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.

New Signal Signifies Need for The Carl

Where is the Carl?

In a clear indication of just how greatly the denizens of Arena.net need the Carl, a new Carl signal in a shape reminiscent of design of the Carl Guild's cape was installed this past week. When a desperate need for the Carl arises, the signal is lit and a giant Carl signal is projected into the sky. Construction of a "Carlmobile" which can travel at top speeds and shoot lethal corn kernels or expel noxious fumes (only functional when an elf is on-board) is also planned once a body in the shape of a large piece of candy corn can be acquired.

It is expected that the signal will be used in the following circumstances in which the Carl's presence would be invaluable:

• Endangered corn.
• Excess efficiency or seriousness while questing needs defusing.
• An urgent need for yak or dolyak porn.
• Nipple-dying is desired.
• Wombats need stuffing.
• Filthy minkeys need putting in their place.
• Pants need fancying.
• Mini pets need walking.
• Toes need twinkling.
• Fireworks displays are required.
• Incoherence is wished for.
• Excess sanity needs diffusing.
  
• Free booze needs removal.
• Pelvis-thrusting dance-work (whether desired or not).
  

During the first use of the signal, the Carl mobilized within seconds and struck out from Carlhalla to respond to the emergency. Several hours later, the signalers were still standing on the signal platform waiting for their saviors. CARL" doesn't stand for "Confused And Ridiculously Lost" for nothing.

Mysterious Herbs Result in Carl Quarantine

During a recent foraging expedition to restock the larder of Carls' Kitchen, honorary Carl (and sometimes spy) Ghostly Wombat stumbled across several previously undocumented new species of roughage, which ultimately left CarlHalla designated as "unfit for visitors". This, of course, is vastly different from its usual motto of "Abandon all corn, ye who enter here". This article stands as a public announcement broadcast by the Carl guild as warning to any cooking enthusiasts, lest similar circumstances befall another guild.

Although Melonni obviously knows the fern is poisonous, she knows Carls never learn anything that they don't experience for themselves

Depicted above is the root cause of the problem. When presented with a glowing bush (or indeed, most anything that glows), the natural Carl reaction is "I could make booze out of that!" Consequently, Ghostly Wombat ignored Melonni's evident disdain for the fern and harvested a sample for the Carl distillery. It is a widely-believed fact that Tankarific will drink most anything that makes a sloshing sound when jostled, and she logically concluded that if said substance glowed whilst providing the drunken goodness that he loved so much.

Ignoring Melonni's chuckling in the background, Ghostly enlisted Gwen's help in gathering and transporting the herb back to the kitchen. However, she was soon sidetracked by yet another fascinating bit of herbiage:

Tahlkora gesticulates wildly in an attempt to prevent Ghostly from making a second mistake

Hypnotized by the leafy bush apparently growing out of a dinosaur's foot, Ghostly couldn't help but imagine the possibilities. Dinodrink? Scaly Delight? Gargantuan Grog? The possibilities were endless! Quickly harvesting a bushel of dino-leaves, she scurried back to CarlHalla in hopes of preparing a celebratory drink-fest the likes of which the filthy minkeys would envy for generations.

Despite several setbacks (including a couple small-scale explosions that had Healing Carl beating her senseless for damaging her precious wyvern painting), refreshments were produced, including a delightful salad that combined the products of both bushes. The dinner a success, Ghostly reveled in the guild's compliments. Until, that is, half an hour later, when several Carls begain experiencing minor digestive problems.

Godly Carl lets off some steam

After careful evaluation, the Carls have determined that any documentation of these events must be stricken from the record. On a related note, CarlHalla will be hosting a gathering to which all filthy minkeys are invited. Drinks will be served.

Desperate Times Result in New Facilities for Carls

Healing Carl tries out the new "facilities".

The Carl guild hall recently saw the installation of new, state of the art and highly effective bathroom facilities in the basement. The guild leader, Healing Carl, went to great pains and expense in order to upgrade the hall's aging outhouse system after many problems associated with the facilities arose because of the guild members' atypical "typical" usage.

