Sunday, December 18, 2016

DTW DeathTube #6, Kalinda RP 1/1: Great Balls of Fire

In early 2014 I was rudely yanked from my home by tendrils of magical power. Dragged across dimensional barriers to serve at the beck and call of he who summoned me. Yet another unexpected consequence of the necromantic artifact that I accidentally managed to have forcibly grafted to my arm.

I hold up my armored left arm. Dark metal plates reach from fingertip to clavicle, making me look like a slightly more gothic Winter Soldier. Which I suppose with my Ice element is kind of fitting. But I don't do eyeliner, which makes me less gothy looking. But then the fucking elbow of the damned thing is a skull, which is also gothy. Or punk-y. Wherever the fuck you'd stick Glenn Danzig. Because the damned horned, fanged skull looks a hell of a lot like his logo.

Okay, the eyeliner thing is a bit of a fib. I kind of get these black marks around my eyes when I'm drawing on dark and sinister powers. Like the gauntlet, or the evil cannibalistic dragon goddess that lives inside my head. But that doesn't happen often.

And it turns out what had happened is that my summoner was going through his rare and expensive tomes of exotic magic, and just so happened to find one that had fallen through the dimensional barriers and got fished out of the Void some time in the 1800's.

You'd think that you could just get rid of a tome of dark magic by tossing it into oblivion. A book whose cover is made from the stitched together hides of ritually sacrificed orphans, whose ink is made from the blood from a thousand woman ritually tortured and driven to suicide by slitting their own throats, written in a quill pulled from the tail of a very pissy swan.

Because you don't have to do anything to swans to make them unspeakably evil. They're already vile and sinister hell-birds suffused with fiery rage, ready to kill and maim at the slightest provocation.

Saturday, December 17, 2016

DTW Deathtube #6, Claudia RP 1/1: Kiss Stealin', Axe Wieldin', Skull Mask Wearin', Children Scarin', WOOO! Clown of the Town!

I've been carefully monitoring my prey. Biding my time until the perfect moment to strike.

In order to be an excellent comic, you have to be patient as the most important thing in comedy is timing, and I've been waiting all day to make sure the joke for the setup is perfect.

My prey has to be alone, as not only can I not pop in when somebody is looking at the space where I want to pop in, but also because the presence of a certain third party would completely ruin the joke.

And not only does he have to be alone, but he has to be occupied with looking at something in front of him for a sustained period of time so I can get into the proper position and look all nice and relaxed like I'd been sitting there forever.

AND he has to be far enough away that he can't just walk up and slug me in the jaw before I get to the punchline.

Saturday, December 10, 2016

Pathfinder: Lydia Fallon, Weird Rubato Bard

Uses the Weird Musician and Rubato archetypes.


You don't want to hear about me. I'm not very interesting. I can do interesting things and say interesting things, but listening to me talk about me isn't very interesting. The interesting person you want to hear about is my mother.

You may know here. Well, not personally. But you might know her name. Amelia Grace, the Lady Scarlet, singer, mage, musician, magician, muse-gician. One of the most sought after performers in… in… I'm not sure. I don't do well with names and places. Some big, important… thingy.

Maybe the city. Maybe an empire. It's hard to remember, as I was very small at the time, so I would be unlikely to fully recall even if I hadn't had my head cut apart and put back together two or three or twenty five times.

It's very tingly. Kind of refreshing to feel the fresh air blowing over your thoughts.

Sunday, December 4, 2016

DTW Deathtube #5, Claudia RP 1/1: Undead Girlfriend

Oh blah blah blah, piddle-y piddle-y blah! You're a horrible, horrible person, Mister Taco Cowabunga, a complete and utter monster! Well, not THAT horrible, considering we've got a big old pile of peoples around here that are like 10 pounds of total depravity in a 5 gallon bucket.

But here you are with your plucky underdog fighty-man routine that everybody's seen a bajillion times, and it's boring all the little boys and girls out there, and more importantly me, to death!

Well, further into undeath, technically. Because I'm kinda-sorta not quite fully alive. But that's besides the point! I feel so bad for you, Taco Paco, I really do, because here you are in DTW with two dragons, a fake viking that I think just renounced his fake vikingry, a poop-obsessed spider-monkey, an insane grandma, and a dirty, dirty hippie.

On the bright side you probably smell better than all the non-dragony wrestlers, not saturated in your own bodily mess, patchouli oil, or Eau de Old Person. So that's something you've got going for you!

