The Chronicle of Burne, and Some Others of Lesser Importance *Updated May 17th, 2009*

[shilsen]

I'm working on diversifying the group's pain portfolio.

No, no - please don't put yourself out on our behalf. Really.

But consider that Rackhir also does the most damage at this point, and usually dispenses with the outmoded concept of "cover". So I don't feel too bad...

Bad? When did I mention feeling bad? Seeing Rackhir being beat up is something one notes, like the sun coming up. There's no emotion involved. Or none that I can confess to without suffering both in-game and out of it

And he does admittedly have this habit of being a front-line archer. For a round or two.

Meiji comes in between "Please Don't Feed the Chuul" and "Hello Kitty".

Woohoo!

 

[Stormrunner]

OK, I have to agree - this IS the funniest story hour I've read around here. More, please!

What is a "Shirac"?

Pseudonatural muppets ... "Hi ho, Kermit the Slaad here..." But what would you do for Gonzo? He's already pseudonatural...

The Hannikum saints seem a (literally) blood-thirsty lot, if I have their origins right - do the priests of St. Skinflower dress only in the fresh skins of young maidens? Do Hannikum worshippers ask a boon of the saints by piercing their tongues, then pulling a length of bramblethorn vine back and forth through the hole?

 

[Mallus]

OK, I have to agree - this IS the funniest story hour I've read around here.

Thanks.

What is a "Shirac"?

Simple answer: one of the four primary nonhuman races found in CITY. A race of desert-dwelling mystics somewhere between "Fremen", "Sufi" and "Elf". The believed to be race of witches and excel at mind-magics. Most live in the component city of Marimbra at the edge of the Lassantees Wastes.

I'll post a summary of the races soon.

The Hannikum saints seem a (literally) blood-thirsty lot, if I have their origins right - do the priests of St. Skinflower dress only in the fresh skins of young maidens? Do Hannikum worshippers ask a boon of the saints by piercing their tongues, then pulling a length of bramblethorn vine back and forth through the hole?

They are indeed bloodthirsty. I don't get your references, though. The Hannikum faith began as a simple thought experiment; what if the God of the Old Testament revealed himself to the Aztecs instead of the Jews, after the Aztecs had just sacked and occupied Rome.

And Rome was situated in the middle of a dinosaur-infested rainforest...

 

[Rolzup]

The Ratcatcher's Story

...I was there on business, y'see. The Temple of Kruetzel had a bit of a pest problem, they did, and they knew damned well who the best man for the job was. By now all of Narayan knows, I should think, that there's nobody better than Edouard Finké when it comes to dealin' with rats.

Barely worth my time, this job. Nasty litle fellows, considerin' what they'd been eatin', but not a patch on some of the things I've dealt with. Not fit to kiss Black Peter's toes, these bastards.

I sorted things out easy enough, and took my leave of the temple. But on the walk back home, I fell into the company of a lad named Joachim. Decent sort of fellow, he was another of them holy bakers. He'd been at the Temple seeking guidence or some-such, and had come away with no help at all.

's a long story, and it ain't mine to tell. The long and the short of it was that he was married, but couldn't tell anyone. His girl was someone of importance, connected like. Rich father, if you catch my meaning.

Poor lad got himself shanghaied, and the girl hired the Four Crazy Bastards to bring him back. That they did, murderin' all sorts of people along the way, and on the voyage home he and the girl got themselves married.

But now her father had her locked up, and he hadn't seen the girl in days! His own wife! Imagine that, if you would!

What was that? Here, now, Macawber! I seen your wife, and you ask me, we'd all be better off if she was locked away somewhere!

Where was I? Right, right.... And these friends of his, the Four Crazy Bastards? They wanted the girl to do somethin' unspeakably vile, somethin' so bad that the boy couldn't bring himself to speak of it!

Anyways, I found meself feeling a bit sorry for the lad. Hell of a thing for a young man to have to go through, am I right? Bein' separated from his true love, and all, not to mention those cazy perverts.

But truth be told, there was more to it than that. CITY talks to me sometimes, me lads. Not loud, and not clear, but you gotta know how to listen just right. And she was speakin' to me then, sure enough.

So I offered the boy my help, and he accepted it on the spot. Shook hands on it, and off we went...to meet the Four Crazy Bastards themselves.

Now, as I already said, there was just the two of them. The Pretty Man, in his dress, with that sword always at his hip. Tell you, boys, he touched that blade like a normal man touches his lover, you know? Real tender, like. Delicate almost. But could he use it? Sure as sure, and no mistake.

