OOC – The eyes are the groin of the head

At my old blogspot there were certain blog tropes that I hated. One of them was the “I’m drunk and/or high right now so this post is going to be super weird!” post. I am not on any sort of pain medication but this still kind of feels like that sort of post.

An HR lady at a job once told me that my worst trait (and I have many according to her) is my desire to publicize my failures. I will admit that yesterday when I poked myself in the eyeball with the corner of a gift bag and sliced that eyeball open like a boar eating a cantaloupe, my instinct was to e-mail everyone I knew and tell them how stupid I am.

Since my eye stings, obviously I can’t work out today. I thought I was past the point of looking for excuses not to work out but here we are. Mildly disappointing.

The good news is that I still have 20/20 vision. I got laser eyeball surgery about 20 years ago and you’re supposed to go to the ophthalmologist every year to see if your vision is degrading because laser eye surgery is still new enough that they don’t really know the long term effects, but I never do it. And my vision is fine so my laziness has been rewarded after the fact.

The bad news is I can no longer make fun of someone I know for having to go to the ER twice for getting glitter in their eye. Or at least I have to cut the fun making in half.

The only weird thing about my visit to the clinic was the doctor wanted to shake hands. We’re both there wearing masks and there’s signs everywhere about covid and she wants to touch me? I waved her off, which people really don’t like. I was hoping that sort of thing would go away for good out of the pandemic but people seem to be backsliding.

I saw Salma Hayek on an advertisement for an HBO show and I thought to myself “What HBO show is Salma Hayek on?” Turns out she’s going to be on a new show where she plays a woman whose boobs start talking to her. This sounds insanely awful to me, but perhaps I’m not the target demographic.

It put me in a mind of another show on a streaming service that I don’t think exists anymore where little Anna Kendrick went on a cross-country adventure with a sex doll that came to life. I started writing a script for that concept for a reboot of Mannequin only it was a horror movie because if a sex doll came to life, I figured it would be pretty upset about it’s existence.

Salma Hayek said recently that she was happy to be cast in the Eternals because the only roles she gets offered now are “old hooker” or “grandma”.

I never saw the movie Grown Ups but I understand that in this movie Salma Hayek plays Adam Sandler’s wife. And there’s a scene where Sandler goes to a yoga class to ogle the instructor. Because Salma Hayek isn’t hot enough. For Adam Sandler. I used to think that the media didn’t really have much effect on people but I’m starting to change my mind. Maybe things like this are part of the reason that mouth-breathing troglodytes used to come into my store and say that Halle Berry wasn’t pretty enough for them. They’d do her if she begged them, but it would be charity.

I watched the Matrix 4 the other day. It was fine. I was never a big Matrix man but I was interested to see what it was about. It felt very much like Force Awakens in that it was mostly just a remake of the first movie only I loved Star Wars enough that a remake got me with its emotional manipulation. I’d say a good 15% of the dialog in Matrix 4 was someone speaking directly to the audience saying “remember how much you liked the first movie? This is that again!”

In conclusion there was a show on IFC called Documentary Now! that was pretty good overall but the best episode by far is a parody of the Thin Blue Line called The Eye Doesn’t Lie.

Montagem 29 Year 888 (New Imperial Calendar) Part 1

I spent last night sleeping on the floor of an abandoned boathouse. Or trying to sleep anyway.  Set aside for a moment the fact that I was laying on a wood floor with my arms trapped behind my back, the real problem was that Martialla set me up right next to the . . . whatever, the hole where the boats go.  I became convinced that I was going to roll over in my sleep and fall into the water and drown.  Not only tha,t whenever I did managed to snatch a few minutes of sleep my dreams were universally about something coming out of the water to grab me – a tentacle, a crocodile, a leaping shark, whatever that sea-monster was that Martialla turned into the other day, those abhorrent sea-elfs that I helped out a while back, a freshwater mirror, a river troll, a giant river slug – you name it as soon as I drifted off they were crawling out of the water to flay my skin off their claws or dragging me into the water to drown me.  I feel like I haven’t slept in seventeen years. 