But even though you stand out here a bit because you're not completely and totes a tremendous buttmeister, I don't think you can really get very far in the wacky world of professional wrestling being a plucky underdog fighty-man. Especially in Japan where everybody is a fighty-man, and plucky underdogs are a dime a dozen.

Which is better than the US, where you'd be served merchandise driven frankfurters called Plucky Underdogs with somebody's face and logo stamped onto the bun. Or Korea, where Plucky Underdog would also be served in the concession stand. Wink wink nudge nudge say no more.

Saturday, December 3, 2016

Thoughtlets: Pregnancy and Cadavers

From here:

"In the current system in the US and many other countries, cadavers have more rights than pregnant people. If I was pregnant and dying from it, and found myself at a catholic hospital, they could (and likely would) refuse to save my life if there was even a trace of fetal heartbeat. They would, against my will, forfeit my own right to live for the sake of a fetus-- a fetus that would also die when I did. Once I was dead, however, the hospital wouldn't be able to use my organs to save other people no matter how imminent their deaths. They could refuse to save my life regardless of how desperate I was to live, they could effectively murder me, but they can't touch my corpse without very clear permission.

Let that sink in for a minute. If I'm pregnant, I have fewer rights to bodily autonomy than if I am dead."

Sunday, November 6, 2016

DTW DeathTube #3, Claudia RP 1/1: I bet her throat tastes like peaches.

I have a mission to complete. A top secret mission. A super duper ultra black top secret mission to carry out on behalf of my cute, cuddly, ice-cold not-quite-so-evil overlord Kalinda.

So secret, in fact, that she doesn't know about it.

She probably wouldn't approve of it, and it would make her depressed to think about, so I'm not going to tell her about it.

As a right and proper minion it is my duty to serve my mistress and do my best to make her happy and contented. Sometimes just being my usually silly clowny self is enough, but sometimes it's not.

The boss lady's got a big thing coming up, some kind of one night random tournament-y thing in DTW that she's kind of honked off about.

DTW DeathTube #3, Kalinda RP 1/1: Sky Blue and the Seven Dorks

I can't stop smiling.

I was trapped in a dumpster filled with barbed wire that had become so entangled and embedded in my clothes that I had to leave a goodly portion of them behind. Not that they weren't ruined to begin with, as a good deal of my opponent's blood had splattered all over them.

The dumb bald bastard had dragged us both into my goddamned dumpster full of barbed wire. Me being so much heavier and falling in first, I pretty much sank to the bottom. Him being merely mortal and not virtually indestructible, he managed to actually get the barbed lodged in his flesh rather than just his clothing.

We both required several men with bolt cutters to get us out.

Riddick went to the hospital, while I pulled my Coat of Holding out of thin air, put it on, and walked to the back.

It's the most fun I'd had in a wrestling match in a long time. Hell, it might be my favorite wrestling match I've ever taken part in period.

Sunday, October 16, 2016

DTW DeathTube #2, Kalinda RP 1/1: Weapons-Grade Autism

My first DTW match signed, sealed, and delivered.

Thank the gods! It felt good to wrestle how I'd wanted to, without limitations, without rules, without sanctions put in to take away everything that makes me special, and without motherfucking stage hands in black grabbing all the shit I intended to use to beat the fuck out of people with and spiriting it away to the back.

I'm singing "Grandma Got Run Over By a Dragon," a little tune of my own composition and am folding my ring gear up and putting it in my bag when something is wrapped around my neck and tightened.

Hmm. I think it's barbed wire attached to two wooden handles, which are meant to be crossed over behind my neck and twisted tighter and tighter, either increasing the choke, or breaking my neck.

Sunday, October 2, 2016

DTW DeathTube #1, Kalinda RP 1/1: Of Granny Gankings and Girlcocks

For perhaps the first time since being forcibly dragged from my home world to this bland, boring backwater of an uninspired orb-shaped realm (whose creator being is obsessed with beetles), I was actually feeling like I was back home.

Unfortunately it wasn't the "being happily left alone without having to adventure, left to run my tavern/inn/pizza parlor in peace" sort of home-y feeling, but rather the "being dragged to big social gatherings put on by the rich and powerful and competing for silly prizes in any of a thousand various ridiculous dog and pony show events" sort of home-y feeling.

Much to my sorrow the day's festivities lacked my favorite event. I was just as loud and vocal about my displeasures back home as I was when given a microphone and an international television audience, so I had a tendency to piss people off. But alas, no one had challenged me to an honor duel or attempted to kill me.

