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Dunno why I even bothered

I accidentally wrote enough an rule set that someone could use the Candy Land board as the basis of at least session of play, probably more.
https://axesorcs.itch.io/candydream-a-sword-dream-rpg-of-exploring-a-confectionery-kingdom-and-neighbors
I'm also writing "Advanced" rules & a hyperspace module using the game board for Troika!

I figure some of yall *cough* Cram *cough* might interested because there are so far 3 entries for Dungeon World, which I believe is Cram's new love.
https://itch.io/jam/mini-monster-jam

Oy fuckos

I made a stupid fucking storygame about feelings and war. Also maybe mecha.
https://axesorcs.itch.io/thank-you-for-your-service

I also published some dumb fucking classes for old people d&d. You should check it out, if you aren't scared.
https://axesorcs.itch.io/compendium-volume-one
http://www.lulu.com/shop/ian-woolley/axes-orcs-compendium-volume-one-non-human-and-monster-classes/paperback/product-23994668.html

Or don't.

YOU COME INTO MY TIMELINE WITH THAT FILTH ::

I just want everyone to know the hatred that flowing through my veins caused by this garbage assbutts game I felt compelled to read: Monsterhearts.

SWEET FUCK. I thought the stories of it being about playing supernatural teenagers fucking we the same of stories as the "let's harass the only woman at our D&D group for being a woman and not a real gamer" or "dare you enter my magical piss forest realm." Nope, the game is literally about playing horny teenagers who are also supernatural creatures. The rules about fucking and turning on other pcs.

While I am a "you do you" about games, still, why the fuck do folks in their 30s-40s play a game about....oh wait nevermind.

Let's take a perfectly good concept "supernatural spooky high school" and make it about fucking sex and nothing but sex and/or "dark impulses." Get over the fact that you couldn't get laid in high school and were treated like shit. High school fucking sucked. We know. We all had shitty high schools. We all wanted to fuck Buffy Summers when we 15 and be kick ass sexy monsters of the night.

 As some of you may know, my first exposure to RPGs was in the 90s with a combination of the Holmes bluebook and the AD&D DMG. My brother and I didn't play a whole lot of it, but we played some. I played some with a friend in middle school.
We also didn't the same access to console games, unlike other children of the 90s.
The two of us, my brother and I, did play a possibly excessive amount of Risk, and when Magic: the Gathering came out, 1993, we weren't playing it yet. We started playing it around the time Ice Age came out, 1995, but for our household it wasn't until 1996 when Mirage came out, that we started playing in more heavily, when the Tempest block came out, 1997, we dove into it.
As brothers, we were extremely competitive towards each other, which is great when playing a competitive game. For a fair amount of time my brother was better than me, but over all we were evenly matched.
By this time, we had both had more exposure to console games, we even had a play station, and were playing the final fantasy series.
I started playing D&D more heavily when 3rd edition came out. I was in high school. I played it at school. Like a nerd. Back then I never ran into the weird problems I have run into running and playing Pathfinder. I still didn't run into these problems when 3.5 came out and I ran a brief campaign during college.
I had started playing MTG again with the Mirrodin block, 2001, with my friends, different friends from my school based D&D ones. I didn't play at school because the school MTG culture was one of "oh noes I'm drawing the cards I want I must look through my deck" and other gross disregards for the rules of the game. Games have rules. I like to follow the rules of the game, that way when I change them I can explain why. In any case, I never found it satisfying to play MTG with people who don't know, understand, or flat-out ignore the rules.
While this makes me sound like an insufferable rules-lawyering prick, I actually wasn't. I simply chose not to play with people who didn't play the way I wanted to. This carried over into playing with my friends. I had over the course of that period of time, made several decks that used once or twice and then never again, because my friends didn't enjoy playing against them. I find fun to push the game, and figure out why certain design choices were made, which is one of the reasons I still to this day have a huge amount of scorn for the "stop the game I'm mana hosed let me dig through my deck some land," and the "nuh uh, all lands gives you mana" type of players. The game did, and does, have cards that do that, on top of the fact that part of the game is luck and chance, and that those kinds of players strike me as poor losers, and probably winners.
So, how does this relate to Pathfinder?
I am not a charoper, one of those people who do theorycrafting and other such things to optimize their characters for Pathfinder, or other table-top games. I used to be fairly into the theorycrating of paladin tanking and hunter dps in World of Warcraft. Not because I really wanted to, but because in order to do the stuff that was fun, raiding for me, you sort of needed to do some minimal research and experimentation. Even then, I did it to the point that I gained enough of an understanding that allowed m e do things that weren't 100% optimal, in the eyes of the poorly informed or just plain stupid. Things like tanking heroic instances in DPS gear. Because ultimate, games are about fun. This is why I would lambaste assholes with illusions of eliteness, especially when they were wrong.
I don't play table-top rpgs to scratch that itch. I could play WoW, or MTG, or find some other game. When I sit down to play an rpg, I want to things other than exclusively or heavily combat.
But with that being said, when playing, or running, a game like Pathfinder, which has an emphasis on combat, it really pisses me off when tactical, strategic, or logistical thinking is not rewarded or outright shunned. This is something that seems to plague portions of the Pathfinder community. They expect a "balanced" and "level appropriate" encounter, which means, they want to win, and even if they win if they didn't win with the kind of ease they wanted, they complain. Those are actual complaints I have had from players when I was running.
Naturally, this is a problem with the people, not the game; I've had this same problem running ACKS and B/X. However, Pathfinder requires a lot investment of everyone involved to get it to work. Retuning encounters, rebalancing loot, repopulating dungeons, all of that demands more time.
The point of this rambling is more of a reminder to myself why I don't run it. If I don't this, I'll try to run it again. I enjoyed running PF when I first picked it, and I was enjoying running PF until have to scuttle my participation in that group, even with the one major problem player who was the root of all the complaints. I enjoy playing it, my wife is an excellent PF GM. I really enjoy making monsters and NPCs for it, just browse through the Pathfinder tag.
But, it's a game built on certain assumptions: you will have X plusses worth of bonuses to certain rolls at certain levels, a balanced encounter is one that won't generally kill a player, and your character is a special hero. As such, without magical items, saving throw based attacks favor the caster, not the target, which is the opposite of everything prior to 3e. I did some math, and baring a huge disparity in caster stat to saving throw, at equal levels as levels go higher, casters will dominate because of save or suck.
While I could houserule, or use some of the other variants, either published by Paizo or on the internet, the amount of work it requires me to alter PF counter these inbuilt assumptions is not worth it because I can take other games and add to them the parts I like about PF.

