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...

Errant Carl Located

Godly Carl, seen here is his trademark drag get-up, does a cowardly dash from an enemy (as is also his trademark behavior).

Godly Carl, who was reported missing some time ago, was spotted after a long absence from his Carlish brethren fleeing from a large burning Charr effigy. It is unknown why the incensed effigy was chasing Godly, but his fellow Carls suspect that he may have been offering it unwelcome fashion tips. When Healing spotted the wayward Carl, she instructed Tankarific to "incapacitate him!" Since "incapacitate" is at least 4 syllables more than Tankarific can understand in his oft-inebriated state, he responded with, "Tanakarific smash with axe?" With an eye-roll and a look of total exasperation at her alcohol-addled companion, Healing Carl shouted, "yes!"

Godly refuses to look at Tankarific as he is miffed at him for ripping his favorite dress and hogtying him.

Tankarific Carl then stepped on the wayward transvestite's dress to trip him, hit him on the head with the blunt side of his axe and dragged him back to Carlhalla for questioning. Unfortunately, Godly was far from cooperative and remained tight-lipped about his adventures away from home. The Carls suspect he may have been in cahoots with the people who sabotaged the Guild Hall some time ago. It's also possible that he simply ran off and had a hissy fit because of the alliance with the filthy minkeys. Either way, Godly has been grounded and informed that he cannot have any corn for 2 weeks as a punishment for his capriciousness.

A decision has not been made as to whether further coercion should be employed in order to force a confession out of Godly as he is notoriously difficult to influence. However, if his tongue doesn't loosen in due time, the Carls may be forced to take the drastic step of making him dress like a man. There is a great risk that acting on such a threat will send him off into a corner where he will weep like a little girl until given a petticoat to wear. Drastic times, however, call for Carlish measures.

Deranged Elf Sighted

The deranged elf who has been vandalizing the CARL guild hall was allegedly sighted today in the MnkY guild hall.

He was seen talking to Sinful Smurfette about armor and fetishes. Smurfette says that she was discussing armor with him. She quoted him as saying “Hi, I’m Steve and I’m addicted to armor.” He then went on to say that he had been armor free for a month now. Smurfette was unsure of how to take this but she congratulated him. He then added that it was difficult for obese elfs to buy armor.

Smurfette was naturally horrified by the thought of being unable to buy armor and commiserated with him. Farming expeditions to Joko’s Domain were discussed. Again you are asked to please report any elf sightings as he may be unbalanced and highly dangerous.

Remains of Oversize Lizard Fascinate Carlish Archaeologists

The Carls and their hired lackeys ponder the best way to extricate their find from the Canthan platform.

During a routine expedition in Cantha, Carlish archaeologists stumbled across what appeared to be a giant petrified flying lizard (also known colloquially as a "dragon") buried partially in the warped planks of the Canthan walkways. Normally, artifacts in Cantha consist of a vast collections of soiled rags, rotting lumber, and remnants of those stupid cheap red paper lanterns that the Canthans hang all over the place. The giant dragon is a substantial find.

Confusion reigned as the Carls considered various methods of extracting the petrified creature. Tankarific Carl suggested, "Tanakarific smash with axe?" The other Carls responded to this suggestion as they usually do and ignored his drunken rambling. Fancypants Carl speculated that dropping his fancy pants and mooning the long deceased reptile might be a way of frightening it so it'd just "jump up" and out of the flooring. The Carls once more responded as they usually do to this particular comrade and backed away slowly.

With Tankarific standing by drunk, holding out his axe and looking confused, and Fancypants grinning lewdly and holding out something best not mentioned in polite company, the task of figuring out how to extract the huge artifact fell to the saner of the Carls, Healing Carl. Healing, who is known for her obsessive compulsive disorders including the need to collect every possible mini pet that ever existed and stockpiling huge quantities of useless collectible items (Hummel figurines litter the Carlhalla's nooks and crannies along with skree wings and both superb and regular Charr carvings), was the Carl who most wanted to unearth the scaled behemoth. She wanted to keep it as a "maxi pet" as she's nearly completed her collections of all other sorts of available crap and felt the need to start a new collection. Frankly, the other Carls are worried and believe she should be on medication when they are sober and sane. Thankfully, neither of those mental states are very common around the Carl guild hall so Healing remains free to indulge her particular neurotic tendencies.

