“He’s a lazy bum,” claimed the former wife of Dolan Flinchstone, aka Flinch the Magnificent. “All he did was lounge about the house or play collectible card games with his deadbeat friends!”

Personally, I always hate to see any relationship fall apart, so I decided to dig a little deeper. You never know; it might help a reader of my articles someday who might be headed in the same direction. “So, how did you two meet?”

“We were both young, with big dreams and passions for magic,” she sighed. “I was studying to be a cleric, and he, of course, had his sights on being a powerful wizard and fighting monsters. Then, like a fool, I dropped out of the temple to work a full-time job waiting tables to help him get through wizard training school. He promised to return the favor when he graduated. Now he only uses his magic to start campfires or open jars of peanut butter. What a waste!”

“I think we can probably guess what happened next,” I stated while shaking my head.

“Oh, he said he filled out his character résumé sheet and handed out copies to all the adventuring parties,” she continued. “But then I found out he was just hanging around the park all day instead.”

“Why didn’t he just find a job with a party?” I asked. “Isn’t that what he went to school for?”

“He did try one adventure after he graduated,” she said. “But he was bitten on the ankle by a kobold, and it traumatized him. He drank a healing potion, which should have been the end of it, but he insisted it still hurt and wouldn’t get out of bed. I should have left him then, but he kept saying his boo-boo was all owee. The cleric in me just couldn’t let that go.”

“I see the judge has ruled in your favor,” I said. “I do hate to see any relationship fail. But hey, maybe this will help you in future relationships.”

“I agree,” the former Mrs. Flinchstone said angrily. “Dolan may have blown all our gold on spell components like tick warts and centipede tongues, but one good thing has come from all this.”

“What would that be?” I asked.

“I met the kobold that bit him, and now we’re dating,” she said with a hopeful grin. “Clotnip is in his second year of getting his wandering monster degree. I have such big hopes for the little rascal. I’m even paying his tuition to help him out!”

“Well, let’s hope for the best,” I said, as I began to see a pattern.

Something told me I might be interviewing her again, maybe sooner than she thinks.

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“I couldn’t believe it was that easy,” said Blandstone the Grey. “The battle consisted of a few nameless farmers and a cow wearing a spiked helmet. My small band of skeletons, zombies, and two nose-picking goblins had this place taken over in about ten minutes.”

“Weren’t there any heroes available to defend the village?” I asked while sitting in a rickety chair at the local tavern.

“We did hire a few groups, mister reporter,” an older woman said as she brought us some appetizers. “But for various reasons, they never showed up!”

“Wow,” I said. “That seems strange. Does this happen often?”

“More than you think,” Blandstone replied smugly. “Adventuring parties seem to have more and more trouble getting together these days. I think it might be the economy. Either way, it works out great for me!”

“This is absurd,” I said as a zombie dragged our waitress into a corner and devoured her brain. “The Unremembered Realms will be doomed if these heroes can’t get it together!”

“I’ve heard an awful lot of excuses,” Blandstone explained. “The barbarian had to go shopping with his wife, the elven wizard couldn’t find a babysitter, and the dwarven cleric got the sniffles. Week after week, they just can’t get together. Personally, I think it’s easier to go adventuring when you’re in your teenage years. You have a lot more free time to dungeon delve.”

“I can’t argue with that logic,” I agreed. “That’s why I became a reporter. My adventuring days are long over. It’s easier for me nowadays to just write about adventures in the Realms than it is to get together with my friends and clear out a dungeon.”

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I was sent to the city of Curdlemelt, to report on a rogue named Aggression who was about to be hanged for varying levels of thievery. “I noticed your handywork on these gallows,” the rogue said roughly to the executioner as his neck was being cinched by the rope.

“Really?” the executioner smiled. “I went to school for this, you know. I graduated top of my class while others choked and dropped out.”

“The slop bucket beneath me at the bottom is a nice touch,” Aggression continued. “To catch the drippage after the dangling stopped, am I right?”

The executioner giggled under his black hood. “Oh! I didn’t think anyone would notice! You’re too kind!” he said, while clapping his hands. “I came up with that myself. It helps bring a little dignity to the event. If you look closely, you can even see volume markings. People like to take bets on how full it gets.”