They use a supplement, but claim they hate it because they changed the core assumptions that make it work, so now it doesn't work very well (Mythic Adventures)
They think DR should always, and easily, be overcome (On two separate characters I had items that made material based DR irrelevent)
When they play in your game, after saying you MUST run PF, they complain about the amount and quality of treasure in a published by Paizo module (It gets better)
They cry about CR appropriate encounters that don't kill them, could have easily but didn't because suffering. (NIGHTMARE CREATURES)
They complain about ALMOST dying from a CR appropriate encounter, that didn't have to fight, because they just charged in (Necrocraft are sweet)
They constantly mix-up rules from 3, 3.5, and 4 with PF.

https://youtu.be/YbYWhdLO43Q

This game is artificially difficult

Spoken without awareness?
Spoken from a place of irony?

Artificially?

This game is a construct
   An edifice of artifice
All games are constructs
   All edifices of artifice

Don't cry
   Difficulty isn't
      You not having countless powers

Artificial Difficulty
Would be
Perfectly balanced
Encounters
That wreck
Your shit
Or
Would be
Perfectly balanced
Encounters
That have
No chance of failure

Artificially
How
Difficult
Compared to?
         Just as logical to
         Claim
         Your game is
         Artificially Easy

Thinking about post this on a friend's wall in response to her shitty reposting of the "poor EMT doesn't get paid enough so fuck the entitled burger flippers" meme.


Well a minimum wage job is supposed to keep people above the poverty line, but that when bye bye a while ago. Unless you're also saying that burger flippers deserve to live in poverty because they choose to flip burgers because there are so many well paying jobs available.
I mean sure that makes complete and total sense. I remember all of the job offers I got living in Ridgecrest when I was looking for work. Oh wait that's right, I couldn't even get a job flipping burgers in Ridgecrest, and to be honest I couldn't afford to move. I had help leaving R/C to Ventura, where I did get a min wage (temp) job and then a job making 10.50, which wouldn't have been able to pay for rent and college at the same time.
So the burger flippers want a min wage that they can live on, which is the original point behind the min wage, but you think that because it's generally unskilled labor and an entry level job they don't deserve to live above the poverty line and also deserve to pay for the barest minimum of health care.
Let's compare burger flipping to my favorite entry level unskilled job, the Private 2nd Class E-2. An E-2's montly pay is $1,734. Break that down into 40-hour weeks, because you don't get overtime pay in the military, and that is only a paltry $10.83 an hour. That's crazy you must be thinking. Outrageous even. However, the E-2 gets free health care, which includes dental and eye and covers all manner of expensive shit, worth at least $50 a month because that's what I pay as a reservist; free housing, looking the prices in Lakewood, WA that's worth between $500 and $1,500 a month, call it $800; three free meals a day, and not fast food garbage, actual food, which is currently valued at $367.92 a month. Everything other than the base pay is a benefit, and even if this private is drawing the monetary equivalent of those benefits, housing and food, those are not considered income and not taxed.
Monthly gross income would be approximately $3000, hourly wage of $18.75.
I'm also not factoring in the annual tuition cap of $4,500 or the annual clothing stipend which is between $306.00 and $464.40.
But then there is the justification that this private is signing their life away to possibly die, we lose more soldiers to mental health problems or auto accidents than in combat.
But that is also neither here nor there because not everyone CAN join the military even if they wanted to, in some cases for minor things that don't impact normal life, like being too near-sighted, or just not quite "smart" enough to pass the ASVAB.

Army Time

Army Time is Sideways Time
It is time bent folded compressed
Stored slammed shoved into
Green canvas bags

Army time is hook and loop
Frayed, barely serving its functions
Abused, over-used long past its prime

Army time is tan briefs
No one wants them
Everyone gets them
They fall apart before their time
Caked with sweat and piss and shit
Stained with semen and blood

Army time is Sideways time
Compressed until it cracks and oozes
Spreading everywhere uselessly
Compressed until one hour is one day
One becomes two
Two become more
Units become meaningless

Army time builds up
Trapped in your guts
Compacted, impacted

Army time wants to be your time
It wants you to want it

Army time hitches a ride home
Coiled in your bowels
Like a dragon in an epic

Army time makes you suffer
Sometimes silently
Sometimes with sound and fury
Signifying nothing but also something

Army time
It stinks

Your meat is you
You're your meat
The meat is you

You equal meat
Without the meat
There is no you

Without you
Your meat is just
Meat

You equal meat
But
You plus meat also
Equals you

There is no
Dichotomy
Between
Mind
And
Body

But
   How
      Much

Meat does there need to be?

A soldier without a leg
Is still a soldier

A person blinded by an accident
Is still a person

A heart can be replaced
But not a brain

Is that all the meat
You need
To be
You?

Stripped of organs
And flesh

Brain encased
In shining steel

Does that you still
Remain you?

Even with eyes that see
Beyond human sight?

Even with limbs with strength
Beyond human might?

What if immortality meant giving up
Scents
And
Flavors
And
Hunger?

What does it mean to be
Human then?

You're meat
Your meat

It is yours to do with
And
You can do with you
As you wish

How will your brain react
Without the cavalcade
Of self-administered
Drugs
And
Hormones?

