Bertie's Blog

[Bertie]

Stars high and bright, the sliver of moon about to disappear over the horizon. Bertie reached the peak of a steep hill and peered down into a valley. Several campfires burned bright, discouraging both the chilly night air and the marauding wolves. Despite the late hour – Bertie judged it to be about half a night’s sleep before dawn – he saw several animal skin-clad figures huddled in the warmth of the biggest blaze, engaged (appropriately enough) in animated conversation.

The strange humans were too far away for Bertie to hear clearly what they were discussing, but it was immediately obvious to him they were not of his tribe. The skins covering their nakedness were not at all in the style of the proud Lurker Tribe of the Barbarian Clan, Bertie’s people. And their haircuts! If one of the strange people stumbled into Bertie’s small village, the stranger's haircut – if you could call it that – would have caused the young ‘uns to point and openly laugh while the elders would need to turn away least they be unable to contain their mirth and give offense.

At least that’s what would happen if Bertie’s village still existed. Two moons ago he had returned from an extended hunting trip to find nothing of his people but the bodies of a few of his kinsman savagely hacked beyond all recognition, and sundry household goods wildly strewn around what had been his village. Carvings on a great pole planted in the middle of what had been the Ceremonial Circle told the story at a glance: his people had been attacked by their sworn enemy. Bertie feared all had perished in the savage raid; but he had gone looking to see if he could find any survivors. He had failed to find a soul.

Half a moon ago he had decided his quest was futile; but still he looked. Tonight he was ready to abandon the quest. He looked harder at the figures around the blazing fire. Would they be enemies or friends to him? Now several were raising their voices in heated argument and he became better able to understand some of the words drifting up to him. He had heard their dialect before in his travels, and had learned enough to communicate in a rudimentary fashion. Still, he realized there was much he didn’t know. What was a faction? Gameplay? Election? This was all foreign to him.

Bertie wondered whether the people below were merely traveling through or were planning to settle permanently. They were camped on fertile land, close to food and water. It would be a good place to establish a village and grow. He would observe them for a few days, he decided, before making any attempt to approach them. They seemed harmless enough but who knew what he might learn when daylight came and he could see better?

Bertie withdrew to a slight hollow where he couldn’t easily be observed. He wrapped his skins tightly about him, closed his eyes, and quickly fell asleep.

 

[croxis]

oh! By the way! I have blog software I could put up as well if we wanted!

sorry for the random plug

 

[ice2k4]

OOC: (Not sure exactly the purpose to this thread. Are you searching for answers to what's going on, in a rp manner of course, or is this thread solely for your posting, in which case I apologize for this post.)

 

[Bertie]

[ooc]@Ice: I’m not sure exactly where this blog is going to end up, but there’s no point behind it other than fun. Anyone is welcome to post in the thread, although if they do they’re likely to find themselves written into the ongoing story![/ooc]


As was his habit, Bertie came fully awake in an instant, listening intently to the stillness of the predawn night. Nothing stirred, not even the birds that would soon roust themselves to twitter whilst awaiting the rising sun. He sensed no danger nearby. Overnight fog had crept in on its little cat feet, reducing visibility to perhaps a couple dozen steps. “Am I near the coast?” Bertie wondered. He shook off the lingering sleepiness and cautiously climbed the few steps to the peak of the hill above him. The fog was too thick for him to see the strangers’ camp; but he thought he still heard faint sounds of their talking.

The fog looked like it would last a bit. Bertie figured the shroud provided by the fog and the lingering darkness would allow him to scout nearer the strangers’ camp without risk of detection. With skill and grace borne of long practice Bertie quickly and stealthily made his way down into the valley of the strangers’ camp. In a matter of minutes he had reached the valley floor.

