https://www.reddit.com/pokecomments/csdr2m/my_rise_and_fall_in_poker_2005/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app https://www.reddit.com/pokecomments/csws6my_rise_and_fall_part_2/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app submitted by
2007 starts and I am grinding sitgos on FTP like a fucking reddit fag fish. This was a dark time in my life looking back on it. Sitgos... fucking sitgos? They say the lowest form of conversation is “remember when” type discussion. Well the lowest form of poker is sitgos and here I am doing essentially a remember when about sitgos.
I had a bit of volume playing 11$ 9 mans and had calculated my hourly to be approx 25$ an hour if I was 10 tabling the whole time with an 11-12% ROI and each lasting half an hour. This was only a fallback plan though, if push comes to shove and I was short on money this seemed like a no risk all reward backup plan. Plus rakeback was given on FTP.
So a highschool friend of mine shits me into loading up my truck and moving to Colorado. I am starting to dabble on some other poker sites about this time. Starting to jump into some bigger buyin MTTs. Starting to learn cash games better. At this point though the only thing holding me back was drinking and partying. I cant tell you how many dollars in MTT buyins I have punted so I could go out drinking. I have literally walked away from 15+ mtt tables (after jamming every hand in the few I was deepest in, obv was never in FT range but have done it ITM)
So I load up my truck and drive 10 hours to Boulder Colorado. My buddy only 20. Another buddy only 21. Neither play poker. None of us go to CU. We are just some degenerate Okies in a college town that sucked in my opinion. Given I drink, do drugs and smoke cigarettes. Boulder Colorado I can only describe as the worst nice town in America (for people like me) because it was full of two types of people. Dirty ass hippies who wanted a cigarette of mine, and annoying ass hybrid driving spandex wearing fake personality cyclists who fake cough when they see you with a cigarette. No air conditioners either, still gets to 95 in the summer but yea dont put AC on homes, gotta protect the earth! Yea... fuck that town.
Anyhow I live out there for about 9 months before having enough of Colorado. Over this time I start playing on Poker.com (merge). My first day on that website I meet a friend I still talk to to this day. We play hu at 200nl and I remember the hand but not the exact action, but this is surely extremely close, sizing would be only off (and the irrelevant river card, first 4 are accurate)
HU 200nl I am Button 44xx and am about 75bb deep H raise to 6$ V 3b 20$ H call 20$
H check V 22$ H 55$ V AWWW EEEEEN! H call! V 67hh Turn 5x River Kx
So my would be friend fucks me in a hand and gives me a “drunk” emoji or something. That site had annoying emojis, anyone familiar with carbonpoker knows, but back then they were wayyyyy worse. Much bigger. Also the lobby had music you couldnt turn off. Was a really small site at the time but the games were good. My eventual friend and I talked for about 5 minutes before I left to pull money out and put it in epassporte and reload to begin my days on this site. It was terribly small then but any games that ran were just amazing.
2007 was mostly filled with drinking and roaming Boulder Colorado. I played just enough poker to survive and got myself into a few binds that year. It turned out my backup plan of sitgos for 25$ an hour wasnt doable. Not because I couldnt do it theoretically but because I couldnt keep enough buy ins in my FTP account when I cant refrain firing at every 24+2$ on the schedule, shucks. Luckily Carbon sustained me enough (and just in time a couple times) to survive.
Aside from a few trips to Blackhawk playing their dumb 5$ bet limit poker with roommates (it wasnt the 100$ like it is now) and a few little tourneys (usually got piss drunk and kicked out, my roommates got arrested one night for pulling hotel fire alarms at 4 AM, which was sad in hindsight. Blackhawk was virtually no young people at this point and 15 floors of senior citizens had to evacuate the hotel because my friends and I are dumb drunks. So many angry people standing outside in the cold awoken mid sleep for nothing.) So I am going to skim over my time in Colorado to where I return home, this is when I truly took off at poker.
Late 2007, I return home around November. I am near broke, and come back to my folks house. My dad basically still telling me “no future in gambling” but I am stubborn. I had dropped out of a Jr college earlier on. College and 9-5s are just not me. Id rather shovel shit than work in a cubicle or office setting I think. At least with physical labor you are staying in shape. The only job I could ever envision grinding my way through college for would be astrophysics and to land a job at an observatory maybe. Though the schooling for that degree is tough so I just bought a 12” telescope instead. Still have it, virtually never use it. (Oddly enough one of my friends from Carbon Poker was into that stuff also, he helped me pick mine out I think)
So now back home I fire up and start grinding. Variance was good to me late 07 early 08, within a month or two of being home and not drinking daily I am nearing in on my first 25k roll, then my first 50k roll. I was grinding mtts on FTP and cash games and small mtts on Carbon Poker (just gonna call it Carbon from now on for ease). Small field MTTs on the obscure sites were actually the most profitable MTTs online. I ran well over 100% ROI in MTTs on Carbon for a long time. Unfortunately there was only 1500~ worth of buyins every week worth playing. IIRC the biggest daily was a 30$ 2k guaranteed, or something along those lines. Basically the same 50-75 fish played it daily. There was only a couple guys who I considered competent. It wasnt well structured but everyone was way too tight for it. The Sunday tourney on there was a 60$ 20k, they ran 50k freerolls once a month at one point. They ran silly promos for holidays (literal checklists of stuff to do such as in December I remember one of the items was “win a hand with Mr and Mrs Claus of Hearts (KQhh) at a cash table”. It was well after the 15th when I finally got look at KQhh and I almost accused them of not allowing it to be dealt out, when I first saw it I just jammed 100bb pre to make sure I won, luckily no callers (though in those days KJ calling wouldnt be the craziest thing I saw on any given day) The promos would give decent money if completed though, over 1k usually (it took playing a lot to do obviously and other items on list were earn FPPs or find easter egg emojis (yea theyd release emojis and chat would be spamming at the beginning of the month with people trying to guess them). Was a fun little poker site tbh. I miss those days a lot. My only lasting friendships from online poker came from that site. Even though we all butted heads trying to felt the fish and would laugh at each other when a fish would hit and run one of us then go dump that money to another one of us.