Healing suggested that they simply use whatever implements were at hand to actually "dig" into the ground and "unearth" the "dragon" as that is the way archaeological "digs" are usually conducted. Despite her clear explanations and astute leadership, the remaining Carls and their hired flunkies stood around looking stumped as to what needed to be done. Though Healing Carl is thoroughly accustomed to such behavior from her inebriated and demented subordinates, she became quite testy and eventually gave up and stalked away.

The petrified dragon remains safely ensconced in the platform where it is free of the mini pet droppings and kitschy knick-knacks which litter Carlhalla.

Names Awarded the Carl Seal of Approval #7

Sheldon the Verminator

Mystery Disease Strikes the Carl

Smiting Carl looks on as Ghostly Wombat, who likely contracted the disease after sneaking into the Carl guild hall (Carlhalla), goes into a fit of jerky spasms. As a smiter, he is helpless to apply any healing techniques to her in her hour of need so he stands by and applauds her entertaining disorder.

A mystery disease is striking certain members of the Carl clan. The symptoms include spastic and/or clumsy movements, a tendency to drool more frequently than usual for a Carl, and a loss of desire for corn. The slobber in particular is actually an alarming amount considering the impressive amount of spittle of which the average Carl is capable. Great pools of this oozing is collecting on the floor of Carlhalla so visitors are encouraged to watch their step or risk a sock-soaking of possibly infectious Carl juices.

Tanktastic does her impression of someone with an I.Q. lower than 80. Since she has an I.Q. of 68, it's hard to say if this is a symptom of the unknown disease or if she's just playing with her pet Rurik on an average day. Nonetheless, it is a disturbing sight. (file photo)

Adopting a vacant and dumb look on one's face while clumsily stomping on the ground with one foot is another possible symptom, but it's hard to know for sure as Carls are prone to doing this pretty much all the time anyway.

Virtuous Carl consults with a doctor who could tear himself away from the sensory delights of the guild hall long enough to offer a theory about the cause of the mystery disease. This particular doctor theorized that certain Carls may be in the advanced stages of a mutant yak-based venereal disease.

Doctors claim to be working around the clock in an attempt to deal with this disease. However, this news source noticed that most of the doctors seemed to be spending their time riffling through the collection of yak porn hidden behind the Festival Hat maker and scarfing down the excess stores of corn. However, between trips to the "spanking pond" and mouthfuls of corn, one doctor said he believes that the disease is likely psychosomatic in nature. The doctor believes that the nature of Carl is to constantly behave in confusing and unpredictable ways and frequent socialization between Carls forces them to act more and more bizarre in order to differentiate themselves from the other Carls. In essence, the unpredictable and odd becomes predictable and mundane so new, dark and increasingly disturbing levels of Carlishness must be plumbed.

When asked for a comment on this theory, Virtuous Carl responded with, "what?" and adopted a confused and dumb-founded look proving that he, too, may have been infected. Clearly, the Carls are not overly troubled by this new development, but others may be well-advised to stay clear of them for the time being, particularly if you aren't a fan of drooling and seizure-like dancing moves.

Working With Jerky

A flesh golem (left) assists Tankarific Carl and Koss in a battle with weird assassin things.

The average adventurer benefits greatly from the assistance of his companions. Such companions are often "hired guns" who go along for a share of the spoils. A few gold pieces, a spot of ale, some roasted meat and a shared bit of goat pornography are all it takes to convince the likes of Koss, Dunkoro, or Jora to go along for the ride. (Jora in particular likes her goat porn, especially it big teats are involved.)

Most adventurers choose their heroes by the types of skills they bring to the mission or quest, but when recruits are on offer with similar skills, the choice of hireling tends to become idiosyncratic and highly subjective. Many adventurers, being shallow, stupid, and, frankly speaking, mentally encumbered by the fact that they are male, will base their decision on appearance. Some go for the scantily-clad, large breasted type who is prone to doing a harem dance when there's a lull in battle. Others favor the petite, small-breasted boyish-looking women so they can feel more masculine and dominant while still catering to their hidden pederast impulses and suppressing their homosexual urges.

The unsung heroes of mission assistance are minions. These disgusting bits of reanimated flesh extracted from the corpses of fallen enemy and ally alike form a decaying barrier between party leaders and those that wish to do them harm. Their presence can often mean the difference between a successful mission and multiple dirt naps, yet their praises are rarely sung by those who fight side-by-side with them.

