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An Unquiet Mind
| Feb. 19th, 2009 12:30 pm Onions >. Listen...I don't like to talk about this but, since I trust you...
I was traumatized by The Onion Lord and his gang of ruffians. It happened when I was just a wee lad at 5'10". I remember it fondly for I had just turned the graceful age of 5. I was allowed out till diner and could frolic and play in the verdant green lawns of Kingstown suburbia. What a glorious summer full of promise and adventure!
Little did I know that The Onion Lord was watching, waiting, and biding his time till I had been lulled into a serenity and my defenses were down!
It was a pleasant enough day, the pool was open and my cousins had come in for a weekend visit. My aunts and uncles were joking with my parents and the yard was a pristine 2" high with flowers in full bloom, the edges tight and the colors wondrous.
My cousins and I had been swimming for some time now while our parents had been preparing a lunch. I could smell the burgers and hot dogs on the grill and had become quite hungry from the boisterous efforts of staying on the inner tube and dunking random family members.
With a clairvoyant ring my mother called to us to get out of the pool and come eat. We eagerly obeyed and exited the pool like a mob rushing the stores of Black Friday looking for a Cabbage Patch doll.
There was watermelon, brauts, fruit salads, burgers and dogs, and a multitude of chips. My eager eyes took it all in with sweet abandon as I piled my plate higher and higher. So overjoyed by the simple happiness brought on by family and food I didn't notice The Onion Lords devious machinations!
You see, there where two bowls of potato salad. There always was. For my father, in his infinite wisdom, had declared open war on The Onion Lord and his socialist agenda that all food tasted better with his involvement. He had been training me in the ways of Allium cepa combat for years!
In my zealous glee you see, I hadn't been paying attention to my mother when she had explained which bowl of potato salad was intended for my fathers faction. I hadn't noticed one being smaller than the other, proportionate to our groups size as opposed to the loyal followers of The Onion Lord.
I gleefully spooned everything on my plate into my mouth smiling and frolicking with laughter and abandon with those around me. That's when it happened. What was this flavor? Why did everything suddenly taste wrong? What was happening?!
I heard it, softly at first, then growing in malice and triumph. It was the hideous laughter of The Onion Lord! He had duped me, I had tasted of his vile kingdom! My taste buds stained with this duplicity forever!
So, as you see. This is why I dislike onions to this day...why I continue to be vigil of their infiltration. Why I keep an ever weary eye out for....
The Onion Lord.
Current Location: work
Current Mood:  creative
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| Mar. 24th, 2008 05:33 pm Frustrated! Ok, so I'm a gamer and I love a good story. Lately though I've been bored to tears. WoW is just boring these days. WAR isn't here yet. My gaming group is now spread across the country in GA, AZ and PA. I just want to play!
And when is Housed of the Blooded going to be done?
Anyway I'm irritable and a new episode of Bleach wont be around till the first week of April.
/end rant Current Location: Home
Current Mood:  frustrated
Current Music: Korn
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| Mar. 21st, 2008 12:21 pm Waaagh! I would really like to play Warhammer Online sooner, instead of later. Current Location: Work
Current Mood:  anxious
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| Mar. 4th, 2008 03:14 pm R.I.P Gygax MILWAUKEE (AP) — Gary Gygax, who co-created the fantasy game Dungeons & Dragons and helped start the role-playing phenomenon, died Tuesday morning at his home in Lake Geneva. He was 69. Current Location: work
Current Mood:  crushed
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| Dec. 15th, 2007 05:55 pm I Am A: Neutral Good Human Ranger (5th Level)
Ability Scores:
Strength-11
Dexterity-14
Constitution-15
Intelligence-15
Wisdom-16
Charisma-15
Alignment:
Neutral Good A neutral good character does the best that a good person can do. He is devoted to helping others. He works with kings and magistrates but does not feel beholden to them. Neutral good is the best alignment you can be because it means doing what is good without bias for or against order. However, neutral good can be a dangerous alignment because because it advances mediocrity by limiting the actions of the truly capable.
Race:
Humans are the most adaptable of the common races. Short generations and a penchant for migration and conquest have made them physically diverse as well. Humans are often unorthodox in their dress, sporting unusual hairstyles, fanciful clothes, tattoos, and the like.
