Another in a long series of fitful dreams

Lord Turnips tossed and turned in his opulent cabin in his regal bed which according to custom was a full 2 inches wider and longer than Admiral Rossoroni's and made the hammocks slept in by the crew risablely inadequate.

His fitful dreams turned back to his alternate persona Hannon, the Troll-Slaying cleric of Heimdall.

In his dream Hannon was tending to his Troll-slayer keepe, serving as harried magistrate and Lord to his newly-peopled lands in the Troll Fens. Things were going well in his life but he suffered a sense of ennui. He tried to explain everything to Salina. She just didn't understand his desire to "loaf" now that he had means. He wanted to travel to the Eastern Marches to explore the idea of Brahman, the eternal Oneness. This was pretty sensitive stuff for Hannon as he was sworn to Heimdall: son of nine mothers, swords, one arm, wolf bites and all. Hannon had the inkling however, that Heimdall was part of a larger cosmogony. A meta-cosmogony if you will.

Salina listend to his discourse on this in utter disbelief. She had sincere feelings for Hannon and wanted him to settle down as Liege of the newly-conquered Troll Fens and maybe she would couple with him in a bond agreeable to their two Deities. Hannon's dabbling with this Brawmin meta-cowjury stuff was not good for him getting the ok from Heimdall for a marriage outside his faith. She didn't want to have to convert to the Norse mythology as she was just fine worshiping Athena in her native hellenic mythos. Besides the Norse services were just such a bore. The Hellenic mythos was also more empowering to women and she would not hold to have their daughter raised in such a boorish culture without the influence of the Sisterhood of Athena.

She also noticed that Hannon had taken to smoking french cigarettes and talking about art.
She became angry at Hannon and stormed out of the coffee house where he was laying his vibe on her about the potential for an alternate unified cosmology. This was to be the last time anyone had seen her alive.

It was with this dreamed backdrop of a conflict between Hannon and Salina that Lord Turnips awoke to the sounds of Vardaman and Cash outside his cabin door fishing and japing.

Vardaman

The incandescent sun raises a thin film of sweat on Vardaman.

Meanwhile, Cash observes the Mr. Binky push his small broom across the foc’sle. Cash imagines he favors constructing baby buggies rather than coffins. Geometry favors coffins over buggies though.

Vardaman returns to his fishing – he has still caught no fish. His mother was a fish, he thinks, but not as clever as Mr. Binky. Mr. Binky knows a lot more than he lets on.

In another land, Johnny Sixguns realizes no prison can hold him and he blows the cell door off its rusty hinges with a cocktail of bat guano and coal dust.

Oooh, Oooh BLACK DIAMOND or Coming To Your Emotional Rescue

Lord Toranaga continued his conversation with Lady M as his three henchmen, The White Shadow, PW Giant Chin and Jimmy stood mutely guarding the exits.

First, surveying the grand hall with sweeping hand motions, he spoke to his henchmen, “Dunderheads, do you recall when I bought this magnificent stronghold?”

The three simpletons nodded like marionettes.

“Are we gonna go downrange boss?” PW interjected.

“No, not now. I have yet to weaponize the combination of your common sense, the White Shadow’s pick-up lines and Jimmy's sense of humor.”

“OOOOH, I want to be called Jimmy Fresh!” Jimmy shouted.

To which the other two replied, “Shut up or we are gonna call you ‘&*# bird’!”

The situation was clearly headed in the wrong direction.

Lady Marzipan looked appalled at this cretinous behavior as well as the White Shadow's poor table manners (he was licking the top of his ale bottle). Toranaga realized he had to quickly regain control of this scene before this opportunity to sway Lady M's opinion was spoilt. Without her, his plans to extract and purify slag, phosphor-gypsum, and calcium sulfate wastewater from Antipodan Mountains would all be for naught for she had the technical knowhow.

Perhaps it was time for the tender, sensitive approach.

