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mm77Budding Enthusiast
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Ford Model
couple of them
sat nav mounting
mm77 posted a topic in Ford Focus Clubvery happy with my new purchase Ford Focus 1.8 D estate just one small problem use a Tom Tom Go 520, screen mount but its a bit far to reach the screen, use it for handless phone calls etc Does anyone have any advice on mounting near the radio, ie within hand reach brackets that could be fitted etc
How Long Have You Owned A Ford?
mm77 replied to ColinFord's topic in General Ford Related DiscussionsMy first real job was a sales rep in 1980 cause the only car then for reps was Cortinas, no one really had anything else had a Ford ever since
Credit Card Phone Scam
mm77 replied to mc_flame's topic in General Chatget it all the time esp emails asking us for account infro I don't even have.
Good motor 1.8TDDI estate
mm77 posted a topic in Ford Focus ClubWell had the motor over the weekend and few ordinary work days and its a great motor just what we wanted, goes well and plenty of power for the hills round here, we reckon have one of the steepest hills to climb each day 33% slope from 200ft to 600ft zig-zag up the hillside and main route for most to A55. Drives well on all roads plenty of space, sticks to corners like glue and the air con a great benefit in damp wet wales, its seems to rain all the time here.
Well it was sorted out but what hassle, basiclly the dealer needed a locksmith to make a new key and chip but the one they tried couldnt visit in time. So it was arranged at a location that suited us and the garage would pay ie locksmith invoice the garage, the locksmith did'nt turn up on the first appointment so was re-arranged. When he did turn up 2 hours late it was explained the garage would pay that was agreed and key & chip done. then about hour later he rang back claiming now we owed him some money and wanted the key back as the garage won't pay him cash. Then the garage rang to explain he had created a fuss and kicked off in the garage and apolise to us if he turned up and the contract was still between the garage and the locksmith Seems in current climate no one trusts anyone any more.
I've been back to the dealer they hope to sort a few minor things out by saturday
hi all
mm77 replied to mm77's topic in New Member Introductionsthanks
Key fob question
mm77 posted a topic in General Ford Related Discussionshi new to forum hope this is correct place to ask general question I've purchaesd a focus 1.8 tdi cl but it has no key fob, do i neeed one for alarm etc or could i survive with just the key
just got a focus
mm77 posted a topic in Ford Focus Clubjust purchased a focus can't drive it on the road yet as waiting for insurance cert to come, then get car tax. So bit of a general question, now I've bought the car what should I watch out for in the next few months on a 4 year old focus 1.8 tdi CL model ?
hi all
mm77 posted a topic in New Member IntroductionsHi all new to this forum been lurking around this forum for some time looking for tips advice etc, anyhow just purchased a 4 year ford focus estate 1.8tdi. So hope to be around here for some time, previous cars been cortinas, serria's, & fistas and and once bought a corsa but thats gone now :o


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Episode 33: 10/31/10
The Party:
Ashelia Raminas, elf ranger 6/rogue 3
Nineve, human knight/9
Xicar, human cleric 7/entropomancer 2
After the party is over, we reunite with 31E and Dog and gather our belongings. The Palace guards escort us through the great gilded doors of the Silverspire, and out onto a wide terrace overlooking the snow-frosted and foggy city far below. Fog is everywhere. Fog along the river, where it glows orange, lit by streetlamps; fog rolls among the tiers of towers and tenements, and the polluted streets of a great and dirty city.
A short distance ahead is a sort of staging area for small, personal airships. A few seem to be available for hire, but most are elegant and ornate affairs that are certainly the private conveyances of wealthy individuals. After a brief discussion with an airman, we board a small airship. It begins its decent toward Dura, and the Tower Macabre far below. The airship resembles a cross between a carriage and a longboat, with a comfortably appointed cabin. Outside we can see the fog-enshrouded city growing slowly nearer as we descend.
