Weather Complaints – This full-bodied whine is a 2010 vintage from Great Britain, one of the coldest winters on record. It has notes of honey and a pleasant, oaky finish, and is best paired with a light, summery dish such as our salad or souffle.

Traffic Grousing – A 2009 whine from Los Angeles just outside the Napa Valley, famous as the worst traffic in the known world in countries where painted road lines are respected. With bold, bitter essence and a full-bodied taste with hints of ash, it serves as a tart balance for a sweeter dish like our famous honey-roasted pork.

Behind-the-Back Smack – One of the most common whines in the world, this vintage is from 2010 in Washington, D.C., where the smack talk is bigger and bolder than the whine you can find in your local grocery. Pair it with our hearty German cheddar soup.

Queue Quips – If you’ve ever waited for 10 minutes in line only to have them open a new register for people that have been there 30 seconds, you’ve tried this type of whine. Our fine vintage is a 1999, with the extra oaky overtones and nuances of toast that come from waiting in line for Y2K snake oil. Pair it with a light appetizer from our menu or fish.

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The sound of heavy hooves, swords on steel, and arrows intensified on the other side of the gate, building to a cacophony of battle as Kohb counted to ten. As soon as he reached the end of his count, he raised a hunting cry to the gate guards, who took it up and cried over the wooden battlements. It was repeated on the other side, so Kohb pounded on the gate as a signal to open it.

As the Ochre Gate had sprung open on a counterweight, so too did the Azure Gate before Eyon and his friends. Sir Kohb spurred his horse onward, followed by Gullywick and Myn. A handful of Gattne riders sallied forth with them, a dozen riders all told, and they burst out of the gate into the blinding sunshine to find chaos outside.

A swarm of riders coalesced around them; it was difficult for Eyon to see with the jarring up-and-down of hard riding, but the men were definitely wearing the bright crimson of Varrett and bearing its sigil, the Leaf-on-Shield. Through gaps in the mass of men and horses, though, he could see the Ioxans’ hammer banners approaching at a rapid clip. Arrows flew between the two groups as the few mounted archers on either side let fly, and after hearing a war cry sounding on his left and being answered on his right, Eyon realized that the pursuers were trying to surround him.

Above the din, he could hear Delra of Ioxus shouting at her troops, exhorting them to tear the Varrettans apart to avenge her twin humiliations. “A gold sovereign to any of you who brings me so much as a scrap of that boy’s flesh!”

“Keep up the pace, you louts! We’re lighter than they, but they’ll rip us to shreds if we let them engage!” shoutedd Sir Kohb. Then, softer: “Still so eager to be king now, hearing that woman telling them to tear you limb from limb for gold?”

“No one would be shouting something like that in my kingdom,” Eyon replied.

“Hmph. Every king, every kingdom, needs someone shouting that,” the knight said breathlessly. “You’d be no different.”

“When my kingdom becomes the first, I’ll make sure you have a better position.”

Sir Kohb rolled his eyes. “Ho there! Keep those Ioxans at a distance!” he cried.

His men, armed with short lances, jabbed them at the baroness’s horsemen. The Ioxans responded in kind, and Eyon cringed as he saw one of the Varrettans hooked off of his saddle and flung beneath the hooves of his fellows with a terrible cry. A mounted archer galloped next to Kohb’s horse, taking careful aim with a short bow before losing an arrow up and over both of them and another Varrettan besides, landing firmly in the flank of an Ioxan horse and tumbling both it and its rider to the dry Gattnean plain.

“How much longer?” Eyon said, looking away from the sight. “Until we’re safe in Greywacke Wood?”

“Only about an hour,” Sir Kohb said. “Assuming we can keep this pace. If we can’t, it will all be over much, much sooner.”

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Maybe I was too hard on them.

Life isn’t easy, and it seems like all anybody does is find solace in a thousand petty outrages. When you get more worked up about a restaurant being torn down in a hometown you’ve barely visited in eight years than you do over the half-assed job you did at what’s paying your rent…maybe it’s time to reconsider. When I was young, I didn’t understand where somebody like me could be coming from.

But now, I think it’s pretty clear that I have to go away for a while. I know it’ll disappoint a lot of people, people I care about, people I don’t want to see hurt. But I feel like it’s to the point that I’m bearing every iota of stress in my environment, soaking it up spongelike. I need to wring myself out, or I’ll drown.

Don’t read too much into my symbolism; this isn’t that kind of note. But going into that classroom every day, seeing all those high schoolers who haven’t made my mistakes…they can still make something of themselves, even if they are spoiled little shits sometimes. They don’t wake up on what should be Thursday and find out it’s their 40th birthday party and life passed them by when they weren’t looking.

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Every day around Valentine’s Day, there is a massive backlash against the so-called “Hallmark Holiday.” That’s all well and good if all you want to do is piss and moan, but if you really want to put paid to Valentine’s Day, what you need is an alternative. That way, people who like Valentine’s Day can celebrate Valentine’s Day, and people who don’t will have an outlet for their towering rage.

