Why, hello there again.

My apologies for not communicating with you all for some time, I’ve been a bit indisposed due to traveling through the Underdark where apparently access to your spiderfish dimension net is very limited due to wards or magicks or something. Anyhow, having finally surfaced again I thought to return to this story-blog and give you the updates on the happenings in the life of a Rogue.

Basically, I went full Bard for a while.

Never go full Bard.

Read more …

So I’ve been traveling with this group of adventurers from Northern Greyhawk and I’m pleased to report that for the most part, they’re a fine group of heroes and we’ve been having an excellent time. Save one tiny little thing.

This Paladin is a complete fuckhole.

OH MY GODS, seriously. He’s been riding my ass since I stumbled across this pack of idiots in a little backwater tavern. He was all suspicious of me in the first place, accusing me of every kind of heinous thing, some of which were even true.

“YOU’RE A THIEF!” he yelled upon my first wandering up to the group.

“What?” I said, with a puzzled expression, “I’ve never stolen anything in my life, sirrah! I am but a humble Bard, plying my trade from inn to tavern.”

“YOU WEAR LEATHER ARMOR AND APPEAR STEALTHY!” he continued shouting, undeterred.

“Well of course I wear leather armor, I’m a Bard. And besides, leather is both comfortable and attractive. Do you find me too attractive, Sir Paladin? Should I cover myself with robes so as to not tempt you from the Righteous Path?”

“WHAT ARE YOU IMPLYING… I DON’T EVEN… SHUT UP I LIKE GIRLS…” Eventually he settled down and I arranged with the very Sensible Fighter for a nominal share of the treasure in return for the usual trap finding/lock picking duties.

Now, mind you, I am no Bard. I barely know one end of a lute from the other and couldn’t sing if you had my bollocks in a vise, but this band of rubes was none the wiser. Whenever a combat started, I would disappear and hide out until the end where I would pop in, backstab a couple of things, and triumphantly crow terrible poems about our glory. I even learned how to play a couple of chords on the lute. They seemed happy with me, mostly.

Except of course, for the Paladin.

“I’VE GOT MY EYE ON YOU, THIEF,” he would say, “NO SNEAKING TREASURE FOR YOU, FOR I AM VIGILANT. AND YOU ARE A TERRIBLE BARD.”

Yes, he was the sort that spoke in all capitals.

The sad part is that he was right, with him constantly on my back I couldn’t take my customary 10-130% of my rightful take of the party treasure (mainly because the bastard slept with the loot) and as a result couldn’t indulge myself in the usual Rogue-like pursuits of wine, women, and more wine. So finally, I’d had enough.

We came to a fairly sizable coastal city and set up camp at a large inn. I volunteered my services to the innkeeper for a pittance, as entertainment for the night. As the lights dimmed, lute in hand, I sauntered to the center of the stage and dedicated this song to Sir Paladin:

Sung to the tune of “My Mum has Half-a-Cup of Dwarf Nuts”

There was a paladin from Greyhawk,

who had a tiny ding-a-ling,

when all the ladies saw it,

they couldn’t help but siiiiiiiing…

tiny weener

tiny weener

it was so awful small

tiny weener

tiny weener

why it’s barely there at aaaaaallll…

he went to fight the Dragon

but in the fray he lost his pants

and the Dragon did declare

“It’s tinier than the ants!”

tiny weener

tiny weener

it was so awful small

tiny weener

tiny weener

why it’s barely there at aaaaaallll…

And so on and so forth and then the crowd really got into the swing of it and we kept it going throughout the evening. Oh the red face of the Paladin keeps me warm at night, it does. And afterwards when he tried to sleep, the constant stream of “ladies of the evening,” all Gnomes or Halflings paid for by yours truly and all instructed to knock upon his door and ask for “the little knight,” made certain that he would have no rest and that I would have an endless fit of the giggles until morning, when I strolled in amidst the confusion and strolled out with the entirety of the loot pile. By the time anyone realized what was going on, I was five towns over and knee-deep in bar wenches and booze. I’ve heard since that my little song about little things is now popular all along the coast.

So the moral here, gentle readers, is beware the power of music.

And just let Rogues be Rogues.

So I’ve been in contact with some of you people and I’ve been informed that you are not, in fact, “naked spiderfish people” but actually are real human beings and so forth, just trapped in another dimension.

