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Author Topic: The Black Cat Brewery and the Ill Tower: Where blood can be boiled down to iron.  (Read 9847 times)


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So no update today. I was going to, but I wasn't in the mood to write anything. Instead, I sketched Thistun. It's not much, but I wanted to get an idea of what I thought he looked like before I sketched the Golden Bust of him holding the sword (though the sword is not present, it's just his empty hand) with the necromancer's head at the base.

So a sketch of Thistun it is. By the way I'm not a talented drawer. Keep that in mind. I may be a master carpenter and a proficient writer, but I'm only adequet with this darned tablet thing. I'm okay with paint, but not with computer drawing stuffs. And though I am a good carpenter IRL, I don't have the space anymore (or the tools, I had to leave those behind) for doing that. I would gladly make a wooden copy of Thistun, but I simply cannot at the current time.

Blarg the right eye is smaller than the left. Whatever. At least you can see what he looks like. I do like the nose, though. I had tons of trouble with it but it turned out alright. The mouth too. Moustache looks a bit funny, but it's better than it was before. He looked like a monkey before I took away a lot of it. The perspective is also a bit fucked. At the top it looks like he's facing towards the right, but everything else makes him look like he's pointing towards us, and his ears say the complete opposite. Eyes are also a bit close, but that's dismisable because I know people with that but worse.

Oh and fun fact: I had initially intended to make a comic instead of a poem, but I couldn't get a cartoony style that was easy enough to do for a lot of pictures or that looked artsy enough. That's why that sort of way I wrote the black cat is the way it is, because I DID get how I'd want to write that...

And that little glyph thing is my signature. Not the signature I use on credit cards, but the signature I use for things that I don't really need my name present for. It's both Non, a simple form of my favorite constolation (though it'll be hard to see unless you're told. It's really only for me), and my initials in the cyrillic alphabet going sideways (but that's also really only for me).

So in lieu of no post today, take my offering of a sketch.

EDIT: The more I look at it, the more I think Thistun's face was one only a mother could love. Dem lips, mang.
« Last Edit: December 27, 2012, 11:27:48 am by Nonsequitorian »


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I'll quickly explain the lack of updates recently. So, I have this job. That keeps me occupied a lot during strange times, and so I didn't get so so much free time during the vacations. Then I had a friend come over for a week or whatever. I hadn't seen him in who knows how long (probably years), and didn't really have time. Then, when I would have had time, I was puking. I had made eggnog a week or so ago, and I spose it went bad by then and I just furiously puked from it for two or so days. Then it was new years. A, I was about as shitface drunk as I ever do get (enough to be throwing bottles on the ground and breaking them). 2, I hadn't slept for 25 hours (because fuck sleep). And D, When I became sober this morning at whatever time, wasted and tired and confused, I realized I had no goddamn idea where in the world I was. Yeah I knew the country, maybe the city, but where? No. I had to catch so many busses before I finally got home a couple hours ago.

That said, I've had a little sleep, I'm not so drunk anymore, and it's new years. Happy new years! I'll be updating more often again, but this one may be a bit short, due to my being basically a zombie.

Picking Up a Sword [Snippet]

We had lost all the food we brought along.
We imagined it sat in Shrak alone,
Or with goblins whom it would now belong.

"They will never leave this cold hell of stone."
Morül said low, "They must, and will, atone."
"Watcha mean?" Thuveg replied, all confused,
But Morül stood still, quietly bemused.

"Hm? Oh," Morül said, forgetting his place,
"One can not leave with a cent from this curse.
Their greed will crush them in heavy embrace."

"Maybe, while they're in there filling their purse,
We could relieve some things, try to coerce."
Thuveg stood tall, with much pride and content.
"Then you and the bard go." And so we went.

I was dead tired and could not think clear,
So I did not think much of Thuveg's plan.
Hell, I had not seen something so austere.

We came from the side, or moreso we ran,
And stumbled upon a small Goblin clan.
They'd stolen weapons from places I'd known,
And seemingly stripped those places to bone.

They saw us not, for we snuck behind tents.
I had no defence, no means for offense,
So I searched a barrel for sharp contents.

When I found a blade, we then could commence.
I knew to choose quick, I had common sense.
It looked elven, but by goblins 'twas made:
A strange rascal, a rapscallion blade.

Yeah so super short. The Bard, who I don't know if I should name, isn't a complete nobody with weapons. I don't think any dwarf is, because any of them can make a sword that can kill, and any of them could swing one. Maybe dwarves just learn about these sort of things because they grow up around them.


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"What do we need?" Thuveg whispered to me.
"Food and drink, I think." Said I in return.
"Hm." Thuveg thought hard. "I know! Wait and see."

Those damn goblins should have had more concern,
For Thuveg's plan could make trolls' stomachs churn.
After we gathered some food for our trip,
I saw his hammer, that made my heart skip.

