Most of you know each other to at least some extent. As an assortment of knights-errant, freelance troubleshooters, and other such cutters, you generally keep aware of useful news, and you may have even run into one another on a job or two. It's handy to have a decent idea who your potential competition and/or allies are. And word has come to you that the Hive's Grey District may be a very good place for stable and more-or-less legal work for a significant span of time. You've come to the place and time that was mentioned to learn more.
The tavern called the Whispered Word is filled with a susurrus of quiet voices. The detail of these conversations is unheard but their subject is clear – you and your fellow adventurers. It‟s a poor and hard worked band of berks that regard you, still stained with the grime of a long day‟s toil: A mix of collectors, rag-pickers, coffin-makers, bearers, mourners, wailers, and morticians. Several of them wear the shapeless grey robes of Dustmen.
The décor of the place matches the funerary nature of the people and the street outside: Skull-shaped lanterns, tables made from coffin lids, and curtains of gauzy grey shroud surround you. A wrinkled old fellow with a blind eye gestures you to a table in front of the bar, where three figures await.
Desire and the Dead IC
Moderator: Moderators
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Avoraciopoctules
- Overlord
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- Joined: Tue Oct 21, 2008 5:48 pm
- Location: Oakland, CA
Desire and the Dead IC
Last edited by Avoraciopoctules on Mon Jan 18, 2010 11:27 pm, edited 1 time in total.
"Ugh, it's so blase in here," a blond haired man of questionable gender identity groans. "It's fitting that this tavern is for those who deal with the dead, for I'd rather be dead than have a hand in designing this."
He walks over to the table and plops down sullenly, hands crossed under his lavish overcoat. He gazes unamused at the three figures from under his hair before blowing a stray bang upwards with a huff.
He walks over to the table and plops down sullenly, hands crossed under his lavish overcoat. He gazes unamused at the three figures from under his hair before blowing a stray bang upwards with a huff.
FrankTrollman wrote: Halfling women, as I'm sure you are aware, combine all the "fun" parts of pedophilia without any of the disturbing, illegal, or immoral parts.
K wrote:That being said, the usefulness of airships for society is still transporting cargo because it's an option that doesn't require a powerful wizard to show up for work on time instead of blowing the day in his harem of extraplanar sex demons/angels.
Chamomile wrote: See, it's because K's belief in leaving generation of individual monsters to GMs makes him Chaotic, whereas Frank's belief in the easier usability of monsters pre-generated by game designers makes him Lawful, and clearly these philosophies are so irreconcilable as to be best represented as fundamentally opposed metaphysical forces.
Whipstitch wrote:You're on a mad quest, dude. I'd sooner bet on Zeus getting bored and letting Sisyphus put down the fucking rock.
A feral beast of a man with several glowing animal parts crawls inside, scuttling around and growling. Eventually he finds his way to the table, scowls at the table and chair for a minute, then jumps up from his crouch to land crouching on the chair, hands clenched tightly on the table in front of him and eyes darting furtively about.
Last edited by Kaelik on Tue Jan 19, 2010 12:40 am, edited 1 time in total.
The U.S. isn't a democracy and if you think it is, you are a rube.DSMatticus wrote:Kaelik gonna kaelik. Whatcha gonna do?
That's libertarians for you - anarchists who want police protection from their slaves.
Lord Peter's towering figure steps toward the table with the sound of many gears moving with each motion. Noting the table, Lord Peter mutters a Word and shrinks down to the size of a normal man before taking a seat. A resonating "Hello," escapes his unnaturally large jaws.
Last edited by ubernoob on Tue Jan 19, 2010 6:52 am, edited 1 time in total.
A young woman of good height enters, expensive looking clothes embroidered with arcane and eldritch symbols covers her form. Her long hair is tied back, revealing her pointed ears and four short horns, a pair each sprouting from fore head and temples. Her form is quite attractive, in an idealized way, as if she were a statue that stepped down from it's pedestal and clothed itself. Around her fore arms are two bracers, one covered in black enamel, etched with designs of frost and bursts, the other enscribed with stylized mouths and maws. A small bag hangs from her hip, swaying as she walks over to the table and takes a seat, taking in the others at the same table.
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Judging__Eagle
- Prince
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- Location: Lake Ontario is in my backyard; Canada
Somewhere, at some time, a shadowy, cloaked, figure had come in the door. He walked across the floor like a lynx, or other non-threatening feline. He pulled his hood back after he sat down, and a shaved head came forward.
