Tindalostalbot

Click to enlarge, it's magnificent

So the official story is this is a late Piratey Era painting by Jan Matejko. His art was censored by both the Russians and the Germans on grounds that he depicted Polish history, the existence of which irritated them, and this particular piece was stolen by the Germans in the 40s on the grounds that it was not nailed down then (in an irony that pretty much sums up Polish history) returned by the Russians in the 50's on the grounds that they basically owned Poland so they could afford to be generous. History Painting (more a genre than a movement, but a big deal in the 1800s) was a generation before straight-up Realism (which typically had less lush color, and focused on contemporary subjects) which Matejko's students would adopt.

It depicts the semi-legendary Stańczyk, satirical genius and jester to three Polish kings for at least 40 years during Poland's Renaissance being depressed about the Russians taking Smolensk while a brushily executed ball (or just a few people talking in a lobby?) takes place on the right and a comet streaks earthward on the left.  It's an important and iconic image in Poland according to the thing what I read and the number of weird red-suited parodies of it on pages in Polish that come up when you google image search it and Matejko is to Polish history what Wayne Reynolds is to Pathfinder--basically if it happened to Poland before Matejko was born, he painted it.

Also:

-"The title erroneously suggests that Poland was at the time ruled by Queen Bona Sforza, when in fact, on July 30, 1514, when Smolensk was lost to Russia, Poland was ruled by King Sigismund the Old and his first wife, Queen Barbara Zápolya".

-Sigismund survived an assasination attempt by an unknown assailant in 1523.

-The country experienced an uprising known as the Chicken War during this same period.


In reality....

Although attributed to Matejko by the Soviets (who decided they liked the idea of the most famous Polish painter's most famous work being a clown who's sad about losing a fight with Russia), it is in fact much older--having been painted in Osc Lithicum by Haerlaen Qinzael during the reign of Sigismund the Old, while Stańczyk, the Great Ioculator, was yet living.

It hung for many years in the Snail Quarter headquarters of the absurdist anarchist Cult of the God That Laughs and depicts Stańczyk brooding not over the loss of Smolensk but over his unsuccessful assassination attempt on Sigismund earlier that year.

While outwardly a loyal subject gently but cleverly tweaking the foibles of the Crown, Stańczyk was a spy in good standing for the ruinous Cult.

The Cult's foundational beliefs are based around the idea that, in their formal and named forms, comedy and democracy emerged at the same time (the 6th century)--and it considers the former absolutely necessary to inform the latter. Just as Aristophanes mocked the Athenians in order to tell them who to vote for and against (ok, mostly against), the Cult sees the creation of amusing viral absurdities as necessary to spreading the Laughing God's message of universal disorder. The Cult's actual aims are variously populist, nihilist, socialist, apocalyptic or merely liberal, depending who you ask and which branch and era they are familiar with.

Only marginally more successful than the assassination attempt was the so-called Chicken War--while history records that the name derived from the popular notion that only chickens were harmed in the anti-monarchist rebellion, the name actually came about because during this period Stańczyk had managed to introduce an hypnotic pheasant into the court of Sigismund the Old, which strolled from room to room whispering bad advice to generals and advisors until the fowl was discovered and traduced by the Minister of Wells.

At any rate, in the manner of all Laughing Cult artworks and artifacts, the portrait of the undiscovered traitor Stańczyk contains esoteric clues to the mysteries of the Troupe--in this case the combination to the Cult's vault in Vornheim.

It comes in the form of a spread in the Nornrik Tarot (the word "Karkivit"--Northen Elvish for "6 Cards" is written on the message in the center of the painting):


The Comet ( 17 )

The Tower ( 16 )

The 3 Goblets

The Marotte ( 0 )

The Peacock's Fan ( 7 )

The Chandelier in Blood ( 14 )

Stańczyk himself is a 14th level Thief or Rogue or Specialist or Assassin, like all members of the Cult he has access to one Joke which, due to issues of timing, pronunciation, accent, etc only he can properly tell.  These Cult Jokes have the following characteristics:

-They are cruel and target one intelligent creature present.
-The can only be effectively told once to any given audience--the joke's power is lost if anyone present (aside from the teller) has heard it before.
-These impressive jokes shake and humiliate the target such that, each morning thereafter, s/he must make a wisdom/will/spell save or lose a point of charisma. This continues even after a day's save is made until the victim is reduced to a timid husk, incapable of any action.
-The joke's devastating effects can only be ended by gathering the same audience (or such members of it as are living) and telling a funnier joke at the Cultist's expense. The counterjoke must make the god's laugh (practically speaking, this means it must make the majority of the players at the table laugh--and genuinely). This reverses the effect of the joke completely.

