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Rule of Three for the Price of Two (updated 14Aug06)
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<blockquote data-quote="Monty Tomasi" data-source="post: 2983405" data-attributes="member: 40137"><p>My name is Telbach Harry. I’m a man of the cloth, a middle-man, chant-broker, Knight of the Post and an all round genuine cutter.</p><p> </p><p>This here is my diary, a place to spill the chant on what’s rattling in my brain-box. See travelling the planes can leave a berk with many a foolish notion. So it’s best to jot them down on parchment, lance any curious notions and let them spill out clean with a quill and some bladder ink. That way the mind stays fresh and sharp.</p><p></p><p>Now if by some chance you happen to be reading this and you’re not a rogue modron called Good Morning, I’d just like to say: Give it back you sodding thief!</p><p></p><p>If you’re reading this my dear and close pal Good Morning, I hope that you gave me a decent burial. If you didn’t well then sod you! By the way, since I’m in the process of educating you and all, here’s another phrase to add to your gear-box (or what ever it is that passes for a brain-box in modron physiology). The phrase is:</p><p></p><p>Knight of the Post</p><p></p><p>It means someone who is a reputable berk; they’re guaranteed to deliver your messages and suren. Neither strong winds, high water nor the armies of the Abyss will stand in their way to make sure that your messages, post, parcels and what-have-you will get to where they need to go. You can trust a Knight of the Post if there’s anyone in this Multiverse that you can truly trust.</p><p></p><p>Anyway, seeing as this is a diary I probably should be getting to the story part of it. Or the bit that is sometimes referred to as: What I did today.</p><p></p><p>I had a friend who worked at the Palace of Judgement on the Outlands. He used to greet me each day by wishing me a life in interesting times... Well, my life has been anything but boring and no mistake.</p><p></p><p>Having toured the Outlands for a good few months working as a horse doctor in various villages, burgs and towns I was running low on supplies and stumbled across a Bariaur town. Those goat-boys and gals move around a fair bit them being nomads on the whole and this herd was in a bit of a bind. Seems that they’d had some Tanar’ri trouble recently and they were looking for somewhere quiet to lick their wounds.</p><p></p><p>Lucky for them a horse doctor was on hand to mend their ills. I’ll confess to never having treated a Bariaur before but I thought it was a sure bet that it wouldn’t be too hard. Bariaur, centaurs, horses for courses they’re all one and the same you’d be forgiven for thinking.</p><p></p><p>Alas, those goat-boys were none too forgiving when I made a couple of school-boy errors and before you know it yours truly was high-tailing it out of that town faster than a Hollyphant shot from a ballista. Bariaurs as I learnt to my displeasure can run pretty fast and for long periods of time too. When your enemy can outrun you and starts flanking to close the circle – that’s when it’s time to use your brain-box and step to it smartly.</p><p></p><p>I’m still amazed to this day that I can sit here and write: “The Caverns of Thought saved my life” but sure as Telbach Harry is my name they did. You see the Outlands is a broad expanse and it’s by no means devoid of any interesting features or places. With the Bariaur hot on my tail I had to use Terrain to lose them and though I did not venture far in to the tunnels, the Bariaur wisely stayed well away.</p><p></p><p>Having done my tour of the Outlands I felt it was time to hit the Cage and see what had changed. Chant had it that there’d been a big barny (Good Morning: barny means trouble) and the Factions had had their notice handed to them. Well, it seemed a mighty shame to see all those wonderful Factions go but a place like that is never short of philosophers with clubs. Sooner or later someone else will step in to their shoes and it sure as the Spire aint going to be guilds.</p><p></p><p>Personally I can see why berks form guilds, makes perfect sense forming a like-minded club based on a common profession or trade. But a place like the Cage is a veritable ocean of belief jammed in to a crucible and then stirred with a heavy helping of sods with egos the size of… well of Sigil. In any case, I wanted to look up some old friends and re-establish some contacts so now seemed a good a time as any.</p><p></p><p>I’d not been in the Cage a day having just seen a bosom buddy who’d put his life on the line for me (and all I was after was some more horse medicine) when this tiefling taps his hand on my shoulder. I’ve got nothing against tieflings being one myself, salt of the earth they are and never a more maligned and misunderstood people you’ll find. Beneath their little horns, spiny tails and black bottomless eyes you’ll find a heart of gold. Just ‘cause a sod has a little taint of fiendish blood don’t make him a thieving, back-stabbing, lying and conniving Knight of the Post.