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You are here: Home --> Forum Home --> Recent posts by Grugg
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Topic: Where on earth is Aardvark?
Subject: Huh

The last person I heard of taken to Mexico against their will came back with kidneys.

Stay on your guard.

Posted on 2009-12-19 at 11:18:29.

Topic: Season of the Witch Q/A
Subject: Hmm

Agrin is interested in acquiring wenches, currency and fine medieval cocaine.

Nothing else.


Posted on 2009-12-17 at 22:57:13.

Topic: New T-shirt design announcements
Subject: Wow


Posted on 2009-12-17 at 02:49:16.

Topic: Season of the Witch Q/A
Subject: Posted

Posted up, you've put me in the wonderful position of having to agree with at least one inferior race. This is what I get for picking a Krosan.

...not that I'd have it any other way

Posted on 2009-12-17 at 01:36:04.

Topic: Season of the Witch
Subject: This is not my best writing, though it is my that counts for something

Seated at a small table in the far corner of the tavern, Agrin had scarcely let his eyes drift from the horizon since reading the letter. He had spent the day in quiet contemplation, granting his words to none but Hamar, may he provide him with the wisdom to choose correctly in this dilemma put before him. Whoever it was that had invited him to this gathering, though they were proficient in the language of his people, could not possibly be of dwarvenkind. More than likely a human, bereft of a clan and ties to the community, or perhaps one of the fey-touched twiglets, the elves. The discreet method by which he received the letter, the meeting by nightfall, the shady location, only one without true honour needed to seek refuge in such environments. They would be well connected however, and surely powerful within the surface lands, and Agrin had not discounted his theory that the boorish barkeep had been paid to keep eyes on him.

The weather did little to encourage him, bringing forth torrents of water to crash upon the earthen flesh of Hamar, flooding the poorly the city streets. That was another thing Agrin would not miss about the filth encrusted kingdoms of man, and his heart ached briefly at the thought of his safe, secure vault home, protected from the elements by the rocky flesh of Hamar. Were it not for the threat of the sweaty barkeep slitting his throat while he slept for a handful of copper, Agrin would have remained content to stay within the tavern, sheltered by the shoddy construction of the surface folk. Though he had no true desire to bow to the wishes of his supposed host, he was not a fool, and it would serve his own cause greater were he to play along, if only to assess the threat.

Agrin was the first to arrive at the house, though he felt others’ eyes on him as he entered through the door. The letter had named five others, and Agrin repeated their “descriptions” to himself as more entered. He snorted audibly as ”the sword-arm with a resolve as strong as steel” entered, as well as the cloaked woman who nibbled constantly while she sat, as if she were bred from rats. Surely these women had no place in any situation that required his attention, they should return to their homes as was their place. That was, if they had homes, Agrin was not yet unconvinced these humans had any women that were not harlots of the street.

The waiting displeased Agrin. Their host was surely not of his proud breeding, lack punctuality and delaying to make some manner of entrance. Such cheap theatrics were the tools of one without the bearing to gain notice for his own deeds. Agrin spat on the ground in disgust and rose from his chair to leave. Just as he rose did he hear a voice emerge from the shadows.

“I am pleased to see you have all accepted my humble, if short-notice, invitation.” A smooth, low male voice spoke just above a whisper, drifting out of the darkness of a doorway into a bedroom. One footstep echoed through the home. Then a second, and a third. A tall figure, shrouded in a black cloak, slowly emerged. “Gentlemen, gentlewomen. Allow me to introduce myself,” He spoke from beneath the raised hood. “I, am Erkand Vale.”

Something about the way this strange man set his statements, using pauses and intonation to establish his words, held all eyes on him. The low candlelight allowed the barest view of a clean-shaven jaw beneath his hood, lips pulled into a sly smile, but the dark material obscured the rest of his visage.