Also what is the point of places like this?  There’s no settlements nearby and no houses or anything.  I admit that I know very little about riverine trade and travel but what purpose did this serve when it wasn’t abandoned?  Why would you store a boat so far away from anything?  Add this to the empty villages up north and this section of the river is really going through some hard times.  If this keeps up long enough the whole place could just fall into disuse like some of the northern counties.  Is it the war?  Is it Renwick being destroyed (more or less)?  Is if all this nonsense with the Baron and the Kostelos?  Who knows, but this area is not doing well and the future predictions aren’t good either.  Before we started slogging off again Martialla fed me some of that gross honey and oat mixture she made and gave me a drink of spiced wine.  It was better than nothing by the slimmest margin you can think of.  I hate being fed more than just about anything, I feel like she’s be wildly overcautious with these shackles.

“Can’t you bake these into a little cake or something, this is humiliating.  Not like a cake cake, but like a rice cake you know?”

“If you don’t like it you don’t have to have it.”

“Could you at least wash your hands first?  For my sanity?” She had no response this “Hey, what about this, why don’t you catch some fish?”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“Transform yourself into that river beast like you did the other day and just dive in and grab them with your fish-paws.  A nice crimson trout or a rainbow bass or something would really hit the spot.  I bet it would be easy, those things have to eat somehow right?”

“I’m not going to waste magic on that Ela.”

“How is that a waste?  We’re fucking starving here!  A handful of waxy oats a day isn’t doing shit!” Again she had no response, she was much more talkative before she betrayed me, must be a guilty conscience. “How does that work anyway?  If you turn into a goat and eat a bunch of grass and then turn back are you still full?  Like can you live that way even though people can’t eat grass?”

“I can’t turn into a goat Ela.”

“But you see what I’m saying right?  If you turn into a goblin every day and eat a bunch of snake-meat that is good for goblins but has no nutrient value to a human and you don’t eat anything else are you going to die?  Or does the magic somehow transfer the food energy over?  Or do you just have a bunch of deadly snakemeat in your human stomach and you kick the bucket?  For that matter if you turn into a being with a bigger stomach . . .”

“I don’t know Ela.  It’s magic, it works however it works.”

“You see this is what I’m saying about magic, how can you not know?!  If I could turn into a hobgoblin I would want to know everything about it!  If you’re a hobgoblin and you get pregnant what’s the baby going to be?  What if you’re a human when you give birth?  Does that change things?  What if . . .”

It looked like she wanted to throw something at me but had nothing to throw “No one knows these things because no one cares!  No sane person would even want to know the answer to these questions!  I’m not going to turn into a hobgoblin and then get pregnant, what are you even talking about?!”

“That was just an example, what I’m saying is that the lack of curiosity about how magic works in general is . . .”

She sighed wearily and got to her feet, coming over to drag me up as well “I don’t care Ela, lets’ go.”

As we walked along the river a wispy fog came off the waters.  Is it fog or mist that comes off of a river?  Whatever it is I thought that it might help cool things down but instead it just made everything clammy in addition to hot – and you know what I mean by everything.  I miss my old clothes, they were magic you know – not only did they clean themselves and resist rips and wear but they also kept me cool when it was hot and warm when it was cold.  Magic stupidity aside enchanted clothing is really the way to go, I don’t know why anyone bothers with mundane pants and shirts when for just a couple thousand gold you can have something great to wear. 

There’s a opinion that countryfolk while ill-bred and unsophisticated and deformed and diseased and abnormal and illiterate and ugly are nicer and more helpful than cityfolk.  This is somewhat accurate.  Things are harder out in the country so people do help each other out more readily.  It’s necessary to survive.  You may hate your neighbor and wish he would drown in a bog so you can nail his wife but when he needs help protecting his goats from an antspider you grab your whacking stick and come a’running because you may need his help when the kinderboggen steal away your newborn baby.  There’s more of a sense of community in the rural areas because everyone needs each other more. 