The other? The Bloody Archer hisself, and wouldn't you know? Another Azakhani, just like the Pretty Man. Dressed all in red, from head to tow, just like they say. Carries a bow as tall as I am, and by damn! Can he use it? Put a dozen arrows in the air, fast as a man could blink!

But both of them, crazy. You could see it in their eyes.

Don't know what happened to the other two, and I wasn't about to ask. The ones before me were bad enough. There was another fellow, though. A professor, of all things! What was his name again? Gave me his card, he did....

Ah, here it is. Bit smeared, but...Professor Hugo Chakraraja Glafston, Conjouror! Bit of an odd duck, him, but compared to the Crazy Bastards he was almost normal.

Should have seen the bird he called up, though. Wanted to demonstrate his "arts", I suppose. Bright yellow, stood taller than a man. Had a nasty glint in its eye, too. I've killed worse than that, mind but I took hold of Knocker, just in case.

Sent the thing on its way with a wave of his hand, and told us all some story about looking for a man named "Mephosophocles". Another professor, like, who'd one all missin'. Wouldn't say what he wanted 'im for, or why he'd come to the Four Crazy Bastards, but he seemed inclined to stay. Who was I to argue? Meant one more body between me and the Pretty Man, which is all to the good.

I thought we might be dealin' with Joachim's littler problem, but no. The Pretty Man wanted to go buy a hat, of all things. Didn't seem the sort, but I thought that it might have flowers on it. Or fruit, maybe. Wouldn't make him look any better, but who's to tell him? Not me, no sir. Like my guts on the inside, so I do.

So he sent the Archer to go buy it. Too good to go himself, I suppose, the toffee-nosed bastard. The rest of us sat down for some coffee, while the bowman went about his errand.

And when he got back, the tale he told? Put a chill down my spine, it did....

 

[Mallus]

Interlude: A Lecture About Race

Here's an introduction to the common races found in CITY. Written by a typically arrogant, bigoted Erisian scholar. There's not much about the common races, actually, but quite a lot about Erisians. And CITY in general...


“So many species, subspecies, kin and kind in CITY! Putting a name to all would seem an insurmountable task. Better to put them to the sword. At least that would simplify the next census. But I am not here to discuss social policy. I come to enumerate the races of non-men, not to bury them.

The great novelist Marzel Joost put it thusly; “Counting the races that dwell in CITY is like counting needles in a stack of pins. Prickly, tedious work that’s hard on the eyes and likely to draw blood.” Consider that poor Joost was trying only to recall those nonhumans he met over the course of his brief, alcohol foreshortened life. I hope your seats are comfortable. We may be here a while.

That's not counting the Oddities and the Entities imported through the Slave Gates during the height of the Gate Builder Empire. Beings made more from Ideas and Appetites then flesh and blood. Fortunately many of them were unique, and more importantly benign, such as the Golden Rahl, employed by the Temple of Mr. Spidergod as an icon, who has delighted children for centuries with rides up and along the walls of the temple in Saltbend on his gleaming arachnoid back, his eight perfect eyes full of the kindness that only functional immortality and enormous wealth can bring. A few were more sinister, like the Semi-Lich who guards the Crypt of the Syndics in Ulum Dreii. A creature born in the Land of the Dead, tasked with ensuring the dearly departed, do not, in fact, take it with them. Then there were those who brought perverse, alien ideas to the streets of our great Monopolis, such as the men of living fire who introduced trade unionism to Narayan, the so-called Hotfellows Local 151. They all but control the Pandoor ovens used in the great temples of Kruetzel located there. How shameful! They call themselves “Azer”. I call them malcontents. And it’s quite true that their race is comprised solely of men. I’ll leave you to consider their unspeakable practices on your own.

So what do we do about this conundrum? Why, we need only look to the wisdom our Founding Fathers in the Gate Builder Empire. They decreed “Power is Knowledge!” Not the other way around, as purported by the scholars of weaker cultures. Those with the power control the discourse. So what if the bestial species imported by the Empire for slave-labor number upwards of 27? What matter if their names were “Uruk”, “Oger”, “Hubgubblyn”, and “Trull”? We’ll call them all Ghul, the old Imperial word for ‘meat’. Or perhaps, the Kaza-Ghul, the ‘Eaters of Meat’, who, in point of vulgar fact, often feasted on each other.

We will gather up races like a child gathers jacks, into categories of our fashioning, and place them neatly out-of sight. We do this because it is convenient. We do this in the interest of having a manageable system of knowledge. But let me be unmistakably clear; we do this because we can.