“I hope that my request for your attendance met you swiftly and without alarm. Difficult it may be to ensure that you all attend – particularly yourself,” He nodded gently towards Agrin. “such delivery measures were required.”

Agrin spat again. That a human would have the nerve to address him in such a matter did not win him any favour with the Krosan. He returned to his seat however, his curiousity overriding his desire to silence the man was a swing of his mace.

The figure chuckled softly and indicated the rundown abode with a gesture of his gloved hand. “It is less than ideal to host such a…gathering, but for security measures, it is necessary. For myself,” Each participant felt a steely gaze upon them, one by one. “And for yourselves.”

A hand darted beneath his cloak, moving like liquid shadow in the flickering light. Casting it forwards, six sheafs of paper hit scattered onto the tabletop. As six pairs of eyes fell upon them, shock welled up within as each member of the group looked at a coal-sketched portrait of themselves, set above a declaration that chilled the blood.

A Reward of Fifty Ketch for Arrest and Detainment, for Participation in the Outbreak of the Scarlet Flashfever and for the Crime of Witchcraft.

-Chief Inquisitor Venaullan

“To be posted tomorrow morning, among many others. I managed to acquire a few copies before they were tacked up.” Erkand’s voice was silk amidst the drawn tension. “I can help to keep you safe from the Temple Knights, but nothing in this world is for free. There is something I, too, am seeking in this desperate time, and your talents are…ideal.” Erkand hissed the emphasis on the last word.

Agrin glanced at the paper. A roughly sketched bearded face stared back him. Whomever the artist, he had no grasp on the proper talents of producing an image, he knew of children in his homeland who could turn out better in an hour. Still the image unsettled him. Though he knew not whom or why, someone had made plans against him. Not unexpected while on the surface, but to this degree was certainly not an eventuality he had thought of.

The others took the news strangely. The cloaked woman dissolved quickly to tears, her womanly frailties obvious to those around her, while another, younger girl (who Agrin had originally mistake for a male) launched into a tirade of half formed words and babbling incoherency that prevented him from hearing the empty words of the bastard roaming elf. Agrin could only begin to imagine why anyone with the connections their host clearly possessed could have need of anyone so weak of will or mind. Agrin could only hope he would be rid of them soon enough, Hamar fill his ears with earth to drown out their idiocy.

Once again, the looked at each individual seated around the moisture-rotten table. “There is something I need you to locate for me. With your spread of skills, I have contracted you into my service. Your assistance is required. In turn, you shall be aided in avoiding those who would see you on the scaffold, as you all saw this midday.” Erkand chuckled darkly. “And since I hold all the keys to the doors of this little arrangement, it would be in your best interest to assist me.”

Though he felt nothing but distrust towards this man, Agrin had to admit respect for his manoeuvring. He had them in an unwinnable position, entirely at his mercy. His duty lay with Hamar and his clan, and he could serve but one of them if he lay still beneath the earth.

”Very well,” Agrin spoke gruffly in Krosan, gesturing to Erkland as he did, ”I will hear ye out cur. Though be warned ye be speaking to one who is guarded by the very earth on which ye walk. Tread carefully should ye wish to tread evermore.”

Posted on 2009-12-17 at 01:34:23.
Edited on 2009-12-17 at 22:56:00 by Grugg

Topic: Season of the Witch Q/A
Subject: Tomorrow

The being there of tomorrow it has.

Posted on 2009-12-16 at 02:21:44.

Topic: Season of the Witch Q/A
Subject: Gah

Got delayed, will have to put off post until tomorrow. Sorry.


Posted on 2009-12-16 at 00:16:10.

Topic: Loaded Dice #38: So Much for that Romance...
Subject: Hmm

My question addressed. I am like a candy cane in a jungle.

Posted on 2009-12-15 at 00:56:32.

Topic: Season of the Witch Q/A
Subject: Post

Will be posting tomorrow. Hungover. I blame Merideth.

Posted on 2009-12-15 at 00:11:51.

