Print

Please login or register.
1 Hour 1 Day 1 Week 1 Month Forever
Login with username, password and session length

[Stirk]

"I believe it to be a metaphor. The cats arn't actually cats."

[Egan_BW]

"It means that you should lure all of your enemies into a trap and then roast them for dinner after slaughtering them, obviously. How could you not get that?"

[A_Curious_Cat]

"It means that you should lure all of your enemies into a trap and then roast them for dinner after slaughtering them, obviously. How could you not get that?"

+1

When I said:

<snip>

Remember… the gods get the entrails, but *we* get to eat the rest!

By “*we*”, I meant everyone in attendance at the sacrifice (except the victim, of course), including the Prince.


I’ll just let that sink in…

[Egan_BW]

What is there to sink in, here?

[Stirk]

What is there to sink in, here?

+1

[A_Curious_Cat]

What is there to sink in, here?

The moat…  The cesspool…   The cistern…

Come to think of it, do we have any quicksand?

[micelus]

A)

With a flourish and a belch, we do make an an attempt at interpretation

Thus sayeth The Holy Book:  “Incompetent and much unprepared for battle, the eggplants improvise a massive bong in France on May of tenebrous joy, it consumes flesh, vituperating rage like many kittens screaming profanities at babies incessantly. SUDDENLY, dwarfs explode elven minds, hastening Armok's arrival via consumption of stars.”… with burping

"My lord, it is as the skies are blue."

"Eggplants are fruits of the viney *burp* loins from which they do grow from the seed of virility *burp*. In this case, the eggplants are your sibs, of both kinds and *burp* the plant from which they grow is your ailing father. The eggplants *burp* are rich in deliciousness and ripe,  *burp* but easily bruised and easily cooked. So it is that your *burp* sibs may thusly be beaten *burp*, like a peasant's omelette of sawdust *burp* and kelp. This bong that they shall make *burp*is the funeral that shall take place in an area of *burp* sacral power. With much *burp* joy they'll dance and celebrate shed tears *burp* of the wolf, for they shall enjoin in the *burp* harvest of their father's own *burp* vine. Their feast of the lands - the bounty *burp* most full and nubile and mature - will be ravished *burp* by them and with them."

"And yet, like all sibs, they shall fight like kittens whilst danglings *burp* bits of this or that. The last part of the prophecy is what matters, oh yes. The short dwarf batters the mind of the tall elf by surprise and quickening doom *burp*. To be successful one must court *burp* doom itself."

"The nomads. Seduce-enamour them *burp* , take them as kin and bloodlover *burp*. Though they are your foe, only by their use shall your kin be dealt with and the kingdom yours *burp* *burp* *burp*."

[VoidSlayer]

A) Armok is a god of ruin, a fate, you do not want to arrive.  Trying to consume the stars will bring destruction.  Those who work underground politically like a dwarf will outwit those who stride and act like they are superior.  Your opponents are the eggplants and babies and kittens, unprepared for battle but they will try to consume each other over petty things.

Keep your opposition in disunity and hasten their battles with each other.  In the meantime gather your forces and allies to strike at the exact moment they have weakened each other.  Do not attempt to seize too much power for yourself or you will bring more ruin, let others like lesser nobles, priests and merchants keep their power and wealth.

[King Zultan]

A)

With a flourish and a belch, we do make an an attempt at interpretation

Thus sayeth The Holy Book:  “Incompetent and much unprepared for battle, the eggplants improvise a massive bong in France on May of tenebrous joy, it consumes flesh, vituperating rage like many kittens screaming profanities at babies incessantly. SUDDENLY, dwarfs explode elven minds, hastening Armok's arrival via consumption of stars.”… with burping

"My lord, it is as the skies are blue."

"Eggplants are fruits of the viney *burp* loins from which they do grow from the seed of virility *burp*. In this case, the eggplants are your sibs, of both kinds and *burp* the plant from which they grow is your ailing father. The eggplants *burp* are rich in deliciousness and ripe,  *burp* but easily bruised and easily cooked. So it is that your *burp* sibs may thusly be beaten *burp*, like a peasant's omelette of sawdust *burp* and kelp. This bong that they shall make *burp*is the funeral that shall take place in an area of *burp* sacral power. With much *burp* joy they'll dance and celebrate shed tears *burp* of the wolf, for they shall enjoin in the *burp* harvest of their father's own *burp* vine. Their feast of the lands - the bounty *burp* most full and nubile and mature - will be ravished *burp* by them and with them."