Aside from the braided lock of hair along the left side of his head, and a net of long multi-hued scars, there wasn't too much out of place with the man. Except his white iris and jet eyes, or his misshapen teeth and scarred lips and mouth. In an other place, people would be unnerved. However, this is Sigil, and it doesn't do to stare or point fingers, no matter what you see. You'd have to be wearing a mask of living faces before people would really pay attention, and well, who knows what that would result in.
He looked across at the figures and something growled inside him. Like a leaky sewer pipe, or a radiator dancing with an arsonist.
He asked the figures a question in a odd manner of speaking. "Needleteeth was told that food might be her for the eatings, and belly fillings. Was Needleteeth wrong in those presumptions? Will I be able to have the eatings of food, for belly-filling and yums? Please tell me Needleteeth was right about that."
Aside from the braided lock of hair along the left side of his head, and a net of long multi-hued scars, there wasn't too much out of place with the man. Except his white iris and jet eyes, or his misshapen teeth and scarred lips and mouth. In an other place, people would be unnerved. However, this is Sigil, and it doesn't do to stare or point fingers, no matter what you see. You'd have to be wearing a mask of living faces before people would really pay attention, and well, who knows what that would result in.
He looked across at the figures and something growled inside him. Like a leaky sewer pipe, or a radiator dancing with an arsonist.
He asked the figures a question in a odd manner of speaking. "Needleteeth was told that food might be her for the eatings, and belly fillings. Was Needleteeth wrong in those presumptions? Will I be able to have the eatings of food, for belly-filling and yums? Please tell me Needleteeth was right about that."
The Gaming Den; where Mathematics are rigorously applied to Mythology.
While everyone's Philosophy is not in accord, that doesn't mean we're not on board.
While everyone's Philosophy is not in accord, that doesn't mean we're not on board.
A black panther sits on one of the chairs, with all the air and confidence of owning the chair. The feline remains silent and her ears are up and alert, its body seemingly wrapped by leaves, forming a sort of barding, and bandoleers of oils and various other adventurer equipment are snugly wrapped around the beast.
Definitely not your usual panther.
Definitely not your usual panther.
Last edited by Nicklance on Tue Jan 19, 2010 4:29 am, edited 1 time in total.
There ain't no rest for the wicked.
befriend (v.): to use mecha-class beam weaponry to inflict grievous bodily harm on a target in the process of proving the validity of your belief system.
befriend (v.): to use mecha-class beam weaponry to inflict grievous bodily harm on a target in the process of proving the validity of your belief system.
Cartwell walks into the tavern, he is a slim young man of middling height with a dark but not altogether healthy complexion. His clothing looks like it might once have been nice, but wear and dirt has long faded it into merely functional. His muddy cloak is all tatters, with several large knife shaped holes; easily picked out by the brown discoloration around them. Needleteeth gets a glance, the rest of the assemblage gets a long stare. He then exits the tavern, only to swiftly come back in. Though he looks quite confused. He walks to the table where the party is seated and says in a voice that is far too gravely for a man his age, "Are you cutters sure you have the right place?"
Last edited by Akula on Tue Jan 19, 2010 5:13 am, edited 2 times in total.
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Avoraciopoctules
- Overlord
- Posts: 8624
- Joined: Tue Oct 21, 2008 5:48 pm
- Location: Oakland, CA
Bloody Thorn's entrance is met with raised eyebrows, but he is greeted without any hostility. The glowing man provokes a few drawn knives, but as he doesn't approach anyone too closely, he arrives at his seat without incident. Peter and Ak-archin are waved in almost happily, though they catch a few mutters wondering why they'd approach someplace so obviously poor compared to their personal accoutrements. A few people jump when Needleteeth catches attention by moving, but nobody does anything beyond that. After he indicates his desire for food, the brown-skinned man on the right reveals his status as probable owner of the tavern.
"Oy, Mert! Stew fer the cutter that pulled a Soloth"
A dour-looking half-orc with a torn lip meanders over and deposits a wooden platter and spoon in front of him. On it is a large loaf of tough-looking bread with a bowl-shaped depression cut into it. This gap is filled with a thick brown stew. From the smell, it contains at least some... meat?