Topic: Loaded Dice #38: So Much for that Romance...
Subject: uh

Why is Steve smirking so much in the final panel where he's just admitted he's not even a blip on someone's romantic radar.

Consequently I find the fact that he was apparently based on you moderately hilarious now.


Posted on 2009-12-14 at 23:42:16.

Topic: The Would You Rather Game
Subject: Reh



Always Pandas.

Pretzels or LAZERBEAMS

Posted on 2009-12-14 at 02:27:06.

Topic: The Would You Rather Game
Subject: Rerg

Pandas. An exceptionally one-sided question.

Well-Dressed Zombies or Men Without Hats.

Posted on 2009-12-14 at 01:20:40.

Topic: Dragon Age Origins!
Subject: Reh

This is the first single player game since Oblivion that I've felt compelled to purchase the DLC for.

Posted on 2009-12-12 at 23:43:00.

Topic: Tome of Magic
Subject: Short and sweet

Truenamer: Actually broken, as in...does not work. Silly.

Binder: A 1-level dip for most classes to get a silly ability. Couple obvious combos.

Shadow: Never actually bothered to read.

Posted on 2009-12-12 at 21:10:24.

Topic: Last one to post wins - Part II
Subject: !

This thread is devolving into chain "I WIN" posts.

I disapprove of that, and demand some attempt at a conversation, if not a series of interesting and thought-provoking comments.

You will fear my wrath.

Posted on 2009-12-11 at 10:56:37.

Topic: Season of the Witch Q/A
Subject: Isd


My CAPSLOCK is erratic.

Posted on 2009-12-09 at 21:34:42.

Topic: Really fun mini-series
Subject: Hmm

I read somewhere Tim Curry was in this. Oh how I do love the sound of his voice.



Posted on 2009-12-09 at 02:21:59.

Topic: Tome of Battle
Subject: I feel I should mention

The Warlock is, while not a bad class, is far from the most broken thing to ever broke. Hellfire warlocks with some questionable ability damage soak cheese are more broken, but still, straight cleric/druid/wizard/psion/a handful of others would clean them up.

I am Ayrn's hair.

Posted on 2009-12-08 at 21:12:05.

Topic: Tome of Battle
Subject: Reh

ToB allows martial characters to not be entirely dwarfed by mages in 3.5e. I rather like it, although admittedly it isn't my favorite in low to mid-power games. I'm not a huge munchkin/mixmax fan, which that books easily caters to. Just off the top of my head I can remember a certain stance/maneuver that triples charge damage while adding 35 (which is then tripled).

So it's kinda fun like that.

I allow it, but with the understanding that minmaxers often find themselves falling of random objects into large pits of death.

Posted on 2009-12-08 at 20:42:50.

Topic: Santa Claus Letters
Subject: HmmI f

This website seems to be implying there is perhaps no Santa.

I am confused by this.

Posted on 2009-12-07 at 21:42:53.

Topic: In a WORLD...
Subject: Hmm

Ah, I assumed WW2 because, well it started in 1940 roughly, so I didn't even notice you said "The Great War". That said, it sounds pretty awesome.

Posted on 2009-12-07 at 00:43:14.

Topic: In a WORLD...
Subject: Hmm

I kind of have to having WW2 end in 1940 part of your deviation from the standard timeline or just a typo. It is now bothering me. Greatly.

I cannot remove the thought from my mind.

Posted on 2009-12-06 at 23:49:46.

Topic: Season of the Witch Q/A


Posted on 2009-12-06 at 13:26:41.

Topic: Season of the Witch Q/A
Subject: Sure

And it's posted.

All hail my eyebrows.

PS: Stole Chris's smaller font idea.


Posted on 2009-12-04 at 22:42:18.
Edited on 2009-12-04 at 22:43:55 by Grugg

Topic: Season of the Witch
Subject: Krazy Krosan Kleric?