Class:
Rangers are skilled stalkers and hunters who make their home in the woods. Their martial skill is nearly the equal of the fighter, but they lack the latter's dedication to the craft of fighting. Instead, the ranger focuses his skills and training on a specific enemy a type of creature he bears a vengeful grudge against and hunts above all others. Rangers often accept the role of protector, aiding those who live in or travel through the woods. His skills allow him to move quietly and stick to the shadows, especially in natural settings, and he also has special knowledge of certain types of creatures. Finally, an experienced ranger has such a tie to nature that he can actually draw on natural power to cast divine spells, much as a druid does, and like a druid he is often accompanied by animal companions. A ranger's Wisdom score should be high, as this determines the maximum spell level that he can cast.
Find out What Kind of Dungeons and Dragons Character Would You Be?, courtesy of Easydamus</a></b> (e-mail)
Current Mood:  calm
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Dec. 2nd, 2007 11:26 pm Thanatopsis - "So live, that when thy summons comes to join
- The innumerable caravan which moves
- To that mysterious realm where each shall take
- His chamber in the silent halls of death,
- Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
- Scourged by his dungeon; but, sustain'd and soothed
- By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,
- Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
- About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams."
Current Location: Home
Current Mood: sad
Current Music: NIN - Numb
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| Nov. 15th, 2007 11:12 am Bored at work again In a hospital bed on a quiet floor of a Seattle rehabilitation center a man lies still eyes closed. Surrounded by family and loved ones the mans head is wrapped in bandages and his hand lays in the hand of his mother. A well dressed business mogul of striking resemblance stands with arms crossed speaking in subdued tones to a doctor in a white lab coat and surgery scrubs. In the bed, his brothers eyes move rapidly behind relaxed brow.
"A coma? I thought you said the surgery went well. What happened and why is he in a coma?" ...... My head. My head feels like my soul is rallying against it's cage. Trying desperately to escape the confines of this body. For the sake of any god who can hear me stop this pain!
It's slow going opening my eyes. I made the mistake of opening them quickly, as if I was just awakening from an afternoon nap. That was a mistake that has cost me. Even with my eyelids shut my eyes still water from the light, a light which seems to find no difficulty in penetrating the barrier I've clamped down against it. To make matters all the more cheery my head feels like some one used it for a rousing game of kick the can, and the can woefully lost.
I try it slowly this time, inching my right eye open ever so slowly, I know it's going to hurt this time. As my eye opens I know I was right, just miscalculated a bit. It doesn't just hurt, it hurts a lot.
Everything is white, white and hot. I didn't notice the heat with my head throbbing like a war drum before, I notice it now. I have both eyes open now and slowly I can make out some of the details in front of my face. Apparently it's pretty close to the ground. I can feel my extremities now along with the heat and I'm sluggishly coming to understand that I'm face first in some sand. Some hot sand.
As I collect my thoughts I can't help but wonder. Where the hell am I and what am I doing here. I slowly push myself up from my prostrate position and take notice of my hands. They're large, calloused and tanned to a golden hue I never would have thought possible with my pale complexion and Irish heritage. Speaking of which, I don't remember letting my hair grow and dying it black. Just what the hell is going on here?
I'm kneeling now and I start to take stock in myself and my surroundings. I'm in the middle of what appears to be a desert. I'm shirtless, barefoot and I'm wearing what appears to be a loin cloth. Strange as that seems it's not the most unusual aspect of my current condition.
My entire body is tanned a golden brown my hair is long black and straight, just falling past my shoulders. My chest and arms are covered in tattoos of a deep, swallowing black. As I peer at them with the scrutiny of someone waking up from an all night bender with a sudden and disparaging haircut, I get the impression that I can get lost in the depth of the color. More impressive is the cords of muscles that cover my frame. My biceps alone are larger than I ever remember my legs being.
As I stand and survey the landscape about me I can barely make out shadows on the horizon. I may not be a survivalist but, I sure as hell know I can't sit out here in the desert and hope to survive. I start off at jog towards the dark shapes on the horizon reveling the power of my legs churning through the sand. It's funny to think that I would day dream of this kind of power back at home. Home, it's funny but I can't seem to remember the name now. I can remember somewhere else, something else that used to make me feel safe and welcome but, it eludes me now.