Friday, September 16, 2016

VK's Pizza Adventures 3

Digiorno Rising Crust 5.5/10
Digiorno Pizzaria Thin 6.5/10
Tony's 5/10

Of all the brands thus far Digiorno is my favorite. Though the Freschetta is cheaper, I thought the Digiorno was more flavorful. The crust is about the same, but the taste is definitely better on the Digiorno. It's still not fantastic, but it's pretty good.


Despite being listed as thin crust, the Digiorno Pizzaria Pizza I tried wasn't too terribly much thinner than the usual Digiorno offering, but there was something added in this that made it taste quite a lot better. It's the best frozen pizza I've had thus far, and it's only slightly more expensive than the normal offering.



Tony's is a middle of the road cost pizza, and usually one of the cheaper brands, about $2.50 or so usually. It's not too terribly flavorful, and falls into the blandness of most frozen pizzas.

But I really like the way the crust on this one feels. It's thick enough to where there's some heft to it and it's filling, but isn't so thick that you lose the majority of the crunch. If I could get the Digiorno Pizzaria toppings and sauce on this crust it'd probably be my perfect frozen pizza.


Wednesday, August 31, 2016

VK's Pizza Adventures 2

Freschetta Rising Crust 5/10
DiGiorno Stuffed Crust 4/10
Losta Mozza 4/10

Out of the three the Freschetta was the best. It looked at tasted pretty much exactly like your bog standard DiGiorno rising crust pizza, but was a dollar cheaper.

It's not the tastiest thing in the world, but I can get 2-3 meals out of one for $5. It's kind of hard to write up something that's pretty "meh," there's no emotion there to channel into the writing with how good or how bad it is.

I'd be hard pressed to bring up the sort of hyperbole that comes with a good or bad pizza with sheer neutrality. I just can't do it.

It's a middle of the road pizza, nothing really to write home about.


Saturday, August 20, 2016

VK's Pizza Adventures 1

Totino's Party Pizza 2/10
Bellatoria Ultra Thin Crust Ultimate Pepperoni 4/10

Cooked one of the little Totino's party pizzas today along with a Bellatoria Ultra Thin Crust, both the usual Pepperoni.

The only positive thing I have to say about the Totino's is that is isn't near as horrible as I remember it. It's pretty awful, very bland, no real pepperoni flavor from the light dusting of itty bitty pepperoni cubes, had to be literally scraped off my oven rack, and has a tendency to fall apart while I'm picking it up and eating it.

It's edible and cheap, and I can see somebody who is worse off then me getting them so they have an affordable reminder of the glory that is a proper pizza.

Thursday, August 18, 2016

VK's Pizza Notes vol. 1

VK's are not terribly fond of Provolone on pizza. Stick with straight mozzarella.

10 minutes on 550 for the introductory crust worked well, slightly more lead to burned spots, though. Get off your butt and get it out of the oven.

13 minutes at 500 blackened the deli pepperonis, but it doesn't matter because they still taste good.

Do NOT get big bags of cheese at Sam's Club anymore. By the time you want to make pizza again it gets all gross.

Spices go in the sauce, try leaving them out of the crust next time so your doggy can enjoy them being garlic free. Because you're sure as hell not eating them.

Sunday, August 14, 2016

UWA Outbreak #10, Kalinda RP 1/1: Of Upper Deckers and Poo-filled Purses

I've just spent the last half hour unloading my thoughts, feelings, and frustrations out on the table. Giving voice to all the problems I'm having in my life. I'm being employed by a professional wrestling company that refuses to treat me like a legitimate professional wrestler, rather than a big blue stage prop. A springboard for other peoples' careers.

If you had a list of traits to give the ultimate professional wrestler, strength, agility, durability, charisma, presence, a unique look, a keen wit, and so on and so forth ad nasuem, I'd check all the boxes.

But instead of having a massive seven foot tall woman for whom running the ropes does not mean bouncing back and forth, but running atop them like some kind of circus acrobat as the center of their product identity, instead my employer has decided to ignore me, and instead always focus on whomever I'm facing.

I'm the most unique wrestler on their roster, and three quarters of the time I'm just thrown into some random match without rhyme or reason. You'd think folks would be falling all over themselves to put somebody so unique and so popular with the fans in big time marquee matchups that the fans have been clamoring to see.

But nope. On the biggest wrestling show of the year I'm treated like leftovers. A meaningless match with a man in the twilight of his career who agrees that it's a meaningless match, that I'm going to kick his ass, and he doesn't understand why we've been put in the position we were by management.