When a giant cat materializes on a seat without anyone seeing something previously, a bit of a stir is caused. "Oh powers, it's a lion! Get in the spelljammer!" shouts a bubber. More weapons than those sheathed minutes prior are revealed, and not a few people dash out of the tavern entirely. Only a few level heads repeatedly mentioning that it's probably some addle-coved adventurer's pet or a shapeshifter of some kind eventually quiets things down.
The three individuals waiting at the table visibly grow increasingly uneasy as more adventurers arrive. One, a skeletally thin hooded fellow with skin an unhealthily yellowed shade, leans over and whispers into the ears of his companions, an elderly tiefling woman with skin like cracked red leather wearing Dustman's robes and the burly tavernkeeper, who absently scratches at his half-smashed nose. The woman grates her teeth together audibly. She glares at nobody in particular, but remains silent for the time being.
Cartwell's words provoke a brief laugh, but a look from the cutters at the table silences it.
“I am known as Bald Grum,” says the big brown fellow. “This is Silent Brom and Mother Xero. We are known as the Voices of Wailer's Square - we're not factols or jackals or golden lords, but we speak for the people here, and we need you. This used to be a quiet district, silent as the grave in fact! But trouble seems to have taken to walking our streets of late: Chaosmen, thugs, and worse. We would like this place to be quiet again – that'll be your job. Now we don't want the Sodkillers or Sons of Mercy running things here. We want to sort out our own affairs our own way, and we're prepared to pay for the privilege. Keep the peace for us, keep things safe and friendly. We're not looking to see berks murdered in the street, just kicked out or made to behave-”
“Serve'em right if they did get scribed...” Mother Xero mutters darkly.
Grum frowns at her for a moment, then continues: “For this service we offer you room and board, and jink depending on exactly what kind trouble you have to handle. And should the worst happen, we promise to give you a good and worthy funeral. So, do we have a deal?”
[Ak-archin and Catwell note that Mother Xero is expressing a lot more emotion than would normally be expected out of a Dustman, particularly one that looks as old as her. Something must have her really torqued off.]
Last edited by Avoraciopoctules on Tue Jan 19, 2010 6:02 am, edited 2 times in total.
The panther purrs at the comotion her presence caused, and at the task at hand, the beast nods its head slowly.
There ain't no rest for the wicked.
befriend (v.): to use mecha-class beam weaponry to inflict grievous bodily harm on a target in the process of proving the validity of your belief system.
befriend (v.): to use mecha-class beam weaponry to inflict grievous bodily harm on a target in the process of proving the validity of your belief system.
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Avoraciopoctules
- Overlord
- Posts: 8624
- Joined: Tue Oct 21, 2008 5:48 pm
- Location: Oakland, CA
Grum seems pleased, smiling at Xero momentarily. Brom merely studies the group quietly. He motions to Mert, who deposits a half-dozen cold loaves of black bread with cheese and clay jugs of water on the table, dramatically more than the couple half-eaten loaves that had been there before.Akula wrote:Food would be great, thanks. A short pause as Cartwell digs into the somewhat low quality fare with gusto; between mouthfuls he says, I'd be happy to work for you; you have a reputation as honest folks...and this has always been a quiet district. No sense in seeing it go downhill if I can help.
"That's nice to hear. I think I've seen you pass by here a couple of times before, what was your name again?"
"I'm... sure that you two can arrange something. Perhaps working in shifts? If all you still want to work here, I doubt we have room enough for all of you to sleep at once. You don't have any other questions?"ubernoob wrote:Lord Peter does not reach for the food, but he voices his agreement with a cautious, "Those terms are acceptable." Glancing at Needleteeth, Lord Peter adds, "I am going to require a muzzle to be put on the animal if I must work with it."
Last edited by Avoraciopoctules on Tue Jan 19, 2010 7:10 am, edited 2 times in total.
A chuckle rose from the throat of the panther as a soft green light bathes across the beast, shifting form into an semi-attractive lady.
"I must say I concur to Lord Peter's suggestion." purrs the woman.
"I must say I concur to Lord Peter's suggestion." purrs the woman.
There ain't no rest for the wicked.
befriend (v.): to use mecha-class beam weaponry to inflict grievous bodily harm on a target in the process of proving the validity of your belief system.
befriend (v.): to use mecha-class beam weaponry to inflict grievous bodily harm on a target in the process of proving the validity of your belief system.
