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Barmy to the Spire


Second Void of Decadre

December 14th, 1999


Barmy Spotlight of the Week
Blade of Modron Death

From: Factol's Manifesto, page 41.
About: The famous dust blade of the Doomguard, currently in the very capable, neurotic, psychopath, entopic, fingernails paint black, hands of Factol Pentar. A blade made specifically to battle the horde of modrons during a great march, it's easy to see how the Sinkers would come up with the idea of one little sword to fight off a mass of giant walking boxes who never stop. The names a bit of a misnomer though, as every berk knows, modrons when they're attacked by some idiot sod don't die, but just vanish and pop up back on Mechanus. Now, I don't know about you, but would you rather march around who knows where planes for years and get dirty, rusted, and bonked on the head by Slaad, or would you rather be sent back to the nirvana of Mechanus where you can lazily watch all the gears spin and have psychedelic mushrooms? Still, never put it past a Sinker to keep trying, and you never know, the modrons themselves would probably talk your ear off about rounding errors - now there's some entropy. The sword itself is a long curved black blade, nicked and stylized enough that it looks like it's more of some barmy tool to give the modron a nice manicure, and it's pommel ends in a bladed grip with a spiky bit at the end. Supposedly a dust blade forged long ago and handed down through a long, also psychotic and short lived, line of Doomguard Factols that usually met there end wielding the blade. But it's entopic, and that's the point.
Barminess: A barmy blade that the Doomies use to bonk modrons with.
Quote: Swoosh, creak-eak-eak, "Sod it, the bloody blades stuck again! Just a minute now you bloody walking-boxes, I need to flourish this thing with a nice entopic style, or what's the point of  lugging this thing around and wearing this black, rusty, itchy outfit to match it, eh? Now just a... eek!"
Likes: Factol Pentar. That one time it accidentally got stuck on a modrons gear-box and got to take a ride through half the great ring, even getting painted a nice shade of poke dotted red in Axoas. Being called the "Exquisite Blade of Modron Passing Away, But in a Nice Way."
Dislikes: Getting dusty, it has corrosive allergies to that stuff. When people look at it and say "Maybe wiggly would be more entopic." When people get confused if shining and sharpening it to spread entropy is better, or if entropy is better served by it getting old and rusty, or when they get really confused and decide to sharpen it with a rust dragon.

Barmy Bonus:
Previous, and failed, Doomguard equipment of modron death
Vacuum Blade of Modron Death. An attempt just recently before the current blade came in to favor, this weapon was more a mace type thing, though it has enough spiky bits to probably make six swords, and was an attempt to solve the long lasting problem of modrons just vanishing, and not falling to bits and creaking like the Sinkers wanted them too. The blade/mace worked by a small hollow tube at the end, which would through various magical and surely mysterious means, suck the modron towards the blade wielder. The thought way to be able to chunk a box over, get it stuck on the end of the blade, then bonk it against a rock until it said "Ny'uncle". Unfortunately, the Factol at the time was also a bit of bowmen, and he decided his first target would be a large flying quadrone that was flapping right above him. Entropy may be good, but gravity tends to be messier.

Evil Modron Clone, with Mallet Attachment, of Modron Death. The Doomies, ever on the look out for the entropy, heard of these people that went around blowing up mountains and made evil contraptions with names like 'blender' and 'toaster', and decided they had to sign them up. Thus where the first tinker gnomes invested into the Dommguard ranks, and on being asked how to solve the little problem of getting a large square modron in a small can shape, they lept to the task. Thus was created this modron clone, a rickety thing of wires, pulleys, and smoke stacks that could be operated by two gnomes sitting in it's three by three foot box. Painted with a happy quadrone face on the front, it was planned to be able to walk in the march freely, inconspicuously having a giant mallet attached to it's top. It would of worked too, but when a rogue modron visted the Armoury to buy some square spiky armour bits, the gnomes got a bit excited about 'beta testing it', that they ended accidentally flattening the clone itself, causing an explosion that knocked them half way across Sigil in a giant coin flip.