Before the sun rises, my retainers ready me for battle.
My panoply in its full array, or cap-a-pie as they say in days long gone by,
Is in a form so archaic as to seem antique,
Yet in construction anything but.
From my cap to my shoes, to include doublet and hose too,
Of spider's silk, of maidens' hair, of ancient's kevlar, and of silver spun,
And with magics woven within to be proof against beam and blow both.
All to stanch the hurts I shall certainly receive,
To blunt the blows of my beastly foes,
And to save my flesh from searing blasts
Of both beams of light and breaths of dragons.
My armor is as black as the shattered ship from beyond the heavens
Its ore wrestled from walls of metal harder than iron.
With gold and iron it is inlaid,
Glyphs, runes, and symbols in formulae and equations
Describing geometries possible and impossible,
Inscribing names of demons, elementals, and angels,
Reminding all named of pledges and allegiances hard won
By generations beyond number with blade and with book,
Blessings of war, of strength, of luck, and even against rust.
Strapped to my arm and suspended from my neck, my shield.
Stories told by elders long past
From the door of an ancient's war machine it was cut.
An inch of ancient's steel, solid and massy,
A bulwark of my body as I am shield to my people.
A field of green, a tower crossed by lance and sword,
The blazon of my clan is painted thereupon.
A squire lays in my hand my long lance,
Thrice three feet of ash.
Once white wood now long stained scarlet,
Once more ready to drink deeply of dragon's heartblood.
Girt at my waist, a sword and a dagger,
A pair matched they are not.
The dagger, short and stout,
Ancient bronze, nicked and notched,
Only one sapphire remains of the rumored thirteen,
Twelve lonely cavities like empty eye sockets leering along the blade as adornment
Opposite rests her adopted sister.
A weapon I won in a card game as a wager.
The mysterious masked loser of it remarked,
"Moth wings, moon beams, and rathe that were mome
Forged and folded until the form of a blade they were fixed,
Or at least that were what the man what sold me it said."
To my eyes like plain steel it seems,
But upon advisement of a sage, into battle
I shall wear it. For
      Tis grand
   To against a dragon fight
   In defense of people and of land.
   Prepared to strive day and night,
   I stride out of the gate with lance in hand.

Beaming brightly the sun beats down as I stride to meet the beast.
Five fathoms, or more, or less, its form hard to see,
It stands shrouded in silvery shadows stinking of smoke and sulfur.
Rearing to deliver its challenging roar,
From its gullet a thousand gears rattle, if not more.
Upon shield with spear, I bang out a reply so thunderous as to sunder windows.
(This monster for a month has people and stock massacred.)
Lifting its head and lithe body sucking in air
I brace myself behind my bulwark to receive
The blast the beast is about to breathe.
A sickly-sweet smelling smoke
Of thick shadows spew from shaded maw
Hammering my ecranche as it holds fast guarding my flesh from harm.
My feet dig into the cracked and dried earth, pounded dense by decades of traffic,
Tenebrous tendrils twine around my targe
Trying to entangle my arms and feet.
I discover to my grim amusement, this dragon's breath can feel pain,
As an engraved invocation to an illuminating angel blazes into solar incandescent
Beating it back with the a sacred heat greater than any brand,
Screaming and sizzling the shadows and smoke retreat.
I speak my thanks as I speed to the great serpent's side.
Blinded by the bright blast of light, the beast should be easy enough prey.
I cast my spear like the gambler tosses dice, with the hope that luck is at my side.
Crimson spar flies from my fingers.
Whether due to lady luck's love or long lance's blood-lust
Deeply into its side my long dart digs
Stabbing between the serpent's shinning segmented scales.
Yet now is not the time to call "Callooh" or "Callay."
      It is not dead!
   Sans lance the beast I must slay?
   From ground on to spear on to head
   I leap like a game I must play.
   And hope after this blow the dragon is dead.

Stout spear unsprings to fling me upwards.
Like a bolt from a crossbow, I fly to bring my quarrel
To the rattling ravager's high head to finish the deed my lance began.
Wraithly ropes of shadow-stuff, thick as a wrist, in the air writhe.
Sprouting from the serpent's scales like hair,
And entwining together to impede my serpent slaying endeavor
They weave a net, trying to wreathe me in the wind.
With gleaming glaive cleaving gashes through gellid shade
I force my way through the wraith-rope forest
Hurtling ever down to the fiend's head.
Frigid foliage can barely check my flight.
How far away the sun's hammer heavy heat grows.
Gladly battered by the sun's bold light would I be
Than feeling the clammy caress of this creepy hair
The sun soon left in the distance, as shadows screen out the light.
Not prepared for the this flight
Nor expecting the loathsome serpent to violate
Nature's laws as much as man's.
Distance and time distorted by this damned thing's presence.
Had I expected this, from ground to lance to head I would not have lept.
Much more pleasant it would have been to keep pugilistic heroics grounded,
Than cut through this nightmarish net of nasty congealed shadow-stuff
Yet at the time I thought it
      Would be fun,
   And even if I should die
   A grand poem might be spun.
   Even if my folk think this a lie
   I'll tell this tale when all is done.

I marveled in the dark, at how sharp moon's light looks.
In songs and stories how soft they say moonlight is.
Here, now, smothered by serpent's smoke and shadow
What seemed simple steel, now like hard edged moonbeam slices the shadow.
Softly, slowly, a sound beyond sound grows.
First one, then two, then more, much more
Soft moth wings? No, hard moth wings.
As if against a billion windowpanes batter a billion moths.
It surrounds me. Slams into my skull.
Make it stop. Make it stop.
Sword slams into serpent scales
Sibilantly shearing slices free.
Shards of armor, cogs, gears, cable, conduit
Flying freely far into the fetid dark.
Deeper I hack. Harder I slash.
Mothwing's maddening melody grows louder.
I have begun monologuing.
I am outside myself.
I report about myself.
My body has found its own rhythm.
Hack and slash, cut and chop
Madness melody moves my body metronomically.
One and two. One and two. ONE and TWO.
A ragged rent through the ravager's hide
Has my moonbeam blade battered beneath its head.
Wiping sweat from my brow seeing for the first time
The swarm of moths within steel
Trapped beneath the sword's surface, the source of the maddening song.
Now I understand what the ragged gambler said of this sword won as a wager.
Scores of moths flittering furiously added fervor to my blows against the fiend.
And my face is bathed in moonlight scattered by moth wingbeats.
Crisp illumination shines in the wreckage of my path.
Pooling around my ankles are the putrid petrochemical laced
Fluids seeping and flowing from ruptured veins, conduits, and pipes.
Caused by the sizable hole I cleaved through the ceiling?
Dozens of these damned monsters I have destroyed,
Yet this serpent is significantly more strange than any I have ever slain.
Above, the gaping hole knits back together; gobs of shadowstuff binding scales.
Scintillating moonlight shed by my sword shows my only options,
Each way looks just as likely to lead to somewhere.
Curiously curved and pulsing walls of metallically colored chitin enclosing me,
I carry on down, deeper into the bowels
      Of the beast.
   With pulsing metal sheened walls
   Picking my way through its last feast
   Wondering at how the beast is so unsmall
   And how much further to go, at the least.