Suddenly, the airship lurches alarmingly, free-falling for a few heart-stopping seconds before returning to its previous controlled descent. Outside the cabin the airman begins shouting, obviously frightened by the strange turn of events. That's not a good sign!
The airman explains that occasionally the magic that suspends an airships fails, but it's really rare. We press him about emergency procedures, you know, just in case. He tells us that normally he carries a supply of Tokens of Featherfall, but most of his went "missing" and he never replaced them. He currently has 2. He insists on keeping one for himself, but that only leaves 1 for all of us! As we're arguing with him about it, the airship simply begins falling. The sudden roar of rushing air is nearly deafening as the airship lists to one side, pitching us into empty space over the great city!
Nineve begins gently floating downward, thanks to her Featherfall ring. I hear Xicar casting Air Walk and I quickly lose sight of them both as a bright flash catches the small part of my brain that isn't wholly consumed with the rapid approach of the unforgiving ground. A blinding bolt of energy leaps from the strange bronze canister, striking Haroldur in the back, and he stops plummeting! The intricate metal wings he has worn for so long have somehow become a pair of broad and graceful white-feathered wings! Lucky bastard.
Clutching a very tense Dog close to my chest, I turn my attention back to my impending doom. I know there's no way I'll survive the fall, but I begin to brace for impact anyway. Suddenly, I feel someone grab me from behind – It's Haroldur! With the combined weight of all three of us, he can't completely control our descent, but his powerful new wings turn a lethal plummet into a tumble we all walk away from with not so much as a sprained ankle. I'm not sure I've ever been so relieved to see him, and with our history, that's saying a lot!
We land roughly on street level and collect ourselves. Surprisingly, we managed to avoid being scattered too widely. After a few moments, Nineve and the airman touch down nearby – the airman wisely takes off at a sprint. Xicar finishes his descent down the AirStairs a few seconds later, breathing heavily from the excitement and exertion. However, there is no sign of 31E anywhere. Above us, we hear a faint whistling that rapidly grows louder. Looking up, we see a golden object tumbling out of the sky toward us! It strikes the pavement near us with a tremendous crash, throwing stone and dirt high into the air, along with a blinding shower of… rose petals of all things.
As the dust settles we recognize the familiar shape of the bronze canister we recovered from the Starry Mirror half-buried at the bottom of a shallow crater. As I climb down to retrieve it, I realize with a sinking feeling that 31E might well be in pieces at the bottom of a similar crater. Suddenly, I notice that my companions have turned away from my rescue effort. I grab the canister and vault over the lip of the crater to see 31E approaching! He's holding a feather token! He explains he found the "curious object" under his seat and was examining it when the airship malfunctioned. We're all thrilled to see him in one piece.
It is now very late at night, and there's no way we can make it back to the Cabal at this hour. We'll need to find a place to stay for the night. We'll be unable to leave our current district (wherever that may be) until morning anyway.
I use my extensive local knowledge to lead us to the Duck and Goose, a six-story tower converted into an inn and tavern. We raise the sleepy innkeeper, who lets us two rooms. Nineve somehow intimidates him into providing us with hot baths in the middle of the night. We clean up and go to sleep.
A little while later, I'm pulled from my trance by a loud noise. Nineve is awake and bleeding from the head, and the Ulolock is rolling slightly on the uneven floor. It must've somehow fallen and hit her on the head. Then I notice something else that's strange…the inn is on fire! We wake the men and make our way out of the inn, and find that the rest of the staff and guests are also fleeing the burning building. We step outside just as part of the inn collapses and the fire rages out of control. We work with the innkeeper and other citizens to put out the blaze. Hours later the fire is extinguished with little damage to nearby buildings. Thin fingers of grey stretch across the sky, heralding the coming dawn. Just before we leave, I Sift the ruins of the inn:
I see a cook loading the stove, knocking some coals onto the floor. Then a scullery maid accidentally sweeps a large coal through a doorway, where a sandal just like Xicar's kicks it down a stairwell to land in a pile of straw. It smolders for some time, before bursting into flames.
