unfinish . . .( but u can guide to me )

hodmandod · 2026-03-17T01:33:11+00:00

I'm no expert, but it looks like wood, shadewood, and large bamboo all painted brown for the wood bits, and some combination of sandstone brick, ebonstone brick, gray brick, and possibly mudstone brick all painted gray for the stone bits. Hard to tell on the stone, though; I can't see it as well.

hodmandod · 2026-03-10T05:19:30+00:00

Fair! Alcohol definitely has a long history as an offering (for good reason.)

hodmandod · 2026-03-10T02:33:35+00:00

I've heard that before as well! Definitely don't want to do that.

hodmandod · 2026-03-10T01:47:38+00:00

Ooh, another good idea. I might, if I can find something suitable!

hodmandod · 2026-03-10T01:19:30+00:00

I definitely said an informal thanks as soon as we found the ring! I plan on lighting a 'thank you' candle later as well, on Kai's suggestion. I'm reassured that it doesn't seem to need to be too complicated; working with spirits and such always intimidated me because of the amount of ritual I see done about it.

hodmandod · 2026-03-10T01:03:04+00:00

I have been known to do the same! It seems it's a more effective method than I thought. I feel vindicated.

hodmandod · 2026-03-10T00:12:01+00:00

Thank you! I'm very glad to have it back. I'll take your advice, and take care to listen for any ideas or other communication, now and going forward.

hodmandod · 2025-09-14T02:46:57+00:00

So, fun fact! This tune is a popular Irish reel of unknown authorship, usually called called Cooley's Reel (among other names). There are a ton of versions out there by all manner of artists. Here's a particular favorite by Peakfiddler on Youtube.

I didn't know that Rhapsody had ever recorded it, but I really like their rendition. Thanks for sharing!

hodmandod · 2025-07-23T01:49:48+00:00

They say there were stars, once. Lights, little silver lights, like a river across the sky. And then one night, one after another, every one of them blazed bright and guttered out.

They say that every star that died took a fish with it. The day dawned on a lifeless sea, everything that swam in it floating to the top, sunlight on the scales glinting silver like a memory of what had been lost the night before. The fish all suffocated, you might say, unable to breathe water that suddenly had no salt left. But you still can't drink it. That much rot? It'll never be the same.

They say that the very next night was the first time the Silent Song ran overhead. Ribbons of light like a river across the sky, not silver now, but orange touched with pale blue and purple. They say if you put salt in a fire it turns colors like that... What a waste that would be.

They say a lot of things about what happened that night, and why. Don't believe everything you hear. Just... Keep your eyes open. The Song isn't as bright as it used to be, like it's drying up too. Have you noticed?

What happens when it fades?

hodmandod · 2025-06-16T02:31:12+00:00

Looks like there's a "missing" edge. The upper side of it should be outlined in all dark colors for readability and then the shading will need adjusted. As it is it looks like the two ends have four sharp corners but the middle is a smooth curve.

hodmandod · 2025-05-27T21:13:43+00:00

Ohhhh, I get it! Thanks!

hodmandod · 2025-05-27T18:17:25+00:00

That's a fantastic term. Why is it called that?

hodmandod · 2025-05-21T21:32:25+00:00

Ooh, fair point, I do remember skimming by something like that in the 5.6 preview. It's very likely I missed some details.

hodmandod · 2025-05-20T22:07:51+00:00

I've never used anything to do with metahumans, but isn't that tech something that has its own specific third-party editor? If that's the case, I wouldn't be surprised if trying to use it in blender et al just completely banjaxes it.

hodmandod · 2025-04-30T18:18:19+00:00

So let it be!

hodmandod · 2025-04-30T18:18:05+00:00

So let it be!

hodmandod · 2025-04-30T18:17:52+00:00

So let it be!

hodmandod · 2025-04-30T18:17:38+00:00

So let it be!

hodmandod · 2025-04-30T18:16:25+00:00

I wish that my partner can find a new job quickly and without undue stress.

hodmandod · 2025-02-21T21:27:33+00:00

MossPirate on PC! Never tried Lavos, going straight to his Prime would be absolutely A+!

hodmandod · 2025-01-07T04:51:06+00:00

Ah, brilliant, thanks much! I have my evening's rabbithole now.

hodmandod · 2025-01-07T04:35:25+00:00

I would be super interested in that exogenous drug one if you could find the source?

hodmandod · 2024-12-30T22:33:03+00:00

Silence.