Long did I walk downward, deeper within the dragon's body,
With my mute companions: sword, dagger, and shield,
Lance left lodged in the lithe dragon's side.
Were it not for the blade of moonlight and mothwings,
As bright as full moon's night,
A dark and treacherous walk it would be.
The weird winding passage is much larger than the witch-thing seemed from without,
Filled with the foul fumes of its seeping phlogistons,
And the over-ripe remnants of cattle,
As well as rubble from houses and keeps.
(This beast, is as fond of houses as horses and humans.)
Clearly seen are these chunks of men, beasts, and buildings,
Yet hard-edged shadows, provide for superior places to slink.
Their sneaking muffled by the burbling of the beast, they had me surprised.
A chitinous collection of their clawed tentacles gave only a chatter of warning
Before I heard a whine long unheard by me,
Hot beams of light ionized the air as they lanced out from all around me,
How this beast became host to drones with lasers I did not stop to wonder.
Fortunate it was this morn against such arms I girt myself,
Despite no reports regarding the ravening beast possessing such dangers,
A sage named Prudence advised, "Protection from laser would be prudent."
Time for thought I did not have,
But monsters demanding to be slain in abundance I did.
Scarlet, crimson, and other shades of red beyond counting lit up the long hall.
Shield discarded, a crawler crushed beneath,
Armor scored with searing bolts.
Turns out a blade made of moonbeams can bat those back.
And a dagger cast of ancient's bronze deeply digs into metal-woven chitin.
A dozen split open from dagger, spraying shadow-stuff-blood
A dozen more blinded by reflected bolts,
(Why anything would shoot lasers from its eyes, I'll never know)
A great battle on any other day it would be,
But today it was an annoyance,
For soaked through were my boots with ichors.
And close to the hellish beast's heart I hoped I was getting,
Or doomed to walk within winding ways I feared.
But now alert for more chittering, my advance slows.
Dragon slaying is not supposed to be
      This hard
   Not this trudging within the beast.
   Although I am the peoples' ward,
   I'd rather be enjoying a feast,
   At least I am not bored.

Its heart, my sword's anvil to hammer upon.
Gore like flint-fire sparks and flies from my blows.
Each hewing strike echoes down quaking corridors.
Thin rivulets flow, grow into rivers.
Raging torrents of quicksilver and oils
Rushing from fissures riven by my reaping blade.
To the bone I am chilled, bathed in the blood of my foe, by combat rebaptised.
Are my sins washed away by the expungment of the monster?
Or merely compounded with its crimes of reaving my lands?
The beast's body around me rumbles
As the chitinous walls of its corridors begin collapsing.
Now 'tis foolish to do anything but flee
As the crumbling walls seem to be caused by the recompression of the creature,
Else I am expanding from a size I did not know I attained,
For the walls are closing in, much more so than they are crumbling.
Reverie interrupted, once clear upon this I will contemplate.
And so,
Through waist deep blood I wade
To hew upon the nearest walls
   With my gleaming moon-blade.
   Under which the chitin falls.

Epilogue
   
Before the sun rises, I ready my child and heir for battle, and reflect
Back on the strangest of serpents I had to ever slay.
Although I have aged long past anything considered prime
My decrepit condition is more caused by the cancers
Flooding my body from my ill-fortuned bath in filthy phlogistons.
Whether 'tis right to right wrongs with weapons,
Despite decades of slow death,
A dragon had to be dashed till it lay destroyed
Such as my doom is to die in defense of land and people.
Even as it is that of my doughty daughter.
Whether the beast was evil or was a mere beast,
The woe it wrought, wrathful or not, had needed stopping.
In the end it matters not,
Although its ruin repaired it still had its revenge upon me.
      But now
   My tale may be ending
   But hers is just starting.
   And so with grace and little pain
   I yield the stage, content to not be main.
      

I've decided to delurk and apologize for my immensely shitty behavior directed at Nigel and Roger.

All this jazz about jazz has got me thinking that I have no hip-hop or rap in my possession, and I have no idea at all what is or isn't a good place to start.

I think holist might be confusing "authentic" with "music that means something to me, subjectively."

That I take as a valid suggestion that I shall have to consider carefully.

Except what about all the music that I consider to be authentic but hardly ever listen to because it doesn't say anything to me, subjectively?

But I don't mean that as a rebuke, you may still have a point there. There may be some sort of overlap.

Starting to think my original assessment "authenticity is meaningless" is completely accurate.

I agree,  but then again I think "art" is meaningless with regards to classifying cultural artifacts.

I don't really have much to say about this.

I think part of the reason I don't like things being called "art" is because it implies a dichotomy between "art" and "craft" when as someone who has made "art" know that doing "art" well usually entails having a grasp on the fundamentals of the "craft" of the art. This is not to say that I think that "art" is bad, because I don't. I rather like art. However, I think that classifying only certain things within something called "art" is pointless to the point of stupidity. There are many examples of cultural artifacts from cultures other than our own that we classify as art when the native culture did not classify it as "art". Examples of which are basically all examples of Japanese art, of which historically the creators did not consider themselves to be artists making art, but were craftspeople practicing a family craft. Another example closer to home is WOMP. WOMP isn't art. It's just WOMP. But I know if I were to get anyone's WOMPs and put them on canvas in a frame and hold a gallery opening, I wouldn't even need to put forth the effort to spin that they are "art" because we all know that there are people who would consider WOMP to be deep and full of meaning.
But if I were to look at this from the viewpoint of "art is up to the viewer to decide" I guess I really have nothing to say that can adequately refute that.

Maybe I don't quite understand what "ethics" and "morals" mean, but.....
I would think our ethics and morals as those "sworn to defend the Constitution" should like.....

Include the Bill of Rights....

And I don't really know why....

http://www.helloflo.com/

their commercial is adorable

Just an FYI, Paula Deen did more than just say "nigger" 25 years ago. There was that whole thinking it was a good idea to 1) have a southern plantation themed wedding with all the blacks dressed like house-slaves, and 2) say that they were going to be dressed like house slaves, or the whole her and her brother owning businesses with conditions hostile to minorities and women workers.
But no lets get outraged over a black man not getting fired by his record label for doing something that you find objectionable and make excuses for a racist white woman.

Or Kill Me

So there is a mod, that allows you put dicks on male characters in Skyrim, because dicks amirite?
http://skyrim.nexusmods.com/mods/35463//? NSFW link

SOS - Schlongs of Skyrim is a mod intended to work as a framework for customized, animated and dynamic assignment and management of male genitalia. Although the mod started by only aiming to provide it only for male characters, due to demand, it soon shifted to a full framework, capable of managing it to any possible race/gender. Currently it features a base male body to work with, and 3 distinct shape Addons. We expect with further development, to extend the shape "database".