My companions are curious. I dust the ash from my hands and shoot Xicar a look, but chose not to share my findings with the innkeeper.
As we start for home, Haroldur calls an informal meeting which turns into a minor argument. He points out that we've had nothing but trouble lately: the airship's failure, the fire at the inn, and blames our misfortune on the Ulolock. He thinks we should get rid of it or leave it here, because it's too dangerous to take with us back to the Cabal. Nineve agrees, rubbing the large knot on her forehead. I point out that the Ulolock has saved our lives twice, once by giving him wings (which, disappointingly, have turned back into his familiar mechanical accessory overnight), and once by waking us up, which alerted us to the fire. Furthermore, if the canister really is dangerous, leaving it anywhere but the Cabal would be completely irresponsible. No one seems to have a retort for this, so we continue on with the Ulolock in tow.
As a foggy dawn breaks and the legitimate portions of Istivin wake, we begin the last leg of our journey home. Before we really have an opportunity to look for a hire carriage, one drops its first hire of the day directly across the street. As the wealthy-looking passenger disembarks, the driver glances toward us and indicates that his carriage is now available.
As Xicar finds a seat within the carriage, he sits upon something wedged between the cushions. He finds an unmarked coin pouch with a handful of coins within. A quick count reveals 40 platinum pieces! We glance about for the carriage's previous occupant, but he's already gone. Xicar shrugs and happily tucks the pouch into his pack.
A short while later a loud crack interrupts our journey. The carriage lurches violently, nearly throwing a couple of us from our seats and comes to an abrupt halt. The driver quickly explains that one of the coach's wheels has broken, and he'll be unable to take us any further. He apologizes excessively for the inconvenience.
Back out on the street, it takes us a few minutes to secure a new coach, but soon enough we are under way again. The coach continues for several hours uneventfully, as I reflect upon the relative peace of Istivin. A panicked shout disturbs my reverie.
A moment later the coach is full of dust and noise as something large crashes through the roof into the passenger compartment! The coach comes to an immediate stop. After a second or two, we determine that a worker has somehow fallen from his perch on a ladder far above the street, and into our carriage! Lucky for him, the coach broke his fall, and he is completely unhurt, although a little shaken.
The startled driver explains that he will be unable to continue your journey. He apologizes for the inconvenience.
As we make our way towards Dura on foot for a while through the crowded and foggy streets, we are once again interrupted. A young man rushes up to us, carrying on at some length about his day-long search for a Greycloak such as ourselves. He explains that recently, the Cabal helped him sort out a tangled legal affair involving his inheritance. Extremely grateful, he has been searching for a Greycloak to whom he can pay the legal fee. Luckily, we came along when we did. Unfortunately he knows nothing about the Cabal member who aided him, but he seems sure we can
locate them. He hands Haroldur a small pouch containing several gems, and seems content that that should cover the fee.
A quick count values the gems at about 1,200gp!
The young man shakes hands with all of us vigorously, and turns to leave. As he is crossing the street, he turns to wave to us, again shouting his thanks. Tragically, he doesn't see the heavily loaded wagon that plows into him before any of us can react, despite the driver's attempt to halt his draft team. After doing what we can to help clean up the mess, we continue on our journey.
The remainder of the trip back to the Cabal can only be described as strange. Several more peculiar and unlikely events punctuate the bizarre journey home. Needless to say it takes far longer than it should, but eventually we make our way through the long rows of mausoleums that encircle our home, and arrive at the Tower Macabre.
When we arrive it is late evening, but the familiar faces of Legionnaires and acolytes greet us warmly. Apparently Marten has told the Cabal staff to expect our return. We are shown to our old chambers; although spartan, they are familiar and comfortable. Clean clothes and a simple meal awaits each of us, as well as a note from Mossad requesting a word once we've settled in. Dog jumps onto my bed, turns around a few times, and immediately falls asleep. It's not a bad idea.