The Cult's vault is rumored to contain:

-The immensely compromising diary of Queen Bona Sforza, a Cult member, including intimations of improper contact with the most powerful wife of a prominent Eastern Monarch.

-Coins of many nations.

-A Goblin Marotte which, when shaken by any creature of that kind, causes changelings to laugh and thus reveal themselves.

-A Sforza family tree, accurate up until the current date.

-A report compiled from various sources on the senses of humor of the world's monarchs covering the last 600 years written with an eye toward practical use--including topics and formats likely to gain favor, offensive subjects to be avoided and reports on the success and failure of various specific attempts to amuse them.

-A secret Deck commissioned by Franceso I Sforza consisting of portraits of his family depicted as Fools and variations thereupon--the Idiot, the Joker, the Ioculator, the Jester, the Joker, Le Mat etc ... As only Foolishness is universal and only Fools behave the same regardless of context, this Deck is said to have ultradimensional properties such that for any deck (including any world's Deck of Illusions or Many Things) there is a card within which can be inserted into it and subtly rewrite the esoterica of that world--causing suits and arcana to shift, altering sowing seasons, changing spell durations, renaming gods, etc.

-A painting entitled The Poisoning of Queen Bona painted before the poisoning took place likewise painted by Qinzael and inaccurately attributed to Matejko in the modern era:

This past weekend was my Eternal’s birthday. It was … not what we’d hoped for. There was someone not there, at least not physically. From this birthday onwards, there will be, always, someone …

 

Missed
By TeraS

 

It is said by many in the Realm that if there is one character trait their rulers share, it is that neither of them wishes any fuss to be made when either of their birthdays arrive. That isn’t to say they aren’t thankful for anything should it occur—which it does, for they each make sure the other’s birthday is celebrated, no matter what. The wishes given and the words shared are treasured. A card, no matter how simple, matters and is adored. Gifts—though they never wish them, and have said, over and over again, that such things are not needed—are accepted with the grace everyone expects.

This particular birthday in the Realm came during a year where there was something, or rather more importantly, someone missing. This particular birthday was the first which dawned beyond the time when a blessed soul was called home to Goddess and she answered that call.

It was, to get to the point, Keith’s first birthday after his mother had gone to her rest.

The time in-between the loss and the natal day was filled with many things, some good, some not so much so. There were moments where the pain, hurt, and ache did terrible things to the royal family of the Realm. They were bent, but not broken. They wept, but did not despair. She did, after all, express to her loving son and daughter that she did not wish them to live in the hurt for all time.

But there were some days where they keenly felt someone missing, someone that had been there before, said the words, shared the joy, gave the gifts, and was, after all, never missing … until now.

The day had dawned with the Eternals in bed together, their tails entwined, snuggled under the sheets. To say who woke first wouldn’t be the question to ask, for it didn’t really matter. What did matter was the feeling within each of them that someone was missing, a feeling which had been their constant companion of late, becoming that much more present on this morning.

She was the first, as was meant to be, to wish him a happy birthday. The words were warm, loving, holding hope that the day would be kind to him, for she was not concerned for herself. He held her close, smiled, kissed her horns and thanked her. His hope was that she wouldn’t be sad today; he had no wishes for himself. Well, there was one thing that he wanted, but she was missing.

The morning was, if one was to be honest, melancholy. The shower was long, he standing there and thinking long after she’d gotten out to deal with drying her wild mane of hair, which always took, it seemed, forever. Perhaps the time in the shower was so that his tears would be masked by the water falling upon him. He couldn’t, after all, be like this throughout the day. It wouldn’t be right, knowing what his Eternal had planned—or thinking he did, at least.