Sunday, July 31, 2016

UWA Outbreak #9, Kalinda RP 1/1: Babysitting Two Kinds of Self-Absorbed, Destructive, Misbehaving Children

July had been a busy (and fruitful) month for my little side career of draining the essence of things that go bump in the night in the hopes of getting enough magic juice to fire up a nice, stable portal between dimensions and cart my big blue butt back where it belonged.

I'd managed to put an end to a pesky regiment of British undead whose spectral forms would possess buried bones and claw their way to the surface every July 4th, feebly attempting to bring the disobedient colonies to heel some 240 years too late. The damned things could be put down and banished, but they came back each and every year.

We'd have to see next year if the bald general and his cohort would return from the grave once again.

It was actually a pretty good haul, magic wise. A good 700 Mals. Maybe a 10th or a 20th (if I wanted to play it safe) of what I'd need to be able to comfortable poke a hole between two realities without too many unpleasant side effects.

Like grotesque, tentacle-y abominations popping in to visit from the Far Realms. A place of infinite horrors that even the slightest glimpse of it would drive men mad. Hideous, malformed creatures whose forms made no sense to the rational mind, filled with strange moralities, plots, and theologies that made no sense to a rational mind.

So of course there was one of the fucking things at the Republican National Convention. I was sort of equal parts pissed off and ecstatic. Pissed off because after maybe a minute or two of talking to basically anybody I felt like I was about to have a brain aneurysm and have blood start leaking from my eyes, nose, and ears at any moment.

Sunday, July 17, 2016

UWA Outbreak #8, Kalinda RP 1/1: A Tail of a Tag Team

I don't get visitors to my apartment often. My social contacts are primarily comprised of two groups: the pro wrestling group and the supernatural group.

The former being Desolation, Hellkat, SPIDER, Bobs of all sorts, and other assorted loons, while the later being the occasional visit from Leeland Gaunt, Silence, and Legion.

Claudia was more of a housemate than a visitor, and Mr. Hush was practically part of the furniture.

Sunday, June 19, 2016

UWA Olympus, Kalinda RP 1/1: Darko's Self-Loathing On a Forklift Match

The Raeth Report
By Ron Raeth

Leading into Olympus the UWA's two day fan festival was quite a success, though there were some interesting highlights, or lowlights if you will.

The last signing of the first day featuring Kalinda Kriegsdottir, Angelica Jones, and P. Clarence Whitman was marred by the notably sensitive British gentleman making his way to the tables first, and shortly thereafter being introduced to Kalinda.

Apparently having repressed the memories of the horrible horrible Kalinda/Hush/Whitman vs. Leviticus/Fitzgerald/Stumpy Rodriguez feud in IWC, a feat that I'm sure many IWC fans would like to be able to replicate (I know I would), Mr. Whitman took one look at the towering form of the Azure Nightmare and promptly passed out.

Every time he would reawaken he would look around with his usual look of befuddlement at the world around him, catch sight of the Big Blue Beastie, and then return to the great state of unconsciousness.

About halfway through the signing Kalinda got up to her usual mischievous tricks and in between signing autographs spent several minutes of the signing using her marker to inscribe devil horns on Whitman's temples, Frankenstein-esque stitching on his neck and wrists, and for the magnum opus added what appeared to be KISS inspired facial designs.

Mr. Whitman can only hope that the marker manages to wash off before his debut match with Lilith Evans later tonight.

Sunday, June 12, 2016

WP: You're a young cultist who has accidentally pledged to serve the Dank Gods instead of the Dark Gods.


I fled through the corridor, pursued by monsters in human form who were nearly translucent, scarcely there at all save for the exquisitely tailored black suit, white shirt, and black tie that each of them wore.

The moment I could be out of their sight for but a few moments I could ditch my ceremonial black robes, black hat, and smiling mustachioed white masked and I'd be home free once I was outside.

But while the dank powers I served were chaos incarnate, the monstrosities were creatures of order.

The hallway I ran down would stretch on forever in a straight line until I got so far ahead that their unnatural reality-warping powers could not alter the world around me.

"such fast. very speed. much hasten. wow." I murmured under my breath in the dark tongue. It's a real bitch to learn how to wiggle your tongue and do the thing with your throat where you can actually give voice to the lack of capitals or their all caps equivalents to power the incantations, but I was a pro.