So, presently he turned to Lady Marzipan, appearing in soft focus; now holding a cute widdle baby tiger cub drinking from a bottle in his arms,” If this home doesn’t appeal to you we can live with our in-laws until we find the palace of our dreams or a citadel that some mid-level manager with Enterprise Rent-A-Frigate bought two years ago because it was real big and nice and he got a 3.8% loan with 42% ARM. Now he is divorced and has an addiction to oxycontin and Jack Daniels and can't pay the 4,500 gold piece per month mortgage. I love the pain and suffering of others during the holidays.”

Before, she could reply Toranaga added for good measure, “Oh and I’ll kill Johnny Sixguns if you don’t agree to marry me – being the sensitive type I’ll give you until the sunset tomorrow to decide – sleep tight.”

Sinister doings in the Antipodes

Woody, Rossoroni,

Have examined the multi-spectral imagery that indicates that enormouse amounts of slag, phosphogypsum, and calcium sulfate wastewater has been removed from Mount Cook Mountain. (Since Lord Turnips is indeed a decendent of Captain James Cook, I shall refrain from using the slang Aoraki Mountain)

My analysis indicates with 60% certainty (+-30%) that someone or something is building a deep tunnel facility in the very stout volcanic rock. Could this "doomsday facility" be designed to survive some impending catastrophe? Perhaps I've already given away my analysis by calling it a "doomsday facility".

In any event...If they do complete the Mount Cook facility it could well mean that Karen and Ken are preparing for an impending global catastrophe or merely are collectors of calcium sulfate wastwater, slag and phosphogypsum.

Your, Turnips

(although not at liberty to reveal sources and methods, this image of a large industrial sewing machine or air filtration system being installed in the Mount Cook facility was recently acquired at great expense and loss of life...oops I just gave away a source and method)

Karen-ologists at Odds Over Cryptic "RBBB" Reference

(AP - Washington) Karen-oligists across the blogosphere are fiercely debating the recent mysterious appearance of "Rubber Baby Buggy Bumper" (RBBB) in the list of "Dramatis Personæ of the Realm."

During the Cold War, Kremlinologists would often argue over the the appearance of certain Soviet luminaries in photos, or their placement on a reviewing stand during annual May Day parades. In this photo, we clearly can see that Defense Minister Ustinov was standing closest to Brezhnev. Is he now in favor? What about Kosygin? Why is he not pictured? Are the rumors of his stroke true? Perhaps he was the one taking the picture. Who knows.

But that's really all besides the point, since this article is all about Karen. Why did she choose the moniker Rubber Baby Buggy Bumper as her literary nom de plume? Author and intellectual Dan L. has his own theory. "I theorize that Karen is trying to drop a subtle hint that she has become a gravida, from the latin graviditas, meaning that her Oocyte has been fertilized... she's preggers." After putting down his thesaurus he continued, "I mean, just think about it, she's married to a New Zealander, world reknowned for their fertility, and she's living in an arctic climate where there's nothing to do for 8 months out of the year except flense whale blubber and procreate. It all adds up."

Others aren't so sure. One wag, Andy R., has a different theory. "I believe that Karen has started her own business and is now producing and selling custom-made bumpers for infant carriages. Dan L is correct in that she spends much of her time flensing whale blubber, but she takes the fat and fashions it into her new product. And with the arrival of the baby Lady Turnips known to all, Karen was merely trying to advertise her product in the hope of making a sale. QED."

Who is to say what the truth is?

We now return you to your previous D&D themed narrative...

The Talented Mr. Binky

Mr. Binky pushed his broom along the deck. Sweeping and brooming, that was his job. Sweep, sweep, sweep. Broom, broom, broom. Sweep, sweep, sweep. Broom, broom, broom. He liked the sound that made, so he said it out loud. "Sweep, sweep, sweep. Broom, broom, broom." All day long he worked to keep the Planetary Sovereign spic-n-span.

It was after the evening meal and Mr. Binky was sweeping and brooming along sub-deck 4. He liked to listen to all the hustle-n-bustle that was always going on in the giant ship. He couldn't really understand much of it, but he thought he might get smarter if he listened more.

