- The TF's limit is 30-39. NOT 30-35.

- If bringing 50s, remember to bring enough for everyone.

- Nossie OMNOMNOMNOMS only if he can hit you.

- Nossie cannot eat Mag. He gets fang-freeze

- MLTF on Invincible REQUIRES all 39s.

- MLTF on Invincible would be tactically impossible without two Empaths.

- The Council are total ponces. The 5th Column kicks our ass.

- The Zen of the Single Pull is essential.

- TZotSP does not, however, make the final battle that much easier when all three AVs call in their goons.

- Burkholder's a pushover no matter what faction he's in.

- MLTF is, pound for pound, more difficult than ITF

- MLTF deserves actual recipe drops.

All in all, an awesome TF with a great team(props to Mag for being patient with us through *two* total resets), and now Inyme is level 35. The RWZ and Cimerora
await!
---
"Oh, silver blade, forged in the depths of the beyond. Heed my summons and purge those who stand in my way. Lay
waste."

I was reading the sports page on the wiki when I started thinking about the end of the Boskone war and what happened when WW2 ended. Specifically I was
thinking about what happened in my home town on VE day. While it wasn't the only reason, the authorities in Halifax managed to spark a riot by ordering
the bars closed, ostensibly to prevent a drunken riot. I figure the fen would handle things a little differently, but in the end there are going to be some
(friendly) tensions between the Pirates, Ninja and the OGJ space marines, at the very least. Thus I got the idea for the annual Port Phobos Invitational.

***

The Port Phobos Invitational is an annual 'sporting' event that started during one of the victory celebrations at the end of the Boskone war. A large
group of OGJ soldiers from almost every faction were celebrating in Mars orbit when someone, no one remembers, or admits to who, started a brawl.

It eventually degenerated into a two day long battle involving 'waved nerf guns, foam swords and every non-leathal weapon in the Fen's arsenal. When
it was all over the participants said, 'that was fun, let's do it again! ...Once the bruises heal.'

Little has changed since that first day. The Port Phobos Invitational is a multi-day war of shifting, treacherous alliances fought to the last laugh with the
silliest weapons in known space, where the last crew, or person (you expect Pirates not to back stab you when it's all in the name of fun?) standing wins.
With the exception of the personal quarters of those not involved and critical areas of the station there are no bounds, and no time outs.

***

F

--

Brain, n.:

The apparatus with which we think that we think.

-- Ambrose Bierce, "The Devil's Dictionary"

Whoooo. Glazius Falconar just savaged chapter six on the FFML. I'm still kind of stunned by it, so it's going
to be a little while before I reply, if I reply at all.
-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.

Well, sort of.

SJGames has made the rules for the upcoming Munchkin Quest boardgame http://www.sjgames.com/munchkin/munchki ... _rules.pdf]available online (PDF). The example of play has a bit where a 9th-level Elf offers to help the current player kill the monster. Everybody knows what that means... Then the Elf offers to pay 500 gold to help kill the monster. The player's reply: "You could put your 500 gold in your nose and sing the Snails on Speed Song, and I still wouldn’t let you help."

(Alas, nowhere in the rules do they tell one where to find http://www.eclipse.net/~rms/snails.shtml]the Snails on Speed song...)
--
Rob Kelk
"Governments have no right to question the loyalty of those who oppose
them. Adversaries remain citizens of the same state, common subjects of
the same sovereign, servants of the same law."

- Michael Ignatieff, addressing Stanford University in 2012

So, Demo was browsing about Faultline, generally enjoying her own WP inspired invincibility and cleaning up the streets of Lost that'd prey on her
coworkers....



However, wandering as she was, she came upon an odd sight: a barricade of cars patrolled by Lost.



Figuring this was worth checking out, she went inside and took a looksee





This Shanty town was full of Lost undergoing their conversions. However, the inhabitants didn't take kindly to her presence.



However, after clearing out a few, she was able to get a good look from atop a hill.



Now, this place isn't that far from a location most people know. Starting at Agent' G's base:



Turn around and just keep going forward till the cliff edge.



Take a hard right until you run into a contested zone between Freaks, Lost, and Arachnos.



Follow the road, but turn right when you pass the big warehouse entirely.



Seeing a collapsed parking garage, head for it.





From there, turn all the way right, towards the dam. You'll see the front gates of the Lost City.



Who says there's nothing new to look for in this game in old areas?
---
"Oh, silver blade, forged in the depths of the beyond. Heed my summons and purge those who stand in my way. Lay
waste."

Frabjous day, my father is finally done with his "World Religions" class and is starting a Math course.
Hopefully this particular course won't have too many proofs for me to bang my head [as proxy brain for my dad >
''We don't just borrow words; on occasion, English has pursued other languages down alleyways to beat
them unconscious and rifle their pockets for new vocabulary.''

-- James Nicoll

Well I like the tactics being used. Those poor doggies have no clue what they are up against. Keep up the good work drak.
E: "Did they... did they just endorse the combination of the JSDF and US Army by showing them as two lesbian lolicons moving in together and holding hands and talking about how 'intimate' they were?"
B: "Have you forgotten so soon? They're phasing out Don't Ask, Don't Tell."

The oh-so-helpful people at TTH have made it so you can no longer right click on a story and tell it to open in a new tab. You have to jump though a load of
hoops before you can contact them and tell them this is a stupid idea. Can someone who has jumped through these hoops tell them they're being stupid, for
me?