However, this does not mean by any stretch of the imagination that there aren’t some rotten turnips in the pie.  What you have to remember is that in the city everyone is all up in everyone’s business – everyone is watching you and judging you all the time.  There’s an element of safety by means of gossipy nosy bullshit.  In the city if you start down the path of being a dyed in the wool asshole there’s more people to catch on and slit your throat and toss you down a well before things get bad.  Out in the country on the other hand people are more isolated, and also too busy to worry about what someone else is doing.  Not to mention which there’s ALL kinds of empty land for you to do whatever evil shit you’re into.  In the city no matter where you go to try and hide there’s a chance someone is eyeballing you and can’t wait to blab to everyone about whatever weird stuff you’re doing.  Out in the farmlands there’s all manner of dells and dales and ditches where nobody’s going to see a thing, ceptin’ the rabbits and they know to keep their little rabbit mouths shut.

It’s not common, but it’s common enough that it has a name – they call these people Bloody Jakes.  Why?  I have to assume because there was an infamous bushwhacker torturer at some point whose name was Jake.  Although I’ve never heard of such a tale, being the sophisticated urbanite that I am.  These cruel backwoods folk prey upon their country neighbors if they have to but what they really like is terrorizing civilized people who venture into their rural hunting grounds.  There probably are, per head, less bad people out in the hills than in the city because they tend to work and beat that out of you better in the hills but when they go bad there’s less of a safety net to find and squash them.  If the whole family is in on it you can get away with things for generations.  What does this have to do with anything?  Hold on, I’m getting to that.  Calm down will you?

When we stopped for “lunch” (resting for a bit and enjoying some dirty river water and dried roots) we heard indistinct voices down the way that were distinctly unfriendly sounded.  I told Martialla unequivocally that this was a trick, an auditory illusion.  But even though I know this because I do it myself all the time and I also have a demonstrated knack for sniffing out illusions she didn’t listen to me – she never does anymore.  It’s like her betrayal of our friendship has made her suspicious of me for some reason.  Worrying about an ambush ahead she moved us west into a rockier area, which I fucking guarantee you is what the phantom illusionist wanted us to do.  This was confirmed when we quickly lost our way, and I know this is going to sound stupid because we get lost all the time anyway, but it wasn’t normal getting lost – something was messing with us.  That probably sounds like an excuse, but when have I ever made excuses for getting lost?  Something was disorienting us in the “we walked by that tree three times already way”. 

Martialla gestured imperiously “I am sick of this, Ela, take cover.”

She proceeded to call out to whoever was skulking around out there.  The usual come out and face me stuff, insults, appeals to masculinity and so forth.  Those kinds of things can be effective if there’s an audience to shame the person and if they care – I knew that wasn’t the case.

“You’re going about this all wrong.”

“Thanks for your input, I told you to get out of the way.”

“Look, whoever is out there isn’t going to come out and fight you just because you call them a pigfucker.  I mean besides the fact that they probably do fuck pigs that’s not what this is about.  If you want to draw them out to have to act afraid.  It’s the old broken wing gambit only this time everything is set up so it absolutely will work.  What this guy, and I think it’s safe to assume it’s a guy, wants is to scare us with their cruel tricks, to break us down and terrorize us to the point where he can come out and kill us.  That’s the fun part, the killing is just the icing on the cake.  This isn’t a fighting man, this is a coward who likes to torture things that can’t fight back.  Even if he did win the fight that would be like food without taste without breaking you down first.  What you need to do is draw him out – pretend like you’re getting frustrated and then scared by his shenanigans. Break down and cry.  Then when he reveals himself kick his dick off.”

“I’m not . . . I can’t . . . I don’t know how to do that.”

“What are you talking about?  You’re not as good as I am but you lie to people all the time.”

“But this is like acting, it’s different.”

“You only think it is.”

“Well it doesn’t matter now, he already heard me challenging him to a fight so it won’t work now.”