"George, you oaf! This etching is of the Captain beating Turnips at whist. What possessed you to frame it in white lace? The frame should exude manliness and triumph. I don't know WHAT you were trying to accomplish, you simpleton!" "Chief Artisan Michael, look what you did, you made Georgie cry." "Be quiet, Andrew, and finish your frieze. It looks like my drunken mother threw up on it."

Mr. Binky didn't know what the HECK they were talking about, but Admiral Rossaroni's Artisans did lots of important work on the ship.

As Mr. Binky continued to sweep along the passageway he thought about how much he liked living on the Planetary Soverign. The Admiral was a good owner, and treated him very well. He was a lot nicer than his previous owner, Zirkast the Omnipotent. Sometimes Zirkast the Omnipotent would beat Mr. Binky. Admiral Rossaroni won Mr. Binky from Zirkast the Omnipotent a year ago, while gambling. Mr. Binky didn't really miss Zirkast the Omnipotent, but ZTO did give Mr. Binky super intelligence, so that had to count for something. But super intelligence for a monkey is only enough to qualify you to push a broom, and not enough to be any kind of criminal mastermind or rollerskate or anything like that. I don't care what the stories you've read say.

Mr. Binky didn't even miss his brothers and sisters in the jungle much, either. It was such a long time ago anyway, and he could hardly remember back that far.

By now, Mr. Binky was sweeping and brooming his way past Reserve Art Supply Room #7. He saw there was a strange light coming from under the door, along with some very sinister incidental music. He strained his monkey ears as hard as he could to hear what was being said.

"Lord Toronaga, we have just come from Kristal Stadt." Pause. "Yes, yes, the artifact is on board, your unholiness." Pause. "We will be passing north along the Forbidden Coast in 2 days." Pause. "Yes, my master, as you command. There will be no survivors."

The light went out.

Through the astral portal, a glorious visage

The day's adventures behind them, Lord Turnips was minding his own business in his palatial cabin in the Planetary Sovereign when he began to see a shimmering light emerge from the normally not shimmery wall (er, bulkhead in nautical parlance). He covered his eyes to adjust for the blinding glare of the shimmeringness. He heard a voice that sounded not unlike that of his Lady Turnips, she of the beer funnel celebrations at Michigan State University, the expensive law degree, and the not so lucrative government job, and the fanatical love of all James Cameron films (whatever those are).



"My Lord, I announce the arrival of a daughter to this realm of time known as Northern Virginia in the early 21st Century"




Lord Turnips was surprised at his Lady's ability to use the astral gate without his help as she normally struggled with all electronic devices and seemed to make it a point that his knowledge of electronics was some sort of character flaw. But, his appreciation for her at that moment outweighed this foible. "My Lady, our daughter is born? Halleleuah!!! Praise the Lord! And just in time for me to change my benefits before the new year tide, and in time to take advantage of the additional beneficiary in this year's inland revenue filings. Lady you are truely wise and good."


She then asked him if he would like to see the etchings she had commissioned of the Baby Turnips?


"Verily, my wife"




(Behold!)

A Very Blue Monday

After having made up, Woody and the Admiral began discussing some other ways of profiting from their current adventures in order to satisfy the filthy lucre-hungry Schlamazel the Butcher.

"I was thinking that perhaps we could sell a souvenir mug or pictures of our heroic battle versus the vile Sahuagin to the locals at the pier or to our own crewmen as a 'keepsake'" Woody said.

The Admiral seemed confused.

"Picture? What is a "picture"? Do you mean the etching I had made of that battle? You've probably never ventured down to sub-deck 4 in the lowermost level of the Panetary Sovereign. That's where I keep my army of artisans who document every aspect of my life via skectches, etches, painting, writing epic poetry, creating interpretive dance routines of what I have for breakfast, and writing illustrated children's stories about my belly-button lint."

To which Woody testily replied, "I thought I was in charge of epic poetry!"

At that the slap fight recommenced.

Shoot that Poison Arrow Through My Heart

Johnny Sixguns was uncomfortable to say the least – it was low grade straw he was resting upon. Gazing up at the cell’s ceiling, he wondered if Lady Marzipan was faring any better. Probably not; Lord Toranaga was a pretty despicable varmit. He probably was applying the old honey and ant routine by now, laughing maniacally in standard fashion. Johnny Sixguns was going to make him pay for that.