He set up some round stones all in a line.
A siege engine couldn't shoot them faster.
From over yonder, we heard goblin swine.

"Whidja doo dat, don'dja haf no tastor?"
I know goblin speak, but I'm no master.
He had somehow hit someone with a rock,
Much confused, they fought and started to squawk.

Within a minute, the goblins did brawl.
With out any idea of the cause.
"But ho," Thuveg triumphed "that is not all."

He looked at a cage with beasts with blue paws,
I knew what he'd do, but his plan had flaws.
He climbed on the sleeping rutherer cage,
I thought that he didn't care for old age.

SCHWACK! His hammer broke off a metal pin.
KRAKK! The rutherers scratched against the door.
BRANG! No more blue monsters had he left in.

But all that banging had brought something more.
Trolls, fearfull of storms, had woken from snore.
Though there lacked thunder, the noise was the same.
Trolls are quite dumb, but have frumious flame.

So, as the yonder goblins had some fun,
The rutherers ran to grab some fodder,
And trolls ran rampage; they stopped for no one.

Within minutes, I, myself an applauder,
Was confronted by a grey marauder.
He, thrown by a troll with tears in his eye,
Saw me clear as he was facing the sky.

He took out a horn and blew strident noise.
As they stopped the useless gefraggeling,
We caugh a sight of the goblin's old boys.

I stuck the sword in his head, so straggling,
Before he'd try to try with me haggling.
As I saw him laying dead on the ground,
I nearly puked, but I quickly rebound.

Again we ran, but to safety this time.
We disappeared behind an icy hill,
And told myself an old nursery rhyme.

Once more we heard that horn horribly shrill,
We all shook ourselves as our spines got chills.
Within minutes the goblins had all forgot.
With only one grey dead, why would they not?

I had never killed anything prior.
I had had a toy sword when I was young,
But I made song. I was in a choir!

I still remember how my sword had stung.
And I still feel the hate of how I swung.
With food, however, we finally went,
But from that alone, all of me was spent.

I wont put goblin words in there that you have to look up to understand. You didn't need to understand the little goblin bit from Oszom, but I put one goblin word (tastor) in the poem, and although you can guess what it means if it were in context, I muddled up the context. Tastor means faithful loyalty. From this we assume that Thuveg was lucky enough to hit an officer or elder person or whatever. If that part didn't come through clear enough, imagine using golf as a weapon. Thuveg wields a hammer (it's his weapon. All of the seven have their own weapon except for Vath, who can use all of them but prefers to wrestle because he's always full of hate), and he set up round stones and "shot" them.

The rest of the goblin speak is just muddled. Say it aloud and you should understand it good enough. If you can't get it, it says
Spoiler (click to show/hide)


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Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Libash Gets Wood, Midor tells a story, Vath and Damor Go Hunting, This is a Title for a Section.

We made our way to the warm sun of day,
But we'd first have to get through the cold night
And survive the relentless wrath of gray.

The land was cold enough for quick frost bite,
We needed fire for its heat and its light.
But for that we needed something like wood,
We had one axe, less I misunderstood.

Libash got red at the first talk of tree,
As if it were an insult "I'LL DO IT!"
He screamed, and ran where we couldn't see.

Thereafter we heard him get right to it,
It didn't sound like he swung, but threw it.
He came back with a tree, whole, still with leaves
And he did it without gauntlets or greaves.

"We didn't need that much, my dear Libash."
Damor said slow, with such a calming voice
"Don't care what you need." He said in a lash.

But with wood, we made fire, we could rejoice.
We listened to Midor (we had no choice).
He may have been strong, but he was not smart,
You don't need much wit to break stones apart.

"When I was young, my father left,
He went to war, we were bereft
That was the last time we saw him
And this is his hymn.

Two hundred dwarves went to fight elves.
Two thousand elves, full of themselves
They say the dwarves' chances were slim,
Their fate has a hymn.

They fought by the sea, there they died,
At a fort in the mountainside.
None of them there knew how to swim,
They have a wet hymn.

All of them fought to their cold death,
All of them fought to their last breath,
All of them fought to they'd no limb,
They fought for a hymn.

No dwarf or elf lived through that day,
None of them came back from Thrips Bay
And as they day began to dim,
We sung them this hymn.

"None survived?" I asked in reply.
"None," Midor said, "they all did die."
"Then how d'you know?" I said in whim,
"Not much of a hymn."

His funny little hymn was not so bad,
But Damor and Vath had seemed to think so.
I just knew that Vath was already mad.

Damor and Vath left with but a crossbow,
When they returned they carried a dear, though.
What's more was that Vath had a new pet hound,
A black wolf with black eyes, Vath's anger: found.

"What do you think?" Triumphantly he said,
Libash stared at him as if he were broke,
As if Vath had something wrong in the head.