</p><p></p><p>Sorry, got a little carried away there. Anyway, this tiefer (a nick-name for a tiefling Good Morning, the word originally comes from thiefling but after a simultaneous sit-down protest of every tiefling in the Multiverse - the Powers that Be decided it was an unfair name and had it changed to tiefling)… this tiefer was wearing fancy clothes, looked like a high-price messenger or herald of some sort. He hands me a note says that his employer knows about the mishap that occurred in the Bariaur township and that he’d like to get me to do a job for him.</p><p></p><p>The tiefer bows and walks away without a second glance. He’s done his job and on the parchment he’s just handed me is the outline of my next job. Sure enough it contains enough details of the Bariaur incident to make it clear he knows the dark of it and I’m to go to the former Ubiquitous Wayfarer at anti-peak. With a few hours to kill I pick up the horse-nip I was after, have a final slap-up meal for the condemned and head over with half an hour to spare.</p><p></p><p>Standing outside the door of the broken-down ruins of the tavern that once was the Ubiquitous Wayfarer is a little figure in a long robe. Sounds silly? Well it certainly looked a little odd and before yours truly could crack a joke the little sod pulls a bow and points an arrow at me in the blink of an eye.</p><p></p><p>Now I’m thinking that either this is a child with fast reflexes or one of those short races I’ve been hearing about in the taverns and inns. I made the mistake of asking if it was fully grown and the bowstring went so taut that I could bear the bow creaking in protest.</p><p></p><p>As I slowly back away from the paranoid gnome he tried the handle and a voice tells him that he’s early. I didn’t laugh or even crack a smile, that bow had an arrow knocked and pointed at me within a heartbeat of him letting go of the door-handle. Fortunately an earth genasi knight and half-orc barbarian woman came towards us from opposite ends of the street and the gnome soon learnt he could not point his arrow in three directions at once.</p><p></p><p>I’ve heard that there are elves that can pull a trick like that. Shoot arrows in all four directions at once but the way I figure it you’ll never witness one doing it. By the time she’s loosed her arrows and your brain-box registers the incoming trouble you’re already well on your way to being written in the dead-book. (Good Morning: there is actually a dead book, it’s kept in the Palace of Judgement on the Outlands and I’ve seen it. Had to get a friend’s name removed and I only borrowed the book for a couple of minutes. Needless to say it’s pretty heavy).</p><p></p><p>A tiefer girl with blue fur, a cat’s tail and cat-like ears does a perfect double somersault off the roof next door and lands straight. She starts chatting away when a rogue modron turns up and it keeps chirping on the phrase: Good Morning. Well, it’s almost anti-peak and the last thing that I wanted to do was argue time (and possibly space) with a modron – so luckily I was saved when the door went ‘click’ leaving all the threads of conversation hanging in the air.</p><p></p><p>Inside the two-story building that was once called the Ubiquitous Wayfarer was a lot of ash and soot. There was a sulphurous smell to the place as well and it looked like the tavern had either caught fire or someone had left a delayed-blast fireball trap under one of the tables for a laugh. We did not stay t check the place out long and instead headed up the stairs. “Third door on the left” the instructions had said and as it turns out we each had received a similar letter.</p><p></p><p>What is it about doors and cutters having to check them for locks, traps and such like? Perhaps I’ve simply led a charmed life and never had to worry about someone leaving a nasty surprise inside a door-lock. The third door on the left happened to be unlocked and in the room beyond we found more broken furniture, ash, soot and not much else. The only other thing of interest was the doorway further in that began to glow with a pal silvery light.</p><p></p><p>Two big, ugly reptilian brutes with ridiculously large falchions step through the glowing portal. They check us out as well as the room and then this scarred elf steps through behind them. He’s not a pretty sod and his pock-marked face does not do him any favours either. Seems that even his robe has holes in it, as if someone had splashed him with acid from the side.