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    1. Gordian Nought 12 yrs ago
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Sanity is not statistical.

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Critical Fail. :( No bueno, @Irredeemable.
"I'll be sure to leave one alive for you to play with..."

The young Adonis, beloved by the playful silvery Venus, rushed in to taste his premature fate. To her, he had already evolved into the promised, star-crossed lover forged from this havenless sky. A frantic Romeo to her masochistic Juliet tendencies. However, the boars were thrice upon thrice, young virile canines salivating with famished dread and boiling hunger, for the destined couple. She grew dizzy, swirling and staring, as the cool currents carried the guarded verdant semblance, underwater, a secret frenzied and heated up by the assembled bodies within the vicinity.

Koan dashed, with net in tow, seeping with its own vines and curls of darkness, an unspoken poem twisting upon itself in its own coiled obscurity. Swimming to greet him on the proverbial dais, she placed her sphere of murkiness by his side, engulfing the Hexblade in its reaped benefits. The joker stood, mouth agape before the three-headed crown of a dog, now etched with a crucifix of Andrew between one its brows. This further raptured nightfall, emitting from the maw of the clown, would grant a rival to the relics of accuracy, preventing the Cerberus from easily targeting either of the armed and armored duo. The margin of decadent civility, illustrated by Noriam, triumphed the fool’s sensibilities. The gavel upon her desires were no longer pummeled into submission or judgement, but released from contempt, a knotty prison of societal violations. Her awkwardness was never easily forgiven by others, except for the crew of the S.S. Lady Slipper, and now the aspiring, new additions of Adrevz, a pupil of the curious Beholder, and this Sauron.

“Bite me.” Delicious...

Hearing those words, the jester relinquished softly her twined lattice, flooding with the curse of a muddy cloud, to float evanescently ever near her cherished pet, the whip-thrashing warlock. Her hips gyrated and hoped the pale devil would profit of its subsidy of coveted shadows. Once the thrusting came to a sensual dénouement, the grey buffoon quickly hurled a pair of blasts, as she twirled, both eldritch in nature at their trifurcated adversary, striking with the first, but its recoil forcing the second to glint past, while screeching a repetitive hymn.

“Tame ’em! Tame ‘em! Tame ‘em!”

I believe this post may raise alarms. :/
The great encampment of their enemy echoed with the minuscule announcement of their now settled quarry. It was not followed by any wild cheering, nor any booming snarls of drakes mingling with the booming shouts of the cultists. However, flaps of tents were occasionally thrown aside to vantage the newcomers. Although the bowl-shaped bivouac of sorts was large, even by dwarven standards, it was seemingly crammed to capacity. Nearly all of Greenest’s assailants must have arrived, gathered and assembled in one winepress of a chasm.

Brannor followed steadfastly the impersonating Parum; the giant wereman held reverently in chains, led to the indentured toil ahead. The footsteps increased in number, but Torus could discern a different sound, from within, roaring against the great vault of his mind’s ceiling, reverberating through the furry hall of his body. It seemed his bear's frame shook with the unheeded vibrations, as the druid winced as the noise made his head throb. He was suddenly stifled in the leering crowd. The ursine monstrosity, hazardly bucked the half-blood off, quickly releasing the enclosed pirate embarrassingly on all fours.

"My roots will be glad when the dew finally seeps."

The aged sailor muttered to the shed Orchid, rising and standing next to him. His face, which always beget melancholy initially, seemed even darker and more brooding than usual, to compensate for the ruse. The end of his sentence remained pungent with silence, lingering upon the nature of its receipt of all who glanced the transition, as the motley crew marched deeper into the belly of the crevasse of their nemesis.


Their three hour tour rapidly came to a halt as the three headed Theullai, surfaced, indolently from a detached bulk circumferentially housing the Verdant Stream. The mystical marriage of the emerald rivulet joined to a couple ring subtly suggested a nuptial and mutual protection. This twelfth labor of love, now, was defended by a seemingly noncommittal guard dog. A theogony, reconciling such a relation to their previous visitor on the high seas, begged a Euripidean solution. This was their underworld but where was an axiomatic Theseus? Or a famed Pirithous? To fulfill a punishment pledged against an unmet Marid, wishing against its station, burying its interventions from the public with the ostensible help of a thrice pronged semblance of a foreshadowed Bledig.

