View source for Plans Against...Brain Slugs?


-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-<* A05: Ox-Strength Tavern *>--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

         The worst sailors, mercenaries, thugs and dock-workers frequent this place, making it one of the most dangerous bars in the city. Its wooden floors and sturdy furniture are scarred from brawls, and the plaster on the walls is broken away in places from the brick underneath. Tucked against the large, steel diamond-pained windows are a few narrow booths providing a view of the street and all its traffic while letting smoky sunlight stream in and preventing patrons being thrown out through them. Little lamps hang from the cieling beams to provide light when the sun goes down.

         At the back is a long bar of pitted, much-polished oak sitting beneath a bay of cuboards. Its here that the owner of the bar can usually be found operating the taps and fiddling with the large copper samovar on one end against the wall when she isn't out serving drinks and basically running the whole bar. There's even a few potted violets behind the bar in the open case where bottles are stored. There's a sign in chalk listing the house specialities, along with whatever will be being served for dinner that night.

         The food and drink here is good, despite the clientele's rough and frankly undesirable nature and the smell of pipe tobacco and beer that never seems to come out of the wood; the most popular thing being the curries redolent with spices and the hard ciders, both of which she makes herself in the kitchen. Part of the bar itself, it should be noted, bears the marks of electric damage, with spidery black burn marks radiating out from a charred spot right near the inner edge, where the 'tender stool is located.

         Over against one wall is a pot-bellied wood stove, with two much-abused leather chairs facing it. Near to that is a locked door that appears to lead to the owner's apartment above the Ox, while a pair of swinging doors at the end of the bar leads to the kitchen.








There are odd goings on in the Felwood...well...there are always odd goings on in the Felwood to be sure. However these days there is something even more odd going on. In this case its the strange trappers and trainers that were found. The papers and sigils that were found that /someone/ had done research on.

...really just one person.

I mean come on Preston was a wizard, research was kinda what he was there for.

Nerd.

Regardless of who did research and who chased down slugs Lorik had rounded up a group of people from the Guild to discuss and plan the next angle of investigation. And what better place to do that than the Ox!

...really it was pretty much the only tavern he knew but he wasn't going to tell anyone that.

So he rented out a large room, and in the middle of said room is a map of the surroundings of the city. One that he's peering over as he waits for people to arrive and gather round the massive circle of a table he's taken over for this little session.

...there is a little hand made sign at the table. Written is perfect crisp elvish.

'No lizards at the table!!'

"Oh my...! It's been such a time since I'd last been in...oh, I can't wait to see what she's--" The voice floats in alongside its owner, with a cheerful, almost robust sound if not for the age of the gnome.

Who must be getting on in years. He floats more than he walks, rolls more than he steps, and the round little fellow's gold-buckled shoes are more rumor'd than fact.

Right now, that round ball stutters, if a ball could be said to stutter. In truth, it more rolls to a halt and wobbles, as the gnomish gentleman halts and looks around. He reaches up with a trembling hand, a marshmallowy hand lined with age, and presses his rose-tinted spectacles upwards along the gnose.

"--she's, oh. Oh, dear. Why, Myrana! You've gone for the retro look, haven't you? Oh, the Society for the Preservation of Alexandrian History will be so thrilled! And why...the mold along the left rafter is just as I remember it!" he says, and he DOES sound thrilled, this little gnome. Thrilled to pieces. He looks along the rafters, his eyes dancing behind the lenses.

As a not-Lizard, Shivani stands on the table as she talks. And she has been talking. For almost an hour. For those able to keep up, to fully comprehend the ins and outs of her insanity as she thumbs through a book of crudely drawn stick figures and fingerpaintings, all while wearing a pair of glasses with no lenses, she finishes up with a small crescendo of accented Tradespeak.

"...so basically that's it. Once the slug army surrounds all of Felwood, we can make our move against the Big Bad Dude Guy who's at the heart of all of this, and then we beat him uuuuuup, and get him to tell us everythiiiiiiiing, and then he'll give us his stuuuuuuuuffff. Right good. Let me know if this plan seems like the best one."

Then Shiv jumps down, snapping her book closed and tearing off her glasses.

Her logic is undeniable. Because nothing she said was logical.