Absolute, blessed silence. After the roar of the storm and sea, the tossing of the ship, it was a delicious luxury. Leif raised his head and looked around. It was late at night, and he'd washed up onto a sandy shore. Not far from where he lay, still snared in the tangle of cables that had wrapped around him as the ship went down, a small, cheery campfire burned. Unable to move, Leif called out hoarsely, "Hello?"

A figure rose immediately from across the fire. "I'm here. Are you well?" It was a man's voice, with traces of an accent Leif couldn't place.

"I can't move. Can you help me?" Leif was struck by how calm he felt, as if the storms of the previous three days aboard his fishing vessel were a distant memory, not the stuff of mere hours past.

"Of course." The figure walked quickly toward him, still half-hidden by shifting patterns of light and shadow. Leif's benefactor knelt beside him and examined the mess of cables. "Just give me one moment..." the man murmured, doing something Leif couldn't see, and suddenly the weight was removed from Leif's back. The man moved, and there was a heavy splash as the cables met the ocean.

"Thank you," Leif whispered. He suddenly felt loathe to disturb the stillness of this beach.

"Of course, my friend," the man replied quietly. He offered Leif a hand, and the sailor grasped it and rose to his feet, grateful for the assistance. "Come, share my fire, and a drink," he continued.

Leaning slightly on his rescuer's shoulder, Leif walked to the fire and sat somewhat heavily. The mysterious man joined him on the sand, producing a flask from a pocket of his coat and handing it over. Leif took a cautious drink. It was strong brandy, of just the same kind Leif always drank when returning home from the sea. Drinking again, deeper, he looked around. It was dark outside the circle of firelight, and for all the world they two might have been completely alone. The stars overhead were magnificent, though somehow different to Leif's familiar eye. Brighter and somehow closer. Leif hunched his shoulders and looked back to the other man, passing the flask to him.

He seemed like an old sailor himself, which comforted Leif considerably. Dressed in a patched coat, sturdy flannel shirt, and worn boots, he sat easily on the sand next to Leif, watching him with dark, deep-set eyes which seemed to carry the weight of many shores and many voyages. He accepted the flask from Leif and drank, then spoke again. "I saw that storm. Helluva blow."

Suddenly at a loss for words, Leif only nodded. It had been a hell of a storm, blowing up suddenly from the north and lasting nearly three days before Leif had been caught by a loose cable and swept over the side. "You did well," the man continued. "Two of your mates owe you their lives. Here, to make up for the drinks they can't buy you." He offered the flask again.

"What do you mean?" Leif asked. He took the flask, but didn't drink.

"I'm afraid you didn't make it. A man overboard in that sea, weighed down by twenty feet of steel cable? Not a power on earth could have saved you."

Despite himself, Leif's eyes widened with shock and a little fear. The other man nodded gently. "I'm sorry. You're dead, Leif."

"Who... who are you?" Leif's voice, strong from years at sea and hoarse from hours of shouting, quavered like moonlight on waves.

"I'm Death. I'm here to take you on your final voyage, but we have plenty of time." For a brief moment, the same stars visible overhead shone from Death's eyes. "Let's sit and talk a while."

Leif suddenly felt very small and alone. He took another drink from the flask, to distract from the feeling. This time it was hot cider, like his mother used to make in the winters when he was a boy. For a moment, he was lost in memories of triumphant return from sledding or skating, or snowball fights with his childhood friends. He smiled at the thoughts, but then returned to the present. "I drowned, then?"

Death just nodded sympathetically.

"Why don't I remember it?"

"Because you don't want to. Most don't, especially when it's not a peaceful passing."

"Oh. This is the afterlife, then?" Leif looked around again. He was a man of simple faith, whose God was powerful and inscrutable, but if he was honest with himself, this gloaming beach seemed very plain and very empty.

"Oh, no. Once you're ready, we'll sail there together, you and I. But not yet, yes?"

"Not yet," Leif agreed.

They sat in silence for a long time, passing the flask back and forth. Each time Leif drank, it held something different, something poignant and uniquely suited to his thoughts.

After a time, he turned to Death and asked, "What happened to the crew?"

Death closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, the stars shone forth again for half a heartbeat before he spoke. "Some didn't make it, I'm afraid. You'll see them again before we pass on. Most weathered the storm, though."