The newfound steady stream of money from their MTTs led me to playing cash games there and finding my actual calling. Playing 1knl under rolled for a bit, I would keep about 10k in account (one or two tables was peak traffic at the time for that stake) and cash out winnings and slow down if my account dipped under 4-5k and regrind MTTs and lower stakes. Clearly wasnt a BRM professional at this time, was still young but I definitely was in the process of learning proper BRM and followed it very strictly once I actually got rolled for 1k and 2knl. Given its much easier following BRM when you are playing stakes that provide a living beyond your needs, which I am not a very high maintenance person. I have never worn a shred of jewelry, never had a piercing nor a tattoo. Never bought a vehicle I couldnt pay cash for on the spot. Never had a credit card. Cash is king is the way I was taught. Dont get caught up in going into debt for things you dont actually need. I lived life like this yet I never minded pissing away hundreds or thousands away on liquor or strip clubs or drugs, but hey I live in the here and the now and tomorrow isnt a concept I like.
I remember the first time I had 20k in my epassporte account. (For those who werent around, epassporte was created for men who wanted to make purchases of porn subscriptions online and didnt want their wives to see it on the bank statements, then it transitioned into poker after netteller refused everyone, eventually going the way of netteller). I had 30-50k online but having my epassporte debit card with 20k + on it was the first time in my life I had this much cash I could access at will. I remember showing it to my friend (the one who fell asleep during tourney and I finished it for him winning a 12k seat) out of excitement. Was just not the kind of money you are exposed to where I am from. Was new years 07/08 and I met up with friends to drive to Dallas to take copious amounts of MDMA and rave at the Lizard Lounge and an after club until 10 AM. I bought a lot of rolls that night, fun times for sure.
Around that time I had gained a love for playing mix games. The end of 07 and into 08 I had a stretch of 5 weeks playing the FTP 200$ Sunday Horse where I had two 1sts and a 2nd place, then proceeded to not cash that MTT but once over the next year, I have my feelings about FTP, I will share some of those at some point surely. I at one time invested a lot of time playing Stud8. I honestly felt my Stud8 game was better than my NLH game but there wasnt any money in it really, men over 60 were not a huge chunk of the online population at the time (if youve never walked through where they play 50-100 stud8 at the Rio during WSOP that joke wont land, always a couple oxygen tanks there along with 6 other angry old men who look like they might have been apart of a mafia at one time in their life). I played a fair amount of HU stud8 for a while though. Mix games are the most fun games in poker IMO. I wish they gained more traction but it seems they only do in upper limits for the most part. Guys with tens of millions of hands at NLH get bored with NLH obviously.
Leading into 08 I am still living at home but am on the verge of moving out again. I am finally starting to tip towards being a legitimate pro (by community definition being a poker pro meant bankroll + 12 months living expenses are easily taken care of with what you have, basically bankroll and life roll were separated) and 2008 definitely heats up in poker.
I had intention of keeping these as creative as the first one but its tough. The next 3 or 4 will be better though. More actual poker, some degeneracy, some actual stories rather than summary of the year. Hopefully this one was still semi enjoyable.
I wanted to thank you all for you earlier overwhelming interest and support in joining my new online Dragon Age Tabletop RPG (DARPG). As requested, I have drafted a telling of our group's adventures through Thedas thus far. I am no author, but I felt compelled to bring these stories as alive as possible to you fine folk. As such, I may have gone a little overboard with my “summary” so let me know if you’d prefer a more trimmed version for future iterations. Either way, hope you enjoy!
Our Heroes in the Making: Location:
Vintiver village, edge of Brecilian Forest in Ferelden Timeline:
9:30 Dragon 9/22, just prior to events of DA:O, 5th blight in the making.
that the following may freely contain spoilers from any of the Dragon Age media as it all used for inspiration. Also, for now we are playing directly from the storieds provided by the DARPG publishers, so if you don't want to spoil that, you may wish to avert your eyes. Then again, with all tabletops RPGs, no two stories are exactly alike and I have sprinkled my own content and interpretations here and there. The timeline also starts just before events of Origins in a possibly alternate timeline (don't want the future to be predictable). So while I try to always try to stay true to the lore, we may forge our own canon.
Whether it be a personal quest for honor, search for glory, or inquisition of knowledge, the Maker has brought together this ragtag group of social outsiders near the vineyard village of Vintiver, nestled quaintly in the valleys of the rolling Southron Hills, on the western edge of the Brecilian Forest in Ferelden. There, an auspicious cacophony of carrion birds could be seen from the West Road circling above a nearby farm. Sensing something amiss, the giant-of-a-man Torstein Scalptaker, an Avvarian mercenary, swiveled his cart up a path to investigate, leading his newly road-met companions Hawrick, a trusty dwarven smith from Orzammar, and Alex, a more delicate human bridging the height difference of the former two.
As the crops had been recently harvested, the empty field revealed those birds were fighting over the relatively fresh remains of two farmhands. One was slashed across his midsection, now lying against a fence post, and the other facedown in a pool of his own blood adjacent to a haystack in the middle of the field, pitchfork still in hand. Looking over the rest of the farmstead, the barn seemed unscathed, as opposed to the house whose door have been busted wide open...
As a man of the wilds, familiar with the predators therein, Torstein knew right away that these wounds inflicted on the farmhands were not done by ordinary beasts. Nevertheless, as the group neared the house, a group of wolves, visibly infected with some vile disease, were stealthily and quickly encroaching the group when a light footed elf dashed from out of the nearby forest to intercept the bloodthirsty canids.
