Monday, September 29, 2008

Beneath Mt. Steelhead-

Beneath Mt. Steelhead-

Having narrowly escaped a mob of pitchfork-wielding Steelhead whale-defenders, I've decided to take a more direct approach to commerce in that port-town, a withdrawal of sorts. The managers had carelessly revealed in our meeting the coordinates to the Silver-hoard they had taxed the populace under the pretense of defense. (The silver was collected to "prevent the creation of ammunition that might harm the lycan Sheriff", so I had hopes there might also be other city officials susceptible to damage by arrows of Gold, impalement by Rubies, or nasty paper cuts by negotiable bearer bonds, and these had been collected too.) Having the coordinates in-hand, I wended my way through the tunnels of Steelhead, finding a spot directly (or as close as I could determine ) under the treasury.

Having found the location, I've secured a barrel charge of gunpowder, strung the fuse, and prepared a match...


Hmmm, no hole...but a still a rumble!!
Oh dear.'s collapsing!




Is this the end of Cato Quan?

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

The Whaler, Part 2

The journey to the viking lands in search of Viking crew having proved mostly fruitless (I did find some recipes on how to make bland food even blander, a few nice axes, and some unattended sheep to accompany me back to New Taloo, where I shall likely set up a mail-order bride business catering to Caledonian bachelors) I nevertheless pushed on my studies of the art of cetacean angling- this time finding a willing but nervous bunch of sailing-folk on Amity Island.

They were kind enough, but as the prey began to eat away parts of the boat, I thanked them and bid a hasty retreat. A trip to the library and a quick reading of an abridged Melville yielded better results.

As for crew, I was lucky in in the willingness of Oddkitty Bedlamie to accompany me. Wary of nosy fishing inspectors, she agreed on a naval outfit that might help ease our way out of any such detainment or investigation! How distracting indeed!

As I had fishing rights to Steelhead, I reasoned I have rights also to the whales that principally dwelt there. Therefore, if I could catch one that was merely vacationing elsewhere, I reasoned this was still fair game. So rather than setting course to the now-empty waters of Steelhead, we instead charted for the waters of Winterfell, where fell beasts are known to roam. Very quickly we found whale-sign! "A behemoth off the port bow!" was the cry! We tacked closer-
A mighty chase was had, tacking and running in tandem with the beast, till it slowed- alongside we crept-

A boat was lowered, we climbed down and paddled closer!

All at once I jumped on the beast! A mighty harpoon in hand!

Bedlamie, fierce and graceful, joined the hunt! The beast was o'er matched!

A fine catch! Bedlamie pulled it on board, and we sailed our prize back to New Taloo (after a quick shopping expedition to Winterfell)

The filleting completed, the canning now begins in earnest!
To be marketed as "SALMON-ella" "A mystery fishy food-product from the makers of Krazy Kat Kibble. Now with more Opiates!"

Just look for the rust-colored label!

Monday, September 22, 2008

The Whaler

Late September.

Having been Cured of any trace of vampirism (a cure I'd rather not divulge, tho it included catnip oil, turkey basters, and a few days of squirtiness) I was invited to witness the capitulation of Steelhead to the Evil Tiny Kitty Genius Dr. Malegatto. She cleverly phrased it in terms of a "Non-aggression" pact, but it was clear that it was simple cry for mercy, derived from the appropriate awe they felt for her ingenious designs and suitable fear of her wrath. The good doctor, being wise, allowed them to keep their administration and town intact. For now. On my own part, I was able to secure a tidy little sideline.

When gathering intelligence on this Pacific Northwest town (by viewing the postcard on it's search results) I noticed a frolicking whale prominently pictured in the local harbor! I realized, after failing in our conference to determine the hiding-place of the silver-hoard the Elf-man and Genius-Girl administrators had amassed, that there may be some value in the whaley population- not so base as servitude in running smuggling blockades with crates strapped to chests; no, that had been done to death- but in old fashioned whaling! ...and then canning it as "Salmon" and selling it to hungry Caledon and Babbage! Perhaps with a bit of laudanum seasoning to keep the cans moving..

Having secured the whaling rights, I equipped myself and prepared to scout the Steelhead waters!

Miss Mari, of New Taloo, resplendent in naval outfit, agreed to accompany me on our scouting expedition. This was good, as I needed someone to haul and gut any catch we ran across.

We found no whale sign in the great harbors, and plied then the rivers in a steam tug, but again to no avail!

Could this be false advertising?! No whale-sign to be found! not so much as a beluga! How disappointing.
The sea had been barren, my frustration mounted. As any good Captain might, I took it out a bit on my crew.
I regained my senses, as Mari bid a hasty goodbye, I realized I had not investigated the science of whaling quite as much as I might have. I needed an experienced crew, salty, burly and one that would not ask many questions when it came canning time...

But, where, I pondered?
The next day, I realized- Pirates! Fisher-Pirates!

That day I travelled to a viking settlement to roust a crew, sturdy of frame, and indifferent of moral.
"Hmm...'Eat at Olav's'. Apparently the Linden ad-farm ban isn't working..."

Night fell. I met no-one, apparently all were out a-viking.

I anticipated their return at any time, silently I crept into the well to surprise them on their return...any moment now...

Monday, September 15, 2008

Steampunk Style Test results

Your result for The Steampunk Style Test...

The Aristocrat

68% Elegant, 21% Technological, 57% Historical, 32% Adventurous and 26% Playful!