I take a long, relaxing bath, thoroughly soaking the dust, sweat, blood, and grime from my hair and body for the first time in months. Why is it the road to adventure is never lined with saunas and spas? I'm not given to vanity, but I revel in the thought that good personal hygiene is once again a luxury I can afford.
I slip into clean clothes, climb into bed around the immovable weight of Dog, and drift into a deep, restful trance.
In the morning, we visit Mossad. Though normally quiet and reserved, he is clearly happy to see us. Mossad's office is covered with maps of Istivin. Each is marked in red with circles and numbers, although what they indicate isn't clear. We inquire, and Mossad explains that there have been a couple outbreaks of undead throughout the city. At first they seemed unrelated, but the increasing severity of the outbreaks has raised concerns. Also, the alchemical nature of the undead in each of the outbreaks provided a common thread.
The first outbreak, which happened over two months ago, wasn't very bad. There were less than 200 casualties. Most were simply killed by the rampant undead, but a few awakened as undead and continued the outbreak for a short time before it burned itself out.
A little over a month ago there was another outbreak. This one was worse. With the help of several other Churches, the outbreak was controlled after several days, but with nearly 1000 casualties. Many of the victims rose as undead to spread the problem, more than with the previous outbreak, but most of the victims were simply killed. The undead were mindless, like zombies, but quicker, and dripping with caustic alchemical fluids.
We get the feeling we've seen something like this before. Our thoughts turn to Filge as Mossad drops the subject and asks us about our long travels. We give an informal explanation, trying to hit the important highlights without taking all of his time. We leave out the part about Lazare turning into a copper dragon…
Mossad tells us that Marten is already expecting a full formal report of our actions since leaving the Cabal nearly 3 months ago, and notes that he'll be glad to have 31E returned.
We show him the Rod of Lawsome and the Ulolok. Mossad is impressed and intrigued by the Rod Fragment, and handles it reverentially. However, he is visibly concerned about the Ulolok, and recommends speaking to Advocat about it.
Mossad also jokes with us about the incident at the palace and the play we put on, asking that we perform it one day for the members of the Cabal. We politely decline.
As we are about to leave, our attention is once again drawn to the maps of the recent outbreaks. Xicar brings up the name which has been on all our minds: Filge. Mossad gets up, and gesturing with his remaining hand, leads us out of his office. He guides us to a portion of the Tower that we have rarely had reason to visit: the Feeble Rooms.
Within, dozens slack jawed men and women stare at us with blank eyes as Mossad leads us onward. Here and there an acolyte will occasionally wipe drool from a chin, or carefully spoon food into the open mouth of one of the pitiful wretches. As I suppress a chill, Mossad explains that we are walking among some of the most dangerous and notorious necromancers in Caledon. That they no longer have the power to harm is a blessing of the Lady.
With a dismissive gesture he indicates Tares, the young acolyte we captured in Diamond Lake so long ago. Curious, I look at him intently. The change which strikes me most is in his eyes: where there was once a bright, hard gleam reflecting madness, desperation and hate, there is now nothing. Looking into his eyes is like looking into an empty grey fog. I feel myself begin to pity him, and immediately stiffen. I force myself to recall his undead horrors, the Caller-in-Darkness which he was protecting, and to imagine the terror and suffering he would have unleashed on the world if given the chance. I turn away from him abruptly, as one would from a discarded object, and continue down the corridor.
A little further, Mossad stops before another of the drooling, mindless animals, and turns to us expectantly. It takes a second, but recognition dawns on us. Sitting before us, staring blankly off into space is Filge, the necromancer who plagued our early steps as Greycloaks.
Mossad tells us he was captured shortly after we left Istivin. The Church had a Seeker infiltrate what was left of Filge's organization. It is suspected that Filge turned our agent against the Cabal, or killed him, but not before Mossad got what he needed to trap Filge.
He was convicted, and his sentence carried out. He's been here for nearly 3 months. He points out that the outbreaks have been occurring much more recently than that. We thank Mossad for the tour, and take our leave.