As the time and distance pass beneath me I can't reign in my thoughts as the absurdity of my situation struggles to reconcile itself with the present. Why can't I remember home? Why can't I remember how I got here? Where is here?
I run into it like a wall, and it stops me dead in my tracks as if the wall was actually here.
Who am I?
Current Location: Work
Current Mood:  bored
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| Nov. 4th, 2007 11:56 pm Child's Play 2007 One of the best things to come out of the video game playing community in it's entire history. This isn't a game or a new studio. This is about the people who play the games, and what they can do for those less fortunate.
Child's Play 2007 Current Location: dungeon (work)
Current Mood:  grateful
Current Music: none :(
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| Nov. 2nd, 2007 01:58 am The Cauldron
Checking back over his shoulder Calus notices only three men behind him. Adjusting his mask he tries to remember the names of the other seven. All of them volunteered. All of them are strong and resolute citizens but, this was The Cauldron, and no one came here.
Covered head to toe in thick leather hides Calus pressed on through the increasingly strong winds. Tethered with the remainder of his party to the guide line he carried his prize in his right hand. It had been difficult to obtain, most had always believed impossible but, it was the only thing that would do for the job. The Shard of Jun was a legendary weapon and with it came great power. That’s why its previous bearer had sent it to the center of The Cauldron. Calus hunkered lower to brace against the increasing ferocity of the wind. There was a sudden scream that faded into the distance. Calus had no need to check over his shoulder, he was down to two men. The wind and the slick surface of glass they walked across had claimed another. The Cauldron floor was black glossy glass and under the blue light of Quin, the third sun, your reflection held a blue tinge. There was no real night in The Cauldron for the third sun was stationary over this valley year round. At night the blue light showed the uneven and jagged glass walls of this valley. Stretching up at odd angles to spear like heads and always curving inwards. Calus knew that some of his men were impaled on spikes such as the ones he saw in front of him. It meant he was close, the guideline had worked. In the past men had sojourned for the shard and died turned around and lost, constantly buffeted by the wind till they grew tired and were swept away to the walls of lancing death or worse they were still in The Cauldron come dawn. Everyone knew that this point was where the three suns met at their zenith and focused their heat into this valley. When the time came the glass melted and swirled around, churning in the winds until the suns passed and it cooled again forming more sharp edges, and a new crystalline floor. Calus worried not for before the suns came the wind would stop all together. The severe change in temperature caused it the shaman said. Calus didn’t care what caused it he just knew that if he was here when it happened he would be dead. Too much thinking, not enough concentrating, Calus slipped his steel shod soles stepping on a rare protruding rock instead of glass. Calus cursed himself as his knee hit first and crashed through the glass with the full weight of his frame. Calus kept hold of the shard and the line lest he be swept off by the wind. He could hear faint shouting behind him as the last two of his party made their way to him. They had kept a ten foot distance between them after the first man had been carried into four others by the wind, and all were lost. It wasn’t the pain that had Calus cursing. The large shard of glass that pierced his armor and pierced his flesh to drive itself above his knee was painful but Calus and his people showed no pain. It wasn’t the fact that he would be crippled and never fight again even if he could walk. It wasn’t for the loss of his men, for they were citizen soldiers and died for their kingdom as well as lived for it. It wasn’t because the wind had stopped and Calus was out time. It was because his sister was only 17 and hadn’t completed her training yet. The temperature began to rise quickly and with out mercy. The winds began to pick up once again, this time traveling in the opposite direction. The Cauldron was about to churn once more. There was no escaping it now, Calus would die here. Bleeding, broken but not defeated. There was one thing about the shard that Calus knew. Its wielder, its master could send it anywhere they wanted. As the glass floor of The Cauldron began to burn Calus skin and his sight was robbed by the reflection Calus though of his sisters’ chambers, of the bed, and the dresser, of the desk and the foot locker, and most importantly of the weapons rack. As his skin welted and his hair began to burn in the wind, Calus opened unseeing eyes and stared to the heavens. With one last scorching breath Calus let loose the war cry of his people and let go of the guide line. ****** People of stone and sweat. That is what the outsiders called her people. They didn’t