Not daring to approach nearer to the camp (still having no notion of what manner of men these strangers be) he searched for a place where he could hide and observe. Soon his trained eye targeted a likely spot in the form of a brush-covered rocky ledge protruding from the side of the hill above him. The ledge was just out of reach; but Bertie was able to leap and grab its edge, and then pull himself up. He discovered the shelf ledge was quite narrow and largely covered with brush growing from its rocky surface. This wouldn’t do at all. However, behind the brush there was a hollow – a cave, really. He cautiously sniffed to see if he could detect the presence of an animal – he didn’t want to share the lair of a bear! – and satisfied himself he was the only creature there. This would be an excellent hiding place. He would be able to lurk there shielded by the brush covering the cave’s entrance. No one would be able to spot him.

Dawn came but the fog still prevented him from seeing the strangers’ camp. He could hear much better from his new hiding spot then he could last night and was able to make out more of what they were saying, though he still found much of their language incomprehensible. They seemed to be arguing over rules and poles. He understood both words, but what rules could there possible be about poles? Rules about holes he knew – everyone did: when you’re in one, stop digging. But poles? He shook his head and listened some more. He soon noticed that almost every time someone would speak he would hear the same voice reply with a counterpoint. From the sounds of their different voices he figured there were about a dozen.

A figure materialized out of the fog. He seemed to be searching for something. “Gotta be grain around here somewhere. Wheat. Rice. Corn. It doesn’t matter. Anything that I use to brew a delicious beverage. Or grapes! An amusing little wine could be just the thing. Looks like we’re going to settle here and I know we’re going to get thirsty clearing the land and mining and what not. At the end of the day a fellow wants a little tipple and maybe a nice chat with some of the guys. Maybe a sporting event or two. Nothing wrong with that. Good, clean, healthy fun. If I can get my hands on the supplies and maybe get a little social club going – perhaps a pub – my fortune will be made!”

Bertie, scout and hunter, knew of several sources of grain not far away at all. This stranger seemed pretty normal. At least he wasn’t obsessed with rules and poles. Perhaps if he joined this band of strangers he’d show him where he could find some grain. He watched the solitary stranger fade out of sight into the fog.

Bertie’s stomach reminded him he hadn’t eaten yet. He rummaged through his provision pouch. There wasn’t much left – he’d have to go foraging or hunting soon – but he did find one of his breakfast favorites. “Yummy! Bear claw!” He munched on his vittles and sat back to see what developed in the camp as the day unfolded.

 

[ice2k4]

(Excellent read, please do continue)

 

[dutchfire]

They seemed to be arguing over rules and poles. He understood both words, but what rules could there possible be about poles? Rules about holes he knew – everyone did: when you’re in one, stop digging. But poles?

Nice story!

 

[Oni of Chaos]

I look forward to the next installment

 

[Seidrik_The_Gray]

In the pre-dawn air, Seidrik the Gray raced on his bare feet, in full pursuit of a hair, a morcil to please his gris...his morning stew. As the foggy air clung to his furry vestments of wolf fur, and his mind wandered to the burning sensation in his calves from the sudden exertion of sprinting after the rabit, Seidrik thought back to the cave he had left. The memory brought with it the stench of gangreen that had claimed his uncle, the only father he had known, from an infected wound left by the bear they had killed to claim the cave. Seidrik had burried his father a month ago, thanks to a lion that had attacked them in the night. Now, his uncle...burried in the back of the cave.

Why did his family leave their home with the other tribe? What would he make of himself out here in the wilds again, and now without shelter? Food...he needed food. Behind the hills, Seidrik knew of a stream that seaped up out of the rocks there. He could probably make himself a nice shelter later. Right now he needed to eat...it had been a week since he had left the remains of the cave bear...no desire left after his uncle's death.

Seidrik gripped the fist-sized black and gray stone he had plucked from the stream and claimed as his good luck omen...it had never failed him. As he ran after the hair, he raised the stone over his head, waiting for the right moment.

Then, as the hair bounded up in the air to clear the roots of a tree 10 spans from Seidrik, the stone was released with a furry and the accuracy of hunger and practice in the wilds. THWUK!!! The stone struck the hair in the side of its skull, killing it instantly. The day was looking much brighter now.