An example of the Carl's former (ineffective) restroom design.

The need for the upgrade occurred when it became clear that the excretions of various Carls are anything but usual as compared to most inferior non-Carlish human beings. The quantity and olfactory sensations resulting from the Carl are great and powerful compared to the average person as should be the case for something as grand and incredible as the Carl. Additionally, unlike their compatriots, the filthy minkeys (MNKY), who prefer their feces to be kept in open piles so they may be tossed about at will, the Carls prefer not to keep waste material on hand for easy access.

Carlhalla was becoming an increasingly unpleasant place to spend time in as the months went by and our intrepid guild leader was forced to find a solution. After considering a wide variety of modern toilet facilities, she decided that the lax hygiene and unique chemistry of certain members would mean that even the best conventional lavatory would be insufficient to the task.

For the Carls, only the most desperate of measures will effectively handle their fragrant excretions. Healing investigated an unconventional but highly effective "pit o' lava" model with a magical levitation "seat" technology. When one needs to relieve oneself, all one has to do is toss a little glittering dust into the pit, say a brief incantation ("poopius needius"), and hover over the boiling pit and do one's business. The foul droppings are instantly incinerated and any accompanying vaporous emissions are quickly consumed. As a side benefit, any time hard partying results in the need to copiously yak up last night's meal, one need only hang one's head over the pit and let loose with torrents of tossed cookies.

Sanitation expert, Blorf. (file photo)

This particular model of bathroom facility is courtesy of Blorf. While the Asura usually do not share their technology with outsiders, an exception was made in this case for the Carls because they acknowledge the absolute uberness of the name "Blorf."

Carl Insurrection At Hand?

The Carls reside in the Isle of the Dead because, unlike other sissy guilds, we fear nothing. Also, we're really lazy and this configuration keeps all our lackeys nearby for easy access. This allows for more time to discuss the greater issues of the day such as the current state of corn and wombat futures, and how many times a hungover warrior can barf in the pool behind the storage chest before it starts to really stink up the joint.

Trouble is brewing in Carlhalla as the Guild leader has grown drunk on her own sense of power. The Carl only approves of getting drunk on substances such as booze, huffing beetle snuff, and inhaling the noxious fumes emanating from Fancypants's pants.

Click this small preview to load a bigger, more legible incendiary message.

The trouble started when the message above flickered into view as Carls entered the guild hall. Previously, the guild leader had outlawed yak and goat porn leaving the Carls nothing with which to arouse themselves beyond the highly fetishist (and honestly, pricey) erotic dolyak material. Fancypants in particular had acquired quite a collection as he is a great fan of "XXXL" sized companions. In fact, it is recommended that the words "yak" or "dolyak" not be mentioned in his presence as he becomes "overly excited" and it is "unpleasant" for all involved. Seriously unpleasant.

The evil that infests the CARL Guild Hall and is threatening to take it over.

The excuse given for the outlawing of racy dolyak materials rings hollow and is seen as a flimsy cover-up of the guild leader's true motivations as the wombats that live in Carlhalla are a well-trained team of crack mercenaries who meticulously follow the orders of their Carlish superiors. Various Carls have their suspicions. One guess is that she is merely attempting to free up space to cram more of her collectible crap (as discussed in a previous piece) into the various storage spaces in Carlhalla. Others suspect that she may be trying to introduce some sort of new and disturbing erotica (e.g., Asura porn) in place of the Carl's preferred stimulatory literature. Most of the Carls are responding to the situation by rambling incoherently and shaking their fists at their leader (though the former is really nothing new) because of their sexual frustration.

A filthy minkey falls to the ground in a state of confused intoxication after forcibly whiffing Fancypants's pants. (file photo)

If the leader's cruel and unusual restrictions are not lifted, there may be a violent insurrection among the Carls. Well, probably not. Insurrection is too much effort. They'll probably just sneak in more goat, yak and dolyak smut and do a better job of hiding it from their leader. She'll likely give Fancypants's dresser a wide berth so they'll just cram things in there.