I was impressed with the rogue. He didn’t even seem to care that he would be dead in a few minutes. “Can I bet?” he asked. “I have 5 gold in my pocket, saying it’s going to get filled to the brim.”

The executioner seemed very pleased with this. “I’ll grant you that,” the executioner replied. “Why not? I’ll be taking it all out afterward anyway. Now let’s get this party started!”

“One more thing,” Aggression said. “You need to tighten this noose. I’m having trouble believing you tied this!”

“What?!” the executioner said, looking flustered. “Give me that rope!”

He walked over, removed the noose, and pushed Aggression out of his way. Then he placed it around his neck to test the knot’s quality. “This isn’t knot good,” the hangman bragged. “It’s knot great!”

Aggression stepped back a little more and said, “I’ve seen better.”

The executioner turned red. “Go ahead and push that lever, wise guy! I’ll show you!”

Aggression did what he was told and waited around for a few minutes before he walked off to collect his bet winnings.

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Thank you for reading my weekly stories. I hope you are enjoying them! If you are a gamer, like me, you might enjoy supporting my latest endeavor, the TrapMaster Toolkit, available now on Kickstarter. It’s a fun addition to your role-playing game and is only $8 + S&H. Check it out at this link:

Click Here

A bunch of male humanoids are upset that the Full Pan Tavern has been overrun by a suave group of gold diggers. “They only care about money,” sighed Nerman Plebski, a single human out looking to meet women. “It’s impossible to find a companion when these dwarven gold miners come in flashing all that yellow!”

“I love Sklump,” a beautiful elven woman said while rubbing a dirt-stained head of a toothless dwarf. “I would date this hunk even if he hadn’t discovered a lucrative gold cavern and become incredibly rich!”

I often find that many of the stories I cover come down to one thing: greed. It always seems like someone or thing, is out for money or power. I turned to Gail Halestrom for her input on the tavern situation, but she seemed distracted. “Oh, yes,” she replied. “Whatever you said, 100%.”

“Well,” I said. “Let’s head back to the newsroom and get this story going.”

When I turned and took a few steps, I noticed she was not following. She seemed fixated on one of the dwarven gold diggers sorting through the pile of gold nuggets he was sorting at his table. “Not you, too, Gail!” I said, walking back. “He’s grimy, has a pegleg, and his eyes aren’t even pointing in the same direction!”

“They are just focused on things of beauty,” Gail said in a sultry tone. “One is on the gold, the other is on me!”

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Thank you for reading my weekly stories. I hope you are enjoying them! If you are a gamer, like me, you might enjoy supporting my latest endeavor, the TrapMaster Toolkit, available now on Kickstarter. It’s a fun addition to your role-playing game and is only $8 + S&H. Check it out at this link:

TrapMaster Toolkit

What if the party’s rogue fails their Disarm Traps roll? Don’t just let them fall through the floor! Perhaps a specialty dice roll is in order! The Trapmaster Toolkit gives your rogue one more chance to dismantle the trap and move your party forward, safely!

The set consists of a chart and 10mm-sized mini-dice. Embolden your rogue while other members of the party are on the edge of their seats with fingers, toes, and sometimes eyes crossed! Just follow the chart on the card and see what type of trap you have to roll to dismantle it.

The Trapmaster Toolkit dice set is part of my ongoing specialty dice series that add new levels of excitement to your campaigns. At first it was the Die of Destiny (It’s like a magic 8-ball for DM’s). Then came the FumbleCrit Dice Set, bringing a whole new edge to combat. Now it’s the Trapmaster’s Toolkit, to help keep the characters from blowing themselves up!

Here’s an example of how to use the Trapmaster Dice Set in a game:

Fizzlethump the elven mage, Stallwart the dwarven rogue, and Goreblade the barbarian worked their way into the secret catacombs of Bomberton the Evil. Goreblade was looking surprised as he wiped the fresh-baked pie off his face that he was hit with. “Deeze traps be delicious,” he said, licking his fingers. “Me want to spring another one!”