Already in the room, leaning back in a chair and feet resting on the table is Vasanna. In clear defiance of the handmade sign on the table, a large Swiftclaw is 'seated' next to her. He has nested somewhat on the floor, his large reptilian head resting right next to Vasanna's hands. Idly, she'll reach out to scratch at his head every now and again as she waits. She hasn't bothered to mess with or move the sign.

Vasanna runs a fingernail underneath another nail and then looks back up to Lorik. "So, who all are we expecting?" The small gnome enters almost before she's finished speaking. Shivani's form entering next is also watched. "...slug army?" she mouths at Lorik in confusion and perhaps just a little bit of curiousity.

Garak approaches the table, giving a requisite stern look at everyone present before saying grudingly, "It is good to address these problems early, and in an organized way." He looks from Lorik to the others who have spoken. "Not with an army, because armies often don't do well in the Felwood..."

Preston Bayweather is a //proud// nerd, thank you.

And his research extended far beyond his presence on the expedition, as it happens.

The young wizard arrives with a stack of books so tall that it nearly obscures his vision, ending, as it does, just under his nose. He is dressed, as ever, in clothes that look too fancy for the ox. A rich navy blue coat flared out at the knees, of extremely fine fabric, its collar embroidered with birds-of-prey in flight, as is the hem, as are the sleeves, picked out in gold. Black boots. Navy trousers and vest. And a crisp wine-colored shirt. He has a satchel that's cheaper than all of it, all but bursting with more materials.

He also has a snake on his head. An orange and white snake with six heads. It looks very comfy. It could be an odd sort of hat that totally clashes until it moves.

"Bartholomew, honestly, if you could //kindly// stop chewing on my hair," mutters the young man, from behind the books.

"Oh, oh! And the smell! Oh, it's JUST as I remember it! A hint of...oh, why. Oh, it would be immodest to say, wouldn't it?" comments the gnome cheerfully, as he looks towards the faters. He looks so delighted, does Abrahil, delighted indeed.

"...oh, oh my! Well...just that hint of mystery meat, you know..." he says, and the words fade off in wonder. He reaches down and taps his side (his shoes??!) with a wand, and sparkles merge and spin 'round the floor. They lift him slowly, wobbingly, from the floor as he rises for a better look.

...and pauses, a bright look towards Shivani that turns into the warmest smile. Delighted, even, as he moves to clasp his hands together--though the gesture is more symbolic, given the warmth of his figure. "Oh! Oh, my! Why, it's such a delight to meet you! Are you here with the Society for the Preservation of Alexandrian History? Oh, please say it's so! I just LOVE what you've done with the place, and slugs--did I hear slugs? Would be a delightful touch of history about the Ox Strength!" Then, another wizard arrives, and the elderly fellow waggles his fingers at him, "Helloooo! It's so good to see another of the Society, here! You are, aren't you?" He looks hopeful!

Already in the tavern, Shara looks up at the lack of logic Shivani just presented. "Felwood has a very distinct and effective means of dealing with armies. Namely, driving them insane." She then begins to practice on her lute as everyone begins to talk.....

"Well," Lorik says slowly as he looks towards his sister. He idly taps the sign. Adjusting it to point right at her. They are siblings. This is a thing. "Shivani is here...and...oh that is Preston over there with his snake. I told you it has six heads." He adds towards the slightly younger shadow elf. "I think Desdemona is coming, and I left the note at the Guild open for anyone that wanted..."

Shivani's plan is heard, and Garak's comment about it. Then Vasa's question and he shakes his head slightly. "Slug army. She found one. I'm pretty sure one was touched by the divine." The way he says it though. He might actually /mean/ it.

Yeah. Isn't that terrifing.

He /would/ say more, but suddenly there is a round ball of a gnome that...is...floating over? Literally floating.

Lorik blinks once. Then a second time.

"Er..." A point at Preston. "...I think he is?"

A longer pause. "And I don't think we've quite reached the logistics of deploying a whole slug army to ring the Felwood yet, Shivani..."

"I had not yet joined the Society for the Preservation of Alexandrian History," Preston says, as he sets down all his things. He offers a hand to Abrahil, and says, "Preston Bayweather, at your service. I'm afraid I'm quite new in town, simply getting to know everyone. I've joined the Society for Progressive Arcanists, but would love to have the opportunity to speak to you about the historical society as well, in perhaps a different venue and a different time."