In need of a lift, we decide to check in with Hezzrak. He isn't in his small chamber when we arrive to speak with him. Life seems to be going well for the conniving little devil, however. Ostentatious displays of wealth are everywhere within the small room. Suddenly and with great fanfare, an opulently dressed but grubby young man steps into the chamber carrying a diminutive golden throne atop a glittering miniature platform. Wrapped in lavish finery, Hezzrak glares at us contemptuously and gestures with a jeweled scepter for his porter to bring him closer.
Hezzrak can't keep up the charade for long. Soon he breaks into gales of impish laughter, tumbles off of his throne, and tries to catch himself with his wings. They get tangled in his miniature cape and he falls to the floor with a smack. We try to suppress our laughter. He continues cackling madly until his porter reaches down to place him back upon his platform. "Don't touch me, urchin!" the little devil snarls as he bats at the boy's hand.
Smiling, he starts chattering to us as he climbs back up onto his seat. "It sure is good to see you again. Things haven't been dull since you left, but they're bound to be much much more exciting now that you've returned!" Proudly gesturing at the lavish, gaudy surroundings, Hezzrak explains that he and Advocat have collaborated and created a lucrative trade in information ("And the occasional soul!" he whispers). He has contacts throughout the city, and so long as he gives Marten a 40% cut, the Cabal doesn't get in his way.
We take a few moments to collectively grumble about Marten and insult his parentage. Then Ninenve, whom some might consider a connoisseur of enslaved help, gestures to the ridiculous footman and says "Who's the kid?"
Hezzrak explains that the "urchin" is his familiar. He decided that someone as mighty as Hezzrak the Shadowmaster (I raise an eyebrow) needed a loyal servant, and what is more loyal than a familiar? He cast the spell, and this street urchin turned up. Hezzrak seems to find this quite fitting and begins muttering and cackling to himself about human wizards having imp familiars, and how he's shown them! We excuse ourselves and make our way to Dr. Morgus's lab.
The doctor is in and grumpy as ever. For a change, the lab seems to be focused on a single pursuit. The corpses of several humans lie in various stated of dissection, and the rest of the Doctor's experiments seem to have been pushed into one corner. Dr. Morgus barely acknowledges our presence, and indicates that unless we have something important (or very interesting) to discuss, he really has essential work to get back to. I hand over our vials of Nineve-eating Cthulu goo samples from the Nexxus. He actually looks at them before shooing us out of his lab to continue his work. As we're opening the door to leave, he mutters that he might be able to actually study those "interesting new samples" if Marten would back off and give him some breathing room.
It's late afternoon when we decide to drop in on Tamclar. He grins widely and hugs our knees in the crushing embrace only a dwarf is capable of, and we all laugh and exchange greetings. Despite the happy reunion, Tamclar has changed since we last saw him, and not for the better. The left side of his face is badly scarred, and his left eye is cloudy and sightless. Tamclar also seems more care-worn, like he has aged decades in the 3 months since our parting. Something seems to be troubling him.
Tamclar explains that he got most of the people out of Diamond Lake safely, and had them scatter in small groups throughout the countryside to escape the dragon. His group was briefly attacked by the dragon, and he fell in the skirmish. Some of the townsfolk carried him to safety, and somehow he survived, but not unscathed.
While he was unconscious he had a vision of Wee Jas which he credits with his survival. Since then he has dedicated himself fully to the Cabal, and wholly embraced their teachings.
We chat about our adventures for a time, and eventually work around to If asked about what's troubling him, Tamclar asks that the party come speak with him once they've 'made the rounds' and settled back in to life in the Cabal.
After dinner, we are asked to surrender the Rod and Ulolok to the safekeeping of the Cabal's vaults. Haroldur is bereft at the loss of his favorite accessory, so we leave him to pine for it alone.
The next morning, we are summoned to Marten. He greets us coolly, and then expresses interest in reading our complete report, especially the part that explains how we ended up on stage at the Prince's celebration. Gods, he's such a douche.