"This beast should be killed! Beat! Burn! Slay! Slash! Choke!
You're a fool for showing it dwarven folk!"
Vath slapped Libash so hard he spat red.
"You hurt my wolf and you will soon be dead!"

That's enough for now. I may get more in later. Probably not. I just noticed that I've been spelling Mörul as Morül for a while now. Whatever. I like how Morül sounds more than Mörul.


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Lokum Has Bad Eyes

We put faith in each of our kin and friends,
But some of it we lost for old Lokum.
It's not like blindness was what he intends.

When we heard some bread fall into the gloom,
We saw he was trying eat some, I presume.
Yet a loaf fell, and a loaf was destroyed,
And Vath would clearly be very annoyed.

The Hvarfafeigr Part 1 (because I like telling about this guy)

A fog set in after a week or so,
It was dark and deep and black and blurry.
Vath and his wolf would often come and go.

Then one day Vath came back in a hurry.
The one time I saw Vath without furry.
"It is he! From my dreams! The legonor!
Hvarfafeigr! He, of frozen death and gore."

We always knew Vath was different, but,
This was too far. He spoke but nonsense true.
He'd no fear. No butterflies in his gut.

We saw no shaking in the morning due,
No noises from yonder, no scared birds flew.
Vath's wolf was gone, but it wouldn't be long.
"I bet it bit your ass." Libash was wrong.

Vath must have had eyes like eagles' to gaze,
But most anyone with ears could have heard,
And all with skin could feel it through the haze.

Finally we saw a flock of black birds,
To the tune of death, harsh pain without words.
A large black object was thrown through the fog.
"MY WOLF!" Vath screamed as he ran to his dog.

It was too late, though, always had it been:
Every bone broken, caked in blood, dead cold.
Through the grey cloud we saw a huge dark grin.

"It's no big deal, Vath!" I heard someone scold,
"If Armok made it, it can die! Get hold!"
I could not tell who was calming Vath down,
Or trying: Vath's face was twisted to frown.

The light around us had seemed to have fled.
Vath was near tears up until I reached out
And got shocked by hair that lay on his head.

The rest of the crew prepared for a bout,
Vath beat the beast's stare and let out a shout.
"Your teeth of dragon and claws of tiger
Shall serve your cause no longer, Hvarfafeigr!"

"Don't do it, Vath, oh you will die for sure!"
The voice from our crew was painful to hear.
With Vath, the berserker, we would endure.

"NO!" The voice was somewhere close to pure fear.
'Twas the legonor's voice, he with the sneer!
The fog, blacker than black, darker than dark,
As thick as the spume, got even more stark.

Soon we heard loud the mighty fist of Vath,
The fog shimmered slight as the beast was punched.
We knew he had steel, he whose name is wrath.

We saw him for a second: blue and hunched,
His teeth were the bones of those he had lunched.
He'd moss on his toes and coral for hair,
He'd seen everything and been everywhere...

That's enough for now. (that seems to be becoming my thing to say when I'm done. Like I just sit down and pour out some text - which is what I do basically)

On Hvarfafeigr and bitching about how things go slower than they did back in the day when I knew where the story was going specifically.
Spoiler (click to show/hide)

On details I put into the poem:
Spoiler (click to show/hide)

On Pronunciation of names and such:
Spoiler (click to show/hide)

I'm thinking of having the Bard's name be Bardum. Bardum means "fight" in Dwarven. Maybe his whole name is Bardum Shasad (Shasad means music). If I do, I'll still probably call him only "the Bard," as Bardum may be contracted to Bard by dwarves, like Robert to Rob.

I'm feeling a bit artsy, so I may try to draw the Hvarfafeigr.


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Bravo, good sir. Seriously? No one else here wants to post some kiss ass crap? If anyone deserves it, it's this man...


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I am but a humble carpenter.

Most literally, if this was four years ago and I was humble. Thanks for the praise, though, it really makes me enjoy going forward.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Cough cough cough.

The Hvarfafeigr Part 2

His vest was the skins of sentient kinds.
Crudely cut, mottled faces of his snacks
Sewn together with hair twisted in winds.

Sadly enough he lacked a pair of slacks,
But I wont go there, so you can relax.
His nose was turned so far up towards the sky,
If it weren't, he could smell himself and die!

Then, in an instant, the cloud reappeared,
All we could see was that sinister smile.
We were angry to the hairs on our beard.

A deviant troll with powers to wile?
Unheard of. We didn't know he'd have guile.
We didn't like it, so we moved on in.
This dastard had no chance, we'd surely win.

Morül went forth, sword in hand,
And cut behind the knees.
Hvarfafeigr screamed out in pain,
He'd not yet scream out pleas.
One would hear him through the land,
But Thuveg choked with chain.

Just so he could make it tight,
He tied it to his belt.
Pushed his feet against its neck,
And made a bloody welt.
Hvarfafeigr tried to fight
And Lokum did he deck.

