The Cold Carl Trail

Editor's Note: This transcript was recently delivered to CarlHalla via the time-honored delivery method of brick + note + window = delivered! Unfortunately for some, the brick landed heavily upon Mesmerizing Carl's dainty (and ill-protected) foot, rendering her ability to participate in the Carlish games rather limited. Following her cursing spell, the Carls examined the note, but given their limited capacities of pattern-recognition (particularly with Mesmerizing out of commission), the note was set aside after a series of incoherent grunts and head-scratching. Eventually, Necrotic Carl worked up the wherewithal to transcribe the words for future reference, in case they actually meant something.

[... information evidently continued from a previous page that was not delivered]
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
Byron has some odd way of speaking the words I'm always thinking... at least, words I might be thinking if there were a female anywhere in sight! God I hate this place.

[Day 4 of Carl hunt--4:15pm]
I managed to stalk these "Carls" to what appears to be their base of operations. At least, I assume so--in all honesty, the place feels like a ghost town. I've been scoping the place out for two days now and I've only seen them all together once; most of the time, it's just one person wandering about aimlessly muttering about "damned minkeys" being too difficult to work with. I've dubbed this particular Carl "Moe" due to the frequency of her imprecations against her none-too-frequent companions.

In the little time I've had to sniff about the place, I've detected notes of leather, mold, and an overwhelming stench of monkey feces--it seems the Carls have entertained visitors before. In the time I've spent observing her, "Moe" has rearranged and re-rearranged a collection of small figurines scattered everywhere in the hall. I'm beginning to think she has some sort of compulsion. Out of curiousity, I snatched one of the figures when she wasn't looking, just to see if she'd notice. Not only did she notice, she appeared to be unable to function properly until she discovered where she had stashed it. She tore through her pack like a warrior seeking something to smash, after which she moved on to the seemingly bottomless chest in the corner of the room. Realizing that I'd perhaps awakened something better left alone, I slid the figurine onto the floor below its shelf in order to make her think it had simply fallen. When she noticed where it had ended up, she scooped it back into its proper place, muttering under her breath about "minkeys" again. I'll keep an eye out for these creatures--they sound dangerous.

[Day 6 of Carl hunt--2:14am]
Finally, I have some peace! That miniscule armored beast with a penchant for axe-smashing (henceforth dubbed "Larry" due to the fact that he never really seems to know what's going on) apparently has an affinity for all things alcoholic as well--he has a rather impressive stash of various different grogs in the basement of this hall and he is certainly not afraid to use all of them. That said, he's not the problem; it appears I've encountered the creatures that Moe had rambled on about during previous evenings. Unfortunately, this also led me to discover the apparent source of this place's "homey" aroma. The Minkeys appear to have a somewhat regular tradition of raiding Tankarific's stash during the wee hours, generally after the Carls have wandered off. These ill-mannered simians not only consumed a fair portion of the substantial liquor cabinet, but they also "refreshed" what I had previously took to be markings made in mud on the walls. Imagine my dismay when I learned the truth about this "mud"...

I've finished my inspection of this territory for whatever traps or hazards the Carls may have placed about, and aside from a rather ... unusual waste disposal facility, the place appears to be relatively unguarded--a fact I found remarkable given Moe's evident obsession with her decorative figurines. Nevertheless, this obviously bodes well for my mission... whenever I decide exactly what it is.

[Day 9 of Carl hunt--11:54am]
My "intelligence gathering" has encountered a completely unexpected (and quite bewildering) obstacle in the form of a creature that for the life of me, I simply can't understand. I was creating an inventory of all the figurines scattered about when I sensed that someone was approaching. I barely had time to duck behind one of the mossy pillars supporting the hall's excuse for a ceiling before a ... man, I think, wearing the brightest pants I had ever seen appeared. Trust me in this: my words can never even come close to describing just how ostentatious his outfit was. This is due in part to the fact that I couldn't look directly at him (for fear of being blinded, both from the light and from horror), but more so to the fact that there are no words for this ... thing. As he entered, fireworks started going off throughout the hall, and it took a supreme act of will to keep my feline instincts suppressed enough to sit still, lest I be seen. Although to be honest, I doubt my emergence would've made the slightest difference to him; he appeared to pay no heed to anything at all, running about in circles and dropping snowmen behind. To him, I doubt I would've even registered as a novelty, which is largely what I find so inexplicable. At least with the previous two humans, I could sense their overall demeanor: Larry, like any other warrior, can't think beyond the point of his axe, and sees no need to change that; Moe, on the other hand, seemed driven to seek out the most efficient means to whatever end she had at the time, and most of those ends would've led through me. "Curly" (as I've dubbed ... him), however, didn't appear to have any motive for anything. His mindless wanton exuberance left me reeling--in fact, I believe I passed out briefly, and emerged dumber from the encounter. Thankfully, by the time I came to, he had moved on (hopefully to visit those Minkeys; *that* would be an encounter for the ages!), leaving me time to gather what few thoughts I had remaining to me. I'd never encountered a being with such ability to completely obliterate rational thought from himself and all of his surroundings... let us hope I don't encounter him again.

