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Barmy to
the Spire

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Barmy to the Spire


First Low of Mortis

November 6th, 1999


Factotum Torjion, of the City Courts, is a reformed Gatehouse Mathematician. He would sit in the Gatehouse Gardens, in the company of his fellow barmies, and detail the beauty of that which is, but could never exist. Most barmies grinned and nodded to him - barmies generally humor eachother. Factor Sruce sat and listened to him, and released him with the special stipulation that he report on his situation and new ideas and findings, monthly. Factor Sruce would then maintain his sponsor at the City Courts, where he would work as a low ranking Guvnor to research his impossibilities. These are Factotum Torjion's findings -

Boggling Infinity:
The Clean Bottle

by Tom Bubul

To: Factor Sruce, Gatehouse
From: Factotum Torjion, City Courts

Lady's Grace, Miss Sruce! A lovely day it is today. I write this letter under the beauty of a moebius rainbow, a beautiful ribbon of colour with but one side. They're the sort of thing I imagine the powers wrap their Lady's Day gifts with. Though, I imagine they're rather difficult to get untied. I shall think on it, and perhaps report on this phenomenon next month.

This month, I'm reporting on a most fascinating shape, or perhaps non-shape. A thing a Mathematician (perhaps you know him?) called a Clean Bottle. I have no idea what makes them so bloody clean. The idea behind them, is that it's a bottle with drink on both the inside and outside.

Supposedly developed by a barmy Mathematician, like I said, they're quite the shape. I was up late, a few evenings ago, and found Hashkar trying to drink a bit of a nightcap from one. If you watched hard enough, it looked like the nightcap was trying to drink a bit of Hashkar. Like a snake eating it's tail, the Clean Bottle wraps through itself such that you can't quite determine it's outside and inside. In fact, this little Clean Bottle on my desk before me - as far as I can tell - might contain the entire universe. You just can't quite tell.

That being said, I did an experiment. I told this little bugger of a child bullying the goblins of his nasal cavaties to put his face in one. He tried, but couldn't. He told me the bottle was too small. I told him that wasn't the problem, the problem was that the multiverse was taking up too much bloody space, and that he should bloody well try and free up some of that space by leaving it - through the Clean Bottle. He said, the sarcastic little sod, that the bottle wasn't clean at all, that it was quite greasy and finger printed. I told him I'd give him some jink, so he agreed. He got his head in, and the bottle smashed as it expanded. You see! If you take things out of the multiverse, by putting them in the Clean Bottle, the multiverse gets smaller, as the Clean Bottle grows bigger! We could save alot of extra space, by piling up all of the loose nonsense that's found in Sigil's streets - the people, namely - and putting them in a Clean Bottle. Please reply with opinions.


Inspired by the very barmy, and quite real, well sort of real, Klein Bottle.


First Hive of Mortis

November 5th, 1999


A Demonslayer in Heaven
Inspired by Dave King, written by Jeremiah Golden

Mount Celestia is often called a boring and uppity place to visit, but this is not always the case. As the journal of the demonslayer T'ron Fieldspar shows, it's often barmier then two bouncing baku. Written on sheets of old glabrezu hide in strange ink, the journal was discovered recently near Tir Na Ogg by us barmies. Here then are the truly daring adventures, dangers, and happenings of a demonslayer in heaven.

One day out of Oerth: May all wizards  be burned by a Type Vee Ie Ie Demon! Curse that blasted mages smirky grin with a plague of rotten, er, demons! Forget him though, I have finally achieved the goal of my destiny, to come to the home of the demons and destroy them! The blasted wizard kept muttering something about infinity and sods, surely a sign of my infinite greatness and yet humble down to earth attitude. The land here is strange, a mountain rises in the distance to the height of staggering proportions, but I am convinced it points me to the way of my quest. I will continue on my path, and let any demon try and stop me!

Three days out of Oerth: Targets are few. I have gotten closer to the eternal mountain, at it's top I'm sure the demon lords plot against me. Their underlings must still be frightened of my presence, though I have seen signs of a demon presence: a strange gray fire lights the sky and hoove and claw marks dot the rough roads. A fiendish storm has just risen, blocking the view of all around me. Surely the demons have learned of my presence, and fear.

Five days out of Oerth: The cursed storm has sent me in the wrong direction! I find myself farther from the demons mountain, and at the edge of an extensive sea. The strange water seems to boil with an inner light, and it chimes as if jingling with a thousand horrors. I was about to venture forth and test the water, when a strange fish creature emerged, grinning at me. The fiendish creatures clicked and whistled at me, and to my shame I fled. This accursed land tries to confuse me mind with demons of fish! I pray soon I will find a demon I can deal with, one of fang and wings. 