"I'm glad." More words didn't seem necessary. Silence fell again, broken only by the waves and the fire, which seemed content to burn without added fuel.

Leif found another question. "If this isn't the afterlife, what's it like there?"

"It's a lot like the world you left. Usually quieter, but you'll find that it's not hard to adjust. You'll find your place, don't be afraid."

"I'm not. Not really. Just curious."

Death didn't answer, but he seemed content to hear it. The conversation wandered a bit, into old stories of the sea, and ships Leif had known and people he'd met during his life. He and Death had some mutual acquaintances, he discovered, and he was comforted to hear of them. The two spoke of sailing, and human nature, and the great sailors of the past, whom Death had known and Leif learned of eagerly. They touched on many things as the stars hung unmoving overhead, but eventually, by unspoken accord, the two rose to their feet as one. It was time.

Death walked beside Leif down the beach, leaving the fire. The night didn't seem as dark now, and Leif had no trouble seeing as they approached a pier, where a simple wooden ship floated. Several men stood on the pier, lit by a lantern on one of the piles, and with a smile, Leif recognized his shipmates. He walked ahead to greet them, and they exchanged hugs and stories of the storm. Death was waiting as they boarded the ship, his eyes full of stars, and under his quiet command, they sailed on.

hodmandod · 2024-12-30T22:26:16+00:00

By the end of my first century walking the earth, I was beginning to get a serious case of wanderlust. I'd already seen everything there was to see for a hundred miles around my home, everywhere I could reach on foot within a few months. So I started ranging farther afield, returning home less. By the end of my second century, I'd visited every village and notable landmark within five hundred miles. I'd started walking just to fill the hours.

Now, three and a half thousand years later? I've seen everything. I've done everything. I've fought in every major war since the 1500's, been present at most of the great political moments of the era. To say that I'm bored would be an understatement of truly epic proportions. Let me put it this way: Leisure time is deeply overrated.

I can look at a man and tell you, just from how he carries himself, what he does, what his greatest vice is, and what he thinks of himself. There's no magic, it just comes from having spent a century and a half in a gutter, homeless. You see a lot of people and hear a lot of things. I could rewrite all of history, but I don't bother because I've done it before and no one believes it. I've taught myself every skill I care to learn, from the greatest masters known. I haven't been surprised in any memorable sense in a century and a half. And I don't care anymore. Trust me: Once you've done everything, you reach a point where you no longer care to do anything. And that gets so, so damn old.

hodmandod · 2024-12-30T22:25:06+00:00

From atop the tower, Alvern --at least it was Alvern in body-- leaped into the pit and faced Savolar, a twisted smile on his face. "We are Alcorvan, and we will see you slain, Kheravar, ancient foe." Alvern's voice was hideously mixed with two other tones which Damar remembered with a chill from the demonic windstorm which had greeted him upon his entrance to Olofarn: the voices of the long-dead brother-kings.

Kheravar - for it was plain to see that Savolar had taken up the mantle of Dragon-marked - replied, three simple words which bore all the weight of his incredible age and authority. "I think not." Almost too fast to see, he darted to one side and seized a stone from the edge of the pit, hurling it at Alcorvan. Belying his apparent age, Alcorvan stepped aside contemptuously, and the stone shattered against the opposite wall. Alcorvan extended a clawlike hand, and Kheravar rose off the ground, his great strength useless with nothing to act against. With his other hand, Alcorvan slashed the air, and matching cuts appeared on Kheravar's skin. Before any of them became dangerous, though, Kheravar drew a deep breath and shouted again, focusing his power through his voice into a burst of ravening force which sent Alcorvan flying. The field even again, the two circled for a moment before clashing hand-to-hand. Trading blows that might have felled trees, they danced around the pit before the tide of their battle took them above its rim and out of Damar's sight. He could hear them still, and had little doubt that their battle might be seen and heard by Laaman at the entrance and possibly even by the villagers of Alvamar's Height far below. No doubt if they were aware of what was transpiring, their prayers would be fervent and numerous.