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.

Perverted Gremlin Propositions Carls

During a recent foray into gremlin territory to help the filthy creatures remove certain undesirable elements from their region (most notably involving creatures thought to be extinct for several hundred million years), Ghostly Wombat (exercising a Carl day-pass to team up with the guild) encountered a local with an apparent appetite for more "earthy" pleasures.

The oddly-named Blimm proposes that Ghostly inspect his "goods"

The demented creature apparently lures unsuspecting travelers to his vicinity by having an inexplicably awesome name. However, once they approach, he becomes increasingly agitated, eager to depart the town and visit a more convenient (and secluded) location.

His confidence up, Blimm is eager to get to his "guest house"

It should be noted that although she was foolish enough to approach, Ghostly Wombat managed to drop an urn of Kuurong's ashes on his head and escaped unscathed. Other locals who are familiar with Blimm's penchant for the forbidden fruits were heard remarking the suitability of the gremlin being foiled by the ashes of someone once best known for "grasping".

It is suspected that Blimm is still at large, and at this point, is probably very desperate. He may now be armed with the ashes of one who once had similar appetites, and consequently should be avoided at all costs. Strangely, Fancypants Carl has volunteered to bring this perverted creature to justice, so any and all information about Blimm's current whereabouts should be forwarded to Fancypants for further research. (Informants are discouraged from sending personal photos unless they also happen to be yaks, involve yaks, or are related to yaks in any way).

***UPDATE***

The suspect known as "Blimm" may have already met someone with a less forgiving nature than that of Ghostly Wombat. During their recent forays into the same area, the Carls stumbled across the item depicted below:

The "staff"; apparently Blimm also had a penchant for hyperbole

Due to these findings, Fancypants has apparently lost interest in the case, although he has retained the evidence for "archival purposes". However, in a somewhat disturbing development, Diabolical Carl has determined to continue to pursue the case until Blimm's (hopefully unharmed) corpse is discovered. "I can't rest until I have his cold dead corpse in my hands," the frightening monster claimed. When questioned as to why he was so intent on solving this particular crime, he replied "Crime? What did he do?"

Diabolical Carl pondering the sanity of his cohorts (and rightfully so). (File photo)

(Editor's note from the High Queen of Carl (Shari): I added Diabolical's picture here for reference).

Regardless of his motives, it may be only fitting that Blimm's body be claimed by a creature nearly half as ugly as he himself once was.

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.

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.

A Tour of CarlHalla - Part 1

The following article is part one of a multi-part series covering the detailed inner workings of the Carls' Guild Hall (aka CarlHalla). Our undercover operative, Ghostly Wombat (pictured to the left), is obviously not of the Carl clan. However, at great risk to herself and her various pets (most notably her wombats), she infiltrated this heavily-guarded fortress to reveal to the world exactly what goes on when the doors of CarlHalla are closed. This [dramatic pause] is her story.

(Ghostly Wombat gesticulates wildly, most likely at something large and fearsome.)

I'll cut right to the chase: the splendor of CarlHalla is unmatched anywhere in the Guild Isles, from NUDE's eyesore (apparently designed by a color-blind three-year-old) to the former WoS haven with its splendiferous waterfall. CarlHalla not only meets these (admittedly low) standards, it surpasses them, then mocks them for their abundant inadequacies.

A holy light seems to ooze from CarlHalla's pores, pouring forth onto residents and visitors alike.

The wonders of CarlHalla are evident as soon as one enters its hallowed halls. The gaping entryway that funnels members and their sponsored "guests" alike into the main chambers guides them directly to the feet of their giant of a Guild Lord. His intent glare down at you is nearly enough to distract you from the amazing carving that appears to have taken residence beneath his feet.

