level 42

KristenSchaal is a horse!

Age 9 years 10 months
Personality neutral
Guild no guild
Monsters Killed about 37 thousand
Death Count 28
Wins / Losses 91 / 48
Bricks for Temple 58.5%
Pet Trojan horse Simba


Weapon half-brick in a sock +39
Shield restraining order +35
Head tin foil hat +37
Body bubble wrap breastplate +37
Arms decoder ring +37
Legs thunderwear +36
Talisman protective pentagram +36


  • navel clamp level 32
  • intimate tickling level 18
  • death by snu-snu level 18
  • eye scream level 16
  • scissorhands level 16
  • dove of peace level 14
  • concrete placer level 14
  • radioportation level 13
  • spoon-bending level 9
  • fake smile level 2




  • Builder, 2nd rank
  • Careerist, 2nd rank
  • Champion, 2nd rank
  • Favorite, 2nd rank
  • Fiend, 2nd rank
  • Renegade, 2nd rank
  • Animalist, 3rd rank
  • Martyr, 3rd rank

Hero's Chronicles

The Life and Death and Life and Death and Life and Death and Life and Death

...do I really have to keep typing this over and over?

Really? Nymeria, if you didn’t heal me from the fights I get into to earn money for drinks, well, erm, nevermind…

But really? I have to keep typing?

Ugh, ok, ok, I SAID OK!!! Yeesh.

And Life and Death and Life and Death and Life and Death and Life of Frostina Iciclina Snowflakelina Blackiceskatingarena Summers:

Frostina Iciclina Snowflakelina Blackiceskatingarena Summers (hereafter referred to by the familiar, Frostina) was born during a record shattering heatwave sometime in the month of July, in the village of Nymoron, in a small hut next to a rather chatty babbling brook. It used to tell Frostina’s mother, Dewlinda, naughty things about her neighbor Windall. They would sit on boulders near the brook and discuss the secrets the verbose vein of water had shared with them in regards to each other. One thing led to another, and, well, Frostina was conceived.

I really can’t believe you’re making me transcribe this, Nymeria… I, ugh, uh, jeez, I didn’t need to know this… -F

Dewlinda’s labor was hard, painful, and most of all, sweaty. In fact, approximately 3.14 quarts of sweat and other bodily fluids better not mentioned here (Finally… Thanks, I guess… -F) traveled down the slightly sloped floor of her hut and into the loquacious lake supplier, for, after all, it had to gain its power somehow. Her fevered dreams were visions of painful journeys, barefoot, through endless deserts with nary a drop of water in sight.

Windall was as kind and patient as his nature allowed during this time. He bathed Dewlinda’s forehead with damp cloths, and tried to calm and reassure her during the difficult process. However, the agonizing pain of the child trying to escape from her womb did nothing for Dewlinda’s normally sweet and loving manner. She lashed out at him so often that he became frustrated and decided to step out for a moment during a period when the labor seemed to calm. Windfall did love Dewlinda, but he needed a drink himself.

Windall decided to grab a quick beer at the local pub. It was only a few minutes away on foot. He tenderly grasped Dewlinda’s hand, and told her that he was going to pick up some ice for her to chew on. Things had seemed to settle into a steady, but easy rhythm and he reasoned that one beer couldn’t hurt, and might in fact make him a better midwife anyway.

It was at this moment that Nymeria looked down and chuckled.

Nymeria began with several lightning strikes. She attacked the nearby mountaintop like an especially angry dominatrix with a cat o nine tails, turning it pink and red and orange and bloody with flames. She cackled as the fires spread, and brought her laser beam out to hurry the heat along. The snow began to rapidly melt, and while it started to quench the fires, the sheer volume began to tear trees from the ground.

Windall stepped into the doorway, looking back at Dewlinda to reassure himself.

Nymeria giggled, watching the tree trunks temporarily form a dam. Watching the water build behind it in a cleft in the mountainside.

Whimper -F

Windall took a step towards the pub. Just a quick jaunt across the low stream. The water was so shallow from this drought. He wasn’t going to waste precious time walking to the bridge when he could be enjoying an icy cold brew at Perilous Pints. He thought to himself that maybe he’d even bring one home for Dewlinda, for after the birth, of course. Why not? She deserved it. And he set off.

Nymeria gethered all of her energy and let forth. The lightning unfurled across the sky, intent on its destination. It hit the natural damn with a crack that resembled a thousand volcanoes simultaneously erupting. The fury of the water was released, and began storming the rest of the way down the mountain. Baby animals were swept away, and left bloated to rot wherever their corpses caught on low hanging branches.