Hvarfafeigr was full of power,
That deceitful foe of the hour.
Though he stood not much like a tower,
He destroyed men with his cold glower.

Libash froze to the cheshire cat,
He was swarmed by fly and moth and gnat,
And fainted there, laid perfectly flat.
Lokum and Libash were out, at that.

Damor shot him full of steel,
Which stuck fast like a pin.
The cyan flowed down his face,
And stained his navy skin.
Damor had just painted teal,
When Midor swung his mace.

The large weight was hard to wield,
But that's not what one does,
One swings that weight with lust
And breaks toes with moss fuzz.
Midor did, and did not yield,
Till Vath showed through the dust.

The fighting stopped for an eye's one blink.
I was caring for Libash, I think,
I looked up, saw the beast's pupils shrink.
Vath grabbed Lokum's spear, his eyes did wink.

The short pause gave the Legonor time
To strengthen the fog and hide the grime.
Vath threw at the grin of the low slime.
It struck and he said "pay for your crime!"

The Hvarfafeigr fell back onto the frost.
The spear had lodged itself straight in his nose.
Did you expect me to say that we'd lost?

The beast laid there in his eternal doze,
He clenched up his fist and curled up his toes.
He took one last breath and sucked up the cloud,
And let out a whistling noise that burned the shroud.

Lokum was fine but had taken some hits,
Yet Libash's heart was going much too weak.
Lokum was a doctor, or least had wits,

Something was off when he felt Libash's cheek.
"It's cold! Either he's a bit of a freak,
Or he's not all dwarf." We all looked surprised.
"Dwarven cheeks should be warm," Lokum advised.

"He looks like a dwarf that I ever saw,"
Replied Damor as he moved to a crouch,
His eyes curious and face full of awe.

"What would he be, then?" Asked Vath, that old grouch,
"Elf?" "Maybe, I have evidence to vouch.
But let's get him standing fore we find out."
He grabbed mushrooms and a single bean sprout

Lokum made them a paste with his own fist,
Mixed it with rum and a small bit of spit.
He it gave Libash and then felt his wrist.

"He will pull through if he doesn't submit,
But just for elf-kin is this mixture fit."
Vath walked to his wolf to pay his respect,
But carved him up for a secret project.

Just then Libash started loudly to cough,
And woke up, eyes blazing, covered in sweat.
He was too hot, so he tore his clothes off.

"You're elf-kin, aren't you? No worry, don't fret"
"Yes I'm well, and you?" Libash was upset.
"No jokes." Lokum said "Now tell me the truth."
"I have been half elf ever since my youth."

That's enough for today. I wasn't planning on doing that in that way, but I was going to bring up that at some point so I suppose now is as good as any. It's not really a secret, and I don't know if I'll have space to put it in somewhere, but because Libash is half elf, yet sides with dwarves (like Spock from startrek, except with his two races), he is extremely eager to do things that would disgust his pansy-half (say cut trees). It's the only reason why he holds an ax, because elves don't like tools made for tree cutting.

A lot of times you can see where I want to put details in but don't really have space. I put Vath carving up his wolf right there because I wouldn't have any other place to put it really.

I like the fighting scene in this one, but reading it makes it seem funny structurally. Every two stanzas it's a different meter and rhyming scheme. I could have planned that out better, but when I wrote it, it seemed like a good idea.


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Good news, people. I was in a bit of a block yesterday (thusly no update, but I'm not constent enough to say that's the real reason), and I didn't know where I was going to go. I was plannig on just taking everybody back to the Brewery and finishing it, knowing that that was a really bad ending and just dealing. That would be about 3 to 5 updates long, and would leave out a lot of character development and loose ends (say, what happens to the goblins at Shrak or why the Dwarves didn't die with the men on the ship - note that that was because the legend says that all crewmen die. The dwarves are not human, nor are they part of the crew and so they lived.)

Thankfully, I got past my little writing block and have a much better way of going through with things. Although there may not be much fighting, there's going to be at least one really good situational situation which I wont reveal anything about (because although I may reveal plot details ahead of time, I don't reveal plot).


The sun shined for days, what a mixed blessing.
Some dwarves hate the sun, but it pleases me.
I guess it's the light they find distressing.

I almost wished we were back on the sea.
It was early, and I was drinking tea,
When I heard Morül and Lokum talking
About which way we should begin walking.

"The road is too dangerous, blind old bat!"
"I'm the map user! Why should I be here
If I can't even choose, whimpering brat?"

"Then we'll go the road." Said Morül, severe,
As Lokum polished his blood covered spear.
And with that, the two stopped their babbling.
"Bard, come here and learn more than dabbling."

Morül was not the worst teacher, I say.
He was strict, but he was the best I'd had.
And so he was to teach me much swordplay.