By the time he’d tucked in his shirt, run a hand through his hair, and made his way to the kitchen, the melancholy had faded slightly. It was, to be clear, a start to the day getting better in time. He shared a bagel with her, smiling, a real smile, while she talked about the evening to come. Part of the day would be missing, for the first time. Part of the day wouldn’t be the same: the comfort, the expected moments that had always been. He didn’t allow those thoughts to creep into his expression. But she knew. As she sipped at her tea, she looked at him over the rim of her mug, giving him that look that all souls entwined knew so very well. The one that said: ‘I know. It’ll be okay.’

He trusted in that. He needed to.

Much of the day was spent with the two of them being together, talking. Occasionally there was a call to be answered, from one of the family who was dearly thanked and then asked about themselves. A visit at the door came, as well, at several points in the day. Their daughter Rianna popped by, to hug her parents and tell her father she loved him. Sister Rachel called, wishing him the best, he asking about her, to be sure she was doing alright. His answer to each of them was: “Things are … okay.”

Then there was a visit from Legion, the two men—as men do—clasping hands, nodding, keeping themselves in check, not from some male need to “be strong,” but rather from an understanding that they were both managing. When asked, he admitted: “Missing her.”

A birthday song was presented by Aria, Keith chuckling at some of the more interesting passages. Her concerned question was answered, “Missing her, but things are … okay.”

Noon came and went, the day being a little bit brighter, a little more promising. Their neighbours came to the fence, to wish him well. He spoke with them both, their conversation milling about many things, many moments, many thoughts. He was asked a question, the answer being: “Missing her, today more than ever. Things are … okay.” They nodded, but knew. Afternoon came sooner than expected. He embraced their neighbours warmly, thanked them, and then turned to look upon their own home. He could just make out her, rushing about within, being busy with things she wanted done for the evening to come.

He entered their home and made his way towards the dining room. Being that this wasn’t the Palace, the space was small, and he stood there watching her gathering her utensils, pacesettings, and more. The phone diverted his attention, Uncle was calling, and a long talk about football did bring a smile. A question was answered: “Doing okay … missing her.”

He intended to go and help with things, but the next call was from his father. It was the most difficult call of all: not because of missing her, not because of it being his father. It was the most difficult because the question was asked, his answer could only be: “Love you, Dad.”

In the past. they had dressed up for dinner. Not this year. It didn’t seem important, didn’t feel, somehow, right to be celebrating even if that celebration would only be known by themselves and no one else. At her call, he walked into the dining room and paused at the doorway.

There should have been two place-settings. There were three: one for the soul missing and there, two for the souls hurting and there. The message was clear. It was one that she’d said before: souls were never missing when they were remembered. He smiled, a real smile, knowing that she’d been missing that smile. Then he opened the bottle of wine, pouring out exactly half a glass. She wasn’t missing, she was there, after all, and she would not be forgotten, especially on this day. She always had exactly one-half a wine glass’s worth, no more, no less.

He expected dinner to be a quiet thing with his Eternal, but instead found himself talking to the one missing … no… that wasn’t right: her glass was there, her place was set; she was, as ever, listening to the conversation; he could see her smile, the knowing look from time to time when he, or his Eternal, tried to dance around her questions. He found himself talking to the one he had missed.

Dinner came to a close, they putting things away. The wine glass remained half-full and was brought to their living room. The Eternals laid together on their couch, words not needing to be said. They looked at the wine glass on the table across from them, thinking about the one missing, yet not. The day wasn’t as sad as he expected; it was better than she had imagined. It wasn’t a feeling of getting through it all, but rather knowing that being missing only meant that one was missed.

None were ever missing from the lives they had brought into being, given life to. None were ever missing from the lives they had touched and taught. None were ever missing from the hearts of those that loved them. They were missed, not missing.

That is the important difference between missing and being missed … always.

