But down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid.... He must be a complete man and a common man and yet an unusual man. He must be, to use a rather weathered phrase, a man of honor - by instinct, by inevitability, without thought of it, and certainly without saying it. He must be the best man in his world and a good enough man for any world. -Chandler
(Original post: http://www.johnskylar.com/post/82996706080/masochistic-writer-does-tumblr-ask-event. Tag for all posts: #noirproject. I know allandaros in real life, but this is all based on his blog for his RPG-world Legacy of the Bieth, which is really cool and you should check it out.)
Sometimes I get called to other countries for my work.
It’s rare, but it happens—some of my previous clients have gone a bit international.
It’s like being called into a different world.
The thing is, I like my world. You know when those guys in customs ask you, “Anything to declare?”
I usually declare that it’s goddamn great to be home.
Still, much as it might weird me out to get out of my usual city haunts, I meet people. And I like that.
Years ago, I had a case that involved tracking a heroin dealer all the way back to central Asia, to a place that hadn’t really been “stable” since the Mughal Empire.
That meant I needed some backup.
But this is me. I’m used to rain, and urban streets. I’m not gonna hire just anybody.
Instead, there was a guy I knew from years back. A guy with deep ties to the region, but who had a head on his shoulders that spanned many times and many places.
Most guys get a real big head trying to fit that much inside. This guy, not so much. Humble, loyal, and unbeatable, I knew he’d be the best fixer I could hire.
I’d known him under many names. Allandaros. Alai. Some I daren’t say.
I found him working in a gaming publishing company. He’d just sent a book off to the publisher.
I didn’t say a word when I walked up to his desk. Just dropped the two plane tickets over a paperweight while golden sunlight streamed in over them.
He looked at the tickets.
He looked at me. Then back at the tickets.
Just when I thought he wouldn’t go for it, he made eye contact and smiled an impenetrable grin.
A second later, he said, “We’ll need weapons. And trade goods. And a lot of water. I’ll meet you at the airport in three hours. Oh, and you might want to pack something—anything—that can ward off demons.”
He wasn’t kidding about that last one.
My friend John wrote this for me. It’s kiiiind of awesome.
I’m having a hard time reading Aurora’s body language as anything other than “shit, it’s not gonna be my turn for HOURS, is it.”
Ten-member parties: why would you do that
(And you know Cinderella’s playing a summoner and will have like fifteen different minis to move around every turn)
(And as long as I’m being a curmudgeon, I wanna say that it’s rank anthropocentrism that Nala doesn’t get to be an Official Disney Princess)
Oh, I dunno - 10-member parties are rough but doable…if you have a quick system. :D
Bab Suika-Suker Square, Tunis, Tunisia, ca. 1899
From Sebastian Wagner (see original source)
— Chris Achilleos
guardian of the gate
A Weird Warrior of the Future?
(Art by Hans Olo)
Delver’s aphasia or “Dungeon Jabber” is a peculiar malady apparently caused by exposure to the insectoid beings known as “mumblers.” People seldom get a good look at mumblers: they’re skilled at staying hidden, owing to their ability to contort and flatten their bodies and their chameleon-like power to blend into their surroundings. From hidden places, the mumblers whisper to their human victims. Their utterances are jibberish—and that gives them their name.
How Dungeon Jabber is transmitted is unclear. It may be through the mumbler’s kiss—certainly most who develop it have the creatures put their lips upon them—but it has been suggested that only close proximity to a mumbler is necessary.
— Jeff Easley
Ruins of roman city of Timgad, Algeria
Spearhead of rock crystal, Copper Age, Valencina de la Concepcion, Spain
— Gerald Brom