My name is Cartwell, and I suspect you have. I've lived around here for a good while now. I can do a bit of magic, mostly making creatures appear. To the others now, What do you all want to do about patrols and sleeping schedules?Avoraciopoctules wrote: Grum seems pleased, smiling at Xero momentarily. Brom merely studies the group quietly. He motions to Mert, who deposits a half-dozen cold loaves of black bread with cheese and clay jugs of water on the table, dramatically more than the couple half-eaten loaves that had been there before.
"That's nice to hear. I think I've seen you pass by here a couple of times before, what was your name again?"
Ha! Cartwell's laughter cuts off to coughing, when he recovers he continues, Cutter, you must not have been in the Hive for long. You'll find five of his kind walking the streets on your first day. This berk is a lot like the rest of his addle-cove sort. You can't trust them but you can depend on them. I'd be more worried about those two beau-nasties we have here. He points with a hand wrapped in rags towards Akarchin and Bloody Thorn. Where are you from anyway? You aren't a cager, but you don't seem like a prime.ubernoob wrote:Lord Peter does not reach for the food, but he voices his agreement with a cautious, "Those terms are acceptable." Glancing at Needleteeth, Lord Peter adds, "I am going to require a muzzle to be put on the animal if I must work with it."
Bloody Thorn raises an eyebrow in bemusement at the panther's transformation. "Well yaff me, that was something. Hope that man suit isn't hiding anything beau-nasty love." He turns to his soup, seemingly ignoring the Dustmen questgivers. One sniff and his nose wrinkles up, a look of consternation playing upon his face. He slouches back in his chair and gazes through the Voices.
"Those terms sound acceptable fine sirrah and madam," he says, in a dull, practiced meter. "Your lodgings are acceptable and the pay is fine. I only ask for privacy in my own quarters."
"Those terms sound acceptable fine sirrah and madam," he says, in a dull, practiced meter. "Your lodgings are acceptable and the pay is fine. I only ask for privacy in my own quarters."
FrankTrollman wrote: Halfling women, as I'm sure you are aware, combine all the "fun" parts of pedophilia without any of the disturbing, illegal, or immoral parts.
K wrote:That being said, the usefulness of airships for society is still transporting cargo because it's an option that doesn't require a powerful wizard to show up for work on time instead of blowing the day in his harem of extraplanar sex demons/angels.
Chamomile wrote: See, it's because K's belief in leaving generation of individual monsters to GMs makes him Chaotic, whereas Frank's belief in the easier usability of monsters pre-generated by game designers makes him Lawful, and clearly these philosophies are so irreconcilable as to be best represented as fundamentally opposed metaphysical forces.
Whipstitch wrote:You're on a mad quest, dude. I'd sooner bet on Zeus getting bored and letting Sisyphus put down the fucking rock.
Lord Peter looks at Cartwell with something resembling amusement as he replies, "My father was a cager, but I was indeed raised in the prime. I've recently come from a trip to Mechanus, since you're obviously curious about my Skin."
Turning back to their hosts, Lord Peter continues with, "Yes, private rooms are a must. I can't be having that half-head drooling on my things."
Turning back to their hosts, Lord Peter continues with, "Yes, private rooms are a must. I can't be having that half-head drooling on my things."
Last edited by ubernoob on Tue Jan 19, 2010 4:04 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Nobody seemed to pay much attention to the scantily-clad elven maiden, who seems to be a waitress of some sort, sitting nearby and listening to the entire conversation. As they conclude, she quietly shuffles over, her grace and poise surprisingly stiff for one dressed like her. The most striking feature are her red boots, which extend almost halfway up her thigh. When she speaks, she does so in a voice that is almost excessively feminine.
"Well... I see much has already been decided without me. A shame, but I always make sure that I know what's going on. I'm the last one you asked for... or, at least, her replacement. Call me Allara, and it's a pleasure to meet all of you."
She then extends one of her hands to the panther, seemingly ignoring everyone else.
For Av
"Well... I see much has already been decided without me. A shame, but I always make sure that I know what's going on. I'm the last one you asked for... or, at least, her replacement. Call me Allara, and it's a pleasure to meet all of you."
She then extends one of her hands to the panther, seemingly ignoring everyone else.
For Av
I'm disguised as an elven girl. My Disguise check is 22, and I take no penalty for pretending to be another race.
Everything I learned about DnD, I learned from Frank Trollman.
Kaelik wrote:You are so full of Strawmen that I can only assume you actually shit actual straw.
souran wrote:...uber, nerd-rage-inducing, minutia-devoted, pointless blithering shit.