That’s enough theory for now. Let us turn our attention to the important CITY races. First, of course, is Man, but I’ll leave him to the artists and trial lawyers to describe in detail. Next are the four Lesser Races; the Hannumin, Ruhk-Kaza, Shirac, and Garahjah…”

-- Introductory remarks to the Hrazbo-Y lecture series, given by Masshtek Vellolorum, director of the Misanthropic Studies program at the Museum of Defeated Cultures, Eris:CITY, winter 288, Monopolis Standard Year.

 

[Mallus]

Interlude: the Most Excellent of Monkeys

“The Hannumin, or Hannu, are a race of small, talking monkey-men ranging from 2.5-4ft. in height, with prehensile tails and large, curious eyes. Hannu lack the strength of men, but possess tremendous natural agility and athleticism, particularly with regard to climbing, leaping and balance.

Widely regarded as adorable, the Hannu are found in a variety of climes ranging from the cold lower slopes of Mt. Parvishta to the dinosaur-plagued jungle of the Hannikum suburbs. An interesting note: no Hannu neighborhoods remain inside Hannikum:CITY, though ancient Hannu burial sites abound, leading misanthropists to speculate that the cannibalistic human residents ate the indigenous Hannu population at some point prior to Hannikum joining CITY.

The Hannu are a simple race; childlike in both size and intellectual capacity. They have no written language of their own and make few tools. The beautiful temples of their home city of Bessho were constructed for them by the architects of the ancient Gate Builder Empire, whose love for their “pets” is clearly shown by the profusion of ornately decorated Hannu-sized buildings. It is from these we get the Hannu nickname ‘temple monkey”.

In their simplicity, the Hannu have personified the great Gates into a pantheon of ineffectual gods. They believe each Gate is a part of a god, which protrudes into the mortal realm. Since we built the great Gates, it is accurate to say the Hannu worship us.

Hannu also suffer from a peculiar mental defect; they utterly lack foresight. Considering the consequences is as foreign to a Hannu as the notion to scratch ones own ass with his tail is to a man. It is a rare Hannu that can transcend this racial flaw, only a few appear in each generation. The current junior Senator from Bessho, Piwinici, is one such Hannu.

This is not to say that Hannu culture is entirely lacking. Their monastic tradition, meditation techniques, and unarmed fighting styles are highly developed, which is not uncommon among the uncivilized people --note the Ajakhani. A Hannu Grandmaster, armed only with his empty paws and hannu-jitsu, is a sight to behold, and better than even money in the gladitorial pits against an armed giant.

A species of unusually tall Hannu can be found as far away as the Islands of Ajakhan. Called Varana by the locals, they dwell on the slopes of Mt. Wu and occupy themselves with quaint customs such as reading tea-leaves and weaving colorful scarves.”

--taken from Danincet Fossai’s lecture “They Made Great Pets”, Hrazbo-Y lecture series, 288 MSY.

 

[Rolzup]

The Evil that Men Do

Thank you, Durrin, thank you. Very dry in here today, innit?

Well, as it turns out, the Archer had gone to buy a hat from ol' Don Magic Wand, owner of "The Chapel". Never knew he was a haberdasher, but the Right Reverend is obviously a man of many talents.

And that, my friends? That was the problem. While the Archer was there, waiting for the Reverend, a woman came in. She had a child in tow, a girl of no more than twelve summers. And how was that child dressed? No better than common streetwalker, and with tears running down her face besides.

That girl went in to see the Reverend, and would he tell the Archer why? No sir, he would not. But it was clear as the nose on your face what was going on, and Joachim and I? We were mad, friends, madder than hell.

But did the Archer care? Not so far as we could see. Or the Fancy Man? Oh, he was glad to see his new hat, but he didn't give a damn about how this poor girl was sufferin'. Just kept eatin' his brunch, and sippin' his tea, and never turned a hair.

Joachim and meself, though, we weren't going to stand for that kind of thing. Not a bit of it. Off we went to the Chapel, ready to raise hell, with the Crazy Bastards and the Professor taggin' along behind.

I was ready to crack ol' Magic Wand's skull, but the Bloody Archer held me back. Wanted to talk, if you can credit it. Wanted to hear his side of the story. Now, that sort of thing don't sit right with me...but I didn't want to cross one of the Crazy Bastards.

And then what do you think? The Pretty Man sat himself down, back to the room, and didn't say a word. Too good to associate with the likes of us, right?

The Right Reverend told us a tale, he did, about poor little Calliope and the life she was forced to lead. She was an orphan, and the legal property of a fancy house called the Maison Chatons. Place caters to folk who like that sort of thing, may they all burn in hell.

He healed her wounds, he told us, and took away the memories of what kept happening to her. He wanted to do more, but he didn't dare cross the owner of the Maison: a mister Jack Fancy.