But then, Lorik. "You think I am what, my good man? I do have quite a bit of information to share, yes, if that is what you are answering...if it's something else, I can perhaps confirm or deny that as well."

An easy-going smile. The divestment of the books reveals he has ink smeared across his cheek, all out of keeping with the nice clothes.

There is a long blank stare at the little wizard, who can COMMAND SPARKLES HOLY SHUZ. Then, that gaze is upon her, and the wizard is addressing Shivani, who clutches her book to her chest with a 'please don't zap me' kind of look.

"Uh... UHHH. Whut? Society? Whut?!"

Shiv looks to Lorik. Then to Vas, then around, as various comments to her plan come to bear. But the Wizard keeps her attention. Finally, she sits down next to Preston.

"Yus that is why I'm here, to presorve every history with my friend Preston. Yup. Just don't turn me into a frog or something terrible, you know? That's some messed up shuz."

Garak tries to follow the conversation. "Perhaps it would be better to think of it as a raid. If you know something in a specific part of the Felwood, better to make plans to focus there. Trying to cleanse the entire wood, well, I doubt all the slugs in the world would be enough..."

"Oh, what a delight it is to meet you! And oh, why, I think you'd make the perfect candidate. Intelligent you know, why, I can see it in your eyes there!" the elderly fellow says. He practically beams for a moment, before turning towards Shivani. "Oh, oh! Oh, no! Why, I haven't transformed someone by accident in years, you know. Decades! I wouldn't do THAT! How terrible! What I would like to do though--" he says, and here Abrahil leans in.

...as though there's a secret to share. As though he and Shivani were two, gossiping gals over tea, and in fact, reaches out briefly as though he'd press his aged fingers briefly to the back of her wrist. He doesn't, but oh, the motion is there, the suggestion of it. "Oh, I should like to help you all! And the Society!" he adds, resolute. "Why, you used to find them in all the dishes--"

"--well, not /all/," the gnome offers more modestly, "--just some, mind. Oh, why, used to be, it was like getting a little present sometimes. You never knew whether you'd get the slugs or the snails. Chew or crunch, I suppose! Why, the warriors, big strong, strapping lads that they were--and some women too, mind--used to gamble on it! Such sport to see!"

"It's was such a delight, though, such a delight--IS a delight--" he corrects himself, "And--oh! Oh! Where ARE my manners? Why, I'm Abrahil Fizzletorque Brindlegear, and quite delighted to meet all of you, and restore this historic treasure!" the elderly fellow replies.

At some point, a hand curls over Preston's arm, as if Shivani might try to crawl up on top of the young wizard's head to get some distance away from the gnome.

But the assurance of how careful he is about transmuting people, and, you know, his speaking of slugs, well.

It turns everything right around. In mere moments she goes from terror to elated, her eyes wide, her smile even wider, bobbing her head most enthusiastically.

"OH YUS! Most people in this place don't eat slugs at all! Hullo Fizzlerump Abrahlgear! Or.. I am sorry. Abrahgear? It is loud in here with all of the talking and music people are playing, but I will call you Abrahfantastic since you seem most amazing with your ''floating'' and good ''taste in food'', and you know, we can basically be best friends now. OH I am Shivani but people like you who are my new friends can just call me Shiv. Or sometimes, my family calls me Shuzhead."

She smile-nods at this. "They mean it as a compliment I am sure."

Shara simply smiles a bit at Abrahil. "Greetings Abrahil. I'm surprised you came away from the theaters to here." She then chuckles a bit. "I'm Shara of House Arcanum. It's a pleasure to meet you, Abrahil." She then looks to the rest and tilts her head.

There is a floating gnome on the table and Lorik just blinks as Shiv goes from nearly perching on Preston's head with his poor snake to best friends with him. "I...its a pleasure to meet you, Abrahil?" He says slowly, eyes just slightly wide as he watches the various antics around the room. "I...think Preston..." Here Lorik cuts a gaze towards the wizard. "I thought you a member of the Historical society! But...my mistake...and yes having information."

Yes that is why they were there!

"But you were going to share some information I think, right Preston?" A blink again this time towards Garrak. "And...we aren't trying to /cleanse/ the Felwood. Just...trying to figure out who is kidnapping animals from there!"