You still seem really fascinated by your own nakedness if my wanderings upon your ‘nets and webs are any indication. But whatever.

I’ve also been told that some of you play these games that are basically stories which are sort of about people like me and those in my dimension, with the elves and Dragons and dungeons and whatnot. And then people have been sending me questions about who I am and what I do and what my ‘stats’ are and that kind of thing. So I figured I would answer some of these and maybe then we can move along.

“What’s your alignment?”

I had to read some of your story-game books about this, because otherwise my standard reply to this question would be, “eight inches and I dress to the left, my dear.” But apparently, according to your tomes of gaming I’m closest to something called Chaotic Neutral or maybe Neutral Good, depending on who you ask. I looked for Neutral Greedy but there wasn’t one like that so if anybody does ask, especially the damn Paladin, I’m Neutral Good, yeah.

“What race are you?”

I’m apparently Human. I do sometimes claim to be part Elf though, if an adventuring party is looking for that, because sometimes dumb adventurers think Humans can’t find secret doors or traps. It’s terribly racist of them, but that’s the business. Hell, I’ve even been known to find “traps” that are just oddly shaped rocks in the floor and “disarm” them just to make a party happy. Hey, as long as they think I’m keeping them safe, they won’t bitch as much if I pocket a little treasure on the side for myself.

Truthfully though, my great-great-grandfather was a Rogue that supposedly settled down and married a Medusa. I don’t know. Though I admit, mean women with big hair do turn me to stone. Or at least part of me…

NUDGE NUDGE WINK WINK.

“Why are you just called ‘Rogue’? What’s your real name?”

Well, you can’t just go around giving out your real name to people for several reasons. One, real names have power and I have no idea who or what is reading this silly list of things. Two, as a Rogue, um, well… I steal things. Like, a lot of things. So that could go badly for me if my name got out. Third, Rogues in general are an… attractive sort. So, you know, every now and again maybe a lady Cleric or Sorceress or lady Monk or lady half-orc Rogue/Fighter with the biggest breastplate I’ve ever seen might just get a little out of hand during a post-dungeon celebration with the wine and spirits and ask someone like me if I would like to “pick her pockets” or “hide in her shadows” or whatever. And the last thing I need is to have an adventuring companion get all mad at me about something I said on here about our randy unarmed combat session. That kind of indiscretion will kill you faster than a Hill Giant. So just call me Rogue, for now.

“What are your stats?”

Wow. I had to look this one up in one of those Dragon Dungeon books. This is kind of weird that you play games about people like us and just assign random numbers to things we do, but okay. I’ll take a shot at it, sure.

STR = 12 (That’s about it, because the last thing a Rogue wants is a bunch of muscles. Gods. People will start wanting you to carry crap around the dungeon, or worse yet, charge the enemy. Screw that.)

DEX = 25 (Yeah, I guess that’s supposed to be godlike or whatever, but in my mind that’s about accurate. Just take the most agile person you know, add a couple of points and make them really sexy. That’s me.)

CON = 16 (I can drink with the best of ‘em, but I’m no pack mule. Unless it’s Pack Mules Drink Free Night at the Braying Donkey Inne. Then I’m your ass, for sure.)

INT = 16 (HAH! Wizards think they’re so freakin’ smart. Well, okay, they are, but don’t ever let them know you think that or you will have to hear no end of lectures on the multiverses or the nature of magic and mathematics or something they call “Firefly” and on and on. Gods. Bunch of nerds.)

WIS = 8 (Wisdom is for clerics and paladins and other people with big sticks up their arses. Leap before you look and shoot anything that moves on the way down, is my motto.)

CHA = 17 (I’m sexy and I know it, girl. Yeah, I saw you checking out that Paladin, sure. You know what? He’s totally into other dudes. Oh yes, no lie. It’s something that happens when they get trained in those temples. Yeah, yeah, little known fact. But it’s okay, I’m Rogue, and I’m here to help. I’ve got some rare holy wine that I stole off the Cleric and some interesting etchings of old temple ruins that I borrowed from the Mage up in my room, you want to check it out? Of course you do. No, it’s cool baby, I won’t tell a soul.

You can trust me.)