“Of course it will, everyone loves knocking someone off their high horse.  Breaking the defiant ones is the sweetest candy of all to these freaks.  You start off haughty and sure of yourself but over time you slowly unravel into a sobbing snotty mess.  That’s some good stuff right there, you know, for an insane backwoods murderer.”

“I can’t do that.”

“You have many fine qualities Martialla but you’re too stubborn for your own good.  Fine, next time we’re out of sight we’ll switch, I’ll take on your form and you take on mine and I’ll do the routine where I slowly go from mighty warrior woman to scared, aimless and depressed victim.”

“I’m not going to take the shackles off Ela.”

“You want to wander around out here for the next three weeks while this idiot messes with us?  What am I going to do Martialla?  Run?  Have you ever seen me run more than a block?  You’re going to be right there keeping an eye on me, there’s nothing I can do.  Can you unbend for one second so we can get something done?”

“Sure, just explain why you would help me with this.  How does it serve your goals, I know that’s all you care about.”

“I just want to get to the manor and get this over with.  I’m sure I can talk my way out of whatever is waiting for me.  With this necklace on I can’t get away anyway right?  If I get away from you someone else will grab me.  Might as well be you, maybe you still like me enough to protect me some.”

“That’s not terrible convincing.”

“Well, what do you want to do then?”

Eventually she agreed, although if whoever was doing it was close enough to hear us the entire thing would be pointless.  Martialla took of the shackles and we pretended to be looking around the rocks for food and when it seemed like the sightlines were as restricted as they could be and we were right next to each other anyway we flipped our appearances.  People are weird about feigning weakness to trick their enemies, even when they’re willing to do it they HAVE to explain how it was a trick before they attack which often ruins the whole thing.  Why do they care so much about the opinion of someone who’s trying to kill them?  Who’s going to dead themselves soon anyway if you do the trick right?  I will never understand people.  By the time night fell and we were still walking around in circles I had reached the stage (I admit I rushed it a bit) where I was calling out for my momma and begging the Gods to help me.  It was a bit over the top, but these types generally aren’t in it for the subtlety.

When he finally appeared to make his final strike on his terrified prey he was a blocky fellow with wild eyes and a huge poor quality tattoo of a scorpion on his chest – you could tell because his shirt was ripped down the front and was operating like more of a cape.  He had a weird head situation going on where he was bald sort of but also had a long braid on the top of his head.  Never seen anything like that.  The part where he had a small bow and shot me in the chest wasn’t in the plan.  And the part where that arrow was fucking poisoned certainly wasn’t part of the plan.  It really put the kibosh on my plan to run away when he and Martialla were fighting.  Instead I fell to the ground mostly paralyzed as he came at her with an axe.  These types always like axes, I guess hacking people is more fun than stabbing them.  The fight was mostly over after Martialla stabbed him in both kidneys and then burned his head off with a beam of magic fire from point blank range.  She came over to where I was convulsing with her sword still in hand looking suspicious.

“Is this real or are you faking it?”

I grinned foamily “The Duke used to ask me that all the time.  Just kidding, he didn’t care.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Fucker had poisoned arrows, what kind of a world is it where an inbred backwoods murdering necrophiliac doesn’t right fair?”   

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Funds: None

XP: 974,051

Inventory: None

Revenge List: Duke Eaglevane, Piltis Swine, Rince Electrum, watchman Gridley, White-Muzzle the worg, Percy Ringle the butler, Alice Kinsey , “Patch”, Heroes of the Lost Sword, Claire Conrad, Erist priest of Strider, Riselda owner of the Sage Mirror, Eedraxis,  Skin-Taker tribe, Kartak, Królewna & Bonifacja Trading Company, Hurmont Family, Androni Titus, Greasy dreadlocks woman, Lodestone Security, Kellgale Nickoslander, Beltian Kruin the Splithog Pauper, The King of Spiders, Auraluna Domiel, mother Hurk, Mazzmus Parmalee,  Helgan van Tankerstrum, Lightdancer, Bonder Greysmith, Pegwhistle Proudfoot, Lumbfoot Sheepskin, Lumber Consortium of Three Rivers, Hellerhad the Wizard, Forsaken Kin, Law Offices of Office of Glilcus and Stolo, Jey Rora, Colonel Tarl Ciarán, Mayor Baras Haldmeer, Rindol the Sage, Essa, eyeless hag, Baron Saltwheel, Baron Harmenkar, Colonel Tarl Ciarán’s wizard soldier, Victor, Beharri, Cebuano, Mayor Eryn, Chimera Trading Company

