From the Journal of Brom-lak Inksmear

Tarsahk 30, 1479

We dispatched some minions of Gruumsh today and yesterday. Both bands descended on us in the dead of night like the cowards they are. The second ambush came as an act of revenge. Apparently, the ogre priest took umbrage at the slaying of his orc pets. Though it had nothing to do with my mission whatsoever, I took great satisfaction in the events of the last two days. Evil was delivered a blow this day.

Mirtul 1, 1479

On the outskirts of Fort Dolor this morning, we encountered some rather recalcitrant farmers. They would divulge no more than something foul indeed brews within Fort Dolor. Or at least the forest next to it. Pressed for details, the farmers clammed up, directly all further questions with the Fort’s garrison. Though too proud to admit it, I sense fear in these hard-working folk. Fear of what, I cannot say.

Jirl Merris proved less friendly than her cousin in Bristol Watch. And even less open about Dolor’s troubles than the farmers beyond her gate. She came close to divulging details several times, but always stopped short with “. . . but no, I dare say no more.” She has the brusqueness of a busy tavern keeper, but like her fellows working the fields, I sense an underlying fear from her that conflicts her greatly.

She did reveal that Fort Dolor citizens have been disappearing. And all signs point to the forest as the dubious recipient. Coming in, a farmer let slip that the captain of the garrison had disappeared. Jirl was reluctant to confirm even that much, implying (rather lamely) that the captain wasn’t missing, but rather “gone.” As if to say he were on patrol or busy training a nearby ally garrison.

Whatever the source of the citizenry’s reluctance to inform and detail, it seems clear to me that a visit to the forest must happen. The earlier, the better. I’m traveling with a goodly band of adventurers and I’m betting they will agree to explore the nearby copse, if only for the chance at treasure and fame. I have no way to communicate with WLA, but I operate on the premise that I am charged with revealing, confronting, and defeating.

Of note, some members of my new adventuring friends took offense at some evidence I took from our first encounter with the orc Gruumans. The followers bear a curious sigil, unfamiliar to me so far. Curious, I lopped an arm off, just above the wrist, preserving the mark for others to hopefully identify. But when I pulled the arm out to show to Jirl Merris, some in my party balked! I must remember that not everyone handles such matters as clinically as I.

Role-playing Log, Brom-lak Inksmear, April 25, 2009

Summary:

Brom and Str8 Rippin' dispatched a band of orc and ogre Gruumsh followers on their way to Fort Dolor. Upon entering the town, the party began to piece together that people have been disappearing mysteriously and most everyone blames the nearby forest.

Role-playing Quantity: Medium

Real nice balance of role-playing and combat last session. Our DM called referred to our encounter with the Gruumsh followers as a "random, scripted encounter." His pack of "scripted" mobs killed a pack of gibberlings for us, to which I'm eternally grateful.

Role-playing Quality: Medium

I was able to work on Brom a bit last session. I'm playing him as helpful, even-tempered, reasonable. In other words, the exact opposite of Rend. Not quite as exciting, but it has the side-benefit of not pissing of the fellow players. I don't see Brom as a potential leader for the party, but I do see him as someone who will play a strong part in determining Str8 Rippin's mission base. I'm going to keep him fiercely loyal to the White Lotus Academy, so much so that he'll follow the Academy's orders and directions above those of the party's. That might prove some nice fertile ground to role-play in future sessions. Right now, Brom is firmly devoted to rooting out the danger that seems to grip Fort Dolor so firmly.

In Bruges

First off, "Bruges" is pronounced "brooge," as in it rhymes with "scrooge." You better drop the "es" or sound like a total idiot when you mention the movie's title. Not that I personally made that mistake. No way. Not a chance.

In Bruges is a great movie, by the way. "Don't hold it against me," is a common refrain that Americans in the movie say by way of admitting they're citizens of the United States (why do I now picture all Americans traveling abroad as constantly apologizing that they're American?).

But the movie could also say that about having Colin Farrell star in it: "Yes, Colin stars in me, but please! Don't hold that against me!" And you shouldn't because Farrell makes this movie. He's hilarious in it. He's got some of the movie's best lines and he delivers them like the half-drunken Irishman he probably is in real life, accompanied with some of the best facial acting I've seen in recent memory. If the sight of Farrell sickened you from the half dozen or so movies he's made this past decade, push that illness aside and give the man and his unibrow another chance. You won't be disappointed.

Even if Bruges is a shithole.

Role-playing Log, Brom-lak Inksmear, April 17, 2009

Summary:

Brom-lak Inksmear, genasi swordmage and premier student of the famed White Lotus Academy, is sent on a dangerous mission to investigate recent reports that some evil befalls a tiny village, one Bristol Watch, Vilhon Wilds. Brom travels to Bristol Watch with all due haste. Upon arriving, he finds the town completely devastated, but the threat neutralized. He soon meets the band of adventurers responsible for defeating the evil and gathers information from them, including the insect horde threat commanded by the nefarious Ne'ral.

