Published whenever we feel like it.

27 Earth, 1604

All The News We Think You Need To Know

Darklocke: Hello, we're back, it's us, Darklocke and Tomo, and we're here to answer your questions about death, death shrouds, annnd today's hot news.

Tomo: Zzzz...

D: Tomo, wake up.

T: What? Oh, sorry. Wait, what's this about death shrouds again?

D: Latest news. We were talking about gossip here.

T: Oh, yes, of course. This one comes to us from my faithful fan, Gisele, who writes--

D: Hold on a second. Don't you mean "our"?

T: No.

D: And wait, if you have a fan now, then that means we have fans-plural!

T: I'm still not convinced that you have any fans.

D: Yeah I do, look, right here in my journal, it--

T: (Not your journal again!)

D: --says right there, in Giselle's handwriting, that I have "soft, lustrous eyes"--

T: First, she spells it with one 'l'; second, that's not your journal, that's a dictionary; and thirdly, you're looking at the definition of a 'gazelle'.

D: Oh. I must have mixed up my post-it tabs. Wait, what dictionary would define a gazelle as having... well, I'll be damned. Hey look, it's right above "gazette" and below "gazebo" -- your two worst enemies.

T: ANYways, on to the news. Wolf Pack has received notices that The League of Bad Guys and Mean People will do absolutely nothing to them. In fact, the LoBGaMP will even stop by the Wolf Pack's bake sale to see what goodies are being sold.

D: "LoBGaMP". What's with your acronyms? And what's this about the Wolf Pack baking?

T: Well, you see, there was this dead guy there, Sebastian--

D: <cringe> Too soon, dude, too soon.

T: Umm... so, there was this dead guy there, Urlik...

D: I can work with that.

T: Take it away, Darklocke!

D: Well according to what Gazele had written you...

T: Do you really want to see her break out her Marseille-triple-spinning-tomahawk-et-Renauld-reverse-head-smash staff action on you? Because, well, I do.

D: Marcee-what now? All I'm saying is that according to her, Urlick had come back from the dead to sample the Wolf Pack's goods, impressed that they had made little Keebler-like cookies in his honor.

T: Dwarves and not Elves?

D: Exactly. Only, he was disappointed that they were not exactly as fresh as they could have been.

T: You mean--?

D: Yes, the cookies were also from the Grey. This whole time conundrum is affecting everything we thought was gone. The cookies... Urlick...

T: The DTSC...

D: Right. This may actually be our first issue. Only, we never really spent time picturing Gisele gracefully leaping great distances through the fields to heal the fallen before.

T: We still aren't. That's all you, man.

D: You're the one bringing up the gazelle thing.

T: Maybe if I let you believe that we can move on. And so, on to the world of sport. I understand that the Tor Arbreths are re-creating their famed home sport of rabbit hopping competition.

D: Rabbit hopping competition.

T: Yes, so, the world record is currently held by a Tor Arbrethian rabbit, at 9.8 feet on the long jump and 3.4 feet on the high jump.

D: Rabbit hopping competition.

T: So, as you can imagine, the race organizers are up in arms about the presence of a rabbit Kia. They're trying to figure out a way to handicap her. Of course, she is in New Galen, so they probably only have to wait two or three seasons before she suffers her Final Death.

D: Rabbit hopping competition. Like, I hope if I keep saying that, it'll actually make sense. Or that I'll believe that you actually said "competition" in conjunction with rabbits hopping about. Though I am amused that Final Death is merely a handicap.

T: Hasn't stopped us, that's for sure.

D: I never Finalled, remember: I was outsourced. They needed badass poets in Lanencrest.

T: When you say "badass", is this like Amai and Arabundi describing assmancy?

D: But back to this rabbit Kia you mentioned. Do we even know her name? Renny? Something like that?

T: What do I look like, an investigative reporter?

D: You're dead: shouldn't forensics be right up your alley? Anyways, what is she questing for?

T: Well, I heard she was studying from Merric.

D: Maric? Or Merrick? Wait, isn't he the one sending out all those horrible nightmares?

T: You too? Monster dressed in Okian robes, comes up to you, puts horrible thoughts in your head, like "FIVE-WAY IAMBIC FARM POETRY AXXXION aothu239 /8l lhc".

