Friday, August 29, 2008

We bid farewell to Mr. Freezie

The coroner's office after a short and utterly slip-shod investigation has declared that Mr. Freezie, missing now for nearly a week, has likely perished in some sort of freak accident. During a brief interview, in which the coroner's office was curiously heavily stockpiled with Dwarven Ale, corn, Kit-kats, and yak porn, the coroner told this news agency that he was closing the case so Freezie's grieving family and friends could move on with their lives. When asked if the coroner might be under any pressure or influence from external forces to close the case prematurely, the coroner looked around nervously at the booty surrounding him and said, "of course not."

Mr. Freezie was known as a happy-go-lucky fellow who did his best to add a little child-like whimsy to the lives of those around him. In his youth, he worked in the snowball factories of the Northern Shiverpeaks making ammunition for the inhabitants of the Secret Lair of the Snowmen to assist them in defending their territory against "heroes" attempting to infiltrate their home and rob it of vital Dwarven ale, candy canes, yuletide tonics, and insidious snowman summoners.

The deceased, seen here playfully teabagging a friend as his fiancee looks on. (file photo)

As he grew older, the socially conscious ice man decided his conscience would no longer allow him to make weapons of war and mayhem so he opened up a kiosk in Lion's Arch and sold snowballs to children so they might playfully pelt visiting heroes during Wintersday festivals. During the off-season, he made a living selling ice to local purveyors of drink and food.

It was at his kiosk that he met his future fiancée, Mesmerizing Carl. He told those close to him that he couldn't help but fall for her as she was the only creature he'd ever met who had a heart colder than his. Snowmen pals of Mr. Freezie said that he remarked that he knew it was true love when Mesmerizing delivered a fresh carrot to his kiosk each week to replace his wilting nose. In the wake of his passing, his grieving fiancee said, "Mr. Who? What are you on about? I've already forgotten about him."

Friends and family will remember him for his always smiling face, dashing top hat, and playful demeanor. Memorial services will be held at Carlhalla later this week. All comers are welcome to attend and kindly asked to bring a donation of corn, yak porn, Kit-kats, or dwarven ale to honor Mr. Freezie as the CARL guild is curiously short on such necessities at the moment. Plenty of ice will be on hand for those who bring warm beverages.

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

Mesmerizing Gets Engaged

Meeting the fiancé.

Love seems to be in the air as of late for the Carls. After I posted my recent breaking of a heart, Mesmerizing announced that she has decided to tether herself permanently to her new beau, a grinning jack ass who is the only creature almost as cold and icy as Mesmerizing herself.

I've never cared for her hulking friend, and I care even less for a permanent attachment between he and Mesmerizing. When she announced their upcoming nuptials, there was much nattering on about finding a nice igloo in the north and settling down to raise a bunch of tiny ice children. I'm pretty sure that the only reason these two ended up together is that he's the only one that will tolerate her Hummel figurines and she's the only one who finds painfully cold creatures attractive. I don't even want to know about their sex life, or how they're planning on arranging conception.

The big problem isn't their disturbing lifestyle, but rather the fact that I can't allow that big collection of icicles to take Mesmerizing out of the game. She not only has all our useful collectible items in storage (and we can't let her walk away with the bulk of our collective wealth), but she's the only one who knows her way around. Without her, we'd be running in even more circles than usual.

Sneaking away for our "bachelor party."

That last straw was when she declared that she would be redecorating Carlhalla so that her future husband would be comfortable in it. While she plans on living "la vida domestica" (I practially threw up when she said that) at their temple of ice cubes, she does expect to pop by the Guild Hall on occasion to show us boring pictures of their honeymoon and any little icelings they spawn.

After hearing that she was going to lower the temperature by about 70 degrees in the hall (which will destroy our custom-made toilet by changing it from a pit of lava to a pit of volcanic rock) and change the decor to "early Eskimo", I decided to take action to stop this relationship in its tracks. I sent Mesmerizing out for champagne to celebrate and while I had the ice man alone for a second, I suggested we have a bachelor party the likes of which Mesmerizing would never approve of. I told him that we'd make sure she got good and ripped on high-priced booze, then sneak away for some ale and whore action.

I must say that I felt a lot less guilty about what I was planning when he looked at me with that idiotic grin and nodded his snowball head "yes". After all, if he's cheating on Mesmerizing with paid trollops, how devoted can he be?

Problem solved.

I gathered up a few of "the guys" who could be trusted to keep their mouths shut if I paid them to do so (Olias, Pyre, Zhed) and we headed out of town for our "bachelor party". While Frosty the Snow Fiancé turned around and said, "where's the party," we let him have it right in the popsicle.