Then, adopting his usual haughty manner, he says "About the Ulolok, I've spoken to Advocat and Mossad about that, and the Rod. It disturbs me that they fell unheralded from the sky into your hands. You have been rather foolish to bring something so powerful into this place. At least together they seem to conceal each other in a way." He holds up his hand, dismissing any further discussion of the topic.
"Additionally, I expect your report within a week. When you are not compiling your account, I expect you to confine yourselves to the Chapel, and meditate upon your departures from the Ruby Lady's teachings. I sense that the seeds of Chaos have taken root within each of you." He waves his hand dismissively and turns his attention back to the papers on his desk. As we're leaving, I mention Dr. Morgus' unusually organized and focused lab. I toss in that he seemed overworked when we spoke yesterday, and hint that pushing an unstable personality like Morgus can backfire if not handled delicately. Marten responds with a non-committal "Hmph". We leave, each of us fighting a mental battle to contain our seething hatred for the pompous ass.
At Haroldur's request, we head to Mossad to ask about the Rod (and the Ulolok). Mossad tells us the Legionnaires have secured the canister and the Rod in the Cabal's vault for the time being. He says that according to Advocat, it is a battery, storing vast amounts of chaotic energy and influencing events around it. The Ulolok could prove devastating in a large city like Istivin. It seems to be stabilized somewhat by the presence of the Rod fragment. For the time being, they should remain in close proximity. He firmly adds "In the Cabal's vaults" with an emphatic glance towards Haroldur, who looks positively crestfallen.
In the hall, we run into Arrad. His scarred face contorts itself into a rare smile as he stops to greet us. He seems genuinely pleased that the rumors of our disappearance were exaggerated, and makes it a point to observe that he was confident in our safe return as long as we have Nineve at our side. He mentions that if we get time, he would be happy to train with the party, and see if we've learned any new tricks. He adds he might also show us a few tricks of his own, if we're up to snuff.
We settle into Cabal life, writing our reports, meditating in the Chapel. 31E retires to a storage room and asks to be left alone while he "runs internal processes". We even preside over a funeral, and for once, NOTHING HAPPENS!
One morning at breakfast, a junior acolyte informs us that Mossad would like a word with us in his office.
Mossad greets us warmly, but immediately gets down to business, occasionally pausing to take a bite from a tray of glazed cinnamon rolls on his desk. "You handled that funeral well, but there's no rest for the weary. A local tax collector by the name of Blinder, was found dead yesterday evening, a hazard of the profession, I'm afraid." Mossad pauses for another bite, then continues, "Evidently he left 3 children, and no mother. With his profession being a rather unpopular one, his children are at a considerable disadvantage." Mossad seems somewhat troubled as he continues, "The man was necessary, and did no harm through his trade. Taxes, though an evil, are a necessity, and he maintained his children with his wages. I would like you to go to his residence and look in on his children, and make sure they are being cared for."
Following Mossad's directions, we soon arrive at the base of a run-down tenement tower in one of Dura's poorer areas. Upon going to the entry and ringing the bell, a very ugly young boy comes out of a sort of office, and looks at us over a spiked fence. "What do you want?" says the boy, fitting his chin between two of the spikes.
We start politely, inquiring after the childrens' address, but the boy is being unnecessarily evasive and difficult. It's not long before Nineve loses her patience with the brat, roaring at him that if he doesn't cooperate, she will teach him to know fear. He wets himself and gives us directions.
As we step into what passes for the tenement's lobby, an unpleasant-looking woman with a case of dropsy or asthma or perhaps both gestures us over. "Whatcha want?" she asks, rather rudely. She suddenly seems to notice our dress and markings, and looks startled. "Oh, begging your pardon!" she says, then leans forward conspiratorially, "Has someone died? No one's told me, I assure you."