Actually, Lady Marzipan was seated at one end of a long oaken dining room table in a quality, well-padded dining room chair. The chair arms were a little high and didn't fit under the table so that was a little awkward. Tornaga was seated at the other end per standard idiom. There were lots of candles and highly flammable fabrics draped about the room.

“I do not speak of love” Toranaga said.

“Your love is rotten to the core” replied Lady M

“I’ve told you before, I do not wish to speak of love” Lord Toranaga continued, “And I suggest you re-consider my offer if you care for your friends.”

Lady M would have none of this - “Toranaga, I care enough that I can never love you!”
The horrible Lord Toranaga rose from his seat and said “In that case you will bleed for I have no time to mess about!”

Lady Marzipan was outraged but maintained an unflustered exterior. As she idly picked at her cheese toast she quietly exclaimed, “My friends will come and crush you Toranaga.”

“Oh I don’t think so because EVEN IF they make it past my Sahuagin warriors and the Daughters of Odin AND Count Grimani AND the black chainmail turtleneck wearing assassins at the Kristal Stadt Coffee House at Kierkagaard Square, I still have two of my top agents on the Planetary Sovereign! MUHAHAHAHHAHAHA” Toranaga cackled.

Lady M looked momentarily taken aback.

Toranaga raised a crystal goblet of egg nogg to his lips and spoke, “Ah yes, I am well aware of what has been going on aboard your friend, the Admiral’s vessel - we shall be prepared for them and I’m afraid they shall all die.”

The Killing Moon Will Come Too Soon

Lord Turnips sat down at his desk in the palatial cabin reserved for the impossibly rich Lord. Admiral Rossoroni had taken a smaller cabin than Lord Turnips or Lord Woodpecker-Smythe out of deference to their social rank. Admiral Rossoroni had seemed not to mind one iota.

As Lord Turnips began to ruminate over the past few days he felt a sharp pain at the back of his neck along with a burning sensation. He could not place it but he felt a pang of unease whenever he thought about certain periods when he had less than perfect recall of events. He seemed to have an image in his head of a Valkerie speaking with him while he stood at the lip of a crater. He also seemed to recall that she refererred to him as Hannon Trollslayer.

Without consciousness he scribbled the following words on the beech parchment with a diamond tipped fountain pen that Admiral Rossoroni had provided :

Under blue moon I saw you

So soon you'll take me

Up in your arms

Too late to beg you or cancel it

Though I know it must be the killing time

Unwillingly mine.

Lord Turnips wondered where his son Captain Stuart Turnips was at that moment. He'd had no memory of his son or even thinking of his son for several months. It was as if he had dropped off the face of the earth. Perhaps his storyline was inconvenient to his peers. It was also possible that Captain Stuart Turnips was a Deus Ex Machina to whatever drama was unfolding.

Lord Turnips began writing again:

A child arrived just the other day,

He came to the world in the usual way.

But there were planes to catch,

and bills to pay.

He learned to walk while I was away.

And he was talking 'fore I knew it,

and as he grew, He'd say, "I'm gonna be like you, dad.

You know I'm gonna be like you."

Suddenly it dawned on Lord Turnips that he heard music ringing in his ears at a nearly imperceptable volume. "Tis strange to have these tunes. "What could be thine cause?"

As soon as he said these words Admiral Rossoroni burst into his room with a bottle of Schnapps, two glasses and a deck of cards. "My good man Turnips. You fancy a game of solitaire?"

Harmony Restored and A Perilous Decision Awaits

The two sparring warriors calmed a bit following Turnips departure. Each looked quite abashed.
Woody: "I'm sorry"

The Admiral: "No, I'm sorry"

Woody: "I'm sorriest"

The Admiral "Ok, you are the sorriest, but I'm still really sorry"

Woody: "Friends?"

The Admiral: "Friends!"

The brave and manly former-combatants shook hands and reviewed the situation.