</p><p></p><p>The elf in the robe introduces himself and tells us he has a job for us. The tiefling girl is chatty, the earth genasi is surly and the rest stand round silently waiting to see how things play out. The game that our new employer wants us to play is to find a two-copper chant-monger called Lothar the Shiv in the gate-town of Torch. The deal is to bring him back alive and presumably then our work is done.</p><p></p><p>I’ve come across operators like this elf before. They’ve unfortunately got a criminal mind and the sad part is that they can’t think in a non-criminal way. Rather than just hiring us for jinks he has to blackmail each of us. It’s a perverse little game these berks like to play and to be honest they get very little respect from me. This approach lacks style, sophistication and about the only thing that impressed me was the fact that the elf had done his home-work on us. Knowing my luck he’s probably just a mouth-piece for a bigger and nastier Knight of the Cross Trade.</p><p></p><p>The pitted elf steps back through the portal and takes his dragon-kin bruisers with him. Well, there we were a bunch of strangers all staring at each other wondering what to do next. A half-orc warrior-woman with a mighty big axe, an earth genasi knight all decked out in resplendent chain (even if the rest of him did look as scruffy as a bubber), a rogue modron called Good Morning, a serious gnome and a tiefling girl with a spring in her step that looked like she had a fair amount of cat blood in her veins.</p><p></p><p>Now I’m not normally one to go rushing off with complete strangers on a mission that can generously be classified as a suicide mission. So I start chatting and when the gnome asks: “Does anyone want to do anything before we go?” The only thing that I can think of is to write a last will and testament.</p><p></p><p>Seeing as the only berk in the room that speaks up when I ask for a volunteer to be my heir is Good Morning – he’s the one that I write my will out to. So Good Morning, if you are reading this, I hope that you like all the things that I’ve picked up along the way. Please don’t experiment with any of the items until you have clearly identified each and my final piece of advice is: stay away from the Yugoloths!</p><p></p><p>Having completed my business we step up to the portal and take out one of the two slimy little legs that the elf has left us as a portal key. Not being sure what to do with it I tried breaking it, having various malign thoughts whilst holding it. Turns out that the earth genasi is not as thick as he appears as he figured out how to activate the portal. He took a nibble, the archway glowed a dull, menacing red and we all stepped through.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Monty Tomasi, post: 2983405, member: 40137"] My name is Telbach Harry. I’m a man of the cloth, a middle-man, chant-broker, Knight of the Post and an all round genuine cutter. This here is my diary, a place to spill the chant on what’s rattling in my brain-box. See travelling the planes can leave a berk with many a foolish notion. So it’s best to jot them down on parchment, lance any curious notions and let them spill out clean with a quill and some bladder ink. That way the mind stays fresh and sharp. Now if by some chance you happen to be reading this and you’re not a rogue modron called Good Morning, I’d just like to say: Give it back you sodding thief! If you’re reading this my dear and close pal Good Morning, I hope that you gave me a decent burial. If you didn’t well then sod you! By the way, since I’m in the process of educating you and all, here’s another phrase to add to your gear-box (or what ever it is that passes for a brain-box in modron physiology). The phrase is: Knight of the Post It means someone who is a reputable berk; they’re guaranteed to deliver your messages and suren. Neither strong winds, high water nor the armies of the Abyss will stand in their way to make sure that your messages, post, parcels and what-have-you will get to where they need to go. You can trust a Knight of the Post if there’s anyone in this Multiverse that you can truly trust. Anyway, seeing as this is a diary I probably should be getting to the story part of it. Or the bit that is sometimes referred to as: What I did today. I had a friend who worked at the Palace of Judgement on the Outlands. He used to greet me each day by wishing me a life in interesting times... Well, my life has been anything but boring and no mistake. Having toured the Outlands for a good few months working as a horse doctor in various villages, burgs and towns I was running low on supplies and stumbled across a Bariaur town. Those goat-boys and gals move around a fair bit them being nomads on the whole and this herd was in a bit of a bind. Seems that they’d had some Tanar’ri trouble recently and they were looking for somewhere