Thursday, June 9, 2016

Writing Prompt: A Dragon Saves a Knight from a Princess


Dragons are a very important natural resource, though most mortal being have no idea of this fact. They just think we're a bunch of flying, elemental-spewing lizards that hoard gold, ravage the countryside, and devour virgins.

Flying yes, elemental spewing yes, lizards no. We dragons are decidedly not reptiles. We were here first, before the reptiles, before the mammals, and they went and stole bits out our design. The reptiles made off with our scales and decided to be silly and splay-legged and belly crawly, while the mammals decided "Hey we want to be able to nurse our young and have nice, straight legs that are good for running and sometimes even manual dexterity. Fuck the long tails and necks though, and we want to be covered in ridiculous, easily pierced fluff."

And you'd ravage the countryside too if, let's go with something comparative in size, a bunch of bunny rabbits stole everything that wasn't nailed down while you were taking a nap. You'd flush out, fill in, and set fire to every bunny burrow in hopes of getting information to getting your personal property back.

But with dragons things are on a much longer time scale, a nap can be a few months, while a good solid sleep can last a few decades, and a chronic oversleeper might stir after a century or two.

We need our nice, long naps, they're very important for the continued health of the dragon, and for the world.

Sunday, June 5, 2016

UWA Outbreak #7, Kalinda RP 1/1: The Flaccid, Dangling Terror of the Nudistry

I hate adventuring. It requires too much trust in unreliable people. The folks that hand out the quests seldom do anything themselves. They park their butts in one place and yell at passing sword-sporting individuals to go out and help rid the scourge of ogres ravaging the countryside by slaying ten ogres and retrieving their buttocks as proof of the deed.

And then when you complete the unpleasant task of battling nearly a dozen creatures that are like NFL lineman with an extra two or three feet of height and two hundred pounds of blubber packed on, you've got to remove the buttocks from the corpses, which is a stinky, unpleasant task as ogres are culturally opposed to bathing. Much like Rayne Young they don't think that scrubbing under the folds is gangsta, yo.

With all that unpleasant business behind you, you haul in your burlap sack of severed buttocks, plop it at the guy's feet, and get rewarded with whatever coinage he found in the couch cushions and some article of clothing or weaponry from the back of his basement closet.

Sunday, May 29, 2016

Writing Prompt: Better to rein in Hell than surf in Heaven


You'd think that something so inefficient, infuriating, and unpleasant as office politics and middle management would be firmly in the wheelhouse of Down Below.

But no, after a few decades in Heaven you get pretty familiar with the complete and utter incapacity of angels to do anything creative.

They weren't given free will after all, they were just made to be obedient and full of praise. The ultimate yes-men, yes-women, and yes-faces-of-a-lion-eagle-bull-and-man-things.

Tuesday, May 24, 2016

Writing Prompt: The first boss of an RPG manages to accidentally kill the hero on their first try

Claudia had been having an exceedingly wonderful day, a high point in an otherwise unpleasant life.

She wasn't quite sure what she was, as a monster she'd hatched from an egg and thus had never known her parents. But she didn't fit in with the monster groups.

"Go away," said the dragons, "You walk on two legs and while you do have some scales, you don't have enough to count. Plus that whole being white as porcelain thing is kind of creepy."

"Go away," said the succubi, "Your boobs are way too small and your wings and tail are waaaaay too big. Plus that whole fanged skull over big red smile facial markings dealie you have going is totes hella creepy."

"Go away, honk honk," said the evil clowns' guild, "Wings and tails aren't funny, your deathly pallor and ominous facepaint aren't actually paint and pancake makeup, and you are showing far too much skin with your outfit. Cover up a bit and actually paint your face and maybe we'll see about taking you on as an apprentice clown."

Claudia had thoroughly humiliated the guildmaster by grabbing the bucket of whitewash from the top of the office door exit, dumping it down his over large pants, stealing the guildmaster's own mallet from hammerspace, walloping him with it, and then tying the fool up with his own string of endless handkerchiefs.

Sunday, May 22, 2016

UWA Outbreak #6, Kalinda RP 1/1: The Dark Lord of Denny's

You know what the worst part of my job is?

Well, aside from having to deal with egomaniacal shitweasels all day.

Let me try that again, d'ya know what the second worst part of my job is?

Besides all the politicking and institutional racism.

Dammit. Try that again from the top.

D'ya know what the third or fourth worst part of being a professional wrestler is?

Well, probably all the travel and being on the road 300 days a year and not being able to see your family unless you drag them along skipping merrily along the whole jet lagging way.

Okay now. Do you know what one of the worst parts of being an exquisite grapple-master is?

