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Every student in Mesa Public Schools is known by name, served by strength and need, and graduates ready for college, career and community. This is processed as soon as I read the email request. Get involved now. Lifetime Access to Online Workshop and material provided.
A consultaion call with Steve included. Options to purchase more material and updates, also join my community. Trading Pre Race on Betfair's Horse Racing markets is probably the most sought after and hardest skill to learn. Having Steve Howe in your corner will vastly improve your chances of success. Skip to content. Trusted I have a hard won reputation within the Sports Trading community as genuine and well respected.
Proven With 6 years running a class leading education program. All about Steve……. Book a call with me. Have a read through the table below as to what I am offering. Free Trial. Your Text. Find Out More. What are the people who have completed the Online Workshop saying? The course far exceeded my expectations and comes highly recommended and the follow-up support is genuinely invaluable. Michael Gilmore September Christopher Croft August Steve's trading course also came highly recommended from people in a trading group I was involved in.
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There was a canyon to the east of our project that was marked by its sudden entry from the dry, barren desert badlands into a gash in the granite hills on a large fault scarp. At the mouth of the canyon a prospect pit in a mafic dike marked the start of a prospector's dream. I suspected I would find more diggings up the canyon. The road threaded into the gap where a cool stream flowed before becoming discouraged by the desert sands into which it flowed.
On my first drive up the rugged two-track road I came upon a small log cabin, obviously very old, nestled in giant sagebrush along the small creek. On a slightly higher bench nearby sat a moderate sized white stucco house. The bench between the house and creek was covered with a neat green lawn contrasting against the sudden rise of a red granite cliff, topped by cedars.
The house was obviously occupied. Curious, I stopped and walked across a rickety wood bridge. At the door of the neat white house I was greeted by an elderly gentleman who invited me in where I met his wife. They insisted I stay for a cup of tea and we had a nice visit. He told me they had retired from a ranch a few miles east and moved here where they enjoyed the peaceful solitude enhanced by the murmuring creek and the bugling elk in the fall.
Autumn leaves on scattered cottonwood trees along the creek added to the color. The couple encouraged me to come back in the winter when the cedar are cloaked with hoar-frost from the frequent fog. The old rancher's name was Frank Canning and I often made the detour to visit. He was interested in my work but he was the one with interesting stories. One day he showed me a back door in the house which led directly into an old mine tunnel in the granite cliff next to the house.
A perfect cellar. Another time he pointed out that the house was made of plaster of Paris blocks. The world is small, my father-in-law had manufactured those building blocks at a gypsum mine in Thermopolis. Frank and I became good friends. He was 90 years old but quite spry.
His ranch, on Bridger Creek was the famous old D Ranch. He told me how he had come to own it. Frank was a good storyteller but I was skeptical of the story he told me until he substantiated it beyond doubt. My father made the decision to go north to the new gold fields in the Yukon Territories. A year or more went by without word from Father and I made up my mind to go up there and find him. After some searching, I found him.
He had made a fortune in a claim he had staked but lost it soon after in another venture. He convinced me that we could make another discovery. He had an idea of where to go. By golly, we did make a find, a rich placer. We mined it out and I made sure we loaded up our gold and headed south.
I bought the D Ranch over in the Badwater country. My wife and I lived there until a few years ago when we sold out and built this house. Let me show you something. Frank opened a cabinet door in the living room and pointed to a half gallon jar. I unscrewed the lid, reached into the top of the jar and pulled out several small gold nuggets. I looked closely at the jar. It was filled with nuggets. I won't even try to tell you how many ounces of nuggets were in that jar because you wouldn't believe me anyway!
I do know one thing-that was a demonstration of real trust. Frank Canning and his charming wife were surely happier at their hidden retreat than if they had gone out and splurged with their gold. I did worry about them though and hoped he didn't tell too many people. Worthington III passed. June 18, - September 3, Steven Maliner-Colvin is a graduate student in Colorado School of Mines looking for an opportunity to work as an intern over the summer. Steven has field skills, experience working for a mining company, considerable rock and mineral knowledge, and past leadership experience to offer.
Steven has had a great interest in rocks and minerals since childhood and been digging rocks, minerals, and gems since During his time in undergraduate, he was the vice president, then field trip coordinator for the Student's Earth Science Society. In , Steven was in a 5-month internship for mineral exploration in Peru. Steven would like to share his knowledge and experience in a mutually beneficial internship.
Please Contact Steven - slmalcol gmail. His thesis is studying the geology and genesis of a hydrothermal W-Mo deposit in Queensland, Australia. Before he moved to United States, Kairan studied geology in China, Canada and Australia, specifically structural and economic geology.
He generated reserve verification reports of the Yunlong Cu-Ag deposit, Yunnan province, China, and generated 3-D lithologic models of the Producer area in the Morenci deposit, including structural interpretation and reserve verification. When I was a child, I climbed the ridge To see what might lie on the other side, Dream of what might lie beyond. Grand schemes in lieu of wisdom.
My father told me, The rock at my feet. Are there clues to those treasures? A quintillionth of a smidge? Pathfinder in my fossil beach. Vector to ore a mile below. I extrapolate between a pinch and statistical norm. The answers leave more questions. Not quite a target. My boots in the field—come spring. To Dave Jonson, and many others of this clan who have worn out many boots on enumerable outcrops. His lengthy hours in the kitchen yielded hearty portions and a thorough appreciation of his talents by diners.
The steady buzz of lively conversations and the clinking of beverage glasses, punctuated by announcements from President Nate Brewer, indicated that Holiday Cheer was the order of the day. In the spirit of the chondrule from the SAV Meteorite shown above, have a holiday season that is out of this world!. Christmas Dinner Beverage Sponsors. Dick was diagnosed with terminal cancer in early November. He had been in a coma for the last couple of days, and finally slipped away Thursday, December 5.
He will be cremated, with a memorial service planned for sometime in January. My name is Miranda Lehman. I have had a focus in metamorphic petrology for about three years now, but have since found my passion for economic geology. During my time as an undergraduate, I was a research assistant under Dr.
Chris Mattinson. Under my advisor at Mines, Dr. Upon graduation, I intend to work in exploration geology. The Creede silver and base metal district is in no way mined out. Following an intense underground mapping and drilling campaign at the Equity Mine, located at the north end of the district, Hecla has been systematically exploring the Amethyst and Bulldog vein systems by means of widely spaced core holes over a strike length of about five miles.
Some spectacular drill intersections have been made, most notably where the north-northwest-trending Amethyst structure intersects the east-west-trending Equity vein. Silver and base metals are best developed in the Campbell Mountain member of the intra-caldera Carpenter Ridge Tuff of the The north-northwest trend of the later mineralized structures initially developed by doming within the Bachelor Caldera.
The This formation is interfingered by lava flows and plugs of the The spectacular cliffs along the Rio Grande at Wagon Wheel Gap are the result of a Fisher Dacite flow-dome complex that developed along the east side of the Creede Caldera moat. The resurgent Creede Caldera dome may be underlain by a Fisher Dacite intrusion.
Ore deposition at Creede is significantly younger than the Creede Caldera and has been dated at about 25 Ma. The main mineralized veins follow the trend of the earlier resurgent structures of the Bachelor Caldera. Hydrothermal fluids responsible for mineralization along the Amethyst and Bulldog structures are most likely related to a younger magmatic heat source. Based on extensive work by the USGS and a number of academic thesis studies, it is believed to lie below the intersection of the Amethyst and Equity veins at the extreme north end of the Creede District.
Subsequently, we followed the trend of the Bulldog and Amethyst veins with a number of stops along the way, including a view of an intrusive rock ore related? The afternoon took us to the southern end of the historic Creede district, the provenance of the majority of the 80 million ounces of silver and base metals produced in the district. Fluorspar mineralization has been dated at 20 Ma, about 5 Ma younger than mineralization at Creede.
Fluorspar, with significant barite, occurs within a caldera-tangential steeply dipping structure that was mined through four levels, but continues at depth. The calcium fluoro-sulfate mineral creedite was first identified and named here and some fine specimens were found by the DREGS group. A number of scalding, present-day hot springs, up to oF, occur within the Creede Formation where the west termination of the fluorspar-bearing structure is projected.
These hot springs, once fiercely protected by Native Americans, are the focal point of the 4UR guest ranch. We are thankful to the ranch, particularly Damon Gibbons, for allowing us to visit this unique property and his guided tour of the mill. The field trip ended at the Fisher Dacite flow dome north of Wagon Wheel Gap, where mining claims have been staked on chalcedonic quartz veins occurring within the flow dome.
We thank Steve and Randy Grubiss, claim owners, for allowing us access to their mining claims. Subsequently, Mr. Karr worked as a consulting exploration geologist, project manager and VP of Exploration for a variety of companies including Placer Dome and Orvana Resources. While the preponderance of his experience is gold related, Mr. Karr also worked on silver, base metal, uranium and industrial mineral projects.
His exploration experience covers the spectrum of mine site to regional scale programs and includes the design, budgeting and implementation of these programs. Thomas Monecke and Dr. His current research and interests lie within Economic Geology, focused on the hydrothermal geochemistry of epithermal systems. In addition, Garrett maintains interest in greenfields exploration using geoenvironmental methods as a new tool. Specifically, Garrett is interested in using isotopes, hydrogeochemistry with hydrogeology and machine learning to develop a viable exploration tools to search for buried and covered ores.
