DAILY MONSTER 160
Good morning. Hard to believe that we’re already into the middle of the week again. Must’ve happened while I wasn’t looking. Must’ve happened while I was busy reading all the freaky stories you cooked up for yesterday’s monster. I haven’t seen such a range from funny to dark and gory in a while! Take a look:
Oh! Hang on! I think I hear 160 coming in for a landing:
160 appears to be annoyed — certainly less than happy. What, do you think, is causing it frustration? Did a louse walk across its liver, as the Germans say? Did it just wake up too early today? Or are there more complex reasons? I’m looking for your analysis, your best guess, or — failing that — your wildest of hunches. If you can spare the time, please…
If you’ve just found the monsters, welcome!
Whether you’re new to all this, or one of the monsters’
long-trusted friends, you must know that 344 LOVES YOU
Scowling Toucans are known to perch near public parks, because they love to criticize the joggers.
After dark, Bradley was still the most “normal” looking one.
Artie wasn’t happy – not happy at all. Well, who would be, after an unexpected calamitas cattus had licked his back, dislodging carefully preened feathers and giving him the appearance of a hatchet-headed punk. (Granted, it was sheer luck that the cattus hadn’t eaten him in the process, but still…)
Punks! If there was one thing Artie hated, they were it. Screeching notes that no self-respecting ferula would think of uttering. It wasn’t music at all, no matter who thought otherwise. And now, here he was – looking like he was one of the Craven Ravens – or worse – the Crotalia Cruisers.
Then, adding insult to injury – Rowena, the most beautiful rosy-billed pollea in the Grandiwine Swamp, fluttered by, wing-to-wing with Artie’s nemesis, Rex. (Who looked for all the world as if he’d just left the preening parlour.) Not only were his feathers smooth and bright, but, what? Artie stared. Was that… no… couldn’t be… could it? Yes, Rex was wearing talon polish. What did Rowena see in that foppish ferula?
Meh! thought Artie. Today was not starting out well at all.
it seems, that the fattest louse with all its fat babybeasts went on a trip across its liver. the reason why it cannot fly away of this uncomfortable, knotty branch is, that
the louses would be in pain, high up in the sky, because they have a highflying-desease.
these circumstances bring the monster in such a bad mood.
Hairtrude looked through the binoculars again. Another grimbird? She made note of it. Her thick fingers smooshed the pen against the notebook against her leg as she glanced around the rest of the tree. She made sure not to make a single sound, as was the custom in the birdwatching circles. The others about her seemed to follow suit.
Her group’s expedition to Eastern Grevaria didn’t take long. She hadn’t realized that the darkest parts of the forest were that close to her house. She had made a note of it.
The argyle sock in one of the above branches was not a bird. She looked over the binoculars in a double-take. She shrugged, and made a note.
She looked back at the grimbird which had just finished cleaning its feet. It met her eye suddenly, and she wavered. What a grimace it had…
She looked about, past the odd sock hanging in the tree, and spied yet another grimbird. It met her eyes first, with a look that would pop a balloon. She jumped, and then got embarrassed by her startle. What if she distracted her fellow birdwatchers?
She glanced over to her side, expecting ridicule, and saw no one.
“What a lovely day!”
Jim thought to himself sitting on his favourite branch in the cherry tree. Sun was shining, bees were flying and the smell of some early daffodils filled the warm fresh air…
But being a crossbreed between a cockatoo and a sperm whale he couldn’t possibly make a more friendly face if he tried.
The last Garling should have gone down a lot easier, thought the Nanoryd. There was too much wriggling and writhing – the usually delectable and crunchy rings that comprised the Garling’s body had survived the Nanoryd’s tiny teeth hooks and had tickled the inside of his feeding tube. No matter, the breeze had picked up, rocking the branch of the wongwong tree to and fro – a most satisfying rhythmn which would end, no doubt, in a peaceful nap.
George the dark toucan of the 160th falcon unit of the MAU (Monster Army of the underworld) stands post all day. He’s gone through rigorous training to get thus far in his career as guardsman with the MAU. He’s seen foreign realms and fought in countless battles ( most notably the battle of Eagle Peak and War of the Cardinals) against countless bird enemies. You see unlike me and you who live in the human realm of things George lives in the monsterous realm of the Feathered Folk where birds rule not jsut the skies but everything.
George sits and waits at his post all day, with a angry look to his eyes, but that’s not because of his anger. Oh no George is a delightful monster when you get to know him, his face is just permanently focused. That is the face of dedication, soon George will be able to graduate to First Class Guardsman where he will have to watch over the nests of the Eagles (the leaders).
Taxis Stimulis just read the news. His SS number ends in 99. He won’t be getting his refund check til the end of September.
By that time, all the best MonsterPods will be snapped up and already discarded. He’ll need to shop in the dump like he usually does anyway.
Tumbum had never been out in a rainstorm before. His parents always warned him against it, telling him to keep his rainbow feathers dry in their cozy tree house. He listened to the sounds of the Grumblebeasts tromping past and decided that today was the day.
He flew out after Ma and Pa fell asleep. What a marvelous world it was! Big puddles like mirrors everywhere, reflecting his belly back up at him. He perched on a branch to watch the Grumblebeasts. A young beast rushed by and splashed playfully in a puddle.
If I told you that young Grumblebeasts have feet the size of houses and weigh 2 tons, you would understand Tumbum’s expression.
Covered in thick, black mud from head to toe, Tumbum was forced to wait for the rain to wash him clean before he could manage to fly again. He returned home sodden, sullen, and much wiser.
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my iMac!
Quoth the monster, “nevermore.”
Gary Gygax, author of the original “Monster Manual” from 1977, is at a Waldenbooks poking around the wasteland that is the “Humor/Games” section and sees a new edition of the “Monster Manual” has come out. He left the company in ’85 but this book is one of his children, and he can’t resist cracking it open and taking a peek. Immediately, he regrets it: gone is the classic art by the Davids (La Force, Sutherland and Trampier), and with them the nonchalantly topless demon chicks. But worse: actual monsters are missing: favorites like “Mustard Jelly” and “Rot Grub” are nowhere to be seen. Sorry, fans of the “Cave Moray”; you’re out of luck. Apologies, “Boalisk” fans. “Brown Pudding”, we hardly knew ye (you too, “Lurker Above”).
And these are the monsters that players cared about. What about the ones he designed that no one ever really understood? Panicking, he flips back to the table of contents to see if the Axebeak, the 160th monster he created, is here. It is not. A prehistoric, ostrich-like creature with a beak the shape (duh) of an axe, an Axebeak has (had?) an AC of 6 (i.e., similar to light chain mail). Two claw attacks per turn with 1-3 hp of damage, and don’t forget the beak (another 2-8 hp)! No treasure, but most Axebeaks had 1d4 eggs worth 50-80 gp each. This information will be in his brain forever, and now it’s useless.
He drops the new edition in disgust. If this life has taught him anything, it’s that as you get older, you face more monsters, not fewer: heart attacks, a stroke, abdominal aortic aneurysm. Maybe this is some kind of punishment for the pit trap at the entrance of the Kobold Lair in module B2 (“The Keep on the Borderlands”). Hasn’t he paid karmically for that yet? SORRY, FIRST LEVEL PLAYER CHARACTERS BUT YOU LEARNED TO BE MORE CAREFUL AROUND KEEPS, DIDN’T YOU? He turns to leave the store. “It is hard to be Alignment: Neutral-Good in today’s world,” he thinks, especially at a freaking Waldenbooks. As he exits, he tells a clerk, “You will not get any of my gp today.”
What is it with you and birds??