It's that a significant portion of people think you're a fucking idiot. Some are that way because they think there's a slider that has physical development on one side and mental development on the other, so if you're an athlete than you're also a barely functional, drooling moron who can't be trusted to put their singlet on with the correct side facing forward.

Sunday, May 8, 2016

UWA Outbreak #5, Kalinda RP 1/1: The Diet Mr. Pibb of Evil

I stared at my minion like she'd grown a second head, or had her skull spontaneously burst through her skin. Again.

I'd explained the basics of the system used to measure magical power, how much was contained in a typical human being, how many would be earned with a victorious title match with a prestigious wrestling title with a million people watching, and the massive amount of power it'd take to breach the barrier between realities and be able to safely deliver my big blue butt back to where it belong.

And of course the batshits insane clown dragon thing manages to make a logical point: if I'd started draining one relatively nasty demon a week, I'd have about enough magical oomph stored up to get myself home by now.

But that would be adventuring. I hate adventuring.

Thursday, April 28, 2016

Thoughtlets: Revelation's Fifth Seal

You hear them. You hear the dead calling out for vengeance. You don't see them, as such, but there are reflections in windows of people that aren't there. There are reflections in lakes and rivers where they were drowned. There are songs in the wind. There are shapes in the meadows where their broken bodies lie forgotten, for a split second trees growing over their corpses mould their bark into screaming mouths. Pavements built over the sites of their martyrdom ripple like water. The bells in churches resonate, not ring, with the cries from their spirits.

No one knows what they saw and what they heard. But everyone saw and heard it.

Sunday, April 24, 2016

UWA Outbreak #4, Kalinda RP 1/1: I've Had it with These Motherfucking Snakes with Motherfucking Delusions of Grandeur

Technology is weird where I come from.

Despite having been one of those Medieval Stasis type worlds where magic just does so much (and civilizations keep wrecking one another's shit) for most of its existance, upon being sucked into the Void and stuck to Tatheon like a continent-sized Band Aid the Empire of Blood has managed to acquire a great deal of technology.

It took awhile to figure out how to work most of it, and just as long to determine that the resident god of nature hates mass production, and the light of her particular sun rapidly speeds the breakdown of anything that wasn't hand made.

But anything portable tends to come with its own carrying case, protecting it from the degenerating light of our luddite sun. If you have a steady supply of machines you don't mind having taken apart, broken, and exploded (not always in that order) you can toss them into a room full of dwarves and gnomes and end up having the principles that the things work on pretty well understood.

And the thing with dwarves is that they live underground, well away from nasty technology-hating solar goddesses, so if you can bring something out of the Urban Wasteland and get it to a Dwarfhold, you've got a pretty good chance of keeping you perfectly functional piece of technology.

Provided the gnomes don't get hold of it.

Monday, April 11, 2016

VK's Unnecessary Plotline; a Deluge of References and Apocalyptic and Fantasy Tropes Novel, Chapter 2

Delilah Darkbolt.


While she was the closest thing I had to a friend amongst the dark elf nobility, I'd kind of been avoiding her for the past few days. Not for the usual reasons either. I mean the usual reasons why everybody else avoided her.

Delilah na Kinai, Scion of House Darkbolt, Firstborn True Daughter of Dara na Kinai, Heir to the Matriarchy.

Dark elves are born with innate magic, tied to the totem animals of their race, house, and family. It always manifests in the same three ways: sorcery; the application of raw magical power as destructive energy, enchantment; the application of magical power for strengthening one's self or allies and weakening one's foes, and channeling; the act of imbuing one's self with the raw essence of one's patron, gaining their traits and physical aspects.

Delilah was a pure Enchanter, and to compliment their powers of being able to enhance others most enchanters went out and found a fearsome beastie and bound it to them as a loyal protector.

Delilah had tried that. Dozens of times.

VK's Unnecessary Plotline; a Deluge of References and Apocalyptic and Fantasy Tropes Novel, Chapter 1

"New log in found, user Kalinda Kriegsdottir, Maintenance Necrotechnician Lead Subterranean. Accessing profile..." chirped the computer with its obnoxious, Stepford Wife-esque secretary voice.

Three, two, one...

"Error. Your data file appears to be corrupted."

I sighed, "No, it's not. It's fine."

"Kriegsdottir is an awarded title of nobility to a dwarven child whose parents were slain in battle. A cursory inspection of you with my optical sensors indicates..."

"I'm an elf/kobold crossbreed and am also a dragonblood. My grandma's dwarven and she found my egg not far from a battlefield."