"Oh! Oh! Why, I'm sure they did, m'dear. I'm sure they did," Abrahil replies with a pat-pat upon the wrist. He smiles up at Shivani as an elderly gnome might, his cheeks pink and plump, and crow's lines around his gnose and eyes.

He looks to Shara and Lorik, "Why, such a delight! It's so good to meet you both! You must come by sometime. You must! Oh, after this business is over, I am sure! I...oh! Oh, and there I go again, I'm afraid. Why, I'd talk all day if...oh!"

He turns his attention to Preston, expectant, bright-eyed, and hopeful.

Desdemona is running late. She heard rumors of a crew of 'Legitimate Airship Merchants' in the city and she wanted to introduce herself. Needless to say, she wasn't impressed so she's still stuck on land for the forseeable future. So she comes sauntering into the rented room later than the others and smirks. "Yes, I have arrived, the real planning can begin."

She's dressed in her long leather coat, tall boots and has managed to either repair or buy a new shirt after the last battle as it is clean of blood and tears. There is a satchel over her shoulder that looks heavily weighed down, which Shiv would recognize as a Sloog sling. Either way she moves over to the table and ruffles Preston's hair before she settles down and pays attention.

Vomitdreg has arrived.

Preston pat pats poor Shiv's arm in what he hopes is a comforting fashion. "Do not worry, if you are accidentally polymorphed you can most assuredly be restored. And it is, as the good gnome says, most unlikely in any event."

But now everyone's looking at him. The last time this happened at The Ox he got tomatoes thrown at him. It's little wonder that he colors a bit under all the scrutiny. But these are friends, and friends of friends, so he claps his hands together. "Right then. First and foremost, for those of you who do not know our foe calls himself the Master of Helsteeds, and he seems to be working the trogs up and perhaps other underdark races into a fine froth, raising them into an army of sorts. He also seems to be trying to field a calvalry made of twisted creatures who either set aflame or breathe fire, or lightning, or all sorts of other things. If you all did know, I am terribly sorry."

Because they all could. He got distracted with socializing, and forgot who might know what.

"Let's start with the most relevant information first. He almost certainly is either a powerful master of transfiguration magic or has one in his employ. The Felwood, font of strange demonic and corrupting energies as it is, seems to be very helpful to his endeavours. Not only does it make his vile transfigurations easier, it also provides him with a source of corrupted animals he can simply steal. I researched the most likely rituals. The components he'd need are common to the Felwood, and also the Desolation. I suspect he is going to have to keep his primary operation somewhere in yonder wood for best effect, though he might have a fallback position in the Desolation. That is a fine advantage, though, as there are few other places he can go without abandoning these plans. Which he seems very attached to, having worked them into his title, and personal sigil."

*FROOOSH*

The mana-toilet flushes. The door to the bathroom opens to permit a hideous little Gobber back into the Inn. Given the level of exposition its unlikely that his emergence would be noted but nevertheless he arrives. Vomitdreg's greenish pear-shaped form waddling back and forth as he wanders towards his seat.

A high chair. Not for babies. It just has really long legs and rungs between them so he can clambor back to his place at the table.

His first action upon sitting is to take a swig of his drink. The second is to listen, and learn.

Garak raises his eyebrows. "Cavalry of twisted creatures," he says, with what might be professional interest. Then he thinks about the other revelations. "Travel between the Felwood and the Desolation would be likely draw attention, even with - or especially with - such steeds." He gestures at those around the table. "Alexandros with all of her adventuring folk and wardens of the green, could prevent such an escape route..."

As each word goes by, as each TALE OF DASTARDLY DEEDS, the little gnome's mouth gets rounder and rounder. Shaped like a bow, it is. ANd, occasionally, does he murmur, "Oh dear!" and "Oh my!"

"That's terrible!" Abrahil bursts out then, and looks to them all. He clasps his hands into marshmallowy fists!

"It is indeed terrible!" Lorik agrees with an exclimation. "I didn't know this was all so...well planned...but you're right..." This with a nod towards Garak. "...how could he have moved things like that from here to the Desolation?" A pause. "Underground? Is that why he courted the trogs?" He seems to be thinking outloud...

...at least he was. Until the appearance of a /gobbo/ in a /high chair/ just tentirely derailed his train of thought.

There's a long moment of consideration as Shiv gives a big wave to Des and Sloog and then looks to the Gobbo that's now on the chair. She can really only smile so big. "HULLO!"

