BOB-n-SLOB.info

[Avandar]

For wizardly words of wisdom?
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we're all born sinners and goin...

[Hung Like A Chiwawa]

captains log
Star date 198.162.1.1
It started like any other day. I was at once confronted with an overwhelming sense of self worth and an emptyness as desolate and vast as the universe i now navigated.

oops
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I'll throw my hot dog down your hallway!

[Hung Like A Chiwawa]

The other thread was ruined so I wanted to save this.

From the star elves quest.

The Quest continued in its usual harrowing fashion. Upon vanquishing the Flesh Fiend our party found themselves in dire straights. The blood of Francisco running red rivulets across the cold crystalline floors, as the adventurers looked on in helpless ineptitude.

“Mark Brunel, quick, lay thy hands and breath life into Francisco before death claims its prize!” This coming from a soiled and frazzled hedge wizard learning against the opaque walls. He was Gallow, a mage of small repute; who’s study of the conjuration arts was motivated by one desire: to summon forth a succubae and FUCK IT.

Mark knelt before the pale lifeless soon-to-be corpse of Francisco and prayed. Moments passed and it was clear that whatever gods favor he sought, had turned a def ear to its subject.

“Curse the gods, they do desert me this day! I’ve called upon their favor too often and recent to receive their blessing. I am powerless to stop this.” He breathed a heavy sigh, murmuring words that seemed laden with the burden of his guilt. He raised slowly, shoulders a sunken reflection of his total failure.

A shadow heralded the arrival of Patticus Erogenous, woodland hermit and keeper of the squirrels. “As the sun doth set squarely in the west, so to will this man be dead less action is taken with the swiftness of a dew encrusted swallow!”

“Patticus, there’s naught we can do but wait and preen. If we are to meet our end let it be looking fabulous!” Offered Aethys. He was wearing a leather harness that criss crossed his chest, and little else. Freedom of movement and vanity motivated this playboys unique and sparse outfit. Currently, he seemed less concerned for the well being of his fellow adventurer and more occupied with grooming. He’d removed the rotten jaw of a hob goblin zombie and was attempting, quite futilely, to part his cropped hair.

Patticus Erogenous, woodland hermit and keeper of the squirrels spoke with the force of a winter gale storm pounding the sword coast. “The foul stench of decay invades my nostrils! I’m going to go get help! Help! Helpy help heeeeeellllllllllllp!!!” This last scream accompanied by a jaunty skip into the closet door. The pleading cries of Patticus Erogenous muffled by the closet door as it slammed shut behind him.

There was little else to do but wait and see if Francisco would recover. So they hunkered down and all ignored the confused figured strutting into one of the doors. He made a bee line for the fallen adventurer drenched in his own blood. There was a crack of thunder, a flash of light, and the others turned quickly to see Francisco rising like some vengeful ghost of the faewood. The grimace of pain faded and he appeared as fresh as a dew drenched wood sprite.

“Hail and well met, I am Gallow sorcerer of light!”
The robed figure looked startled, “So you’re a sorcerer?”
“Nay, a wizard. Greetings offered are better than greetings sought. So I beg you hurry before the demonic forces converge on us.”
The miraculous healer of Francisco removed his robes then. As they fell to the floor a gleaming physique, clad in steel armor as polished and glorious as any honor guards. He could have been the avatar of some god or another. He could have been the lord of these glorious crystal towers by the sea. He was neither. “I am Micskill, Man among men and I stand before you lost, scared, and full of a sorrow my muscled frame is useless against. The physical training, the godly living, it is all useless when you don’t have…love.”

So away they went! Merry except one. All together, minus one. Tears streaming down Micskills tanned face, tarnishing his mirrored armor. They came from different walks of life, but were bound together by a single strand of fate. They would unravel the mystery of the gleaming, star lit towers, or they would die trying.

They fought shadows of dubious origin. Undead by the legion, and befriended embattled orcs with a common enemy. Resistence was met in every room. Trip wires stumbled over and roaring grizzly bear guardians slayed. They met small fae creatures and were relentlessly pursued by wraith-like aberrations. In each battle they prevailed, one step closer to unraveling the mysterious gleaming towers beneath the starscape.

I ran out of time to actually finish the story so that's all you'll get!
_________________
I'll throw my hot dog down your hallway!

[Hung Like A Chiwawa]

Gallows log.

Date: 22 Uktar, 1374 DR, Year of the Lightning Storms


I've been plagued by hellish nightmares these past few days. I'm in a room, surrounded by faces both familiar and strange at once. They are all burning. Skin melts from bones like wax from a candle. Then reforms into another visage of another familiar stranger. A Feminine voice calls out from somewhere beyond site. I wake up.

When one dreams such horrors once, it's a nightmare. When it repeats again and again, it's insanity. When did it all start? When did I cross my breaking point? The nightmares started the day I slaughtered those innocents. As possessed as they were, by an artifact known as the Starry Knosis. Denaton and I fought for our lives against a demon far more powerful then us. A room filled with possessed innocents, and a demon. I filled it with hellfire. That was also the day Mystra spoke to me. How does one fortify the mind against such onslaughts?