It had been almost twelve days among the lesser races now. Twelve days of near gagging at the stench of the unwashed masses, twelve days of being forced to walk amongst them, but worst of all, twelve days of listening to their stuttered, foul sounding speech. How Agrin longed he had never learned their bastard tongue, if only that he could be bothered by the sound of words, not the lack of intellectual meaning behind them. It seemed these mongrels weren't satisfied with simply having their guttural language offend the ear, they seemed determined to make the actual act of listening just as appalling, if not more so. He felt his bile rise each time he heard of the unwholesome practices of some human's local whore, or an abortive discussion on the thoughts of the frail, briar-dwelling, knife-eared elfkin.

The humans of the city seemed to take great pride in their contamination, they and their filth filled the alleys to capacity. No less than twice since his arrival had some foul, diseased human harlot offered herself to him for a pittance of coin. Their persistance showed a history of success in their endevours and Agrin wondered if perhaps humans were not of wise enough to find a mate at all save these undesirable strumpets. He could only imagine how many of these creatures were whorespawn, perhaps as many as half? Such contagion and stain among the surface folk, it should never find it's way to infect his clan, Hamar's stone embrace shield them.

How he longed to return to his people. He spent every moment he could spare among those dwarves who, however foolishly, had chosen to live amongst those of lesser breeding. Displaced as they were above ground, they had fortunately managed to keep their stonesense about them, and Agrin found their company comforting, though it did worry him that they so readily accepted so many of the human's ways. Were it not for the obligation his church had placed upon him, he would leave this land at once, return to his clan in their earthen home and, should Hamar's steadfast will allow it, never leave it again.

As the sun set each evening, he prayed that Hamar grant him the stonelike resolve to last his term among the pestilient surface dwellers and to find it within his benevolence to enfold those dwarves infected by them back into the protective sanctuary of their clans, away from this contagion surely sent to punish those not of dwarven blood. Surely, the earthen sensibilities of the dwarves, undoubtably the chosen of Hamar himself, would lead them through this ordeal unscathed. Until that time he would fulfill his duties as they were described to him, surely his exposure to the humans was a test from his patron, and Agrin would sooner die by human hands than fail in the eyes of Hamar.

Days passed, and Agrin continued his duties in Vyrrmas. As word arrived that a cure for the plague had been found, the foolish minds of the surfacers turned to errant thoughts, seeking the source of the contagion. The dwarves he met about the city spoke word that was the work of arcanists, sorcerers who would play as gods. The death of some human lord had caused unrest, and the unruly mobs that formed shortly were all but expected. Agrin laregly avoided their lynchings and attacks, if the humans felt the urge to remove another of their worthless species from Hamar's soil he would not be one to stop them. Despite this, he managed to find himself in Fereln Square upon the morn of the 27th, trapped in by the masses of bodies pouring in to see whatever spectacle was to be performed.

As the humans pressed around him, he found himself unable to leave, though he could not see whatever was being presented neither. He spat upon the back of a taller human in front of him and uttered a few choice curses as the clumsy oaf stumbled backwards a pace, pushing the dwarf into those that stood around him. The human paid him no heed however, captivated by the speaker whose words had just now reached Agrin's ears.

“People of Vyrrmas! I call your attention upon this display set before you!” The Inquisitor’s powerful shouts had no means of not pulling eyes on him, save Agrin, who could not see but for his own feet. People from several blocks away were drifting in to see what was going on here, and as they did, they, too, were worked into the mentality of the mob. “From within out midst, the watching eyes of Mallien have identified one soul turned to darkness!” At this, an enormous roar came forth from the people of the city.

Agrin spat again at the praise of Mallien. Were he not held back by the sheer numbers of those around him, he would have dearly loved to reach this speaker and let him know of the glory of Hamar. As it were however, he was forced to shout his objection from the crowd, his words drowned out by the roar of the mob that had formed.