I'm sure Mesmerizing will forget him soon enough. After all, she's more interested in her mini pets and knick-knacks than romance. I'll buy her a mini Freezie and she'll find him more than a sufficient substitute for her former fiancé.

As for the disposal of the remains of said former fiancé, let's just say that none of the drinks at Carlhalla will be going warm for a long, long time.

Saturday, August 23, 2008

Names Awarded the Carl Seal of Approval #10

Roarst One Eye

(We stole his Kit-Kat.)

Wednesday, August 20, 2008

A Man Gets Lonely

A man gets lonely while he's out and about on the questing trail. Sure, there are other heroes traveling along for the ride...a bossy and impatient mesmer, a crazy necro, and a crop of hired lackeys. They're no sort of companions when a man needs a special kind of comfort.

Most of the time, a man can wear himself out smashing things with axe to dull the gnawing hunger for intimacy. When that fails, or there's nothing left to smash with axe, there's always the cold comfort of the bottle. People think a man gets falling down drunk all the time for the simple joy of inebriation. Well, they'd be right, but there are also those times when sorrows need to be drowned in dwarven ale.

Just when you think you can't take the loneliness anymore, you wander across a special someone. Tentatively, you approach, hopes high that she'll sense the chemistry as well. It's not just the sight of her, it's also the sweet musk of her scent. It's a sort of intoxication that you can't get from mere alcohol.

Of course, a really special companion doesn't give herself over easily. There is a subtle and coy exchange of looks. There has to be a recognition of a true connection between you before baser urges are acted upon.

When that magic moment comes, and that come-hither look is directed your way, you know that your loneliness is about to end. When it's all over, you need a cigarette, and to high tail it out of there before day-break when she wakes up.

After you score and make a clean getaway, you party Carl style. After all, there are plenty of yaks in the bend to comfort you the next time you get lonely.

Monday, August 18, 2008

The Ruination of the Flame Temple

Editor's Note: This transcript was recently delivered to CarlHalla via an arrow shot through our stained glass portrait of Prince. It is evidently in response to a recent vanquish in which the Carls stormed the Charr's beloved Flame Temple. During said foray, the Carls destroyed all cat-related bests discovered therein with scathing verbal taunts and imprecations against the Charrs' respective mothers. While the party was frequently sent packing (leaving trails of shame and urine in their wake), they eventually emerged triumphant. ... Or so they thought. This column was evidently sent by a survivor--one who didn't take kindly to the Carls' interruption of his daily activities.

Pages originally torn from Gulbozz "Snuggles" Nastywhisker's personal journal, as transcribed by Necrotic Carl.

...hate that guy so much. He thought that damn nickname was so clever; now everyone in the Temple is calling me 'Snuggles'! Every single day I think about shoving an arrow into the back of his skull... no one would even notice it was me; they'd just blame it on one of those damn rangers that seem to have the range of a small cannon. One of these days, I swear I'm going to do it. Even the shamans that coward always hangs out with won't be able to bring him back then...

[Day 4 of temple guard duty--8:43am]
I can't believe it's only been four days since I was sent to this worthless excuse for guard duty. We're not even really guarding anything; we haven't heard reports of any of those Ascalonian "heroes" for weeks, and yet here I am, standing watch over this pile of dirt we've crowned as holy. Stupid shamans. I bet they just named this a temple to see how long they could get us to stand guard over it before we finally got tired of the game and went back home. They probably have a royal outhouse at the top of this thing.

[Day 6 of 'temple' guard duty--3:42pm]
That idiot in charge of us just called me "Snuggles" again and fell over himself in a fit of hysterical giggles at his own cleverness. Yeah, way to go buddy--oh, wait, your actual name is Lumps Ruinator! What the hell were your parents thinking, dumbass? ... I totally should've said that to him. I'll note it down for next time, in case I forget. Hate that guy.

On an unrelated note, I saw what looked like gigantic three-headed squirrels prowling about the perimeter today. Here's hoping they find Lumps and "Ruinate" his business.