After my mind had cleared, I hastily sketched this portrait of what I experienced. I no longer know how accurate it is.

It seems these Carls could potentially put up more of a fight than I had anticipated, however inadvertent their efforts may be.

[Day 13 of Carl 'hunt'--1:11pm]
Tonight I decided to conduct an experiment and observe these Carls in their natural habitat. After all, thus far I'd only seen them being drunk, acting drunk, and obsessing over minutiae in the protection of their own home. As a result, I packed myself a ration kit from my remaining vending machine spoils and sauntered off after them (at a safe distance, of course) on a trip into a horrible region with water that appeared to be made of stone.

Proper food for any Charr-on-the-go.

Larry appeared to be particularly excited about this foray, as it allowed him the opportunity to bring a small turtle that fired ping-pong balls at his enemies. Although the creature's attack didn't noticeably impair his enemies' abilities, his master derived great joy in the form of drunken giggling fits every time he glanced down and remembered that it was there.

[Day 14 of Carl 'hunt'--9:24am]
Scent carries forever in this lifeless ocean, and yet with all this expanse, the only other Charr I've managed to catch wind of is that vile traitor that follows the armored one around like a pathetic lapdog. I can see why he had to leave his own people, of course: he makes very poor combat decisions, drawing enemies near when his packmates are obviously recouping after a recent fight. After his targets have drawn closer, he runs like a cowardly human with his tail tucked between his legs until all the fire has been drawn to his compatriots, at which time he hails arrows down upon their heads (with no regard for friends or foes) at the rate of approximately one arrow per hour. Just for the hell of it, I decided to throw some of my own arrows into the fray, as my stalking was growing tiresome. As a test of this poor outcast's ineptitude, I decided to see if I could fire an arrow, have a snack, and fire another arrow all in the time it took him to finish applying poison to his quiver.

My last Kit-Kat meets a worthy demise.

I actually managed to finish the entire bar before he had finished firing a single arrow. I'm not entirely sure why the humans keep him around, but Larry appears to dote on him like a den mother, praising his durability all the while ignoring the fact that his cowardice is a direct cause of said longevity.

[Day 16 of Carl 'hunt'--4:03pm]
Several days of observing these creatures in action have dulled my lust for revenge after what they did to my "friends". In fact, my smoldering disdain for them has given way at least in part to a sad sense of pity, at least for Moe. Despite her obvious addiction to miniatures, she appears to be the only competent being of the three. In the instances where the party is divided (which happens far too frequently, mostly due to Curly's unpredictable whims), Larry and Curly inevitably end up dashing about in endless circles; they obviously think they're going somewhere, but neither appears to be able to read a map, so they just continue wandering, oblivious to their surroundings. The drunken one at least has an excuse--after all, that dwarven ale packs quite a kick, and he never seems to put it down--but the other... well, he's simply an idiot. Or an idiot with a death wish. Or a remarkable savant at emulating the actions of an idiot with a death wish. Regardless, I have estimated that the party would've accomplished their goal 90000% faster without his influence. He reminds me Lumpy, in a way, but with less fur (at least prior to the flea egg incident). And, of course, uglier.

[Day 20 of Carl 'hunt'--12:34pm]
It appears the Carls' quest has reached an impasse; they have been instructed to deliver a box from one village into the hands of a grateful recipient across this ocean. In and of itself, this would seem to be a simple task. Any who would expect this to be so for the Carls, however, has never encountered Curly. Showing no regard for the task at hand, as soon as the box was in sight, he snatched it away from his leader and proceeded to begin opening it in hopes of discovering ... well, I don't know what he was looking for. Something shiny, I imagine. Moe, in a vain attempt to get the party back on track, tried to take the package back, resulting in a pathetic tug-of-war over something that was probably worthless to all involved.

Not actual photo of the struggle.