quiet to lick their wounds. Lucky for them a horse doctor was on hand to mend their ills. I’ll confess to never having treated a Bariaur before but I thought it was a sure bet that it wouldn’t be too hard. Bariaur, centaurs, horses for courses they’re all one and the same you’d be forgiven for thinking. Alas, those goat-boys were none too forgiving when I made a couple of school-boy errors and before you know it yours truly was high-tailing it out of that town faster than a Hollyphant shot from a ballista. Bariaurs as I learnt to my displeasure can run pretty fast and for long periods of time too. When your enemy can outrun you and starts flanking to close the circle – that’s when it’s time to use your brain-box and step to it smartly. I’m still amazed to this day that I can sit here and write: “The Caverns of Thought saved my life” but sure as Telbach Harry is my name they did. You see the Outlands is a broad expanse and it’s by no means devoid of any interesting features or places. With the Bariaur hot on my tail I had to use Terrain to lose them and though I did not venture far in to the tunnels, the Bariaur wisely stayed well away. Having done my tour of the Outlands I felt it was time to hit the Cage and see what had changed. Chant had it that there’d been a big barny (Good Morning: barny means trouble) and the Factions had had their notice handed to them. Well, it seemed a mighty shame to see all those wonderful Factions go but a place like that is never short of philosophers with clubs. Sooner or later someone else will step in to their shoes and it sure as the Spire aint going to be guilds. Personally I can see why berks form guilds, makes perfect sense forming a like-minded club based on a common profession or trade. But a place like the Cage is a veritable ocean of belief jammed in to a crucible and then stirred with a heavy helping of sods with egos the size of… well of Sigil. In any case, I wanted to look up some old friends and re-establish some contacts so now seemed a good a time as any. I’d not been in the Cage a day having just seen a bosom buddy who’d put his life on the line for me (and all I was after was some more horse medicine) when this tiefling taps his hand on my shoulder. I’ve got nothing against tieflings being one myself, salt of the earth they are and never a more maligned and misunderstood people you’ll find. Beneath their little horns, spiny tails and black bottomless eyes you’ll find a heart of gold. Just ‘cause a sod has a little taint of fiendish blood don’t make him a thieving, back-stabbing, lying and conniving Knight of the Post. Sorry, got a little carried away there. Anyway, this tiefer (a nick-name for a tiefling Good Morning, the word originally comes from thiefling but after a simultaneous sit-down protest of every tiefling in the Multiverse - the Powers that Be decided it was an unfair name and had it changed to tiefling)… this tiefer was wearing fancy clothes, looked like a high-price messenger or herald of some sort. He hands me a note says that his employer knows about the mishap that occurred in the Bariaur township and that he’d like to get me to do a job for him. The tiefer bows and walks away without a second glance. He’s done his job and on the parchment he’s just handed me is the outline of my next job. Sure enough it contains enough details of the Bariaur incident to make it clear he knows the dark of it and I’m to go to the former Ubiquitous Wayfarer at anti-peak. With a few hours to kill I pick up the horse-nip I was after, have a final slap-up meal for the condemned and head over with half an hour to spare. Standing outside the door of the broken-down ruins of the tavern that once was the Ubiquitous Wayfarer is a little figure in a long robe. Sounds silly? Well it certainly looked a little odd and before yours truly could crack a joke the little sod pulls a bow and points an arrow at me in the blink of an eye. Now I’m thinking that either this is a child with fast reflexes or one of those short races I’ve been hearing about in the taverns and inns. I made the mistake of asking if it was fully grown and the bowstring went so taut that I could bear the bow creaking in protest. As I slowly back away from the paranoid gnome he tried the handle and a voice tells him that he’s early. I didn’t laugh or even crack a smile, that bow had an arrow knocked and pointed at me within a heartbeat of him letting go of the door-handle. Fortunately an earth genasi knight and half-orc barbarian woman came towards us from opposite ends of the street and the gnome soon learnt he could not point his arrow in three directions at once. I’ve heard that there are elves that can pull a trick like that. Shoot arrows in all four directions at once but the way I figure it you’ll never witness one doing it. By the time she’s loosed