Brom communicates back to the academy Elders (via Send ritual) all the intel he gathered. The Elders digest the information and respond in kind, ordering Brom to investigate a new threat, just two days west of Bristol Watch at the Fort Dolor. Str8 Rippin' agrees to accompany Brom to the fort as some in the party received their own information about rumblings west of Bristol Watch.

Role-playing Quantity: High

The entire night was nearly all role-playing. The only fight of the night barely qualified, a botched assassination attempt on Quinn.

Role-playing Quality: Medium

Brom is the new character I rolled to replace Rend. I'm essentially playing the same template, with the slight tweek that Brom is the Aegis of Shielding specc (a more defensive defender than the Assault version). I made Brom a student of the White Lotus Academy, a recent article published in the D&D Insider website. The DM placed the school north of Akanul, in Aglarond. My idea for Brom's journey to Bristol Watch and eventual integration with Str8 Rippin' was the investigation into the emergence of a ravenous insect horde in the Vilhon Wilds.

That proved a decent enough hook to get Brom with the rest of the players, but the role-playing aspect proved difficult. I really don't have a firm grasp on Brom's personality and motivations, beyond serving the academy as an investigator. As a result, I often felt at a lost on how to react to the other player characters. As a whole, my role-playing felt stilted and forced.

I think I'm going to have Brom play the part of a conscientious bureaucrat. He will take copious, detailed notes on behalf of the Academy's missions. I'm picturing a kind of Sherlock Holmes, branding a bastard sword rather than a pipe. That could prove fertile territory, though I bet it's going to be hard to play the role of detective with six other players.

Humble Grumble

My transfer to the district's newest middle school went through last week and I am neck-deep in work. I started working on the library's ODC (Opening Day Collection) last Thursday and only today am I beginning to grasp the enormity of my task. Over the past Easter holiday weekend, I averaged around six hours of work per day. And I put in about two to three hours each weekday evening too.

It sounds like I'm complaining, but I'm really not. It's an amazing opportunity to build a library from scratch. I know lots of librarians dying for the chance and most never will because it's a relatively rare endeavor. It's also a time-consuming process. I have starting lists as a reference point, but I still have to review each and every title on those lists, not to mention re-configuring bindings, quantities, and editions. It's an exercise in permutations, manipulating and controlling up to five options for some titles.

It doesn't help that I have a looming due date, too fast approaching. I have to have my final list order into the vendors by May 15th. In between now and that date, literally thousands of titles to sift through. I'm confident I'm going to hit the date on time, but it's going to take some concentrated effort on my part. My extra-curricular gaming has all but withered and died on the vine, except for my weekly D&D sessions. I don't see that changing much until June, at the earliest.

Role-playing Log, Rend-fol, April 9, 2009

Summary:

Rend and Str8 Rippin' face the final onslaught of insect invaders within a sandstone hive shaped like a chicken egg. The party prevails, but Rhogar the barbarian dies.

Role-playing Quantity: Low

Two consecutive large-scale fights consumed the entire evening of gaming.

Role-playing Quality: Low

See above.

Actually, I am most likely going to stop playing Rend and reroll. Playing a moderately evil character is a difficult thing to do within a cooperative game and Rend just isn't turning out like I hoped. I think playing an evil character can be done, it just will take more planning than what I did.

Though very lame, I want to continue playing a genasi swordmage, so I'll essentially continue playing the same statistics, just under a new name and background.

Krod Mandoon Series Premiere

I watched the Krod Mandoon the other night and laughed my ass off. It's a comedy show with a fantasy setting, a proprietary serialization along the lines of the movie, Meet the Spartans. In fact, Sean Maguire plays the lead, Kroddwick "Krod" Mandoon. I highly recommend the show.

Billy Bob Thornton: Cry Baby of the Month

What a tender, delicate man Billy Bob Thornton is. Such a precious, vulnerable artist. Not to mention tortured and suffering too.

Or it could be Billy Bob is just a complete, insufferable asshole. Watch this and decide for yourself.

Potato Day Rears Its Ugly Head

John Stewart wonders aloud if conservatives are confusing tyranny with losing.

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart	M - Th 11p / 10c
Baracknophobia - Obey
thedailyshow.com
Daily Show Full Episodes Economic Crisis Political Humor

PETA

You may have thought that PETA stood for "People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals."

But you'd be wrong.

It really stands for this, as exemplified by the shirt of a fellow gym goer:
















I now count myself a rigorous member of this fine organization.