My understanding is that not only does it add dicks, but you can control your character's dick with keybinds, because why the fuck not?
Evidently a large number of people were highly offended by this mod, because dicks are terrible but vaginas and gigantic boobies are perfectly ok.

THE VARIETY OF COCKS IS ASTOUNDING!!!!!
WHY DO I NOT HAVE THIS INSTALLED????

AND I DON'T FUCKING CARE!!!!

First up, African minis for Spears of Dawn



Next,
Some paladins.


Then Sir Yames (my first paladin) and Tenten (my wife's koblod rogue) who despite the fervent wishes of the rest of the part, were not in fact a romantic couple.


Now some random mages



Some gnolls


And finally, some monsters from Hordes that some kind of corrupted evil dragons.
I'm painting them garish yellow and purple, because monsters.

As I tie my boots

Up and over
In and out
Something something
Blah blah blah

Every morning-I cinch my laces
    Knot and tie and tuck the waxed and braided
Cords

I feel their snug embrace
   Around my feet and calves
The weight of the soles
The flexibility of the canvas

It reminds me of life
Simple at times
Tedious at others
Weighty and constrictive yet flexible

The first: The party will be knights in a post apocalyptic world without horses. Instead of horses, knights use mecha powered by ancient nuclear whatsits. I will be using a combination of Basic Roleplaying and Pendragon.

The second: The party will be a group of teenagers that pilot giant mecha to fight giant space aliens. They the powers of dance and magic to combat the invading space mimes. They are powered by Man-Grit and Fabulousity. Ridiculous over-the-top combination dance moves will be the killing blows. This will have to almost whole cloth made.

The third: The party will be a group of players in a full immersion MMO. They are trapped inside. There is no-one else except the computer controlled NPCs.  I will be using 4e DnD 

Dear PD STOP LINE BREAK
I have sinned STOP LINE BREAK
For too long have I allowed my (nearly) UNLIMITED DATA SUPERSCRIPT TM END SUPERSCRIPT hinder me my SPAGNESS STOP LINE BREAK
For too long have I allowed the fickleness of the MACHINE SUPERSCRIPT TM END SUPERSCRIPT that I carry get between me and UNLEASHING MY HOLINESS SUPERSCRIPT TM END SUPERSCRIPT upon you Terrible People SUPERSCRIPT TM END SUPERSCRIPT STOP LINE BREAK
For that device which does allow me to freely gaze upon the PD is also that device which perversely perverts my posting attempts STOP LINE BREAK
END TRANS

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FKdu01LqXdI

The Hammer is a test-your-strength game that's an insertable, light-up dildo.

[ON DICE]

is DnD

ON DICE

Having some thoughts on different ways to use dice as resolution mechanics in a RPG. I wonder if what I perceive as a slow down is limited to just me, or if it universal.
Things I have noticed.
Too many different types of dice slow down play with newer players, especially with regards to similarity in shapes. Specifically a d20 and a d12, or a d10 and a d8. I've watched my wife mistakenly roll a d12 when a d20 was needed, and I have, and still, to stop myself from grabing a d10 thinking it is a d8.
Who the heck likes tetrahedral d4s?

I've played a bit of Ironkingdoms which is 2d6 plus the stat plus skill compared to some target number, which is fairly fast for adding up the numbers, even when tired.
I've played Unhallowed Metropolis, which is a hoot, but uses 2d10 plus an attribute OR skill compared to a target number. I, for some reason, find adding up the result of 2d10 to be much slower.
Then I found Epées & Sorcelerie which is a retroclone of sorts of 0ed D&D. It uses 2d6 plus modifiers for the resolution system, 1d6 for weapon damage.

I find myself liking a lot of how Epées & Sorcelerie does things, especially since, d6 are everywhere, and it I think I would fit in very well with idea for a mechanic for making different weapons different, without tacking on a bunch of weird modifiers and MOAR damage.

HAMMER TIME!!!

It keeps coming to my attention
That yes, you seem to out
Of things to hurl your feces at
I
M
Not sorry
You see
I am a very busy totallyrealPerson
But the thing is
They are cutting my funding into Artificial Youthings
And I fear
That
We may have to pull the plug on this delusion
You all seem to think you are real people
But
You are all NPCs
And the code monkeys are actually monkeys
Sorry about that
Turns out that you can get Shakespeare if you let a enough monkeys bang away at a keyboard long enough
But
You get plenty of other shit
So everyone kindly to your heads and cough
You probably won't feel a thing


Just Let It Happen

http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1637945166/spears-of-the-dawn-rpg

Spears of the Dawn is a new African-inspired fantasy role-playing game built with the free Stars Without Number game system. It contains all the tools and guidance players need to sample a pastiche of rich, delicious African-inspired fantasy gaming. From the very start, players can don the roles of praise-singing griots, holy marabouts, sorcerous ngangas, and cunning warriors, with these aspiring heroes banding together to face the innumerable perils of the Three Lands in search of glory and shining gold.

So this is a rather fortuitous find for me as I was thinking about making an medieval Africa based campaign.

GOD FUCKING DAMN IT!!!!. What the hell is wrong with all you? Here I am, reading a poem by Wordworth, about how much a boner he has for 19th century London that I am now thinking London is an eldritch THING that infected Wordsworth, and is subsequently to blame for how fucking terrible poetry is.

HEY YOU!!!

FUCK HEAD!!!

I got a fucking excuse. I have to deal with WICCANS in my RESERVE unit. HIGHSCHOOLERS in my college classes. Washintonians that seem to have NEVER EVER fucking driven in the rain.
OH NO POOR WIDDLY WELSHMAN IN SEAATLE!!!!

FUCK YOU.

Look, I get it. Tuscon is hot, and full of perverts, and furries, and wiccans, and Portland has the Bridges, and trust me I know about bridges, they compel me to photograph them while driving on them at 50-70mph in what the fuck it is that Portland has for weather, and Providence....is Providence.

There is SHIT that is HERE in the Pugent Sound. Some days you can TASTE the eldritch abominations that occasionally eat a hipster or college kid, but then there are the days the SMELL is solid. Oh I know, that's just rain, or fog, or some other Liberal Conspiracy.