her arrows and your brain-box registers the incoming trouble you’re already well on your way to being written in the dead-book. (Good Morning: there is actually a dead book, it’s kept in the Palace of Judgement on the Outlands and I’ve seen it. Had to get a friend’s name removed and I only borrowed the book for a couple of minutes. Needless to say it’s pretty heavy). A tiefer girl with blue fur, a cat’s tail and cat-like ears does a perfect double somersault off the roof next door and lands straight. She starts chatting away when a rogue modron turns up and it keeps chirping on the phrase: Good Morning. Well, it’s almost anti-peak and the last thing that I wanted to do was argue time (and possibly space) with a modron – so luckily I was saved when the door went ‘click’ leaving all the threads of conversation hanging in the air. Inside the two-story building that was once called the Ubiquitous Wayfarer was a lot of ash and soot. There was a sulphurous smell to the place as well and it looked like the tavern had either caught fire or someone had left a delayed-blast fireball trap under one of the tables for a laugh. We did not stay t check the place out long and instead headed up the stairs. “Third door on the left” the instructions had said and as it turns out we each had received a similar letter. What is it about doors and cutters having to check them for locks, traps and such like? Perhaps I’ve simply led a charmed life and never had to worry about someone leaving a nasty surprise inside a door-lock. The third door on the left happened to be unlocked and in the room beyond we found more broken furniture, ash, soot and not much else. The only other thing of interest was the doorway further in that began to glow with a pal silvery light. Two big, ugly reptilian brutes with ridiculously large falchions step through the glowing portal. They check us out as well as the room and then this scarred elf steps through behind them. He’s not a pretty sod and his pock-marked face does not do him any favours either. Seems that even his robe has holes in it, as if someone had splashed him with acid from the side. The elf in the robe introduces himself and tells us he has a job for us. The tiefling girl is chatty, the earth genasi is surly and the rest stand round silently waiting to see how things play out. The game that our new employer wants us to play is to find a two-copper chant-monger called Lothar the Shiv in the gate-town of Torch. The deal is to bring him back alive and presumably then our work is done. I’ve come across operators like this elf before. They’ve unfortunately got a criminal mind and the sad part is that they can’t think in a non-criminal way. Rather than just hiring us for jinks he has to blackmail each of us. It’s a perverse little game these berks like to play and to be honest they get very little respect from me. This approach lacks style, sophistication and about the only thing that impressed me was the fact that the elf had done his home-work on us. Knowing my luck he’s probably just a mouth-piece for a bigger and nastier Knight of the Cross Trade. The pitted elf steps back through the portal and takes his dragon-kin bruisers with him. Well, there we were a bunch of strangers all staring at each other wondering what to do next. A half-orc warrior-woman with a mighty big axe, an earth genasi knight all decked out in resplendent chain (even if the rest of him did look as scruffy as a bubber), a rogue modron called Good Morning, a serious gnome and a tiefling girl with a spring in her step that looked like she had a fair amount of cat blood in her veins. Now I’m not normally one to go rushing off with complete strangers on a mission that can generously be classified as a suicide mission. So I start chatting and when the gnome asks: “Does anyone want to do anything before we go?” The only thing that I can think of is to write a last will and testament. Seeing as the only berk in the room that speaks up when I ask for a volunteer to be my heir is Good Morning – he’s the one that I write my will out to. So Good Morning, if you are reading this, I hope that you like all the things that I’ve picked up along the way. Please don’t experiment with any of the items until you have clearly identified each and my final piece of advice is: stay away from the Yugoloths! Having completed my business we step up to the portal and take out one of the two slimy little legs that the elf has left us as a portal key. Not being sure what to do with it I tried breaking it, having various malign thoughts whilst holding it. Turns out that the earth genasi is not as thick as he appears as he figured out how to activate the portal. He took a nibble, the archway glowed a dull, menacing red and we all stepped through. [/QUOTE]
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