darkhall-nestor
Explorer
Someone roll a one?
-
The VOIDRUNNER'S CODEX is LIVE! Explore new worlds, fight oppressive empires, fend off fearsome aliens, and wield deadly psionics with this comprehensive boxed set expansion for 5E and A5E!
The Realms of Enlightenment: The Grey Companions
- Thread starter Jon Potter
- Start date
Jon Potter
First Post
Thanks for the kind words, guys. Fimmtiu, I think your words were kind; let me know if I should take them another way. 
Anywho, there were no ones involved there, in fact that last little bit was the result of a crutucal hit, actually.
The story's about to side-trek into strangeness as the past comes back to haunt them.
Stay tuned...
Anywho, there were no ones involved there, in fact that last little bit was the result of a crutucal hit, actually.
The story's about to side-trek into strangeness as the past comes back to haunt them.
Stay tuned...
Jon Potter
First Post
And While You're Waiting...
Here's the long-awaited special thing that I mentioned sometime before Christmas.
The collected Realms of Enlightenment adventures available as free downloads from lulu.com. I'm not making money from these, I just did it for fun, but the printed books do look nice on my book shelf.
Each Volume features some notable reader quotes culled from this Story Hour and most contain an introduction written by the players. This is the only place that you can read the definitive collection featuring painstakingly rewritten "lost segments" of the narrative that have never been seen before.
Collect them all...
----------
Okay, now to take off my marketting hat and say that I hope this brings some enjoyment to the readers here. It was fun to do and if anyone downloads a copy or buys a printed version (Hey!! It could happen!) I'd love to hear what you think of it.
Here's the long-awaited special thing that I mentioned sometime before Christmas.
The collected Realms of Enlightenment adventures available as free downloads from lulu.com. I'm not making money from these, I just did it for fun, but the printed books do look nice on my book shelf.
Each Volume features some notable reader quotes culled from this Story Hour and most contain an introduction written by the players. This is the only place that you can read the definitive collection featuring painstakingly rewritten "lost segments" of the narrative that have never been seen before.
Collect them all...
- Volume One: The Grey Companions
- Volume Two: To Live and Die in Riverneck
- Volume Three: Something Rotten in Barnacus
- Volume Four: Against the Cult of Chaos
- Volume Five: The Problem with Portals
- Volume Six: A Tale of Two Forests
- Volume Seven: The Keys to Her Heart
----------
Okay, now to take off my marketting hat and say that I hope this brings some enjoyment to the readers here. It was fun to do and if anyone downloads a copy or buys a printed version (Hey!! It could happen!) I'd love to hear what you think of it.
Last edited:
Jon Potter
First Post
[Realms #426] Comes the Dawn
Huzair was awakened by an icy hand pressing down across his mouth. Opening his eyes, he saw Anania crouched over him in the darkness, a finger raised to her lips, her eyes wide with alarm. She leaned in close and the mage smelled damp earth and pine needles as her hair fell across his face.
"Something is wrong," she breathed into his ear. "The watch should have awakened us by now. Alert the others. I will investigate." And then she slipped away, moving deftly around the three sleeping forms without waking them. She began to excavate the door. While she worked, Huzair poked at the banked coals of their fire, bringing a hellish glow to the inside of the shelter.
It was nearly dawn, and the weather hadn't improved much. The snow had stopped falling, but the wind still kicked the accumulation into whorls of blinding white. As one-by-one they pulled themselves from the low opening of the snow shelter, they saw Anania crouched nearby.
"There was a battle," she said without looking up. She brushed aside some of the blowing snow, revealing a rusty patch of ice they all recognized as frozen blood - a lot of frozen blood. "But no bodies."
"Oh man, if that thing that got me got him... he is lost," Huzair said matter-of-factly. "He will get into so much trouble on the astral plane. And Nethlar knows he cannot talk his way out of anything. Ixin might be better off... she's pretty at least." Morier shoved the wizard as the albino stepped passed him to look at the ground where Anania was knelt. He couldn't tell anything by looking.
"Was it the same thing that took Huzair?" he asked in a low voice and Anania's eyes flicked up to regard him.
"Possibly," she said. "I can tell little from this scene. Too much snow has fallen between the event and now." Morier scowled.
That's what he was afraid she'd say.
"Should we search for them on the Astral Plane?" Shamalin asked although it was many days' hard travel back to the Moonsteps, their only immediate way of gaining access to the Astral. "Should I try a Sending spell again?" Huzair eyed the ruddy snow and snorted.