Woody: "Where did Turnips go?"

The Admiral: "Oh brother, weren't we trying to cheer him up?"

Woody: "I think he was kind of upset about all that sacking even though the sacking was only light to moderately sacking."

The Admiral: "I agree, he's too lawful good for his own good whereas you and I are rather more of the chaotic variety. And, a little more neutral-ish (and here he caught himself) although we are totally committed to rescuing Lady M and Johnny Sixguns, re-building the magic dingus of seven parts and restoring Livoniumtonchester to its former glory. Yes, ok so we are a little chaotic neutral-ISH. But certainly not EVIL! And, I did get a nice Hummel figurine that I was looking for - Its rated quite highly on the Bradford Exchange."

Woody: "Oh sure, but you know if you don't pay Schlamazel the Butcher back, he'll grill our &%%^%^$ that'll take more than a Hummel Figurine and a couple of enchanted gizmos."

The Admiral (putting his finger to his chin, pensively): "True, True, that means we might just have to do some more freebooting."

"Back to Kristal Stadt?" asked Woody? "All we got there was this magical porcelain horseshoe shaped thingy."

Writing Frightening Verse to a Bucktooth Girl in Luxembourg

Hannon/Turnips was in a deep funk.

He sat at his spartan bunk gazing through sunken, red-rimmed eyes at his two adventuring mates, Woody the Half-Elven Illusionist and the Admiral. He absentmindedly twirled the magical dodecahedron in his fingers.

Lord Turnips/Hannon clearly re-emphasized that whilst the Good Party enjoyed many outstanding adventures and had blasted to smithereens, rendered unto dust, dispatched with make-do monster vertebrae flails, and generally smoten . . . many a foe, they had done so under the banner of lawful goodishness.

He also raised a point about the appropriate casus belli that led them to sack the Temple of the Daughters of Odin and Count Grimani’s Castle.

But, it was more than this, it was more than Salina or the imprisoned Lady M or the creepy pair of characters constantly building coffins in the ships’ hold.

Woody hesistated at first but decided they had to do something, “Look Turnips, you know what I do when I when I’m feeling down in the dumps like you? I compose another brilliant poem!”

The Admiral sensing an opening added “And I write entertaining stories in my logbook in which I visualize outcomes to my liking!”

“Sure” Woody added, “And look at old Bocking, he composes rude songs about people when he’s not planning their murders. That’s how he takes his mind off his troubles.”

“I’ve actually started one” replied Turnips as he showed them his own notebook.

Inside was indeed an introduction to a poem. It went as follows: “The day is gone and all its sweets are gone, soft voice ..”

Woody broke in sounding annoyed, “No, no, oh no, not all gooey like that! You need to write poems about dragons, dirks and lances and vanquishing wicked Lichs!”

“Now wait a second Woody, I’ve seen some of your stuff about certain ladies and its just like that” the Admiral chided.

“What were you doing looking in my personal poem book Freebooter?” said Woody, hands place petulantly on his hips.

“Well, it just so happens that I’m the Captain of this vessel..” but the Admiral was unable to finish his statement because both he and Woody somehow found themselves in a slap fight with Turnips caught between the two - each launching highly ineffective blows on the other.

“I think I’ll go talk to Cash and Vardaman” said Turnips as he escaped the cabin.

The Inept Wizard of The Rusty Palm

After receiving the gift of the Magic Dingus of Seven Parts from the glistening misty figure: Raven Odinsdottir, Hannon/Lord Turnips considered his plight. He looked into the blood-strewn crater and saw a scrap of a parchment. He picked it up and read it. It was an editorial from the Elders of the Fort of the River Straights, an important center of artisanry in the Kingdom located in the South East Corner of the Peninsula of the Rusty Palm (aka Michigan).

