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Published: October 20th 2007
The Journey begins
By my blade and my shield I shall rescue the maidens' fair.Dost thou not know thy body grows weary after the splendor and fruits of Prague? The village, be it as beautiful as the maiden's eye on a cool winters morn, may also have the bite of the Grey Wulf of the same eve. Nay shall we entertain the dancing thoughts of another eve spent in turbulent excess, for as one's body grows weary, one's mind grows weak. Nay. It be time, for the Wizard, the Medic, and the Knight to venture forth and sequester lodgings and rest our weary bones before they fade into nothingness, and leave our souls to wander the halls of Vallhalla without a companion...without a love...without a purpose...
We lay our heads down for rest, at the Hostel Maerlyn, long lost of its namesake and suitor, but the markings of many a traveler remain, haunting its doors and its passageways. We awake with a vision. Lads, rest shall not be our bedfellow this voyage; nay, there be evil in this town...haunted, ancient evil for which by God's good grace alone, have we managed to become aware.
We set foot and sequestered thine selves a ship. A rickety ship, long passed its days of glory, and
The Serpent Vlata
On the back of the beast ready for the boneyard. Fitting, some may say, that our band hath stumbled across such a vessel. We sailed in search of this looming evil, that cloud our thoughts and blind our eyes. This evil holdeth the maiden's fair, but protecting its walls be many a warlock, trickster, and creature - all forsaken by their own god, for their evil be as dark as the blood of Lord Azgarth himself.
The voyage be on the back of the river Vlata, as windy and treacherous as the Serpent for which it be named. Upon traveling this misty mire - which like the Siren's Song smells of nectarines, enticing us into its black abyss - we come to land. If God be the tree of life, then we hath found thine selves at the tree's severed root - black and dead from the decay it hath brought on itself. Within the flick of a Willowspaire's tail, the evil warlocks with their fingers light, and their magic deadly attacketh. But no such battle shall calm the rage and anger of the knights, knowing said warlocks hath encaged maidens so fair.
Victory hath hardly been tasted, when upon the entrance of the
Potions of rejuvenation
One cannot voyage without the necessary Mana. castle, a trickster lie awaiting us three and proceeded to enshroud our thoughts and desires and force our efforts against thine own selves. This tricksters potions be succulent but intoxicating and we found ourselves entering a great slumber. But the Medic arose, with the aid of the Wizard, and learned of a potion of fire to quench the imbibery of the trickster. While the trickster be nimble, the trickster be afraid of fire. Defeat had never been tasted as hot as the lilac lips of the Lira Imps.
With the warlocks dead, and the trickster gone mad, we pondered the presence of the Dragon as our eyes hath cast not on fair maidens, but Dragon's aplenty. We fled, as no righteousness or chivalry could conquer such ancient dragons.
Our day of rest squandered and laid barren like the Deserts of Razorbone, we ventured forth to slay the blind creatures of the dark and see what lies beyond the wastelands - enshrouded under the curtain of iron.
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Uncle Bruce
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Beware the lapin at the edge of darkness
As you progress into or down the abyss ( DO YOU GO INTO OR DOWN INTO AN ABYSS?) of darkness beware the fearless and multiplying foe. everywhere around you are the fluffy fearsome sexed starved saviours of hugh hefner. La belle lapin! I am concerned that maybe your sense of courage is heightened by the "bull rouge" whereas it should be quelled by cafe chaude. Beware my godson for your guardian does not tread where thou goest. Cheers, bonzai, les yeux, bottoms up, here's to motherhood ( don't go there), compai, a ta sante (yeah right). Try jaggermeister avec le bierre. Un bon cocktail!