"I fear whomever's blood this is," he paused, looking at Morier, Ayremac and Shamalin in turn. "Well, if it was Ixin's or Karak's then I am afraid they are dead." Shamalin blanched at the mage's assessment and Morier got to his feet.
"We don't know that, Huzair," the albino said and then squinted off in the direction of the keep. "But having had two party members disappear in the middle of the night makes me a little more inclined this morning to "storm the keep" than I was yesterday."
"Why?" Ayremac asked and the eldritch warrior turned his crimson eyes on him.
"I would think that the most obvious explaination for Ixin and Karak's disappearance would be that the culprit is within that keep," Morier said in a patronizing tone.
"Let's not be rash, Morier," the holy warrior replied with an equal measure of disdain in his own voice. "Aren't you the one always preaching caution? I'll get an aerial perspective." And saying thus he spread his wings and took to the sky. Morier watched him go, his teeth set.
"Gods," he cursed. "I miss Karak already."
Shamalin went about her morning prayers and called on Flor to grant her the miracle of Speaking with the Dead. She suited up and arranged before her the few charred bones that Huzair had pulled from the firepit - a skull and mandible, a few ribs, one scapula, and some long bones that belonged to either the arms or legs of the man. It was not much, really, but apart from the unpleasant option of digging through the remains of the fire to locate more bones, it was as good as they were likely to get. She hoped it would work as she brandished her holy symbol and spoke the necessary words.
After a while, it did.
The skull rolled from side to side and the jawbone clacked open and closed. A moment later, the rib bones snapped back into the approximation of a cage which swelled and shrank as if invisible lungs expanded and deflated within. The long bones rolled up to become stumpy upper arms. For a moment, the partial skeleton languished there and then it turned its empty eye sockets onto Shamalin and while there were no eyes to read, the cleric sensed a resigned patience as the spirit waited to answer her questions.
"What events have befallen this keep to result in so much death and fear?" she asked and the skull's jawbone shook violently for a moment before the voice spoke.
"The dead walked and we came to slay them," the skull said. Its voice was thin and brittle in the cold morning. "But he followed in our wake like a carrion bird."
"Who?" Shamalin stammered. Speaking to a murdered corpse was disconcerting. "Who should we be wary of?" Again the skull's jawbone rattled and clattered for a time before an answer came.
"He wore the garb of a Sanctifier," the skeleton said. "But he slew we few as no brother would." Shamalin swallowed down her anxiety and licked her lips.
"How best can we defeat this enemy?" she asked and watched as the skull jerked and twitched.
"For all his unnatural strength he is but a man," the skull told her. "And men, like all things must one day come to an end." With the last syllable, the bones collapsed into a ruinous pile once more.
"May Flor watch over you on your walk of 100 days," the cleric said in benediction and went to tell the others what little she'd learned.
Ayremac and Shamalin were doing a proper burial of the burned bones and Anania and Huzair were enjoying some hot tea while they crouched around their meager fire for warmth when they heard the scream. It sounded like a woman and came from not too far off. They rose and looked in the direction of the sound and saw Morier stalking forward with a writhing figure in tow. It was a boy, they saw, not yet old enough for his first beard to come in. He was properly terrified of the lithe albino with the grip of steel. The eldritch warrior hurled him roughly to the ground.
"I caught this one sneaking towards our camp," Morier growled, glowering down at the boy. He was blonde and wind-burned and hadn't eaten a decent meal in a while. It had been longer still since he'd bathed.
"Please! Please!" the youth protested, prostrating himself at Morier's feet. "I came because the others are afraid to! I came to beg your help!"
Huzair was awakened by an icy hand pressing down across his mouth. Opening his eyes, he saw Anania crouched over him in the darkness, a finger raised to her lips, her eyes wide with alarm. She leaned in close and the mage smelled damp earth and pine needles as her hair fell across his face.
"Something is wrong," she breathed into his ear. "The watch should have awakened us by now. Alert the others. I will investigate." And then she slipped away, moving deftly around the three sleeping forms without waking them. She began to excavate the door. While she worked, Huzair poked at the banked coals of their fire, bringing a hellish glow to the inside of the shelter.
It was nearly dawn, and the weather hadn't improved much. The snow had stopped falling, but the wind still kicked the accumulation into whorls of blinding white. As one-by-one they pulled themselves from the low opening of the snow shelter, they saw Anania crouched nearby.
"There was a battle," she said without looking up. She brushed aside some of the blowing snow, revealing a rusty patch of ice they all recognized as frozen blood - a lot of frozen blood. "But no bodies."