"And yet, like all sibs, they shall fight like kittens whilst danglings *burp* bits of this or that. The last part of the prophecy is what matters, oh yes. The short dwarf batters the mind of the tall elf by surprise and quickening doom *burp*. To be successful one must court *burp* doom itself."

"The nomads. Seduce-enamour them *burp* , take them as kin and bloodlover *burp*. Though they are your foe, only by their use shall your kin be dealt with and the kingdom yours *burp* *burp* *burp*."

+1

[A_Curious_Cat]

A)

With a flourish and a belch, we do make an an attempt at interpretation

Thus sayeth The Holy Book:  “Incompetent and much unprepared for battle, the eggplants improvise a massive bong in France on May of tenebrous joy, it consumes flesh, vituperating rage like many kittens screaming profanities at babies incessantly. SUDDENLY, dwarfs explode elven minds, hastening Armok's arrival via consumption of stars.”… with burping

"My lord, it is as the skies are blue."

"Eggplants are fruits of the viney *burp* loins from which they do grow from the seed of virility *burp*. In this case, the eggplants are your sibs, of both kinds and *burp* the plant from which they grow is your ailing father. The eggplants *burp* are rich in deliciousness and ripe,  *burp* but easily bruised and easily cooked. So it is that your *burp* sibs may thusly be beaten *burp*, like a peasant's omelette of sawdust *burp* and kelp. This bong that they shall make *burp*is the funeral that shall take place in an area of *burp* sacral power. With much *burp* joy they'll dance and celebrate shed tears *burp* of the wolf, for they shall enjoin in the *burp* harvest of their father's own *burp* vine. Their feast of the lands - the bounty *burp* most full and nubile and mature - will be ravished *burp* by them and with them."

"And yet, like all sibs, they shall fight like kittens whilst danglings *burp* bits of this or that. The last part of the prophecy is what matters, oh yes. The short dwarf batters the mind of the tall elf by surprise and quickening doom *burp*. To be successful one must court *burp* doom itself."

"The nomads. Seduce-enamour them *burp* , take them as kin and bloodlover *burp*. Though they are your foe, only by their use shall your kin be dealt with and the kingdom yours *burp* *burp* *burp*."

+1

+1

[Knightwing64]

A)

With a flourish and a belch, we do make an an attempt at interpretation

Thus sayeth The Holy Book:  “Incompetent and much unprepared for battle, the eggplants improvise a massive bong in France on May of tenebrous joy, it consumes flesh, vituperating rage like many kittens screaming profanities at babies incessantly. SUDDENLY, dwarfs explode elven minds, hastening Armok's arrival via consumption of stars.”… with burping

"My lord, it is as the skies are blue."

"Eggplants are fruits of the viney *burp* loins from which they do grow from the seed of virility *burp*. In this case, the eggplants are your sibs, of both kinds and *burp* the plant from which they grow is your ailing father. The eggplants *burp* are rich in deliciousness and ripe,  *burp* but easily bruised and easily cooked. So it is that your *burp* sibs may thusly be beaten *burp*, like a peasant's omelette of sawdust *burp* and kelp. This bong that they shall make *burp*is the funeral that shall take place in an area of *burp* sacral power. With much *burp* joy they'll dance and celebrate shed tears *burp* of the wolf, for they shall enjoin in the *burp* harvest of their father's own *burp* vine. Their feast of the lands - the bounty *burp* most full and nubile and mature - will be ravished *burp* by them and with them."

"And yet, like all sibs, they shall fight like kittens whilst danglings *burp* bits of this or that. The last part of the prophecy is what matters, oh yes. The short dwarf batters the mind of the tall elf by surprise and quickening doom *burp*. To be successful one must court *burp* doom itself."