Schwarzkopf wrote:The Den, your one-stop shop for in-depth analysis of Dungeons & Dragons and distressingly credible threats of oral rape.
DSM wrote:Apparently, The GM's Going To Punch You in Your Goddamned Face edition of D&D is getting more traction than I expected. Well, it beats playing 4th. Probably 5th, too.
Frank Trollman wrote:Giving someone a mouth full of cock is a standard action.
PoliteNewb wrote:If size means anything, it's what position you have to get in to give a BJ.
Akarchin smiles at being called a beau-nasty, "And why would you be worried about a little dazzler like me" she asks Cartwell, putting her chin her left hand, leaning on the table. "Honestly I'm a bit more worried about being seen with a few cans... I may not have much of a rep yet, but I have to watch out for what I do have..." she flashes a toothy grin, revealing beautiful but sharp teeth.
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Judging__Eagle
- Prince
- Posts: 4671
- Joined: Fri Mar 07, 2008 7:54 pm
- Location: Lake Ontario is in my backyard; Canada
He raised an eyebrow at what the person placing his order had said.
Who are the Soloth. Hiders. Sneaks. Cut up? Rotted eyes? Needleteeth not know. Where is it?
It was a shot in the dark. Funny enough, an actual shot in the dark would have been easier for the rouge. All he'd have to do would be to take out the compact of red face powder, and throw it through the darkness.
"Whoo de' 'uck's a Soloth?I ain't never heard of 'im.[/i]." He asked the man who placed the order.
He waited for the answer.
The soup came, and it had the death-fat smell of killed non-plants. Funny enough... he didn't really feel like eating meat. He seldom did.
He fished around the strips of meat with a small ceramic ladle, and accompanying resting-dish. Slurping away at the broth, and slicing off the edges of the bread with a long thin blade, the letters "******" were engraved in large, thin letters. Then dipping the bread into the broth, to sup.
He got near the end, and slowly began to chew a small piece of the meat, and then continued to keep eating the bread.
He looked over at the shifter. Lycanthrope. Druid. Something. It didn't matter.
"I don't want this carne. ?Kitty craves carne?" he asked the woman, as he pointed the the thin column of bread bowl, half-full of meat.
When the rather mudandely vague particulars of the task were discussed.
It seemed straightforward, but one thing snagged across his thoughts.
"Ja, ja. It sounds good, this deal. I eat, and have place to rest, you have an other adventurer here. We split any loot, some way or an other. Upon option to renegotiate details, I accept."
Never forget the details. The details will never forget you. He'd lost a hand that way once, part of his face too.
He seriously hadn't been listening to any of the other's conversation, and had been carefully slicing his soup-bun with the knife, and eating. That, or he didn't realize the others were talking about him.
His addled brain plucked out what he was looking for. Violence. He blinked and looked up at his potential employers. Potential. He thought about the word for a moment.
"Is killing forbidden though? I can't abide killers. Not one bit."
anymore a voice said in the back of his skull
Sometimes, things went wrong, or got out of hand. Killing and breaking was a fast immediate solution; good for stopping a person from performing a task, or stopping an event from occurring. He'd like that option.
Finally, he pulled out a long thin metal spike, and fished out a piece of the meat.
"Also... I can't identify this carne. It's not a crusty, crunchy- organ filled bat; it's not little lean muscles like rat, not flavour-void poultry-muscle, or slice-ripping fowl, it's not the musky stink of goat, or the man-stink of pig; certainly not grass, or grain-beef. It's not even skunk, or badger, or weasel, nor dog or fox or wolf. I know it's not fish, or anything ..... is it from the sea?"
The rest of his questions, he kept to himself.
What, by the seven heavens is this carne? It wasn't intelligent, was it? No... too tender... oh damn, infant people? No, too grotesque.
It left him decidely pondering. Although, probably not what his employers would have liked him to think about. This next 'mission'.
Always a 'mission'. It's just an other stage in an ongoing battle. Nothing missive about it. Wait. Hehehehehe. Someone always doe get sent.
Who are the Soloth. Hiders. Sneaks. Cut up? Rotted eyes? Needleteeth not know. Where is it?
It was a shot in the dark. Funny enough, an actual shot in the dark would have been easier for the rouge. All he'd have to do would be to take out the compact of red face powder, and throw it through the darkness.
"Whoo de' 'uck's a Soloth?I ain't never heard of 'im.[/i]." He asked the man who placed the order.