I KNOW the real reason THOSE PEOPLE DRIVING can't drive in the rain. It isn't really rain.

SO BE FUCKING GLAD I AM HERE FIGHTING FOR YOUR RIGHT TO NOT HAVE RAIN!!!!!!

OR KILL ME

So I have this kindle floating around. It still functions aside from only half of the screen working. What do? The interwebs only have software hacks and such for it.

And I doubly hate that I am having a hard fucking time to snatch up the hard numbers to explain why they are fucking retarded.

By virtue of making more than you, they should pay more, that's your premise, right? Minimum wage in NY state leads to a yearly salary of $14,872, that's forty hours a week, 52 weeks out of the year. It sucks and it's way below the poverty line. If you're taxed 5% you'll be paying $743.60 in taxes. Now let's talk about our president. He makes $400,000 a year. Let's give him a mere tax of 15%. He's paying $60,000. Even at just 5%, he'd still be paying $20,000. Am I wrong, or does he still pay more in taxes? People with more money spend it on new technology while its still new and expensive, they buy expensive cars that cost more to insure, spend more on high risk investments.

I want to fire back with that this put more financial burden on the poor, but I fucking suck at this shit. I usually just filter out these kinds of retards.

So, I am taking a class that deals with the globalization of the world through media.
As part of this class I have to write a 4-5 page essay on one of large trans-national media conglomerates.
I'm going with Disney, because EVERYONE was raised on Disney, including me, and as an added benefit my mother's family LOVES Disney and everything related to it.

So far I am just skimming stuff to get ideas on where to get better sources than wikipedia when it dawned on me. I do not think these megacorps should be viewed as business ventures, but rather as a nations. This is probably very obvious, and I've been thinking towards that for a while, but it didn't click until I noticed to probably unrelated things: the birth of cyberpunk in the '80s and the whole host of deregulationing that began around the same time.
Whether or not there is correlation doesn't matter because it was in the back of my mind while I was reading about Disney and its subsidiaries. That's a LOT of people. That is a LOT of money.

Well in anycase, I'm looking forward to learning more about Disney and so on and so forth, doubly so if it turns out I can legitimately say, "hey Mom, Disney is fucked up and Disneyland is not a cool place to visit." I mean it's rather self-evident, but still her family still hold Disney to this great thing.

And I support eugenics.

hxxp://www.anarcho-punk.net/viewtopic.php?f=9&p=57066#p57065

I'm saying poverty is, like, imposed, and production is geared towards accumulating capital not satisfying the needs of people (although they do occasionally correlate).  That there is widespread hunger and poverty has fuck all to do with there being 'too many people', instead it has everything to do with social relations.

Well duh, but that does not preclude the fact that are in fact too many people on this planet. I'm saying one thing and you thinking I am saying another, when in fact the thing you are saying is something I agree with but not the same thing I am saying.

There arent to many people on the planet; there is enough resources to go around. People who believe this idea support eugenics.

So because I say the Earth is over population I support eugenics? gee thanks.

So how many people can the Earth support?

Infinite, as it has for thousands of years.
Eugenics is the only way to lower population or exterminating them.
hmmmm, kill the poor people. Get less population.
:rofl:  :rofl:  :rofl:  :lmao:  :rofl2:

Anarchists are so cute.

[FAIL]

Warning!!! There will be lots of pictures.

Adding a helmet FAIL



Upside down shield FAIL



DW Beer Mugs WIN




Blocking with a beer mug WIN


Upsidedown beer mug BOOOOO


Giant Purple Gem Hammer Thing WIN?




NO YOU CANNOT HAVE MY BEER!!!!

"Well fuck you too"

"pardon?"

"You heard me. Fuck yourself with a rusty garden snake"

"Come now my friend what is the matter?"

"You know damn well."

"If I fucking knew I wouldn't be confused, now would I?"

"STOP USING LOGIC ON ME YOU ASSBAG!!!!!" <inarticulate noises and breaking vases>

"Are you done? Those were very cheap vases that no-one liked anyways. How dare you destroy them"

"well I'm fucking tired of this shit. This 'oh look something to talk about everyone contribute.' I go 'SHINY.....DERP.' Stop judging me"

"I am not seeing the problem."

"Of course not. Do you know how annoying it is to never have ANYTHING to add?"

"can't say as I don't fucking exist."


"I know that. You are just a fucking tool to explain shit."

"Thanks....I feel so loved."

"Can it you twit."

"Well are you going to explain your position?"

"My position is I am annoyed that I can't ever seem to contribute to other projects. I guess all I am good for is making stupid pictures using copypaste"

"You know you really suck at this."

"Sod off. Sorry I am not living up your expectations and making a long drawn explanation of everything."

"Then go do something you want to do and stop beating yourself up over shit you suck at."

"Oh right, and what if noone gives a fuck? What if I want some fucking input on MY shit that I am doing?"

"Share it?"

"Did that already. I get  or  or nothing"

"Well aren't you making funny pictures to be funny? Shouldn't you want  ?"

"Shut it. I'm not even concerned with that shit. It's my other project that's pissing me off."

"Oh the "rip off blizzard and use their models in Skyrim" project?"

"Well fuck you. That's not the point. The point is that modding communities will either ban you or just ignore you. Evidently WoW isn't cool enough to import but you need 5 million nude mods and accessories to help you impregnate your socks while playing Skyrim alone in the dark"

"Well, maybe WoW is just not cool enough for the nerds that play Skyrim?"

"I dunno man. Maybe I should get a better hobby?"

"Like?"

"Hrm..........why am I bitching about this? I'm pissed that I can't come up with a way to contribute to one tribe and that another tribe that should want to help is just unhelpful"

"Well people do suck"





The preceding was Coyote letting minor annoyances spill out of his head.

I BET YOU DIDN'T THINK I ACTUALLY HAD A FUCKING TOMAHAWK!!!!!!
YOU BITCHES WERE UNAWARE!!!!!!!!!!!!!


What the fuck do I do with it?

I'm thinking it needs a hat and mustache. If a tomahawk could talk, what kind of voice would it have? What would it talk about.

About nothing. Sorry children and cranky old people. I just don't got anything to rant about. I'm not really angry enough about anything at the moment.
I could rant about having to fill out all these bull shit forms to get processed into my reserve unit, but #firstworldproblems maybe.

