Hiyas!

Hmm… crazy week, especially the last few days… Where to begin…

How about…Long live the Queen?

Due to a very unfortunate chain of events, the Brigade suffered through another tempestuous storm, and when the dust settled, this bardic maid found herself wearing the crown. Although it was next to the LAST thing I wanted, it is now my hand on the tiller, trying to guide us into calm waters and smooth sailing once again. And I intend to do just that, with the help of those friends and officers who have stayed with me. We have made a couple of changes, but we will continue to strengthen and grow.

One thing that we have done just recently is to create a custom chat channel that will be shared with other like-minded guilds (like the Palantiri). This was Envinyatar’s idea initially, and I am glad to see it through. With it, we will be able to communicate better with other groups and individuals, to arrange for quest and raid groupings when we find ourselves not strong enough for an immediate task.

The Brigade should be (as of this posting) Level 12, and we continue towards our goal of getting an airship at a steady pace. Although we were planning on holding out to Level 50 and a Windspyre Falcon, uncertainty about whether we can even get a Falcon without having to get the smaller Sparrow first has prompted us to change course, and I expect to break a bottle across the bow of our ship within a week or two. Maybe three. A little higher drop-rate on Impressive Trophies would sure help here. As of the last time I looked at the Guild Leaderboard, we were number 76 out of about 700 active guilds on Cannith. Not too bad, but I would really love to see us in the top 25, so we have a big task ahead.

Among our latest new recruits is Toternell “Toty” Smoothfellow, Madbull, and Naremos. I had the pleasure of being asked to conduct an induction ceremony for Naremos, right before the crown fell out of the virtual sky to land smack on my head. That certainly was an interesting introduction for Naremos to the Brigade.

In mentioning Toty, I want you to enjoy the following little piece of writing. Valaneshka, who is also new to us, does some nice work as an author, and has agreed to let me excerpt one of her stories. What follows is the thoughts of Val, who accompanied Jysurra and Bulkee as we did an orientation run for Toty, doing the Swiped Signet quest…

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Rippling with iridescent green light, the marketplace fountain beat against its smooth stone lips, threatening to spill the moon onto the dusty stones by Valaneshka’s feet. Stuttering into view, a circling airship swathed in green fairy dust collided with Eberron’s moon and came out the other side unscathed. Smiling, Val spoiled the illusion. Dipping her finger into the mirror, the world distorted, wavered, bled to her toes. Looking over her shoulder, the moon smiled and the air ship puttered off to starrier skies.

This is the illusion of perfection. Something I am not good at portraying.

Neither the garish orange lights of the marketplace nor the creepy music that sprawled out of House Phirlarn’s carnival could humor her this night. When she was a company of one, her sword’s dance lived in her feet. Kobold? No problem. Talk the to sword about a job. But now, in a company of five, the glitter was fading. Reality, cold and unyielding, was moving in hard.

I am not what I believed myself to be.

Deposing the humorlessly titled Quickfoot Gang and slicing their henchman to shreds sounded like taking candy from three ugly dwarven babies. But that’s not how it played out. First was the acid spray–trap unavoidable ; second, the trundling spiders–poisons galore; and last, Quinn himself. Quin the Man. Quinicus Maximus. But that man was like any other rogue-king. Sewer dweller gone mad with power–O, the horror, the horror. Tinhorns like that found their demise in Eberron every day, thus watching his arrogant smile melt to a funeral frown was a hedonistic thrill to Val.

But I had little to do with that death. Lurking in the shadows, I found it difficult to leave them. My skin yet tingled with acid, the spiders still crawled in my mind. What’s the use? I can’t lie to myself anymore. I was a coward. Of little use to my guild or myself.

This was her third run for profit with the ardent members of The Doom Brigade–one of Eberron’s more powerful guilds. The leader and her followers had been on the mark, on the money, well practiced. But me? Odd girl out. I couldn’t find the old energy, the old belief in myself. What went so wrong? How in Khyber did something so simple as swipe a signet go so horribly south for me?

Sparkling with green smiles again, the fountain’s stage returned for a second act. Spreading themselves out across velvet, white diamonds glittered and danced like starfish on parade; the airship sputtered into view, cruising the depths for celestial answers to cosmic questions.

The leader and her apt combat skills had left an impression on her, true; and the towering automaton, striding fearlessly into the shadows to crack skulls? Yes, second impression. He is a symbol of power, strength I must achieve? And of the new pledge? The halfling rogue? A synonym for stealth–tempered patience.

She had so much to learn from them all.
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Nicely done, Val.

In closing, I just wanted to say Good Luck to Envinyatar, Pommel, and Jessiko. I honestly wish that the three of you hadn’t left, but we all do what we feel we must. I won’t say anything more about it.

Seeyas all in seven (or thereabouts).