"According to protocol all elves are to be subjected to bloodline testing to determine proper House and Clan affiliations."

"No, it's fine. Really. Let's just ignore my file."

Writing Prompt: The story of someone dying and realizing their religion was not true.

Reverend Bob Roberts strode up happily to the Pearly Gates, marveling at the great golden city built on hills of billowing clouds beyond it.

He walked up to them proudly, and then fell promptly on his derriere rather ashamedly when he smacked face first into them and found they didn't open.

There was a flash of light and Bob found a large, towering figure standing over him, whose inner radiance was so bright that the details of his appearance could not be made out.

WELCOME TO HEAVEN, MY SON! boomed the voice of Almighty God.

Sunday, April 10, 2016

UWA Outbreak #3, Kalinda RP 1/1: A Not-So-Brief Kayfabe History of the Universe

Delilah Darkbolt.


While she was the closest thing I had to a friend amongst the dark elf nobility, I'd kind of been avoiding her for the past few days. Not for the usual reasons either. I mean the usual reasons why everybody else avoided her.

Delilah na Kinai, Scion of House Darkbolt, Firstborn True Daughter of Dara na Kinai, Heir to the Matriarchy.

Dark elves are born with innate magic, tied to the totem animals of their race, house, and family. It always manifests in the same three ways: sorcery; the application of raw magical power as destructive energy, enchantment; the application of magical power for strengthening one's self or allies and weakening one's foes, and channeling; the act of imbuing one's self with the raw essence of one's patron, gaining their traits and physical aspects.

Delilah was a pure Enchanter, and to compliment their powers of being able to enhance others most enchanters went out and found a fearsome beastie and bound it to them as a loyal protector.

Delilah had tried that. Dozens of times.

Sunday, March 27, 2016

UWA Outbreak #2, Kalinda RP 1/1

"New log in found, user Kalinda Kriegsdottir, Maintenance Necrotechnician Lead Subterranean. Accessing profile..." chirped the computer with its obnoxious, Stepford Wife-esque secretary voice.

Three, two, one...

"Error. Your data file appears to be corrupted."

I sighed, "No, it's not. It's fine."

"Kriegsdottir is an awarded title of nobility to a dwarven child whose parents were slain in battle. A cursory inspection of you with my optical sensors indicates..."

"I'm an elf/kobold crossbreed and am also a dragonblood. My grandma's dwarven and she found my egg not far from a battlefield."

"According to protocol all elves are to be subjected to bloodline testing to determine proper House and Clan affiliations."

"No, it's fine. Really. Let's just ignore my file."

Sunday, March 6, 2016

Writing Prompt: Demons are not born, they are made from humans surviving in hell long enough

The thing that everybody up there seems to focus on is the "fallen" part of fallen angel. Evil, horrible, rebellious angels who fought against the Lord Almighty and for their pride were cast down into the Lake of Fire to suffer for eternity.

It's the angel part you ought to be focusing on. Angels weren't given free will, they weren't given much in the brains department either. You have to remember what they were created for.

Angels were made to serve God and sing his praises. Angels were designed from the ground... er.. cloud up to be ass-kissing hired help.

The one big idea an angel had in all of history was to pitch a hissy fit when God made mankind and decided he liked us more than them.

The most creative thing angels have ever done was to basically throw a snit when Mommy and Daddy paid more attention to their new baby brother and got sent to time out.

Saturday, March 5, 2016

Recipe: Homemade Oatmeal Packets

2t Cinnamon per 3 cups
1/2 cup Sugar per 3 cups
7 cups normal oatmeal
3 cups oatmeal blended into powder

Sunday, February 28, 2016

IWC's Last Stand 2016

When you're thrown into a casket, locked in, and set on fire oddly enough you end up with quite a bit of time to think about things before it gets really uncomfortable. It isn't the flames that end up doing the damage, but rather the heat.

If it had been a nice, pleasant pine box I would've been good. I could've punched through that sucker like tissue paper. It would've taken forever to burn. Think of how long it takes for logs on a fire to burn all the way through. Your average casket's got a good inch or so of wood between you and the outside world, and wood is a shitty conductor. Like Southeastern levels of shitty conductors.

Sunday, January 31, 2016

Thoughtlets: Far Spawn Half-Fiend Analogs

From here

In that case, for what you describe, some terrible analogue of Wilbur Whateley sounds like just the ticket; an unsettling but seemingly human figure who's always completely terrifying when spotted out of the corner of your eye, one whose abominable nature is nearly completely hidden by reality most of the time as though the safe and recognizable was taped over it like wrapping paper... but you can see the seams... and the tape... and the bulges.