Awen Silverwood, the Mythal-marked Dalish archer, quickly loosed two arrows into two of the wolves as she joined the party, followed by a wicked handaxe thrown by Torstein at the latter wolf. Alex stayed in the rear of the group, but was singled out by one of the wolves. One wolf in particular dealt several vicious blows to the group, the grizzly alpha male. Harwick managed to keep most of the wolves at bay while Awen and Torstein went on the offense.
A lengthy battle ensued, with both sides hitting and slashing, weaving and dodging. However, our group of heroes did manage to turn the tides and whittle their number down to three. Weakened, the alpha and the remaining two wolves fled into the forest to lick their wounds. Only one would make it there as Awen pierced one in the heart and Torstein cleaved the alpha in two with a mighty swing from his two-handed axe. A thick, dark ichor now poisoned the ground where the wolves now lay. Though dead, a menacing and tortured appearance still haunted their visage. Something was definitely wrong with these canines.
After taking a quick respite from that rather brisk wake-up call, Torstein decides to investigate the barn whilst the rest of the party checks out the farmhouse. In the abode, a grisly scene awaits them as many of the walls and floors throughout are sticky with blood and earth. The main room held two male bodies, the father and an elder son, both clutching to makeshift weapons, their throats gashed open. Amidst the gore, deep scratches marr the walls. In particular, one of the scratches appears to be in a symbol of some sort, filled in with blood. Right away, our Dalish scout notices it as the elven script for “Mythal” - elven god of justice. Such a display is a mockery and insult, she claims - “This can’t be right.” The matron of the family is found dead in the bedroom, having done her best to shield two little ones from the carnage to no avail. It seems no one was spared or escaped.
Meanwhile the barn’s latch is still sealed, with no proof of forced entry. Opening the doors reveals a similar story. The penned cows and old workhorse bellow out a simple greeting, oblivious to the violence that transpired next door. Amidst the animal lows, a faint moaning is sourced amidst the haystack upon the loft. Torstein discovers another Dalish elf with vallaslin (facial tattoos) and silver hair, covered in blood and dirt along with the hay. It seems she is struggling to maintain a hold on life as she battles a fever, probably originating from the nasty, inflamed gash on her ribs. Utterly exhausted, she is unable to fight as our gentle giant brings her down and out to the fresh air where Alex is able to successfully stabilize her condition. Just so, the mysterious woman slips into a slumber.
Awen does not recognize the she-elf (she does however identify the blood writing as Falon’Din’s) as Awen herself hails from the distant Emerald Graves. Looking for answers, they search her pouch only to find a heavy and thick chain link made of silver. With more questions than answers, the group carefully loads the silver haired woman onto Torstein’s cart, repositioning his barrel of mead and Hawrick’s anvil. They commandeer the slain family’s work horse, now befittingly dubbed “Bill, and head to the Brecilian Forest where surely the rest of her clan must be. On their way though, they must first pass through the nearby town of Vintiver, whose villagers may know more.
The townsfolk were rather leery of outsiders though as the lively hamlet kept a watchful eye on the newcomers, particularly the elf women. Mouths were quick to murmur and gossip of their arrival and a few began to lurk behind. Feeling uneasy, the group decided to push through town and head straight to the forest. That is until a woman garbed in religious robes, having noticed the wounded elf in the cart, steps out of the Chantry on the edge of town. She ushers them in, insisting she and The Maker can heal this woman. Awen and Alex join her inside while Hawrick and Torstein feel more comfortable remaining outside, standing guard.
Sister Arda, as she introduces herself, seems to care little about race or creed as she immediately tends to the silver-haired elf’s wounds, fetching poultices and bandages from a side room. The Chantry itself is of solid make, and relatively new at that. Making light of the situation and satiating her own curiosity, the sister mentions being a newcomer herself, only recently venturing out from Denerim to the frontier lands where she figures she could do the most good. In return, she wonders what has happened to Awen’s sister. Awen corrects the priestess and explains their adventures thus far. Alex, a devout Andrastian, mindfully inspects the pews and podium, taking note of the Chantry’s more humble statue of Andraste.
Meanwhile just outside of the holy edifice, a crowd of peasants begins to swell into a mob. Led by a young chapstrinned blacksmith, pitchforks and torches are in hand as they demand for custody of the Dalish women. Hawrick, trying to find common ground, respectfully asks his fellow smithee for his reasoning. Unfortunately the mob’s conniptions prove too heated as the blacksmith replies with disjointed claims of a elven curse. With both parties unwilling to back down, Torstein equips his spear and approaches the craftsman. The goons initially back away then, return with their weapons raised only to deflate once more as Torstein intimidatingly booms “Leave Lowlanders”. The fervor falters, though a few of the more sour sort are sure to shout expletives in return before shuffling away. The smithee, still fire in his blood, promises “This isn’t over” before returning to his forge.
Alex joins the two warriors, inquiring as to what just happened. A curt “Elves” response seems to satiate her curiosity. Just then, a grizzled man donned in chainmail and a crimson cape approaches from the east. With concern, he introduces himself as Tarl Dale, warden of these parts, and asks what trouble is afoot within his charge. A similarly short, but honest explanation is given. Tarl, being a more worldly man, thanks the group for their pacifism, asking them to pay no heed to testy blacksmith, Coalan, and assures them that they are indeed welcome and safe here in his town. Hawrick, knowing an able warrior when he sees one, takes the opportunity to hawk his self-made weapons on the veteran. As it turns out, Tarl bargains with the dwarf to purchase a fine mace in exchange for ten silver and a lesser healing potion he had on hand. As he strolls away, swinging his jail keys around in one hand and his new mace in the other, he recommends a restful stay at The Arbor Inn where he is heading himself.