Ok so this is the Arnolfini Wedding by Jan Van Eyck--a classic of the Northern Renaissance (the better Renaissance) and one of the first examples of not only oil painting (artists used egg tempera until then) but of a level of then-unheard-of realism in art. It also has a funny dog.

Art history records some odd facts about the Arnolfini wedding:

-Nobody knows who the woman is--the woman people thought it was didn't roll up until after Van Eyck was dead. One theory holds it's Costanza Trenta. "...this would make the painting partly an unusual memorial portrait, showing one living and one dead person"

-Art historian Erwin Panofsky claimed the portrait was actually a marriage contract with the force of a legal/religious document.

-The bride looks like she's already pregnant which--seriously WTF AD1434 posh people?

-The mirror in the background shows additional hidden figures.

-A 1516 inventory including it says "It is necessary to put on a lock to close it: which Madame has ordered to be done."

-By 1599 it had a new frame with a quote from Ovid "See that you promise: what harm is there in promises? In promises anyone can be rich."

-By 1816 a British Colonel James Hay had it and historians say it basically fell off a truck during the Peninsular War.


In reality...

Panofsky is right, but much else is wrong.

The painting actually depicts (as a 1523–4 Mechelen inventory correctly records) a merchant of Vornheim named Arnault Fin and a succubus (Isvin Othvyx of the Fourth Insidious) wearing the skin of the deceased Constanza Trenta.

Folkloric texts found in treasure hoards, sages of highly civilized lands, a DC 19 history check or, in Call of Cthulhu, an Occult roll or a successful Library Use roll made at a sufficiently specialized antiquarian archive will reveal that just before their (essentially shotgun) marriage, Fin (pronounced not like the guys in Star Wars and Adventure Time but like the French would, so like you're about to say "Fuck" then get turned into a sheep then get punched in the nose in the space of half a second) woke late one night to find his fiance missing. He headed to the pantry to get a pear and then chanced to glimpse her, naked atop a wide and spreading oak, throwing stones at the moon and eating the loosened flakes as they fell to the ground. Fin instantly recognized that this was not a proper diversion for a potential bride.

Othvyx's scheme was simple: seduce-, become impregnated by-, and marry- the prosperous Fin and proceed to birth into the emerging merchant aristocracy of Vornheim a strain of tieflings with which to manipulate and intrigue to the advantage of Hell against- and from within- the great cities of the Northern Continent.

Two minor obstacles obtained:
-According to the law of Vornheim, a spouse must obey any promise made to their partner during the first month of marriage.
-Demons can't break contracts.

Othvyx planned to circumvent these by using the false name that went with her false skin: Constanza Trenta.

However, once Fin discovered his wife's demonic nature, he consulted a witch-hunter, who instructed Fin to go on with the marriage and the usual marriage contract, but to also, unbeknownst to his new wife, enact the contract in a non-verbal form--thus the commission of the painting, which Othvyx, unschooled in art, mistook for a mere curio. Fin then playfully extracted from his new bride a pillow-promise to always be good and to teach their children and all the fruits of their line good things and Othvyx agreed, thinking herself safe due to the treacheries embedded in the written contract. Fin then burned the written contract, leaving only the painting--a loophole-free document of the reality of their marriage, and Othvyx was forced to be good and to teach her tiefling children goodness for all time.

The line of Fin is, incidentally, one of the sources of those non-evil tiefling PCs that pop up in D&D campaigns.

As for Othvyx (immortal and still extant long after the natural death of Arnault Fin): This rankles.

The Hellish siblings of the Fourth Insidious have inculcated many schemes over the years to free their sister and her descendants from her long-ago promise to Arnault Fin. Their various stratagems include:

-Destroy the painting

Seemingly the most straightforward scheme, but a demon can't destroy a contract, so it requires either manipulating resourceful mortals with unusual access into doing it. Complicating this is the fact that the artwork is discreetly protected by (in the D&D eras) various responsible clerical orders (thus the 1516 lock on the painting) and (in the Call of Cthulhu eras) clubby secret societies of Templars and whatnot, to one of which Colonel James Hay--who actually wrested the painting from the hands of a Spanish diabolist and scion of a corrupt family in Salamanca who had acquired it from the Inquisitorial libraries of the Dominican order and totes did not steal it off a truck like some parody of an entitled British world-heritage plunderer--belonged.