(Carl the Inept)

Carl the Inept --a wizard who has sat upon the Council of the Important in an impressive marble building for 30 years (1979-2009) in league with fellow important wizards. This wizard sat upon as chairman of the all powerful Armed Services Committee of the council of the Important for most of these years. During this time his home province, the Peninsula of the Rusty Palm has received naught in federal military spending and indeed even drew down several important bases. Carl the Inept now stands up to defend the Peninsula of the Rusty Palm during its most critical hour. He mounts no rebuke at all to the Bane of the Peninsula's citizenry, Lord Shelby the Jackass, of the Province of Crimson Tides who has secured innumerable federal dollars for the seer-sucker and straw-boater garbed denizens of his province, and provided lucrative incentives for lucky foreign artisans who have protected home markets to come produce at lower cost in his province so as to undercut the people of the Peninsula of the Rusty Palm. So now when Lord Shelby the Jackass argues that the artisans and industry of the Peninsula of the Rusty Palm are to be cut off from survival funding due to the failures of the Merchants of the Skyscraper Island to keep the banking system of the land afloat, it appears he has an agenda: to destroy the artisans of the Peninsula and all the people of that state so that there is greater power for the Province of the Crimson Tides and its sister provinces.

(Lord Shelby the Jackass)


Well, thanks a bunch Carl the Inept and thanks a bunch Lord Shelby the Jackass, from the people of the Peninsula of the Rusty Palm and our sister states of the lands of the Snowy North. We'll keep you in mind when the next hurricane comes to your land. Perhaps you should have seen that coming? Wishing a plague of ghoul frogs to devour your homes and for a Basilisk to kiss your mothers. Eds.

So back to our story.....

After reading the editorial parchment, Perhaps it was a memory from his own youth when last his home peninsula was under the same level of duress, Lord Turnips/Hannon remembered a little better that he wasn't supposed to call Debbie V. In fact she was the sister of John V and she was often tantalizingly present to enjoy the banter of meetings of the Good Party co-led by John Wisshard and Hannon Troll-Slayer. Although John V served in a Chief Financial Officer role and had substantial perks and benefits of the other members of the C-suite, he had no veto power over party adventuring activities.

Lord Turnips/Hannon recalled also that whilst the Good Party enjoyed many outstanding adventures and had blasted to smithereens, rendered unto dust, dispatched with make-do monster vertebrae flails, and generally smoten . . . many a foe, they had done so under the banner of lawful goodishness. So it was with some confusion he asked Admiral Rossoroni the appropriate casus belli that led them to sack the Temple of the Daughters of Odin and Count Grimani’s Castle?

Hannon, Warlord of Turnips

Homework, twenty-sided die, thief …that was weird.

Hannon / Turnips was back in the crater again … same black hat, same miscellaneous body parts, same ethereal figure of a gorgeous Northern maiden bearing down on him.

Wait. Check that. That maiden bit, that was new, he hadn’t noticed it before.

The misty figure spoke, “Fear not brave Hannon for I am Raven Odinsdottir and I have a gift for you.”

“Nice! What is it? A magic sword? A magic ring?” replied Hannon/Turnips.

Raven Odinsdottir tossed her lovely hair back, raised her right hand skyward and said, “No, it is a dodecahedron of wondrous power!”

She continued “I also have a Hummel figurine – it’s a limited edition – a young lad with a pot on his head, having his hair trimmed by the village barber. I didn’t want the Admiral to leave the Temple of Odin’s Daughters empty handed.”

Turnips was confused “What shall I do with this regular geometric solid?”

“Oh that? I think its part of the Magic Dingus of Seven Parts – one down, six to go” the ghostly figure added for good measure. You can find another one in Kristal Stadt.”

Good heavens, Miss Sakamoto! You're beautiful!

Lord Turnips awoke with a start. He was standing in a very sticky pool of a red fluid. Sticky but slippery. He looked down. In his right hand was a bastard sword which gleemed brightly indicating some form of incantation, although he wouldn't know that. In his left was a shield which also gleemed unaturally. He was wearing a set of plate armor that was unusually light and comfortable. Upon his head was a mail cap also of unusual light weight and comfort.

This was not his usual sartorial fare. Normally he adorned himself in loose hanging comfort typical of his station as a middle aged, minister of government and supremely rich proponent of agriculture and the arts.

