rising above the simpler headstones. Catacombs and ossuries were dug into the hillsides, water courses were diverted to create streams and lakes, and gardens and shaded avenues were laid out among the tombs, creating a sculpted and manicured landscape to soothe the cares of the grief stricken mourners who now accompanied the bodies of their loved ones on the long trip to their final resting place.

Now the great cemetery covers over 5,000 acres, surrounded by miles of high marble walls. The burial ground and its attendant city – full of shrines, temples, inns and taverns to cater for the many visitors – are united under the name of Necropolis. Governed by a council made up of both businessmen and clerics it is a wonder of the world, and even the poorest beggar dreams of one day going to their rest among the heroes and saints that consecrate its soil.

But, all is not well in the city of Necropolis. The Council has so far kept matters quiet, but rumors are starting to circulate that a dark force has infiltrated the formerly sacred avenues and groves of Angevin’s resting place. The people of the city are loath to enter the cemetery alone, and all but the bravest (or most foolish) will not set foot within its bounds once the shadows begin to lengthen. As the rumors spread, visitors are starting to question whether a grave at Necropolis is such a prize after all, and the Council – for reasons both sacred and profane – has decided that action must be taken.

So it is that the word has gone out – discretely – that experienced adventurers looking to make a profit in both this world and the next should apply at the Monastery of Angevin before the next full moon…

Coming Soon – What’s going on, and what the Council want the Players to do about it!

Squid

Now ’tis often said by those learned in the ways o’ the briny deeps that the surest way to attract the common or vulgar squid onto a line is with that that can sooth the breast of the most savage of beasts, to wit, a song. As such, as the Lucky Betty sailed leisurely out o’ Cap’n Bandy’s marina, Phil – a member in good standin’ for many years of the Quantoket Bend G&S Society – suggested we join our tongues in the ballad o’ the HMS Pinafore. This proposal however was shot down by Old Joe, who explained that if he ever claimed to be a sober man, be it even in song, the Good Lord would strike him down with a bolt o’ heavenly lightning right as where he stood. This caused us no little consternation as he were the one captainin’ our fine vessel, but he allayed our fears by explainin’ that his alcoholism was of the ‘functional’ variety, and so long as he had a steady supply of liquors spirituous there could be no firmer hand on the wheel. The problem thus dispatched we returned our attentions to matters musical, and decided after some discussion that a chorus o’ the well know duet from Lakmé would serve almost as well, and so motored out to sea with my good self taking the title role, Phil as Mallika and Benny Mousetrap keepin’ time by beatin’ his head against the port gunwale.

Our destination that fine art’noon were the Peabody Shoals off the south end of Body Island, a well known place o’ habitat for the speckled squid o’ the delta coast. While confusin’ and treacherous for large vessels, and the site o’ many a piteous shipwreckin’ in times o’ yore, a craft of shallow draft such as our own would be in little danger, and Benny’s innate sense o’ direction, honed by many years o’ rollin the streets of the Cable District, would see us in good stead when avoidin’ the few banks and reefs that could pose any kind o’ serious threat. However we were no more than halfway to the shoals when a sudden change in the winds precipitated a dampening o’ the atmosphere and the western horizon changed all pale and hazy – a sign o’ certain assurance that the mists would soon be upon us.

Unwillin’ to abandon our expedition but equally reluctant to chance the shoals under conditions so increasingly hazardous Old Joe suggested we drop anchor where we floated and begin our squid huntin’. All agreed as to the prudence o’ this course o’ action so we rolled out the rusty anchor chain, set out the ridin’ lights – red, green and yellow to inform any passin’ vessel exactly what it was we was about – and optimistically hoisted the purple squidin’ flag for luck. Benny took station in the fo’c’sle to keep an ear for approaching vessels and Phil consulted his well worn copy o’ the Recollections o’ Joan o’ Arc while Old Joe and I took our seats in the stern and dropped our lines o’er the side to await the comin’ of the squid, doin’ so just as the first bank o’ fog rolled in on us.

I tell ye it was eerie out there on the open ocean with no more’n twenty feet o’ vision in any direction and no sound but the clank o’ the chain, the slap o’ the waves and Benny’s muttered recitation o’ the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam – a nervous habit he’d developed stayin’ in a house o’ easy virtue o’er the west coast many years prior. I can fairly state that it would have surprised our party in no way had the legendary Great Sea Serpent, Old King Neptune and his Naiads or the Eliza Battle loomed at us out o’ the mists. The squid we had come out in earnest search of seemed similar spooked and not a nibble was felt on either o’ our lines, leading Old Joe to comment on our foolishness in settin’ sail on a day o’ the full moon so late in the year – an observation that would have been a great packet more useful back on the land before we committed ourselves to spending our time afloat on the briny deep.

I was considerin’ the wisdom of pullin’ our lines and headin’ back towards shore when a cry came from Benny up at the bow. Somethin’, he asserted, was headin’ our way at a right lick o’ speed, though with the current atmospheric conditions being as they were he couldn’t commit to say as to what it might be. Phil leapt to at the foghorn and began pumpin’ out a mournful howl while Old Joe and I braced for the expected impact, remembrin’ too late that short o’ clamping a rope betwixt his teeth Benny had no way to do similar at his perch in the fo’c’sle. I let go of the gunwale and headed fo’ward with a mind to his rescue just as the biggest wave any o’ us could recall seein’ in all our God given days slammed into the Betty, throwin’ the boat skyward and sendin’ Benny flyin’ off into the mist with a final wail concerning what was to be done with his mortal remains, assumin’ they could be located after such a woeful misadventure. The boat slammed back down, fully intact, leavin’ us bruised and sore with no sign o’ the king wave, or o’ Benny Mousetrap whose fate it now seemed was fully in the hands o’ the mighty ocean.

We did, in the end find the mortal remains o’ Benny, but that my friend is another story entirely.