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LuckyIke

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Everything posted by LuckyIke

  1. March Madness is upon us! I’m still riding the Super Bowl high from my Eagles, and have no dog in this fight. I’ll just be watching and rooting for upsets and chaos. Here’s a spot for trash talk, rivalries, and good-natured rooting fun for those of us who enjoy both gaming and sports. To kick things off @Barb Bliss , what’s your prediction for score of the first round MSU game?
  2. Threshing Eve had arrived in Elmsford. The last of the wheat was finally stocked away in the town stores, and most of the farmers felt a comforting, if not entirely not comfortable, weight in their purses. Elmsford wasn’t exactly bustling most of the year, but Threshing Eve had a way of pulling folks into town, even the farmers from the the east bank of the Rhill. In the corner of Elmsford’s only inn, a Storyseller sat in waiting. His once-red cloak was road-worn to a brown, and his soft boots looked in need of a cobbler’s love. Times were tight, but Threshing Eve offered the promise of a few extra coins, or at least rounds of drinks and a warm meal. As the farmers and townsfolk wandered into the inn in twos and threes, he twirled his talefeather deftly in his left hand. He glanced up with a sudden sparkle in his chestnut eyes, and began to speak, seemingly to no one in particular, but with a strong voice audible from across the room. “You all heard the one of the Wickersneak? Aye, yes, that’s an old one, worn thin like a cheap halfpenny. Let’s see, I caught wind of a piece of a tale down near Higginsford. But that one’s still half-baked at best. Maybe with seasoning and another sprinkle of rumors, it'll be ready in a fortnight or so.” The Storyseller leaned back in his creaky oak chair and looked out the window, his eyes momentarily lost in thought. “Ah, I think I have a tale for you all. Mayhap you’ve heard it, as it’s an old one, but mayhap not. Let’s wait a spell and when the light dims it’ll be ripe for a-tellin. Maybe some more folk will come in and fancy a listen. Now, I will say, a tale such as this is liable to leave a fellow a bit parched, I’m just sayin’.” The Storyseller drained his ale, wiped his mouth with a grimy sleeve, and looked around expectantly. “Do you all know how this inn got its name?” Bill Sunderland chimed in, “Aye, Kamrin’s Papa’s Papa’s named it. Old Man Khanas fashioned the sign, and it’s held up mighty fine, despite being a bit worn. I heard they brought the board all the way down the Rhill from up past Ledford.” The Storyseller chuckled mirthlessly as he eyed his now-empty wooden mug, “Well with a story as fine as that, perhaps I should hang up my travel sack and pass my talefeather off to you lad. No, not the story of the naming. What I’ve got for you lot is the story behind the naming. I tell you what, once folks have a chance to knock some of the dust off their boots and whet their appetite for a proper tale, gather round and hear of the Sapphire Stag.” (OOC): Come join in for a little narrative-driven adventure. I'll post once per day, in the evening (Pacific Time). Please keep your posts in-character, add (OOC) if you need to. It'll just be a fun little one-off tale, and we'll see where the adventure takes us. I haven't run an forum post RPG before, so it'll be a new experience for me as well. Now let's see who else might be in the Sapphire Stag on this Threshing Eve in a small nowhere town along the bank of the Rhill...
  3. If you google “magnetic paint” there are a few different primers available by Rustoleum and other companies. I haven’t tried any of them, so can’t speak to their efficacy.
  4. (OOC : I’m sure Padauk will find a way to catch up with the rest of the group if he wound up sleeping off a bit of a hangover. )
  5. The sleepy town began to rouse and farmers and shopkeepers bustled about their business. Well, stumbled about in a groggy haze to be more precise, as they paid the day’s price for last night’s Threshing Eve festivities. Homer Noodleman stopped outside Gnarly’s fence and hollered for his friend. “Did you hear what happened to Bill last night? Dumbass tried to pick a fight with Applebee’s mule after you and your fancy new pals beat feet. He leapt right off the porch of the Sapphire Stag to hit the poor thing with a flying kick. Turns out Applebee’s mule is a right bit better of a kicker than Bill. He missed the whole damn mule, flying off the porch like that, but I tell you what, she had better aim than he did. As he was getting back to his feet she broke his arm with one swift kick then went right back to her feedbag. I told Applebee I owed her a basket of carrots for the favor of shutting Bill up for the rest of the night,” Homer chuckled. “Gnarly, are you sure you want to go off with this lot? That was a pretty wild tale last night. A man’s business should be to his land, no sense in running off sleeping on rocks when you’ve got a bed and farm to mind. You know I’ll look after it for ya, but just think about it before you run off, ok?” Homer tipped his floppy hat towards Gnarly, “I know you’re stubborn once your mind is made up, so I’ll leave it at that. I’ll be seeing ya, friend.” Homer continued his slow walk back towards town.