Our reporter braves the Guild Lord's glare for this groundbreaking footage of a compass. Carved in the floor.

Despite the evident beauty of the compass, the Guild Lord's incessant throat-clearing and muttering about "kids on [his] artwork" drives any curious travelers away within a few moments. However, they soon realize that the scenery is just beginning...

Grenth is evidently held in high regard by the Carl

The gargantuan stained-glass window pictured above is the centerpiece to carlHalla's shrine to Grenth, the almighty ruler of the underworld and Dwayna's mortal enemy. Although the window has a staircase leading up to it, the stairs appear to stem from a bottomless reflecting pool, perhaps implying that the Carl worships no one, but certainly can appreciate fine art at discount prices (there was a chip in the glass that evidently reduced its list price).

The reflecting pool appears to be fed by a series of large gargoyle statues steadily drooling into it. While this reporter is uncertain as to where the spittle ends up, she decided not to let any splash onto her sandals; gargoyle saliva is notoriously hard to get out from between your toes. The pool also appeared to double as Tankarific Carl's commode/vomit repository when he was too lazy to wander over to the actual facilities.

After backing away from the spit receptacle, visitors may note the remarkable lighting conditions provided by CarlHalla's benevolent residents. The main hall is lit entirely by candlelight, outside of what little natural light seeps through Grenth's stern visage. Candles are scattered about the floor and lined up in wall sconces, providing lovely backlighting for those wandering about the main floor.

Lighting options abound in CarlHalla

My more perceptive readers will note that I managed to smuggle my pet thorn wolf into CarlHalla as well; I won't say how, and it wasn't pleasant. Judging by the prevalence of minipet waste products scattered throughout the floor and smushed into wall cracks, the home of the Carls is very much pet-friendly, and appears to host a wide variety of creatures. Oddly enough, I didn't notice any water djinn waste, but perhaps they just clean up after their elementals.

The massive stone pillars that support the high-reaching ceiling of the hall must have been built by giants (perhaps relatives of their Guild Lord), and judging by the levels of mossy growth on them, it must've been a long time ago. This leads me to believe that the Carls have a long and storied past, or at least are ardent horticulturalists.

Judging by the claw marks etched randomly on each pillar, I suspect that some of the guild residents have been attempting to subsist at least partially on this substance. That said, it didn't appear appetizing, and actually seemed to burn slightly when its leaves were broken. As I studied the markings more closely (they appeared to be made by a spear, and had glitter of some sort lodged in them...), I suddenly noticed what must be the centerpiece of the Carl art collection:

Stupid wyvern... doesn't even know we're watching it...

This house-sized painting "dorfs" most any viewer, as can be noted by your intrepid reporter standing dead-center (along with some yokels gawking at the camera crew). It's most unfortunate that the depicted wyvern appears to have gotten itself into such an entanglement; they're usually rather graceful creatures, which makes one suspect that this particular animal had been previously domesticated--possibly by Tankarific, during one of his drunken adoption drives. Sadly, most domesticated lizards die fairly quickly after being re-introduced to the wild, and this one was most likely no exception.

The run-down shrine is a testament to either Carl's practicality or, more likely, laziness. Either way, my thorn wolf was unimpressed.

Moving on past the painting, visitors arrive at a shrine that has apparently seen better days, perhaps because it has been superseded by Grenth's main-hall residence. One of the previously mentioned giants must have stomped in the middle, causing cracks to develop radiating out from the center of the pedestal and knocking down most of the main arches (that now appear to be broken pillars). How depressing that any guild could let one of their holiest landmarks become so run-down...

Having grown weary of broken stonework and depressing art, I decided to explore CarlHalla's exterior in hopes of finding artifacts that survived the test of time in better condition. I was not disappointed; immediately upon exiting, I discovered a bridge that, while not entirely functional (it took my camera crew and I hours to get the above shot without slipping through to the waters below), was certainly fascinating to look upon. The Carls seem to have a penchant for metalwork, as evinced by the aforementioned candleabras. I would later discover that this theme does indeed pervade the entirety of the residence.