Professor Sangnoir grew uncharacteristically serious. "The

simple truth is, there are *always* people whom you will have no

choice but to kill, who *deserve* and *need* killing. The mad

dogs, we called them in the... in my unit. They will not accept

defeat, they will not rehabilitate, and they have no purpose but

to disrupt and destroy. They recognize no law or authority but

their own whims, and will gladly use your morals and ethics to

manipulate you and make you dance to their tune. With lesser

measures you may stop them temporarily, but if you give them the

least chance to come back, they *will,* and they will *always*

kill something you hold dear in the process."

He paused for a moment with his hand over his eyes, then looked

back up. "Unless you kill them, the mad dogs *always* come back,

and they get worse each time they do, until they are terrorizing

entire nations and killing thousands or even millions. You

*must* kill the mad dogs when you recognize them, or you risk

taking the responsibility for all their victims from that point

on."

He turned, picked up a piece of chalk and lifted it to the board,

then seemed to think better of it. Turning back to the

spellbound class, he added, "The mad dogs know this, and they

delight in choosing as nemeses those who will *not* take that

final step, be it from moral compunction or simple

squeamishness." The professor drew a deep breath. "And some,

like Voldemort is rumored to have done, seek out the ultimate

advantage, and try to make themselves unkillable. And an

unkillable mad dog ..." He shook his head. "Nothing is safe

from someone like him, for sooner or later he will attempt to

destroy *everything*, even his own allies and accomplishments,

out of simple boredom."
-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.

August 3, 2011

Martha Clark was nervous. Her magnum opus was nearing completion, but she felt some small dissatisfaction at how she'd gone about it. Instead of
culturing her own strains of handwavium, she'd stolen some from the old worker's quarters. As her creation had proceeded, she found herself doing
shadier and shadier things to get the materials. She clutched the small coffee can and eyeglasses case to her chest and dashed back to her workshop.

Inside, superhero posters lined the walls and figures of various female superheroes posed along her shelves protecting her graphic novels and DVDs, while a
desktop computer displayed the log-in screen for the Lunar Edition of City of Heroes™. A rack of costumes sat forlorn in the closet, as time had been unkind to
her. Her once stunning figure had long ago abandoned her after the traumatic pregnancy and miscarriage which had left her barren. To chase away the spectres,
she had leapt at a chance to come into space and had participated in the construction of Kandor like so many of its citizens. It had helped for a while, but
the excitement and wonder had slowly faded.

She wanted her glory back, when she had been one of the Cosplay Queens of the Texas SciFi/Comics/Anime convention circuit. She wanted the power over those
attracted to beauty back. And since diet and exercise didn't seem to work, she was going to have to take drastic measures. She'd heard about Wave
Convoy and AC Peters' successes, and of course she'd heard about Biomods. Martha was going to get, if not exactly her old figure back, a powerful new
body. Ignoring her answering machine and its blinking messages light, she hurried over to her carefully hidden work table and the figure underneath the sheet.
Dramatically flinging the sheet back for no reason other than it looked cool, she revealed her creation.

The well-formed female figure was clad in a tight blue shirt and a red miniskirt. A shield familiar to millions of comics fans was centered in the correct
position on her chest, and a lovely face with a mixture of Caucasian and Asian features was framed by wavy golden hair. Kara Zor-El, or Supergirl, lay still
and unmoving on the table. It had taken many painstaking hours to create her, etching circuitry diagrams for a speed engine and a force field generator onto
the bones of a custom carbon-fiber skeleton and working out the full biomimesis necessary to make an "Armitage III"-like android body. The sensor
package alone had gotten her so far in debt to Don Antonio that he wouldn't lend to her anymore, so she'd turned to one of his fellow Mafia Fen, Don
deLeon. He had provided her with whatever she wanted, because he thought she'd figured out how to get handwavium to produce a weapon that would actually
HURT people in any way. But, in a fit of blue hair syndrome, she'd Doc Browned him. All of the stolen handwavium strains that had gone into her creation
made, in Martha's opinion, "Supergirl" into the closest thing to an actual Kryptonian possible. And Kara was going to be her new body once she
figured out how Wave Convoy had managed the meat to robot transition.

Gervasio had told her that this latest batch of handwavium had been stolen from Stellvia. She didn't know how the note to "Use Glasses!" would
help her make Kohran's kaboomite, but since so many Stellvians wore glasses, maybe the goop did something useful to them. She ignored her apartment's
phone as it rang and dipped the glasses into the can of goop. In a fit of whimsy, she put them on "Kara's" face. Seeing nothing happen, Martha
got up and pushed the hidden button to hide her workshop. She picked up the phone as the panels shifted around.

"Hello?"

"Hola, Señorita Clark," the cultured voice of Gervasio Faustino deLeon purred. "How is my Kaboomite
coming?"

Martha began to sweat. "It's going as well as can be expected. I'm trying all of the materials you've gotten me, but I keep coming up with
dead ends."

"Sí, 'dead ends.' Es verdad." His voice grew cold.
"We're going to have to show you how seriously we take this. Open the door, puta."

Martha's blood ran cold as pounding sounded on the door to her quarters. She turned to her kitchen in terror as the door burst off its hinges, and sagged
as she realized there was no escape from deLeon's goons. As they dragged her off, she wondered what would happen to her incomplete creation.
''We don't just borrow words; on occasion, English has pursued other languages down alleyways to beat
them unconscious and rifle their pockets for new vocabulary.''

-- James Nicoll