“Don’t let your guard down, you simpleton,” Stallwart said, checking for further traps along the cavern walls and floor. “Bomberton is trying to lure us into a false sense of security. Then, pow, a flying saw blade chops your head off! It’s the oldest trick in the book. Fake traps like these have been stumping would-be intruders for years!”

“Still,” Goreblade sighed. “Dat wuz a perfect crust. Maybe we steal da recipe.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Fizzlethump bragged. “As a mage, I am way too intelligent to set off any trap!”

That’s when he heard a click under his feet. “Gulp,” he whispered. “Stallwart, help!”

The dwarf lowered himself near the wizard’s feet and pulled out some small tools. “Don’t move, Fizz,” he warned. “This looks like an acid trap. One wrong move and it will fizzle your foozle!”

“Or it could be pie!” Goreblade shouted, grabbing the spellcaster by the shoulders. “It worth the chance!”

Stallwart kicked the barbarians foot. “Don’t move, you lame brain, or we’ll all be covered with deadly acid! It’s hard to eat a pie when your guts are melting out onto the floor!”

Goreblade did not look happy but seemed to calm down. “Me still crave crispity crust,” he mumbled.

The dwarven rogue fumbled at the trap for a few minutes before setting his tools down. “This is above my pay grade,” he sighed. “Now what do we do?”

It was at that moment that Fizzlethump remembered the magic coin. “Do you remember when we got this magic coin? The wizard at the shop said it would give our rogue a chance to disarm any trap. It’s not guaranteed, but it’s worth a shot! And remember, we can only use it once!”

Goreblade and Fizzlethump watched in amazement as Stallwart rubbed the coin and said the magic word that was written on it. Then the coin magically disappeared, only to be replaced by a mini-set of polyhedral dice.

“Let’s hope for the best,” Stallwart said as he began to roll.

“Rhubarb,” Goreblade stated, still thinking of pies. “But by Crumb, me also like blueberry and custard.”

What you receive:

The Trapmaster Toolkit will come in a clear bag along with a randomly colored set of polyhedral dice and the collector card, which is printed on a nice sturdy card stock.

I have many colored dice for this, and if you have a favorite color, I’ll try to accommodate it. I’ll ask what color you’d prefer during fulfillment.

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Burnhard the Emberman looked glum as the judge read the verdict awarding his former dungeon-raiding party thousands in gold coins for the mishandling of his deadliest spell. “The moron would cast it when the rest of us were in hand-to-hand combat!” complained Shurtless the Barbarian. “Now I can’t regrow my body hair due to all my damaged tissue!”

“I have to wear a wig,” sobbed Nairen the Elf. “This gold will help me purchase some good elven hair. My beautiful silver hair has been temporarily replaced with the wiry beard hair of a smelly dwarf! It’s like a tick magnet!”

“What do you mean, smelly?!” the dwarven fighter next to her asked. “I shaved it off so you wouldn’t be bald-headed in public, you ingrate! And quit picking out my ticks! It took me years to become that infested!”

A halfling rogue, covered from head to toe in burn scarring, named Rind cut in. “We’d tell him not to go off half-cocked and to wait for our signal. He could have cast web, magical missile, invisible hammer, anything but a fireball in that small space. Burnhard would do this to us over and over, until our cleric, rest his soul, ran out of heal spells. We got hit with so many of these flaming balls of death that we lost count. Honestly, we just felt burnt out!”

When we finally got a chance to talk with the defendant, Burnhard felt the ruling to be on the harsh side. “Honestly, I didn’t mean to cast it all those times,” he said, dabbing sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. “But that small group of elderly kobolds was scarier than I thought! And then there was the giant death turtle!”

“You mean the blind, toothless one we were trying to talk to?” Nairen yelled. “We were there seeking guidance from him! It was our mission! You are such a loose cannon!”

“I was shell-shocked!” Burnhard cried out. “What was I supposed to do? I can’t control my chelonaphobia, you know, my irrational fear of turtles!”

I’m glad to report that everything worked out and only one bridge was burned. But that happened when Burnhard became frustrated at a mosquito that he had difficulty swatting on his walk out of town.

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Rumors of an illegal underground fighting club had been spreading for weeks. Luckily for this news team, Gail Halestrom, our weather elf, had been approached by an elderly wood elf inviting her to one such event. “He must have been 900 years old,” she said. “Eew!”