With a little passage of time, the young silver-haired elf stirs awake, her fever having broken. Awen gently greets her “Aneth ara da’len.” Bewildered, the injured elf nonetheless thanks her saviors graciously and introduces herself as Eshara. Although weak and exhausted, Eshara is overcome with grief as she pleas the group to hear her tale and help her clan.
“As you may know, our band visited this village just two weeks ago, during their harvest festival. We were welcomed, then, but there was a bit of trouble: some of the locals had too much to drink, and there was a confrontation with some of our young men. Harsh words were exchanged, and Harralan, one of our hunters, attacked the big blacksmith. The village warden separated them before it could get out of hand, but still the damage was done. We were no longer welcome here and we moved on as soon as the festival ended.
“Harralan was angry at our treatment, but our elders assigned him the duty of scouting as we made our way through the Brecilian Forest, to give him time to cool off. He was the first to disappear—he simply didn’t return from his scouting one night.
“Then other scouts and hunters began to go missing, as did the ones sent to look for them. The elders decided we should go back, but by then it was too late.
“Three days after Harralan disappeared, before we could reach the edge of the forest, they attacked our camp: darkspawn emerging from the trees in the dead of night. My people were taken. Those who fought were beaten or killed. I was captured along with the rest, taken to an ancient ruin in a rift valley deep in the forest, off the trails. The master of the darkspawn is a creature, an abomination. He calls himself Mythallen, thinking himself a “child of vengeance”. I was brought before him, and then to his chambers. I managed to escape, taking the broken link of silver I found laid out as if on a shrine.
“The darkspawn pursued me, accompanied by a pack of baying beasts. I was wounded, but managed to avoid them, hiding among the trees and gullies in the forest for more than
a day, always moving, never resting for long. I stumbled upon the farm where you found me and managed to conceal myself in the hayloft. I heard some of the farmers coming… The darkspawn must have attacked. I remember the terrible screams… Then nothing until you found me.
“Please… Please help my people, our people! Mythallen and his creatures must be stopped!”
The scene of a family gruesomely slain, their deadly encounter with plagued wolves, and now rumors of curses and `darkspawn roaming are still fresh in each of our heroes’ minds. Not a moment passes before our fellow Dalish offers her assistance. Alex and Sister Arda are also swayed to the cause, having been present to Eshara’s beseechment. Likewise, Hawrick and Torstein, still standing guard outside are equally convinced to partake in the rescue.
Renewed with hope, Esahra offers to lead our heroes unsuccessfully as she collapses from her wounds. A tending Arda helps the elf back in bed and suggests Eshara instead draw a map of her clan’s last whereabouts and campground. Eshara mentions that her clan’s encampment is about a day’s journey from Vintiver. For her own part, Sister Arda graciously undertakes caring for her elven patient. She does offer Awen two vials of lesser healing potions and a single lesser lyrium concoction (as she is unfamiliar with the Dalish and assumes Awen may wield the arcane). More open-minded than most Andrastrians, Sister Arda wishes a simple “may your gods watch over you” in addition to her proffer of a prayer for The Maker’s blessing as the group leave the Chantry for the night.
Outside, the group discuss amongst themselves the next course of action. With nightfall soon approaching, Alex is largely unprepared for Ferelden’s night, which grow colder with each pass. As such, she insists on staying the night in town at The Arbor Inn, to which Awen gleefully agrees to accompany her. On the other hand, the strong and enduring men of the group seek a forlorn hill outside of town - all the cheaper and better to remain aloof.
Dwarf and giant strike out on the forlorn eastern road out of town, cart and Bill in tow. About an hour out and the twilight hour nearly gone, Torstein chooses the highest mound around to keep a watch on their surroundings and make camp. A sufficient fire is lit ablaze and meager rations consumed before the darkness blankets the land. The maverick that he is, Torstein mans guard duty for most of the night. Meanwhile, akin to how a potato is enamored with the ground, Hawrick is quick to assume a stone-solid slumber beneath the cart (head away from the horse’s ass, mind you).
However, in the middle of the night, a stranger dares approach their campfire. Though, this stranger makes no effort to conceal her movements as Torsteins tall figure quickly spots a young, strangely dressed woman easily climbing the steeper side of his hill. The young maiden introduces herself as Isabella, acrobatic performer hailing from the Free Marches. The bemused barbarian invites Isabella over to her fire and offers a mug of ale.
As an foreigner herself, Isabella explains her admiration for Torstein’s and Hawrick’s bravery against the inconsolable mob. She had caught wind from Tarl Dale of the group’s quest and has been separated from her circus group, who was here in Vintiver for the festival weeks ago. Isabella extends to them her skills with a blade and acrobatic finesse, to which there are no objections - except for maybe the potato’s snoring.
Over in the quaint and comfortable tidings of civilization, Alex and Awen had headed to The Arbor Inn, from which bouts of music and raucous bemusement could be heard from outside. At their arrival however, instant silence encapsulates the inn. A barrel of man behind the bar gives the counter two successive thuds and hospitably shouts “Welcome! Welcome to our humble inn ladies! Please, have a seat.” He ushers them to two stools at the bar, all the while harboring a menacingly compelling look to the rest of the crowd and local musicians, who now return to their conversations and shenanigans.
Innkeeper and bartender concatenated, Haran Mullin, introduces himself and his wife Kesla, who is serving as barmaid tonight. The genuinely jovial host offers the two lasses some food and drink. Today’s special, meat and potato stew with a local specialty Dragon Piss, a wine and ale hybrid. Both Alex and Awen heartily take the meal as they negotiate with Haran for the last room available. As they found out however, there is only one bed available. Awen nobly surrenders the bed to Alex as she rolls her bedroll out on the wooden floor. Before going to sleep herself, Alex takes it upon herself to question the locals. What do they know about this curse? What is their perspective on the events that occured at the Harvest Festival?