Montalan 22 Year 888 (New Imperial Calendar) Part 1

Men by and large are a strange lot.  There’s a few things that you can reliable expect from them but beyond that anything goes – you never know how they’re going to react or what they’re going to do.  They’re ruled by emotion you see and therefore you can never really understand them.  They nurse their grudges and their slights into actions and words that are incomprehensible to any outside observer.  It’s frustrating and more than that it’s frightening.   Sometimes they can resist their urges, resorting to taking out their whims on animals or those who accept or even desire their predation for one reason or other.  But to what degree can you consent to someone that can rob you of your free will on a casual whim and a few well-placed words? Sure, you could resist, you could say no, but there’s no physical or social pressure by which they must abide.  That’s a real problem because it makes them fickle, or flighty if you prefer.

Why do I bring this up?  To explain why I once knew someone that collected weapons.  Men do weird things like that.  He wasn’t a warrior, he wasn’t into violence – loving violence, that makes some kind of sense, there’s a rush to that sort of thing for the baser sorts – he just loved weapons.  It was inexplicable.  He had an entire wing of his mansion that was just for his weapons, he didn’t use them for anything he just collected them and fawn over them.  I’m sure he did some weird erotic shit with them too but it’s hard to imagine what they would even be that wouldn’t kill you in the process.  He had more than one servant whose job was just to polish and do whatever else maintenance is required to keep weapons looking nice.  He had another guy on the payroll whose job was just to wander around and buy weapons for him – not even ones that we that good necessarily, some of them just had “historical value” like the sword such and such had at the battle of whatever when some other person was killed.  I hope most of them were fake, if I had that job I would have just bought some sword from the market scuffed it up a little and spent the rest of the money on drugs and hookers.  The point is that he had hundreds of weapons, from the mundane to the bizarre, and he loved to show them off no matter how disinterested you were.

And why did I bring that up?  In his collection I saw something called an “ogre hook” which is a pretty uninspired name.  Imagine if someone called spears “human pointy sticks”.  That person would be laughed at and punched.  An ogre hook is a shitty piece of metal that has been bent or hammered into a hook shape sort of.   You’d assume it was a hunk of garbage if it wasn’t being used to try and disembowel you.  As you might suspect based on the name they’re “crafted” by ogres, usually from metal torn from their victims’ weapons and armor, the hook shape is preferred as a means to trip and catch people trying to run away from them. As the owner of the collection would have us believe despite (because of?) their pitiable workmanship, the rarity and peril involved in getting ogre hooks make them quite valuable. 

That’s what’s going on out in the world, there’s just ogres out there digging into people’s flesh with rusty hooks.  Keep that in mind next time you ever consider going anywhere.  Think about that for a second.  Have you ever seen a fisherman use a gaff?  It’s a sharp hook with a handle that is used to stab a large fish and then lift the fish out of a net (or whatever) into the boat. I’m told that the best way to do that is to stab the hook through the spine.  That’s what we’re talking about only for people instead of fish.  Can you even imagine being such a creature where SO many people you want to mutilate and eat are getting away from you that you “invent” a hook to catch them?

