There are controversial ships, and then there are forbidden ships. Come get in these folds.

"Don't leave," says Walnut, seated with her back to the fire. Her hands are twitching furiously around a heap of twigs and, with a few tugs and twists, they were becoming something that looked intentional.

I've got a couple pieces of art here from Ryan slash Donaar Blit'zen, Dragonborn Narcissist, to go with Monday's veiled tale of Sorsha and Chronaar. The first is his sketch of the little scamp:

Nomenclature-wise, we use the term "Smurfberries" for any type of secondary currency. That's where the first truly massive unauthorized purchases were reported, and there's also a kind of insult nestled in the language. An imaginary currency named after an imaginary fruit eaten by imaginary creatures is, ironically, a pretty robust metaphorical statement.

Please deposit your PAX South Qs into our designated slot. We'll process them live on stage.

When we were talking about writing comics, we ended up talking about the things enemies are always saying. They're always saying things, but the difference between a six to eight hour campaign and the nineteen hours I currently have in The Division means I have heard them for - at minimum - ten more hours. And I'm gonna play another three hours tonight. So, more. Here's a DLC I will pay for: one that makes every enemy speak a single part of Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture. This guy is the oboe or whatever. Consider it: you could remix the score in real time with your M249.

Here's the second strip. There might be another one, I'll decide tomorrow. Until then, another bit of "C" Team fic. I'll get the art from Ryan later, it's fucking Christmas.) -----

I wasn't there when it happened, but I'm told that Ronia and her incredibly smart friend Sarah cracked the case on this Santa shit, and Brenna folded quick. I might have done more to safeguard the tradition, but Brenna occupies a realm of perfect honesty - a realm so dedicated to the virtue that our son had an operating knowledge of prostitution when he was five.

Her mother called her Walnut. First, because she was small. When Walnut was less small, there were other reasons to call her thus. She was sweet, but secretly so; tender, though few were allowed to know. And there was power, too; great power, her birthright as a Daughter of the Enclave. A sky-piercing power.

At some point, Ubisoft - which had theretofore been enunciating the annual release deathmarch decreed by the Market Elders - decided to release a game and then stay awhile. They also paused Assassin's Creed, but I don't know if they did as a corollary to the new policy or because they needed to plant legumes there because the soil was out of nitrogen.

We need to entertain the idea that is was a joke, one of these Ha Has youths are always entertaining themselves with. But it is true: members of The "C" Team did conspire at the event to consort with another.

Sometimes my friend Amy Falcone says that something is "a lot," and now Gorborath has adopted it. Generally something is "a lot" when you "can't even." That's the threshold.

The Sword of the Conqueror
Notes compiled 1489 DR (AC, SCRTRN)

I feast on spoilers; I actively seek them out. I typically read the last page of a book first - just one more way in which I am an iconoclast, whose zesty street wisdom is incalculable by the undifferentiated Norm. The problem is that there exists a kind of Reverse Market for this type of illicit information, and it's generally flooded with nonsense.

Here's what's going on there today:

(Here's the strip. I've never had a single interaction with Geoff Keighley that wasn't good, so there's no beef; I just do a lot of public appearances too and it's a very fragile time. Here's today's Acquisitions Incorporated: The "C" Team fic, with art by Kate Welch, that is to say, Rosie Beestinger.)