I came downstairs and this was on the arm of my chair. An ill omen for the day.


I came downstairs and this was on the arm of my chair. An ill omen for the day.

Comments

  1. Zzarchov KowolskiJune 3, 2018 at 7:07 AM

    Man, fortuneteller's curses have just gotten lazier and lazier over the years.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Tore NielsenJune 3, 2018 at 7:12 AM

    Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
    “Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store
    Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
    Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
    Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
    Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”

    ReplyDelete
  3. Wayne SnyderJune 3, 2018 at 7:23 AM

    You've been marked.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Joshua BlackketterJune 3, 2018 at 7:40 AM

    The Black Spot!

    ReplyDelete
  5. Andy GarskeJune 4, 2018 at 6:27 AM

    Just spit at it, that usually works for my ill omens.

    ReplyDelete
  6. Mark WhitleyJune 4, 2018 at 8:39 AM

    Boss: "So, why aren't you coming in to work today?"

    me: "Um, it's complicated..."

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Tonight, my "Lethal Damage" 13th Age campaign draws to a close.

Originally shared by Jonathan Tweet Tonight, my "Lethal Damage" 13th Age campaign draws to a close. Meanwhile, the guys are work have talked me into running a couple D&D sessions for them. That was the day 13th Age was announced, and they're happy to play 13th Age instead. That will be my "Great Center" campaign, based in the imperial capital of Axis, the center of the world. It's my opportunity to explore the setting from yet another perspective.
Read more

From Voyageurs National Park on FB:

Image
From Voyageurs National Park on FB: Called “Catamaran” by locals, Bert Upton is among the strangest of historical characters on area waters. He lived in a hut built over a dug-out at Squirrel Narrows. Found frozen to death in the 1930s by Kettle Falls pioneer Oliver Knox; Upton was perched lifeless in the snow just a half-mile from his home. Shunning civilization, Upton defined the word hermit. First spotted rowing his crude log raft on Namakan, no one knows how he got there. Upton’s accent implied an English heritage but any personal inquiries brought a stony silence. Some suspected him a man fleeing the law; others saw a bizarre outcast; everyone knew he was peculiar. Just five feet tall and wildly unkempt, Catamaran wore hacked-off pants and walked barefoot with a stick. Winter demanded shoes but no socks, a cast-off Mackinaw, and a trailing cap made from the leg of old underwear. He was oddly religious, and suspicious of being poisoned. Surviving on snared rabbits and fish, he ofte...
Read more