“Fear not, for he has been captured and brought forth to show you his face!” Sweeping a hand back, the cleric pointed at the man tied to the post. Rain had matted his mid-length black hair to his face, but his visage was clear enough. Sharp features, unshaven beard stubble growing in, and some wrinkles near the eyes. He was an older man, though in good physical state. Possibly a farmer or a labourer, judging by the broad shoulders. His gaze was directed downwards towards the dais, whether out of defiance or in despair.

“Look at them, heretic!”

No response was given.

The Inquisitor glared at him, then looked to the masses. “The darkness has snatched his soul from his body! There is but one way to ensure that no more are led away from the righteous path by the allure of black magic!”

Whirling back in such a way that his dampened robes fluttered out behind him. He thrust a hand in the man’s face. “Speak now! Seek forgiveness in Mallien by confessing to your sins!”

The man gave no reply.

Grinding his teeth, the cleric placed his palm on the bound man’s forehead, pushing it back so that he could lock eyes. The brown orbs that looked back at him were full of hatred.

He released his hold, and turned to the crowd gathered around. “The devil seeks your souls next. I shall not allow that to happen!” He faced the captive again. “Repent!”

Finally, a response was drawn, though it was uttered slowly, but with extreme force and volume.


The Inquisitor lowered his head, allowing his short brown hair to drip water onto his face. “It is a shame there is no other way...”

Though Agrin could not see the cause, an enormous cheer emerged from the mob.

“This is the face of the heretic! The one so tempted by the black arts that he would forsake everything for the ability to harness the dark arts!” The masses went wild. “There is nothing to fear! Lend your support, and Mallien shall ensure that nobody else shall be tempted to walk in darkness!”

The cause for celebration was quickly made clear to Agrin, as a severed head was soon raised high enough he could see it over the bodies of the crowd. The crowd soon began dispersing, and Agrin could barely contain himself as he pushed through them towards the exits of the square. While he was never one to object to the removal of a human, the means by which the humans defaced the remains of one of their own were distasteful. How could a race such as this have risen to such prominence, even in a land as untainted by thought as the surface countries.

Agrin made his way to the tavern he had found lodging in. He passed through the entrance without a word. He had no desire to speak to the innkeeper, and the local whore's glance filled him with nothing but disgust. He made his way past to his room, stripping his armour, changing into comfortable wear for the night. As he packed his mail away, a scrap of paper tucked within them caught his eye. The seal was not his, nor did it belong to a member of his order. He broke the seal carefully and opened the letter.

Whosever swifts hands had placed this one him clearly knew him well, as it addressed him by his full name, while the remainder of the letter was written proficiently in a dwarven script. He had not deigned fit to tell any among this city his name save the clergy, and his suspicions quickly turned to the Innkeeper. Perhaps the trecherous whoreson has forgotten the extra coin he had paid for his discretion and violated his the privacy he had paid for. Mindful that even now he could be observed, he sat himself in the corner and read the contents of the letter.

You are not the only one to be selected in this unveiling. There are many needs to be filled. A sword-arm with a resolve as strong as steel. An open hand, to spread healing in the name of true peace. A voice of the earth, as deep as the mountains themselves. A woodsman, to guide through this twilight hour. A sneak, to slip past even the sturdiest walls. And finally, a spellweaver, even in these darkest times.

This one passage stood out to him, perhaps his suspicions in the innkeeper were misplaced, though undoubtably he was untrustworthy regardless by virtue of his breed. Clearly whoever had given him this had connections, and clearly he was not alone in this mysterious person's interest. He resolved to investigate this, Hamar grant him the resilience to endure whatever trials it may cause him to face.

(OOC: I am running out of insults already, I need to refuel. Agrin will spend the rest of the day in solitude in his room, cautiously heading to the abandoned building at the time described in the letter.)

Posted on 2009-12-04 at 22:29:32.
Edited on 2009-12-04 at 23:56:34 by Grugg

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