I didn't see why the road was so bad.
If it was the fastest, then I was glad.
Morül's mind was always some other place,
It was as if he thought it was a race.

Vath had finished his personal project:
A jacket from his wolf, the head still there.
It looked as if he was one to perfect.

Made of his hounds beautifully black hair,
It didn't offer protection to wear,
But when had Vath ever given a damn?
He needed it light to make foes to jam.

Libash was looking like he was quite ill,
But Lokum said it that his cure was just stark,
And that he'd get through if he had the will.

We're in the habit of calling him "Bark,"
His full joke-name was "Efly Bark McLark."
We teased him harder than even "Pretty,"
Or, "Pretty, the Face of the Rotten Kitty."

Because I'm still having a bit of blockage (durpa durp I need stool softener for my braaaain), I'm going to make it short. I don't want this to just jump from one exciting situation to another or it will diminish th excitingness of the situations. Same with fighting. I don't plan any "fight scenes" until the end, but who knows you might get attacked by wolves... I do intend some life-death situations, but not really fighting.

Want to know how I measure how long things are? I see if it fits in my screen without scrolling. If it does, I know I've not written enough.


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Another excellent piece  :) Blocks or no you're doing great!


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Esnodul, Zugstrux-Oson: Goblon Alsmust Ostsnost-Sluslu

Err. Yeah. That's the name of the part. I wont expect you to translate all of that, but it says "HungerPig Finger-Sucker: Goblin* Deity of the Immortal Fame.

*(literally Mud-Subordinate in Goblin language Gob being mud and Lon being subordinate. I like that name, fits.)


Esnodul, Zugstrux-Oson: Goblon Alsmust Ostsnost-Sluslu

We'd been travelling for nigh three months now,
The road had given us no trouble. None.
Yet Morül looked back and wrinkled his brow.

"What is it?" I asked when swordplay was done.
"O, it's just that I don't like the damn sun."
"I'm not that dense," I replied cold and stern,
"Something is worng, you do have some concern."

"I, too, am not so dumb, my fellow bard.
There's an army coming, they'll arrive soon."
To believe such a statement wasn't too hard.

That night the stars showed bright beneath the moon.
We laid with light bugs and beetles of june.
I told old fables and sang joyous songs,
And thought disappeared were all the world's wrongs.

My music was drowned, notes torn asunder,
By songs of pain and hate. The songs of war.
They stepped in line with their rhytmic thunder.

"Run for the mountains!" And our feet did soar.
They didn't see us as we climbed the tor.
We got to the top and looked at them pass.
Thousands of Goblins as a green-hued mass.

"There's no way we can fight them." Midor spoke.
"Did you think we'd do that!?" Morül replied,
"Are you so thick, you big blubbering joke?"

"No need for that." Said Damor as he eyed,
"We're going to wait . We're going to hide."
"I do not tink zo, Zuarng. I take yu in!"
A grey sniper put a knife to my chin.

"Now don't be rash, please," Damor told him slow,
"We'll do what you say, just don't kill him. Please!"
And so we were forced to the gobs below.

The smell of them all drifted in the breeze,
And their words flew too as they'd test and tease.
We were brought to a cart that lay far back.
These weren't the goblins that had been by Shrak.

The cart was a platform built of tin and wood,
Pulled by swine, though ridiculous it seems.
Stranger still was that one of the pigs stood.

He sat on a throne made of blood and dreams,
And from here he'd command all the regimes.
"What have we here? Dwarves? But what is that smell?
It's something I've eaten, I know it well."

"Goblin, well done, now go back to your post."
We were left unguarded, yet couldn't leave,
For the demon there in us was engrossed.

"Give me your bag, dwarf," And I made a heave.
Goblin food spilled out. "From where did you theave?
Where? You're travelling south. Where could it be?
No." He said amused. "But yes. Possibly."

"Show me your sword, dwarf." And Morül did such.
"Not you, I meant him. This sword." His hand rose.
I pulled out the blade, so cool to the touch.

He geffawed loud. "So it's true I suppose!
Do you know what this is?" he asked, I froze.
"This is an insult to elves! Made by slaves!
This is the work of those elves without graves!"

"Tell me, how did your band destroy those fools?"
"We did-" Morül cut me off, "We're the best!
We do not listen to anyone's rules!"

"I don't believe you, but let us not test,
For they are our foes. For them, we detest.
I wouldn't care if it were Shrak who'd killed,
Would not even care if it were just willed."

"But where are you going, this I wonder.
You are far from home. You head where deaths stand!
You'd have stayed north if you were to plunder."

"You are going to where all men are damned.
AH! I know for what you search in this land!"
Could you? Maybe. Would you? Maybe. Should you-?"
I answered quickly. "We simply need to."

"I hope you succeed. Less competition."
"So you'll let us go?" Damor did so infer.
"Yes, if you're ready for such a mission."