Krod Mandoon

The show premieres on Comedy Central Thursday night and I've got it set to record because it looks funny as hell. Plus, I'm so close to abandoning Lost. I'm nearing the end of my capacity to watch that show anymore despite all the years invested.

Role-playing Log, Rend-fol, April 4, 2009

Summary:

Rend-fol and Str8 Rippin' plunged deeper into Ne'ral's nest. The party first battled an iron construct guarding bronze double doors. Floating orbs on either side of the room arced lightning across the expanse as the party struggled to fell the massive golem. Rend got hit by the room lightning twice, each bolt dealing no damage but rendering the victim "dazed." Normally, a toon can take three actions during their turn: a standard, a move, and minor. But when dazed, a toon can only take ONE of those actions. It can be any of the three, but only one. Spending the ENTIRE fight with only one action per turn rendered Rend the metaphorical equivalent of a hero in a wheel chair, veinly spinning his wheels and contributing as much effort to the fight as a bare-legged, black-socked senior citizen.

Role-playing Quantity: Low

Precious little opportunity to role-play. And Rend squandered the only real chance he had to reassert his true nature.

Role-playing Quality: Low

Rhogar, the party's resident dragonborn barbarian plunged himself down a 100 foot deep fang-shaped chasm. Rend pushed a pair of sandstone doors open and, without looking before he leaped, Rhogar rushed past him into a dark abyss. Rhogar didn't die from the fall (close though). And contrary to every fiber of his being, I had Rend leap over the bridge (that Rhogar did not narrowly miss) in a heroic gesture of sacrifice and rescue.

Wrong!

Rend should have pointed down the chasm and laughed. In hindsight, it turned out Rhogar didn't need anyone to help him. The dragonborn dispatched the minion insects that quickly surrounded him. Since the fall didn't kill him and the monsters waiting at the bottom didn't either, Rend could have had a memorable role-playing moment, worthy of his back story, character, and semi-evil intent. Instead, I panicked. I abandoned role-playing, meta-gamed, and calculated that Rhogar would likely die if too few of Str8 Rippin' came to his aid.

Lesson learned.

Slugging

This past week, I attended the Texas Library Association Convention, held here in Houston at the George R. Brown Convention Center. The Center resides downtown, just a block or two across from Minute Maid Park. I live in Houston's suburbs, so driving into downtown isn't an option I even entertain. Instead, I drive to the nearest Park and Barf, where I leave my truck and climb aboard one of those two car buses hooked together with that rubber accordion thingie.

It's a pleasant enough experience and a hell of lot faster and less stressful than trying to drive myself.

Waiting at the curb for my afternoon bus back home, I queued up in a line for the 214. I hadn't waited long before a white car pulled up to the curb and lowered its passenger window. The driver inside leaned over and yelled out, "217?" A man in the middle of the line next to me stepped out, strode deliberately up to the car, and climbed in. The car sped off. I shrugged my shoulders, completely mystified.

The next afternoon, I waited by the same curb, but earlier in the day so I alone formed the queue. I wasn't standing there even a minute before a white Lexus pulled up to the curb next to me, its passenger window lowering synchronously as the car came to an abrupt stop. Eerily similar to yesterday, the woman inside leaned over to get my attention and yelled, "214?"

I responded with a double-take. I thought, how the hell does she know what bus I need? And why does she care? I thought that, but I said, "Huh?" She repeated, "214? Hop in." I opened the door and slid in. She sped off when I closed the door and I stammered a question, something about does she often pick bus riders off the curb. She affirmed that she did, every morning and afternoon. I'm about to ask her the critical question of "why," when I see her steering her Lexus toward the HOV lane and then it suddenly dawned on me: she's picks up an extra passenger so she can legally use the city's High-occupancy Vehicle lane. I exhaled a mental breath of relief that I wasn't going to be driven to a slum and murdered in a desolate alleyway.

The kind driver (I don't think we ever exchanged names) indeed drove me to my Park and Barf, chit-chatting the entire time about her job (accounting) and about mine (teaching). The whole thing seemed surreal to me until she dropped me off at the station and I walked to my truck.

When I summarized the whole thing for Wifezilla, she cheerfully interrupted me with, "You were a slug!" Turns out drivers around the country jump at the chance to pick up hitchhikers; apparently, few of them have seen this movie lately. I have, and still stepped into the car of a complete stranger.

Turns out I was a slug and never knew it.

Lolita

Snoozeweek has a weekly feature in its magazine that asks critically-acclaimed authors to list their most favorite literary titles. Time and time again, across a varied cross-section of famous writers, Vladmir Nabokov's Lolita makes the list. Considering the book is about a 40-something man seducing a twelve year old girl, I took the book as a pedophile voyeur's wet dream and never deigned to read it. But the literary value of this book must be immense to so effectively eclipse its chosen subject matter.

So I'm reading it right now. More to come when I finish.