In order to bring to light the value of these valiant bits of smelly, flesh-jerky, this news source asked adventurers about their fondest recollections of battle with resurrected creatures. Noted barley-based beverage enthusiast Tankarific Carl said, "They spend a lot less time boasting about their abilities than Koss, and they don't steal my ale like that drunken cow, Tahlkora. They also smell better than Fancypants's pants...but that's not saying much because even a yak that's been dead for 2 weeks smells better than his bloomers."

Since hearing his pants being mentioned piqued Fancypants interest, and he wandered over to talk to this reporter, there was no choice but to also interview him (otherwise, he wouldn't go away). Said Fancypants, "I enjoy the jerky because it allows me to indulge in some of my more socially repugnant tendencies without any fear of repercussions from the local constabulary. After all, expired minions tell no tales and necrophilia with a reconstituted corpse isn't a crime, is it? Is it? Well? Hey, come back here!"

Guild founder and leader, Healing Carl had this to say about working with jerky, "I greatly prefer working with minions. For one thing, they don't take a cut of the drops so I have more money to buy new outfits with, and you know how pricey elite armors are. What's more, they may be bits of meat held together by magic and directed by the will of a conjurer obsessed with death and dead things and minions have a tendency to run off and stir up trouble, but they're still not as much of a pain in the ass to adventure with as the other Carls." No truer tribute to the value of these (until now) unsung comrades in arms has ever been spoken.

Names Awarded the Carl Seal of Approval #5

Hogun the Unpredictable

The Carl Helps Control Animal Population

Tankarific checks out possible pets (fungal wallows on the left and a phoenix on the right) in the Canthan pound as an overdressed, overly made-up pound worker looks on.

The Canthan area is facing an animal population crisis. Reckless tenants of the area often adopt the bizarre and mutated animals when they are small and cute only to abandon them when they are big and ugly. As a result, hordes of unpleasant semi-domesticated former pets wander the Kainang City area living off of the waste from the city's vast and decorative sewage pipes and copious trash from its citizens' ramshackle dwellings.

At first, area governer's considered solving the problem by legalizing matrimony between men and their larger pets. The city has been suffering from a dearth of female companionship because most women prefer to run off and become assassins (very often named "Zenmai" for some reason) and join up with traveling riff-raff rather than spend their days washing tattered rags, getting loaded and bloated on rice wine, and living in dilapidated shacks. The reluctance of women to fulfill their female obligations as part of the rich Canthan culture baffles local officials. The obliviousness of Canthan officials baffles the Carl.

Unfortunately, bestial relations proved troublesome at best and lethal at worst as most exotic and fierce animals are not keen on being violated by amorous Canthan males. Most honeymoons resulted in lost limbs and rapid and raggedly applied castrations. On the bright side, the Emperor has more eunuchs than he knows what to do with to look after his harem and royal consorts.

The secondary solution to the pet problem was to offer transients the opportunity to adopt exotic animals as pets to take along on their adventuring. As incentives to take one of the orphaned pets as ones own, the Imperial household offered a free jade pooper scooper, silk doodie bags, and guaranteed that all pets had been forcibly spayed or neutered except the fungal wallows. Frankly, no one is willing to take a knife to the genitals of anything with spiny backs, razor sharp claws and huge fangs.

Tankarific Carl investigates a model of a more impressive potential pet at the pound.

Tankarific Carl looked over a wide variety of possible pets and was impressed by the beauty of the phoenixes and the potential fighting power of the fungal wallows. However, upon encountering a huge and impressive model of a dog, he opted to adopt one of the gigantic beasts because of its impressive stature and potential to intimidate and devour whole his enemies.

The small, irritating dog Tankarific got stuck with.

After filling out all of the paperwork, Tankarific was handed a small, ugly thing and assured that it was the very same dog that he had viewed a model of. After querying officials about whether or not this was a puppy, Tankarific learned that this was as big as it's going to get. Rather than adopt a huge, terrifying beast, Takarific is now stuck with a yappy, hideous lapdog that spends most of its time sniffing random spots and stains and lifting its leg to the Guild Hall storage chest. The other Carls have been whining about the smell of ugly dog wee-wee on their precious collectibles and crafting materials.


The Carl warns all those considering adopting a pet that they should not rely on Canthan models or honesty. Additionally, it's important to keep in mind that it's really hard to stop a fungal wallow that is intent on humping your leg.