understand what it meant to dedicate themselves to martial pursuit as her people did. They slept on their feather stuffed beds with large fur blankets. They walked hallways lined with opulent rugs with walls adorned with frivolous paintings and tapestries. They dressed in lairs of restrictive clothing, pilling salves and creams to their bare skin. They took chariots and carts with comfortable cushions every where they went. They did all this and they considered her people barbarians for not. Her people sleep unclothed on beds made of stone with the heat of their mate if anything for warmth. They walk barefoot on rough hewn floors down hallways hung with weapons and torches. They wear simple clothing to allow for fluid movement over sun bronzed and battle scared skin. They ride bareback and only if time does not permit for them to run. Every morning these thoughts ran through the princess’ mind. Every morning she thanked the gods she was a warrior first and a woman second. Every morning she set herself to becoming better, stronger, faster and fearless. This was the way of her people. She arose in the barracks with nineteen other young women and quickly adorned her training cloth. A simple one piece cloth that wrapped around her body to keep things in place so they wouldn’t interfere with training. Hers was not a modest people. Modesty wasn’t something that had any bearing on combat. Today at the end of training she would be required to return to her parents’ home and tend the chores there. Her brother was about the world and it fell to her to take care of the home. It would mean less sleep but, a warrior learns to sleep when they can for none knows when the next chance will be. He is to be gone no longer than two days it makes no matter the shortened rest of one night. It is a gift from Calus that she may know her time in the final years of her training as tough as any other warrior of the Kaldene. If it meant doing her part for the family after doing her part for her city, than it was what she did. Besides, Calus would be back tomorrow. Current Location: Work
Current Mood: creative
Current Music: none
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| Oct. 16th, 2007 03:59 pm 5 x 12 hour shifts ....slowly killing me.
I have alot of stuff I want to post, just no time to do so. Current Mood: tired
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| Oct. 8th, 2007 08:03 pm Rough Drafts, Free Writing, and the Chaos that makes it fun Well with 4e around the corner I started getting excited about story arcs, and my brain went into overdrive and almost broke. Talked it out a bit with some gaming buddies and started jotting things down. I initially intended this to be a FR adventure and possibly RPGA...then I said screw it lets Home Brew it. So heres the randomness and ideas for the beginning. Not everything will make it and editing is half the fun.
Haven of Hopes Hollow
"City of mediocrity, fair weather, and friends;
a dimly luminescent point on light.
From nightmare and pain it's hard fought peace defended;
stalwart guardians live out lives long past.
New awakenings, neophytes pick up torches, a worried anticipation;
...at long last."
- The Haven of Hopes Hollow is our little hamlet where everything begins, its a small little woodsy town.
- Retired heroes who do their best to hide what they were and live in the now bleak times are your Generation One geezers.
- Generation Two is the children of Generation One along with the few people who have found the town and decided to make it there home.
- Generation Three is the younglings and grandchildren under feet and dreaming of whats beyond the town and why they're parents aren't cool enough to go do something fun.
- Generation 2.5 is that in between Generation. The older brothers and sisters of the younglings, the ones Old enough to actually leave the town. They go on the hunting parties with their parents, tend fields, drink beer....these are the PC generation.
Original concept was for an adventure in FR setting after the fast forward, instead of conforming and waiting I decided I wanted Muls, and I want Fey to be nasty little bastards. Competition for the world, tons of open frontier and unexplored lands, small fiefdoms possibly a kingdom or two. Plus, I really loathe alignment.
SO at any rate, metals come from the Fey and sometimes in places where our world meets theres we can get at it. Needless to say my version of Leprechauns don't like Dwarves all that much. In fact animosity doesn't cover it. Oh and the silver tribes, those Fey responsible for the creation of silver, constantly under siege from those that bear the curse of the Were-Beast. Ya see they like the power and people go through years of pain, humiliation and servitude in hopes that those that have the "curse" will share it.
Oh, and did I mention Muls? This world isn't enlightened and the old Dark Sun canon is coming back in different ways.
Well at this point it's all in my head and coming out in pieces. I hope to get it all out so that it's written down and that I can get some feedback as I revise, revise, revise.
Thanks for reading.Current Mood:  contemplative
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