I hope that helps. Due to a little “misunderstanding” between me and my former companions about some wine and some maps and what apparently was the daughter of the local Baron I’ll be moving along now to another group of adventurers.

I think I’ll tell them I’m a Bard.

Until then, readers, I remain yours,

~Rogue

I stole a Dragon last night.

Well, for a few rounds anyway. I was doing a little advance scouting for the adventuring party up the side of this mountain ravine and surprised the creature while it was sleeping. In a moment of hubris, I leapt upon its back and as it soared majestically into the air, I was busily figuring out exactly how one controls an angry flying dragon and also planning how to spend all the gold I was going to get for selling this thing to a circus or something once I had bent it to my will. Also, possibly maybe screaming in terror. It banked and dove gracefully toward my companions, opened its mighty mouth…

And got Fireballed straight to hell by the Mage.

Which had the effect of turning my beautiful steed into about twenty thousand pounds of burning hamburger hurtling towards the earth. Lucky for me I’d pilfered the Mage’s Ring of Feather Falling earlier that day and was able to drift gently to the terra firma. Not so lucky for the Mage though, who didn’t quite get out of the way fast enough and took a chunk of flaming dragon meat to the face, which sort of knocked him off the ledge and then he kind of plummeted to his doom. Which was all just a hilarious accident and in no way my fault. The Cleric was very Stern with me, and now we have to schlep back to the town and hire a new Mage.

But there’s a moral to this story, and it is thus: Don’t Ever Fireball My Dragon.

PS: Sold the giant pile of meat to an innkeeper in the town. If you’re ever in Derby-on-the-Downshire, look for Frederic’s Fine Dragonburgers and Inne.

Tell ‘em Rogue sent you.

So, whilst rummaging around in the godsforsaken temple of Krakkatookaapang (which translated from the local savage lingo is “Lost Tourist”), I found this thing.

Well, I suppose “found” is debatable, as it was in someone else’s pants at the time, but as said pants were propped up on an idol at the center of this stupid temple, and my adventuring friends were occupied with holding off the previously mentioned local savages, and no one was really watching, I think “found” is just as good a word as “stole” in this instance.

The natives built this place to worship some wandering god or something that fell through a hole in between the universes. Their first order of worship, of course, was to eat him to gain his power, and the second was to slap together this shrine to honor his somewhat short and painful existence. A life-like idol was erected and draped with the clothing and inedible items of the god and then periodically the whole tribe allows groups of adventurers and whatnot to come down and see the whole thing.

Whereupon, the arsehole savages go all bloodthirsty and try to reenact the original First Supper. After which, presumably, everyone has a nice nap. Not sure how it goes because as I was busy nicking anything I could and sneaking out the back way, I heroically tripped over a landfall trap and buried the majority of the natives under about a tonne of rock. And did my party thank me for saving the day? Oh nooooo, they got all mad at me for my necessary and completely justifiable decision to leave them all to die. The Paladin and I had words.

Screw that guy.

Anyway, where was I?

I found this thing.

It’s a weird little slick box made out of some kind of bone. It has little nubs covered with letters I didn’t recognize but it lights up and makes sounds when you press them. I carried into the city to a little fellow I know, name of Ping. Wizard chap, part Gnome I think. Knows everything about clockworks and whatnot, captures lighting in jars, that sort of thing. Mad as a sackful of plague rats, of course, but clever, clever. Well Ping says it’s some sort of Device used for talking to people in some other dimension using some kind of magical net or webs. Spiderfish people, I suppose. He gives me a little book that shows what some of the symbols mean in Common and I spend a few days poking around on this net (wow, you spiderfish people like to put up naked pictures of yourselves and each other, don’t you?) and eventually started chatting up some of you and here we are.

Thought I might put this little thing together and share with you some of my adventures here. Let the world of weird naked spiderfish people know what real Roguery is all about, eh? Ping has figured out how to charge this little Device with some of his lightning jars so as long as it lasts and I don’t get eaten by angry natives or Dragons or Paladins (oh yeah, Paladins eat people all the time, bastards) then I will try to keep this list updated.

Then I will be world famous in TWO worlds. YEAH BEAT THAT GREY MOUSER, YOU JERK. Can’t stand that guy. Anyway, pleased to meet you.

I am Rogue.