As Seidrik collected his fresh kill, a noise drifted to him through the fog from the dim glow of a campfire he had missed in his hunt. A gnawing paranoia gripped him. These other people could be another tribe, and their voices sounded like they gripped over serious matters. What were they hunting?

Seidrik quickly glanced back through the fog toward the location of the cave above the rocky outcropping...where his uncle was burried. He could never go back there...the place had become a tomb full of the stench of his uncle's rot and death. Further ahead, he spied a large tree that should suffice to allow him a vantage of the party near the fire. It would atleast grant him a safe place to listen.

Quickly, and careful not to snap a twig, Seidrik scrambled up the large tree, his wolf skin vestments making him look like a wolf running up a tree. Then, with the best stealth he could muster, he slowly edged his way along a long branch that overlooked the camp seen.

 

[Bertie]

The fog was lifting and Bertie saw the wandering nomads had lit a huge bonfire. Smoke billowed high into the sky, a beacon sure to draw the attention of all near or far away. The campers appeared to be preparing for something: a dozen or so goat skin tents had been erected to form a square around the bonfire, and what appeared to be several wild boar – or rather their carcasses – were being roasted over glowing goals behind one of the tents. Barbecue! From the looks of it the happy campers were throwing a luau.

Time had passed in a most extraordinary way. Bertie had munched several berries from the sacred plant shown to him many moons ago by the revered – and, alas, now deceased – shaman from his village. The shaman advised him that chewing a few berries from the sacred plant would bring him inner peace. As always Bertie found this to be true. Peace (and a peculiar sense of well being) pervaded his soul.

Whilst in the heights of his well being Bertie had been gripped with a vision so forceful it seemed to him to defy all time. Yesterday and tomorrow were the same, and he saw clearly what had been and what was to be. An avuncular figure from an antique land, seemingly from the grave, appeared before him. He told Bertie of a vast ruined statue in the mist of a lone and level sand. All that remained of the statue were the two bodiless legs of the king of kings; and the stone head with its frowning face. Bertie didn’t know what any of this meant so he popped another berry, hoping for enlightenment.

The note from a ram’s horn blown loud and clear rose from the campsite. Bertie saw there were many people flocking to the bonfire beacon. Clearly the campers were trying to draw attention to themselves. Were they trying to attract others to their band? Bertie thought it a good possibility. Either this was a devious trick or these were peaceful settlers looking for like-minded folk. Being of a charitable turn of mind (no doubt because of his great feeling of well being) Bertie decided to chance the latter. He gathered his belongs and leapt down from the cave.

He had taken only a few steps before his keen hunter and scout eyes observed a wolf-like figure stretched prone near the edge of the branch of a great tree. Wolves didn’t climb trees, of course, so Bertie immediately deduced it was a wolf skin-clad human. He grasped his shillelagh tightly (hey, even back then everyone was Irish on St. Patrick’s Day); friend or foe? He approached stealthy. Not sensing danger, he decided to announce himself.

“Ahem. Friend or foe? And what’s your name?”

The startled figure almost fell from his perch on the branch. “Friend!” he said. He appeared to notice Bertie’s club. “Friend! Friend! And my name is kwarriorpoet. Or rather, Seidrik The Gray.”

“Well, which is it?”

“Sedrik the Gray. Seems more appropriate. Say, do you know what’s going on in yon camp? Quite a blaze they’ve got going.”

“Dunno. Looks like they’re trying to attract attention. Free luau maybe?”

“Let’s hope!”

The pair agreed to approach the camp together. As they approached the outskirts of the camp they came across a large outcropping of slate. A figure stood next to it, and saw Bertie and Sedrik. “You two! Come here! Look what I’ve got! Isn’t it great? We can draw pictures on it to share with everyone. I’ll call that part of the rock the gallery. I’ll wall off another part of it so the factions can record all their private business. Let me introduce myself, I’m croxis, and I’m making my rock available to everyone who joins the village. Any one at all, in the world as we know it.”