The people I killed, they were innocent in every sense of the word. Brainwashed but innocent. Like a child raised by some hateful ideology and twisted philosophy the prisoners were victims of fate.

At the time I felt no remorse. I hated their mental weakness. That someone could be dominated by another. They were like the denizens I summon forth for battle. Stronger in some ways then I am, but weaker in the only way that matters. I have control of their life on this plane. Much like I had control over the lives of those innocent prisoners. I decided for them because they were too weak to decide for themselves. Disgust followed the hate. That's all gone now, all that remains are the nightmares and what little is left of my sanity.

I continue my spell research during the downtime I have. I've worked out a new conjuration. My first foray into combining the magic’s of several spells to form a single dependant weave. I've managed to manipulate the weave to conjure a domicile wherever I will it. The building is created using local materials and the weave. It will burn no more then stone would and even has its strength. Inside the building is larger then outside and the doors locked with arcane locks. The exterior warded with a basic alarm spell. I even took the time to add an unseen servant. It should make for a haven. Nothing short of powerful magic or siege engines could breach unannounced. I've also been working on another more complicated spell. It is only in my spell research that I achieve any peace of mind.

As for my fellow adventurers they are all able, if a bit dim witted. I don't trust the Monk Dhekin. His motives are unclear and selflessness is a con artists tool.

Denaton shows surprising aptitude for the basic magical arts. I've never spent this much time around a sorcerer before. Though crude, his ability to call upon the weave repeatedly and with little thought is fascinating.

Micskill the cleric been a mess lately. I wont get into it but the man is our tether to survival and he appears ready to snap. We have that much in common.

Aethys is an able warrior though the man will get himself killed one day. He seeks glory in battle, a fool’s errand. If only he didn't insist on taking trophies off the flesh of the deceased. I think he fails to realize the stench of rotting death that follows him to and fro.

Lastly, Ars. A foolish name that speaks nothing of his character. He keeps to himself and comes and goes as he pleases. He makes me nervous, he could be a spy. That's all I'll write on the subject.

With no one to talk to I had to start writing. I know its dangerous to write such things. Maybe it's a sympton of insanity, I don't know but I had to write. For now I shall trust in Mystra and myself. It's all I can do. This book will be warded and no eyes but my own shall ever witness the script contained herein.
_________________
I'll throw my hot dog down your hallway!

[Hung Like A Chiwawa]

Gallows log.

Date: 23 Uktar, 1374 DR, Year of the Lightning Storms


wwwwwwwwwwwest cormyr born and raised
in the woods practicing magic is where i spent most of my days

chillin with the touch and shootin some fireballs outside of the hood
when a couple of undead guys, they were up to no good.
started eating people in my nieghborhood

I blew up half the block and the purple dragons got scared
they decided to banish my ass from cormyr

dun dun dun nun dun dun dun
dun DUN DUN DUN

iiiiiiiiiiiii pulled out my components and took a look around
the woods was queit not a single sound

I decided to run and take some cover
that's when i noticed i shared my space with another

large gaping maw with fangs like a saw
two foot claws and bear-like paws

This didn't cause a fright like you'd think it might
though the creatures eyes filled with hatred at first site

My hands were a blur and the woods began to stir
i pulled out a tuft of tawny brown fur

Chanting my cast and bracing for the blast
it was all in vain for the beast was fast

taking a swipe of the deadly type
his fist slammed into me with the force of a led pipe

I choked on the phrase as the world turned to haze
collapsing to the ground in groggy daze

The beast went to take a sweet bite
of this half elf morsel delight
but i had one last trick for just such a plight.

I quickly snatched at my belt, ignoring my paintful welt
that's when i felt something to make this beast melt

Into jaws open wide i slammed the metal rod inside
one word it took to cause his head to fry

I was 40oz' from healin and still reelin'
so i rolled over and ignored that painful feelin'

I raised from the earth, ran for all i was worth
been a fast runner ever since birth
_________________
I'll throw my hot dog down your hallway!

[Hung Like A Chiwawa]

The sun filtered through the old growth forest bathing him in warmth. His vision blurred as he squinted up at the canopy. Gentle breezes mingled with leaves hundreds of feet above him. Bird calls echoed off tree trunks and branches while insects clicked and buzzed lazily. Had he to choose only one word to describe this forest, it would be permanence. Everything was exactly as it should be, as it always would be. Everything but him. He was the stranger walking through a gathering of friends and family.

Only he wasn't walking. He was being carried, or floating, he couldn't decide. The forest had awoken him. Evoked all his senses and carried him from one conscious state to another more primal one. The feint sound of labored breathing drifted to his ears. It's origination unknown he turned his attention elsewhere - back to the forest.

As he refocused on his surroundings a rippling brook greeted him. He glided smoothly over it. Pristine waters gentiley sidestepping ancient stones smoothed over time by the relentless flow. The forest was a place that measured time by eons. The scale of the trees seemed fitting. He was just one more insect passing beneath their enormous branches.