Early in his career, he worked in the environmental industry as a consultant for Mutch Associates LLC dealing mostly with issues in hydrogeology and aqueous geochemistry. He currently works part-time consulting and performing contract work in Mexico. Suddenly a creek alters its course. I see no rocks But I know the place is right. There are specks of gold down the valley. I search for floristic clues— A magnificence of this, a dearth of that.
Changes in the Mother Earth reflected. Finicky appetites for elements of soil and rocks. A greener lineation. A fault? A place to dig. Tomorrow for sure. Jim Davis October The quarry is scheduled to undergo reclamation this spring, and there is an effort underway to save the quarry face as an interpretive geologic site.
A field trip is being arranged to visit the quarry this fall. Please contact Paula Hansley, , if you are interested. His MSc research was focused on the importance of locally derived sulfur in the formation of the Serpentine Cu-Ni massive sulfide deposit in northern MN. Basinal sedimentation and structural development were the introductory themes, followed by visits to Colorado Plateau copper and uranium-vanadium deposits, the end products of basinal fluid generation, fluid flow, and ore mineral deposition.
The trip leader was Dr. Jon P. The small group of ten eager and interested geologist participants made the trip intense and intimate. We are especially grateful to Jon Thorson for openly sharing the fruits of his professional passion with us. His work in the Paradox Basin, along with recent involvement by Isabel and Mark Barton are summarized in a beautifully illustrated page Society of Economic Geologists, Inc. The trip began in Grand Junction, CO and proceeded through the upper Paleozoic and Mesozoic stratigraphic section to the Precambrian crystalline basement exposed in the uplifted core of the Uncompahgre Mountains.
The west side boundary of the uplifted crystalline mass is bounded by the Uncompahgre reverse fault, which brings into contact with the crystalline rocks an unusually thick section of Permian Cutler Formation, shown by drilling to be here as much as 8, feet in thickness. Underlying the Cutler Formation is a thick section of Pennsylvanian evaporite facies that correlate with the all-important dome-generating evaporites of the Paradox Formation to the west.
We made numerous stops along the margins of Sinbad, Paradox, and Lisbon Valley, all cored by salt walls. The brines are not only responsible for the copper deposits but were the fluids that flushed out petroleum: at least an order of magnitude more fluid passed through the sediments than the amount of petroleum moved. For each volume unit of petroleum, perhaps ten to fifteen times as much saline solution have passed through the rocks.
Petroleum in the Paradox Basin has been typified as originating from evaporite-interbedded shale units of the underlying Paradox Formation. These shale units are also rich in metals such as vanadium, zinc, chromium, and molybdenum. Brine migration routes, through structures and permeable sedimentary units, can be followed by alteration effects: where the typically red sandstone beds have turned white and green.
The formation of copper ore, dominated by chalcocite, below the zone of recently formed copper oxides, appears to be a twostep process. Sulfur-rich reducing solutions have either removed the hematite-dominated iron from the hosting red sandstones or have altered hematite to pyrite in situ. This first step then appears to have been followed by copper-bearing solutions, which caused pyrite to be replaced by chalcocite.
Steen intended to explore the upper Cutler Formation but drilled into black uraninite-bearing sandstone in the lower Chinle Formation, above the Cutler, that was not immediately recognized as uranium ore. Mi Vida ultimately produced 1. For the benefit of those who were not able to attend, this DREGS field trip would be worth repeating in the not so distant future, if Jon Thorson could be induced to lead it again. The letter was handed to Geoff Snow, then head of Midwest Oil's mineral exploration division.
Geoff's immediate reaction was, "Let's hire this chap; anybody willing to pay his way across the ocean for work experience is worth hiring. He'll be your field assistant in British Columbia this summer. I had been planning a drilling and fill-in mapping program for the summer at the Laura molybdenum property, located 40 kilometers air distance from Hazelton, British Columbia. This is in the heart of the BC rain forest and mapping would involve lots of moss scraping to find rock exposures, so I was delighted to have Andrew as a field assistant to help with that task and with drill core logging.
The drilling crews and foreman were French Canadian, employees of Longyear, our drilling contractor. Ray Felardeau was the foreman, well known at that time to Canadian drillers, who called himself "ze Big Fellow". The drilling contractor took the responsibility of erecting and maintaining the field camp, including the commissary, and supplying a cook.
From previous experience with French Canadian drillers, I knew that we would have excellent food on the table three times a day. I met Andrew at the Vancouver airport and we flew north together to Smithers, and from there proceeded to the property by means of a summer-rented pickup truck.
Andrew was slim, of moderate height, of cheerful disposition, and a chain smoker. When he laughed, his face would turn the pink color of a Yorkshire pig. When we arrived at the project site, the plywood-lined tents were already standing and the kitchen was functional, the chef, Bruno, being a jovial elderly man with a Germanic accent. In short order we found that he created wonderful meals and pastry, seemingly effortlessly. At his previous summer's job, he had fed and befriended a full-grown black bear that would enter his kitchen tent, usually at night, and, for a treat of a slice of bread with jam, would allow Bruno to pet his head.
This went on for some time until the bear became aggressively protective of Bruno and had to be shot. The summer moved fast and drill core overwhelmed the camp. Unfortunately, I found Andrew capable of performing only menial tasks. He had never been outside the limits of greater London and his field and mechanical skills were quite limited. He could not be left alone in the field, not more than feet in the dense forest, or he would get lost for lack of any normal sense of direction.
Shouting was of no avail as he seemingly had no ability to decipher the direction of a shout. The drillers nicknamed him "ze xxxxing Limey". Andrew was preoccupied with and had no tolerance for mosquitoes and flies, and the "Big Fellow" complained to me that the fly repellant canisters were being used up at an alarming rate. Each weekly helicopter supply run had to bring in several cases of repellant to keep up with the demand.
Andrew was consistently late for meals, as he was for most endeavors, but one particular dinner in mid-summer, when we had begun the meal while Andrew and one of the driller's helper were not yet there, the subject of discussion was Andrew. He had not been seen for a while and we were deciding where to look for him if he did not show up for dinner.
We were enjoying the delicacies on the table when we heard an unusual single thump coming from the distance. In unison we looked at each other wondering what that noise could have been, and after a few words continued eating. A few minutes later the canvas kitchen door flap ripped open and the missing French Canadian helper's head popped into the tent: "ze xxxxing Limey blew up ze xxxing toileeet. Apparently our London friend could not stand the multitude of flying insects in the outhouse and would use an entire can of repellant to kill anything that moved in the compartment and the catch cistern below, before settling onto the seat.
This one time he had sprayed just a little beyond the critical limit, and after sitting, when he lit his cigarette and threw the match down between his legs, the propellant-saturated ether exploded. It lifted him off the seat, threw him at the outhouse door, and out unto the plush green grass in front, which now, along with Andrew, was freckled with brown-colored lumps.
Variations about this event continued to amuse discussions for the rest of the short field season, most of them in laughing French, which I could not understand, except for the often-used word "Limey". About a week after this incident, Andrew demanded a solo trip with the little used pickup truck into Hazelton. The road distance was not that far, perhaps 50 kilometers along a miserably bumpy and windy road that took a minimal of three hours to complete.
I had experience with camp fever and understood that the urge to get out could become serious, so I agreed, but with the stipulation that he was to deliver two crucial letters to the Hazelton post office, which I still had to write that Saturday morning, letters that instructed the assay lab on what to do with the already helicopter-delivered latest core sample batch.
Andrew was also commissioned with picking up the camp mail at the post office, which included crucial analytical results, necessary for planning future drilling. Andrew waited an hour that morning until the letters with sample listings were complete. And as I handed him the two envelopes he bolted out the office tent, made a quick stop in the kitchen tent, and was on his way. Two hours after he left, Bruno brought over two fresh letters, which he had found on the dining table.
I waited for Andrew to return, but he did not do so. Sunday morning we received a radio call from the RCMP, that they had in custody an Andrew Brown who claimed to be working on a project called Laura. He had gotten drunk and out of control, had not paid a dining bill, and had caused a car accident. Andrew had picked up the incoming mail and found a letter from his mother stating that he had failed his first year at Imperial College's Royal School of Mines. He proceeded to get drunk and lost all the incoming mail, which was never recovered.
Following a few days in camp, after securing his return tickets back to London, a driller drove Andrew down to the Smithers airport for his return home. Larry Turner, a mineral exploration and mine geologist, and a long-time resident of the Golden, Colorado area, was born December 20, , and died, very appropriately, at the August 31, end of the US mining claims assessment year.
To his frequent sorrow after the fact, his wife Louise predeceased him by 10 years. He is directly survived by their two geologist sons, Michael spouse Georgia and Larry spouse Irene , and by their daughter, Tracy Jones spouse Todd. After leaving Navy service as a meteorologist, I. His first employer was the St. Joseph Lead Company, for whom he conducted work as a mine and exploration geologist in both the Old Leadbelt and in the Viburnum Trend of Missouri, and as an exploration geologist in Tennessee.
In the late s, Larry began working more specifically as a mineral exploration geologist, starting with Vanguard Exploration of Spokane , proceeding to NL Industries of Golden, Colorado , and then to Texasgulf Minerals, also of Golden After breaking his hip at the age of 86 from a fall off of his newest mountain bike, Larry nevertheless continued moving vigorously, using a tadpole tricycle.