Now, we all know that the Crazy Bastards have a history with the Room Rouge Players, don't we? I thought that they must have killed Jack Fancy along with the rest of 'em, but no sir. And were they happy about that?

Not at all, me friends. Not at all. The Pretty Man stood up, and turned around. Frowned a little, and that was the closest thing to emotion that I ever did see him show. It wasn't natural, that frown. Sent a chill down my spine to see it.

"We will deal with the situation," he says. And you could see how bad he wanted to draw that sword of his, right then and there, and feed it another soul.

Well, of course it eats souls! Stands to reason, dunnit?

They started to makin' plans, right off. Crazy plans, like bustin' the door in and takin' the girl. Law wouldn't like that, though, 'cause Fancy'd paid all the proper bribes.

I nodded and smiled; "Don't argue with a crazy man," my dear old mother used to say, and that's some damned good advice. When we took a look at the Maison, though, even Pretty Man knew that it wouldn't work. Like a fortress, it was.

Didn't stop 'im from bangin' on the door, demandin' entrance. Someone opened a little slot in the door, told 'im that the Maison was a private club, and besides they weren't open for business so early in the day.

And he nods, all proper and polite, and walks away. As I'm standin' there, me blood boilin'.

Don't try to understand, lad. Ye can't. Gods know, I've tried.

But I've got contacts, if ye know what I mean. Took a bit of doin', but I found out a few things about Jack Fancy. Most of it, you don't want to hear. Put you off your lunch, and no mistake. Some of it, though...some of it was pretty damned useful.

There's this place near the docks, see....

 

[demiurge1138]

I love the current set of updates. Shows how the common man views the PCs. And rightly views them as dangerous maniacs.

Which is what most PCs are, really.

Demiurge out.

 

[HalfOrc HalfBiscuit]

I'm also loving the change of narrative voice (although I will certainly welcome the return of Burne as narrator, too). It's definitely interesting to see another perspective on the party.

And who can argue with naming them the Crazy Bastards ...

 

[Mallus]

Interlude: Nasty, Brutish, and Tall

“Repeat after me: The Ruhk-kaza were made to mine the Pit of Erebus. Literally made. In vats. Large, bubbling, I’ll go so far as to guess rune-inscribed, vats. A long time ago by the alchemists of the Gate Builder Empire, who employed a rarefied form of rarely-employed ethics. Unlike the alchemists of today….

…who are still merciless, venal bastards, but need no longer dabble in such sloppy, screaming work as bio-alchemy and its like, thanks in no small part to my seminal work on the Philosopher’s Algorithm, which gives clockwork and phlogistonic mechanisms not merely life, but the semblance of a soul.

You’ve heard of the Algorithm, haven’t you? And its creator, Riven Sugarglass? You must know my shop,! Its just round the way in Saltbend, across from the Temple of Mr. Spidergod, the one with the lickable windows?

Umm, carrying on, it is partially true that the Ruhk are related to the group of races we lazily call the Kaza-Ghul. You’ll encounter a lot of partial truths when dealing with magic. Most of which conceal either obscene vanity or simply raw obscenity. But I digress.

The original Ruhk stock was derived from the flesh and marrow of the gods only know many different Ghul races, the ancient Erisian alchemists cherry-picking the traits they believed would increase their chances of surviving the Pit; darkvision, a high pain threshold, resistance to death-magics, a powerful build but a roughly man-sized frame for easier navigation of the narrow tunnels. And, of course, stupidity. Most likely contributed by the underclass humans that got thrown into the mix. The Rukh horns, from what I understand, are purely decorative.

The lack of intelligence turned out to be more of a bug than a feature. A fatal mistake, really. Down in the Pit the most valuable commodity is intellect, barring, of course an honestly celibate priest and a parcel full of phlogistonic explosives. And I should know, having spent the better part of my youth mining its numinous ore. Does that surprise you? Did you think I was born with these good looks? With both eyes on one side of my face?

So the Ruhk Kaza, whose name means “The Eaters of Bone”, where moved out of that holy, industrial bone yard and used in other capacities. They made fine soldiers, being naturally fatalistic and bred for senseless deaths. Just prior to the fall, the Ruhk began to spread throughout the Empire. Today they are found in every corner of CITY.

Sometime during the Ruhk Diaspora, they found religion. Or it was given to them, probably be the Shirac, who share their peculiar worldview in the way aristocratic gentleman share the clap. The Ruhk made it their own, believing not in the Way to Heaven, rather, the Great Bird of Death, who carries everything in the universe towards the ultimate oblivion at the center of creation. The Ruhk are the reason no-one discusses religion in polite conversation.”

-- taken from Riven Sugarglass’s “Genesis of the Rukh”, Hrazbo-Y lectures 288 MSY.