“A world wide rock?” asked Sedrik. Cool idea.” Bertie nodded his agreement, and the two of them entered the camp.

A figure approached them. I’m Oni of Chaos. You guys new here?

“Yup. Whatcha doing?”

“We’re getting organized so we can go out and explore! Right now we’re forming factions and pretty soon we’ll be holding a debate and then we’ll poll which faction should lead his.”

“Pole?” asked Bertie.

“Yeah, poll. You know, vote. Why don’t you guys step over there? That’s the tent of the Warlords Faction, and Provo is going to make a pitch to the audience to get more members. We’ve got a band and everything. I’m a member; you guys might want to join.”

Bertie and Sedrik allowed themselves to be steered towards a large tent. An orchestra was playing a tune with their drums and primitive instruments. A figure leapt onto a small stage in front of the tent.

“Willkommen, bienvenue, welcome! Fremde, etranger, stranger. Gluklich zu sehen, je suis enchante, Happy to see you, bleibe, reste, stay.

“Ladies-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s and Gentlemen-n-n-n-n-n! Welcome to the Warlords Faction, the best of all factions! Come inside the tent and listen to our ideas! Plenty of time before we vote, and we’re deciding on our platform now! Ours are the best ideas in the entire world, let me tell you! Don’t listen to the pitches from the other factions, the Warlords Faction is the one and only!”

Bertie could hear other factions making similar pitches. Suddenly the band played louder and started singing.

We say we want Provolution,
Yeah, you know;
We wanna rule the world!
Factions mean it’s time for evolution,
Yeah, you know;
We all wanna rule the world!

A figure walked by; somehow Bertie knew it was Dutchfire. “Free Bird!” yelled Dutchfire.

If I leave here tomorrow
Would you still remember me?
For I must be traveling on, now,
'Cause there's too many places I've got to see.

“Stop it stop it stop it!” Provo said glaring at the band. “Now folks, step right up, join the Warlords and you’ll get to choose which characteristics our new civilization will have! Come one, come all, step right up!”

We say we've got the real solution,
Yeah we do;
We'll show ya all the plan.
Vote for Warloads, no dilution,
Yeah ya know;
And we'll do all we can…

Bertie and Sedrik wandered over to the next tent where the Tribal Council Faction was being pitched. Sedrik stayed to listen. Bertie kept going, passing the tent of the Philosophers of Legion until he came across a figure that seemed familiar. Of course! The grain-seeking fellow he had seen earlier. “Hi, I’m ice24k,” said said fellow. “Welcome to Poverty’s Pub! Come inside and wet your whistle.”

“Are you a faction, too?”

“Nope, just a guild of like-minded people. Any one can join; nothing hidden here. Pretty soon my pub will be hosting a debate amongst the factions..That should be amusing. In the meantime, come inside and have some adult beverage. And barbecue! I’ve got those renowned pit masters, Ozzie and Mandy Diaz, cooking up some down home ‘cue for us out back.”

Bertie agreed that ice’s invitation was mighty enticing, and was entering ice’s tent just as the Philosophers of Legion’s band was striking up a tune. Just as he disappeared into the pub, out of the corner of his eye he saw Dutchfire standing before the Philosopher’s tent. And then he heard him -

“Free bird!”

 

[dutchfire]

An avuncular figure from an antique land, seemingly from the grave, appeared before him. He told Bertie of a vast ruined statue in the mist of a lone and level sand. All that remained of the statue were the two bodiless legs of the king of kings; and the stone head with its frowning face. Bertie didn’t know what any of this meant so he popped another berry, hoping for enlightenment.

Ozymandias by Shelley! I read that for my English literature class.

Ozzie and Mandy Diaz

Oh, and:

Free bird!