This, to the Gobbo. Soon she's pondering on the matter at hand, and then snaps her fingers. "HEY YOU GUYS! What if they are using magics to make everything fly? Or invisible? Or just like, you know, very little and tiny. WHAT IF THE ANIMALS CAN TELEPORT."

All horrible possibilities, brought rocketing to the forefront. Shivani is clearly here to boost morale.

"That's terrible!" Abrahil says again. The elderly fellow looks aghast. The color's quite drained behind his rose-tinted lenses. He floats there, he bobs there, with the occasional wibble and wobble.

He gulps. "Oh, oh dear...why! I...I...oh! Don't give them ideas!" he half-whispers to Shivani, as though concerned this terrible mage might overhear. His hands tremble. "Do you think he's involved with--with /him/?" he asks. "You know that terrible man, the one with the demons?" Asumit!

Preston hitches a shoulder to the speculation. "Underground movement would be //my// guess," he says.

He clears his throat. "The rest is just speculative. Our enemy is well educated, fluent in Draconic. I have begun narrowing down possibilities vis a vis his identity." He smiles at Des, he had caught that hair ruffle, but he's got a full head of intel-giving steam now and doesn't pause in the briefing.

This comes far more naturally to him than storytelling.

"I admit I'm not sure where to proceed from him. I found several local noble houses using the rearing horse as a sigil, any one of their sigils could have been bastardized to create his. I also tracked missing wizards from the Society of Progressive Arcanists. Two have gone missing recently, both on expeditions. The first was an older man, master of the Craft, eccentric. I suspect he simply died. I think a far more likely candidate comes in the form of a young overachiever who went out to prove his worth to the world and never came back. Hang on, I jotted down his name..."

He trails off as Abrahil brings up the terrible man, and swiftly comes to Asumit.

"Now that you mention it," he says, looking directly at the gnome, "While observing the wood I did come across imps posing as ravens, who attempted to entice me into a pact. I was put in mind of Asumit myself, though the two could be utterly unrelated."

Shara says, "he's a bit of a jerk, isn't he?" She says softly as she sets a mead next to Abrahil. "DOn't get too worked up, old friend. I think this is mainly an exchange of information." She then ponders. "There have been others that have worked against the pact binders agents before. You just have to find them....""

At her greeting, Vomitdreg gives Shivani a smile of jagged yellow teeth. Malicious little things although the grin that surrounds them is not unfriendly.

'WHAT IF'

Beady red eyes widen into perfect doe-like circles. He leaps to his seat, "What if," he replies in a high-pitched nasally tone like a bumble bee fighting off a cold, "they are setting up ley-stones beneath the city?! And, once the animals are trained they.." three fingered hands move with excitement, "ride them into portals. So that they open up in the market and so one day it's just a normal day and then suddenly warp-gates split reality and suddenly Helsteeds are charging through the crowd. Trampling the ladies who walk in the mornings. The cannons and airships suddenly rendered ineffective because they are RIGHT HERE. So it's up to the city guard.."

"but the city guard isn't up to it and all the adventurers are out looking for treasure."

The gobber looks from side to side, suddenly nervous, "how many calvary would it take to capture the city if all the calvary were inside the walls? /What If/ it were exactly as many as they'll have in three wekes?!" Pause. Hesitation. Grabs drink. Sits down.

Mumbling, "What if I booked an airship out of here in two?!"

"That's also terrible!" Abrahil says with a look towards the gobber. The elderly fellow looks horrified at all of this, all of--and oh! Oh!

"Oh, my dear! I shan't! I shan't! It's just all so terrible, you know and oh, we've known eachother since were in nappies. Why, I remember our nanny, you know... So...so terrible," the elderly fellow adds in a whisper.

"Why! Oh...you said oh, some of the Society has gone missing? Why, Gelfure must be furious..." Abrahil adds then, with a look towards Preston. He presses his fingers to his hips, and swallows. "Oh dear...oh. We must solve this, and soon, or Gelfure will soon have the entire city in hats!"

Watching with the utmost awe, a sugar-stick falls from Shivani's mouth as Vomitdreg lays out the most plausible scenario she's ever heard. BOOM! She's up on a regular chair, right next to Vomit's, staring at him with eyes that could consume the moon, wide and full of fervor.