-Besmirch the good name of Arnault Fin

Divorce won't do it, but if the Church or State can be somehow persuaded that the Fins could never have been married in the first place and thus trigger an annulment then Othvyx is free to work once more her wicked way in the world. Generally this is easier in a D&D game than in a Call of Cthulhu one as the only entities extant still capable of annulling the marriage in modern times (the Catholic Church and the government of Belgium) seriously do not care. Either way, the most obvious way to do this would be to somehow smear Arnault Fin, finding someone in authority willing to retroactively and officially declare him a close relation of Othvyx, a changeling, a bard, or some other entity denied the ordinary rights of a citizen.

-Get the witnesses to recant or be declared unfit

The convex mirror in the painting shows two witnesses. One is presumed to be the painter himself, Jan Van Eyck.

In D&D, agents of demonic forces might hunt down these people themselves and cause them by threat or guile to recant their witness to the marriage of Fin and Othvyxx. In any game taking place long after the painting was finished, the task of ruining the witnesses is not unlike discrediting Fin himself--it will require convincing an authority figure that the witnesses were not what they seemed or in a state of disordered mind (drunk or possessed) rendering them incapable of proper witness.

Either way, you'd have to get a good look at the painting in person in order to figure out who these witnesses are or were.

So anyway...

If this painting happens to turn up in a treasure hoard or on a the wall of a great hall, it's valuable to a lot of people for a lot of different reasons and could start a lot of trouble. Keep an eye out.
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truepenny: a trusty, honest fellow.

Hovertext:
What I do is a draw pictures and people look at the pictures and they like the pictures and so I draw more pictures.

New comic!
Today's News:

thrummy: shaggy or tufted.

venial: able to be forgiven or pardoned; not seriously wrong, as a sin.

lucubrate: to work, write, or study laboriously, especially at night.

Great Britain, the United Kingdom and the British Isles: what’s the difference?

This is generally the source of much confusion. Even amongst those who live over here. If you look carefully at the description of the United Kingdom you’ll see it’s the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. And the British Isles is the group of islands as a whole including all of Ireland too.

The source I liked best for this explaining this and much more, was Project Britain.

For much further confusion, think for a moment why there’s a UK passport, Great Britain in the Olympic games, and in football we compete as England, Wales, Scotland and N. Ireland separately. 🤔

Hovertext:
I'm not sure they're suffering, but I'd like to think they are.

New comic!
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Only 86 tickets left!!

mountebank: any charlatan or quack.

In case you’re wondering why I’ve been updating so irregularly, part of the reason is I’ve been busy with other cartoon & illustration work. For instance, check out this comic about feminism I made for Upworthy (click the image to see the whole comic):

Share it on your social networks and make me look good.

The potato radius.

I like this radius. It kind of explains why asteroids are lumpy and bumpy, kind of like potatoes, and yet planets and moons are smooth round balls. It seems that from about this size, the mass of the rock itself gets large enough that it is pulled in on its own gravity, and consequently starts to round itself off.

I learned about this from Brian Cox’s new show Forces of Nature.

Not sure about asteroids, meteors and meteorites? Check out the sketchplanation.

blandishment: something, as an action or speech, that tends to flatter, coax, entice, etc.

lief: gladly; willingly.

titivate: to make smart or spruce.

poetry-protest-pornography:

amroyounes:

Time for some kitchen charts to help you adult better ;)

Really helpful reference!

Stokely and Stoya say hi

11:10 AM Fri Aug 6

Dear Mandy,

Before I say anything else, I promised James I'd say this:

Maze of the Blue Medusa Just Won 3 Ennies & Is At Booth 3002. They'll be gone before Christmas so get two, actually. Ok...

Anyway, except for the noise of this keyboard, it's very quiet in room 387. There is some very light snoring coming from the bed, I can't tell if it's Stoya or Stokely.

It's muggy in Indianapolis, a lot things are painted either beige or cream. Otherwise it could be anywhere.