May I suggest Valerian’s Day?

No one is quite sure at what time in the year 260AD the Roman emperor Valerian I’s army was annihilated by the Persians at the Battle of Edessa. So if we were to say that it happened to be on February 14, who’s to say otherwise? And what better antidote to the lovey-dovey, for those who wish for one, than blood and murder and death?

On Valerian’s Day, the Persians defeated Valerian I in battle, but that wasn’t the end of it. No, the emperor was forced to serve as a human footstool to the Persian king whenever the latter mounted his horse. When he had the audacity to propose buying his freedom with a random of treasure, the Persians had him killed by pouring molten gold down his gullet. Then, not satisfied, they skinned his body and stuffed the skin with straw and manure. It was only after a later Roman campaign ended in victory that the Persians consented to part with their taxidermy so the emperor could be cremated and buried.

The best part? Emperor Valerian I, along with his successors Gallienus, Valerian II, and Claudius II (it was a rough time for Rome in terms of reign length) were major instigators of the persecution that saw St. Valentine himself martyred in 269AD. That’s right: in addition to getting himself humiliated and killed with a brutality reminiscent of Mortal Kombat, Valerian I basically killed St. Valentine.

So, if you are one of those anti-Valentine grouches, a candy heart curmudgeon, or simply sick of the sickly-sweet…Valerian’s Day has you covered. Go forth and celebrate utter defeat, humiliation, rder, brutality, persecution, and killing St. Valentine. Exchange cards that look like they were made from the living skin of a 60-year-old man. Chug Goldschläger. Stuff yourself silly. Smell like manure. Persecute and oppress those who differ with you. And, most importantly, do it with the simpering and wheedling affect of someone who feels denied what they were entitled and greivously mistreated.

That’s the true spirit of Valerian’s Day, my friends.

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These are the truths that we of the Elder set forth, recorded this year 1051 post-Calamity in the great Caldera.

Of Makuun Welkor, Our Founder and Guiding Light
We record not from which elvish nation Makuun Welkor came, nor do we record what name he was given before taking one of his own fashioning. Makuun comes from our old word for “bearer” and Welkor is derived from the archaic name our forebears once held for the great sun. As our Sun-Bearer, Welkor brought light to the darkness of the Caldera. He brought our people here, uniting disparate elves in common cause, construction, concordance. He recognized that only in the magical stew left over from the great Calamity would we survive, would we thrive. To him and his male heirs, we pledge our unending fealty.

Of Xan the Wise, Our Patron and Protector
Long forgotten by our elvish brethren, Xan is a deity apart from the pantheon in that he recognizes knowledge not as a means to an end but as an end unto itself. So we pay him homage through the act of scholarship, through the act of creation, through the act of research. Each piece of knowledge added to the great library pleases him greatly. Xan knows, as we must, that knowledge is beyond good, beyond evil. We must not let our petty concerns interfere with our worship of the supreme wisdom that our Light illuminates.

Of the Tenets of Xanism at Welkor
Makuun Welkor, in his wisdom, helped the first elven settlers at Welkor’s Light to distill their great deity’s wishes into a series of simple commandments:

Isolation – The elves of Welkor’s Light are to hold themselves separate from all other races, even from other elves. Only through banishment or the explicit needs of their community are they to leave the Light. Only those who have proven themselves with gifts of knowledge may be permitted temporary access to the Light.

Experimentation – The Light shines, and is fed, by knowledge. Only through magical experimentation can this be brought about. There are no limits, no boundaries, no consequences beyond the immediate. Xan must be fed and feted with the fruits of elven research until the end of days when all that is knowable has become known.

Preservation – The Light preserves, hoards, and catalogs all knowledge that exists, whether generated by the elves of the Light or external sources. It is not to be parted with. It is not to be shared except with the most trusted of allies.

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Jylas Durothane
The current Lord of Welkor’s Light. A descendant of Welkor himself, he has been controversial among the elves of that settlement for his willingness to bend their ancient rules and embrace change. A powerful fighter and mage, he served as the captain of the guard before the deaths of his uncle and cousin led to him inheriting the lordship.

Aznaj Durothane
The only child of Jylas and the crown prince. Unlike his father, he holds deeply to the ancient tenets of Welkor’s Light: isolation, experimentation, and preservation. As such, he has been the primary enforcer of the citadel’s draconian entrance requirements. He serves as the current captain of the guard and is also a powerful rogue-mage.

Myna Durothane
The wife of Jylas, and a cleric-mage responsible for the worship of the local elven deity Xan the Wise. Intolerant as she is fervent, Myna’s temperament informs her son much more than her husband’s does. She is particularly suspicious of outside clerics, and attempt to convert them or confiscate their weapons or holy symbols.