A group of four swarthy gentlemen huddled around a disparaged table caught Alex’s eye. As she approached, she noticed they were playing a game of dice and wagers with one particular fellow clearly pleased with himself while the others bemoaned their misfortunes. Alex politely tapped the more prosperous fellow, inquiring about the locals’ hex. Brushing her off, “I haven’t time now lass… unless of course you like to sit for a spell and play along.” as he proffers some rudimentary dice. Determined to get some answers, she sits across the table, “What’s the name of the game?”.
Swindlestones, a game akin to liar’s dice, with a pot of five silver he replies with a sly smile. Looking into her coin purse, Alex’s heart sinks as she regretfully nearly empties her coffers onto the table. Just so, she ends up losing her bets but walks away a winner, having discovered more about the harvest festival and curse. As the local men told her, a few townsfolk, good people, have gone missing as of late. No traces to be found. In addition, the clouds have been forming ominous shapes and old lady Harpee’s bunions are prophesying hardship and misfortune to come. Oh the stench!
As she calls it a night, Alex notices the town’s warden blending in amongst those still at the bar, keeping a watchful eye over his flock. Pardoning herself, Alex informs Tarl of the slain family and sickly wolves her group found northwest of town. The wizened warrior kindly thanks her, though some other townsmen informed him not too long ago. He assures her he will investigate the travesty at Fuldor Farm first thing in the morning and promptly ushers her off to bed.
Awen and Alex awaken early the next day in a much more comfortable state than their male counterparts. Haran, having heard of their quest from Tarl, gratefully provides the two ladies a hearty breakfast and rations for the road. He also refers them to old Alice’s Consortium across the street should they need wares for the road. As it so turns out, Alex was quite ill-prepared for her journey and is in desperate need of supplies.
The Consortium is more of a curio shop than a general store, and it has certainly seen better days, as has Alice the shopkeeper. Dilapidated shelves and long-forgotten cobwebs line every nook and cranny of the shop. Alice hobbles up to her new customers, welcoming the two youths in. “What can I interest you in on this fine day?” she cackles. Alex explains she is looking for a tent and while the camping season is long over, Alice does indeed have a couple in stock. She makes her young stock boy, Robb, fetch two large bundles from the back. He disappears for a few minutes, a cacophony of rummaging and clanging reminding all of his efforts. Finally the lad returns with two unused rolls and places them on the countertop with a satisfying thud. Alice explains that the smaller one is a leathery tent best suited for warmer precipitation whilst the second, furrier one is much better equipped for the perilous Ferelden winters.
With a tinge of embarrassment, Alex beseeches Awen for some financial assistance, having spent the remainder of her coin gambling last night. The elf scout gives nary a doubt to the proposal and purchases the tent, swinging it on her back with grace. The two say their farewells and make way out of town, eager to rejoin their companions.
Torstein, Hawrick, and Isabella are easy enough to find atop their mighty hill. Introductions are made amongst the women while the men pack up their camp. Reunited and ready for the two-days travels to their destination, the party sets out towards the Brecilian Forest. It does not take them long to reach the edge of the grand forest. The road seems to have shrunk more and more narrow as the trees in the distance grew larger and taller. Now at the border, the road nearly dissipates past the treeline into nothing more than a trail that the forest is eager to swallow up.
Torstein was leading the pack alongside his trusty steed, while the the dwarf covered the rear. The two humans were comfortable beside the cart, chatting away. Awen, a skillful scout in her own right, had been scouting ahead of the caravan. Already amidst the trees, she discovered a ragtag group of maybe five peasants, armed with nothing more than makeshift weapons and farm tools, led by a blacksmith waiting in ambush at the north side of the forest’s edges. Awen took the opportunity to notify her acquaintances of the impending threat with a hurried wave, of which only the behemoth noticed. Thankfully Torstein understood the message and alerted the rest to ready their weapons.
Just so, the farmers took the cue and came out of the woods with a coup de main. Unbeknownst to Awen however, a similar group of ambushers were present on the opposite side of the road. Surrounding the cart, the ambuscade demanded with menacing intent for custody of the Dalish elves. Alex brazenly attempted to becalm the group by hearing them so as to settle the quarrel without bloodshed. Her efforts were in vain however as her pleas fell on deafened ears. In fact, Torstein goaded the hecklers further, eager to spill some lowlander blood. One of the more crude ne’er-do-wells threw a rock, glancing Alex’s shoulder. The talking was finished once a young hothead initiated with a charge towards Alex.
Awen, who had been maintaining her stealthed apex position, gave herself away to let loose a warning shot precisely betwixt the assailant and his would-be victim. While his charge was broken, the violence had just begun as the rest of the villagers swarmed the party. Despite the numbers, there was no real mortal threat as the makeshift militants were no match. As a matter of fact, many of their weapons were blunt and their blows intended for bruising, not bloodshed.
That didn’t stop our barbarian however. Bursting with rage, Torstein targeted Coalan the blacksmith, swinging his mighty axe blade square into the smithee’s chest and slamming him against a nearby rock. The brawny craftsmen’s body sprawled with agony as his back shattered with a chilling crack.
It was then that the farmers realized there would be no quarter here and quickly fled to the hills. Isabella and Hawrick were quick to knock out of the villagers for questioning, though they ended up grievously gashing his leg in the process. Torstein also attempted axe down another peasant, though he slipped away from his clutches, losing a throwing axe in the process. One of the more thievish villagers tried to take what he could from Bill’s cart only to be thwarted by Alex.