I was at a party last night with the Playing At The World guy and of course he read that Robin Laws book about the history of the Gen Con. I asked him if anything had ever happened at the convention and he corkscrewed up his face thinking and then said "Well, Magic The Gathering was announced here".

I mention this for the following reason: I've seen men decide to spend their lives driving around the country freezing insects, I have seen men claim in all seriousness that a stick figure is ableist, I have seen them say the most stressful part of Dungeons & Dragons is picking a name,  I've seen the news basically ignore a mad throat-cutter in Japan taking out 19 people last week, I've seen a married, mentally ill, asexual mom get paid to write about sex for years. Some of these people are here. Some of them in an official capacity where they might have access to box cutters. So it doesn't seem completely out of the realm of 2016 America that I will be murdered at Gen Con. We are in the nerdiest place in the world (check attendance figures: maybe in history) and people care about very strange things, and there are no metal detectors. But it seems unlikely. Gen Con is not, as a rule, rich with incident--it would be wildly out of character. Plus the girls' cameraphones are--through some witchery I cannot as yet penetrate--always charged. So worry less. I'll probably survive, and after that eight days in the Balkans making some kind of pornography.

Everyone has been very kind. Within 15 minutes of appearing at my first con, 3 fans came up, one of whom said I got him his first girlfriend. I'd taken out the title page to his Maze and written "Glad I could get you laid, thanks for..." when he told me it unfortunately hadn't gotten that far yet. There are virgins here. It's kind of like AVN that way. He, at least, was very young. The only scary thing about cons is when you see in someone's face that this is all they have. I always think the best people who work in fantasy--the Jack Vances, the Dave Arnesons, the Jean-Luc Godards, the Scrap Princesses--they show how this can be an organic part of something else.

The only clear imperative in Indianapolis is to find a decent bar, preferably one with brass fittings and pickle chips and one of those bartenders who doesn't know anything about games but asks questions anyway. I don't really know what their specialty is in Indianapolis besides beef--I'm unconsciously imagining it's apples because of the name but that's stupid. It's nice once in a while though to go into a situation not really wanting anything.

Whenever I leave town, Anne starts to get maternal -- she's already checked that I had enough toilet paper for the two days I'll be back before I head out to Croatia, and made sure that I had condoms. She spent the last hour of the trip sewing up holes in these jeans. You will be pleased to know  downtown Los Angeles has become yet more Blade Runner in your absence--Spring street now has a wonderful blue neon sign: just numbers. Hannah is playing a chameleon woman Paladin--her third character in four sessions, Morgan has a witch with one hit point per level forever at least until her Constitution goes up.

Connie played a sea elf wizard and took off just before I did, leaving behind the Visible Woman and a copy of the Canticle for Liebowitz. Stacy is doing the lord's work at Contessa, had to get up fuck-all early. She was nominated for the Diana Jones and, like Vornheim, didn't get it--a guy at dinner said "Hey, I lost the Diana Jones to Wil Wheaton".

We've had some interesting Lyft drivers--the first one was a championship bicycle racer who'd been chased by a fox. I think the other three were religious, I forgot walking around Indiana with an upside-down cross on your shirt is kind of a thing. Stokes is good at distracting people, though--she's been an invaluable asset. It's funny seeing her next to people dressed as Harley Quinn. Stoya's shy with strangers but super into obscure RPG trivia.

The Ennies round up: Feng Shui and Kenneth Hite won almost everything that we didn't. Nobody shitty won anything. Overwhelmingly glasses guys, Shanna Germain and like 3-4 other women won stuff, Mark Diaz Truman was the only not-white person, so far as I know. Stoya got bored with the lack of diversity and told Stokes to fingerbang her, but Stokes just played with her nipples.

I thanked Anton, Patrick, and Satan. If I'd had more time up there I would've thanked you--a lot of this stuff is just about keeping you entertained. Please get well soon.

But anyway no assassins, and it's been 16 hours and still no Internet lynchmobs. It's probably not completely over (we'll see around the announcement of The Big Thing this fall) but the goblins seem demoralized even if they'll never give up attacking us completely. The facts are on our side but you never talk and I make a terrible victim.