"The nomads. Seduce-enamour them *burp* , take them as kin and bloodlover *burp*. Though they are your foe, only by their use shall your kin be dealt with and the kingdom yours *burp* *burp* *burp*."

+1

+1

+1

[Kilojoule Proton]

+4: A: (See below)
+2: A: "It means that you should lure all of your enemies into a trap and then roast them for dinner after slaughtering them, obviously. How could you not get that?"
+1: A: "I believe it to be a metaphor. The cats arn't actually cats."
+1: A: "Armok is a god of ruin, a fate, you do not want to arrive.  Trying to consume the stars will bring destruction..."
+1: B

The Covetous Prince turns to a Lethargic Scribe and shouts them wide awake. "Scribe! Make sure all of this is committed!"

A)

With a flourish and a belch, we do make an an attempt at interpretation

Thus sayeth The Holy Book:  “Incompetent and much unprepared for battle, the eggplants improvise a massive bong in France on May of tenebrous joy, it consumes flesh, vituperating rage like many kittens screaming profanities at babies incessantly. SUDDENLY, dwarfs explode elven minds, hastening Armok's arrival via consumption of stars.”… with burping

"My lord, it is as the skies are blue."

"Eggplants are fruits of the viney *burp* loins from which they do grow from the seed of virility *burp*. In this case, the eggplants are your sibs, of both kinds and *burp* the plant from which they grow is your ailing father. The eggplants *burp* are rich in deliciousness and ripe,  *burp* but easily bruised and easily cooked. So it is that your *burp* sibs may thusly be beaten *burp*, like a peasant's omelette of sawdust *burp* and kelp. This bong that they shall make *burp*is the funeral that shall take place in an area of *burp* sacral power. With much *burp* joy they'll dance and celebrate shed tears *burp* of the wolf, for they shall enjoin in the *burp* harvest of their father's own *burp* vine. Their feast of the lands - the bounty *burp* most full and nubile and mature - will be ravished *burp* by them and with them."

"And yet, like all sibs, they shall fight like kittens whilst danglings *burp* bits of this or that. The last part of the prophecy is what matters, oh yes. The short dwarf batters the mind of the tall elf by surprise and quickening doom *burp*. To be successful one must court *burp* doom itself."

"The nomads. Seduce-enamour them *burp* , take them as kin and bloodlover *burp*. Though they are your foe, only by their use shall your kin be dealt with and the kingdom yours *burp* *burp* *burp*."

"The accursed nomads. They are indeed our bitter enemies, but for my father's kingdom? I can surely set aside my grudge. The peasants they've raided probably won't, but my army will make short work of any who dare get in the way of this grand scheme. The nomads themselves are rather disunited right now, of course. Getting them closer without having them unite outright will take a fine touch, and the competent negotiators tend to settle near the capital."

"Anyway, I believe that concludes this reading. I expect another in a few weeks' time when my emissaries return. Rest well, anthropomancer, and make yourself useful with the rest of my court. Surely you have a less...objectionable skill at your disposal from your time in the College?"

(A) Yes.
(B) (Lie) Yes.
(C) Actually, no.

"Oh, and one final thing. Guards, get the oracle some mint leaves!"


What would you like to do first during this downtime?

(A) See if the Meticulous Smith needs oracular help for her repairs.
(B) Approach the Sycophantic Priest with a query of a divine nature.
(C) Prod the Lethargic Scribe about records or more exciting literature.
(D) Trade rumors with the Shifty Sweeper.
(E) Write-in: Do something other than associating with random courtiers.

[VoidSlayer]

(A) Yes. Demonomancy

Because what could be WORSE then what was just demonstrated?

Alternatively:
 
(D) (Lie) Actually, no. Empirimancy

(D) Trade rumors with the Shifty Sweeper.

[King Zultan]

(A) Yes. Demonomancy

Because what could be WORSE then what was just demonstrated?

Alternatively:
 
(D) (Lie) Actually, no. Empirimancy

(D) Trade rumors with the Shifty Sweeper.

+1

[Demonic Spoon]

(A) Deuteroscopy
Doing a double-take tells the future!

(A) See if the Meticulous Smith needs oracular help for her repairs.