This once-lovely fountain appears to have been partially consumed by a landslide, probably caused by some of those accursed wurms that seem to prowl around these lands. My thorn wolf was most disappointed, as he was growing thirsty and couldn't abide by drinking out of the fetid reflecting pool in the main hall. Unfortunately, this fountain appeared to be long out-of-service, judging by the dirt-filled interior and the grass growing in the basin. I sent the thorn wolf off to seek out some refreshment while I continued to explore. I soon discovered one of the strangest artifacts of all...

Simply an ugly flag. Who picked this out, Diabolical Carl?

While the flag shown above appears to provide more evidence that the Carl has a fixation for decorative iron, I found myself puzzled by the presence of the relatively new flag hanging from it. After all, the Carl's official guild cape (of which I expertly made a counterfeit, as shown above) is black and white, so as to make it absolutely smashing with any ensemble (even shiny purple nipples, as unfortunately demonstrated by one of the hall's more ... peculiar residents). This flag, however, was unadorned red--a very unCarlish color, and seemingly out of place with their well-documented eccentric tastes. I decided to make a note of the item, but had to press on, lest my invasion be discovered.

Upon reaching CarlHalla's back door, I realized that I could have saved myself a great deal of trouble by simply sneaking in this entrance, as it never appears to be locked. Even heaving upon the so-called "Gate Lock" seemed to have no effect--the gates were determined to remain open for all to frequent. This made my adroit infiltration plan--hiding in an empty barrel labeled "BOOZE" in one of Tankarific's daily shipments and hoping he didn't open mine before passing out in a drunken stupor--seem rather pointless. However, I must warn readers that by the time this article is published, the Carls will no doubt have rectified the situation and have posted monkeys (governed by wombat overlords) at the gates to ensure that no non-believers gain entrance.

This marks the end of my first day at CarlHalla; I decided to hide behind the obviously-unused Gate Lock mechanism until the following morning, as I could hear someone yelling at her teammates (overlaid by the tones of drunken singing), and knew that if the Carls discovered me, my thorn wolf and I would have much larger problems than Tankarific's anger at discovering one of his booze barrels empty. I resolved to continue exploring the exterior of CarlHalla tomorrow, once everyone had drank and danced themselves stupid. I expected to have plenty of time to explore, for if there's one certainty in the world, it's that Carls cannot remain in one place for long, and wherever they go next, they're very much likely to wind up lost.

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.

Guild Hall Marked By Vandalism, Foul Odors

A drunken and dumb Tankarific stands before the snowman configuration left by an unknown vandal.

The Carl Guild Hall was viciously vandalized yesterday by an unknown perpetrator. A circle of snowmen was left in proximity of the Guild Lord near the center of the hall. The snowmen's configuration has left some calling them "Snowhenge", though it's really a pretty stupid name. Attempts to dispose of the snowmen were thwarted by a lack of really warm mittens. Local tough guy and celebrated drunkard Tankarific Carl said, "They's too cold to move now...let's wait until they're a little warmer." Attempts to explain that they would naturally melt with time left the drunken warrior confused and disoriented so he wandered off to a corner and passed out.

The Guild Lord and other merchants who perpetually inhabit the hall were questioned about what they saw during the absence of the CARL guild members. All questions were met with unrelenting sales pitches for various wares. It is unknown if the lack of cooperation is due to a stupor induced through malodorous magical vapors or if it is simply crass commercialism inhibiting the various merchants' impulses to exercise civic responsibility.

Witnesses who arrived at the scene after the prankster had left his mark said that, other than the snowmen, the only thing unusual was an intensely foul smell that seemed to cling to the snowmen and hang heavily in the air throughout the hall. The smell was reminiscent of a fetid elf known for aggressive acts with snowmen. This maladjusted elf previously attacked hydra in the Ascalon area and tormented visitors and residents of Augury Rock. Unfortunately, since there were no cooperative or cognizant eyewitnesses to the incident, it cannot be determined conclusively that the crazed elf was responsible.