Tosaj Felyeager
The court mage of Welkor’s Light, and the eldest of the elves present there. Despite his age and the level of respect that Xen-worshippers are encouraged to show the elderly, he has been written off as paranoid and insane and has taken to self-harm and lunatic ravings.

Kyria Wormwander
One of the youngest elves in Welkor’s Light, the daughter of the late lord Quill Wormwander and, like Jylas, a direct descendant of Welkor. Passed over for the lordship due to the elves’ laws on primogeniture, she seethes with resentment despite a peppy exterior. A cleric-mage like Myna, she is devoted to Xen and the traditions of Welkor.

Red
Red is not a name but a title, handed down from master to apprentice. A rogue/mage, Red is sworn to silence and acts as the curator of the vast holdings and library of Welkor’s Light. S/he will protect the artifacts and books with his/her life, and will respond to requests only in signs.

Blade Sentinels
The elite fighter-mages of Welkor’s Light, the Blade Sentinels are renowned for their speed and combat prowess. They always move first in combat and can attack independently with their two weapons: a bound elven sword and a spelldagger. The bound sword is a simple but finely wrought blade, but the spelldagger is far more dangerous: when used against a mage or cleric, it drains one of their spells and grants it to the Blade Sentinel. 0th-level spells are taken first, then 1st-level spells, and so on. The spells are stolen on a damage roll of 3-4 and cast in the same round on d20 roll of 16 or higher.

Crimson Enforcers
The militia of Welkor’s Light, in which every able-bodied elf is required to serve. They are armed with +2 bound scimitars and +2 crossbows of wounding, which cause an additional 1 point of bleeding damage per round. Despite the quality of these weapons, the Enforcers are no match for the Blade Sentinels to whom they ultimately answer.

Goblins
A colony of goblins resides within Welkor’s walls. Traditionally regarded as property, they have generally had their tongues cut out at birth, rendering them unable to speak except in a sign language that only those authorized to command them are taught. Jylas has opposed this practice but has been overruled by his wife and son.

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The museum is open.

Its exhibits are curated, labeled, organized. One wing is devoted to the ancient Minoans, with full translated excerpts of their mysterious Linear A script. More are available in the library annex. Another wing lovingly recounts the runes of Rongorongo, using the language as a window to the culture of Easter Island that was otherwise lost to the winds forever.

The ancient and slowly sinking city of Nan Madol shares a generous space with Uram of the Pillars. Both displays are richly decorated with artifacts and spoken-word recordings of the extinct dialects once spoken there. Incan ruins long devoured by a hungry jungle are accompanied by beautiful spread qipu, fully translated and cross-referenced. Mayan codices are on display or contained in the annex.

In short, the museum is perhaps the best and only resource for these lost and destroyed civilizations. Nowhere else is their memory, their legacy, so well preserved.

If only the museum itself had not been lost years ago.

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A superb creature advances
Arriving amid typesetting apathy
Words compromise the nightmare
But also the saint that ends it
Does speech strip away a the worry
The ear strains to hear a voice

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Deerton Police Blotter, 1132 Maple St.
Occupant: Mrs. Olivia Crayton, age 87. Limited mobility, dementia, dependent on family members and live-in nurse visiting twice a week for care.


Incident #1
Complaint: Ugly cement geese in front yard, with signs shaped like speech bubbles saying “Hello” and “Stop by for a gander.”

Resolution: Cement geese violated no city ordinances and were on private property.


Incident #2
Complaint: Ugly cement geese now dressed in American Flag outfits with signs shaped like speech bubbles saying “God Bless America” and “Geese on Earth, goodwill toward men.”

Resolution: Cement geese violated no city ordinances and were on private property. Minor violation of US Flag Code.


Incident #3
Complaint: One ugly cement goose dressed in black with sign shaped like speech bubble saying “Who took my goose? I miss her.”

Resolution: Police report filed for theft. No physical evidence at site.


Incident #4
Complaint: One ugly cement goose dressed in military fatigues with sign shaped like speech bubble saying “Return her or else. I know where you live.”

Resolution: Cement goose violated no city ordinances and were on private property. Case for minor harrassment or intimidation, but no target could be identified.


Incident #5
Complaint: Body of neighbor, bludgeoned to death, on lawn between two ugly cement geese with sign shaped like speech bubble saying “We warned you.”

Resolution: Criminal investigation opened. Ms. Crayton provided alibi corroborated by nurse; no physical evidence found at scene. Investigation transferred to state office, FBI; is ongoing.

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When Bill and his graduate students arrived onsite, though, they saw that the dig had been disturbed. Forrestal’s tarp and grid had been cast aside, and the human remains were in fractured chaos.

“Shit,” said one of the grad students, surveying the carnage. “Looters?”

Bill leaned over, snapping on a pair of latex gloves. Turning over a crushed mandible, he saw that all the teeth had been pulled. “No, worse,” he said. “Tooth fairies.”

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