At first word of the bonanza, Superintendent Roelofs hurried down to the level of the Cresson. He stared in silent awe, then exclaimed, "We have burrowed into Eldorado! I want an iron door in this drift before the day is out. I'll wait here while you get two good men and rifles. Put a twenty-four hour guard on this. Except for you and the guards the level is off-limits until we get this stuff hauled out.
Ever damn highgrader in the district will be trying to worm their way into this. That evening, one of the lucky miners who had pocketed a spectacular piece of the Cresson gold quickly slurped down his meal of grits and sowbelly at his cheap boarding house and headed for the Gold Coin Saloon in Victor. Crowding his way through the smoky, noisy throng of miners and ignoring the clutching whores, he approached Paddy Mackabee at the bar.
I got somepthin' that might int'rest ya. Paddymack occupied his spot at the bar as if it were a princely throne. The whore giggled, heavy paint on her aging face preventing any visible sign of a smile. The miner slapped down fifty cents with an elaborate show. Paddymack rolled his buggy eyes and shrugged his shoulders, but then pushed away the hapless whore and pulled the miner into the space vacated by the woman. A rough, hulking man, Paddymack sported several days' growth of whiskers over his grimy face.
A low hairline barely allowed a forehead above his thick eyebrows. Thick cauliflower ears and wild unkempt hair completed a countenance that made him look like a stupid lout. His cocksure demeanor, however, suggested he was no ordinary miner. Those who had a bit of filched gold to sell knew that he always had quick cash. Paddy Mackabee was, in fact, as shrewd as he was unsavory. He was a notorious ore thief, a highgrader.
He eyed the miner up and down and snorted, his mouth cruel in an odd, twisted way. A solitary yellowed snag showed in his mouth and one eye bulged abnormally from its socket-the result of an improperly healed cheekbone broken in a fight. He tossed down the shot of whiskey, blinked his eyes once and burped with a drawn-out crescendo.
I'm a busy man. Ain't got all night. The miner carefully looked around, then slipped the gold from his pocket and held it close to his belly. Paddymack deftly grabbed it and tossed the rich ore slightly to test its heft. To the miner's disappointment, Paddymack registered only a mild interest in the sample. But I can tell ya how ya might get a lot more of this stuff.
I might remember more when I ain't so thirsty. Paddymack snorted. He grunted with a wave of casual dismissal and downed another shot of whiskey with a noisy sucking slurp. Like about meybe what they's gonna do wid it. I seen the Vug, Paddy, and even you never seed nuthin' rich as this.
Ten now an' a ten more when I sell the gold, if I can get enuf and ya tell me everthing ya know. At this Paddy's left eyebrow raised until it was almost lost in his unruly hair. He glared at the miner with a bulging, baleful eye, squinting the other almost closed. Now tell me whut ya know or get lost. I'd not say nuthin to nobody. Paddymack glared at him with his bulging eye and blew explosively through his thick lips.
The miner was bewildered. He looked at the bottle. He needed another drink, but all of his money had gone for the first round. Mackabee smiled smugly. Ya drive a hard bargain. I'm buyin'. Ten dollars richer, the miner turned on his stool and winked salaciously at one of the dance hall girls. The money was as good as spent. Paddymack roughly grabbed the dallying miner by the arm. First, I want ya to tell me everythin' you know about that cave of gold.
But first, the gaudy specimen would be useful in other ways. The rich ore sample could be a persuasive tool in his quest for help in a felonious plan. The miner tossed down his whiskey and looked expectantly at the bottle that Paddymack held firmly in his fist. He told Paddymack what he knew, embellished with his Irish skill. The light blazed out of the hole like as how we'd broke into Hades. I could grab only one piece before the shift boss ran us off. I stuck around whilst the boss talked to the super.
They was purty excited. The miner coughed to emphasize his dry throat. After Roelofs looked at the cave he ordered an iron door built in the tunnel and a guard put there all the time until the cave was mined out. But I heared somethin' else, somethin' purty important. Paddymack filled the miner's glass. The miner gulped from his glass then set it down closer to the bottle. Paddymack poured a little more whiskey into the glass, not filling it this time. The miner shrugged and leaned closer to the highgrader.
Ain't nobody knows that. Most ever'body thinks that the gold is going right onto guarded railroad cars. Ten guards for each car! Paddymack blinked his good eye in surprise. He too had assumed that the highgrade gold would be loaded directly into a guarded railroad car and shipped to the mill in Colorado City to lessen chances for a holdup. Apparently Roelofs, the superintendent, wanted to know the value of what he had before it left the mine.
Paddymack shoved the bottle towards the miner and chuckled to himself. I'll have some of thet Cresson stuff or me name ain't Paddymack. Over the next few days Paddymack heard more details of the bonanza. Crystals of gold were literally being scraped off the cavern walls.
Superintendent Roelofs had guards watching every aspect of the operation. The Cresson Mine resembled an impenetrable fortress. Paddymack knew that it would just take a little more patience and planning. Paddymack gleaned bits of information from every possible source. He learned that the cavern was a dozen feet wide by forty feet high and extended back thirty or so feet.
He got detailed information on the richness of the gold and how it was being handled from the vug to the surface. None of this knowledge was of any help in using his usual methods to filch some of the gold. Normally he would have purchased lunch pails spiked with gold, but regular miners weren't allowed in the cavern.
A select few of the mine bosses dug out the gold by hand. Canvas sacks stuffed with gold and gold tellurides were hoisted to the surface. Armed guards accompanied the treasure as might the Queen's guard protect her majesty's jewels. The gold was brought to the surface at night so that the darkness and the clever use of dummy bags filled with waste obscured the final destination of the gold.
If it were going to the sample plant Paddy was certain that he could highgrade some of the Cresson gold with the assistance of the sample plant operator. The man was a previous associate in crime at another mine. Paddy found his man at the Silver Dollar saloon, but the sampler only shook his head and shrugged his shoulders when Paddymack asked him about gold from the vug. The bulging eye glared white with frustration and the black eyebrow arched up into his unkempt hair.
Now that he knew just how rich the Cresson Vug was, he desperately wanted part of its contents. This was the first time that this particular sampler was unwilling to assist Paddy. Or is it that he is unwilling to help? I bet the bugger is lying. That night Paddymack made a stealthy visit to the sample plant. He wiggled under the fence that surrounded the sample building, unmindful of the snowdrift against the fence.
Staying in the shadows he wormed his way to the building and around it until he found a small, grimy window he could peer through. Inside, the sampler weighed small piles of ore on a large brass balance scale.
He was dumping the contents of canvas bags that had been secured with a tightly twisted wire and clamped with a pressed lead seal. Paddymack watched as the sampler sorted through the samples and selected certain pieces. His heart quickened when he saw the glitter. It was almost pure gold and the gold telluride, calaverite. This was no ordinary ore. It was from the Vug! Paddymack was puzzled that the sampler was separating out only a small fraction of the total gold.
He knew that this was not the usual method that would assure a representative cut. The sampler weighed the smaller portion and poured it into an unmarked canvas bag, which he tied and slid under the bench. He then weighed the remainder of the gold, put it into a larger bag stenciled with the company name.
Paddy noticed another unusual thing. The sampler was not recording the weight of the smaller samples in the official sample ledger. He was, though, penciling a notation in a small notebook he kept in his shirt pocket. Paddymack was abruptly startled from his observations by the sound of footsteps approaching.
A dark, looming figure rattled the chain and unlocked the gate, letting himself in. He turned and replaced the lock, then walked directly towards Paddymack. It was too late to escape. Paddymack squeezed into the shadows at the bottom of the building, stiffening his body in an attempt to resemble a mine timber. The door to the sample plant was a bare six feet away and he knew that the light from the open door would shine full on him when it opened.
His muscles tensed. Mentally he swore, knowing if he were seen that security would be beefed up even more. The man crunched across the icy plant yard, approaching the door. He rapped on the door. A moment later there was the sound of the bar being lifted from inside the door. Paddymack tensed, ready to sprint for the hole under the fence. The door groaned open. Light flooded out, shining full on Paddymack for a brief moment.
The visitor quickly entered the building and closed the door. Paddymack slowly let out his breath. The bar dropped into place with a loud thump. Paddymack slowly pulled his numb body up along the building until he could see through the grimy window. He recognized one the mine bosses under the dim, shade-covered electric bulb. The two men walked towards the bench where the scales sat, talking rapidly. Holding his breath Paddymack could make out a few words.
The boss man did most of the talking, and from the tone of his voice, Paddymack could tell that this was not a usual conversation about the sampling operation. As he watched and listened, the sampler slid the gold laden bags from under the bench. The boss laughed, his lips curling in a greedy leer as he gave orders to Sam. Paddymack strained to catch the words. Get the best stuff. Paddymack hardly breathed. He heard only a few words, but they were enough.
Enough to lay the next part of his scheme. From the voices he could tell that the boss was giving orders and the answering voice of Sam was whiney with a touch of fear. Paddymack's pulse raced with excitement. This may be my key to riches. The next night he again wiggled under the fence.
This time he rapped boldly on the barred door. I need to talk to you. Ya know I can't let nobody in. I'd get fired for sure. I ain't lettin' ya in. Yus'd be the last one on the hill to have bizness with this mine. Leastwise honest bizness. Now get out of here before we both get shot. An' I knows yer sendin' it to a bank in San Francisco. Yer partners want me to make sure nuthin' happens to it before it gits to the bank. Sam paused as he contemplated Paddymack's surprising knowledge of the operation.