 

[Seidrik_The_Gray]

Seidrik finished off his pint, shook hands with his new friends, and on his way out, turned back to reflect on what he had already been involved in. So many new people from so many places...they had all somehow been drawn here to this very moment. Only a handfull had known each other before arriving here.

"What was so special about this place?", Seidrik thought.

It was a defensible clearing, at the foot of some great hills, that were more like small mountains, and water was nearby along with a good source of lumber and game close and hand also. He hadn't noticed much of this before in the thick fog, but now, it was as if he stood in the midst of an oasis in the wilds, a spiritual nexus that drew people and events to it. This was a place where stories and legends would be given birth.

Looking back into the tent, Seidrik could see a man, dressed in Dearskin hides sitting on a log, surrounded by other people, that Seidrik had only just met. This man, he had learned was known as DaveShack. His dimeanor said "trust me". His open arms said, "I'm glad you're here". His original plan for his faction, as they called this group, but a small tribe is what they looked like to Seidrik, had many elements that appealed to Seidrik.

After joining the Tribal Council faction, and also officially becoming a citizen of this budding village, Seidrik did what came naturally to him. He studied things in the hopes of making them better, he listened, he made notes, and he helped write a new plan for the tribe, but one thing was clear to Seidrik. This was not his house to lead, his roll would definitely be key to the council, but the roll as Chief needed to rest with someone with more wisdom, someone with a veteran's eye for what would work. Seidrik hoped it would be Dave, but respected the naiscent democratic principles embedded in the Tribal Council's plans, and presented his ideas and left them to discuss in their tent.

Now, Seidrik was direly thirsty, and the smell of the roast barbeque boar meat was filling the air. Thinking of the first person he'd met inexplicably in these parts, Seidrik went looking for Birtie.

His thirst and hunger were too great to resist, and all of the smells were now concentrated and wafting out of a huge tent with a sign that said "Poverty Pub." Contemplating the use of Poverty in the name, Seidrik strolled into the pub, an epiffany dawning on him as he entered...Ahhh, this is a place where you wash the poverty away from your soul, a place where all people are equal and united by a common purpose...to eat...drink...and forget the day. Taking off his wolf-skin hat, Seidrik lept to a seat at the bar and began washing his soul clean...

 

[croxis]

In a dry cave not far from where The People were gathering a mystic sat by his fire. His hands were cupped around a mystic rock that fell from the sky; it's two engraved eyes seemingly staring at its holder. Carefully the Mystic proceeded to eat the sacrificial fruit that was found near where the Stone of Eyes fell.

"Is it time?" asked the Mystic. He opened his eyes and turned over the Stone.

SIGNS POINT TO YES

 

[Oni of Chaos]

Ozymandias

Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair.

 

[Bertie]

The light was dim and the atmosphere smoky inside the Poverty’s Pub tent. Long tables, about half of which were occupied, roughly defined a muddy looking circle in the middle of the tent. Was that a mud pit? Bertie took a seat at the nearest table and immediately a buxom serving wench put a pint of the pub’s finest down before him. “Drink up,” she winked at him, “sell-by date is, oh, maybe in half an hour.” Bertie had no idea what she was talking about but followed her advice. The beverage – and her advice – was so good he had another; then one more after that. In between quaffs of the pub’s finest he looked around and observed the fellowship inside the tent. At the table next to him Bertie overheard a fellow discussing an amusing incident that apparently had happened to him some years ago:

… Group W's where they put you if you may not be moral enough to join the army after committing your special crime, and there was all kinds of mean nasty ugly
looking people on the bench there. Mother rapers. Father stabbers. Father rapers! Father rapers sitting right there on the bench next to me! And they was mean and nasty and ugly and horrible crime-type guys sitting on the bench next to me. And the meanest, ugliest, nastiest one, the meanest father raper of them all, was coming over to me and he was mean 'n' ugly 'n' nasty 'n' horrible and all kind of things and he sat down next to me
and said…

Or perhaps the fellow was merely discussing the crowd at the pub; who could tell?