Ela, what does this have to do with anything?  Stay with me because I am going somewhere with this I promise you.  Martialla and I were traveling through the woods heading for Alleene (more or less, probably) when out of nowhere (well somewhere I guess but I didn’t see where) two fleshy deformed hulks ran at us full-speed brandishing ogre hooks.  I just wanted you to know why I knew what an ogre hook was.  Also why upon seeing those hooks we ran at first sight.  As you all know I’ve seen my share of horrible, horrible things at thing point, but there’s just something about someone waving around what is essentially a human meat hook that just plain rattles you.  There are plenty of people that do evil things over and over and are just numb to it all.  And that’s bad.  But then there are things in the world like these two freaks truly do not care at all about anything that sentient beings should care about, and that’s fucking disturbing.  Beings that carry hooks.

They looked more ogre-ish than actually ogre, like they were some kind of stunted mutant ogre offspring, which would explain their deformity.  Made me wonder if my old friend Crookjaw was really an ogre or whatever these things are.  Half ogres aren’t possible right?  I mean how would that even work?  I know that it could work one way maybe but what kind of debased maniac could even perform to knock up an ogress?  Neither here nor there I suppose.   

Martialla shouted as she ran into the woods “Where’s the rally point?!”

“Anywhere but here!”

I’ve never actually heard anyone talk about a rally point before, but I understand contextually what it means.  But isn’t the idea that you set the rally point BEFORE you need it?  Yelling where you’re going to meet up while you’re being attacked doesn’t do any good now does it?  I could give Martialla the benefit of the doubt and assume that she assumed that these things wouldn’t understand our speech but that was quickly proven inaccurate as I realized the jabbering and shouting the creature chasing me was doing was actually language muffled by his distorted jaw.  I couldn’t catch it all what he was saying, but I made out enough words to understand that if he got a hold of me I would be subjected for a variety of anatomically impossible acts.  I scrambled up a tree with my Slippers and unfortunately got a better look at my pursuer.  He had about an extra third of a head that was a massy growth of some kind and one of his legs was twisted like it had several extra joints – which didn’t appear to slow him down at all.  His “clothing” was an upsetting bloody patchwork of normal sized human garments sewn together at random, some of which seemed to be sewn into his flesh.

He circled the tree bashing at it mindlessly with his hook “Come down now!  Come down!”

“No thank you.”  He growled incoherently “Why don’t you come up and get me big man?”

I’m not sure I’ve ever seen worse climbing technique, he didn’t use his legs at all, he just hauled himself up the trunk of the tree with a hugging style that was as slow and awkward was it was impressive.  He may not be an actual ogre but he has to be as strong as one. As he was climbing I used my Flask to dump gallon after gallon of rice wine on his head as he was trying to climb (I took a drink or two for myself as well).  The slipperiness impeded him somewhat but the rage-strength at being doused made up for it so it was no net effect.  Once he got closer I turned my Badge into a whip and started flicking it at his face as he was climbing.  With his arms around the tree trunk where was little he could do to defend himself and I lashed him badly several times.  As he drew within arm’s length I shimmied out towards the end of the tree-branch and retrieved a tinderwing from my Vest which I lit and then threw at his eyes.

“You call that climbing you weakling?”

With a final furious roar he heaved himself up onto the tree branch, which promptly broke under his extra weight.  Potatohead as I’ll call him, fell to the ground like a rock, slamming into the dirt with a wince-inducing thud.  I on the other hand used my new Cape to safely transport myself to the forest floor as lightly as a feather.  I took that opportunity to stab the stunned and disoriented fiend through the back of the knee on his weird floppy leg.  With a kick to the rapier hilt I thrusted it all the way through down to the cross guard.  Still, he crawled after me with one arm and one good leg,  lashing out with his hook fruitlessly as I peppered him with crossbow bolts.  Eventually I had to scamper up another tree to avoid his reach, even hobbled as he was, but by that point his shoulders and head were sprouting crossbow bolts like the world’s ugliest porcupine and he was breathing raggedly.  Still though given what I assume is unnatural fortitude it would have taken a long time for him to die, assuming he wouldn’t just get up and wander off despite his wounds, so I careful climbed down the other side of the tree and then crept up slowly to cautiously and heroically stab him through the back of the neck with my Blade. 