D: So he's the one sending me that stuff! But why?

T: He lost a bet with Cerridwynn.

D: Oh! Merrick, then. Yes, he's quite the betting man. He had this bet with Sebastian once--

T: I thought you said it was too soon.

D: I'm not picking on the guy, and it's a good story. Sebastian was hanging out with the mercs, and this white-clad Hobby starts fighting this black-clad Hobby in Library Field. Merrick offers a five hecta bet on one, Sebastian takes it, and eventually loses. Insult to injury, Merrick's hobgoblin slices the heart out of Sebastian's fallen competitor. Merrick thought for sure there should be some sort of organ-harvesting bonus to the bet, but as it was never agreed upon beforehand, Sebastian got off lightly, and never bet again.

T: And this has to do with rabbit Kias why?

D: Allow me some Sebastian nostalgia, man, he and I were close.

T: Would that be in stupidity or ineffectiveness?

D: Whoa now, excuse me? You, who's dead, and got killed by... by yourself? Hello? Are you trying to say something about stupidity? I'll grant you effectiveness, but--

T: OK, while you have your little "let's-see-how-off-topic-we-can-get" flashback, allow me to get us back on track.

D: Memoriiiiiies.... la la la dee da da daaaa....

T: Right, so moving along. The rabbit Kia. She's questing for lucky human feet.

D: Lucky? In New Galen? What, is she on spice? I mean Merrick wins a bet here and there but he lost that one on Five Whales versus Camaris, so he's hardly got the luckiest feet around.

T: Is it me, or did you really want someone next moon to go up to them and say, "Round two: FIGHT!"?

D: What, are you volunteering?

T: Not exactly. Camaris runs faster than I do.

D: True. But you were talking about lucky feet. Is this a gambling thing?

T: No no, it's just that some people always manage to live through things. So it's kinda like dark elf pinkies, except in this case, it's, umm, feet.

D: Is this like a Final Maim? Boy, that'd be embarrassing. "Hey, Calamarth, how's it go--umm, why are you hopping around like that?"

T: Mmm, one-footed Governors.

D: If he declares martial law, would he be putting his foot down?

T: This is me ignoring you. And can you imagine if Calamarth Singlefoot got killed and raised? In that voluminous black cloak of his, the necromancer might not even realize he had gotten gypped.

D: Hey, hey, don't go bad-mouthing the gypsies now. There'd be curses afoot... I mean... you're not going to hit me with that sword, are you?

T: Well, I'm sure Mikael would sell him a foot.

D: "Fresh from Lanencrest! That skeleton didn't need it anyways. And I got it cheap!" I'm still not sure I get why lucky human feet would keep someone from harm exactly.

T: Would you mess with anyone carrying around feet?

D: Point taken. And ew. Gypsies selling skeleton feet is creepy enough. I wonder if that would tick off barrow wights?

T: Reminds me of the stories I hear in the Grey about dancing and singing skeletons.

D: Really? Do tell!

T: Nah, can't. Darteem would kill me.

D: Umm... wait, how does that work again, dead boy?

T: Well look at this map. You see how there are different areas of the Grey? Where I am right now, there aren't any poets near me.

D: Huh. I didn't know you were in the "molested by hobgoblins and trampler of flowers" part of the Grey. Which are you?

T: And, well, I could be demoted down to the area where there are bad poets.

D: Hey! Well, then again, I'm not there, so I can't be all that bad.

T: Wait.

D: And what's that supposed to mean?

T: There's a welcome party waiting for you, or so I hear. You're going to be stuck with the bad poets from Lanencrest.

D: You're being redundant again. No, wait, I'm from Galen, I only visited Lanencrest.

T: Yeah, but "Badass Poets in Lanencrest" would make a great band name.

D: Ooh, or a song title! Hmm...

T: Uh oh, Darklocke's about to start singing again. Right, let's take a break.

D: Heh, you mean, before someone does it to our fingers?

T: No, feet. Where've you been the past several lines? Anyways, that one's Darklocke, the hottest piece of farm equipment you've ever seen...

D: (Umm, I'm not sure what that means, but it makes me feel kinda dirty.) And that's Tomo, who looks very fetching in a death shroud. We'll be right back after this.