Excerpts From Nonexistent Books

Member Seeking Group
Name:
Xela the Pusillanimous, chaotic neutral elf rogue

Age:
1,127

My self-summary:
I’m a free-spirited chaotic neutral elf-of-fortune who does whatever comes to her mind! I’m a crazy whirlwind of random destruction who just wants to watch the world burn, and I take my alignment VERY seriously!

What I’m doing with my life:
Taking time out from my busy day to rob, loot, steal, pillage, and burn because that’s what my character would do under those circumstances.

I’m really good at:
Robbing! I have a +10 bonus to stealth. Stabbing! I do 6d6 bonus backstabbery. Fire! I can cast one and only one low-level mage spell, Sparks!

The six things I could never do without:
-Fire
-PANTS
-Stealing
-Backstabbery
-PLASTIC BAG

I spend a lot of time thinking about:
NOTHING! I am SO random!

On a typical Friday night, I am:
Backstabbing a bartender for free drinks.

Member Seeking Group
Name:
Aquillarious, true neutral human sorcerer

Age: 25

My self-summary:
I am the long-lost heir to the kingdom of Zindak, seeking to reclaim my lost throne and my rightful place. I am also the descendant on my mother’s side of the Flametongue dragon clan, the youngest-ever leader of the Psyanyde Monks, and a noted teacher at the Pigrash Academy.

What I’m doing with my life:
I teach Spellcraft at Pigrash when I’m not caring for my magical menagerie of animal familiars wit stats who are all willing to die for me and also immortal. I also am on the lecture circuit.

I’m really good at:
Fighting, living, loving, heraldry, and magic. My natural magic bloodline is so strong that I was almost made the youngest-ever Headmaster of Pigrash Academy.

The six things I could never do without:
-My magical monkeys
-Teaching eager young minds how to be awesome
-My rockin’ pecs
-Not sleeping at all, ever
-Wenches in every town
-Nigh-invulnerability

I spend a lot of time thinking about:
How awesome I am

On a typical Friday night, I am:
Being awesome

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Group Seeking Member
Name:
Burnination Pals

Age:
18 months

Our self-summary:
Lumpy Wiggle-Axe, chaotic evil dwarf barbarian
Midnighty d’Ubreville, chaotic neutral tiefling sorceress
Lifty Lightfingers-McGee, chaotic good gnome bard
Fi’gr’in “Arrows” Da’an, chaotic stupid elf ranger

What we’re doing with our campaign:
Dying, mostly. WE NEED A HEALER! Somebody lawful, preferably lawful neutral, would also be nice to help keep the party’s pyromania in check. We’ve burned down 4 of the last 5 villages we’ve encountered.

We’re really good at:
Burning things, apparently. Stealing. Shooting things until they stop moving, sometimes enemies. Ignoring the DM’s carefully crafted campaign and focusing on random dirt clods for hours. Seduction.

The six things we could never do without:
-Fire
-Stabbing
-A HEALER FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS GOOD AND HOLY
-Fire again, somehow
-Stealing
-Seduction

We spend a lot of time thinking about:
Random details that started out as flavor text but MUST be important, so we will spend the next hour trying to steal/seduce/stab it, setting it on fire failing that.

On a typical Friday night, we are:
Fleeing hastily from a village we just “saved” from an orcish horde, hopefully before anyone smells the smoke.

Group Seeking Member
Name:
The Bloodening Rangers

Age:
2 months

Our self-summary:
St. Augusta Noblebosom, lawful good human paladin
Wayland O’Crien, lawful neutral dwarf cleric
Lygendir Arsestücken, neutral good elf wizard
Stabitha Skillmonkius, chaotic neutral halfling rogue

What we’re doing with our campaign:
Nothing, at the moment. We were taken prisoner after Paladin Noblebosom accidentally signed a contract exchanging us for hostages, and she has not allowed us to leave. RESCUE US!

We’re really good at:
Lawful stupid. Being imprisoned. Carving tally marks on the walls.

The six things we could never do without:
-Rescue
-A rescuer
-A DM who doesn’t paint themselves into corners
-Liberation
-Freedom
-Jailbreakery

We spend a lot of time thinking about:
Who will rescue us from a cage made of alignments and stupidity.

On a typical Friday night, we are:
IN PRISON SEND HELP

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Welcome to IFFY™, your source for handicrafts of extremely questionable quality! Here’s a variety of geegaws and trinkets that our algorithms have lovingly hand-curated for you!

Clothespin Reindeer – $3
Fun fact: they only make old-fashioned no-spring clothespins for craft project nonsense like this! Watch with amazement as google eyes, pipe cleaners, and hot glue combine to bring you $.37 of fun and us $2 of profit!

Pinecone Seed Bell – $5
Do you know what it takes to make suet? By hand? The kind of ardouous rendering of fat, bone, and flesh in order to create this gelatinous emulsion? Even if you do, in theory, you are not prepared for the smell of it. Seeds are easy. Pine cones are free for the taking. But my regret and the scent-ghosts of a thousand slaughtered hogs are in every dollop of this cursed fatty wax.