[Day 9 of 'temple' guard duty--11:34am]
A little over a week out here now, and I can hardly tell; every day is exactly the same. Seeing as how this stint comes straight on the heels of my last deployment to the north, it's been months since I've seen a female of any species, let alone a feline one. I gotta admit, after a while in the field, some of these guys get pretty desperate; I think I saw one of my fellow rangers getting awfully frisky with those gargoyles yesterday. Poor bastard... I don't even want to know how long he's been away from home; all's I know is that won't be turning my back on him, if you know what I mean. At what point in history did our priests sit down and decide that women don't belong in the field? Did our religion develop overnight at a gay slumber party? How can these idiots not see the distraction this can eventually cause? Hell, even those human vermin allow their females to fight alongside them--and in armor that amounts to little more than gauze and floss, at that! I think the other day I saw this little tiny creature running around the outskirts of the temple in nothing but underwear and tattoos! She *must* have divine protection, not to mention some bitchin' sunblock.

Speaking of lotion, the other day I found Lumps' shampoo and mixed some flea eggs I got from eBay into it; no signs of hatching yet, but the next week or so should be interesting. Thank god we can still get mail out here--although oddly enough, the only porn you can get is dolyak stuff, and that's not quite to my tastes. Still, they start to look nice after a while...

[Day 14 of 'temple' guard duty--10:15am]
If I ever catch the rat-bastard who told Lumpy that I was responsible for the shampoo prank, he'll have a fresh arrow hole where his brain used to be. The day after the outbreak started, I found myself "reassigned" to this desolate patch of the Diessa Lowlands at the entrance to the temple. This, of course, means I only get to socialize with the axe-wielder troglodytes that we basically plant here as mindless roadblocks to prevent stupid humans from waltzing on in. Officially, I am to watch out and hail arrows upon unsuspecting travelers, but everyone knows I've been placed here as punishment for teaching that moron a lesson. Heh. Those fleas were awesome though; they had to shave the poor bastard to clean him up, and he was covered with bites. Seeing him blush in embarrassment around the welts almost makes it all worth it.

Artist's rendering of Lumpy's new look

[Day 16 of 'temple' entrance guard duty--12:45pm]
This morning I attempted to have a conversation with the mongoloids accompanying me in this waste of a guard duty cycle--big mistake. Attempting to decipher their grunts (emitted whilst spewing forth clouds of crumbs--we were eating breakfast) was a singularly frustrating task that I eventually gave up to focus on watching the dust blow about the entrance to the corridor. After a while, the dust actually starts to look like humans sneaking upon us, but I generally attribute that to boredom. After my fruitless attempt at banter with the moron twins, I had to get myself a snack from the vending machine (thank GOD they let us have that out here; otherwise we'd be forced to subsist on army rations). The fact that a candy bar costs over 2 platinum out here seems a bit excessive, but after a few weeks, it becomes more reasonable. Besides, what good is the money going to do me out here?

Ah, Kit-Kats, my only friend. I can't count the number of afternoons I've sat out here humming that song to myself for hours on end. I asked the axe twins if they remembered the song from our younger days and they presented me with looks as blank as their minds. Warriors, I've learned, don't retain information longer than the few seconds it takes their brains to reprocess what they've heard into one of two things: "Smash with axe!" or "Why no smash with axe?" After several fruitless attempts ("Gimme a break! Giiiiiimme a break. Break me off a piece of that Kit-Kat bar!" No? Nothing? Screw you guys.), I turned about to enjoy my candy goodness in peace.

Image reproduced by CarlHalla staff

I managed to eat about half of it (I always save the last two bars for later) when suddenly I felt a series of overwhelming sensations; I could feel my body's vitality slowly draining and the smashy twins started roaring incoherent ramblings towards the entrance. I somehow couldn't bring myself to care about them (my spirit felt... something... not wrathful or vengeful... but something like that. It's hard to describe.), but I suddenly realized that a small group of human vermin had dared attack us! And in the middle of my break, no less! The last thing I remember was firing a series of exploding arrows towards a particularly scantily-clad female in a mask, and slowly falling to the ground. A tiny man was hurtling towards my cohorts screaming "Tankarific smash with axe!"; I guess some things are universal.

[Day 18 of 'temple' guard duty--17:57pm]
It's a peculiar feeling being the only creature alive in an entire region. My own feelings regarding my surroundings (as well as those who inhabited them) are obviously well-known and oft-lamented, but even I could never envision this. It's been two days, and still, I'm the only thing that dares move in this wretched place. On the bright side, I broke open the vending machine and took all the candy I could cram down my gullet, but even the joy that Kit-Kats once brought to my heart was eclipsed by the burning desire to track down those who were responsible for the destruction of all that I once despised. After I finish looting the corpses (and urinating on Lumps' now-smoking remains), I plan to set off on the trail of those who brought this down upon me. I may kill them--after all, it is my duty. I may thank them--because hey, I hated that guy. But one way or another, the hunt is on.