I’m packing for Gen Con, and guess what’s going with me?

ALL THE 2015 BIKE THE BARNS SWAG, to be handed off to David Michael, Fulfillment Guru of the Gods (and of me).

It took a lot longer getting the swag out for last year’s ride than I’d hoped. Also, it’s pushed back fundraising for this year’s ride. There’s a little over a month and a half to go until…

Insane Charity Bike Ride 2016!

So…I’m panicking a bit, here. I’m also really out of shape this year, in part due to the surgery that also pushed back the fulfillment of last year’s ride’s swag.

But the charity is worth it: Bike the Barns supports FairShare’s Partner Shares program, bringing fresh, organic food from local farms to low-income families in our community.

Me? It’s gonna be a long, hilly ride. I’m pretty out of shape this year (surgery will do that), and I may be doing it with a duck on my head again. Or worse…

SO LET’S DO THIS THING!

If we raise $7,500 for the ride…I wear the Duck of Doom on my helmet again for the entire ride.

If we raise $10,000…I wear the flippin‘ tentacles, too.

$15,000? That’s an insane amount. If we reach THAT, well, maybe I let that monster Andrew Hackard of Steve Jackson Games choose the next accoutrement. (Possibly I shouldn’t call him a monster if he’s choosing something embarrassing for me to wear on an Insane Charity Bike Ride).

Pledging is fast and easy; please support my ride and this great cause! I’m also trying to create the reward swag for this year’s ride NOW, so it can all go out as soon after the ride is over as possible. I’d love it if folks got their goodies in time for Christmas.

What’s new, this year? Last year’s Neil Gaiman Limerick mini-print was so popular, we’re doing it again this year…with PAT ROTHFUSS LIMERICKS! The big news? I’ll sign them all…but so will Pat Rothfuss!

So if you support me on an insane charity bike ride (60 VERY HILLY miles in one day, this year. UGH!), here’s the Swag 2016:

EVER pledges will get a pdf of the limerick Neil Gaiman created for the ride last year, as well as the Pat Rothfuss limericks, illustrated by me. PLUS, a pdf of the updated EMBRACE THE SQUEE charity coloring book, plus a pdf of the NEW “There Once Was a Mallard Named Mike” charity coloring book!

Any pledge of $20 or more gets a brand-new MUNCHKIN CHARITY POSTCARD! This will be created specifically for this donors of this ride, the fourth in a series. and will let you start one game of Munchkin at Level 3! These have become quite the collectors’ items, as they are totally official and totally only offered for these charity rides. Along with this, you get an ARMY OF DORKNESS Private button!

Any pledge $50 or more will get all of the above, and an ARMY OF DORKNESS Sergeant button! Also, an actual honest-to-goodness physical mini-print of the Pat Rothfuss Tour De Duck limerick, signed by both Pat and myself. But mostly PAT! Because PAT!

Any pledge of $100 or more will get all of the above, and a limited edition Tour De Duck cloisone pin! There’s a new one, this year, and it’s lovely!

Any pledge of $200 or more will get all of the above, plus (wait for it…wait for it…) an ORIGINAL PIECE OF MUNCHKIN CARD ART. This is the only way you can get original Munchkin art. I don’t sell it. Not many people have it. About 30 folks a year get one, for supporting this ride. But you too can be one of life’s winners!

Any pledge of $1000 or more, and you can gust-star in a DORK TOWER COMIC STRIP, as well as everything else up to this level!

And pledge $2,500? Well, I can’t say what JUST YET, but there’s potentially something very sweet coming down the line, if everything gets approved!

The highest pledger also gets the original art to the Munchkin Charity Postcard for this ride, as well as everything else in the respective bundles that apply.

In addition, ten folks who pledged at the lower levels will be selected at random to receive original Munchkin card art.

And as usual, more stuff will most likely be added to the swag pile as we go along.

You’re all brilliant and wonderful and generous and supportive.

Please pledge, if you can!

I’m gonna be in SO much hurt!

– John

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