After wandering around the woods for half an hour or so I heard Martialla calling my name and we found one another.  Based on the rippedness of her unfashionable clothing and the obscene amount of blood slicking her from knee to collarbone it looks like she may have gotten ogre-hooked right across the belly.

“You look awful.  How did you get wounded so badly when you can turn invisible?”

Her response was labored “Just lucky I guess. “ She grunted sourly “You look fine . . . as usual.”

“It’s not my fault I’m a great warrior.”

She laughed and then grimaced and grabbed at her stomach “That is the truest thing you’ve ever said.  You haven’t done anything to become a great warrior.”

My response was interrupted by another fellow crashing out the forest at us – only this was not a deformed ogre-beast, it was just a normal fellow.  A normal fellow who was disheveled and looked like he was running from the Lord of the Thirteen Hells Himself but still a normal fellow.  For some reason what jumped out at me was the excessive number of buttons on his flapping dark greatcoat.  I suppose that’s why it was open, who has time for all those button?  He stumbled and slid to a stop and stared at us for a moment while gulping and trying to catch his breath.

“You have to help . . . . the dam . . . . they’re going to destroy . . . .”

I looked at Martialla “Oi.  I hate this forest.  I really do.”

________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Funds: 23,045 platinum, 52,143 gold

XP: 763,911

Inventory: Flask of Endless Sake, Hat of Effortless Style, Ring of Disguise, Badge of Last Resort, Tankard of the Drunken Hero, Censer of Dreams, Enchanted White Pathfinder’s Gear (effects as Iadaran Dress Uniform) Belt of Physical Might +4, Versatile Vest, Expedition Pavilion, +1 Human Bane Endless Ammunition Light Crossbow with Sharpshooter’s Blade, Ring of Urban Grace, Holy Symbol of Adariel (Sanguine Protection) Black Marketers’ Bag (5), white squirrel fur Slippers of Scampering, Tidy Trunk, Whiterock Family Ring (Ring of Binding), Ela’s Better Walking Stick, Meteoric Amulet, unknown gauntlets, mysterious staff, tooth-sword, Cape of the Mountebank, Sandals of Sprinting, +1 Agile Rapier  

Noble’s outfit (5) collegium ring,  pocketed scarf, wrist sheath, signet ring (2) assortment of fake signet rings, silver chain set with moonstones, gold and emerald ring (2), garnets (700), gold necklace with jade pendant, ivory combs, tax collector’s badge, gold bracelet with ivory inlays, silver necklace set with rubies, gold earrings with jade inlays, silver and gold brooch, silver necklace with ruby pendant, disguise kit, covenant ring , tiny diamonds (27), Saryah Phidaner gown, masterwork thieves’ tools, onyx (55) personal signet ring, tiara, masterwork red and black long greatcoat, lots of luxury goods 

Revenge List: Duke Eaglevane, Piltis Swine, Rince Electrum, watchman Gridley, White-Muzzle the worg, Percy Ringle the butler, Alice Kinsey , “Patch”, Heroes of the Lost Sword, Claire Conrad, Erist priest of Strider, Riselda owner of the Sage Mirror, Eedraxis,  Skin-Taker tribe, Kartak, Królewna & Bonifacja Trading Company, Hurmont Family, Androni Titus, Greasy dreadlocks woman, Lodestone Security, Kellgale Nickoslander, Beltian Kruin the Splithog Pauper, The King of Spiders, Auraluna Domiel, mother Hurk, Mazzmus Parmalee,  Helgan van Tankerstrum, Lightdancer, Bonder Greysmith, Pegwhistle Proudfoot, Lumbfoot Sheepskin, Lumber Consortium of Three Rivers, Hellerhad the Wizard, Forsaken Kin, Law Offices of Office of Glilcus and Stolo, Jey Rora, Colonel Tarl Ciarán, Mayor Baras Haldmeer, Rindol the Sage, Essa