This process lasted for the better part of an hour, at which point the miniature turtle vomited forth another ping-pong ball, which distracted Curly long enough for Moe to secure the cargo once again. Larry remained oblivious to all around him as he gulped down another tankard and waved his axe about menacingly at the rocky waves (coming dangerously close to decapitating Curly, I might add--I'm not entirely sure he would've regretted it if he had). At this point, I decided that I had little else to gain from further observation, and as my supplies were running low anyway, it seemed a good time to return to the hall and consider my next move. Just for fun, I fired a few arrows into a pack of irukandji that were drifting nearby (surprising the Charr with the Carls, who was about to do the same thing) and began to make the journey back. I do not know that this experience has clarified my future plans regarding the Carls at all; however, I do know I can't handle any more insanity for the time being. Perhaps next time I follow them, I'll wait until Moe is going out alone. She seems to be the most tolerable of the bunch. Plus, she doesn't appear to be as modest when picking out her clothes...

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.

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.

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.

Playing with Wurms

Editor's note: The following is an excerpt taken from the journal of Godly Carl, who has not been spotted in Elona since these events took place. While he is certainly still alive, the Carl guild would appreciate any and all information pertaining to his whereabouts. If you think you have spotted Godly Carl, do not attempt to approach him; instead, back away slowly and contact your nearest Carl representative.

***
20 January 2008
How did it come to this? What kind of day begins with an ankle-high version of Varesh's unpleasant visage glaring you right in the eyes?

As I slowly emerged from my bedroll, I could tell she was hungry. Hell, so was I, but that didn't make food any easier to come by in this god-forsaken place [ed: Obviously excluding Godly Carl himself]. We'd been wandering in the wastes for what seemed to be months now, but according to Nature Carl had only been a few hours. That being the case, I'm no longer certain how I wound up in my bedroll, so either she's lying or Tankarific slipped me some of that drain cleaner he calls ale again. Short bastard; must have a hollow leg.

As I stretched up and looked about, I started to recall why I had been sleeping: the Waste sucked. Elona had spoiled me, what with the bikini-clad elementalists flowing through the streets with not a care in the world... and then there was the Waste, with no company aside from a she-ranger that always seemed to have somewhere to be, a nancy boy with defective (and vastly insufficient) pants, and a horde of wurms.

Oh yes, the wurms. How could I forget the next step in our journey?

Godly Carl looks down upon the wurms, circling some mysterious unidentified object

I had been told that we "knew where we [were] going" and that it was time to get moving. I pulled myself away from the hypnotic dance of the wurm and speculated as to what it could be circling so intently. Whatever it was, it appeared Nature was headed straight for it, which meant I had no choice but to find out for myself. Somehow, I was less than excited, and in fact had a vague sense of foreboding about the days to come...

The Carls inspect the mysterious object

"Seriously? Wurm poo? That's what we came to find?" I whined to whoever would listen. Unfortunately, it seemed the adventure was just beginning.

"We're not seeking this, but it's certainly necessary for the next step of our quest!" Nature exclaimed with far more enthusiasm than I thought was called for. Without missing a beat, she grabbed up a good handful of the stuff and waved it around in the air while making an odd crooning noise. Disgusted, I turned away and started to trudge back to the town, reflecting upon how my life had reached this point, when suddenly the ground trembled beneath the party.

"A trap!" I squealed, pumping my legs faster in hopes that the other Carls would provide sufficient distraction for me to make my escape. But indeed, it wasn't a trap, or at least not a deadly one. As I fainted, I could feel the wurm's jaws closing around my limp form.

The wurms, enraged at the desecration of their sacred spoor, consume the Carls as Xandra's spirit observes impassively

I awoke from my stupor in a rather dark and slimy place. "How did I get back to the guild hall?" I wondered silently as I inspected my surroundings. I seemed to be suffering from an odd double-vision effect--I could see a vision of tall ribs, noxious goo, and what appeared to be a pair of half-digested boots superimposed over an image of wurms burrowing through the desert sands. It slowly dawned on me that I had in fact not been warped back to the revered home of the Carl but was instead reclining in the gut of one of those accursed worms. As if to reinforce my insight, one of my compatriots burst forth with a monstrous belch, in an attempt to ward off further intrusions to its domain.

The wurm attempts to relieve some abdominal pressure

Thankfully, Nature had tired of tormenting us and decided to lead off to our destination. I had not yet learned the complex inner workings of the wurm's navigational system, which led to some unfortunate side trips involving margonites and various expletives unjustly hurled my way from my fearless leader. My attempts to explain my difficulty in maneuvering my monstrous transport resulted in scoffs and spluttered imprecations about leaving me out to die.

Having vented to her heart's content (upon your faithful and much put-upon narrator, of course), Nature eventually determined that we had reached our destination and somehow ordered the wurms to set us free. This was unfortunately executed using a technique that is somewhat unpleasant for all parties involved.