"What if like, when they get here, they tell everyone they have to wear the color pink, or else they'll be executed! And like all of our animal friends here turn into demon-animals, and then they begin to sing! And WHAT IF then, all the slugs of the slug army turn on us, and form together into a great big slug, but it's just a cocoon for this great big myth creature thing I heard about when I was a kid. AND WHAT IF THAT COCOON HATCHES GUYS. WHAT IF IT IS A TARASQUEEE WITH BIG BUTTERFLY WINGS!!!"

Somewhere in the back, a half drunk man opines. 'Ya;ll motherfookers need Althea'.

This only makes Shivani's left eye twitch, feeding Vomitdreg possibility after possibility. "LORIK I THINK WE FIGURED IT OUT. THIS GOBBO HAS TRUESIGHT HOLD ON."

Preston Bayweather finally finds it. "Lukmaril. That was his name."

But wild fears and theories abound.

He straightens, raising his hand. He is young, but noble-trained, and it shows in how he carries himself. "If I may," he says. "We cannot act on speculation. Nor fears. Nor suspicions. Let us take these theories and develop from them some avenues of further actionable inquiry. We have only begun to see the traces our enemy leaves behind. Let us dig deeper, and //then// come to a conclusion and a plan. With some urgency, yes, for nobody wants to see flame-breathing horses on our streets, but in a methodical and useful fashion all the same. We must not panic, my friends, we must simply act."

"Oh, it is terrible, but--you are right! You are right!" Again and again, he keeps returning to that phrase. Abrahil shivers and then, then draws himself up!

As best he might. As best as a sphere might, anyhow!

"Well. Well! We shall do something about it! We shall! I'll take my report to some friends of mine oh--oh, and do come by when you have the chance. I'd love to sit down over some tea."

"...if the world ends or not, why, it would be a tragedy not to enjoy it, you know. And oh, it does get heads straight, now and then," he says and then bobbles, floats towards the door.

Abrahil has left.

Vomitdreg quivers. The moment Shivani hits the chair he too is on his feet. Standing on tip-toes the Gobber's beady eyes locking upon the Mul's in absolute insanity, "WHAT IF THEY HEAR US TALKING ABOUT THEIR PLAN?! WHAT IF THEYRE ALREADY BREEDING SLUGS FOR OUR EAR HOLES?! WHAT IF TOMORROW WE WAKE UP EXCEPT ITS NOT REALLY US?! WE'RE JUST SKIN SUITS."

Slowly he looks towards the back of the room, and he whispers coarsely, "What if they send our BRAINS to Althea but our BODIES serve Taara and the SLUGS?!"

He hyperventilates for a moment and then declares, "I need to go purchase salt." Turely the weakness of brain slugs.

He hops out of the chair and waddles quickly for the door.

Preston's explination is reasonable and so Vomitdreg pauses mid-way and assures him, "Just /in case/." Then exits.

Lorik just stares as the planning session devolves quickly into wild speculation about brain slugs. The need for salt. Ravens that are demons. Slugs for ear holes and teleporting Helsteeds.

The shadow elf just stares for a moment, not quite sure /which/ wagon just ran him over as more and more wild theories are given as people rush off to act on them.

Finally he pauses as Vomitdreg tumbles out to get salt. Just in case.

There is a very long pause.

"Preston. In the future. Maybe we should just do /private/ planning sessions. And just /tell/ everyone else later." A long pause. "When we're already on the road." A longer pause. "And have them pointed at something."

Preston gazes over at Lorik and tilts his head. "Mmm. Quite," he murmurs, under his breath. Too polite to say it too loudly, and yet too overwhelmed to say nothing at all. "Perhaps, Lorik, you and I might take some time to form those actionable intelligence gathering strategies in said private meeting very soon, so that we might divvy up the work in a productive fashion among all interested parties."

As Vomitdreg departs Shiv looks on, forlorn. She finally found someone who really understands her everything. "But.. salt doesn't work on brain slugs."

Her raised finger drops.

She sulks.

Then she begins to walk away to the equivalent of Sad-Hulk music, moseying over to the bar to get some ail to drown away all her fears.

A moment later, she returns with a round for those gathered, and pats Lorik on the shoulder. "Do not worry Lorik. Me and Preston will divide it all up. We will do a good thing with it."

[[Category:Logs|Plans Against...Brain Slugs?]]