“Then why did you go out with him?” I asked.

“Because he had a really fly ride,” she said. “He is a mage and cast an enlarge spell on a fly, so we rode it to the club. Plus I wanted to see what all the buzz was about.”

Gail ended up taking me to the place where she had witnessed the fighting. It was in the secret basement of a retirement home, run by a group that called itself the Flatline Society. The makeshift arena was well-lit, with nearly 100 spectators betting on the fights. Even Elfalfuh, the huge and muscular elven mob boss, was there with a goblin cleric setting the odds before the bets.

The first fight was kind of sad. A wobbly, dwarven monk fought a half-blind and overly wrinkled halfling ranger. The fight ended when the halfling swung his walker and hit the dwarf in the face, knocking his tooth out. “Argh!” the dwarf yelled. “That was my lucky orange peeler!”

The next fight was between an overweight gray-haired druid in a pair of highly-stained boxer shorts and a retired half-orc with bugged-out eyes who named himself “The Go Shovel”. The fight didn’t last all that long, which didn’t surprise me. But what did surprise me was the fact that the druid’s shorts became even more stained. I could see the look of horror on the faces of the audience who were closer to the fight than they should have been. Luckily, the Go Shovel handed out towels, while the druid apologized profusely.

By the time I wrote this article, the authorities in Dockport raided the retirement home, only to find it abandoned. The constables were upset, but even more so when the residents they interrogated would not reveal any information on this illegal fighting club. “I didn’t know if they were lying,” Chief Constable Spudbaum said. “Or just couldn’t remember anything due to dementia.”

“That does make things a bit difficult,” I replied.

“The one that bothered me the most,” Spudbaum confessed. “Was a roughed up looking dwarf who just stared back at us the whole time while sucking an unpeeled orange!”

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My new game, The Game Room’s Throne will be available! Plus, my newest specialty dice, the Fumblecrit Dice set will be available too!

Oh, and don’t forget the spices! Pick up all your refills! :)

Mick

When the news that the famous Lizardman-owned tavern chain called Hob-Fil-A was coming to Neverspring, everyone in town was very excited. My assistant Hednum the halfling was the most giddy. “Did you know that their motto is ‘Serving Halflings of All Shapes and Sizes’?”

I thought it was a little off that a tavern would focus on only one type of customer when there are so many other races of beings in the Unremembered Realms. When we finally arrived at the Hob-Fil-A tavern, the place was packed, mostly with lizardman folk. The dining room was packed, and the ride-thru was around the block! To my surprise, Clawson, the lizardman owner of the new tavern, came up and shook my hand. “Do you mind if I get an interview?” I asked.

“Sure,” Clawson stated. “We can always use more good word of mouth. Also, I see you brought a halfling. Do you mind if I give him a tour of the kitchen?”

Hednum was very excited and left with Clawson, so I sat at a table and looked over the menu. At first, I was impressed with the large selection. There was Hob Stew, Pickled Hair Toes, ….

After perusing the menu for a few minutes, looking around, and seeing no halflings, it dawned on me that when they talked about serving halflings, it really meant serving the little people as food! I should have known this, as halflings are a lizardman’s favorite food. I quickly got up from my table, ignoring the waiter who had just arrived, and pushed my way back into the kitchen. That’s where I found Hednum, relaxing in a large cooking pot with diced carrots and rutabaga. “They treat you like a king here!” Hednum shouted to me while waving me over. “But for being cold-blooded creatures, their hot tubs are almost unbearable!”

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The Quality Violations Café in the City of Heevmoor has just been shut down following multiple complaints about its food. The news team and I met with its owner, Moldywart the Unwashed, to get his side of the story. We tactfully turned down any of his free food offers. “This is terrible,” Moldywart complained. “The longer the city keeps my establishment closed, the more likely the food will go badder.”

“Badder isn’t a word,” I said, correcting him.

“Oh, yes, it is,” Moldywart said, lifting the lid on a plate on our table, exposing what could have either been a brown jelly or some kind of fizzing meat.”

