Grandfather Thunder, Savage Regalia, and The Science of Being -Resistable

You can find the ever-growing list of “Better Than Nothing” items  over on the right. Read ‘em, like ‘em, share ‘em, and comment.

Thunderhaeld

Teller stared at the great, lumbering man. He’d only been with the group for a week, and already she couldn’t stand him. Huge, ugly axe on his back and a feathered leathern shield over it, scraggly haired and thick bearded—he was everything her tribe hated. When the people of the Reaches and High Places come to the kingdoms, most take them for brutes and illiterate savages—and Brau was why. He was crude, filthy, and little more than an animal most of the time.

No self-respect there, she rolled her eyes at the lazy way he scratched himself while they walked on. Here, truly, was a savage. May the Mountain Gods and the Death Bear eat his whole clan.

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A Mad Book of Truth, the Lonely Song of Savages, and Whoopin’ Fisk

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Darkle Fas

Wendell let them walk right into the path of the swinging log. Served them right, afterall—always on about him. Always judging. them with their noses high and their ways. If he’d had rich parents and all them trappings, he’d have done better than alright—it’s true. He’d be more lordly than their erstwhile bard, son of some count something or other.

And that paladin wouldn’t be so high and mighty. If Wendell’d been taught proper as a young thing, he could have set his mind on the gods and being fancy with that sword and whatnot. He could have owned the world, but here he was, sneaking and thieving for this group of right and full bastards.

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Skinning a Godling, a Guide to Living Forever, the General Takes the Field, I’ve Been Reading a Lot of “Fables”, and Dirty Old Men…

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The Cray of the Dead God

Teller started the careful process of wrapping the long strap of boaxhide around her midsection. Around, then over, then around, then over–the motions were familiar to her, as common as brushing her hair out of her eyes. The rest of her comrades were tired, they’d spent the night in fitful watches, waiting for hell to climb the hill.

The lower encampment was, if anything, larger than the last one—and that had nearly killed them all. Soldiers, pink-faced and ready, were lined up to storm the earthy mound and give them all a death long in the coming. But, without worry and almost without care, Teller continued the ritual, taking her time and doing it right, wrapping herself in the protection of her clan and family and preparing herself for the blood to come.

If the emperor wanted this hill, she’d make his very best bleed for it.

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Buying Swords is Dumb, Return of the Death Bear, and Everyone Has That One Player Who Wants To Do This Kind of Stuff…

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Shandalplai

“We lost everything, don’t you understand that you hoke-jumped layabout!”

To watch the unbridled rage of a “master of the arcane arts” was something more than funny to Pret. Of course, the quiet agreement of his rain-soaked and weary comrades of this display of pure frustration was less funny. Soon enough, they’d get to sniping at each other and the first sign of trouble, they’d all be well and truly screwed. Still, the old tracker just leaned wetly against the tree and paired another sliver of wood from the stick he’d been working this last hour.

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Morveer Wishes He Had That, Brutal Advantages, and Messin’ With Casters…

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Slipquick Silks

Kelvin moved like ink poured over a polished, smooth statue—every turn was almost oily slick and his shape in the half-light was dark and fluid. The Houngang lunged this way and that, trying to wrap their large, powerful hands around an arm or a shoulder or anything, but every time they touched him, they found him slipping this way and that.

Four giants all grasping at a man moving like water, cackling taunts and pissing them off beyond all measure.

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Save the Cheerleader, Righteous Spell Deflection, and Like “Frozen” But Scarier…

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Keeper of Ravin

I’ve got ya’. I’ve got ya’. Breath—in and out—that’s it. And don’t move. You don’t want to know what that leg feels like when you try and move.” Crawss cradled the young captain’s head in one thick hand and put pressure on his chest with the other. All around them, the sounds of chaos and battle shrieked and clanked and screamed and groaned on.

Kwile was dying. Or had been. He wasn’t sure. He remembered the blow, remembered the moment the world when bright and painful white and then dropped into pure quiet darkness. He remembered the smell of saffron and had no idea why.

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Now You See It, Ancient Unspeakable Evil Little Thing, and The Noble Orcish Dynasty…

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The Regulator

“Cold rolled steel, sir—a process I assure you few true weapon-smiths in the whole circle of the world could replicate—I admit that what it lacks in ornamentation it more than makes up for in practical effect” the thick necked gnome was going on and on, while Dove only turned the very smooth length of metal in his hand over and over. It was unpolished, still had that dull grey look that all the fine folk and genteel yahoos spurned—mirror finishes were all the rage, you know.

Still, it felt good. Better than good, it felt real. One might mistake the thing for a small wagon axle, but to Dove it felt like the cold, impersonal, unmagificent specter of a death that is certain to land. It helped that it felt heavy enough to cave a skull in–metaphor is nice, but open a man’s head and you win the argument.

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