Second Hive of Decadre

December 12th, 1999



"Three, four, or five bloody dimensional - I don't care, berk, that bloody snake is sodding barmy dimensional, that's what it is."
- Ikwah, an old planewalker.

"Watch, Ladys and Berks, as I pull more and more scaled body from this Abramie! Nothing up this sleave, nothing up the other, nothing in it's mouth! Look, and behold!"
"Oooh! It's different patterns!"
- Street theater outside the Civic Festhall

Possibly one of the barmier creatures that makes its home on the planes, the Abramie has infinity and time all tied up into one little bundle, most often in a knot as it sits there looking silly. The length of the Abramie, you see, curls up into itself and into other times and dimensions and other bizarre things, and if you tried untangling it's scaly coil, you'd just keep pulling and pulling - for bloody sodding forever. From a distance it looks like an average snake, a light tan with spotted skin and coiled up, but on closer inspection it's always possible to see that the Abramie has itself tangled up into a bizzare lump - allot like how an old rope left in the shed will always tangle itself around the rake - a heap that always seems to fold back on itself and no tail to be seen. How the creature moves is a bit of a mystery, but it must manage somehow, probably just by tangling itself across the ground. It seems to get around though, as it's been spotted on most of the Outlands and about every other plane which has nice rocks it can warm itself on, and inevitably gets tangled on.

The strangest chant about this creature though is it's body seems coil back through time, and if a berk where to pull enough of the Abramie's scaly hide out of the tangle there would be ice covered scales from an ice age or even scar marks from some ancient fiendish creature. This has got some of the archeologically minded Guvners, and even a few stuffy historians, practically hopping through portals so fast that there funny hats and spectacles fall off in order to get a look at this strange creature, and what mysterious can be, well, pulled and unraveled from it. They say they've actually managed  to scratch messages on the snake's skin while it sleeps, and pull them back out in the past or possibly the future. Needless to say the Guvner's tend to grin madly as they pull these messages of their's out of the tangled heap even before they've wrote them. The historians though are mostly interested in how much they can pull from a Abramie, and thus see the affects the millennia have had on it's spotted skin, but wrenching out coiled body from Abramie can be quite a feat for the wizened old men. Plus the fact that the snake tends to wake up and inconveniently move or hiss and has to be repeatedly hit on the head with a large mallet. The recording task of this great find is also compromised when a few mad Guvners, you know who they are, start to play jump rope with the length of snake already pulled out.

The ecology and the lifestyle of the Abramie are little known, but it seems to mostly just enjoy sitting on nice sunny rocks and bathing it's nice tangled body. It doesn't hunt for food much, a meal will practically last it forever as it starts it's journey from small rodent to slightly digested time traveler. The snake has few predators, as anything trying to eat it just looks silly as it tries to keep slurping up snake that dangles from it's chin. All in all the Abramie lives a nice infinite life, occasionally usurped by mad archeologists beating it on the head with a rock.


Second Market of Decadre

December 9th, 1999



Ramblings scrawled by a Barmy
on the Gatehouse Wall, Second Market of Decadre

There is a frog in my mind. Ever wonder why they're always calling us sodden Bleakers 'melancholy'? I mean, 'wretched' I could understand, no point to that word and it sounds like a bubbers just got sick, or even 'depressed' has a nice pointless ring too it, like the chittering of cockroaches in the hive. But melancholy? Mellonkollie!? Doesn't it just grade on the nerves? Does some berk who's depressed, has no point in his life, and owes his mind to the factions, jink to Takers, and corpse to The Dead, go around saying "I'm bloody melonchollyyyy!" I didn't think so. What's the word mean even? Some bloody Guvner will say something about black vile stuff, but does that what it conjure in your mind? No! It sodding conjures pictures of happy rolly Arcadian watermelon, that's what it does! Do you, sod, feel like a happy round fruit when someone calls you melancholy? Mmm, mmm?


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All content copyright 1999 Jeremiah Golden or credited authors.