"Oh man, if that thing that got me got him... he is lost," Huzair said matter-of-factly. "He will get into so much trouble on the astral plane. And Nethlar knows he cannot talk his way out of anything. Ixin might be better off... she's pretty at least." Morier shoved the wizard as the albino stepped passed him to look at the ground where Anania was knelt. He couldn't tell anything by looking.
"Was it the same thing that took Huzair?" he asked in a low voice and Anania's eyes flicked up to regard him.
"Possibly," she said. "I can tell little from this scene. Too much snow has fallen between the event and now." Morier scowled.
That's what he was afraid she'd say.
"Should we search for them on the Astral Plane?" Shamalin asked although it was many days' hard travel back to the Moonsteps, their only immediate way of gaining access to the Astral. "Should I try a Sending spell again?" Huzair eyed the ruddy snow and snorted.
"I fear whomever's blood this is," he paused, looking at Morier, Ayremac and Shamalin in turn. "Well, if it was Ixin's or Karak's then I am afraid they are dead." Shamalin blanched at the mage's assessment and Morier got to his feet.
"We don't know that, Huzair," the albino said and then squinted off in the direction of the keep. "But having had two party members disappear in the middle of the night makes me a little more inclined this morning to "storm the keep" than I was yesterday."
"Why?" Ayremac asked and the eldritch warrior turned his crimson eyes on him.
"I would think that the most obvious explaination for Ixin and Karak's disappearance would be that the culprit is within that keep," Morier said in a patronizing tone.
"Let's not be rash, Morier," the holy warrior replied with an equal measure of disdain in his own voice. "Aren't you the one always preaching caution? I'll get an aerial perspective." And saying thus he spread his wings and took to the sky. Morier watched him go, his teeth set.
"Gods," he cursed. "I miss Karak already."
Shamalin went about her morning prayers and called on Flor to grant her the miracle of Speaking with the Dead. She suited up and arranged before her the few charred bones that Huzair had pulled from the firepit - a skull and mandible, a few ribs, one scapula, and some long bones that belonged to either the arms or legs of the man. It was not much, really, but apart from the unpleasant option of digging through the remains of the fire to locate more bones, it was as good as they were likely to get. She hoped it would work as she brandished her holy symbol and spoke the necessary words.
After a while, it did.
The skull rolled from side to side and the jawbone clacked open and closed. A moment later, the rib bones snapped back into the approximation of a cage which swelled and shrank as if invisible lungs expanded and deflated within. The long bones rolled up to become stumpy upper arms. For a moment, the partial skeleton languished there and then it turned its empty eye sockets onto Shamalin and while there were no eyes to read, the cleric sensed a resigned patience as the spirit waited to answer her questions.
"What events have befallen this keep to result in so much death and fear?" she asked and the skull's jawbone shook violently for a moment before the voice spoke.
"The dead walked and we came to slay them," the skull said. Its voice was thin and brittle in the cold morning. "But he followed in our wake like a carrion bird."
"Who?" Shamalin stammered. Speaking to a murdered corpse was disconcerting. "Who should we be wary of?" Again the skull's jawbone rattled and clattered for a time before an answer came.
"He wore the garb of a Sanctifier," the skeleton said. "But he slew we few as no brother would." Shamalin swallowed down her anxiety and licked her lips.
"How best can we defeat this enemy?" she asked and watched as the skull jerked and twitched.
"For all his unnatural strength he is but a man," the skull told her. "And men, like all things must one day come to an end." With the last syllable, the bones collapsed into a ruinous pile once more.
"May Flor watch over you on your walk of 100 days," the cleric said in benediction and went to tell the others what little she'd learned.
Ayremac and Shamalin were doing a proper burial of the burned bones and Anania and Huzair were enjoying some hot tea while they crouched around their meager fire for warmth when they heard the scream. It sounded like a woman and came from not too far off. They rose and looked in the direction of the sound and saw Morier stalking forward with a writhing figure in tow. It was a boy, they saw, not yet old enough for his first beard to come in. He was properly terrified of the lithe albino with the grip of steel. The eldritch warrior hurled him roughly to the ground.
"I caught this one sneaking towards our camp," Morier growled, glowering down at the boy. He was blonde and wind-burned and hadn't eaten a decent meal in a while. It had been longer still since he'd bathed.
"Please! Please!" the youth protested, prostrating himself at Morier's feet. "I came because the others are afraid to! I came to beg your help!"