We all went quiet, but one sound did stir:
Him sucking his ring finger, as it were.
His pinkies were gone, chewed all to a stub.
The finger he sucked was but a large nub.

He made a sudden bite, growled a deep growl
And shoved his finger into glowing coals.
It burnt, then he chewed it with a pleased scowl.

"GUD!" He cried out loud, that foulest of souls.
Ten goblins came, each one holding ten bowls.
They laid the bowls down; we saw what's inside:
Meat. Burnt, braised, browned, grilled, raw, deep fried, and dryed.

"I, Esnodul, hate him. Stronger, is he."
His voice was muffled, his mouth full of meat.
"It's not strength you need, but it's wit, you see."

"And if you don't have that, you'll be my treat.
So explain, please, why you're not fit to eat.
Oh, it's not 'gainst you," Our faces turned pale,
"Just, Oszom will be free, if you dwarves fail."

"I am the best bard this planet has had"
I walked from the crew, my mandolin held,
"Some wear armor, but in music, I'm clad."

"Every man, goblin, elf, dwarf," I yelled
"Could I make sing." Esnodul was compelled.
"If I had not said so, I'd make you sing.
In the land of music, I am the king."

Esnodul laughed, "You're arrogant, short friend."
"I could make a kobold sing." I boasted.

I've been here forever. I've walked the earth.
If kobolds can sing, than gold has no worth!"

"Bring me a kobold." I was angry too.
"All creatures have music, that is a fact."
I was so bold I had startled my crew.

"GOBULE!" He yelled, goblins started to act.
They brought one for me to show them my tact.
Plucked my mandolin, I started to play,
Just as the night started turning to day.

So I started to play
And I started to pray
For the kobold and me,
So we could be set free.

Oh, I started to play.

I sang:

One day soon, I will find gold.
I will find gold, I will find gold.
One day soon, Before I get too old.
Before I'm too old, before I'm too old.

But I am stuck in this cage, what's wrong with me?
I will find it I will be free!

One day soon, I will find gold.
I will find gold, I will find gold.
And I will find a girl to live with me.
To live with me, to live with me.

And we'll be happy here by the sea.
Here by the sea, here by the sea.
One day soon, oh yes it will be soon!
I will find gold! She, I will hold!


I finished the tune, and Esnodul smiled.
I was a bafoon! Yet the kobold riled.
He made such strange sound, he had tried to speak.
Then Esnodul frowned. His voice was so weak,
But our little friend, so sad in his jail
So near to his end, let out a long wail.
I started the note, and I heard the song
The way it was wrote. Esnodur was wrong!

"I would not say that he sang all too nicely,
But, yes, he did sing. I think you'll succeed.
Just how did you know he would, precisely?"

"I will tell you if you let him be freed."
He was, and that kobold ran with such speed.
"We went up towards Shrak with some whalers.
Did you know that there are kobold sailors?"

"The one place in the world I'll never be,"
Said Esnodur, as he smiled with defeat,
"Is that watery hell they call the sea."

"So, my good bard, your crew shall I not eat.
You took my test, and my test have you beat.
Here is my own amulet as your prize:
When you wear it, our men are allies."

"When you succeed, come back to me and tell.
I want to know how you destroyed Oszom.
I want him prisoner in his home, hell."

So I lead my crew, with sweat in my palm,
The sun's gloden rays soothed our skin like balm.
We were close to the end. Not long, I knew.
Laughed when I saw the faces of my crew!

Reeeeallly long one for you guys today. That song uses a "kobold scale" as I just called it. It's a minor pentatonic with a #4th. So yeah.

Also, I know it's a bit rough. I am a musician, but I just cannot use these programs. I can't find the right drums or figure out how I should start it. Also there's a note that's a bit off in there. It's ok, it didn't take long to make. It's just what I thought Kobold music would sound like, like a mix between a shanty and something in a cave.

Goblon is like "better than mud" because the mud is subordinate (to goblins). Gobule is like "mud joke" because it's less useful than mud. Goblin and Kobold, I believe, have the same roots, so it makes sense that they're similar in Goblin too.

Because I don't think Goblins would make the word for another race out of their own words, I just used the sounds they often use. I was sad to see that they don't use w, v, or f at all in the language files, but I still made it sound close enough to Germanic pronunciations (because Dwarf is english, and Zwerg is German and Dværg is Danish, and they all sound different. The only way you'd know they're all germanic is looking at how they're built and how language has changed). Thusly, Zuarng is Dwarf. "Ng" is one of the most common Goblin sounds, so I use it to replace the typical "G" of Dwarf in other languages. The "U" functions as the "W." "Z" is like in German, but I don't say it the same. More like an English Z.

I really hate to say it, but soon we have to make a decision. Should I stop the BCB where it ends, or should I keep it going after the actually brewery part is over.