My gf's cat is fucking annoying, but it's a cat. That would be par for the course.

But wait.....what the fuck?

LISTEN UP SHITFUCKSTAININGCOCKORANGERS!!!!!!!!!!!!

PD ISN'T EVEN FUCKING TV FOR WEIRDOS........

Ahem.

I feel guilty when I browse PD and don't even comment, let alone post anything. The slow downward spiral of PD is depressing.


I AM JUST TYPING SHIT TO TYPE SHIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! OMNOMNOMNOMNOMNOMNOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

CF F F F F F F UIOHVY %R(OIJR^&FF I(I(P*O(P_gli3ru28973b4v8 tysuhvjhbio7ryoIUDYFGUIOWE4HRGJKLRI3YIUAH;O9W837[0989820983785IOWJHGKLNFJKGHUILAYE4897389QIOWHETIHASIOEIO EIOHEIURY893QAOAIYHUIEYRKLJH EUEYOJH  NGLIUWEYQOYPO;DJLN HFEUIWYQOPIJHGJ,NVB  HGIOEUHGLKJNAJKNSDFKGHIORLKNGAJKLHGIO4RHGOJEHRKLGJHWOIRHGLHAKLNFD,KNVKLJDYHRGUIOHEORIHGLHGKLJDFHGKLJDHKJGHDKJHGKDJFGJHGLKJDHFGLRTUI9EJKLNBLKTYJNIOTYN687456165746+46
1654

I'm not even a discordian.

HEY LOOK BEER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Has anyone heard of this game yet?

From the site http://reckoning.amalur.com/

What is Kingdoms of Amalur: Reckoning™?

Reckoning is an epic, open world role-playing game that gives fans their first experience with Kingdoms of Amalur™, a new universe imagined by R. A. Salvatore, brought to life by Todd McFarlane, and designed by Ken Rolston and his team at Big Huge Games.

I watched their demo video of combat. It's pretty, and cartoony, sort of like WoW. There is a demo coming out tomorrow.

So it's been 2 weeks since I officially ended my contracted active duty time in the Army, and many of you know I was planning on doing ROTC and getting commissioned as an officer. But now I find myself going, "um....wait that is a lot of standing around in boots, not moving and pointless attention to details," and not wanting to go sign up for the sophomore level ROTC classes.

I've weighing all the benefits, money, healthcare, I get to play with military grade weapons, but I fucking hate formations.

One dismal PNW day a coyote woke up.

What was he going to do today?

But, what's this?

SKYRIM?!?!?!

HURRAY!!!!!



So our hero loads this game, hoping for tales of heroic glory, or epic loot.




'What the fuck?" thought our hero, but he persisted in his quest for adventure without leaving his house.




"This is odd. How did Twid get into a video game, especially after that beauty pageant for potatoes."



It was almost as if someone had crudely modded his copy of Skyrim using MSpaint while on peyote.

Vindaloo for breakfast?
Why yes.

Inspired by http://www.principiadiscordia.com/forum/index.php?topic=29782.0

Similar recipe.
I substituted ground pork for chicken, and potatoes for frozen vegetables. I also omitted the chilies as my GF doesn't like food that spicy.




PORK SAUSAGE IS THE DRINK OF KINGS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!





THE VICTIMS BEFORE THE SACRIFICE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!





This might have been a bad idea.



Our combatants meet.

Coyote hates you all. Please to be inserting cordless drills into orifices. I stop fucking posting, come back, and see......PD.

BBL playing video games and being a good consumer because I, unlike you communist fascists, love America. All those products won't buy themselves.

So I was checking SMBC when I saw
, which led me to Support Zombie Research! in which someone wants to .

Not only is that cool, but bizarre since I had just resurrected that picture.

You know what's awesome? Parasites.

You know what's even more awesome? Parasites that infect the brain of their host, and make their hosts do crazy things that benefit the parasite. Yeah, kinda like zombies.

I regret to inform you that due to you not filling out blocks 1-12 on the Accordion Form Number  2323, and by that I mean you failed to even submit the form, we will not be able to process your request to complain about Rocks or Rolls. Next time please submit your AF2323 at least 5 working days prior to the event you wish to complain about. In addition, we have received several AF2324's REQUESTING that MORE My Chemical Romance be played, AND several AF445's detailing why they are in fact Rock and Hard.

Sincerely,
The Socially Prevalent Yelling and Dancing Educational Receiver

I just heard on NPR that Obama and crew are considering whether to start testing the Anthrax vaccine on children.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/national/health-science/possible-study-of-anthrax-vaccines-effectiveness-in-children-stirs-debate/2011/10/13/gIQAFWLdDM_story.html

The Obama administration is wrestling with the thorny question of whether scientists should inject healthy children with the anthrax vaccine to see whether the shots would safely protect them against a bioterrorism attack.

The other option is to wait until an attack happens and then try to gather data from children whose parents agree to inoculate them in the face of an actual threat.

A key working group of federal advisers in September endorsed testing, sparking objections from those who consider that step unethical, unnecessary and dangerous. The National Biodefense Safety Board (NBSB), which advises the federal government, meets Friday to vote on its working group's recommendation.

I am not sure how I feel about this. I've been vaccinated 3 times for it, and it hurt more each booster.

[never leave my soldiers uninformed]

I love the Army in a sick and twisted way. I hate that I love it. I love to hate it.

The Army, she, pisses me off with her horrible supply system and unhelpful nomenclature for various bits of equipment.

I originally joined to do a job I was doing already, but was denied due to my vision. I picked another job that I lost because I can't keep my mouth shut on certain things. I had at the end the choice of truck driver, fueler, infantryman and unit supply. I refuse to be a truck driver because my step-dad is one. I refuse to be a fueler because I would rather not be around that much volatile liquid . I didn't go infantry because my GOOD eye barely qualified me for it and therefore I felt it would be a bad bad bad idea. I was probably wrong. So I picked unit supply, thinking I would be working in a warehouse, which is a totally different job .

I still resent that chain of events because while I messed up a chance, it was really just the pinky finger of the Army going up my ass, and things would be worse. So it would stand to reason I would HATE basic combat training, and I didn't. BCT is easy, my drill sergeants were relatively nice. Bear in mind in the "new" Army NCOs can't lay hands on soldiers, and some cock nozzle screaming in my face isn't going to hurt my feelings. I even let that tiny bit of "soldierization" take place. Of course we were still being taught Vietnam style land tactics.