Jon Potter
First Post
[Realms #427] Bad Cope, Worse Cop
"Of course you did," Morier sneered down at the youth. "Where are our friends?" The boy looked confusedly back at him and then turned a pleading eye to Shamalin and Ayremac.
"P-please! I don't know anything about your friends," he stammered and Morier's hand darted out, viper-quick and snatched another fist full of the boy's jerkin.
"We'll see about that," the albino growled and hauled the boy to his feet with one savage tug. As he man-handled him away from their camp, Morier glanced at Huzair, beckoning the wizard to join his interrogation. Then the eldritch warrior favored Shamalin with a reassuring wink that told her he was still in control of his faculties.
"Oh boy! This is where Morier acts tough, with a little kid," Huzair quipped to Anania as he went to follow the albino and his prisoner. "I gotta see this."
Ayremac started forward as well, but Shamalin forestalled him. "Morier knows what he's doing," she explained when the holy warrior gave her a questioning look. "If it were Huzair alone, I'd be concerned, but Morier has a good heart. He won't do anything rash to the boy." Ayremac narrowed his eyes, fixing the half-elf with a flinty stare.
"If he does otherwise, Shamalin, the boy's blood will be on your hands as much as Morier's," he said before drawing back to stand gazing thoughtfully into the campfire.
Some thirty paces away, Morier shoved the youth again and the boy stumbled and fell onto his side in the snow. The eldritch warrior cast a glance back toward camp; blowing snow reduced the three figures there to hazy shadows. He fixed a feral grin on his face before turning to look down at the trembling boy at his feet.
"We needed to get him away from the goody-good crowd, Huzair," the albino said, his eyes remaining fixed on his prisoner. "I'm sure that they'd object to watching the torture of this little one. But then they've never been ones to get their hands wet doing the dirty work, have they? None of them has the fortitude to ram a sword through his heart if it means saving the rest of the party." The boy clutched at his chest and let out a small whine, but, to his credit, did not actually break down to tears.
"Why would you do such things, sir?" the youth pleaded. "I came to you for help! I am nothing to you!"
"Little bastard could just as well be a trained assassin as a stable sweeper, I say," Morier snapped.
"You are wrong, sir!" the boy protested. "I don't know what you're talking about! None of it!"
"Well, allow me to enlighten you," the albino sneered down at him imperiously. "It looks very much like someone snuck into our camp during the night and attacked, perhaps killed two of our party members... and now I find you skulking about the perimeter. Tell me very quickly why I shouldn't assume that it was you who did them in and kill you right now." And for emphasis, he drew his elemental greatsword.
"STONEBLADE AWAKES!" the sword thundered in his hands. "WHAT IS THIS? AN ENEMY LIES DEFEATED BEFORE MY POWER IS BROUGHT TO BEAR?!"
"He is our prisoner," Morier explained. "We were just about to coax some information from him."
"I HAVE FOUND THAT BURYING A FOE IN STONE UP TO THEIR NECK OFTEN MAKES THEM TALKATIVE," the sword roared eagerly and Morier grinned.
"And that's no problem for the Scion of Earth, right?" the albino asked the blade.
"QUITE RIGHT!" the sword answered and it twisted excitedly in Morier's grip. "SHALL I?"
"Hold up, there, stoney," Huzair interceded, crouching down to the boy's level. "What do you think happened to our comrades, boy? They were on watch when they disappeared, and there is not much left of them but a lot of frozen blood." The boy's blanched face began to take on a greenish tinge.
"Does not sound pretty does it? Now you see why Whitey here is so angry," the mage said, cocking a thumb in Morier's direction. "You had better tell us EXACTLY what happened." The boy's eyes flicked from one inquisitor to the other and back again.
"B-but, sirs, I do not know!" he protested. "I- We are not permitted to leave the fortress. He keeps us prisoner." Huzair and Morier shared a glance.
"Who keeps you prisoner?" the eldritch warrior asked and the boy shook his head.
"He calls himself 'Sir' Alechtus," the boy explained, but he spoke the title with utter disdain. "And he wears a fancy tabbard, but he behaves as no knight ever would. I came to you in the hopes that you might drive him away."
Morier and Huzair led the boy back into their camp with somewhat less rough handling than was used on the way out; this time, Morier kept a stout hold on the back of his jerkin, rather than the front. They explained to the others what he'd divulged so far. Shamalin offered the boy a cup of strong, hot tea, but he declined to drink it. She smiled, bemused.