“Eeew,” Gail said, pinching her nose. “Looks like it’s time for that to go into the dumpster.”

“Or,” Moldywart cut in. “Time for a big discount with a side of wedges.”

We could see where this interview was going, so we decided to track down a couple of the people who had made the complaint. It was a couple of rogues, recovering from food poisoning at a local cleric’s temple. “The manticore steak was awful,” the first named Appichat said, while holding his stomach. “I should have known not to try it when it was set down in front of me, and it was already missing a bite. I took two bites and had to send it back.”

His friend, a larger pale rogue named Onquay, nodded in agreement from his bed. “Things got worse for me the next day,” he complained. “I also ordered a manticore steak. This one had three bites missing. Oof. I knew I shouldn’t have finished it!”

After the visit, Hednum suggested talking to the city’s food inspector, Urgima Skimflint. We found him outside his office, polishing a brand-new travel wagon and wearing a new-looking “I love Quality Violations Café” tunic. To our surprise, the half-orc had decided to let the establishment reopen. “I’ve decided that these dozen or so food poisoning incidents were just a fluke and would probably never need to be investigated again.”

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If you're in the southwest part of the state this weekend, come see me and stock up on your spices! Then do an Irish jig!

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Slochu, the leader of the southwest Yomnommi tribe on the Isle of Lecturus, had gone missing just before the tribe’s last election. This left his opponent, Applespit, with no competition, which enabled him to win the race. “Slochu didn’t have the stomach to continue,” Applespit claims. “Or the slowly roasted heart.”

“There are rumors going around that you may have had a hand in Slochu’s disappearance,” I said. “Are these being spread by your opponent’s political party?”

“Of course it is,” Applespit said before belching. “I ran an honest campaign. Less taxes, good schools, and a head in every pot! As a matter of fact, I’m having a celebratory dinner tonight in the village center. I plan on delivering a eulogy for my opponent’s career, and giving thanks for the fresh supply of meat that mysteriously arrived!”

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“I didn’t understand what spell I learned until I was fighting a very large ogre,” said magic-user Boggles DeBrane. “When the ogre cringed, bracing himself for the crack of lightning, a blue beam came out of my hands and hit him, and then he started rubbing his stomach saying, “Me feel lighter”, thank you, wizard.”

“That’s when you learned that you had misread the name of the spell?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Spelling hasn’t always been my best subject.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “Isn’t spelling your only subject?! You’re a wizard. Are we talking about the same thing here?”

“Lightening, lightning,” he said. “Potayto, Pototto. Whatever.”

“I think I’m beginning to see the problem here,” I said while taking notes.

“Well, either way, the ogre was extremely pleased and let me live,” he said. “I helped him feel much better about himself,” Boggles explained. “He said he wouldn’t let the rest of the party walk away, though, so he grabbed them and bit off all their feet!”

“So your party was defeated?” I asked.

“Defeated, defeeted,” he replied sadly. “Whatever.”

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“I will not rest until I find out who did it,” claims Orin Jameth, head of the Bloody Glove Assassin’s Guild. “Just because the victim was a jerk and deserved every bit of what was coming to them does not give someone else the right to righteously murder them because they were paid handsomely to do so!”

“I find this a refreshingly noble statement,” I said. “Considering that the victim, Nicholas Browne, was your archenemy and the lead investigator into all the supposed crimes of your guild.”

“It was sheer luck that the local constables who spotted me washing myself down by the river were able to recruit me into the investigation,” Orin said. “I am a master of assassination, so I was able to help guide their thought processes.”

“Is that why you published this little pamphlet?” I asked, showing him the item. “I Didn’t Do It, But If I Did, Here’s How I Would Have Done It, Then Lie About the Whole Thing to Cover My Tracks”.

“That’s right,” Orin said. “Make sure to let everyone know to buy a copy. It is very important to understand that this killer does not get away with this heinous and profitable act.”

“Do you have any clues on who it might be yet?” I asked.

Orin pulled his cloak’s hood over his face and looked around in each direction before smiling and saying, “I have a feeling the killer is closer than anyone thinks!”