As he looked around he saw the severed limbs, heads, and torsos of dozens of orcs. Slightly further away he saw the snakey vertibrae of an Ogre that had been used as a flail to dispatch several dozen skeletons. [ed. SEE] A little beyond that he saw a crater which contained naught but a black wizards hat and staff and possibly a few body parts strewn across the crater indicating that someone who had been dressed like a wizard had been blown to smithereens (although Turnips did not know what a smithereen was.)

At that moment he remembered that he needed to phone Debbie V. on the pretext of helping her with her homework and that she kept promising to come over to play a thief character named Salina. Maybe he could get her to come over to check out his dice collection?

Shot Through the Heart and You're to Blame: You Give Love a Bad Name (Bad Name)

That evening, following the somewhat less-than- successful sacking of the Temple of the Daughters of Odin, the party gathered around the steam harpsichord in the Planetary Sovereign’s ample lounge. The Admiral was holding forth beneath the swaying, candle filled crystal candelabra on the topic of the mysterious and charming Salina. In support, Mr. Mudskipper, the ship’s graphic artist had designed several charts depicting Salina in various slinky guises for the purposes of visual recognition. The entire party paid absolutely rapt attention of the sort normally reserved for a Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show.

“Gentlemen, and I use the term loosely, prior to charting a course through mer-man territory we’ll be paying a brief visit to the port city of Kristal Stadt, located here” and the Admiral gestured at a crudely drawn map with an X identifying the port’s general location somewhere to the southwest.

“Oh please” cried an exasperated Lady Lyme Weoghe, “That is absolutely the worst map ever! Schott could have done a better job – just how do you expect us to navigate with that? I mean, this is the bonehead that convinced us that there were just a 'couple' of skeletons and orcs at that so-called 'temple' and that 'fire elementals' were actually just a type of matchstick.”

But she was unable to finish as the hubbub rose.

Woody raised an eager hand.

“Yes Woody, what’s on your mind?”

“Why are we going to Kristal Stadt? Are we running low on Courvoisier?”

“Not Courvoisier exactly, but we are running low on the stuff that puts the ‘booty’ in ‘freebooter’ and by that I mean, gold, gems and the like – someone else’s of course.”

The Admiral continued, “Plus, I want to stop at my favorite restaurant, ‘Le Glace Lune’ to grab a quick bite.”

Rushing turned to Ali Baba el Mendab Penna the Younger and said quite excitedly “I hear you can get the best grilled cheese sandwich in the entire doggone Theocracy of Pale there.”

Ali Baba el Mendab Penna the Younger began to reply but before he could finish Zimbar stepped between the two and placed his grimy halfling hands on the lads’ shoulders “Why yes indeed that is true, and I shall take the opportunity to renew my partnership with our dear friend Kaotic E, thirteenth level fighter/thief. I believe he’s currently their executive chef – I understand he’s been looking to moonlight though.”

Turnips broke in. “Now wait just a second because (dramatic pause), A: who is Kaotic E and B: what about Salina?”

He was starting to feel there was no sign of the morning coming; that he’d been left out alone, like a rainbow in the dark.

Luckily the wise Admiral had a plan. “Ahh, Salina. You see Turnips old boy, she’s made a financially advantageous engagement to that aging lothario Count Grimani. No need to fret then, we will execute a financially advantageous sacking of Count Grimani’s Castle; rescue Salina and buy some spare parts for the Fedor.”

“Sorry” Turnips replied, “When there’s lightning, you know it always brings me down.”

The Temple of the Daughters of Odin

The 11 adventurers had marched through the Wild for two days in their search for the temple. "Temple" was a misnomer, actually, as the place was more like a fortress. Had to be in this part of the world.

It had been 10 days since Turnips had started having his dreams. Or, at least, since he started telling us about them. Then they got worse. It wasn't just during the height of battle or while sleeping that Turnips would assume his Hannon persona, with its strange Northern tongue and accompanying Berserker battle rage. This certainly wasn't something that was advertised when the Admiral signed Turnips up for the "sugar cure." There must be something else afoot. And, while having a Berserker was defnitely handy in battle, we were now in real danger of losing the Turnips identity for good. This could not stand.