Origami Crane String – $22
See how they flit, delicate and fragile in a way no real crane ever could be (if you’ve ever tangled with one, you know). I was under-employed at a menial job doing night shift at a gas station this one time, and I started making paper cranes. Then I saw what people were selling them for on here, and I realized that I could make a better per-hour living with these bad boys. Sure beats being the only thing between desperate men with nothing to lose and the contents of the night safe.

Cut-Out of Lady in Bloomers Bending Over – $50
You know what it takes to make this? A jigsaw and some paint. But do you know who it takes to buy it? Lonely, desperate people, anxious to broadcast to the world that they are pleasant and have a sense of humor. But they only ever laugh at the jokes that are popular, they only ever go with the flow. The great log, dying but still in denial as it is borne down the flooded river to the coast – that is my customer.

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In all the ages of mankind, there has been holiness and there has been wickedness. Holiness springs from the Great Name, and the Nev, the one miraculous work he sang. Wickedness springs from that which would reinterpret his song, that which would garble it, and that which would contravene it.

What would reinterpret must be silenced, for there is only one interpretation of the Nev. What would garble must be killed, for only accurate singing may be permitted. That which would contravene it must be destroyed.

Thus, in all the ages of mankind to follow, there is and can only be the Nev, passed down orally from singer to singer. All other texts must be destroyed, for they will either contradict the NeV, in which case they are evil, or they will agree with it, in which case they are superfluous.

No man should possess more knowledge than he can gain in a lifetime. Any attempt to do this must be put to the flame, for there can only be the Nev and its singers forevermore.

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“But…you talk,” Corrie said.

“You’ll have to forgive me if it’s a little difficult to get around that,” I added.

Erroi spread his wings, perhaps the feathery equivalent of a shrug. “All right, then. Let’s get this out of the way. I’m a crow. I talk. Oooh. Call the circus to see if you can sell me. Call the king to see if he’ll offer gold.”

“I would’ve expected a parrot,” said Corrie. “I’ve known parrots who can talk.”

“I think a saw a talking budgie once,” I added.

“Really? Surely you’ve seen one of my brothers or sisters speak before,” Erroi said. “We can all do it, you know. Talk, that is. Parrots, I will confess, tend to be better. But they also have far less to say, so I feel we still come out ahead.”

“I think I heard about a crow that could croak ‘hello’ once,” I said. “It’s a long way from that to holding a conversation.”

“Well, okay, I will admit that I am better at it than most crows,” said Erroi, sounding like he was making a major concession. “My brothers and sisters tend to rely more on context, gesture, and nuance. But they can all understand, even if they’re not as good with speaking as I am.”

Corrie shook her head vigorously. “That’s like saying alll humans can fly a little bit while they’re falling, and then insisting a flying person isn’t all that remarkable.”

“All right. Oh-kay. I’m the best-talking crow there is. Maybe the best-talking crow there ever has been. I’m a genius at talking. Maybe it’s magic, maybe I’m a horrible mutant, maybe it’s just random chance. But I can do it. I’m here. We’re talking. Has the shock worn off yet?”

I looked at Corrie, with a little grin. “No, I’ll probably be going on about it for at least a week,” I said.

“I was thinking two,” she said.

“You two are murdering me here,” Erroi muttered. “And don’t either of you make a pun about that, either. We hear them all the time, and none of them are any good.”

“Hey, there’s no caws for alarm,” Corrie giggled.

“OKAY, THAT’S IT!

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“From the ashes I arose, in the great mounds where they were heaped.” Its voice was like a deep bellows, whispers of fire raked over cherry-red coals, and each syllable breathed forth a pinch of acrid smoke and let a little of the burning light within escape.

“I’ve heard it said that the best smiths put themselves into their work,” said Ona. “I suppose that, with enough ash and time, the shards of great smiths past must feel the need to create.”

Cinderforge nodded. “The urge is overwhelming,” it said, “though the materials run low and the supply of fuel ebbs. I have kept this furnace stoked for an age, making trinkets and weapons and whatever else is asked for with a genuine need. But I cannot wander far before the fire begins to fail, and I am diminished form what I once was. I fear that another blade such as Heartseeker is not within me to craft.”

“Why not?” Ona said. She watched the sparks rise from each hammer blow as Cinderforge worked away at the metal. “You’re as strong a smith as I’ve ever seen.”

“There was a time when four arms worked these forges, manning the bellows as well as the hammer and tongs,” said Cinderforge. “To keep the fire, I have had to cast off pieces of myself. In a year, perhaps less, they shall gutter out unless I give up the last part of myself. Even if you could bring me Heartseeker itself, I could not copy it as I am now.”

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The first time, I lost about a minute. My alarm went off before I was expecting and scared me nearly to death. I brushed it off. I mean, I barely even knew what time was before I got a cell phone.

I brushed off the next few just as easily. What’s losing track of a few minutes here or there? I figured I was just being tired, or forgetful. Especially in college, there are some frat boys that lose track of more time than that every weekend.

But then I started missing classes, looking up and noticing that three hours had gone by. Phone calls from worried people were starting to come in, and I lost my job at Stubb’s Coffee.

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