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Simon the Overthinker

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About Simon the Overthinker

  • Birthday 02/12/1969

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  1. "You keep using that word, I do not think it means what you think it means."
  2. As my personal sanctum has recently been co-opted and turned into a sewing room, I start from a point of jealousy. Second, I am further wondering what I did to the cosmos to deserve such a different closet path. When I go digging, looking for some old item, I usually find an unwanted gift left on the closet/garage floor by my stubborn little Italian Greyhound and not something cool like the origin Battle Mech rules I started out for or any other such item. If it truly gets to you, I will gladly try to work a trade!
  3. Thinking this is part of an elite unit of shock troops for house kurita. Hello Kitty and Friends Brigade...
  4. So if Hello Kitty gets a Marauder(giving me really bad flashback to playing Battlemech in the 80's), what Mech fits Kuromi? As for the paint job and decals, completely awesome...
  5. I am looking to run a game on Saturday, April 30th. Adventurers in a 3.5 setting are welcome. I can make time for character creation first. Shoot me a note or post to let me know if you are interested! Need to have enough bodies to avoid a TPK. Don't want to get a repuation for killing characters after all!
  6. Smoker might be an issue but grilling should be OK. Perntinent code is as follows - **Section 308.3.1: amended to read as follows: Section 308.3.1. Open-flame Cooking Devices. Charcoal burners and other open-flame cooking devices shall not be operated on combustible balconies or within 10 feet (3,048 mm) of combustible construction. Exceptions: 1. One- and two-family dwellings. If a grill can be had, it can be used there!
  7. After having taken a much longer than expected hiatus from my secret RPG addiction, I was talking with an old friend about getting back into gaming. He jealously pointed out I was in biking distance (yeah right) of this place that made miniatures. I went there to get him a 40th B-day gift (sadly, he is younger than I), and wandered in amazement wondering why the heck I had ever stopped playing. I took my kids a few weeks later and started picking up the necessary baddies to make sure players can see what they are up against. No looking back now!
  8. Been mixing some Police (anything really), Flogging Molly and pulled out Metellica self titled. Some interesting titles listed so far. May have to spend some time sampling if the "honey do's" aren't to big this weekend.
  9. Thanks for the feedback! I typically write when stuck on plane for business. Means gaps occur. Trying to work on it more regularly and quiet some of the voices in my head!
  10. Updating post one only to save visual noise (unless what I write qualifies!).
  11. Prologue The sun had long set. The nights chill crept over this hallowed place as the hearth had long been banked for the night. A solitary robed figure, hands scarred by arthritis and more, slowly straightened with a sigh over the large bound book on one of the desks in this space. With a final dusting of talc to set the ink, he gently blew across the page and closed the tome. With creaking knees, the aged figure stood and blew out the low flickering candle lighting his work. With gentleness far beyond what a single book would seem to warrant, he took it in his hands and shuffled to a wall lined with shelves laden with texts of all sorts. Quietly, he muttered to himself (and the possible spiders in the eaves), "it is done". The book was placed on a shelf near several similarly bound tomes. With ginger steps, the tired old figure walked from this space into a joining hall. Turning into the first door he came to, he let loose another sigh. Gently closing the door, he lay down on a simple cot with woolen blanket in an otherwise unadorned cell. Looking at the ceiling, he spoke one last time. "My last work for you is done. Now, I will rest." The next day, the sun rose to share its meager warmth with the land. A young monk knocked gently on the door. "Master, it is time for breaking fast. I have your warm milk and porridge ready." After waiting a moment, he opened the door to find the unmoving, old man he had come to serve and learn from. As he stepped forward to bid farewell, his last memory of his master’s face was of a warm smile and worry free brow. He silently left with a yawning sense of loss and told the rest his sad news... Chapter One Oranon’s Lament He sat alone on his throne Where light could never reach The darkness enfolding him like a shroud This had not always been the way In this room cold and dark Where not even the wind dared tread But the days of laughter Were faded past memory The battle lost and heart betrayed. Bleak and blighted was all that could be seen. The approaching winter had stripped the forest and orchards of their green coat, leaving the bones of what lay beneath exposed to the sky. The fields that so recently seemed overflowing with golden wealth were strewn with the bent and broken remains of harvest. In places, wisps of smoke still rose like wraiths from the smoldering remains of Turning celebration fires. In the next weeks, snow would begin to fall covering all with its pristine freshness. Until then, the land looked like one freshly died never again to rise. At the sound of footsteps, Oranon turned from the leaded window through which he surveyed his realm. “You know, Korat, I believe this to be the hardest season of all.” Korat knew from his lord's comments his mind and heart were on matters which none could distract him from. “The council has gathered sire, they await your presence sire” “The council be damned! Old men with old issues. What news do you have?” was Oranon's reply. There was no choice but to answer a question that had become near ritual to ask. Every week the council met to discuss matters and news from around the realm. And every week, my lord Oranon waited to hear news of the only fight he had lost. The response Korat would give was as much a part of the ritual. “There is nothing new reported sire. Shall we go now?” “I see no way around it but tell me Korat, is there hope? The Realm dies a slow death. The council believes I don’t understand or see it but I do. For the last three years I feel it is I who am dying with it. Tell me, is there hope?” “If I could know that sire, I would be a priest, not a soldier. I believe in you, that is all I know.” With finality, Oranon replied, “Well then old friend, that will have to be enough!” With that said, he