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I wonder how many people are slowly cancelling their VIP because of no news on year 2

Solo gamers who enjoy roleplaying and fresh coffee ,still, exist.

Dear Diary

I can smell it enter the room, reeking like brine soaked seaweed decaying on a beach as the tide comes in. Its walks with a light step but drags its feet, making a gentle swishing sound on the wooden floorboards. Its breath is heavy, labored, producing a gentle hiss that rises and falls in the silent room, betraying a creature unaccustomed to the cool air of approaching winter.

It sits in the elaborately carved, high backed chair before me, to my right, facing an expansive desk covered with papers, tomes, and the gruesome bric-à-brac of an unrepentant fiend. The creature makes its lair here, safe from the prying eyes of human prey animals that dwell in the large town below. It stares out into the dark room at nothing, ruminating upon matters alien and abstruse.

A surge of primal energy girdles my waist, travels up my arm, fills my muscles with inhuman power as I bring down my steel shod fist onto the back of the monster's skull. My steel knuckles slice through the clammy, moist skin, impacting upon bone with a loud, wet thud, shattering it with the strength of an elephant matron defending her herd. It coughs forth a brief, wheezing moan as it crumples onto the desk, unconscious but alive.

Moving quickly, I push the monster upright and begin strapping it to the chair with steel chain drawn from a bag hidden beneath the left side of the desk. The chair is well made and stout, the kind fashioned for a wealthy baron or merchant to demonstrate the good taste and means of the owner. Now it becomes a prison, the strong wood members gouged deep as I pull the chain taunt with unnatural force, locking down its legs, its arms, its hands. I weave the chain into the gaps between the tentacles on its face, securing its head tightly. It must not move for what comes next. It is breathing steadily now, awake but feigning sleep, hoping for the moment I meet it in a face to face stare. I remain to the left side of the creature, stooping down, locking the chains in place with padlocks removed from pockets around my waist.

There is a letter opener upon the desk, the white bone hilt still showing signs it was made from the ulna of a human child. I pick it up, quickly point the blade strait down, and plunge it into the left forearm of the creature just above the wrist. It screams, a terrible, bestial sound like the howl of a large dog mixed with the hiss or a monitor lizard, then flares its mouth tentacles, spasmodically flailing and grasping towards its tormentor, its bloodshot, cruel eyes a mask of fury and hate. It lunges in the chair and tries to turn its head but the chains hold fast. I remove the letter opener, toss it on the desk out of reach, then suddenly seize one mouth tentacle in my left hand and squeeze, once again bearing down with the strength of an elephant matron. It writhes and flails, then gasps as I let go of the ruined member that now lies limp against its face.

"Parley", it hisses out. "We capitulate. We are rich. We give the masked woman what she wants."

With my right hand I wipe a small amount of sweat from its brow, then tap its skull about two inches above the left eye. It cannot see my face hidden behind a featureless, smoothly curved panel of matte black metal.

"What does this mean? We do not understand." My chains crush its chest and it speaks with difficulty.

My voice is changed, soft, sweet, and alluring, learned from the succubi that prowl the most exclusive gentleman's club of this land after dark. "It's right there."

"What? What is right there. What do you..."

I raise my right index finger before my hidden lips and make a shhhhhhhhhhh sound. It complies, feigning submission while its immense intellect frantically explores every possibility to escape from my trap. "Your psionic lobe." I gently tap the spot above his left eye a second time.

"We are rich. We can make you powerful. The most powerful woman of this land. A queen. We are ready to give everything for our life." It has already mastered the pain, devised a scheme to escape, and is laying the foundation of its plan.

With my right hand I pull a small dagger from my belt and hold it up so the monster can see the short, three centimeter blade. Strands of fine black metal are slowly writhing on my right forearm, parting to reveal a second weapon snug against my skin suit, the blade naked, reaching almost to my elbow. The monster stares at the black hilt of the much larger dagger, cast in the shape of a sitting female. It can see her shiny black face staring back, set in a terrible, menacing grin of anticipation.

"NO!", it screams. My hand moves with preternatural speed, plunging the blade of the smaller weapon into the skull of the monster exactly two inches above the left eye socket. If thrashes about as I bore through the bone, enlarge the hole, then spin the blade in the new socket, slicing the brain tissue beneath into a pulp of gray mush. After less than a minute I remove the blade and return to a standing position to the left of the monster, appraising my work.

It breaths heavily as if recovering from great exertion, its eyes wide and frenzied. "What have you done to us? What have you done?"