Ten days out of Oerth: I have begun my climb of the hellish mountain. In the night, what goes for night in this frightening silver sky, strange whisps of light fly around while I try to sleep. I unsheathed my sword of magical might and plus of Ie Ie Ie, but the swords magic did not work and they only hovered around the camp and whispered of paths and succession. I cursed the blade that had chopped the head and pinky off the Great Gragtongdradu demon, the strange lights must of taken it's power! The demons will not stop me though, I will rid them of the world yet.

Twelve days out of Oerth: The sky has changed! It flares with a shiny orange glow, casting strange shadows on the rocky ground. Winged demon dragons ride in the evil sky, but as of yet have left me alone. I hunger to confront them and to revenge the torments I have now suffered here, but I must press on. The going has gotten rougher, and I had to leave behind my Giagantic Book of Demon Types IIX through XXI (third edition, illustrated), B'b Oil of Demon Death, and my Big Big Bag of Holding with all my demon trophies. I can no longer carry their weight, and hope to regain them on my triumphant decent.

Fifteen days out of Oerth: The sky continues to grow stranger, now a blinding white as I make my way through the strange hills upon the mountain. I grow wearier, and have begun questioning myself on why the demons have not yet attacked. Surely they would be considerate enough to come down and conveniently be slayed like the demons I have faced in the past?

Sixteen days out of Oerth: Fiendish little people have attacked me with hoes! The demons surely seek to torment me! I am sure now that that the demons are playing with my mind, and I question whether anything I see is real. Yet I press on, am I not that mighty T'ron who has one hundred and sixteen little demon kills painted on his blade?

Twenty days out of Oerth: I have lost track of the amount of times the cursed flaring sky has changed, and I am now bent to the ground and my task in any case. The ravines and cliffs have gotten more difficult, and the path itself now wanders aimlessly. I have however caught glimpses of a demon further up the slope, and now hurry to confront him. I recognized it instantly as an Guardian Daemon, the grinning bear head and clawed hands a dead give away, and a creature which I have hunted before on Oerth. I stalk him with a new joy in my heart.

Twenty-two days out of Oerth: The beast spoke! I ignored the words coming out of it's mouth, as surely they where some strange chant to enslave my mind with such incarnations as "barmy" and "frothing brain-box". I lunged at him with my sword, but the demon seemed to easily side-step it, and for some reason giving me a damnable bemused grin. As I dug in my pack for a box of demon-trapping to slide under his feet, he managed quickly to fool me with pity in his eyes as he patted my shoulder and I was sent elsewhere. I awoke confused, and the mountain was nowhere to be seen, instead a tall spire rose above the clouds, and I cursed the evil fiends for tormenting my mind more with this madness! I will have my revenge on them!!!

Day one in the Gatehouse: The nice men have explained to me that the funny demons hell... um, bay-tore, what a silly name, is an upside-down mountain! I await my release so that I may go forth to the demons true plane and give them all what they deserve... pretty flowers!


First Market of Mortis

November 2nd, 1999


Being barmies in Sigil, we pay attention to all the posters and flyers that wing there way through the cage, and recently one caught are eye as extremely barmy. It leaped right out at us when we saw it, quite literally, for it was a sandwich board draped over what looked to possibly be a humanoid creature. After it moaned a bit for attention, and we helped it find a lost eyeball, we we're able to admire the astonishing poster the zombie was displaying:

Dieing for a bit of loose jink?
Your tired old shell driving you barmy?
Worried about your loved ones and friends after you've gone to the great beyond?

Sign up for a Dead Contract!

Planning for the future is always a wise idea, and after you've become a scribble in the dead-book, it's always important to know what happens to your valuables afterward. And what's more important then your corpse? Signing a Contract today will assure that only a short time after you've passed on to the true death a handy group of Dustmen collectors will be there to collect your corpse! No need to fear your valuables being nicked off your person, crazed fiend taxidermists, or necromancers with a sick humor! Signing over your corpse to Dustmen will assure it will get the utmost proper care and attention. Whatsmore, it's a totally free service, and we'll even give you some jink after you've signed the Contract! What're you waiting for, run your body down to the Mortuary today!

- H.H.


Last Week's Chant

All content copyright 1999 Jeremiah Golden or credited authors.