The wurms vomit the intrepid party onto safe ground. Not pictured: dignity, wet-naps

Having "safely" extracted myself from the wurm's maw, I felt I had some right to an explanation as to why we had decided to wander off into the wastes with no clear objective. Virtuous Carl (whose "virtue" is dubious at best, considering his choice of apparel) made remarks about some "arrow" guiding us, to which I snorted and turned to someone who knew what they were doing.

"Do you have the right quest selected?" Nature demanded, glaring at me as though the wurm snot on her boots was my fault. "We're doing " *fzzzzt*.... ... "Are you listening?!"

As I used the last of my napkins to wipe myself clean, I glared up at my tyrannical leader. "Of course I don't have it selected! You never told us what it was!" I glanced around in vain, seeking another means of wiping the last remnants of what could only be described as "wurm-goo" from my tunic. I eventually settled on Varesh's cape, much to her dismay.

Varesh's protests aside, I was about to launch forth with a bitch-fest of epic proportions when Xandra suddenly spoke up with her own explanation of our current status:

Xandra's expansive rationale for my cape being covered in wurm excrement

"Your mother?!" I exclaimed in disbelief. "Poor Gwen over there is knee-deep in wurm crap still and your reason for dragging us out here is a 'rumor' being spread about some woman you've never met?!"

"Be that as it may, we must proceed," Xandra explained calmly. "Don't we, Nature Carl?"

"Of course," our leader replied. "We have our own reasons for seeking out the source of that rumor; don't let his whining bother you. Just ignore him or else he'll just get worse."

I snorted in righteous indignation as they stalked away, pursuing some mandragors sighted off in the distance. Muttering imprecations under my breath, I had no choice but to follow, for I hadn't paid attention to where we had come from, and wasn't about to attempt to brave the wurms again.

The Carls trudge along, admiring the Waste's greenery and natural splendor

2 February 2008
Dear diary,

I don't know why I'm so drawn to Nature; perhaps it's that sweet ass and her gorgeous pants! One of these days I'm going to grab he---"Damn it nancy boy! I told you to stop writing in my journal!"

"You mean your diary?!" Virtuous replied in a mocking tone.

"My journal!" I exclaimed, glaring over the entry he inscribed--in pen, no less!--in the future bestseller of Tyria's literary world. I trust my editors will recognize this particular altercation as something to be removed, or at the very least, saved for the special edition DVD bonus features [ed: hee hee!].

As I grumpily stood and gazed about our campsite, I couldn't help but notice the lovely flora that surrounded us.

I admire the local foilage (note: it's pronounced fo-lee-age) of the lovely Waste

"How much longer is this trip going to take?" I whined to the ever-cheerful Nature girl. "My feet are sore and I could even go for some more of Tankarific's grog, the drunken bastard."

"Actually, we've arrived," she said, already thinking on which quest to do next. "Observe the splendor that is the ancient ruins!"

Our "destination": a pile of rubble, which apparently harbors Xandra's offending rumor

"That's it?! How exactly can this place be spawning any unfounded rumors about Xandra's dubious parentage?" I politely asked whilst attempting to wrap my hands about Nature's neck. "You will take us back now!"

"Indeed I will," she calmly replied, dodging the half-digested boots I had thrown at her (which I had inexplicably found in my pack), "for you see, we're filled with resignation since the quest is over. I suspect we will soon find ourselves--" she stopped and fell over, apparently dead, alongside Virtuous boy, who had done the same.

As I watched Varesh loot the corpses for any valuables (nothing but a huge pile of junk collectibles from Nature), I determined that this time, I would decide where the next step was, and it certainly wasn't following blindly to wherever I was told.

Upon returning to our sacred home, I softly packed a few bags, along with the note I had found in my pocket days earlier:

Godly Carl: If you ever feel so inclined, come out to Cantha for a vacation on the shores of the Jade Sea. It's lovely this time of year, and it'd certainly be a nice change of pace from harvesting corn with that blade you call a scythe all day!
--Otassin

I glanced back at my teammates as they haggled over the value of a rune found in those half-digested boots I had recovered. They'd never have to know. No one would. I could just sneak off and never return to that horrible land. I could make my fortune selling jade; there's sure to be a market for it there!

My scheme in place, I silently mapped away, leaving the nancy boy and his slave driver to play with wurms to their hearts' content.
***

As mentioned at the start of this article, any information leading to the captur--er, rediscovery of Godly Carl should be forwarded to your local Carl representative. And always remember: NEVER feed a Carl in the wild. That's how corn-related mishaps are triggered, and no one deserves that horrible fate.