Mortified by the excessive display of force, Awen and Alex took mercy upon the man they had captured. They debate with Torstein to carry him along so that the Dalish may help heal him properly. Stubbornly, the highlander refuses, forcing the two to fashion a stretcher and carry the wounded man themselves. In contrast, Hawrick saw fit to loot what he could from Coalan’s corpse. He had to wait for Torstein though who, true to his name, relieved the blacksmith of his scalp.
With the sun still being high in the sky, the group set aside their differences and traverse into the forest. The map Eshara drew shows that the Dalish encampment is not too far within, and though the elves may be gone, perhaps their campsite will provide clues to their whereabouts or situation. Will our heroes find the Dalish safe and sound, or has Mythallen already taken out his revenge? And what of the villagers who escaped; will they come back looking for their lost compatriot or make an attempt to storm the Chantry?
Find out after the New Year!
- Torstein, Hawrick, and Alex investigate a farm where a family was viciously slain.
- A pack of blighted wolves attack the group, Awen intercepts. Together they successfully fight them off.
- In the house, the elven script for "Mythal" is etched into the wall and painted with blood.
- In the haylofts of the barn, Torstein discovers a wounded silver-haired elf. She is holding a large but broken silver chain link. The group take the farm workhorse and cart the elf back to her people in the Brecilian Forest.
- First they must travel through a village on the road, Vintiver. While passing through, many of the townsfolk gawk and whisper.
- Nearly out of town, the local parishioner, Sister Arda, offers to heal the wounded elf. Reluctantly, the agree.
- A mob collects outside the Chantry, demanding for the Dalish elves to remove a curse. Torstein and Hawrick, standing guard outside, intimidate the crowd to disperse.
- Eshara, the silver-haired elf, awakens and tells the group that her people are in danger from a demon named Mythallen. She was captive with the rest of her clan, but managed to escape. Too wounded, she draws a map to her clan's last campsite and the whereabouts of Mythallen's lair.
- Tarl Dale, the warden (not Grey) of Vintiver introduces himself before going to the local tavern.
- The group splits into two groups. Hawrick and Torstein head off to camp in the hills outside of town. Alex and Awen go to the inn for food and lodge.
- At camp in the middle of the night, Isabella offers her assistance with the quest.
- At the inn, Alex plays with some local to learn about the local curse. Mostly superstition, though people have gone missing as of late.
- The next morning, the group re-unites and heads towards the forest. At the border, they are ambushed by 11 villagers demanding en force for the Dalish elves again.
- Diplomacy quickly breaks down again and violence ensues. The local blacksmith, Coalan, is broken by Torstein's axe. Another villager is crippled and knocked out by Hawrick and Isabella respectively. The rest of the villagers flee.
- Awen and Alex argue to care for the wounded villager, and do so. They hope the Dalish can help him.
- The group now heads into the foreboding forest in search of the Dalish clan.
I also want to thank my wonderful cast of players for their patience and adaptability. Many of them are learning something entirely new to them, and I must say they are doing a fantastic job!
Happy holidays and a happy new year to my fellow wardens, witches, and wizards!
Made it thru day 7 but it was the toughest so far. Woke up thinking about gambling and looking at the $11k I transferred to my checking account to pay my bookie what I owe, and fought back and forth with myself all day about justifying doing just one more bet and trying to double it up. submitted by
Im gonna pay my debt tomorrow and just be done with it and will keep a picture closeby of the ridiculous in what $11k in $20s, $50s and $100s looks like and just how dumb my decisions were that led to me handing it over to a stranger. I have no doubt lost wayyyyy more than this over the years, but something much different in handing over cold hard cash vs. online numbers on a screen or a 3 Bitcoin.
Big step though for me as I have had a 0% success rate when it comes to the internal debate of "should I gamble or not?"
I have had that debate with myself countless times and I really cant remember one time ever before where I didnt end up gambling, so that's something I guess.
One thing i considered today was getting some kind of discreet tattoo that signifies 10/17/18 (the day I hope to be the date i placed a bet for the last time). I don't have any tattoos at all so itd be a big move and gesture for me, but pretty extreme. I cant imagine the failure and self loathing id feel if I did relapse knowing I permanently marked my body and went back against it and failed.
Anyone else done anything like that and have any perspective or advice?
Pay-to-win isnt new but this year's lead up to Christmas is littered with over-the-top pay-to-win titles. Its by far the worst year for it and is just another example of these companies showing their greedy teeth and taking full advantage of their consumers...who are mostly kids. submitted by
NBA2k18 has to be the leader of the pack. If you want to be good in that game or have a better chance in online competition, people are dishing out an additional $50 (on top of the $60 for game's purchase price) to rank up their players and bypass some of the grind. You also can buy in-game boosts to give your player a temporary edge. And if you want to update your player's appearance (ie.tattoos/hair styles) you have to lease out certain items. That's right..I said "lease". You dont keep certain things in your inventory. yup...You might find yourself buying, then rebuying things if you you ever decide to change certain styles up. Annnnnd dont get me going on the Ante Up arena where players can gamble away the Virtual Currency (VC) they can buy in the in-game store. And its gambling..I dont care what you tell me. You walk around the 2kvirtual world and they advertise it as "high stakes" gambling without ever using the world "gambling." In plain, everywhere you go in that game seems to be governed by micro-transactions.
Battlefront 2 also seems to be shaping up to be yet another PTW money grab. I was so excited for this title. I played the beta and loved it..but I see the writing on the wall with this supply drop system they instituted and agree with everyone calling it a scam. I guess Disney doesnt make enough as it is.