Chinese New Year Brings Cheer, Plague-infested Vermin

The running of the rats allows for the efficient spread of disease-infected fleas among the local population.

Residents of the Shing Jea Monastery and Kamadan (the Jewel of Istan) welcomed the year of the rat at the start of the Chinese New Year last weekend. This time of year is always one of great joy as the celestial mascot showers the most devoted revelers with liquor, sweets, and fireworks and locals dance about drunkenly in their underpants.

Party attendees wearing ludicrous "lion" masks.

As part of the celebration, celebrants don a stupid-looking mask which is supposed to be a lion but really looks like a stylized fish head. Frankly, the Carl doesn't know what the designers were thinking when they made up this "lion", but it's pretty sure someone was high on powdered naga horn at the time. The fringe hanging off the bottom "lip" of the headress comically swings as merrymakers dance while waiting for the appearance of the celestial being. The loonier of the Carls insists this fringe is a "beard" or "goatee", but the saner Carls know he's been huffing powdered naga horn (early and often), too.

Imperial Chef Yan offers up a griffin wing dish to lure the celestial vermin down from the heavens.

Chefs must prepare a series of delicacies in order to convince the celestial being down from the heavens. The dishes tend to highlight a repugnant body part of a rare creature and feature such items as ebon spider legs, griffin wings, and mantis pincers. Frankly, the celestial creatures seen to delight in eating all the crap the Carl spits out and leaves on the side of the plate so its more than happy to hand over whatever gristle and skeletal remains the chefs need to prepare their specialties.

Celebrators attempt to flee from giant rats and plague-infected Frenchers.

When the celestial rodent appeared, he brought along a coterie of giant rats to run amuck about the monastery grounds with him. The rats dispersed fleas the size of strawberries which proceeded to celebrate the new year in their own unique way by sucking the blood out of party participants and infecting them with celestial plague. Diseased party animals felt that their boil-covered bodies were a blessing from the Great Celestial and attempted to convey that blessing on other participants with tonsil-tickling French kisses.

The Carl fled from the festivities at this point, but can only guess that the resulting carnage was more disturbing (and nauseating) than the contents of Fancypants's pants. Frankly, the Carl is glad that next year is the year of the Ox when the worst that can happen is party goers will be crushed in a celestial stampede or gored to death by celestial horns.

New Erotic Materials Shop Attracts Enthusiastic Patrons

Tankarific Carl and another interested patron are lead to the grand opening of a new adult materials store by cloven-hoofed smut purveyor, Warped Antler Goatfoot.

Shoppers flocked to a new adult materials shop which opened up last weekend in the Asuran territories. The shop, which offers a wide range of books, magazines, pleasure-giving devices, artificial "partners" and a vast array of tonics and elixirs to assist in enhancing ones erotic encounters hopes to cater to the large population of local perverts and traveling heroes with esoteric proclivities.

An Asuran, perusing the vast array of explicit goat-based material.

The shop proprietor, Mr. Warped Antler Goatfoot, informed the Carl that a wide variety of explicit materials were available, though there is a heavy concentration on goat pornography as it is of great interest to the small, gremlin-like people who largely populate the Asuran territories. Said Mr. Goatfoot, "For a smug and intellectually superior people, the Asurans are heavy consumers of base pleasures. Inflatable partners are an especially big seller as they can be easily tucked into a backpack or belt pouch for evenings of erotic distraction after a day of unfettered carnage." Mr. Goatfoot then added proudly, "Most of them are modeled on my sister."

In addition to salacious materials and objects for goat fetishists, there is a small but stimulating collection of yak items for those who prefer fantasizing about plus-size companions and a variety of specialty items representing the indigenous species of all the lands indecent adventurers who visit the Asuran territories come from. Unsurprisingly, the biggest selling items are potions designed to aggrandize the various appendages of the male members of all species and the size of the mammary glands of females of all stripes.

The shop is open from 2:00 p.m. to midnight every day of the week and items of special interest may be ordered at any time with a wait of approximately 2 weeks for delivery. The shop takes all major items (e.g., rare dyes) in barter, the "horn" of any species which can be used to distill into elixirs or payment in gold. As a convenience to those who find themselves overexcited after exposure to the shop's wares, a large hedgerow is located behind the shop so that patrons may take refuge in a non-public place to "relieve" themselves.