When asked how this disturbing incident made her feel, hysterical guild founder Healing Carl said, "I feel violated...and a little nauseous from the powerful stench. I think I'm going to have to toss my cookies. Excuse me." As both Tankarific and Healing were indisposed, this news authority queried Fancypants Carl how he felt about this violation to which he responded, "I enjoy a good, hard violation," with a sly grin. This news authority then backed away slowly from Mr. 'pants.

The Carls claim that they always leave the Guild Hall locked up while they are away adventuring and there was no sign of forced entry. Healing Carl insists that the key is kept safely in her bra at all times. She said that it is an especially secure place for the key since neither of the other Carls is willing to go in there after it. Given that one is female and prefers to keep her hands off of other women's breasts and the other is mammophobic, it is unlikely that the key was clandestinely removed and stealthily replaced by another Carl. Said Healing Carl, "That key never left the ample crevice between my heaving bosoms!"

There is suspicion among the Carls that this is either a copycat incident, or, there was inside assistance from someone who was sympathetic to the lunatic elf. The key is left in the hall's storage chamber for brief periods of time on rare occasions when Healing dons her extremely scanty alternate gear for special missions. During those times, it's not impossible for one of the other Carls to remove the key from storage and have it copied.

Mystery man (possibly pants-less) in Carl cape in suspicious proximity to an elf fitting the description of the criminal in previous incidents in the Ascalon territory. (file photo)

All of the Carls plead ignorance when asked about who might have helped the elf, but the file photo above (taken in Kourna) shows a man in a CARL cape standing in close proximity to an elf. While it cannot be concluded that the man is actually a CARL guild member, as he may be wearing a counterfeit cape, his words to a "Psycho" and coincidental appearance in Kourna at the same time and in the same place as an elf are highly suspicious. Unfortunately, since the man in the cape can only be seen from the back, it's impossible to identify him. He is wanted for questioning by authorities. Anyone who encounters a man with blond hair and a penchant for sequined ankle accessories sporting a CARL cape should contact a member of the police force immediately.

The CARL guild is offering a reward of as much corn as you can eat if your information leads to the apprehension of the vandal. Of course, the foul odor may linger for awhile in the hall so you might want to get that corn "to go".

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.

Carl Circumvents Crustacean Crisis

A recent sightseeing trip to the Jade Sea region nearly resulted in disaster as the Carlish Trio met up with what appears to be a crustacean of mammoth proportions. In an attempt to reason with the monster, Ghostly Carl was spotted approaching alongside someone with a hygiene problem that would make Pigpen blush.

Shown above: Ghostly Carl confronting the Crab. The hygenically-impaired one could not be reached for comment, nor did we care to try.

After some brief words, Ghostly Carl and the sea-mammoth appeared to reach a disagreement, at which point threats and childish mother-related taunts became necessary.

Ghostly Carl exchanges pleasantries with the obviously unreasonable creature

One onlooker of the confrontation was overheard saying, "that thar craythur's big!" He was not asked for further comment. Xia Bukpui, a more interesting witness, was later reached for comment: "Ghostly Carl obviously represents the ... pinnacle of Carlish ... grace. The remaining Carls ..., and indeed ... all people [or creatures--ed.] ... in general, could ... learn much from this ... shining example." It should be noted that Xia Bukpui remains the only known living witness after the monsters had departed.

After handing out autographs and taking part in several publicity-related photo shoots, Ghostly Carl commented, "these creatures just don't understand who they're dealing with. They're used to encountering slack-jawed yokels attempting to live in a town made entirely of jade! Suffice it to say, the Carls do not expect to be gracing this site with their presence again in the near future." She continued, saying, "If nothing else, it's damn-near impossible to grow corn out here. How do you people live?!"

Sage words indeed.

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.