Paddymack guessed that Sam likely didn't know who, other than the shift boss, was involved. Paddymack obviously had knowledge of the large-scale gold skimming scheme that was going on with the Cresson Vug gold. They's got special security rules fer this. I'd get fired fer sure or maybe shot. Whut da ya want? Ardly nuthin' a'tall. Just enuf infermation that I can make sure nuthin' happens to thet gold between here and San Franciso.
Stop by the Gold Coin tomarra' and I'll buy a whiskey. Deep in the Portland Mine, a mile from the Cresson excitement, the hoist cable creaked and snapped as it stretched between the man cage and the spinning hoist drum two thousand feet up the shaft.
As the cage gained upward momentum in its trip from the depths of the mine, its guides bumped sporadically on the shaft rails. Heavy grease on the rails smacked like a crude miner eating with his mouth open. Dutch Wyatt felt the cage shudder as it passed rough spots on the worn rails. Momentary flashes of light marked the mine stations at hundred feet intervals as the rising cage whispered past. Dutch yawned to release the pressure building in his ears.
Dutch and a fellow miner, Tom Hoskins, their faces grimy with drilling dust, stood in the cage as it took them from the warm dampness of the mine toward the inevitable chill wind of November on the surface. Hoskins broke the silence that usually rode with them at the end of a day. Every miner in the district is trying to figure out a way to high-grade some of it. Dutch, stooping slightly to fit his tall frame into the cage, pursed his lips and tugged at his sweeping mustache.
They're fooling themselves to think they can get any of that gold. Old Dick Roelofs is nobody's fool. I hear tell he's put in a solid iron door there. Nobody will get into that cave except the mine bosses. They'll just shovel the gold into sacks, then keep a shotgun with every bag until it's locked in a railroad car. Dutch thought of times, long past, when he had helped Butch Cassidy rob a train or two.
Nope, I'd as soon work down here in the muck of the old Portland as try to steal some of his gold. Dutch preferred to lose himself in thought but today his partner was excited about the news from the Cresson. Paddy's a clever thief alright, but he won't get any of this stuff. Dutch put the Cresson gold out of his mind. He'd been at the Portland Mine for more than three years now, and the dollars were slowly adding up.
But it was honest money, and in a couple more years he could buy a ranch somewhere up in Wyoming. There the breezes keep the views sparkling clear for a hundred miles and you can ride for three days and not see a soul. I'll buy a few cattle. Just enough to make a living so's I'll have time to fish and read some good books. It'll be a quiet life. A hell of a lot less adventure than robbing trains, but at least I won't have to worry about getting caught and sitting in prison while the songs of spring are calling.
Dutch had been in jail once, falsely convicted of stealing a horse, and those few months had been pure hell. Damn, I'm near to forty. I'd best get this dream to happening. I wasted too many years chasing money. Bad money for the most part. Spending it for the moment instead of making my dreams come true. A Wordsworth phrase floated across his mind and the words were unsettling. Dutch worked his mind hard to imagine the feel of his horse under him.
To hear the soothing creak of saddle leather. To breathe deeply of the rich incense of sagebrush. The image faded as the cold air sweeping down from Pikes Peak found its way into the upper reaches of the mine. He closed his eyes tightly, wanting badly to feel warm spring sun on his back. Two years is a long time to wait for a dream to happen. I wonder how many guards Roelofs will have on the gold train?
The train would wind through rugged hills on its way down the mountain to Colorado Springs. An easy place to stop a train. A posse would need hours to mount a pursuit. He gritted his teeth, angry at his thoughts. The dismal walls of the mine fomented forbidden ideas, ideas that ran through his mind like the devil's messenger. One good heist and I could take away more than this job as shift boss will pay in five years.
Enough to buy that ranch. Shaking his head to dispel Temptation's voice, he impatiently waited as the hoist neared the surface. He always walked when he needed to cleanse his mind of Temptation's badgering. His rented cabin cost a little more than the boarding houses, but he liked the quiet. Within the boarding houses snores of a hundred men crowded out sleep, dreams and even wakeful thoughts.
Only nightmares seemed to survive. As Dutch walked in the twilight of the cold November evening, he reminisced again about his train-robbing days. Those were the times when train robbers enjoyed a certain degree of respect that other bandits didn't command. It was different then, not so many people out west and a lot easier to disappear-or at least be where nobody asked questions.
I wonder what it would be like today? As he walked, the snow crunched and squeaked under his boots. It would be a cold night. Normally he felt good about getting to his cabin and cooking a meal, but tonight the whispers of past devils seemed to haunt him. He felt a shiver, not from the cold, but from an inexplicable sense of dread mingled with excitement. It was a familiar feeling. He always felt it just before a hold-up. Flashes of red lit the night sky as the volcano shook the earth in thunderous eruptions.
Clouds of volcanic ash filled the valleys and swept out onto the plains. During the day the sun was blotted out as the young, building mountain flaunted its pubescent power. As the volcano grew, tropical waters seeped deep, meeting white-hot magma below. Steam produced by the marriage roared and hissed up the throat of the volcano, blasting the rocks apart into a jumble that collapsed back into the innards of the volcano.
The chimney of broken rock, a diatreme in geologic terms, reached from grass to Hell. Hot water, a hydrothermal, metal rich brew, boiled up from the depths and flowed through the voids and cracks of the broken rock. Slowly, over a million years or so, minerals of gold and tellurium grew and crystallized with geometric beauty.
It was then, almost thirty million years ago, that the robust volcano's hot juices boiled into a cave-a vug-far beneath the giant sequoias that cloaked the mountain's flanks. Crystals of pure gold and calaverite, chemically wedded gold and tellurium, slowly formed and lined the giant geode with a treasure trove so wonderful that God must have had a hand in its creation. It might have been a cathedral, but when miners found it they called it the Cresson Vug and mined it in a matter of days.
After the waters cooled there was little activity but the inexorable wearing down of the lifeless volcano. Bit by bit rains washed the mountain's silt into streams, then to rivers which dropped the now ignoble mud onto ocean deltas. The process of evolution and climate tried out various forms of life and weather on the mountain and its valleys. Tropical plants took root. The giant rhino-like Trigonis browsed on plants and in turn vicious saber-tooth tigers ripped down the browsers.
But for the most of 28 million years the place was quiet. The area of the volcano had no name-not until man came and gave it an unlikely label-Cripple Creek. Well after the other major gold discoveries of the west, the volcano at Cripple Creek in Colorado hunkered down like an ancient wise man, worn but hiding a rich legacy of gold. The mountain's once youthful exuberance was hidden in the chronicle of its rocks and the genes of its minerals.
Erosion's etchings had reduced once towering heights to rolling hills, apparently useful only for summer pasturage. The mountain serenity of the grassy meadows along Cripple Creek was broken in when a cowboy named Bob Womack found a strange form of gold in the cold waters of Cripple Creek. For a while no one believed the cowboy had anything of value-that his "gold" was a whiskey induced illusion. The gold he found was mixed with the element tellurium and had a silvery luster rather than the heart quickening yellow brilliance prospectors normally looked for.
Promoters - friends of Bob Womack - had faith in his find and put money there. Cripple Creek soon became one of the greatest gold camps in the world. At one time as many as four hundred mines were operating within the six-mile diameter of the old collapsed volcano. For twenty-some years gold ore poured from the depths before production declined. The district seemed to have passed its apogee when, on a cold November morning in , a cage loaded with men descended to the level of the Cresson Mine.
The foreman went ahead in the drift to check out the working face before giving the order for his men to start mining. The shift-boss was puzzled, for where there should have been a solid face of rock there was, instead, a large hole. He shined his light into the void and was astounded by a wondrous sight.
His mouth dropped open in slack jawed amazement. He rubbed his hand across his eyes, thinking his vision must be playing tricks on him. Maybe it was that bad whiskey from last night. Standing on the broken rock from the last round of blasting he peered through the hole into a cavern that glowed with a blinding, golden brilliance in the rays of his mine lamp. The rock itself seemed to be on fire. Scintillating reflections danced like flames as the miner moved the light back and forth.
He leaned into the cavern, the size of which challenged the limits of his light. A vaulted ceiling rose far above him and the walls shimmered with an eerie glow. His heart raced with excitement and he fell to his knees as his legs quivered with a sudden weakness. My God! The place is bloody filled with gold! Scattered about in rich profusion were pure, softly glowing gold crystals the size of a miner's thumbnail. Silvery crystals of calaverite, feather-like, seemed so delicate that a man's breath might dislodge them.
Veinlets of pure gold filled cracks in the of the breccia walls, confirming the richness of the lode. Some of the miners, wondering at the delay, walked up the drift and saw the sight. They were quick to recognize the opportunity. A few stuffed their pockets with gold before the foreman chased them out and sent a messenger to notify the mine superintendent.
In short time, contents of the golden trove made the mine owners rich, transformed working men into thieves, and prompted others to steal from the thieves. Lives were changed and lost. Sometimes subtle and patient with its power, the gold hastened the demise of the undeserving and tested the resolve of good men. Within hours of the discovery of the Cresson Mine's golden cave, the entire Cripple Creek community vibrated with excitement.