Dizzy Carl Races Mnkys

Sources confirm that recently dervish Dizzy Carl was seen racing Ban Draoia and Sir Bores of MnKy. The race began in Lion’s Arch and ended in Ascalon City with checkpoints in Beacon’s Perch, Ice Tooth Cave, Frost Gate, Yak’s Bend, Grendich Courthouse and Piken Square. Dizzy, however, chose to take a more scenic route. We spoke briefly with Sir Bores who was still shaking his head and wondering how he got so hopelessly lost.

Ban Draoia had been leading the race from Lion’s Arch to Ascalon City. They had traveled through swamps infested with bog scales and mergoyles. It was slow going for some time until they got to the Northern Shiverpeaks and the pace picked up through the ettins, the centaurs and the dryders. When they reached the stone summit and the ice golems; though, Ban lost her lead to Sir Bores who led until they reached Ascalon territory.

Once there Dizzy took the lead; she led Ban and Bores on a dizzy tour of old Ascalon. Bores was heard to remark that he hadn’t ever seen some parts of the map that Dizzy led them through and wonder aloud if he even remembered where they were going anymore. Dizzy promptly told him not to worry he was just embracing his inner Carl. Bores replied that Dizzy shouldn’t be allowed out without a map, a compass and a GPS system.

Ban tried to guide Dizzy somewhat while she was taking a nap in the dirt of the Diessa Lowlands. Dizzy, however, was proving extremely resistant to guidance. If Ban told Dizzy to go a little further along the banks of the tar river, Dizzy went in the opposite direction. Dizzy enlivened the race considerably by taking a detour through the Flame Temple Corridor where Charr abound.

By this time Ban had become so confused and totally lost that she had given up leaving Sir Bores and Dizzy Carl to finish the race without her. She was seen to be howling with laughter while listening to Dizzy and Bores as she watched the competitors cross the finish line.

Once again Dizzy has shown herself to be a true Carl. Only a true Carl could get two experienced MnKys so totally confused and ridiculously lost.

Inebriated Journalist Libels The Carl

"Shing Jea Sherman" slanders Tankarific Carl during a recent foray to Tarnished Haven.

A drunken "journalist" from the Monastery Gazette stood in the town of Tarnished Haven and loudly insulted passersby. The so-called news reporter goes by the sobriquet "Shing Jea Sherman", and seemed to have nothing better to do with his time than to stand around making loud, slurred, and often derogatory proclamations about those who had the misfortune to walk in his general vicinity.

Sherman remarks on what he mistakenly concludes is Tankarific's obsession with displying and mounting preserved heads.

In addition to remarking on the addictions, questionable parentage, and body odors of those who unknowingly wandered into his field of view, Sherman accused the Carl of having a fetish for displaying the heads of decapitated foes. While the Carl possesses a great many fetishes such as those for smocks, wombats, corn, fancy pants, and nipple-dying, it possesses no taxidermic proclivity which could technically be considered a fetish. It's actually more of a hobby.

State secrets spill from the mouth of an idiot.

Though Sherman's random slanderous commentary was a nuisance, it paled in comparison to his troubling public announcements regarding top secret Carl behavior. In addition to talking about Tankarific's status as an Ebon Vanguard secret agent in a non-secure fashion, Sherman also rambled on about the secrets of corn, Koss's amazing Afro power and how it can be employed to scour even the most stubborn dried-on, burnt-on food in roasting pans, and, most devastatingly, where the Carl purchases its vast collection of sequined underpants.

Said Tankarific Carl, "we have ways of dealing with the likes of Sherman, though I'm currently too drunk to remember what they are."

Carl Delights in Planetarium Experience

Tankarific Carl claps his hands in glee at the globe action at one of several displays depicting the currently known celestial bodies.

A new display in Nahpui Quarter was launched today as part of an effort on the part of Canthans to both draw more tourists to their dismal, shack-filled streets and towns as well as to educate the masses of homicidal, largely-unwashed, and incoherent heroes passing through the areas surrounding the capital, Kaineng City.