Having introduced a character like Esnodur, who tells the crew to come back to him after they've won, I almost want to do that (except you know, not exactly like that.). This could be, however crazy it may sound, the first "Chapter" or maybe "story" would work better. I just don't feel I've had enough of the characters. I don't think I'll have enough time to grow things with Libash being an elfy elf dwarf, the Bard's sword being something that has a bit of meaning (not magical, just meaningful. A symbol, per se), and I don't think I have enough for more stuff with Morül and Lokum disagreeing (which they'll do a lot, because Morül is the leader yet Lokum uses the map. Who really leads the group around?), more with Vath and his badassery. Hell I mentioned that Vath liked to be alone. Yes, I did that with the Hvarfafeigr (he would run away and come back a couple days later), but it's just not enough.


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"That's it. I'm done. I'm done! This is so dumb!"
Morül dropped his things and started to walk.
"What are we looking for?" He swigged the rum.

"What are we doing? We live 'neath a rock!
We're made to drink booze and love an old sock!
Yet we just made friends with goblins! For real?
I'm done. This is dumb. You know how I feel!"

"Maybe it's true." Midor also lost hope.
They started to leave, maybe they were right.
We were so close, yet failed. I could not cope.

Damor broke a bolt and aimed down his sight,
He aimed at Morül and let it take flight.
The bolt bounced off his armor, still it hurt.
Morül turned and pushed Damor in the dirt.

"You're a coward, Morül." Calmly he said,
"The bard saved us all, and this is your thanks?
Without him, you know, you would have never led."

"I was in jail, I had stolen from banks.
If it weren't for him, I'd be cutting planks."
Damor was lying, but only I'd known.
And none could tell otherwise from his tone.

"Where were you, Morül?" He then asked of him.
"You're a soldier for the Outgibing Guard.
Don't you know that they were ripped limb from limb?"

Morül looked down at the ground, long and hard.
"I guess you are right. I should thank our bard."
Midor and Morül walked back to the crew.
"The reason I live is because of you."

"But that still doesn't make up for that swine.
We could have proved our worth without such risk.
One more time, and you've really crossed the line."

The sun was golden and the wind did whisk.
With the stress we'd just had, our pace was brisk.
In the warm shade of the mountain, it sat,
Three months had past, we were at the Black Cat.


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Yeah haven't been so active. Stuffs and stuff. This one is going to be short, because I don't have much time and I want to set up the Oszom part so that I don't have any extra stuff before it. I don't have much time, but I will get this thing done.


I knew where Oszom laid, beneath, down deep.
A bust of Thistun which stood by the graves
Marked the stone tomb where the demon did sleep.

We worked for days like groveling slaves.
The Cat was darker than the deepest caves,
Yet we worked, non stop, without complaints.
With found adamantine we made constraints.

The Cat looked the same as when I had left,
Tall, brown, tired, like an old abandoned house.
Even if it had wealth, there'd be no theft,

For the Cat was like a dejected spouse.
The only things living there were bird and mouse.
Many knew dwarves who had lived there before,
But no one went back to open its door.

After a week we were finally done.
He may have been aware we were here,
But he made no noise. No scratches, not one.

That he was waiting for us was our fear,
Our limbs would he pluck, our skin would he sear.
We dug through the ground and saw the fire lord,
Sleeping and sprawed. In his chest was the sword.


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I don't like posting without content, but I'm just here to say that I wont be able to give the ending for two weeks, because I gotta go on a work trip and wont have my computer with me. Sorry :\


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So yeah a bunch of IRL life shit has been keeping me away. Mostly my job, but other things too.

We had not known if Oszom was awake
We creeped into the chamber, without noise.
It was warm enough there for bread to bake.

"So then," Morül whispered, "ye' ready, boys?"
Even half-dead, Oszom had striking poise.
We brought the adamantine to his limbs,
There, if he should wake to the mums and mims.

He didn't. Not dead, but he showed no life.
So we tightened his restraints to be sure,
But even then he did not move or strife.

So we set up everything; still no stir.
The bright blue metal singed his blood stained fur.
There was one thing left for us to set up,
And it, for sure, would make Oszom get up.

One chain remained, hung around the lever,
I brought it toward the sword, the last touch.
But then I slipped the cuff on the cleaver.

It pulled the blade for but a bit, not much,
Yet the blade burned the demon bat as such.
Two dwarves pulled each wing, one each leg of he,
Morül held the neck down, what's left was me.

Why are you here?
If not for booze and beer?
When I'm in jail,
You needn't knock for ale.

You want the blade
From the home in the shade?
You wont succeed,
And soon I shall be freed.

Oszom pulled back so hard he ripped his wing,
But he couldn't get free, the chains were strong.
O! To see dwarves hold back the demon king!

The drop to hell from there was very long.
Magma is safe when it's where you belong,
If Oszom fell back, he'd be fall back to hell
But we would make sure that there he'd not dwell.