Is it not enough for consumers (most kids) to shell out $60 for these games, $80 for silver edition this or that, and now some titles are even over $100 for gold editions that give you some stupid additional perk. None of these special editions really give you much in terms of bypassing pay-to-win either. You just get some special gun or camo. Woo hoo
Activision with their Call of Duty Franchise does the same thing. But, to be fair to all the greedy, money-grab companies, it is everywhere now and all these companies see the dollar signs (or I should say the virtual dollar signs).
Games used to be $40-$60 and you would enjoy it until the next sequel came out the following year. Now, I bet people pay $1000s on one single game throughout the course of a single year and they do it to have a competitive edge.
Well, im not looking to spend $1000s, even $100s, to enjoy a game...and why should I? I enjoy online competition a lot but I cant afford to love it anymore...And now I have a much smaller chance of having a competitive edge because of it. Its stupid, unfair, greedy, etc etc etc. I just think about when parent's get their credit card bills and see what their kids are spending money on. ha.
This VC stuff is American Greed at its worst (idk what it is like anywhere else. But its stupid in the US)
I don’t give a truck. Or should I? Fake names and slightly adjusted ages and locations. So my ex and I met back in 2010 online. Whirlwind romance, we both fell in love quickly, and were at the end of our shitty first marriages, both already separated, both with two children. Held out for three years long-distance, where I spent probably $10k on plane tickets, but never regretted it. She was my everything. During this time, I moved from Florida to Maryland for a great job making good money, and she was in California. She didn’t work during the vast majority of this time, but her boys were young and needed taking care of. With my encouragement, she started college. I consider myself a decently smart person, but can recognize when someone is smarter than me. And she is. Extremely intelligent. She got student loans and grants, so it’s not like I “put her through college” in that sense. But during this long-distance period, I probably deposited around $20k into her bank account to help give her a beter quality of life. Like a lot of pretty girls, she loves shopping and spends a shit ton on makeup. But it made her happy, which made me happy. :) In early 2014, I gave up my kickass job to take a $30k/yr pay cut and move out there to be together. We never even tried fighting her ex to be able to move with the kids. Talked about it, but it never happened. Best of times and worst of times. We’re both passionate people. We were either totally in love or at each other’s throats. She was always very jealous. Didn’t want me communicating with any other women, even about work stuff. My stupid boss there sent an email to like twenty people, including me, with naked women in it, and I got kicked out for it. Hated for me to go out with guy friends. That level of jealousy. But I dealt with it because I wanted to make her happy and secure in us, and relationships are compromise. submitted by
Fast forward to last fall. She’s a senior at a large university, and KILLING it. 4.0 GPA. Nailed the LSAT. Applying to law schools that are practically begging her to accept their scholarship offers. I wanted to go back east where I could make more money, she didn’t. I relented. She accepted an offer from a large, well-known school, about 7 hours from where we lived. All this time, it’s me taking care of the kids while she has a heavy workload. Not mine biologically, but they’ve called me dad for years, and that made me happy. I love them. During this year, she had an unpaid internship at a courthouse. Guys hitting on her all day, and she loved it. I accept that will happen when you’re with a woman that is beautiful (and DAMN, is she beautiful), but I just always wanted her to gun them down, so to speak. I wanted my attention to be what she really wanted. Changed her mind about all the jealousy stuff. It’s now ok to have friends of the opposite sex. It’s now ok to go out with people who encourage you to cheat. For her, anyway. Accused me of being mentally abusive and trying to isolate her because I didn’t like this awful friend, and yeah, I did take awhile to warm up to her having a relationship with her ex-husband’s mom (side note, that was my stupidity, that really is a good lady). Yet it was with my repeated encouragement that she reconciled with both her father and her brother, and I’m very glad she did. Early this year, the fighting became more frequent. I took to drinking large amounts of beer to cope. And I would leave and drive my truck around. Feel free to call me stupid, I do already know, though. Eventually I ran into some boulders on the side of the road and bent my frame. The fight that time was about this classmate of hers who had been constantly texting her and turning the conversation sexual. She was also on POF exchanging sexual messages with other guys. Sent me screenshots. She refused to tell this guy to stop and that she wasn’t interested because she didn’t want to be “uncomfortable” at school or the courthouse, where he also interned. I told her I had enough of that shit and I was leaving. She begged me to stay, and I did. I turned down an offer to move back East for more money than I ever made to do so. Enter my friend and co-worker. Let’s call him “Lying Manipulative Douche,” or “LMD” for short. I was grooming him to take my position when I moved onto my next project. He was nie enough to lend me a spare vehicle of his. Great guy, right? I started confiding in him, telling him all our problems. Always agreed with me that I was being treated horribly by her.
April, she dumped me by text while I was at work. Said I didn’t even remotely care about her because I disagreed with how she handled something and said I thought the other person was right. Said I made her life worse, not better. Told me that when I “inevitably felt like talking about it” she didn’t care, she was done. Blocked my number. I also found out she’d been referring to me as her “ex-husband” at work for like the entire year. So I went off the deep end. Drinking binge. Did coke. Gambled away a few grand. Spent two nights in a hotel, and then after I did go home, I went into my daughter’s room and didn’t come out (save to go to the bathroom) for literally four days. So of course I lost my job. She’s dropping the kids off with her ex or his mom every chance she gets so she can go party it up with her friends and enjoy being single. She’s back on POF. Tinder, too. Later I find new lingerie in our closet that had been worn. I was devastated. Told me what she did (while living in the house that I paid for) was none of my business.
Still driving LMD’s vehicle, and using it to make some side money moving while searching for a new job. Give him some money for it, and to his credit, he’d been very patient about it before I did. Landed a new job in the Upper Midwest. Told her. She didn’t care. We’d had sex a couple of times during this period, but other than that didn’t talk much. I started talking to other women online. Sexted with a few of them. What’s good for the goose, right? Not really. I felt awful, honestly. But I was trying to pump myself up and feel like someone would want me. Told LMD about it. Embellished the hell out of it. Told him I’d slept with two girls already, and that I was moving on, I’d be fine. Truth was I haven’t even kissed another woman in over six years. Meanwhile suicidal thoughts are brewing and getting stronger. I eventually told him I was lying about having actually fucked other women. He said he understood. Said that I couldn’t be blamed, because she was a slut. All girls that are on Tinder are sluts, he told me.