Tourists enjoy a stroll through the scenic and culturally rich areas of Cantha during a day trip before running off and killing things. (file photo)

A verbose Nahpui busybody with the self-aggrandizing name "Adept" Nai who frequently accosts those passing through Nahpui and yammers endlessly at them about things he thinks they should know and do was quoted as saying, "the local government and citizenry desire to share more with passing tourists than just grilled kabobs made from the diseased flesh of expired afflicted and poorly-made rice wine. We've even expanded our normal fare by opening the "Celestial Café" so that heroes can sample a greater variety of our cuisine. He went on to say, "we also wanted to share our rich culture and expansive understanding of the heavens, all 5 planets of it." "Adept" Nai continued to say more things, but the Carl was frankly bored by then and wandered away.

The Carl noted that a large part of the culture in the areas around Kaineng City appeared to include the hanging of tattered rags between buildings on laundry days, constructing ramshackle homes and bridges of dubious structural integrity from rotting wood, and fending off the advances of amorously-minded Am Fah gang members with breath reeking of afflicted flesh kabob who are inebriated to the gills on rice wine. Such gang members drop from the sky without notice and become violent when their advances are summarily spurned. Considering the various forms of "culture" in the area, being accosted by Am Fah is one of the highlights of the experience.

After fully drinking in the cultural "delights" of the areas outside the city, Tankarific Carl took a purportedly "educational" field trip to the new planetarium in Nahpui Quarter to view displays of the known universe, though mainly he just wanted to watch things spin and glow. After occupying himself for several hours by watching the brightly-lit, rotating orbs, Tankarific tried the new gustatory treats on offer at the highly-touted "Celestial Cafe". He pronounced the "Celestial Burger" (a patty of seasoned expired afflicted flesh on a sesame seed bun with "secret" sauce) and a "Celestial soda" (cheap rice wine) to be "barely edible", but "filling, sort of like having a cannon ball in the gut."

The planetarium is open 24 hours a day and admission is free. The Celestial Cafe will remain open as long as afflicted keep dropping dead of disease in the streets so their corpses can be recycled into burgers and the eyeballs squished into "special sauce."

Carl Hobnobs With Dignitaries

Respected dragon ally Kuunavang chats amiably with Tankarific Carl at a victory bash in Kaineng City.

SOCIETY NEWS — At a party in the capital city of Cantha, the Carls rubbed elbows with some of the area's highest level officials, including the emperor, following a successful liberation of the area from the forces of egomaniacal, megalomaniacal, and just plain maniacal former imperial bodyguard Shiro Taguchi. While the Carls were asked to keep their elbows to themselves by stunned royalty, feathers ruffled by their overly familiar behavior were quickly smoothed by the liberal application of vast quantities of rice wine.

The celebration in honor of the triumphant Carls included an epic feast including corn on the cob, cornbread, Cornish game hen, popcorn, grits, corn tortillas, corn soup, caramel corn, maize wine, candy corn, Kournan corn chowder, and pie. One Carl was heard to ecstatically remark, "these Canthans really know their corn for a rice-eating people!"

Shiny, pretty, fireworks set off in the Carls' honor.

In addition to vast quantities of food and drink, the party featured a lengthy display of fireworks around the imperial court. Bystanders cheered at the Carls and expressed their gratitude at having been "saved" by the easily confused, yet peculiarly effective, heroes.

A phoenix such as those commonly kept as pets in the Emperor's court. (file photo)

The revelers danced, imbibed, and gorged themselves until late into the evening when the party was called to an unceremonious halt after one of the more sanity-challenged Carls started chasing one of the many pet royal phoenixes around the court with the stated intention of barbecuing it.

Deranged Elf Strikes Again

A mentally imbalanced elf has once again attempted to inspire fear and mayhem. Previously, he hectored and killed native desert reptiles by pelting them with conjured snowmen. This time, his intended victims were the inhabitants and visiting tourists of the town of Augury Rock. While running constantly, the foul-smelling elf called forth a series of dark ghosts that gasped hauntingly and bared their hideous teeth and talons at all and sundry. He mumbled incessantly about wanting everyone's "corn with a 'k'" as he called forth ghosts from the sandy floor and sprinted in circles hyperactively. It is unknown whether he was drugged, intoxicated, or merely applying some sort of speed-enhancing spell to make him more difficult to catch.

Snowmen invoked by the wicked trickster in order to harm indigenous hydra. (file photo)

One witness was said to remark, "to be honest, the ghosts that that he called forth didn't last very long so it wasn't that big a deal. While it was a little creepy being surrounded by them for a few seconds, it was far worse being downwind from that disgusting little pixie." Another witness said, "I'd have happily given him a whole silo full of this "korn" if I knew what it was and had any to give, if it would have made him go away."