Housewives gathered on their porches to dream of jewels and dare to hope for good times, patrons in the saloons debated the gold's value, and owners of almost depleted mines felt renewed hope. The normal drudgery of miners was forgotten for a time as they eyed the muck piles for gold that they might surreptitiously stash in their lunchboxes or in the nether regions of their bodies. The Cresson Mine Seldom do we see a satisfactory big geologic picture within which mineral deposits occur.
Even in the deepest open-pit mines, which can expose a porphyry copper deposit to its economic bottom, the entire intrusive system with which the deposit is associated remains speculative, only the high-level differentiated porphyries are exposed.
The entire magmatic system, from which the ore-related porphyries and their residual ore components were derived, remains unknown below the kilometers depth that the mine exposures and deeper drill holes have probed. The whole geologic environment of epithermal vein systems is even more nebulous than that of porphyry systems.
Rarely can ore-related intrusives be identified. The DREGS fall field trip to the Gold Hill gold-silver telluride district of Boulder County, CO evinced the handicap in understanding the overall geologic environment of a high-level epithermal system. A handful of late-Laramide-age dike types occur in the district, some of which are suspected to be ore-related, but even the 1, feet that the deepest mines reached, is not close to exposing the big geologic system that produced the precious-metals veins.
The rest of the party doesn't take any aggressive action; the Paladin walks up beside me while the Demon grabs the Undead Master. The Demon presses against my barrier, and tries to convince me to let it out. At first, the tone is more like, "let me out now, and I promise you a swift death.
As time passes, the tone slowly shifts to "let me out now, and I'll return your companion". Eventually, the tone shifts to a much more subservient, "what do you want? At the time, I was very confused by this; after the fact, I realized that the Demon was judging our power by how long the Protection from Evil spell lasted. Because of the Paladin's aura, it appeared that we were actually god-like beings, so far beyond the Balor that it was hardly worthy of our time, and that my character's confidence was actually warranted.
The Paladin used very strategic placement, made sure we moved together, etc, to sell this illusion, and convince this creature not to mess with us. In the end, we got our party member back, and the demon agreed to write years of history for my character - which, in a flash-forward, was revealed to be an autobiographical account of how it tortured this being and corrupted that soul etc throughout its career.
This is the story of how a forgetful DM leads to ridiculous outcomes in a very tense session. One of my players took Booming Blade as a cantrip. For those of you unfamiliar with 5e, Booming Blade is a cantrip that allows you to make an attack. After you attack, the enemy will take thunder damage if it willingly moves.
Let's look at some menacing creature that exploded spectacularly because I forgot about that: A Blink Dog. A possessed scarecrow A goblin A monstrous Peryton Tense, sometimes downright terrifying encounters ended in gore confetti, tk everyone's amusement. I love it. My oracle Pathfinder ends up something like this pretty often.
The first few rounds of combat I am usually in the back ranks throwing up buffs and supporting the field. When I join the melee, things are already low on hp so I walk in and finish them off. Completely new to this forum, so excuse me if I do anything wrong. My bad, please let me know.
DM is super laid back, and he let me make some shenaniganry up for my character. I only speak Terran and dwarvish. Rest of the party is a 7th level sorcerer Changeling Who speaks just about every language. Speaks common, sylvan, druidic and elvish. I came in late to the party, so I The geode golem wound up running into the party in the middle of a dungeon. The story is this: The others are just entering a room with a huge lakeish thing in the center of it.
They hear some metallic grinding from the room ahead. They send the rogue over to go and look since she has the best move silently skill. She opens the door on the far side of the room to come face to rock with my geode golem, who has just walked through the ventilation fans in the next room.
The rogue panics and runs back to the rest of the party. Aaaaaand the Giant squid that was in the lake now rears its ugly head. A tentacle comes up, swipes at the majority of the players. The druid gets knocked across the room and the sorcerer and rogue get grappled.
The sorcerer drops below 0 in the first round of combat, is promptly dropped by the squid, and falls face first into the lake. The rogue fails to get out of the grapple and gets squeezed even tighter and is now very close to dead. The druid is stunned from his flight. The Geode golem rushes into action and Dimension swaps the sorceror.
The sorcerer is now unconcious on dry land and the Golem is quickly sinking. The paladin swings and misses. Next round begins, The rogue drops below zero and is dropped by the squid. Sorcerer still unconcious. Druid gets up and begins attempting to cast Flaming sphere. Golem is now at bottom of the lake, looking up at the bottom of the squid, a little more than 2 feet above him.
He draws his kopesh. Yes, the golem has a kopesh. And stabs the squid from underneath. Paladin gets grabbed but manages to keep hold of the twin-headed flaming flail and hits the squid a couple times. In the next round the Druid flaming spheres the living daylights out of the squid, the Golem continues stabbing and the Palading keeps smiting.
Eventually we kill the squid and the Golem burns all of his healing spells on the sorcerer and rogue. Then proceeds to have a heated discussion about squids and the anatomies of squishies with the sorcerer in Terran. I've been reading this thread for a while now, and it's pretty awesome, so I decided to post a story of my own I would use spoilers, but I don't know how. The specific members of the party aren't particularly important for this.
So, we were tracking some guy through a dense forest, and his trail ended at a tree. I decide to climb the tree and look for any sign of his passage with no luck the DM didn't actually plan on us following him, so it pretty much failed whether we wanted it to or not. The paladin in our group rolls a spot and gets a 1, managing to disturb a nearby raccoon by looking at it "threateningly". So it jumps on his face and starts biting him.
One critical later, and the raccoon is decapitated. Well, it turns out there was a family of raccoons in that tree that just watched papa die, and they were all surrounding me. I quickly jumped out of the tree but not before one crawled into my sack.
I decided to grab it closed and go back to camp while the rest of the party fights its family. Now there are two parts to this story. The first is my party's experience, and the other is mine. The party So, the raccoons attack, and one of them crawls into the fighter's armor this fight wasn't hard.
Just amusing. We were level 5s He successfully manages to grab the raccoon by the tail and proceeds to maul them with it. He kills 3 of the 4 one of the 3 being the weapon and the paladin kills the other. Now the fighter has a raccoon head tied to his tower shield, which was presented to him by the paladin in honor of his "valor". Me I'm back at camp at this point, with a very angry raccoon thrashing around inside my bag.
I wasn't really worried because all I had in it was some gold and my thieves tools i was playing a spellthief. So, I decided to mess with it, and started poking it with a stick, making it even more angry. At this point, my DM looked at me and said, "remind me, what was in your bag again. I quickly brought the bag down on my knee in an attempt to kill it and rolled extremely low. My tools ripped a hole in the bag large enough for the raccoon to escape, climb up my leg and bite me.
I was mad now, so I grabbed it and threw it in the fire, but my DM really liked this raccoon so he let it live even though raccoons have a max hp of like 2. As it ran away, I shot it with my corssbow, and only managed to shoot through it's tail, pinning it to the ground like I said, the DM really liked that stupid raccoon. About then, I noticed a really bad smell coming from the bag. I was so pissed that I went up to the struggling raccoon and branded it with a flaming stick.
It then barfed on my armor as it died. Well, the DM gave me a -4 to all charisma checks involving people as long as I still had the armor and bag with me. So I burned them. Armor and all. When the party awoke the next morning, our camp smelled like crap and singed fur.
There was also the fact that the dead raccoon was surrounded by flowers now and had a picture of his raccoon family next to him. A funeral had been held for him by his family overnight extended family of course, since his immediate family was kind of dead. The moral of the story appears to be 'Canadians may be polite, but we will deploy weapons-grade snark when the occasion calls for it'. I've seen similar pictures of roadkill deer with a "Get Well Soon" balloon tied to its leg, and a bunny with a spilled basket of colored eggs :smallwink:.
So, I told my gaming group one of the tag lines from here not the Smith thing again and they rolled on the floor over it. Totally two orders of magnitude over what I expected. I sat down to write about it. And suffered a complete and total meltdown. I have no idea what I was going to write. I love senility. So here's another meanwhile Soul's Odor Eaters. This has nothing to do with our adventure, but I thought I'd mention it. So, we had spent a large part of the campaign trying to retrieve a powerful god-killing sword from the bad guys, and when we finally found it, we decided to make a decoy, and hide the real sword underneath a tree near the castle we were squatting in.
Fastforward a few days later, and the monk, who had made up this plan, discovers that the real sword had been stolen and replaced by a crudely done stone sword, with the words SuPRIse SUprIsE written on it. Sorcerer starts denying having messed around with the valuable artefact' Wizard: Ok, He's gone mental, I cast Reverse Gravity on him.
DM: both "Monk" and "Sorcerer" find themselves on the ceiling. Monk: SO! Ninja OOC : I think its 10ft cubes, or something like that? So, a couple of the players in my current 5th Ed. Vast armies, constantly working with new armies and painting new minis the DM is incredible in painting and modifying figures. So I repeated a quote from here: "Warhammer 40K: Where the faction that is a cross between the Inquisition and Space Nazis are the good guys. I think I may have injured their Warhammer bone.
With litteraly quintillions of new people being born every day, statistically, at least few of them must be good. I wouldn't put it past some of the factions to genetically engineer away compassion and other such things. Including the Imperium. Well, duh, that one is a given. They're the last hope of humanity and are called Space Marines. Sounds like you have a very low opinion of humanity LOL.