Moving day. She didn’t want me to leave. Told me we could go to counseling and start over where she was going to law school. We embraced and kissed for roughly thirty years before I hit the road. There were two decorative momentos of our lives together. I took one (which is till on my shelf here, sigh), she kept the other. Had a rough three days behind the wheel to get here. Los of stewing over all she’d done, lots of crying. She asked me to come back several times. If money wasn’t an object, I would’ve in a heartbeat. But I was piling up debt, and needed to work. I told her she could try to get into a law school up here, and we’d work it out here. I’d realized I’d left the garage door opener in LMD’s vehicle, and gave her his contact info. Asked her to keep all convos that were between us confidential. His response was “Of course. Bros before hoes.”
Friday the 19th. She graduated. I told her that when the title to my truck got there in the mail, she could sell it to an old friend of mine who said he’d give $1500 for it (just for ranch use) and keep the money. She sent me pics of her and the kids at her graduation. A pic of the underside of her mortarboard with my first initial on it in nail polish, to honor me for the place I had in her getting her degree. A link to that Celine Dion song “I’m Everything I Am Because You Loved Me.” Yeah. I fucking bawled my eyes out. Called LMD the next day. He made some comments that led me to believe he’d been talking to her about more than garage door openers. I asked him if that was true. He said no, he saw her for literally twenty seconds. I found that out to be a lie. I asked the ex about it, and she said it was my fault. He’d told her I’d had sex with other women. Showed her a screenshot I’d sent him of me sexting with another girl. Told her (a complete lie) that I’d been fucking other women as long as he’d known me. Didn’t bother to mention that I later told him I hadn’t been with anyone else. So now they’re a thing, I guess. A relationship built on an utter lie. I told her all this, and she refuses to believe it. In my opinion, she’s always been really prideful, and as I mentioned earlier, very intelligent. I don’t think she can accept that she got played and manipulated so easily by a scumbag like that. She’d rather believe he’s a white knight and I was just awful (for allegedly doing what she had already done).
Last Thursday. Nothing in my fucked-up head but images of them together. My “friend” and “bro.” The love of my life, that I did everything for, and gave everything to. I drank a lot of beer, got in the tub, got a fresh razor blade out of a new pack, and flayed my forearm (which has her name tattooed on it) open to tendon level. Water in the tub was dark red. I was bleeding like crazy. And I was ready to die. I emailed her a picture of it, and thought she’d see it after I was dead. Yeah, that was really shitty of me. She immediately responded back and said she was calling the police and my mother. I tried to get in my car and run, woozy from loss of blood. The police were behind me in less than two minutes. I surrendered. Taken to the hospital, sewn up and thrown in the nuthouse. They let me out yesterday. Trying to put the pieces back together. Lost the job I moved here for while in the hospital. So yeah, obviously I’m one fucked up individual. Side note real quick: I’m committed to not drinking anymore. At least for a long time. I need sobriety. There’s no problem that alcohol or drugs can’t make worse. My last dilemma is this. Do I send her the key to the truck? Or do I immediately get on sps.com and change my address and deal with it myself? I realize I made a commitment to her, but that was before I found out she’d been fucking LMD, who was supposed to be my friend. I halfway feel like telling her to get him to pay her rent. I know she can’t afford it on her own, the child support she gets from her first husband wouldn’t even cover it, and I’d be willing to bet money she hasn’t done a damn thing to change her spending habits. I’m honesty leaning towards letting her have it. Not because it gives me some moral high ground, but because of the kids. They’re still my boys. :( They won’t be calling LMD their dad anytime soon. She told me my 2nd grader came home crying because they told him to bring to school any parents who’d served in the military for their Memorial Day program. That was me. I’m his dad. But I’m a world away now. She said LMD already says he loves her and wants to marry her. Yup. After a whole two weeks. Hasn’t even met the kids.
Do I let her have the money for my truck, or do I let her deal with paying rent herself? It’s the last month she was going to stay there, anyway. She could always move out and just be in cramped quarters with other family. Or fuck, convince LMD to let them move in if the guy he stays with allows it. Not like it’s a secret; an old co-worker already told me that he’s there running his mouth about how he got my job and one of the perks is fucking my ex. She wouldn’t be on the street. What Would Reddit Do?
TL;DR – She really fucked me over and pissed all over the memory of what was the greatest thing to ever happen to me. Continue to be there for her, or nah?
Tattoos are becoming more and more prevalent as times goes on, especially gambling artwork. Whilst some can be basic designs, others involve exceptional detail and vivid colours. Discover our top Apr 26, 2013 - #Gambling #Gamble #Casino #Cards #Blackjack #Poker #Craps #Slots #Tattoos #Tats . See more ideas about Tattoos, Gambling tattoo, Gambling. May 20, 2020 - Decorative body art on the theme of chance, gambling & casinos. See more ideas about Tattoos, Gambling, Gambling tattoo. 21 Exciting Gambling Tattoos. Save a bit of your gambling money to enjoy life at its fullest with a tattoo. You could be attracted by these exciting gambling tattoos! No more bets please! Drop the cards, leave the table and the casino, it is tattoo time! But for gamblers, game is an addictive and obsessive activity and Las Vegas is their ExpatBets.com is an online gambling and casino magazine that brings you the latest news in Asia. We are a comprehensive casino guide providing expats a reliable source of gambling information in Asia to keep them on the loop even when they are on the go.