"It is understandable that you are wary," she said and pointedly took a sip of the tea she had offered. "I have spoken with one of your dead. We know that you have suffered greatly and suffer still."
"You- you can speak with the dead?" the boy asked, astonished.
"The White Lady grants me many gifts," Shamalin told him. "Now what more can you tell us of this one who wears the cloth of a Sanctifier? There is reason to believe he may be responsible for the loss of two of our own."
"That's him! That's Sir Alechtus," the youth said, excitedly. "First the disease came, then those who got sick became undead. The Sanctifiers arrived a week ago, putting the ghouls to the sword. Then he came, wearing the same crest as they, but bearing a sword like his." He pointed then at Morier but did not look him in the eye. "One that talked and seemed as alive almost as a real person. With it he slew each of the Sanctifiers in turn and burned their bodies outside the gate. That was three days ago and he's been here ever since. Talking to his sword. Talking to himself. I think he's mad." Then he reached out a trembling hand to take the hot tea from the priestess of Flor.
They stepped away from the boy, leaving Anania to guard him - although, in truth, there seemed to be little reason to think he would flee. They mulled over the boy's story trying to decide whether or not they believed what he said.
"Well, I can only think of one way to find if they are telling the truth," Huzair began, holding up his two hands and waggling the fingers to emphasize both the Ring of Blinking and the Ring of Invisibility. Before anyone could protest to the unvoiced suggestion, Anania cried out in alarm.
"Scrying sensor!" she said, pointing above the party's heads. Weapons were readied in an instant and the group assumed defensive postures.
A female voice spoke directly into Morier's head then via Sending: "This is Guide Madrieile Tharion of the Wayfarer's Union. I have a special delivery for Morier Tulien. Will you accept?"
"Of course you did," Morier sneered down at the youth. "Where are our friends?" The boy looked confusedly back at him and then turned a pleading eye to Shamalin and Ayremac.
"P-please! I don't know anything about your friends," he stammered and Morier's hand darted out, viper-quick and snatched another fist full of the boy's jerkin.
"We'll see about that," the albino growled and hauled the boy to his feet with one savage tug. As he man-handled him away from their camp, Morier glanced at Huzair, beckoning the wizard to join his interrogation. Then the eldritch warrior favored Shamalin with a reassuring wink that told her he was still in control of his faculties.
"Oh boy! This is where Morier acts tough, with a little kid," Huzair quipped to Anania as he went to follow the albino and his prisoner. "I gotta see this."
Ayremac started forward as well, but Shamalin forestalled him. "Morier knows what he's doing," she explained when the holy warrior gave her a questioning look. "If it were Huzair alone, I'd be concerned, but Morier has a good heart. He won't do anything rash to the boy." Ayremac narrowed his eyes, fixing the half-elf with a flinty stare.
"If he does otherwise, Shamalin, the boy's blood will be on your hands as much as Morier's," he said before drawing back to stand gazing thoughtfully into the campfire.
Some thirty paces away, Morier shoved the youth again and the boy stumbled and fell onto his side in the snow. The eldritch warrior cast a glance back toward camp; blowing snow reduced the three figures there to hazy shadows. He fixed a feral grin on his face before turning to look down at the trembling boy at his feet.
"We needed to get him away from the goody-good crowd, Huzair," the albino said, his eyes remaining fixed on his prisoner. "I'm sure that they'd object to watching the torture of this little one. But then they've never been ones to get their hands wet doing the dirty work, have they? None of them has the fortitude to ram a sword through his heart if it means saving the rest of the party." The boy clutched at his chest and let out a small whine, but, to his credit, did not actually break down to tears.
"Why would you do such things, sir?" the youth pleaded. "I came to you for help! I am nothing to you!"
"Little bastard could just as well be a trained assassin as a stable sweeper, I say," Morier snapped.
"You are wrong, sir!" the boy protested. "I don't know what you're talking about! None of it!"
"Well, allow me to enlighten you," the albino sneered down at him imperiously. "It looks very much like someone snuck into our camp during the night and attacked, perhaps killed two of our party members... and now I find you skulking about the perimeter. Tell me very quickly why I shouldn't assume that it was you who did them in and kill you right now." And for emphasis, he drew his elemental greatsword.
"STONEBLADE AWAKES!" the sword thundered in his hands. "WHAT IS THIS? AN ENEMY LIES DEFEATED BEFORE MY POWER IS BROUGHT TO BEAR?!"
"He is our prisoner," Morier explained. "We were just about to coax some information from him."