The dim light, the influence of the pub’s finest, and the lingering feeling of sacred berry-induced well being contributed to heavy eyelids . . .

Bertie envisioned a swamp in a the distant land, Lerna. Creatures called factions lived there. Time passed and several of the factions came together into a hydra-headed one, huge of body, and accustomed to getting its way in all things. It took to going forth into the country and ravaging it and any cattle it came across. Smug and self-satisfied, panting and snorting the Lernaen hydra challenged any and all to displace it from the place it claimed for itself. Into the swamp came another faction, on a chariot. Soon a terrible battle broke out between the two. There were fiery arrows, huge clubs, and even a crab! After a fierce struggle Bertie could see the winner. It was …

THWACK!!! THWACK!!! THWACK!!!

With terror Bertie apprehended that a distant Cthulhuian horror had resurrected itself, a horror Bertie thought was buried safely in the past.

“Ethelbert, you slacker, you did it again!” said the tall figure, waving her whippy black riding crop at him. Her tightly fitted black loin cloth showing her taut, robust frame to full advantage. Schoolmarm Thwackum!

“What? Who? Why? It wasn’t me, I swear! Stop hitting me!”

THWACK!!!

“You still can’t spell a lick, Ethelbert. Just read what you wrote in your last scribbling:

Bertie kept going, passing the tent of the Philosophers of Legion until he came across a figure that seemed familiar. Of course! The grain-seeking fellow he had seen earlier. “Hi, I’m ice24k,” said said fellow. “Welcome to Poverty’s Pub! Come inside and wet your whistle.”

“It’s ice2k4, Ethelbert, not 24k. And why do you keep referring to yourself in third person?”

Bertie whimpered softly, knowing he couldn’t escape the wrath of Schoolmarm Thwackum. How could he have made such a mistake? He had been reading a lot of literature lately so maybe he was a little addled.

“OK, Bertie, it’s the usual drill. In order to pay penance I want you to …”

“Wake up, fellow, the debate is starting.” Someone was shaking Bertie’s shoulder roughly. His eyes blinked open to discover he was in the Poverty’s Pub tent; still dim, still smokey, but now overflowing with eager drinkers. Ice2k4 was shaking him. “Come on, wake up! We can’t hear the debaters over your snoring!”

“Ice! I’m sorry Ice.”

“No need to apologize, fellow. As I publican I often see people falling asleep, particularly after they’ve had a brace or two of my finest.”

“Oh, I’m sorry about that too, but I misspelled your name.”

“No worry. Why the game’s only starting so it should really be ice4Kbc! Now have another pint and watch the debate.”

Bertie gratefully accepted the pint the buxom serving wench gave him. Bowls of popcorn had appeared on all tables, and the pub’s clientele alternated sipping and munching as they watched muddy figures slip and slide in the debating pit. So that’s what a debate is all about! Now he knew.

He felt a breeze on his back as the tent flap was pulled aside to let another person into the tent. The voice sounded familiar.

“Free bird!”

 

[Seidrik_The_Gray]

Seidrik had been trading barbs and vicious assaults for whay seemed like days now...his loyalties were unexpectedly fierce...and his emotional attachment to his chosen faction a surprise even unto himself. As if from a daze, he awoke, mud and bodies everywhere. Had their fight clarified anything, or had it merely made things more confusing...the differences that had once seemed so clear...now appeared so similar. He saw people in the mud pit with him, people he had only just begun to know, and people he had liked and respected, people with whom he had shared a pint or two...even a round of galf with...Now, they all had these strange masks on and were also covered in welts and mud, with blood shot eyes staring through the muck.

What have we done?, Seidrik asked himself. I am a bard, not a fighter, I am not one to get so mixed up in the thick of things as this...but maybe I am?

His hands began to lower, and the muscles in his back and shoulders slowly lessened their strictures. His fingers out wide, Seidrik began to back away toward the edge of the pit. He saw hate still burning brightly in the eyes of the other challengers and knew that his probably still looked the same, and knew that everyone there had caused damages in equal share...no one was clean. His mind raced for a way out, a way to save face and maintain at least an illusion of the once budding relationships that appeared to have at least at one time had a chance of becoming closer.