A startled cry pierced the still forest air. The ancient branches began to strain and crack. A shower of splintered wood gave way to gnarled branches racing to the ground.

He was bathed in strong sunlight. Then a moment later shadow. Hundreds of feet above the top of a nearby tree had split down the middle. The wooden tower came screeching towards him. He was on the ground now. Cool moss his last comfort and chittering insects his final company. They marched around him as if in some strange ritual. A sacrifice to their ancient forest.

He had just enough time to see stars in the day lit sky. A feminine voice rang hollow in his mind, "It begins.", she said.

I awoke just after. Near as I can tell anyway. Not a bead of sweet graced my brow. In this way was the dream different from it's more fiery counterparts. Small reprieve that does little to stay my unraveling.

As I look around my vision -courtesy of my elven blood- begins to reveal the nights secrets. My fellow adventurers lie about in the various cots. We are far fewer now than we've been before. Those left suffer injuries most gruesome. But the flesh doth heal over. For that I envy them.

It is only in the magically constructed shelter that we gain reprieve, however brief it may be. The time investment and research into combining various parts of the weave to create such a structure was well worth it.

My newest spell taps into the magical foot print left by each caster after the weave is harnessed. Each spell bends and distorts the weave a little differently. The spell can find the footprint of any number of lesser spells I've cast and after interpreting the weave distortions, can return them to my arsenal. So far I've only had success with simpler spells that I've cast. One day I hope to be able to recast any magical effects used in an area.

As I mentioned before, we're short several members. They were the weak ones. The cleric I once remarked was weakly tethered to this quest. His tether broke and he wanders lost. We've been unable to track him in this realm of shadows. Cocksure Aethys still remains. Though he almost met his maker at the hands of a blood golem.(Note, I must investigate self healing magical constructs when I've the time!). Denaton, the sorcerer remains as well. He has grown much since we started this quest. Just not where it counts. The selfless monk also continues at our side. I still try to decipher his motivations. He is a blank slate but I know this to be facade and martial training. The arse Arse has not shown himself recently. The man is just as likely to turn up around the next bend as some agent of the shadow lord. Little good his fickle charity does our group.

This realm distorts reality and smothers the mind. The weave deteriorates along with my grasp of sanity daily. I'll not miss this realm of shadows.



By my hand,

Gallow
_________________
I'll throw my hot dog down your hallway!

[Hung Like A Chiwawa]

Gallows Log

Among the exclusive circles of wizardry a mage is often measured but his arcane knowledge alone. Social class and status are gained through the acquisition and application of this knowledge. The commoner, or in this case outcast, can easily rise above those of noble lineage if he/she is an able mage. The only limits imposed are of your own mind.

The politics of wizardry are quite different in many respects from governmental politics.
In the latter, the man is judged and scrutinized; in the former, everything else is. Most mage academies could care less of the unholy demonic pacts a wizard may of entered into to gain his powers. While there are some who will take exception to necromancy, they are a rare breed. After all, what is a Wizard but one after knowledge and with it power at all costs?

I believe the mage academies of Faerûn , with their structured environments, years of study requirements, and guarded secrets, hinder new spell research and development. A student must first rise to the rank of master before he/she is afforded any independent leeway to develop new spells. They justify this under the guise of safety. Yet if you look at the famous archmages throughout history, they are the independents. The names that echo through the multiverse; Elminster, Blackstaff, Evard, Mordenkein. They may or may not of been archmagi. They forged their own paths. Not through some mage training program, but through their fierce magic adeptitude.

I have come to believe this is the true path to greatness. The key to unlocking arcane secrets untold. It is with this in mind that I shun the mage academys. The secrets they contain are many and impressive but they are all false secrets. Guarded knowledge. I seek the true secrets of Faerûn, those yet unfound, and will stop at nothing to attain them.

Our tortorous venture into the dismal shadow realm has already yielded many secrets that would make my fellow Wizards swoon unpon revealing. Yet for spell research I’ve had to content myself with rediscovering the knowledge of Wizards past. We are a secretive lot and most of our research time is spent relearning the guarded secrets of those who came before us.

Some call humans the most reckless race of Wizards. Their short lifespan supplies them with a sense of urgency in all things. Recklessness my fellow mages call it. Ambition I lable it. Perhapse my inspired progress in Wizardy is a result of my half human blood. It is certainly the one trait I envy in the human race. I’m not satisfied to study the spells "reduce person", and "mage hand" for 30 years. Come my 30th birthday I will have archieved the arcane knowledge of a 100th year elven master at the academy.

My past has afforded me with a special attunement to the many planes of Faerûn . Particularly the elemental planes, which I do call upon so often in my travels. Each year my calls reach deeper and command greater creatures. My attunement is my gift and my path. The barriers between worlds seem weakest where I walk. Something the academies in their jealous and rigid structure could never comprehend. Other worlds call out to me in seductive whispers. Mystra watches me. I’ll be sure to keep her attention.

By my hand,
Gallow
_________________
I'll throw my hot dog down your hallway!

[Hung Like A Chiwawa]

gallowwwwwwwwwwwwwwww
_________________
I'll throw my hot dog down your hallway!