Windall was approaching the stream now, but has paused when he heard the thundering noise. He thought to himself that a bit of rain would do everyone some good, and hurried to make his way to the pub, so as not to be caught in the downpour.

Dewlinda’s breathing increased. That loud booming had startled her and things began to kick into high gear. However, the only thing that terrified her more than thunder was giving birth alone. So she stood and struggled and put on some rubber underpants, just in case, and went to yell out the door for Windall. As she approached the little gate in front of the hut, she spotted him about to cross the little trickling stream, and wished that it were high enough for a bath. Then she heard it.

It sounded like when they milled the grain, but it was louder and seemed somehow faster. And stronger. She wondered if somebody had built a new mill and perhaps rigged it to run with with a team of horses rather than the single decrepit mule the village usually shared. Then a funny look came over her face as she realized that it was nowhere near harvest time, and even if it was, this drought hadn’t let anything grow in weeks. And she looked to her left, and saw it.

Nymeria just about fell over laughing.

Dewlinda screamed for Windall, but it was too late. The rapids, roiling, filled with debris and mud, crashed down, overfilling the banks, washed across him and started carrying him away. Dewlinda began to run for him, and just made it to the edge of the wild, swirling waters when a sharp and agonizing pain ripped through her body.

At this point Nymeria actually doubled over and fell, so amused that she was physically showing all signs of uproarious laughter, but no actual sounds were coming from her, except for the slow slap slap slap of her open hand beating the floor.

Windall was now out of sight, and poor Dewlinda was screaming from pain and loss and heartbreak. As another sob wracked her body, another pain accompanied it. Then another, and another after that. Finally pain and tears and contractions teamed to force the child from her body. Dewlinda laid there with her rubber underpants full of newborn, and began to crawl to the raging brook. Her love for Windall was born there, and there, she decided, it, and all proof of it would die.

She flung herself into the murky water, and quickly became caught in the current. She let go, and allowed herself to be dragged under the surface. As she swallowed many mouthfuls of water, she bumped into an underwater boulder. Snagged on it, she took her last swallow, and hoped she would soon be reunited with dear Windall.

Nymeria chose this moment to nudge the boulder, allowing a pocket of air to escape. She wasn’t trying to get the oxygen to Dewlinda, but rather into her rubber drawers. She sent a stream pirhana too, to nibble the umbilical cord in half, which it greatly enjoyed. Just as it finished, the pocket of air swept the latex underthings, and all they contained, to the water’s surface.

The little bundle of watery baby and rubber gave a choking cry as it took its first breath.

Nymeria arranged for it to catch on a passing log, almost like a natural towboat for the young one. She observed as the child floated further downstream and gave her a nudge to the side as it approached the town of Godville. The makeshift watercraft skidded to a halt on the banks of the marketplace where an enterprising young lady happened to be rinsing out the bloody rags from her barber shop.

This young female was called Slicentia. She was fair of face, diligent, and quite the hard worker. However, as everyone in town was quite uneducated, and the passing heroes even more so, she was also quite single, and in fact thought of about around town as rather haughty (except in more guttural terms). However, she was quite religious, and always sacrificed one victim per week to her family goddess, Nymeria.

Nymeria, however, wasn’t completely pleased with Slicentia ’s offerings. More often than not the young men she sacrificed to her goddess were local soldiers on their way out of town. The ones who came to her shop were often culled from the jailor’s shack, and given the choice to fight or rot. As they mostly chose to fight, they were given a few coppers and told to clean themselves up and prepare for departure. Nobody really noticed when they disappeared, and mostly just assumed they’d ran off.

Every week, another victim, and another prayer for a suitable man to start a family with. Every week, another prayer unanswered.

Slicentia reached for the child. The child opened her eyes. They were the bleak blue of an icy winter sky.

This wasn’t exactly what Slicentia had been hoping for, but she knew that Nymeria was a fickle goddess, and that her offerings hadn’t been up to par. At least the child might be able to help around the shop. And she did have those beautiful eyes, much like Slicentia’s…

Nymeria painted a beautiful rainbow across the sky. Slicentia took it as a sign.

“I think I’ll call her Frostina.”

And she picked the little bundle up and went to town in search of a nursemaid, and a suitable person to offer as thanks.

Nymeria settled back into her La-Z-Boy and tucked into a bowl of kitten hearts, dreaming of the temple she knew this child would build in honor of her.