turned on his heel and headed for the council chambers. Korat rushed to keep up. Oranon never carried a weapon in his home nor would he post for more than the show the guards that custom demanded. It was all Korat could do to gain permission to carry my own blade so that there would be at least one person armed to defend him. As always, the first to greet Oranon as they entered were Bishop Falgate and Sir Ismar. His old friend Korat knew which of the two was being sincere and only hoped my Lord did also. He hardly acknowledged either as he took his seat at the head of the table. This was not a formal setting as in some lands. The king was the last to enter, beyond that there was no protocol. The idea was to leave the barriers that divide men of rank behind and allow for true discussion. Unfortunately, none had yet to see that happen. The discussions usually ended in petty arguments and useless bickering. It looked as if today would be no different. “What news of this realm do you bring?” Oranon queried of those assembled. The question fell into the silent faces around the table. What could any say? The harvest was in with no extra to spare for market. All would be needed for the coming winter. The herds of the Ilanon plains had dwindled as the quaking weakness had spread. The raids on the western reaches of the kingdom by the Shriven grew bolder leaving naught but destroyed farmsteads remaining. All the while the entreaties to the more temperate kingdoms and the gods themselves fell on deaf ears. Finally, Rellik Maloric Castle Senschal, broke the uneasy quiet.’ “While the harvest was not as we hoped, the cellars are well stocked and the cities granaries should suffice m’lord. The herds suffered but their hides went to good use. Conditions were favorable in the Ilanon Coalition cities and profit was made on the boots and armor sold giving relief to our merchant faction and the kingdoms coffers both.” With first words spoken and the nervous spell of quiet lifted, the five remaining counselors spoke, each trying to be heard over the other until a gentle rap on the table from my liege quieted them. With a tired grin, he called out Lord Ismar to start. “M’lord”, Ismar started, “All may be fair with the bookkeepers but the autumn winds sing a different tune. The last village raided was less than a day’s ride from my own keep. They grow bolder while, speaking frankly sire, you sit in this castle and pine over a mistake while listening to these fools babble about trade.” “I did not know” was all Oranon replied. Seeing an opening, Bishop Falgate took the opening the short reply left. “It is punishment my lord. You do not attend the masses of high turn, your people turn their backs on the righteous paths. While Lord Ismar’s troops fight valiantly, one can only expect defeat when snow shamans travel with the troops rather than servant’s of the holy trinity…” “That is utter nonsense” cried Ismar, “maybe the fault lies with the church unwilling to send any trained healers to serve with us or help against the white demons we fight. I will not disparage the service the snow shaman’s of the buffalo clan provide us. Their fight is our fight against the shriven plague.” “That is utter nonsense” cried Ismar, “maybe the fault lies with the church unwilling to send any trained healers to serve with us or help against the white demons we fight. I will not disparage the service the snow shaman’s of the buffalo clan provide us. Their fight is our fight against the shriven plague.” His glare daring any others to speak against his position, Ismar sat back in dark silence. With his stutter more pronounced than usual, Master Irongut spoke next. “W.w.w.w.hile wha.what Rellik says i.i.i.s tr.tr.ue, there i.i.i.s st.st.still concern about pr.pr.pr.production.” Taking a quick sip of his wine, Irongut continued. “Weeks ha.ha.have p.p.p.passed since th.th.the last co.co.cold Iron was deliv.v.v.vered.” “In short then” interrupted Rellik, “we do not have the raw materials to replace the weapons being lost in our border fights.” The last at the table to speak, Kelista Airekin, looked each squarely in the eye before starting as if to pin their thoughts to her words looking last upon Oranon. “It comes to this, the words on the wind say no help will arrive before next spring from our neighbors to the north, if even then. Our supplies are dwindling with winter setting in.” Eyeing bishop Falgate, she continued “The god’s see fit to watch and wait…” Face contorting in anger, “Such blasphemy, you do not know the will of the gods!” interrupted Falgate. “Sit down oh August one and let me finish! This all while our only allies, the clans of the buffalo, dwindle in number. It is time to decide and let the tale unfold as it may. That is my advice sire.” Quietly, Kelista watched Oranon, waiting. “It appears, the Lady Kelista has made up her mind. I would agree it is time for me to do the same. Kelista, please remain a moment for a question. The rest of you may leave. Lord Ismar, we have need to discuss this as well. I will expect you at the second bell past tomorrow’s dawn.” Chapter 2 The crystalline ice glittered in the fading sun. It’s sculpted beauty both entrancing and frightening to behold. Through the entry strode a lone traveler into this frozen monument to winters glory shimmering in the faint sun of autumn. Her pale skin shown under the light gear she wore even though the temperature in these southern reaches hovered well below zero even in daylight. Her quite steps sent sound skittering through the sculptures of ice as she approached a large central chamber. Here a faint shiver shook her as she approached a simple blue altar that drew in all warmth from the space as if to freeze all who entered. From the far side of the altar, a ghostly figure, clad in white silks that shimmered as frozen snow dancing in the wind against skin that was paler still, approached. Pale blue on blue eyes set in sharply elven features that had never known joy met hers. She spoke, “I have come with news as requested by the ‘voice of the Shi’ven’”. A frigid nod was her only answer. “The way is prepared” she continued, “she will be freed and he will lead them to do it”. “What does the voice bid of me next?” With a voice ringing with the distant beauty of the aurora, he spoke “You have done well, her gifts suit you. For now, you are her eyes. A message will be sent letting you know when it is time to strike.” With that he turned. Recognizing the dismissal for what it was, she turned and strode from the ancient temple of ice to disappear into the falling gloom of the long cold night.
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