You are the Aristocrat, the embodiment of steampunk elegance and poise. For you, dressing steampunk is first and foremost about simply looking good, with accessories and details to follow. However, this does not mean that you ignore the demands of creating a “steampunk look.” Your outfits weave together a balance between technology and style, and between period accuracy and beautiful anachronism. While your fashion inspiration may come from anywhere across the Victorian social spectrum, you always find a way to make your outfit beautiful. You will probably be found in the clothes of the steam age elite simply because of the greater elegance available to them. Chances are you dress this way because you like it, and you would still dress in this manner even if steampunk was not a popular interest.

Try our other Steampunk test here.

Take The Steampunk Style Test at HelloQuizzy

Sunday, September 14, 2008

Kitten of the Damned


Please forgive the length of this report, but much has happened this month-past. First, the Odkitties sponsored a gathering in New Toulouse Algiers, to draw more visitors and conduct an informal census of the active members of the community, and announce our benevolent (heh)intentions through civic improvement and celebration. This event was greatly aided by the assistance of Oddkitty level-2 Instigator Karima, shown plotting here-

The event featured a Blues performer and was very well attended by his various groupies and minions, and by those of New Toulouse who could make it. Later, we took advantage of the assembled crowd to test the strength of the Zombie army being harbored under the old church nearby; but more on that another time-

Once the festivities had completed, stock of the state of New Toulouse was taken. Although it was successful, one of it's hoped-for attendees, local magistrate Mama Cree, had not appeared. Nor had she been seen for weeks. Concern was raised of the state of uncollected vagrancy taxes, and piling-up bootleggers' kickbacks going unclaimed. Her absence was a mystery! Twice I checked my underground vaults to verify I had not nabbed her accidentally. Luckily, my record keeping is thorough, and her name was not found among the registry of crawdad food, nor in the rolls of Zombie army subscription. I smelled opportunity!

Now was the time to seize the reins of power! Not myself, no; I abhor the detailed work of administration- I meant to find someone pliant to the soothing suggestions of the hypno-device, who, experienced in the mundanities of civil service and engineering, would serve as puppet-king of New Toulouse!

Who could it be? The Guvnah of Caledon? He has shown himself immune to the device! and so skittery and hard to find at times...

Brief research provided another candidate!---

TotalLunar Eclipse, of the Steelhead sims. Builder, administrator, manager. Elf. ...elf? (Tensai, another manager, equally adept, had big warning letters posted over her name.) So! the elf it shall be! Muh-haaah-haaah!

My fist reconnoiter of Steelhead was brief, but gained valuable information. First, the Hypno-wheel was not as effective as hoped; and second, I would need a bigger bag than my surveillance intelligence had suggested.

A clever ruse was needed! Donning the guise of the popular American icon Santa Claus, I would invite him to the North Pole to join the other "Elves" working there! A splendid plan!

As a sweetener, I enlisted the aid of the voluptuous Oddkitty Bedlamie as elf-temptress, and we set to Steelhead in sleigh to fetch our waiting victim..

Alas, all did not go smoothly, as related here-
I blame the interference of the sausage-breathed Baron Wolfenbach for the plan's failure!

Part Two.

Despondent at my failure, and at the expectation of the the Evil Tiny Kitty Dr. Malegatto's displeasure, I comforted myself by a visit to the Sanctuary Club; where I am wont on occassion to dance into the late evenings, ruminating over failed endeavors, and sputtering oaths of dark revenge under my breath..

White on white translucent black capes
Back on the rack
Bela Lugosi's dead
The bats have left the bell tower
The victims have been bled
Red velvet lines the black box
Bela Lugosi's dead
Undead undead undead
The virginal brides file past his tomb
Strewn with time's dead flowers
Bereft in deathly bloom
Alone in a darkened room
The Count
Bela Lugosi's dead
Undead undead undead

As I danced my sultry eastern kitten-dance, I caught the attention of a scantily, but artfully-clad woman, and of her slavish minions, who cooed and purred, under the spell of my strong kitty-pheromones (I bathe in a vat of it each morn.) Their leader-mistress cordially invited me to her castle for kibble and catnip. Being welcome for the company, I accepted.

Her castle, for she was Queen of this realm, was vast, and interestingly appointed. Queen Txxxxs invited me to roam and explore as she attended to the business of her minions. I wandered, interested, and following my nose found at last the Kibble-hoard to sate my belly.

On a near cushion I curled up to find my rest...sleep and drowsiness coming quickly....

I recall soft footsteps.. the soothing voice, reassuring..

Closer it grew....

My hypno ray! Malfunctioning! A dull pain!

I awoke hungry again. My body weakened, I roamed in a fog, escaping the confines of the castle, slowly regaining my wits and health.

I felt all was right, but decided to avoid the castle until I could be fitted for a spiked collar.
The day past, I asleep, blaming a multitude of Gin Fizzes for my state. As evening approached, I received an invitation to tour the Manse of Oddkitty Kiralette, Duchess of Middlesea and Illlyria. Perhaps there would be room for an Oddkitty smuggler's den?
As her grace greeted me, she lifted me in a hug, and woe- her catnip-based perfume overcame me - I admit I nipped at her neck! Affection, I say! but there the pin-prick holes were, tiny blood droplets marking them- I licked the wound clean to help, but the damage was done- as she swooned I fled!

What regret I felt! Am I a thrall? I had not tasted the blood of the vampire-mistress, yet some affect had arisen!

Soon, a summons came from Dr Malegatto! I answered obediently, reporting to the Lab...

She was stern and cool in manner, pointing out my faults- I had brought attention to her organization through no scheme of her own. I begged for my life, the doctor merely bade me follow to the lowest labs...

I was under her control now, light faded, the room spun, her angry gaze fixed upon me...

And here I awoke...A cure in store. What is the Cure she speaks of? I hope it's the band... but I don't expect it is..