  6. (OOC I was waiting for the rest of the party to join up on Gnarly’s offer. Folks can decide wheeze they slept. Let’s move along) Dawn brings with it a crisp breeze that, along with the Sun’s first cheerful rays, quickly burns off a light fog. Autumn has begun to make its presence known, with a chill that spreads its tendrils at dawn and dusk, but which retreats by third morning bell until after sundown. Gnarly’s barn is a stout, squat affair, designed for weathering storms and storing pumpkins. Oh the pumpkins! Mounds and mounds of them, with hardly room for a visitor to squeak past to reach the ladder leading to the hay loft. The loft itself is a dry, musty place, smelling slightly of desiccated flowers, with just a faint hint of plum. Once years ago, Mrs Applebee, back when she was just Jenny Telson, had snuck up there with Ulrick Applebee’s boy, the smith’s ‘Prentice, and that’s part of why she’s Mrs Applebee now isn’t it? Gnarly’s farm lays on the outskirts of town, a few miles east of the square and the docks along the Rhill. The Sapphire Stag sits on the north end of the square, along the road. It’s braziers unlit, it’s door locked and the taproom remains closed. It glowers in the dispersing fog like a drunk just slowly waking long enough to tend to the morning necessaries, before slumping back to sleep. At the docks a team slowly loads odds and ends into a punt barge, while another riverboat pulls into view coming downriver. The smithy’s forge is already alight at the early hour, as the barge captain required a few new iron-shod punts, and he was willing to pay extra for the quick turnaround. The rest of the town slowly groans into life. Except Crazy Ma Pickins, she was always awake, sitting on her rocker as usual, lording over an empty market square in the early morning, chattering to no one in particular, which was just as well, as there is no one else there.
  7. Less than $3 / mini, but Shipping will be charged after the campaign.
  8. The portly innkeep wrung his hands in his apron and cleared his throat hesitantly, “Bill, I uh, reckon it’s about time for you to get back home, from the looks of it you’ve had a bit too much. Let’s not get things all tangled so as we have to fetch the constable now.” He eyed Nisha and Mossbloom cautiously, “As for you two, erm, misses. It would probably be best if you were on your way tonight.” He swallowed hard, “Yes, probably best. Can’t say as there’s another inn in town, I’m afraid, but still, no need for things to get out of hand. Mayhaps if you’re lucky you could find a punt barge heading Up Rhill.” The crowd’s murmur began to die down into hushed mutterings and whispers.
  9. I posted this in the miniatures thread as well, but check out these pooches!
  10. https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/russrmc/animal-adventures-tales-of-dungeons-and-doggies This one looks like it is custom made to entice DMG fans! It seems pretty unique, so I’m in.
  11. As the volunteers step forward, the prospective adventurers begin to attract additional attention from the rest of the inn patrons. ”Are those, are those...horns?!” asks Bill Sunderland incredulously, pointing at Nisha. A startled murmur begins to bubble and fill the room as townsfolk talk amongst themselves in a rising clip. A plump woman gasps and rushes to the opposite side of the serving hall with her infant. Chairs scrape against the hardwood floor as some patrons crane their necks for a better view, while others try to hustle away from the tiefling.
  12. Bone box and hero sleeves From left to right: bocote, ziricote, wenge, Bolivian rosewood, Chechen. The Chechen hero sleeve is the winner - it is my first piece of Chechen and just look at this beauty! The cell phone camera doesn’t capture the chatoyance.
  13. (OOC: Good question, @RomyCat. Yes I will take the role of the DM, and will set the scenes up for you guys - I have some NPCs that you may run into as you go along your way . I do have a story arc and a few set pieces I’ve built out, and have some rough ideas for some additional encounters depending on where you guys decide to take things. That said, I’m undecided if the format better supports pure narrative or if we will incorporate some dice rolling, as DMG did during their Puzz campaign. What are your preferences as far as format as you all depart the tavern and head off into the unknown? I welcome feedback on that and on any other aspects of things thus far.)
  14. I think he can, I think he can, I think he can!
  15. The Storyseller regarded Gnarly closely as Mossbloom made her announcement. “You may not speak it aloud, but I see you asking me your question. You ask it with your eyes, with the way you stand, shifting from foot to foot. So consider your question asked, and now answered. Yes. Yes, you should go. The crops are in and tucked away, there’s nothing here for you that a friend or two can’t mind for a few weeks. The world out there awaits, full of things to be known. Go find your piece.”
