I'd Like to Thank the Academy...

I would like to thank the Academy and all the wonderful people who helped me write "Inane (adj.)." I have a list.

First of all, I'd like thank myself because, without me, none of this would have been possible. It was because I believed in myself that I had the courage to write what many thought was a complete waste of time.

I'd also like to thank my agent, Ari Gold. Without you, none of this would have been possible. We did it, Ari!

My defense team, Goldberg, Goldstein, and Goldfarb. If you hadn't gotten me off on that technicality, none of this would have been possible.

My inexplicable sense of self-worth. Without that concept, none of this would have been possible.

My ma and pa, who, although they had no knowledge of my desire to write, or indeed anything at all about me, encouraged me through ridicule and abuse.

I'd like to thank the treasury of many of the cities along the Forbidden Coast, which now reside in the hold of the Planetary Sovereign, for helping to finance the writing of the article.

(music starts)

(Quickening his pace) I'd also like to thank Harry's Armorer Shoppe, for outfitting many of my expeditions. Um, the girl at the restuarant the other day who gave me a refill on my meade. Fagan, at the ship caulker's, who said he'd give me a 5% discount if I mentioned his name on the air. And Marzipan. You're my muse, baby!

(music gets louder, presenter moves to start ushering him off the stage)

...and King Aragorn should end the illegal occupation of Mordor! Bring the troops home!

(fade to commercial)

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 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..."

The Ecstasy of Gold

The Admiral consoled Turnips who sat forlorn atop a stool at the bar in the decidedly downscale Hydra’s Lair Tavern & Betting Clubbe.

“There, there Turnips, we’ll see to it that Livoniumtonchester is fixed up … right as rain!” the Admiral exclaimed, beaming with confidence.

He continued, “Why with me and Sabrina and old Woody here we’ll pop over, rescue Lady M, complete the Lost Mystical Dingus of 7 Parts and use it to restore balance, beauty, justice and goodness to our faire lande!

As he spoke, the Admiral’s teeth glinted and his aura glowed warm gold as his noble gaze turned skyward to rest on an imaginary star.

Turnips was not to be so easily swayed however, “Don’t you patronize me Rossaronius, we’ll never find the Mystical Dingus of 7 Parts and poor Livoniumtonchester shall remain in the evil clutches of whoever…..”

His energy flagged at that moment due to effects of the half-pint of ale he’d been nursing for an hour.

Turnips roared back however to continue his diatribe “… and whatever, but I don’t see how a washed up illusionist / cleric and a freebooter with a super-powerful magic sword could hope to achieve anything other than to be clapped in irons and escorted off to the nearest looney bin.”

The Admiral, being a man of the sea, had to face many situations like this before and took the appropriate action. He slapped Turnips, then grasped his collar and held his face close.

“Now listen up and come to your senses; we are attracting all the wrong sorts of attention here and that’s the last thing we need.”

No sooner had he finished this utterance than up sauntered Livoniumtonchester’s favorite gang of bullies led by their chief, The Schott (coincidentally, he was the second cousin, once removed of the Admiral’s oaf, also named ‘Schott.’ Funny that.)

The Schott was first to speak.

“Well la-dee-dah, ‘oo ‘ave we gots ‘ere?” he menaced, his foul breath overwhelming the more delicate olfactory receptors of our would-be heroes.

"Harhar harhar harharhar harhar" went the gang

The gang’s evil, insensitive laughter went on for a full seven minutes until The Schott raised his hands in the universal sign of ‘stop larfing you oafs, I gots somefin to say.’

“Now stop larfing, you oafs, I gots somefin to say” The Schott continued, “I have a fine idear – let’s take their lunch money what their mommies done gived them!”

Then to add insult to injury, he farted.

At was at that moment that the Tavern owner, Schlamazel the Butcher, entered, carrying a large serving bowl made of a very heavy earthenware with a pale blue flower motif.

“Ahhh, who ordered the paella for six?? Hey, I said who ordered the paella for six!!” he called out.

Schlamazel the Butcher stopped and his nose wrinkled and his eyes began to tear. Temporarily blinded, he tripped over the Admiral’s magical cutlass, Sabrina, and the paella bowl flew from his hands. The bowl flew in a perfect arc and landed heavily atop The Schott’s surprised noggin, sending him crumpled to the sawdust floor.

The contents of the bowl spilled showering the floor with bits of saffron rice, shrimp and other stuff that was very slippery. Although the gang tried to advance upon our heroes, they were unsuccessful as their feet could find not purchase. In fact, their legs spun madly about ala Shaggy and Scooby Doo.

Unhesitatingly, the Admiral seized the initiative and called out “Let’s get the H-E-Double Hockeysticks out of here Woody! – there’s another exit through the kitchen .. last one to the Planetary Sovereign is a rotten egg.”

“Hey but what about my Morey Amsterdam sandwich I just ordered?” Woody whined as the Admiral dragged him out.

Turnips however, had the last word. “Oh shut up, that sandwich hasn’t been invented yet”