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I do this festival every year and it is one of the funnest and well-attended. The people throwing this festival are real pros and never miss a beat. There will be good food and lot’s of creative vendors. There is music and so much more. I will try not to belly dance this year, but I cannot make any promises!

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Darkmistian authorities in the City of Knotgood are celebrating tonight after finally solving a series of dungeon break-ins. According to Dewey Kickemback, the city’s mayor, the businessmen running these dungeons can now rest easy knowing justice has been served. “For years we’ve been watching these self-declared ‘heroes’ break into dungeon after dungeon, killing, looting, and damaging private property,” Dewey stated during a town hall event. “Now I feel that we can rest easy at night knowing these criminals are safely behind bars!”

The crowd erupted in applause. Later, Mayor Kickemback told me that the group arrested was quite brazen. Besides having a cleric, fighter, and magic-user, they had even hired a thief to unlock doors, disarm their traps, and pick their victim’s pockets! “I am confident we made the right decision by putting an end to all this dungeon raiding nonsense,” the Mayor told me directly. “As a matter of fact, each of the warlord dungeon owners has promised to visit our city when they feel the time is right. They even asked for a list of our most successful banks. I’m assuming they’ll be wanting to make large deposits!”

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It will be the full 3 days, rain or shine! This is an incredible festival with great shows, events, and best of all…vendors! (wink wink).

Reminder: Only 8 days left for my Kickstarter! The FumbleCrit Dice are super cool and the ultimate gift for any D&D player (especially Dungeon Masters!

Click Here for the FumbleCrit Dice

“Talk about an embarrassing spellcasting faux pas!” claimed Harold Potsmith from his cleric temple bed. “I’m still shaky just thinking about it!”

“I agree,” said Elspinster Skinflint the Third in the bed stationed next to him. “How do we show our faces at the Enchantments Under the Sea dance coming up. What sorceresses in their right mind would want to date either of us?!”

“How did you two wizards get into a duel in the first place?” I asked. “The word on Cobblestreet is that you were good friends.”

“We were at the Sidebucket Tavern planning an adventure,” Harold explained, while holding an ice pack on his head. “But then we started arguing over who had to leave the tip.”

For those of you who don’t know, in the Unremembered Realms, wizards are notorious coin-pinchers. Spell components are extremely expensive, so spotting a spellcaster using coupons or recycling potion vials for their 10 copper value is quite common.

“Elspinster knew that I had just purchased a jar of bedbug freckles,” Harold griped. “I’m so broke I’ve been reusing the same lemon slice for my water from our last two visits to this tavern!”

“That’s nothing,” Elspinster said. “I’ve been using both sides of the bathroom paper just to buy the components for my Knuckle of Noogie spell! Nerds aren’t going to bully themselves, you know!”

To avoid any more hair-raising situations in the future, both wizards agree not only to never tip, but to do Dine and Disappearances, where they eat dinner, then use invisibility spells to leave without paying.

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If you enjoy the humor of the Unremembered Realms and are a gamer, check out my FumbleCrit Dice set on Kickstarter!

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This is one of Western Michigan’s secret treasures! I had my booth there last year and had a great time! Come check out all my new products and games!

Don’t forget my FumbleCrit Dice set on Kickstarter! It the coolest new accessory for Dungeons & Dragons:

FumbleCrit Dice Set

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It was headlines like these that I noticed would get people’s attention. Another one I’ve discovered is ‘Breaking News: A Cure has been Discovered’.

Although these are great ways to draw in readers, I’ve also discovered that it makes them upset when the headline has nothing to do with what you’re writing. Especially when the article is about a product you’re trying to move from one of our advertisers. Such as books from a comedy fantasy writer I know.

My editor calls these techniques “Ink Bait”. He claims it’s what attracts a reader’s attention, so they’ll pick up a copy from the newspaper stand and take it home. He also said to skip from page to page to keep the reader searching through all the other articles. The editor advised me to talk about the story rather than give it. When they arrive near the end, give a brief summary of what the reader has already read, and shove in one more ad, giving the advertisers one more chance to entice the reader.

“Won’t our readers start to get upset by things like this and cancel their subscriptions?” I asked.

“Sure,” the editor replied while lighting his cigar. “But then we’ll bring em’ back in with enticing headlines!”

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