  16. The Storyseller downed Gnarly’s gifted ale in one long draw, his Adam’s apple bobbling with each gulp. He nodded a contented silent thanks to the farmer. “Exact is an interesting word, isn’t it? I don’t know that I could fix any one thing truly true enough in this world to call my knowledge of it exact. Perhaps a mathematician up in his tower would disagree, but maybe that’s why they like to stay up in those sort of places - less fussing with the real world and the ability to seek comforting solace in nice clean numbers. The cartographers tried to venture out into the world to capture those sort of pure numbers and lock them into fine vellum. Sadly, in my experience, they don’t understand that the way of things means sometimes fifteen miles across flat ground is shorter than a single mile up a mountain. Language is much the same, as are stories. Words have a breath and life of their own, and flit around, changing their shapes like shadows around a guttering fire. The tongue is a lazy, wicked thing. It never wants to say any more than it must, and often does less work than it should. Dimnir’s Hall, over thirty and three generations must have succumbed to a slow crumble by now. In much the same way, the names and places of such things slip from memories of old grandmothers and start to shift around. As such, I would bet the new gold coin resting in my boot that I know it’s today name. Neershall. Up Rhill. But why? Those lazy wicked tongues of thirty and three grandmothers. Before Neershall... Neer’s Hall, not all glommed together with the ‘sh’ sound. Take off the shawl and you have a very different sounding place, no? I couldn’t find it, not on a map nor from the boat I rode down three seasons back. But I can’t say I scraped the banks, nor did I poke my walking stick too deep into that theory. Curiousity didn’t seem to have served Dimnir himself too well, after all. From there, the path would be long gone of course, but the stories always suggest a path from the hall, a day, a long night huddled, and part of a second day trekking through the woods. Thus, it seems reasonable that upon whichever bank you find the Hall...well...who knows really. Stories have some threads that run true, but those always get wound up in the big snarl along with the exaggerations, boasts, and outright lies. Who can know truth from untruth in the midst of that knot of Tinker’s twine? So exact? No, but I would hazard I’ve given it more careful thought than most. Although maybe I’m no better than a cartographer, saying one mile is just a mile, when our aching feet know better.”
  17. (OOC: sorry all, got crushed at work yesterday and didn’t get a chance to post the Storyseller’s reply to Mossbloom’s question. I’ll get it posted today.)
  18. The hottest I ever experienced in my life was 126 with some humidity. After surviving that, the 108 we got up to last week didn’t feel so bad in comparison.
  19. The Storyseller’s eyes widened ever so slightly for a moment as the gold coins clanked into place atop the sealed letter. ”Aye, I make it to the court on occasion. That’s a more than fair price to pay for a bit of mail, I must say. For that gold I will make my way to the court immediately and deliver it to your king myself. Looks like I’ll be breaking in a new pair of boots along the way, thanks to your coin. Being a namer and knower of many things, I mean no offense when I say that Roseblossom does not have the feel of a royal name, but your royal price for my service may suggest I am mistaken.” The Storyseller winked. The Storyseller stared at the elf intensely for a long moment, and broke his gaze to glance at the bearded farmer standing over her shoulder. ”For your generosity, in addition to my services as courier, you have also bought answers. Three is a lucky number, excepting when it comes to troublesome gnomes, so answers to three questions I will provide you. Providing they aren’t questions related to gnomish tinkers, that is. One from you, one from your bearded farmer companion here, and one from another guest of your choosing. But please do recall, I don’t do fortunes, so don’t waste your questions on that sort of nonsense. So often in these farm towns I am treated as little more than an almanac. But you know better and deeper.” The Storyseller quietly secreted the sealed letter away in a hidden pocket of his once-red cloak. In a practiced set of moves, he placed one gold coin into his left boot and the rest into his purse. He chuckled softly to himself as he watched a heavily-armed dwarf take a tumble, then returned his gaze to the elf standing before him.
  20. Bill Sunderland whistled appreciatively from his table near the Storyseller. “I’ll say that’s as good a yarn as any I’ve heard in this inn. Here’s a copper well-earned, Storyseller.” He tossed a penny onto the Storyseller’s table. A serving girl brought the Storyseller a bowl of soup and a fresh mug of ale with a quiet word of explanation. The man nodded his appreciation to two well-dresses merchants seated across the room. The Storyseller turned to his travel sack and took out a stack of sealed envelopes, ink and quill. “I’ve got letters for sale bound for the North, and for the West. I’ll record your will for three penny, and write down your family story on fine vellum for two silver. I’ve got news from afar, of the King’s War against the rebels to the south. Whispers of familial discord in the elvish courts. Questions answered, rumors clarified, bits of tales and knowing of things. I don’t tell fortunes but if you want me to tell you ‘you’ll find a wife and happiness by running off with a gal from two towns over’ I’ll do it so you can tell her and her angry parents with a straight face that it was all fortold and destined to be.” Patrons came over to the Storyseller in ones and twos, mostly tending to the small simple business of farmers’ small, simple lives. The Storyseller affected a professional demeanor and tended to his recording with a slight hint of boredom. He sold a sealed letter to a merchant bound for Swillig, far up Rhill in the foothills of the Dunnlap Mountains. Eventually his business dried up and he found himself staring into the fire nursing a half mug of ale.
  21. Is anyone else eyeing Eclipse 2nd edition? I won’t be participating in the CMON Cthulhu Kickstarter, but am considering throwing the equivalent sum at this one. Has anyone played it before?
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