You might call it an ectoperan or xenoperan, an ectoxene or edoxene or edoperan. All carry connotations of the outside, the foreign and that which is beyond.

Ectoxene Template

Wednesday, January 27, 2016

Thoughtlets: Hands of Christ

From Jim Roberts on Slacktivist:

Someone on my Facebook shared this stupid meme about how if you leave Christianity because of the way Christians act, then you never believed in God at all. My response is that we are, as the body of Christ, His hands and His feet. If we spend our time kicking and punching people, then doesn't it make sense that people flinch from God afterward?

Friday, January 22, 2016

Thoughtlets: Florida is America's Penis

Sure, fun things can happen down there and it serves a useful purpose, but it's embarrassingly prone to being stimulated by inappropriate stimuli and gets weird fast if you just stare at it.

Thursday, January 14, 2016

Thoughtlets: Immortality

From Here

Human beings are often critical of immortality, based on a fear that they will eventually use up all the things to do and become eternally bored.

This is of course tremendously small-minded, as the vast infinity of the universe contains an abundance of delights, distractions and debauched enterprises. So many so that after a few thousand years of indulgence, any self-respecting immortal should have built up more than enough rose-tinted (if somewhat sticky) memories to entertain them through any degree of rainy day.

However, since many immortal humans--being humans--are likely to persist in making grand statements about the terrible burden of immortality, the solution is quite simple. Anyone who is actually bored with immortality can safely be allowed to die.

Anyone left who keeps making a fuss about it can be safely dismissed of a bit of a whiny poser who (let's hoping) will probably grow out of it in a millennium or three.

Wednesday, January 13, 2016

ULW Fuck'd Up Friday 16, 1/15/16, Claudia RP 1 of 1

"...and four days later employees showed up outside the Carnivalue in the morning and found Ethan James crucified on a light pole in the parking lot, near the front doors. Stenciled on the pavement in what was probably red paint were the words "complaint addressed by corporate."

It's always nice to hear about companies going the extra mile to deal with customer complaints. Miss Kajara may be a newcomer to our community, but it's good to see that she's hopping right into the good ol' Wyrdtown way of doing things.

A note has just materialized here on my desk, and judging from the smell of brimstone and the scratching of ancient glyphs it's fresh from the talons of the Grand Brilliance of the Illuminated Brotherhood stating that though there is a rogue presence of light currently hovering slowly down Grand Avenue, it is in no way, shape, or form affiliated with our favorite band of wacky, menacing, hooded figures who have invited fallen angels to dwell within their hearts.

Citizens are advised to not look into the light, as looking into the light may cause symptoms just as temporary loss of vision, spotted vision, nausea as if by flashing lights, dizziness, permanent loss of vision, the immediate liquefaction of the eyeballs, spontaneous involuntary eye-gouging, and blindness followed by a complete and utter disassociation with the visual sense.

Several tourists were taken to Plagius Memorial after not only being blinded, but having forgotten that they had eyes in the first place, as well as the entire concept of vision. So please, dear listeners. Do not look at the light. Do not go into the light. Do not approach the light. The light burns. The light hates. The light consumes. The light devours. The light. The light. The light. The light. The light.

And now a word from our sponsor…"
-WYRD Radio

Uh, so Kal, this is kind of weird for me. I can't actually find you. Attempting to do my usual discorporate into energy and hop right to you thing is not working. Every time I try it, I end up with your minion.

I know you're still there, I can feel you. But for the first time since you fell out of that speckled blue egg of yours, I don't actually hear you. And what's worse is that I'm pretty sure you can't hear me.

For the first time in thirty years I don't have an audience for my stream of consciousness snark, humor, and commentary on life. I don't have your life to commentate on and it's driving me nuts!

It's just not right with Claudia. I'm not sure what went wrong with the whole ritual thing, but she got blasted with enough of my personality to the point where she's making my jokes and quoting my memes before I do half the time!

I'm not sure where you are, what you're doing, and when you're coming back. But you're coming back, so I'm going to be taking notes about stuff that happened while you were gone, so you can get fully caught up when you come back, okay?

So let's start with the minion. You've had me watching Claudia for the past few months just to make sure that she doesn't get into trouble. Well, TECHNICALLY you asked me to make sure she didn't gruesomely devour anyone important. Same thing, really.