Well, you've got me,
You've sneaked up and caught me.
Your chains are tough,
But is it all enough?

You, my young bard,
It's you who's tried so hard?
I'm impressed, yes,
You've had Esnodur bless.

But what now, friend-"

To your hell you I'll send!
Relax, sit down!
I dare you, you damned clown!

I? A joker?
Do you bluff in poker?
You've got two pair,
Maybe even more there,

You've got one card
Which I can't see, my bard.
The switch's the game
What beats the god of flame?

Tokxe smunstu,
Asmba zadxe rustu...
I've got a straight
Let's end this game of fate.

Oszom fell back into the whole behind,
The gold sword flew out and the lever swung.
Oszom saw what we dwarves had had in mind.

He would have been all safe where he had sprung,
But to a full house was that lever strung.
Most literally, for soon all was filled,
By the water in the stills, so well chilled.

"Hold on!" Morül yelled as water surged through,
and down to hell, where it'd be embraced.
Oszom was finished, and he'd had no clue.

It's not that he'd drown or be smashed to paste.
He fell in magma and would be encased.
If he hadn't ripped his wings, he could fly,
But he could not, and in stone he would die.

It pulsed by, fast, frozen. It all worked great.
The stills were filled to the brim, just as planned,
The lever opened every floodgate.

And so ended the demon: good and grand.
A nightmare was lifted from that dead land.
Dwarves are warriors who pride their moral,
But they know traps end faster a quarrel.

After the water slowed down to a halt,
I picked up the sword and so brought it back.
We left that hole, we left and locked that vault.

We'd gone up north and peered deep into Shrak,
All just to make the Cat once again Black,
Though the old Cat was now also a sink,
Like those before, it was time for a drink.


Other shit happened while I was writing, so that's why it took so many hours, but whatever.

That's it.


Zaneg's floodgates were linked to a lever which was connected to Oszom which he pulled as he jumped down to hell. The water obsidianized him because he landed in magma to avoid dying from the fall.

I have a second story planned. It'll be just as long. And it will also have sections about the places and history of where the crew goes, so it would fit in the same way with the history of the black cat before the crew started their thing (as in, Äs and Etur, Thistun, Kun and Ator, Zaneg history stuff, but with another place.)

The story is going to be different, but many of the things that seemed to be important in this one (like the sword that the Bard finds and which was made by elf slaves), that stuff is going to be where it leads off from. So if you're worried that I'll just be beating a dead jumping shark, then yeah I don't think I will. It will be a different story, but it's not going to be completely separate. Hell, maybe Oszom will play a part in it.

But first I need to have a drink. I know that Pan has read this, but I don't know anybody else who has. I've seen a couple PTW posts, but that doesn't mean that they actually read anything.
« Last Edit: February 02, 2013, 09:56:35 am by Nonsequitorian »


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I like doing this too much, so I'm going to keep going. Keep in mind that, though there are the same characters (mainly the crew of 8 dwarves, Esnodur, and Oszom - who will play a roll, but not like a living character would), it is separate. Because when I wrote the first parts of the BCB, they described the history of the brewery, I'm doing that now with a location that - though not as centeral to the story as the brewery - is important. Other locations too, because I want them to go some other places.

Iño'slo Ono'sluh, The Ill Tower on the Seashore, pt 1

"So then, where does that leave us?
Fate's threads weave us together as we stand apart,
Yet we had no choice in anything from the start.
So then, where does fate leave us?"

Ramet let the apple fall.
The small red ball, not all red nor round, made no sound
As it rested, sleeping, on the sandy shore's ground.
They were doldrums fore the squall.

"There's not enough for the back,
It's stone we lack. Granite is, here, in short supply,
Not to mention we're running out of the blue dye.
It is still safe from attack."

"And who will come from back there?
Sometimes, I swear, you forget that it's we with ships.
We are safe, I've heard enough of your silly quips.
And how thin? Are you aware?"

"Thicker than a dinghy's girth.
For what it's worth, I suppose it is still quite thick.
Though I must say there is one spot that's short a brick,
Which lays just below the earth."

This certain spot lay in the base,
The sea's embrace kept it from the sun's beating glare.
A look of disregard that cooked the salty air.
The water covered the place.

The paint hid it from afar.
Though any star behind it too, would stay unseen.
It cost more than equal weight's gold, that navy sheen.
The tower was the sky's scar.

So yeah I'm keepin it goin. I don't know what the hell that was for a rhyming scheme, but because the parts in the first thing don't have the same rhyming scheme as the story parts, I don't think this has to have the Rhyme Royal thing yet. It's not too long, but I still don't know how to start it.

Ramet isn't an important character, for the Ill Tower on the Seashore in the story is going to be much longer after when it was built. Ramet is just the human king who was around at the time. He's about as important as Ator or Etur, who served as plot devices, but still are brought up now and then. I'll talk more about him later.
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