The proposterous princess of pranks peered past the peculiar portal, curiously attempting to ascertain the wolf’s veracious demeanor in addition to its delightful moniker.

Whether this Cerberus be friend or foe?

The fashion of its timing was impeccable, likely condemning their expedition’s future before the current circuitously would wash the party farther from the destination of its desire. Complete independence from impending jeopardy grew unviable from the impractical joker’s point of view, though the monstrosity was, for the time being, on the polar position's tide, with the avocado vine between them.

It would be impossible. Unless.

A whisper retorted back at Cynthia’s query. “Mercy on us, it’s high time in our day to cast off all aquatic cares and get down to business.” The silver half-elf sleeved both arms into her ropy lattice and instructed all to join. “Hold onto the net, be sneaky and cuddle close.” Quickly, a magical obscurity overtook the mesh and emanated darkness as the excursion’s outward shell was engulfed by the webbed shadows. Her over imaginative pea-sized brain believed that an impenetrable void approaching their overt target would be innocuously and completely inconspicuous.

Besides she appeared to possess a scheme or at least a back-up plan.

Will post by tomorrow.
Will post tomorrow.
Too sleepy last night to proofread. Edited my redundant mistakes.
The cultist camp, illumined by the ever burning sky candle, glowed warmly in the midst of the white bonfires settled in the chasm’s encampment. The bear, heralding a savior upon its saddle and a trophy in their midst, entered, hoping both Parum and Orchid could uphold the façade, if bombarded with scrutiny and inquisition. Torus recovered from his growling consternation and led them ignominiously into the outer ring of the grounds. A chill wind blustered, nipping his fur sharply and bit with striking venom into the tuft of his neck which the half-blood employed as reins.

He eventually stood still, attempting a soporific appearance as someone interrogated their presence and purpose. The frost of the situation soon drove the sailor to paw the soil nervously with his hind feet. Miserable and disconsolate, the ursine mule wandered and wondered with his thoughts, about the many tents and the strength in number and magic. Here and there, savage draconic fiends rushed and bristled the corners of his peripheral vision. His neck hair snarled, but instinctively released them unmolested.

To his astonishment, they had disappeared quickly into the maze of their portable gazebos and pergolas. Again his mind digressed, aimlessly circling the logistical hierarchy of the marquees and bivouacs seen. Suddenly the soil gave way beneath his fore legs and he sank down. Something wriggled under his feet. His attention sprang back unconsciously, bristling and grimacing, fearful of the unseen and unknown.
A friendly whiff of fetid air ascended to the omnivore’s nostrils, and there, curled up under the blanket of the sun. His brain whined placatingly, squirmed and wriggled to not show his good will and intentions, and even ventured, as a false bribe for peace, willing to lick the barbarian’s face with his wet tongue, suggestive of a domesticated pet.

Another lesson.

The day had been long and arduous, and his body slept soundly and comfortably, though the wildshape sneered and grumbled with the bad dreams before him. Nor did he open his old green eyes till roused by the noises of their ruse forsaken. As the Hin guided them deeper, the furry wall internally pressed upon him on every side, and a great surge of fear swept through him.

The apprehension of a trap.

It was a token that he was harking back through his own pirate life to the existence of his possessor’s forebears in Amn. For he was an unduly civilized criminal, and of his own experience knew no con could snare itself, unless one donned the noose himself. The muscles of his large corpus contracted spasmodically and instinctively, the follicles on his shoulders stood on end, and with a low rumbling sneer, he continued to lead the bound Brannor, straight up into the blinding day.

A shout eventually hailed their formation, arresting both the anxiety and curiosity, bringing an end to this fool's brigade, in one fell yell.
Likewise. As will I.
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