In the fifth edition campaign I was running a few months ago I decided to give my characters fun cursed items. The party rouge Malcom had boots of elvenkind that wouldn't let him retreat, The Monk Ram had a wand of cure light wounds that occasionally rolled on a specialized "chaos table" I devised, The Wizard Gledon Weck had a magic rope that liked to strangle people, things of that nature.
One of my players Nicknamed Lucky had just rolled up a new character, and I let him pick from the hat to get his new cursed item the hat had a believe three choices left at the time. He picked the Iron Flask. The only description of the flask they could get was "normally these flask are able to entirely contain whatever entity is within. For some reason this one seems to emanate magic almost like it's not entirely able to hold whatever is inside.
After a few minutes me and lucky enter back into the apartment and I turn to the rest of the group "so the city is being attacked by a Balor Oh Christ. I'd have gone with something even worse, though. Like a Great Old One. So I've got an interesting one.
It is a huge, HUGE statue of a man sitting pretty much in the middle of nowhere that was rumored to kill everyone who entered. We go in, obviously, and one of our party members missed a saving throw and turns to dust by touching the door handle. This guy had been complaining about how he hated his character, so the DM gave him a magical door as a way to introduce a new one.
We used detect magic, it was a magic door, not simply a door with a ward on it. Anyway, he introduces a new character and we enter without problem, hearing the door close behind us. We start making our way through the Colossus, and find many things, but only three relevant to this story. The first was a magical fountain thing that took its water directly from the elemental plane of water, basically a never ending world of water and fish things.
Anyway we get up to the head of this thing and find a fire elemental waiting for us. We try to fight it, and get absolutely trashed due to some bad rolls and having spent most of our spells for the day. So, we decide that hey, the door at the bottom is magical right? And we have a pool of unlimited water right? And there is a fire elemental at the top of this dungeon right?
Sooo we break the edge of the portal to the elemental plane of water, wait for the entire building to fill up with water, get in barrels and wait for the water to kill the elemental. Then we break the eyes of the Colossus, which was made of some thin gem like material, and climb down the face of the statue with our fighter's very convenient mountaineering proficiency and equipment.
Yeah, needless to say we destroyed the library and got that wizard really pissed at us, but it was worth it. Ironically, the Space Marines tend to be quite compassionate, at least if Dawn of War is anything to go by. That is something I've notices about Warhammer 40k - The people themselves tend to not be bad Unless they're corrupted by chaos. But the insidious, corrupting nature of Chaos, and sheer amount of distrust it creates, makes the awfulness mandatory.
Oh yeah, and the sheer scale of everything happens to be a force-multiplier for human flaws. That certainly does seem to be a trope in science fiction. At least in writing. In reality, it seems that it is only a force multiplier for incompetence. Serious guys. To picture the OOC scene, throughout the story they are in the same room, passing notes to the DM for anything they don't want the other players to know. Having battled their way through a complex, trap-laden maze filled with monsters, they encountered the final boss who was some kind of lich.
In the room was a statue with a gem that was the objective of the adventure. Epic battle ensures, during the course of which the gnome decides to quietly steal and hide the gem. Battle finishes, and the characters find the gem isn't there and start searching the room. My friend is genuinely searching like the others, but as you can imagine the gnome is half-heartedly peeking under carpets and similar.
Suspicion is aroused when the gnome's player starts giggling uncontrollably. Furious recriminations ensure and before long both the half-orc and the gnome are fleeing back through the maze with the other two casting up spectral mounts and such to pursue them. Running away won't do the trick, so the gnome casts an illusion of a tunnel with a closed portcullis, with the two characters fleeing at the other end. No luck.
Tries to use magic to bend the metal. Teleports to the other side of the gate. Dies instantly. They weren't invited back. How and why? Illusory gate on a wall. Death by teleporting in solid matter. Many possible causes. Stuck in the rock, unable to breathe or do anything, and dies slowly and horribly.
Or the entire body dissolve in solid rock instantly. So the illusion was on a wall. That explains a bit. I didn't know it was even possible to teleport into solid matter. Wile E. Coyote springs to mind.. I was transported by a sorceress who was using someone else's magic wand, with abysmal results I readied my weapons, the sorceress readied her action..
I was grabbed by an enormous scorpion, dragged out of her reach and she decided to take the hint and teleport without waiting for me to try and free myself. The cowardly sorceress bites it and gets plastered upon the nearest wall. To escape a similar faith, the beguiler in the party decides to teleport us all away. We spend the next round getting in reach and "touching" one another to form the teleport chain..
Except the beguiler has missed one crucial bit of info.. Next up are the giants In most modern editions, it's not. You take damage and are shunted to nearest place. Frankly, I'm seeing a case of "How dare someone have a more powerful character than me!
It's december So the gnome steals the macguffin, the two optimized characters gets annoyed, the gnome flees with the macguffin, the gnome then initiates pvp Which it is, it might not have been a direct attack on the characters but it was done to kill them to kill the optimized characters and somehow it was the optimized characters fault? It is when they're totally disrupting the atmosphere and the fun, which it seems like they were.
Honestly, I was hearing Yakety Sax playing in the background while reading that story. I was once a dm of a group where one character spoke muscle, and the harpooned a porpoise turning it into a narwhal n threw it at a dire shark Enough to fend off a dire shark, obviously. Yup lol that was a fun night, maybe I should try that in Thursdays game?? Whoa, there. Remember some of the core tennets of being a DM: Never plan on the players doing something, they won't.
Never plan on the players not doing something, they will. I was once in a group playing a 5th edition campaign. The DM had us going through this vampire's castle in an alternate dimension, and we had to get the vampire's heart to return to our world. After a few sessions, we managed to reach the vampire's chamber. But only half of the party came to the session.
Blake was blasting the vampire with every fire spell he had, and Ethan had a flame tongue blade, so they dealt a lot of damage. I was standing in the corner, firing off useless shots with my bow. I decided that improvisation was needed. Me: "So, you know how if you hold up a magnifying glass to the sun, you can focus the light and start a fire?
I dealt 40 damage with DND's first laser beam. Probably not. You need high energy to ignite stuff, and a torch just doesn't provide that energy as light. It provide it as fire. Does it work IRL though? If it did, operating any sort of magnifying lense during the day or even in proximity of any source of light would be highly dangerous - which it isn't.
It would not work IRL, for two reasons. One, there would not be enough light. The sun is several orders of magnitude brighter than a torch, and it can still be tricky to start a fire with sunlight. Second, the sort of telescopes that would be available with medieval or renaissance technology has a convex and a concave lens.
Only concave lenses can start fires by focusing light, and convex lenses scatter light. You would need to dismantle the telescope, and use the proper lens to focus the light. That being said, I think it's an awesome idea and it's really cool of your DM for allowing it :smallbiggrin:. I see the temptation, but I don't think I would have let it fly. And certainly never more than once. And to make it in time I had to leave and come back in the middle of the game.
So I warned the DM of this and that I would have to show up for the game in a suit. I said I hope no one minded. This is what happened. DM: Josh another player has a crippling fear of suits. I'll leave the jacket in the car. DM: He is in a frenzied panic just over me mentioning you will be in a suit.
Dear God! He's beating the neighbor children mercilessly. Me: DJ my wife says she will send him some meds She is a psychologist but married me anyway. Alternately, I could just take all my clothes off. DM: Three cars are now on fire. At this point DJ and I are both about rolling on the floor. The next day rain took out the parade so I didn't have to go in a suit. I told the DM that. DM: That's good, my neighbors will be happy their children will be safe. This weekend I'm going to take a suit with me.
In the same campaign as earlier, we had moved to a different parallel universe. In this world, there was a demon raising a powerful army which we had to stop. We were told that a powerful lich would be joining the army soon, and we needed to stop him. We found a point in the forest where we could ambush his carriage, and set up.
As soon as the carriage approached, we blasted it with fire and oil and everything we had. I shot one of the guards, but only dealt 10 damage. The wizard laughed at me, and I silently fumed. Unfortunately, the lich had turned invisible and began to bombard us with spells. We began to frantically search for him. The barbarian had an interesting tactic. Greyson: "I use my helmet to fly up, chug as much alcohol as I can, and pee everywhere!
After some more searching, we finally found the lich and unleashed everything on him. My turn came, and everyone the wizard said that he thought I would do another 10 damage or some other pathetic number. So I activated all my buffs, and proceeded to deal damage to the lich.
Who's mr 10 damage now, wizard? I guess I have a few stories as well. So, last week, in the 5e game I'm in, we were looking into some suspicious activity in a graveyard. Turns out to be a necromancer's lab. Thankfully they aren't home, since we're all level 1 or 2. We defeat a bunch of skeletons in one room, go down some stairs, and find ourselves in the necromancer's workshop.
We see a note from the necro to their assistant giving instructions to put some ingredients into a pot. Our brilliant rogue follows the directions, and the 5 skeletons we just fought resurrect. We roll initiative and do well. The skeletons are trying to come down the stairs, so I plant my warlock directly in front of the stairs.
And then none of the skeletons are able to beat my puny AC So our party is able to snipe them, since apparently they are chivalrous skeletons that won't hit a lady character is girl. So we go on to the next room, and there are some zombies and some magic glyphs on the wall that are buffing the zombies. We go into combat, and the rogue throws his dagger at one of the glyphs, destroying it. My turn, I use my bonus action to give the rogue my daggers. Bard does the same. Eventually we win.