He waited for the answer.
The soup came, and it had the death-fat smell of killed non-plants. Funny enough... he didn't really feel like eating meat. He seldom did.
He fished around the strips of meat with a small ceramic ladle, and accompanying resting-dish. Slurping away at the broth, and slicing off the edges of the bread with a long thin blade, the letters "******" were engraved in large, thin letters. Then dipping the bread into the broth, to sup.
He got near the end, and slowly began to chew a small piece of the meat, and then continued to keep eating the bread.
He looked over at the shifter. Lycanthrope. Druid. Something. It didn't matter.
"I don't want this carne. ?Kitty craves carne?" he asked the woman, as he pointed the the thin column of bread bowl, half-full of meat.
When the rather mudandely vague particulars of the task were discussed.
It seemed straightforward, but one thing snagged across his thoughts.
"Ja, ja. It sounds good, this deal. I eat, and have place to rest, you have an other adventurer here. We split any loot, some way or an other. Upon option to renegotiate details, I accept."
Never forget the details. The details will never forget you. He'd lost a hand that way once, part of his face too.
He seriously hadn't been listening to any of the other's conversation, and had been carefully slicing his soup-bun with the knife, and eating. That, or he didn't realize the others were talking about him.
His addled brain plucked out what he was looking for. Violence. He blinked and looked up at his potential employers. Potential. He thought about the word for a moment.
"Is killing forbidden though? I can't abide killers. Not one bit."
anymore a voice said in the back of his skull
Sometimes, things went wrong, or got out of hand. Killing and breaking was a fast immediate solution; good for stopping a person from performing a task, or stopping an event from occurring. He'd like that option.
Finally, he pulled out a long thin metal spike, and fished out a piece of the meat.
"Also... I can't identify this carne. It's not a crusty, crunchy- organ filled bat; it's not little lean muscles like rat, not flavour-void poultry-muscle, or slice-ripping fowl, it's not the musky stink of goat, or the man-stink of pig; certainly not grass, or grain-beef. It's not even skunk, or badger, or weasel, nor dog or fox or wolf. I know it's not fish, or anything ..... is it from the sea?"
The rest of his questions, he kept to himself.
What, by the seven heavens is this carne? It wasn't intelligent, was it? No... too tender... oh damn, infant people? No, too grotesque.
It left him decidely pondering. Although, probably not what his employers would have liked him to think about. This next 'mission'.
Always a 'mission'. It's just an other stage in an ongoing battle. Nothing missive about it. Wait. Hehehehehe. Someone always doe get sent.
The Gaming Den; where Mathematics are rigorously applied to Mythology.
While everyone's Philosophy is not in accord, that doesn't mean we're not on board.
While everyone's Philosophy is not in accord, that doesn't mean we're not on board.
BT coughs in an overblown manner, "Well you can cut the lustiness in here with a knife."
He turns as if catching something interesting out of the corner of his eye, before turning back towards Akarchin. "And besides, you look like the kind of lass that's used to holding bones of all shapes and sizes." He looks at her, hands crossed over his mouth, eyebrow raised.
"In fact, I'd reckon you're probably a real gennet for manflesh, if my meaning isn't vague."
He turns as if catching something interesting out of the corner of his eye, before turning back towards Akarchin. "And besides, you look like the kind of lass that's used to holding bones of all shapes and sizes." He looks at her, hands crossed over his mouth, eyebrow raised.
"In fact, I'd reckon you're probably a real gennet for manflesh, if my meaning isn't vague."
Last edited by Mask_De_H on Tue Jan 19, 2010 11:16 pm, edited 1 time in total.
FrankTrollman wrote: Halfling women, as I'm sure you are aware, combine all the "fun" parts of pedophilia without any of the disturbing, illegal, or immoral parts.
K wrote:That being said, the usefulness of airships for society is still transporting cargo because it's an option that doesn't require a powerful wizard to show up for work on time instead of blowing the day in his harem of extraplanar sex demons/angels.
Chamomile wrote: See, it's because K's belief in leaving generation of individual monsters to GMs makes him Chaotic, whereas Frank's belief in the easier usability of monsters pre-generated by game designers makes him Lawful, and clearly these philosophies are so irreconcilable as to be best represented as fundamentally opposed metaphysical forces.
Whipstitch wrote:You're on a mad quest, dude. I'd sooner bet on Zeus getting bored and letting Sisyphus put down the fucking rock.