Finally, his mind remembered something from his past, something a village elder had once said, "It is far easier on the soul to report on History than it is to be a part of history." Seidrik had wanted to be a story teller, a historian...a bard, who song tails of his people and the heros around him...now, he had become someone, a figure for whom a story would be told. His doom was cast in stone it would seam...he was in the muck.

A glance to his left, showed him that free spirited Birtie watching the fight with a drunken grin on his face, just enjoying life. Oh, how Seidrik yearned to be at that table with his own pint in hand.

How long does this battle have yet to last, before Dutchfire calls an end to it and lets the audience decide the victor? What must he do to win? Is there a true victory here to be claimed? What will happen after the battle, after the vote?

 

[Bertie]

“Drinks all around” Ice cried, “time to toast the victors of our first election! And let me introduce representatives of our newest guild, formed specifically to announce election results!”

Three shortish gentlemen entered, stage left.

We represent the Lollypop Guild, The Lollypop Guild, The Lollypop Guild
And in the name of the Lollypop Guild,
We wish to welcome you to Triadland.
We welcome you to Triadland, Tra la la la la la la

The shortest of the three gentlemen stepped forward. “Ladies and gentlemen, citizens and lurkers, the Triad has won the election fair and square! They schemed, they scammed, they schmoozed but when all was said and done the will of the people was with them! Three separate factions each felt they lacked something and couldn’t stand alone. They formed a common bond hoping the other two factions would make up for their deficiency. Together they hope they’re complete.

“Let me introduce the ruling Trinity, those three Amigos, the amazing Trio elected by their respective factions to form a coalition government – the Tin Man, the Scarecrow, and the Lion! Put your palms together and give them a big Demo Game hello!”

The crowd applauded wildly and The Poverty’s Pub singers burst into song -

Da da da, I don’t love you you don’t love me, aha aha aha

“That’s the wrong Trio, guys” the shortest Lollypopian frowned at the singers. “Citizens, it will be an exciting first term as the Triad tag team takes on the challenge of launching our civilization on its quest for glory, profit, and fun. Watch them found our capital! Observe their initial exploration! Question their research path! Puzzle over their production queue! Will their decisions place us on the yellow brick road or will they need someone from Kansas to help them?”

The Poverty’s Pub singers once again burst into song –

I close my eyes, only for a moment, and the moment's gone
All my dreams, pass before my eyes, a curiosity
Dust in the wind, all they are is dust in the wind

“Wrong Kansas, guys” the shortest Lollypopian glared at the singers. “Now, folks, the election’s over but the luau is still going strong. There’s still plenty of barbeque left and Ice is pouring Mai Tai’s and other tiki drinks for your imbibing pleasure. Get out there and enjoy yourselves because next comes the hard work of settling and conquering our great land.”

The crowd surged towards the exit. Bertie found himself next to Sedrik. “These seem like nice folks and all, though a little preoccupied with terminology and procedures and rules. Looks like they’ve got things moving now, though. Say, you’ve fit in right quick. You joined a faction and everything, I guess?”

“Yep,” said Sedrik. “Unfortunately we lost this election, but I’m sure there will be more coming down the way. You planning to stick around or are you heading back into the bush?”

“Haven’t decided yet. I figure it’ll be slow in town for a spell, once they create a town, that is. I’m a scout and a hunter by trade and not much used to indoor ways. If folks value scouting and hunting, I’m their huckleberry. If they don’t, well, I guess I’ll be in the wind. We’re going to need horses at some point so I might go out looking for some. How about you?”

Just then the surging crowed jostled them apart and Bertie didn’t hear Sedrik’s reply. He watched the surging crowd propel Sedrik towards Ice’s luau Mai Tai bar, like a salmon returning upstream to its ancestral home.

