Show Notes
There's a saying in ol' North Warlocksburg: "Still water runs deep, and deep water runs wise, and wise water knows better than to answer questions it wasn't asked." Nobody can tell you what that means. Yet it gets recited at weddings, funerals, and most minor irrigation disputes. Usually with a solemn head nod for emphasis. It's also, if you ask around, the reason our little town turns out so many wizards. Why a farmer's boy from North Warlocksburg is more likely to end up hurling fireballs than herding sheep. Why every child is taught how to dispel magic before they can take their first steps. Now come sit down by the fire. Let me tell you a story. A story you may have heard before, and you may be right, but trust me when I say my version is the correct version. You see, I was there. Long ago, long before anyone here was ever born, an evil wizard lived here. Some say his name was Balthazor the Cruel, others claim it was Galbatorixium the Flaccid. Neither are correct. It was Steve. Steve the Red. One day, after a fruitful day of kicking dogs and cursing crops, the villagers had had enough and chased poor Steve through the square with pitchforks. Steve, you have to understand, while no one could kick a dog better than he, was truly awful sprinter. Especially when it came to hurdles. I never met a hurdle that Steve wouldn't just plow straight through and donk his head. You might have noticed those blue ribbons adorning my cabin walls, and you'd be correct. I did in fact steal them from the village's number 1 runner. He begged and begged and begged for me to give them back, but by then they were rightfully mine and no one was around to disprove him. So i just laughed and laughed in his stupid ugly good at running face. Got myself a lot of strange from those ribbons alone. You can have them when I pass. You look like you could use with the ribbon help. Now where was I? Steve? Right. Dogshit at running, tripped and fell straight into the town well. Never to be seen again. Neither was his hat, which personally I think was the real tragedy. That night, so the story goes, his dark magic seed seeped into the water, all at once, forever and ever. Everyone who drank from that well was touched by it. As was their children and their children's children all the way down, right to this very day. That's why they call it Wiz Water. And that's why when we drink, we drink deep in ol' North Warlockburg. Now raise your glass and take a sip, to the wizard below and the wizard to come.
- Printed on every single bottle of Wiz Water sold by Warlockburg's Brewery
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UNDEAD, Falsely Named (soft) - Sometimes known as a Wraith or Wrath. It-eth would be near to malpractice-eth for this reporter to not begin this-in entry without-eth notifying you savvy hunter that should-eth thy believe that it is truly a Falsely Named Undead that thy encounters here-in is thy suggested course of actions: run. Run and do not-eth look back for to even gaze back is to invite destruction. When enough souls are reaped within one place in a short spanse of time and if these souls are vile enough then the hells thyselves might-eth turn them back. In such matters it can occur that the souls collapse within thineselves and create a being of pure negative energies. The Wraith is the antithesis of all life, whose destruction it seeks to all measure. It should not be saw-n as one single entity or even all those many whose form it was collapsed from: once created the Wraith is more a being of negative energies than souls though several friends of mine (and I have a great many friends too for my 50th birthday party was greatly attended with so many people sending me thy well wishes that this reporters table buckled under the weight of them!) have said that in their seeing of a wraith they noted that its visage transitioned between a great many of thine souls faces that it was made of. While it may retain some memories, these are echos: not real. Thine-eth souls-eth who have been in the creations of the wraith can still-eth be heard from the wraith (and at great distance too!) For thy savvy hunter thy shall find thine wrath exists in a place of strength for undeath (whether created by thine wraith or thine wraith is created by shall here go unknown as this writer chooses not-eth to know such things.) Thy landscapes around the wraith shall be thus: dark and deadly figures haunt thy nights and a mist clings to thy chilled landscape (sometimes known as a Winter Terrorland). The Wraith is capable of slaying with a vitality draining attack and any dead it creates shall have their souls bound to the Wraith in servitude in perpetuity. Thine wraith is very scary as it transitions easily between this realm and thy place known-eth as the SCARY DIMENSION (aka the Ethereal Plane (by some bring scholars who never understood the importance of a good campfire tale (and who never showed up for my rager of a party))) with many powers that allow it to pass though at many times (thy savvy hunter should-eth be capable of viewing into the Ethereal if thy wish to win!) Thine wraith is deadly at both distances and also at not-distance (sometimes known as Touching Space) with explosive fireballs of cold and attacks that shall shake thy hunter to thy very core. The bestest ways to prevent damages is to make thyself avoidant of necromancy or to secure thyself of fortitude (though these are not guarantees! (as certain idiotic, lame, and sexless scholars who refused to turn up to my exciting party learnt one day (served them right!)) The Wraith is fearsome and immune to all weapon attacks, poison, acid, fire, cold, necrotic, lightning, thunder, psychic, and all conditions. The Wraith is resistant to attacks of Radiance and Force, making these the only two methods of normally harming it. As it is Resistant to all but two damages a savvy hunter would be behooved to fight the Wraith with it’s only known weakness: genuine sacrifice. A mortal, willingly giving their life to slay the creature is capable of overcoming the Wraith's resistances (though not its immunities!) It has also been hypothesised by more learned minds than mine that for there to be a being of pure Negative Energy there must be a link to the plane of Negative Energy though where to find and how to plug such a hole is beyond this writer.
"... Gaz, the vile deity of assassins and the hated, was only a normal halfling in those days. Many philosophers have debated why Gaz committed such an abomination to the fabric of reality: was it pride, desire for power, some other dark reason? Or perhaps as some have speculated a terrible contract given to a mortal being that was never intended on being fulfilled? Another question that has yet to be answered is how one can permanently end a god. The written and oral records are littered with deities being slain and forced to withdraw from the strands of fate for a time but never being severed in their entirety. None of these records ever mention the insanity that befell those with a divine connection to Gulliver known as Mind Sliver, the Great Fracture, or Gulliver's Madness in different contexts. We must assume that this event is somehow unique.
Spot Length: :60 Talent: 9 Hells Toy Circle Co. Title: D'Grugrial Rebrand
Over a year ago, an argument outside the old bone grinder. Two voices. One coaxing the other. Soothing assurance that whatever they might find inside will be no match for the two of them. It’ll be fine Paul, it’s only hags. The other voice, less sure, less certain, providing a laundry list of reasons they should probably turn around. The first voice lower now, more gentle. Trust me, I’ve got you. The second voice acquiesces.