Once again I raise my right index finger, make a shuuuuuusssshhhhhhh sound, and wait. The monster requires two minutes to regain its breath, then feigns additonal distress to gain time while it formulates a new escape strategy. I clean the blade of my short knife, making a show of the process, letting the monster plot, then put it away.

"Why have you done this to us? What do you want? We are willing to give you everything for our life." Once again it has mastered the pain. It needs to build a rappor with me.

"Her name was Greta. She was 8 years old and loved to play hide and seek." The succubi are excellent teachers of the offensive feminine arts and I was a devoute student. My tone is pure sugar and spice with nary a drop of rage. "But of course, you know that. You ate her brain."

It immediately understands, drawing upon every last ounce of reserve strength to strain at the steel bonds. The dagger against my right forearm leaps into my hand, the long strands of writhing metal revealed to be her hair, wrapping around my wrist and arm. Once again, a surge of power travels from my midriff, into the muscles of my right arm, and I bring down the pommel of the terrible, living dagger onto the left arm of the monster. The bones shatter with an audible, wet, cracking sound. My fist comes down again, this time driving the pommel into the left knee of the horror in the chair. As it pops, the monster issues forth another baleful scream. With my left hand, I spin the chair around, causing the monster to face away from the desk. I move around the back of the chair, raise my right fist, and smash the right arm of the monster. "NO!", it roars. "NO! NO! NO!" My fourth blow shatters the right knee and it begins to make a terrible keening.

Time is short and I must act swiftly. The sounds of our exchange will not have gone unnoticed. The black dagger is out of my right hand and once again locked against my forearm as I swiftly open padlocks, moving them to my belt. Once they are undone, I unwrap the chain with equal haste, wrapping it into a coil using my left hand and elbow. The monster, unable to walk or use its arms, falls forward and crashes to the wooden floor. It moves its head to face me, exerting the force of its mind, but nothing happens. I have deprived the monster of all means of defense.

"We can bring her back!", it pleads. "You must allow us to bring her back! We have her thoughts! We will do as you wish."

My response is a whispering hiss. "What I want is for you to see the light." I grab the monster by the back of the neck, haul it to its feet, and drag it to the balcony doors. My left fist smashes the lock. My left leg kicks them open. Light of the noon day sun floods into the gloomy chamber, illuminating all the grim trophies scattered about the room. There is a small human skull hanging from the waist of the monster, held upon a braid of gold, the back bored out. I plant my feet, lower the monster to its knees, then use my preternatural strength to heave it over the balcony.

As I retreat from the open balcony door and move to a nearby window, the monster falls one story to the ground below. There are screams of panic. Peering through the drapes, I can see many people running. The bravest men hold their ground and make a weapon of any stout object within reach. The bravest women huddle behind the men and take up yet more weapons of necessity.

It rolls onto its side and looks at the crowd, propped on its right elbow. "We come in peace! We are not an enemy. We are peaceful. We bring knowledge. We are injured. Please have mercy."

"What is it?", pleads one woman. "A mind flayer!", exclaims a man with the bearing of a former soldier. "Stay away from it! It can destroy your mind!"

"We will not hurt you. We will not cause harm. We are injured and request mercy." Even after sustaining so many injuries, even in a state of excruciating pain, the monster was speaking in a composed, measured manner.

Another woman points at the creature and yells, "There is a skull tied to its waist!" Another man points and roars, "That is the skull of a child!" More cries of anger rise up. The mob slowy draws in upon the monster. Their numbers grow. Thier courages waxes in equal measure to their rage. "Look!", says an older man. "It has an injury to the head!"

A woman cries and says, "That is the creature I saw! That is the monster that slew my daughter! That is her skull! I know it is."

"No! We come in peace! We are not a monster! We ask for mercy! We..." It was too late. It was too late the moment our paths became entwined. It was too late when the young woman came to me, asking for help to find her missing daughter. It was too late when she described the monster.

A large man strikes the first blow with a walking staff. That breaks the damn and soon they are all beating it. I cannot hear the bones snapping or the horrible, monstrous wails it makes over the angry shouts of the mob.

I look to my left at the young woman standing there, her long, blonde hair free, her face hidden beneath an elegant and intricate veil, her attire the robes of a lady of high standing. Her right hand is extended and with my preternatural sight I can see a single filiment of silver draped across the palm. "Do you have the bearing?", I ask.

"Yes", she says. She sounds a lot like me.

Currently looking for people to discuss Threnal Quest pack with.

i miss my 2 minute DL trance