Bertie stood still a minute. In the distance he heard the cry of a wolf, its voice inviting him back into the unknown. The luau band struck up a tune and many in the crowed started to dance. The Poverty’s Pub singers joined the fun –

I’m in the mood
The rhythm is right
Move to the music
We can roll all night
Oooh, Slowride
Oooh, Slowride, take it easy
Slowride, take it easy

Smiling, Bertie made a decision . . .

 

[Provolution]

Lol Hilarious reference to Alice from Wonderland and Great Political Satire.

Yours truly

The Scarecrow

 

[Rashiminos]

Lol Hilarious reference to Alice from Wonderland and Great Political Satire.

Yours truly

The Scarecrow

OOC: Wizard of Oz, actually...

 

[Provolution]

Wizard of Oz then

 

[Seidrik_The_Gray]

Seidrik awoke with a huge pounding headache and smoke from the many cook fires still clinging to the ground. A half eaten rack of ribs lay on the ground, next to some over turned cups and the ground appeared to have been trampled roughly. There were other bodies around him in various states of rest and waking. The sun was just over the horizon, reflecting off the waves crashing to the East. As he raised his head a wave of nausia and dizziness hit him, threatening to bring up all of last nights roast pork and fish.

Glancing to his left, Seidrik saw three curiously small people, the Lollipop guild from last night, and a smile broke over his face. Memories of the drunk little guys clammering to be tossed around so they could fly like a bird, and a drinking contest that had run most of the night...then there was the game of pebble cub, where you bounced a pebble off the table into your cup...It was the most fun he'd had in ages.

Glancing down, he found himself stripped down to just his dearskin pants and a couple half naked women splayed about next two him, each with an arm on his chest. Wow...if only he could remember that...He didn't even know who they were, but at least they appeared to have been good choices for company, nothing that would embarass him too much anyway.

After cautiously removing himself from the company of the women and the ground, Seidrik moved over to an overturned chair at the edge of the remains of last night's debauchery. Turning it up, he stretched and sat down to watch the rest of the sunrise. Afterall his head was still in no shape to be moving much.

Off toward the beach, he saw some people beginning to gather, some with fishing nets, and others pointing at things and already arguing. His thoughts turned to Bertie and his question about leaving and heading into the wilds... His head needed some clarity, and being under trees at the moment wasn't going to help with that.

Ice2k4 came around with a cup of warm water with a smell of herbs in it. "That was some party eh? From the looks of you, I'd wager this is about the strongest thing you can take right now. You were quite the dancer too, what got into you last night man? Hahahaha

With a grumble of thanks and a curious look mixed with the beginnings of a blush, Seidrik accepted the cup and began nurcing it. There was a strong hint of mint and something bitter, almost disguised...black root maybe? It was good though and his stomach and mind were clearing up real fast.

Turning to Ice2k4, who was also watching the activity at the beach, Seidrik said I do not think my spirit will ever be the same. I do not feel as though I can ever embrace the wild in the way I once did. I don't think any of us will ever be the same. And yes, that was a hell of a party my friend.

Ice2k4 nodded with a mischievous smile and pointed toward North East of where people were gathering by the beach. Bertie left a message for you. Says he knows what you'll decide, and if you are who he thinks you are, then you'll meet him up on that hill. Says there's a scouting party forming up soon. People want to know the lay of the land. You seem the sort for that work, and once those women wake up (with a wink) you may want to be far off anyway. Plus, those scouts will eventually come back and be part of this, whatever this is that we're going to be doing or building here. You may never fully embrace the wild again, but you would be able to have a foot in both worlds as a scout.

Seidrik consider it for all the time it took to slowly sink in through the murky watters of his slurred mind. Once it all hit home, Seidrik drank the rest of the herbal drink, shot up out of the chair, put a hand on Ice's shoulder and ran for the hill, grabbing his axe on the way. He couldn't find his shirt to save his life, and didn't really look for it, this was the call of a new adventure.