All morning the landscape was strangely silent. There was no sound nor sight of flying birds or ground creatures, both large and small. The land itself seemed to have lost some of its color. There was a faint charred smell to the air. The group was in a subdued mood, and even Bocking the Bard's songs could not rouse their spirits. In addition, for the past mile there was the strangest glow in the sky ahead of them. The orange glow would start then quickly fade. This would happen several times a minute.

Now there were faint, but growing, sounds of battle.

Not wanting to be taken unawares, the Admiral had ordered the fighters to the front of the group, in the Standard Adventuring Tactical Formation (SATF). Then came the theives, bowmen, and Zimbar the Halfling Paladin. In the rear were the healers and spell casters, as far away from melee weapons as was possible. Turnips was in the front line, as it was assumed that, during any combat, his Hannon Berserker persona would take over.

Rossaroni looked over at his friend, Turnips, as they trudged up the hill, whose summit must surely reveal to them what was afoot. Turnips was dressed in a leather jerkin, +1 enchanted chainmail (softly glowing green in the dim sunlight), an iron helm atop his head, and the famous Seven League Boots on his feet. On his back was the Bag of Holding, which contained all the Fellowships food and bedding. And a couple of ponies too, I think.

The Admiral remembered how Turnips had begged him not to interrupt the journey to Toronaga's Island for his sake. Rossaroni was adamant though. They had already lost Fedor. Another loss must be avoided, if possible. So the Planetary Sovereign put in to Woolly Bay, left the ship in the capable hands of the Chief, and made tracks for the Temple of the Daughters of Odin. Surely, the reknowned Sisters would know something about Turnips' Nordic affliction.

When they reached the summit a most unnerving sight greeted their eyes. Half a mile away stood the Temple, its sturdy polished granite walls rising twenty feet into the air. But surrounding the fort was an attacking army. Behind the army was a small hill, obscured by fog or smoke. Just then a orange glow flared up inside the mist and a glowing fireball flew towards the fort's wall, sending splinters of stone in all directions as it hit.

"Penna the Younger," ordered Rossaroni. "Come up here and tell me what your young elf eyes see." "Half-elf, Admiral," he joked. Even the sight in front of him could not douse his good humored nature. "On the left I see skeletons, perhaps 20 or 30 of them. The center has a troop of orcs. I reckon about 80 of them. On the right are 2 dozen earth elementals. And surrounding the hill are a dozen centaurs, galloping in a loose skirmish formation."

Undated picture of Penna the Younger

"I say, other than the chap with the fireballs, this lot doesn't look all that bad," Woodpecker-Smythe interjected.

"It's that 'chap' I'm worried about, Woody," replied the Admiral. "A low level sorcerer who can only summon elementals and skeletons could never throw fireballs like that. And they don't attack well defended castles either."

"So what's he up to then?" P the Y asked.

"Good question, my lad." The Freebooter responded. "Well, if he's not showng his entire hand, neither will I. No offensive magic until I give the word. Woody, can you whip up an illusion to hide or disguise us?"

Woody nodded and started rummaging through his pack. "Sure thing, boss. Give me a minute to find the blasted scroll."

The Admiral continued rattling out instructions. "Zimbar, you and the Padre are in change of dispelling those summoned creatures. You take the skeletons and the Padre will tackle the elementals, as they are a bit tougher to take down. Padre, keep your eyes open for any life-suckers. If that sorcerer is as bad as I think he is, he'll have a few liches or ghasts hanging about. And make ready with your bows, gentleman... and ladies," he said with a nod toward Lady Lyme-Weoghe, perhaps the best shot of the group, "I don't want those centaurs to get within 100 yards of us. Woody, are you ready?"

W-S closed his eyes, chanted quietly for several seconds, and the group faded into near invisibility. Only a slight shimmering in the air betrayed their presence. The Admiral hoped it would be good enough to get close to that hill before whatever was in there noticed them.

The Admiral looked over his motley group. "Alright people, no attacks till we're spotted. Stay alert for surprises."

"Follow me..."