"I HAVE FOUND THAT BURYING A FOE IN STONE UP TO THEIR NECK OFTEN MAKES THEM TALKATIVE," the sword roared eagerly and Morier grinned.
"And that's no problem for the Scion of Earth, right?" the albino asked the blade.
"QUITE RIGHT!" the sword answered and it twisted excitedly in Morier's grip. "SHALL I?"
"Hold up, there, stoney," Huzair interceded, crouching down to the boy's level. "What do you think happened to our comrades, boy? They were on watch when they disappeared, and there is not much left of them but a lot of frozen blood." The boy's blanched face began to take on a greenish tinge.
"Does not sound pretty does it? Now you see why Whitey here is so angry," the mage said, cocking a thumb in Morier's direction. "You had better tell us EXACTLY what happened." The boy's eyes flicked from one inquisitor to the other and back again.
"B-but, sirs, I do not know!" he protested. "I- We are not permitted to leave the fortress. He keeps us prisoner." Huzair and Morier shared a glance.
"Who keeps you prisoner?" the eldritch warrior asked and the boy shook his head.
"He calls himself 'Sir' Alechtus," the boy explained, but he spoke the title with utter disdain. "And he wears a fancy tabbard, but he behaves as no knight ever would. I came to you in the hopes that you might drive him away."
Morier and Huzair led the boy back into their camp with somewhat less rough handling than was used on the way out; this time, Morier kept a stout hold on the back of his jerkin, rather than the front. They explained to the others what he'd divulged so far. Shamalin offered the boy a cup of strong, hot tea, but he declined to drink it. She smiled, bemused.
"It is understandable that you are wary," she said and pointedly took a sip of the tea she had offered. "I have spoken with one of your dead. We know that you have suffered greatly and suffer still."
"You- you can speak with the dead?" the boy asked, astonished.
"The White Lady grants me many gifts," Shamalin told him. "Now what more can you tell us of this one who wears the cloth of a Sanctifier? There is reason to believe he may be responsible for the loss of two of our own."
"That's him! That's Sir Alechtus," the youth said, excitedly. "First the disease came, then those who got sick became undead. The Sanctifiers arrived a week ago, putting the ghouls to the sword. Then he came, wearing the same crest as they, but bearing a sword like his." He pointed then at Morier but did not look him in the eye. "One that talked and seemed as alive almost as a real person. With it he slew each of the Sanctifiers in turn and burned their bodies outside the gate. That was three days ago and he's been here ever since. Talking to his sword. Talking to himself. I think he's mad." Then he reached out a trembling hand to take the hot tea from the priestess of Flor.
They stepped away from the boy, leaving Anania to guard him - although, in truth, there seemed to be little reason to think he would flee. They mulled over the boy's story trying to decide whether or not they believed what he said.
"Well, I can only think of one way to find if they are telling the truth," Huzair began, holding up his two hands and waggling the fingers to emphasize both the Ring of Blinking and the Ring of Invisibility. Before anyone could protest to the unvoiced suggestion, Anania cried out in alarm.
"Scrying sensor!" she said, pointing above the party's heads. Weapons were readied in an instant and the group assumed defensive postures.
A female voice spoke directly into Morier's head then via Sending: "This is Guide Madrieile Tharion of the Wayfarer's Union. I have a special delivery for Morier Tulien. Will you accept?"
Jon Potter
First Post
Wow!
36,000 page views!?!
Wasn't it just a month ago that Hairy Minotaur was congratulating me on 30,000?
There sure are a lot more people looking at this thing than there are commenting on it.
You all should know that when I reach the 1,000 post mark, I'll do another run of post-a-day. I've got a buffer of about 15 posts written up just itching to be dropped.
36,000 page views!?!
Wasn't it just a month ago that Hairy Minotaur was congratulating me on 30,000?
There sure are a lot more people looking at this thing than there are commenting on it.
You all should know that when I reach the 1,000 post mark, I'll do another run of post-a-day. I've got a buffer of about 15 posts written up just itching to be dropped.
Hairy Minotaur
Explorer
Jon Potter said:
You taunt us with your tease of excitement.
![:]](http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devious.png "Devious :]")
Jon Potter
First Post
Hairy Minotaur said:You taunt us with your tease of excitement.
It wasn't meant to be a tease, HM. I like to keep a buffer between where I am and where I post. I used to post them as soon as I wrote them, but managed to buckled down and get a bunch of installments written up. So if I run out of time one week or otherwise can't get a turn written, I still have something to post for your enjoyment.
And speaking of which...