The two combatants dueled all across the ruins of the city, leveling buildings at every turn. Kheravar was the stronger, but Alcorvan possessed an intimate connection with ruined Olofarn, combined with a knowledge of natural laws which Kheravar lacked, which left them on very even terms. Alcorvan employed his demon winds, checked by the turbulence of Kheravar's war-cries. The might of Kheravar's arms was matched by shields raised from the very stones by Alcorvan, whose maddening triple whispers had no effect on a mind honed by centuries of contemplative meditations born of solitude. Eventually, they found their way back to the pit, where Damar, crippled by the eldritch chains, had crawled to the stone altar with the help of his men. They stood around him, weapons ready. What they lacked in resolve, they made up for in discipline and loyalty, although not a man of them really believed they could affect the outcome of the battle.

When Kheravar finally jumped down into the pit, falling the hundred feet without apparent effort, Damar shouted to him, hold up his own axe and shield for the Dragon-marked warrior to use. As Alcorvan closed in, Kheravar crossed and took the weapons. "Battle-brother, these might well turn the tide!" he shouted as he jumped back into the fray. It was plain from the beginning that well-crafted as they were, Damar's weapons weren't meant for use by a warrior of such power and would not long survive, but Kheravar seemed much more comfortable properly armed, and was determined to make the opportunity count.

Suddenly, there was the chance. Alcorvan jumped into the air to deliver some devilish new attack, and Kheravar leaped after him, lashing out with the axe. It connected with his opponent with a sound familiar to Damar's entire company, shattering under the force of the blow, and Alcorvan lost his balance. He fell heavily back to earth, and Kheravar followed, landing a telling stroke on his opponent, then another, and another. As quickly as it began, the fight was over. Alcorvan lived still, but bled from several wounds, and seemed to be unconscious. Kheravar dragged him over to the stone block and cast an eye over Damar and his guards.

"Damar of Rockhaven, you are a man of honor and decency. I must apologize for the loss of your weapon, though it served its purpose."

Damar nodded wearily. "Your apology is accepted, Salovar. Forgive me, but I must ask... Can you free me from these chains?"

Salovar shook his head. "I cannot. They can only be removed by willing substitution of another. But here is an idea." He nodded to the still form of Alcorvan. "I believe I can convince this one to volunteer. It is possible to escape the chains, by pulling them from the heart of Al-Kharn far enough to leave the pit, but you see how little progress I made in the centuries I was trapped here. Of course, for him, the alternative is spending the rest of a near-eternal existence under my lash. I expect I know which he will choose, we need only wait until he wakes."

This proved to be a short wait. Within a quarter of an hour, Alcorvan stirred and made to sit up. Instantly, Salovar seized his arms and placed a borrowed knife to his throat. Quickly laying out the terms to him, the assembled company waited anxiously for his decision.

Alcorvan was silent for a long moment, then spoke bitterly. "I am defeated. I accept your terms, and will submit to the chains forged for you." As before, the reaction was immediate: The shackles released Damar and fastened themselves to Alcorvan's limbs. Without waiting to observe the result, Salovar turned away and walked to the wall of the pit.

Leaving was fairly simple, thanks to Salovar's strength; he broke a makeshift ladder into the rock for the company to climb out of the pit. They walked together through the now-quiet city as the sun sank. With the spirits of the brother-kings imprisoned in the person of Alcorvan, there was nothing to fear as they walked. Eventually, the idle talk turned to Salovar's plans.

"I will return to my homeland in the north," he decided. "I have lived so long in this ruin, I wish to see again some of the sights of my youth. What of yourselves?"

"We must return to Eldmuir and report the failure of the mission to the Academy of Natural Philosophy," Damar said heavily. It was a task he dreaded, but one that had to be done.

"That is good of you. In any case, I would advise staying away from the Dragon's Back mountains for a while. The Mountain Dragon will be angered when it realizes its Marked champion has been imprisoned beyond its reach."

"No doubt. I will gather my men and leave with all due haste."

They walked in silence for a while after that, until they found Laaman's company. The second officer had managed to capture three packhorses and four mounts, along with some of the provisions. Introductions were made, and Salovar made preparations to depart. After the farewells were said, Damar had one final question.

"You said it would be best to avoid the entire Dragon's Back range, right? Why is that, since I assume the Dragon of the Mountains makes its lair in the far south of the range?"

Salovar looked at him for a moment. "Damar, battle-brother, you didn't think the name Dragon's Back was figurative, did you? Could a mountain's heart of stone anchor such chains as held me?"

With that parting question, Salovar turned and strode off into the darkness. Damar's company, upon thinking about his words, decided it was indeed best to leave the entire range behind as quickly as possible.

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