Malice’s current character.  Although he is not lawful good he’s neutral.  I’ll change that for next time.   

Where I Verifiably, Certifiably, Undeniably Make a Mistake

Yes I know. Everyone makes mistakes. But most of what we call mistakes are just sub-optimal choices that look bad in retrospect. Since even the greatest diviner or most learned scholar can’t know with any certainty how events would play out if that particular "mistake" hadn’t been made. It isn’t that often that you do something and immediately know that you purely messed up.

I make my share of sub-optimal choices. I loose no sleep over those, and probably won’t until someone gets killed. My job–my responsibility–is to manipulate the circumstances of conflict so that my team wins and we all walk away when it’s over. So far, so good. But thinking back, it has been a very long time since I made one of those bonk-over-the-head mistakes. Until a few days ago. Read the rest of this entry »

 I do find a certain level of satisfaction in putting the tortured soul of an undead creature to rest, even if there is nothing good waiting for it ‘crost the shady vale. It’s like restoring a tiny bit of balance to the universe, and while I am a strong proponent of the positive effects of anarchic forces, some things were not meant to be. It isn’t that I need justification to snuff out a dark candle. Evil people should be eradicated whenever convenient. But dead guys are past their expiration time, and by sticking around, their essence subtracts from the entropic pool, depriving those of us who are legitimately still within our time of some of the opportunity that change brings.

Read the rest of this entry »

That’s what I call living inside the head of a brainy elf mister goody two shoes who is constantly thinking about things that I don’t even know what the hell he’s thinking about and besides that his arse is puckered up so tight you couldn’t jam a knitting needle in it with a battering ram manned by trolls. That’s what I tell people who ask me what it’s like, except nobody asks me because nobody knows I’m there. Just weird.
Read the rest of this entry »

Brion and Bear

When I was a young child, my mother would often finish cleaning up after dinner, then gather the family in the common room. As the youngest, I had the place of honor on her lap, while my older siblings arrayed themselves on the floor. My father would sit in his chair, smoking his pipe and staring out of the window. Read the rest of this entry »

I have not been completely honest with you, dear reader, and I find that my dissembling has become a burden on my conscience. It has come to the point that I must confess and lay my shame bare, for to do less would not only compound my sin, but it would make the telling of my story much more difficult and deaden the ring of truth.

It happened the first time on the morning after we escaped from slavery and slew our masters. I was eating a piece of timbawny, the equivalent of bread here in Stone. It is made of meal ground from the most common sort of mushroom, a coarse and slightly bitter variety of the same name. I have since acquired a taste for it and prefer it to most other foods that are available here. But at that point, it was strange and unpleasant.

Read the rest of this entry »

The situation was tense–past tense now, but present tense at the time. I recognize that writing about dramatic events in retrospect robs them of some of their excitement, but honestly, if you haven’t figured out that I must have survived in order to write about it, you’re probably in need of a periapt of wisdom (or a swift kick in the bottom).

A cave full of dark-skinned barbarians, minus a few, and the eleven of us (discounting our orc princess) in the lead role of subtractors. The barbarians were shocked, angry and upset. Technically, we had started it, having thrown the first "punch", although the situation had been untenable. Funny how nuances like that get lost when things escalate to mayhem.
Read the rest of this entry »

 I have always been of the opinion that people of all intelligent races are fundamentally good. I am not blind to the evil that corrupts every great city or tiny village. I understand that vices such as greed, jealousy and hatred are present not only in every single group, but in every single person. Yes, they live in me, just as they live in you. No, I am not suggesting that you or I are evil. We are what the Gods made us: flawed.

So what difference between a good person and a bad one? Are we all doomed? Are we but an exercise in ironic humor; a never-ending source of entertainment for a collection of bored and cynical immortals?

We were given flaws, indeed. But we were given something even greater. We were given choice. Yes, even the wolf may choose whether to chase the rabbit or the quail, but the wolf may not choose to be a hero or a villain. He is as incapable of evil as he is unaware of the existence of good. Without self-awareness, there is no capacity for self-judgement. Without self-judgement, there is only survival or death.

Read the rest of this entry »

So suddenly we find ourselves the defacto leaders of a band ofraggamuffins and half-starved malcontents. They aren’t happy. They aren’t enthusiastic. They certainly aren’t pretty. All I hear from get up to lie down is "When can we leave," and "We’re no better off than before," and "So and so is stealing food". To borrow one of Marqes‘ quaint phrases, I feel about as necessary as Barg’s third nut, though not half as hairy.

To make a long (and tortured) story short, we sorted out the regular folks from the villains, and decided to take all the villains with us. Did I mention that this place makes you mean? No, I don’t mean that it’s depressing and dark–I’ve spent more than half of my life in a place that was lonelier and at least as dark–I mean that there is a presence here that eats away at the goodness in your soul. After a short time I am already having involuntary thoughts about killing people who aren’t even a threat. That isn’t the kind of things that a good person thinks about. The worst part is that, while it bothers me intellectually, it doesn’t really bother me emotionally. I don’t feel that sense of dread I should feel as I watch my better self slowly bleed away.

Read the rest of this entry »

 Jeridiah and Sly threw open the great iron door to Marchette’s manor house. That may be something of a misleading term, being that it was a door set in a worked-stone wall built into the end of a cavern, but it’s easier to just say "manor house".

The inside was well lit and larger than I would have thought, though not large for a manor. Just inside the main room of the place stood lord Marchette himself. He was big… really big. Ten feet tall at least and looking really grim. He had to know he was dead and wanted to sell his life as dearly as he could. I have to give him credit.

Jeridiah gripped his massive greatsword in both hands and screamed, "For Varnus!" as he flew up the stone steps and into the room. Keep in mind that Jeridiah was every bit as bit as his Lordship. Wham! The greatsword slammed into Marchette’s shoulder, staggering him. Marqes was hot on Jeridiah’s heels and delivered a glancing blow.

Read the rest of this entry »