After the fight, we tell the rogue he can keep the daggers if he wants, since the bard and I have better ranged attacks. So now the rogue has 5 or 6 daggers. We go back into town, and I ask the DM if I can go shopping. I have about gold, and the bard is the only one of us who can heal, so I figure a couple of healing potions would be nice, along with a few other things.
Meanwhile, the rogue looks at prices in the PHB, and realizes that daggers are really cheap. So now he has 15 daggers strapped to himself. Needless to say, everyone is watching us very carefully, especially since the bard has already gotten into trouble with the law. Bandits can be surprisingly polite sometimes. Same group, I'm playing the same character, but the rogue wasn't there for this session, and we had a few players that weren't there for the necromancer.
We were told that someone was trying to buy a dragon egg. Apparently this buyer resembles our monk, so we were sent by the authorities to "buy" the egg with fake diamonds, and slip a pin with a tracking spell onto the seller. We do this, and after the seller has left and we are about to leave ourselves, a half orc steps out of a building and stops us. Turns out that his group had heard of the deal, and wanted the egg.
I try for an intimidation check and fail. Turns out he had a bunch of people hidden nearby. So now we have a mob of bandits. One of us, I forget who, tries a persuasion check and makes it. So they ask the bandit leader, "How about we settle this like gentlemen? We pick our strongest fighter, you pick yours, and they have a boxing match, winner gets the egg? We send our monk out. The egg is placed to the side At this point, I ask the obvious question.
The bandit's men agree, so now both sides also have 10 gold riding on this fight. I don't know what the bandit's stats were, but he was a half-orc, so he probably had high strength and constitution. Our monk was level 1, as were the rest of us. Needless to say, our monk was defeated. The bandit grabs the egg and looks at it. The DM rolls a spot check for him in front of us, nat Did you realize that this is a fake? I guess I have no use for it. I suppose I might let it go for 20 gold if you still want it.
So we agreed and shook hands with the bandit. As we are leaving, he says "That was a good fight. If I ever run into you folks at a bar, remind me to buy you a drink. Heh, all of my characters carry at least two daggers; never know when you're gonna need to cut your way out of a Purple Wyrm stomach or something : And those bandits sound great! Not with normal use, but you'd be surprised how often you end up losing them if you're in the habit of throwing your knives.
Alright I just finished reading the original thread and I suppose Ill get around to reading this one now but it's my time to tell a story. I'll start off with a campaign I Dm'd. Our second level party had just escaped from a newly formed plane of existence and had been resurrected after the BBEG had killed them all.
Lich vs lvl1's will do that; don't worry it was for story driving. They had arrived in a small town and automatically decided to go drinking. In the party we have a dimwitted hermit barbarian goliath, a racist human fighter, and a gullible gnome druid. The barbarian proceeded to have his first drinks ever and got remarkably drunk, having just learned that the gnome could transform into a goat he begged her too until she finally agreed to.
She walked out of the inn and returned a moment later as a goat, a rampaging goat. All the patrons started laughing as the furious dwarven Innkeeper started chasing this goat over tables and chairs, the Goliath too drunk to walk sat laughing his guts off unaware of what the human was about to do. When the Innkeeper pinned the goat down, the human had grabbed one of the halfling bartenders and tied him too the goat, then pushed the Innkeeper off of the druid and slapped her on the butt.
Now the goat and the unfortunate halfling were rampaging through the Inn. Eventually the Druid changed back into a gnome and had an interesting time explaining the situation to the dazed halfling. Some of the best downtime I've ever had. Remember my tale of James, the most inept drow ever? Well, apparently he died twice in one game last night, and finally ended up with no face. It was something about kissing Orcus. We were playing Pathfinder.
We're a small group to begin with, normally 3 party members, and one of them had IRL issues, so it was just the two of us. The two of us are trying to overthrow a tyrannical government that's a thinly-veiled reference to Communist Russia, and our current goal is to decapitate the secret police organization. We manage to get inside the building on false pretenses, and make our way to meeting with the heads of the secret police. But, before we are permitted in through the locked door they're on the other side of, they communicate with us through a magic mirror used for that purpose.
Apparently, they've dispatched runners to look into our backgrounds. Since our story will not hold up to serious investigation, we decide "heck with it, we're close enough. We can brute-force it from here. I know Impaling Strike, which ignores hardness, and so could probably just chop the door down, or at least cut the lock apart. Alternately, my buddy knows Breach, which is the psionic version of Knock. We go with the second one, on the basis that it's probably faster and quieter than chopping the thick wooden door open with my greatsword.
The door turns out to be magically locked, but my buddy beats the caster level check and the door opens. Since I'm much tougher than he is, I take point. I walk into the room, greatsword drawn, and announce that we're going to end the secret police. The heads of the secret police, obviously, take exception to that, and open up with everything they've got. Turns out there's six of them. One of them opens up on me with a power that we both recognize as Ego Whip.
I pass my Will save. My buddy is next, and he activates a defensive power Energy Retort that makes it so the first time he gets hit with an attack each round, the attacker eats a 4d6 ice blast. Next is some more enemies. After another Ego Whip utterly fails, they switch over to Reflex-half energy attacks "You know I have Evasion too, right?
Within 2 rounds, half of them are incapacitated or dead, and the other 3 are fleeing for their lives. Then my buddy uses a power that's basically Psionic Entangle, slowing them down. They're still trying to escape, but I'd have to move through the area. Thank gods I built with the intention to survive anything anyone throws at me.
The game is Dark Heresy. The characters involved are a Hive world Scum and a Voidborn Psyker mine. The Psyker has been captured by pirates, and held prisoner for ransom. The Scum concocts a scheme in which he could join the pirate crew, earn their trust and then get the Psyker free. He joins the crew easily enough, and within about five minutes of joining the crew, manages to annoy the Captain. Captain, being an understanding sort and considering this is the guy's first day, has him lashed.
Scum's player tells the GM, that he'll endure the lashes stoically to show the pirate crew that he's a tough guy and can handle it. GM tells him to roll a toughness test. He rolls a Dark Heresy equivalent of a 1 , and spends the lashing, screaming in a high pitched tone at the top of his lungs for the entire duration. The pirates at this point officially rename the Scum "Sally".
Humiliated but still determined, he overhears a group of pirates talking about how they're planning on going down to the ship's brig and beating up the Psyker to let off some steam. He tags along, runs into my Psyker in the cells, and, being the new guy, the pirates let him take the first crack at my Psyker.
My Psyker, not knowing what's going on, but wanting to help the Scum build rep with the crew, doesn't resist as the Scum takes a full charging swing at my Psyker, completely overloading the Scum with bonuses And the Scum misses. More than misses, he actually injures his hand, hitting the wall behind my Psyker. So he takes another swing. And misses again. Then takes a third swing-- again, on a completely compliant target Absolutely disgusted with the Scum's performance, my Psyker throws a quick headbutt, trying to piss him off, thinking the Scum's trying not to hurt him because they're comrades.
I roll a hit and then maximum damage on the headbutt, basically flooring the Scum. At this point, the pirates are laughing themselves to death, the Scum gets furious at his humiliation and pulls a gun on them. About five minutes later, the Scum's sitting in a cell next to an incredibly annoyed Psyker who cannot believe that THIS was their rescue attempt.
Boy have I got one. So we are playing Reign of Winter and I'm playing a Paladin. And I built him to the the face of the party. Bunch of Charisma, and high diplomacy. Y'know to talk his way out of combat. So we get hooked into this adventure to help this woman Nidya deal with the Winter Guards that have shown up at he village and taken everyone there captive.
Now of course Lyons the Paladin isn't about to let that happen, so after a few clever maneuvers we manage to kill most of the guards except the Captn I gave them multiple opportunities to surrender and no one took me up on it. So we need any information about who these people work for we can get. Ya know like a good Paladin.
Well eventually he says that if he tells me anything there's a piece of magic ice that will kill him slowly and painfully by burrowing into his heart. And he's most likely going to die anyway for failing his mission. So Lyons cuts a deal with him. He says tell me what you know and I can make your death quick and painless, it's the only mercy I can give you. He agrees, tells me what he can and I cut off his head After that the rest of the party decides to have a little fun with Lyons so.
So everywhere we go, they always tell about the Evil Darth Lyons who spreads mayhem and choas. And the tales get worse every time they tell them. First it was killing a man in cold blood, then it was killing twenty, then it was burning down an orphange, then 5, then Then I ate people. And that was before the trickster god showed up. So he gives Lyons some boons. Boon 1: Lyons has permanent undetectable alignment to deal with that pesky paladin aura Boon 2: No matter what armor Lyons dons it will always take on the form of an ebony armor decked out with in images of skulls and adorned with spikes This is an illusion Boon 3: Whenever Lyons uses Smite Evil his sword erupts to crackling flames with children's faces screaming in anguish about his supposed foul deeds.
Y'know stuff like "He ate my father, He laughed as he watched me burn. At the rate I'm going Lyons is going to go down in history as the most evil force to walk the earth. This is why Loki is the best Norse god, he has a damn sense of humor. Background: Don was an half angel a home brew race created by our DM and a spell fencer a home brew class also created by our DM.