Authorities are asking everyone to be on the lookout for the nameless elf. He is reported to be about 4 and a half feet tall, weighs about 100 pounds and has a pronounced "ale belly". He has beady brown eyes, wears wire-rim glasses, and has a perpetually sour look on his face. He also may be wearing over-size novelty ears that are long and pointy or may be suffering from a disfiguring birth defect. His typical costume is a fur- and gold-trimmed green coat, red tights, and a large green and gold "dunce cap." He is also prone to dancing a jig with no warning whatsoever. He is considered to be irrational and very dangerous, particularly if you are a hydra or sensitive to the smell of unwashed, ripened elfin body odors.

If you see him, do not approach him on your own but hastily contact the proper authorities. If you must approach him, do so with a high pressure hose and a squirt gun full of liquid soap.

Elf Terrorizes Local Reptiles With Snowy Wrath

A frightened hydra is hit with a deluge of snowmen.

A warrior elf wielding a sword forged of pure ice terrorized local reptiles with a lethal rain of snowmen. The elf ran around in circles screaming something about "3-headed squirrels" at the frightened hydra as an army of snowmen seemed to just drop from the sky.

Snowmen fall continuously from the sky in a heavy, cold rain of pain.

As the confused and increasingly unnerved reptiles attempted to fight back with their natural fiery defense against the snowy attack, the deranged elf started to stab at them with his icy sword. Witnesses on the scene who wished to assist the terrified reptiles were apprehensive about intervening due to the violent behavior of the elf as well as the offensive odor emanating from the tiny, green-clad, pot-bellied menace. A lack of regular hygienic practices is often a sign of mental illness.

The deranged elf chases a hydra with his icy weapon.

Hydra are native inhabitants of the desert areas of the Ascalonian territories and do not hunt humans as part of their normal diet. However, they are large and dangerous creatures with small reptilian brains that easily misinterpret incursions into their territories as threats. While they will respond if provoked, they will not attack if efforts are taken to avoid trespassing on their territory. The elf's reckless and provocative behavior could not be justified or explained as anything but mental instability or unadulterated cruelty to animals.

Large-breasted Giantess Derides the Carl

A mammary-enhanced giantess named Jora belittles Tankarific Carl's fighting abilities.

The Carl, despite its magnificent ability to be confused and to get lost, is a potent fighting force. When the Carl needs corn or is simply bored and feels like wandering around and killing time, nothing will stop its ability to vanquish its enemies. Well, not nothing. Death tends to put a bit of a damper on things. Nonetheless, the Carl can send its enemies to the happy hunting ground when it feels like making an effort.

After a particularly effective campaign (much corn was gathered and many enemies now fertilize the soil with their odoriferous remains), Takarific Carl was dismissed as a mere "human" by the whining giantess who asked for assistance in the first place. Perhaps she felt her towering stature and opulent boobage would cow him into a submissive response, but Takarific is not amongst the mammaphobic (or as they say in scientific circles - "boobiephobic") of the Carls. In a cutting retaliatory move, he mocked her clearly dubious fashion sense and inability to neatly shave her bikini zone until she shut up and went away.

Separated at Birth #1

Virtuous Carl and Commander William T. Riker

Dark Day for Dwayna

As Carl has already pointed out previously, Wintersday has come and gone once again, and the denizens of Arena.net celebrated by opting to keep the winter going for a long time to come.

As the screenshot above displays, Grenth was re-elected this year by a landslide vote, making a complete mockery of Dwayna's entire campaign. This result obviously demonstrates what most have long already taken as a proven fact: clean campaigns simply don't work. Grenth attributes his victory to the advice of his manager, Castellan Puuba.

"Dwayna's followers spend year after year preaching the idea that virtue is its own reward--that good will always prevail over evil," says Puuba. "Our party takes a different approach, one that has proven so effective that we've won the last two years running. The Grenth re-election campaign runs on the simple platform: 'We are against those things that everybody hates.'"

This anti-hatedthings approach seems to elude the Dwaynian movement, much to their detriment. When asked for comment, Dwayna's campaign manager, Prince Rurik, responded with his own question in turn: "Why do people keep trusting me to know what's best? All I do is lead them into traps!" While this particular Carl cannot provide an answer to his query, one thing is obvious: the population of Arena.net has spoken, and demands a cold future. ... and more corn.