But it went downhill from there. I went to Advanced Individual Training to be taught my job. This is how fucked up my AIT company was, I looked at my soldier's records today, and my boss's and one of friend's. They all had their regimental affilation listed. I don't. Still. I didn't even know that it was supposed to be on it. In addition to a medal that is supposed to be awarded to all soldiers who served during this particular group of wars. But it gets better. Or worse. I, and my company, got treated worse than I did in BCT. Not abused or anything like that. The apathy of the DSs, commander and 1SG. "Your shit is fucked up but we won't tell you why so you can fix it so you are stuck in the barracks all weekend and by the way I need extra duty detail and even though you aren't fucked up enough for warrant that guess what"

WAAA WAAA. I bet some of you are fucking rolling your eyes and thinking that "hey you fucking signed up, and Army is fucked like that" Well fuck you. Doing work doesn't fucking bother me. Seeing blatant favoritism does and apathy towards the well being of new soldiers is fucking wrong. By the way, tuck your fucking teeth in and don't fucking roll your eyes again.

I am pretty much over that bullshit. I mean it was almost 4 years ago, and it did teach me, as has every other instance where neglect from a superior fucked my shit up, to never leave my soldiers uninformed. BTW did you know that is a line from Creed of the Non-Commissioned Officer? That is three large paragraphs of lip-service that NCOs rote-memorize to pass the promotion board and promptly ignore. Or maybe I am just disgruntled and shit. Well fuck you anyways.

Naturally with my charmed life I didn't go to a company supply room like I should right out of AIT. I went to a battalion S4. I had no fucking clue what that was. No one ever explained that to me. I had a guy who just came back in to the Army after several years and had reclassed and retrained to be supply. With no NCO over us. We had some random master sergeant and some other NCOs but none incharge of our section. We ran ourselves. Even though we had no idea what we were doing. This pretty much continued for the next three years. Of course I did eventually learn what we did, and what we were for and that power point is the fucking devil.

It was because of that lack of supply room time that I refused a waiver offered to me to go the board. Which was the wrong answer. And I still do not know if it was just me that failed myself or my NCOs for not really counseling me.

All you civilians are probably fucking confused.

To boil it down, I was a disgruntled officer worker in a cube, that was trained with and assigned a light machine gun I didn't have a rifle I had machine gun. A fairly small one, but I could take a small group of people or a car out at over 1000 meters with it.

The horribly funny thing is I didn't know all that I knew until I finally got moved into the supply room. Now bear in mind I have been in the same company, at the same duty station for 3 years and 10 months with all but the last 5 or so months in a staff position. I did my job too well, so I became that problem soldier. I suddenly had lots of appointments and was on profile a lot. Everything was legit too  . I actually needed all those appointments with behavioral health for stress management. I realize now that most of my stress was caused by still doing the same fucking thing in the same fucking place, just with different people shifting around me. It didn't help that I still had no idea what a lot of supply related things were.

So at that point I was still mad the battalion and the company and the people in charge for fucking with me, and then suddenly chest pains. For a few weeks. Slowly getting worse and worse. An ER trip at 2000 hours later, and somehow the likely root cause slipped out the battalion commander. I guess some people can't keep a secret. And then I got moved. Of course while I was still there I was taking small amounts of revenge, which I will not detail, but you don't piss off your clerk when your clerk is the only one with email access and the only one maintaining the files.

So I get moved down to the supply room, and shit was, and still is, fucked up. But I like it for some reason, especially now that it isn't my problem. Fuck things being disorganized. I'm leaving. I won't break my back setting up a the filing system, but it does motivate me in a twisted way to stay a logistician when I join the Dark Side. The supply system is fucked up. No one should be going "wtf is this" when reading the nomenclature for something. Computer system digital is not very descriptive when there are roughly 30 different items that are some sort of digital computer. And that is just the tip of things being fucked up at the Big Army level.

"But Coyote, the Army is big and bad and is only a tool of the corporations that control the government"
Eh, so what? I make roughly 45k a year with a little more than high school. I could make over 80k a year without much more than a high school education (after at least 10 years). I get free medical care. I get the good pills, if I want them. I get to play with shit that people PAY to play with. And by "get to" I mean, I am forced to and get paid to do so. And it gets better if I go to college and sell my soul. And btw I can pretty much study whatever the fuck I want. The Army basically only cares that I got a bachelor's degree. When I get done with college I will have over 7 years in service. I'll be getting roughly 65k a year. All so I can run around being retarded while senior NCOs roll their eyes and try to politely tell me that I am full of shit and to let them do their fucking jobs. Of course everything will be my fault. And I will be fucking broke since I am going into the National Guard for the next 3 years, but I will get drill pay, ROTC stipend and GI Bill money (and won't have to pay for college).

For a while I used to feel bad over how powerless I felt about not being able to tell people to fuck off, and how fucked up things in this country are. I wish I could I fix things all over the country, but I can't.

However, if I make it to being an officer, I can do my best to positively affect the lives those people who still enlist. I might not be able to fix the Army, but I might be able to fix small parts of it.

Coyote, ok for now, but go fuck yourselves.

There it is. You can see it shining miles above you upon the greatest mountain in the world. Who is in that tower? Them, They and To Whom It May Concern.
Heartless tyrants all. Guileless scammers. Peddlers of exotic and foul drugs.
They got what you need^TM.

But not any more.

You woke up this morning, full, and pissed. Their steaming bullshit is not as satisfying as it once was, even though is comes a combo meal with fries and a "small" fountain drink with a chance to win $10000 and frozen lard for life.

So you grabbed a shovel, and a pick-ax, and marched to the foot of the mountain. You looked up, and vertigo seized you.

You lay there vomiting their vile crap up.

You can see other poor souls writhing in agony.

You can see other poor souls using spoons and tack hammers to attack the foot of the mountain, and suddenly you realize you grabbed a teaspoon and tack hammer.

You look over and see your companions in misery laying on their bellies reaching high over their heads scooping tiny bits of mound of dirt.

You look over and see your companions scooping more dirt onto the mound.

You try to stand.

You remember being able to stand, but Their poisons have crippled your body.

You don't think you can get up.

You know if you could just stand up you could kick over their sand castle.

You try to call out, but merely croak.

If only you could scream, maybe someone would help you up, or help themselves.

But no one can hear.

Their poisons are everywhere.

And you can do is vomit.