A spell fencer is basically someone who adds enchantments to their weapons and are designed to be a counter to spell casters. He has high intelligence and strength, and slightly above average stats everywhere else but charisma, having an Due to his background, he is allowed proficiency in one instrument. I picked the acoustic guitar. This happened in a 5e session. Also, cell crystals were introduced, which acted as modern sending stones, allowing you to save up to twenty contacts each.
There was also a new mechanic known as "musical battles. HP was represented by "reputation," which you earned from either performing in public but unless you crit or do a legit concert, the amount earned is very little or by beating other bards. You can bet a certain amount of reputation to serve as your HP. If you win, you gain half the reputation your opponent bet and they loose all theirs.
Vice versa happens if you loose. The party the other two don't really affect the story. Don Balvizard: a bronze dragonborn. He has high accuracy with a bow, but low intelligence. He is a ranger. Shadow: a high elf ranger who has the worst of luck. Story: It all began in a small town known as Silver Wood.
Holding true to its name, the whole town was made of silver wood. We were just passing through, attempting escort an half elf to a big city Argus. However, due to the fact that I did not buy a guitar earlier due to a shortage of gold , I attempted to find one cheaply.
A man sold a silver one to Don for 5 gold after I passed a performance check. Anyways, seeing as now Don actually has a guitar, he decides to play it. He proceeded to roll a natural 20, causing him to be surrounded by many girls. Thus began Don's musical career As we escorted the half elf, Don attempted to perform in each town the party passes by, rolling a natural 20 in each one we passed by 2 towns , along with a performance in Argus.
By then, he had managed to gain a small following. Apparently, two people were using their musical influences for evil purposes, yet it was and still is unknown what exactly they were doing. On the way, they pass two towns. Naturally, Don decided to perform. I proceed to roll another natural 20 and a 19, furthering the amount of followers he has gained.
By now, he had one crystal filled with numbers. Eventually, we arrive at the town. After filling up another crystal with numbers and gaining a new one from one of the girls, I get challenged to a musical battle by a random npc bard. We roll initiative and we begin.
I start off doing mediocre while the npc rolled a 20, heavily damaging me and giving him advantage next roll. He ends up breaking his instrument. Afterwards, Don was challenged by more and more bards. Despite feeling that I was going to loose, I accept. They perform- they break their instruments.
I then go up against a little girl. Right off the bat, she proceeded to wreck me until the last two turns, where she rolled two consecutive natural 1's, causing her to first fall off the stage, and then break her instrument. By now, the DM was getting pissed. Skipping a bit, Don goes to a club, looking for more bards to fight. The reason for this is that I have to take on one of the idols, DJ Di-struct the other party members can't, seeing as they have both low charisma and no proficiency in instruments.
However, I need reputation to do so. I currently had I then go up against three people, they have 30 rep in total, I bet ten. Roll initiative, I go first. I do decent. The next turn, I get a low roll. One hits the other with his guitar, which breaks it and knocks his comrade unconscious.
I do the same. Roll initiative, I go, roll a decent roll. He goes, he does a violin and ballet combo don't ask. He crits, gaining the favor of the crowd. He proceeded to destroy me until the last two turns. I get my first good roll in that fight, and deal a bit of damage to him. He gets back up and. He breaks his instrument, sigh. After winning that battle, I challenge about three more bards, all ending with the DM rolling 1s and questioning life, before heading to bed in game.
Next day, I look for a bard to fight, but a low leveled one. I roll high on investigation and find a drunk bard. Roll initiative, I roll an ok roll, he does poorly. Next turn, I get a good role, he gets. Proceeds to throw up on his instrument and breaks it by falling on top of it. That was the last battle I fought before the session ended. Anyways, next session I'm fighting the DJ so Ill let you know how that goes.
I also have a funny story about the party that I will post later. Don the crown! I have a few stories. I'll start with the more recent ones. This takes place in the modern world, where magic is hidden from humans. All obviously nonhuman races wear charms that make them appear as human. The only character who really matters in this campaign is our leader, Zephyr Catmen, a Catfolk bard.
He is the most invincible character I have ever seen, and has an alignment of Chaotic Chaotic, and mediocre stats to top it all off. He is however, loved by the Dice Gods I shall start at the beginning, the first session this group had. After narrowly defeating a rampaging Nephilim, Zephyr runs into town. Zephyr decides to go into the towns grocery store, and discovers a sale on soup. He goes through the aisles, picking randomly from the soups that the DM is describing, and after finally picking all the soup he wants.
He goes to get a can opener, to prevent a future problem, and begins approaching the cashier. As he gets to the counter, Zephyr begins opening the cans of soup, and pouring them on himself, and the DM is, for lack of a better word :smalleek:, as well as the cashier. He goes to the library after this, and meets an old man, the exchange goes a bit like this Zephyr: Do you have any big encyclopedias?
Old Man: No, thank you. You've done the world a service. As he is leaving the library, he hears arguing between the old man, and a high pitched teenaged girl, and a book goes flying out the window. Zephyr picks up the book, and asks the DM if it is anything valuable. The DM rolls, and gets a natural It is apparently one of the original works of Edgar Allen Poe.
After this encounter, he heads to the gas station to buy gas. At his point the police are looking for him, as they suspect him of causing the destruction that the rampaging Nephilim did. They are carrying around a picture of him and asking around about him. The DM rolls a perception check for them, he rolls a 1. The walk right up to him, show him the picture, and ask if he's seen the man in the photo. He replies no, but the cashier is pointing at him while his back is turned, as he passed his perception check, but that doesn't work either.
He buys the gas, and then goes to city hall. He enters the building and begins to spread the gas about, but he gets thrown out, all the while spread the gas where he is leaving. He lights it from outside, but the fire is quickly put out. He tries again, this time pretending to be a window washer, using his sleeve to spread the gasoline on the windows of the building. The security team catches him, and the DM rolls a reaction roll to see how hostile they are towards him they are.
Another natural They tell him to stop, and go back to their work. He then tells the DM he lights a cigarette. The DM tells him his sleeve catches fire. Finally the last moment of the session. The group is stealing a car to get out of town. They find a Volkswagen van, but the DM tells them it's out of gas. Zephyr proudly proclaims "I bought gas! The DM told me that he had planned several other encounters, that triggered if the players did something, or didn't do something, but the way the session worked out they didn't encounter any of those.
We see three rooms, one of them is a weaponary. Completly abandoned we enter the room, when suddenly a gnome ghost attacks our barbarian, making him dumb er , draining his intelligence. My turn and by a scratch I hit the ghost with my spell storing dagger with searing light and he surrenders. Wanting to free him, the paladin makes a deal that he'll free the gnome from his suffering, while I keep laughing in his face how I took him down in 1 hit, annoying him.
They start to find out remains so clerics can revive him, and after many yells and humiliations from me saying that we shouldnt revive someone who just tried to kill us we leave.
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I run Gruss Betting Assistant to be able to interface with Betfair, get prices of the days horses, etc. Some python code deals with grabbing the data from betfair, and storing it. I use Flask and websockets in order to request and send data from an SQLite database to the web page.
The web page allows you Betfair Betting Assistant removes a lot of the time-consuming steps between you making a decision to bet, then your money hitting the market. Option to take profit or minimise loss with one-click stakes auto calculated. Forum allowing direct access to the application developers and other users. The Betting School Insiders Club is dedicated to helping you win with your betting. Transfer to the "Replacement" source will only take place if the test result is within tolerances.
This condition is not taken into account for return transfer to the "Normal" source. Voluntary transfer: e. Personnalisez-le et profitez-en. The nature of the relationship between Agnes and Burwell is unknown. Subbaraman died before the film's release, Are you supposed to tip dog groomers and the remaining songs were composed by his assistants M. Other times, however, Tom. The albums found themselves on the servers, trying out megabytes of valuable space.
This incorporates the publications of the books which are being generates for that student, teachers and other people who wish to learn more about the subject that is discussed inside the manual. The singer began an investigation and found out that his attorney This is, however, a manual process that requires both partner and customer actions. At this time only Direct or Indirect Providers are able to transfer subscriptions.
The application has a number of features aimed at allowing you to develop and implement your own strategies. Betfair Betting Assistant The one-click system is an alternative interface to the Betfair website enabling you to stay ahead of the game in the in-running markets where speed is of the essence. In this area you'll find some helpful video guides to using Gruss Software, created by users of the software. File transfer between supported operating systems, including Windows 8.
Everybody has equal responsibility to the commons and shares a direct responsibility to transfer its wealth to future generations. ARCHOS is a pioneer in Android tablets, portable audio and video player market that has repeatedly revolutionized the consumer electronics market since United Nations Practical Manual on Transfer Pricing developed countries, the drafters of the Manual have not found it. As I've mentioned before, it was Matt over at Punt. This is a good indicator of whether I'm closing my winning trades too soon or getting better and also whether I'm taking too many risks ever increasing average loss!
The bot has many built-in criteria settings and indicators. Also you can filter your trade with race types or with any custom text. Easily adjustable Back and Lay bet properties and built-in auto liability stake calculator optional with adjustable min. Auto data listing system can be faster than 1 sec. Disclaimer: Use the bot responsibly. We are not responsible any of your actions.
When a market is finished it jumps to the next one. The spreadsheet automatically clears itself and ready for the next market! A spreadsheet only can focus on one market at the time! Estimated in-running time sec. Usually ms per row is easily achievable! Built-in Odds to Tick converter : can be essential for specific strategies tick is an integer number , each number represents an odds value.
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