We ask her about Blinder and his children. She seems to relish her momentary usefulness and chatters on "Blinder? Neckett Blinder? His children? Yes, 3 of them, if you please. Five floors up, #7 on the left, opposite the stairs." She slides a key across the counter, and looks at us expectantly. Xicar picks up the key, flashes one of his trademark megawatt smiles, and we head up the rickety stairs.
When we reach the second floor, we find that we've disturbed a man who was standing there, looking out of his room. "Is it Gridley that's wanted?" he says, fixing his eyes on us with an angry stare. He is a tall, sallow man with a careworn head on which little hair remains, a deeply lined face, and prominent eyes. He has a combative look and a large and powerful build, though evidently in its decline. He blocks our path up the stairwell, and shows no sign of moving as he fixes the same angry stare on each of us in succession.
We spend a few minutes explaining our business, with Xicar attempting to placate the old codger, but without much success. This man is impossible! I could slip past him, but he'd still be a problem for everyone else. Just as Old Man Gridley starts in on yet another rant, Nineve steps up to him, a shade too close. In a quiet, even tone she explains that as Greycloaks, we help people complete their journey to the Ruby Lady. And sometimes, we help them start it, too. Gridley seems suddenly aware of the contrast between Nineve's imposing form and shining full plate, and the thin rags clinging to his aging body. Squinting at us, he tightens his grip on the moth-eaten blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and then turns into his apartment and slams the door.
When we come to the correct door and knock, a little shrill voice inside says, "We are locked in, the Land Lady's got the key!" Xicar unlocks it.
Inside is a poor room with a low ceiling and containing very little furniture. A mite of a boy, some five or six years old stands near the door nursing and hushing a heavy child of about eighteen months. There is no fire, though the weather is cold; both children are wrapped in some poor shawls and blankets. Their clothing is not so warm that their noses are not red and pinched, and their small figures shiver occasionally.
We swiftly learn a few relevant facts. The boy's name is Tom, the little girl's name is Emma. "Charley", apparently also called Charlotte and presumably the third orphan, has locked them in the room. Also, Charley is out "a-washing".
Just then, there comes into the room a very little girl, childish in figure but shrewd and older-looking in the face, drying her bare arms on a womanly sort of apron. Her fingers are white and wrinkled with washing, and here and there some soap-suds are yet smoking in the cold air. Apparently she had come running from some place in the neighborhood, and had made all the haste she could. Consequently she is out of breath, and cannot speak at first, as she stands panting, wiping her arms, and looking quietly at us. The small child in the boy's care stretches its arms and cries out to be taken by Charley. The girl takes the small bundle in a womanly sort of manner, and stands looking at us over the burden that clings to her most affectionately.
Once Charley has recovered from her dash up the stairs, we question her as well. She goes out washing as often as she can, and proudly states that she "earns six copper a day!" She says she comes back when she can, and Tom doesn't mind being locked in. Tom nods emphatically in agreement. Charley tells us also that Mr. Gridley and the landlady check in on them (Tom & Emma) when she's out.
Charley sits on one of the unsteady chairs, and soon Tom lays his face among the scanty folds of her dress and passes from smiling to crying quietly. While Tom cries, although she sits quite tranquilly, looking quietly at us, not disturbing a hair of the head of either of her little charges, several silent tears fall down her face.
Panting and gasping, the landlady bursts into the crowded room. "Really, it weren't much to forgive them the rent, sirs. Who could take it from them?" She leans in the doorway, regaining her heavy breath by painful degrees.
It is obvious to me that we can't leave these children here. The spartan room is without light, heat, or food. It is obvious young Charley, whom I estimate to be about 10, cannot continue the pace she has set for herself, and even if she could, six copper a day is not a sufficient income to provide for three people. The drafty room is uncomfortably cold. With the approach of winter, I doubt the two younger children could survive the environmental conditions, even if they had enough food, which they don't. I make this case to my companions, who are at first disinclined to intervene. I point out that prisoners are treated better, and express my astonishment that humans take such poor care of their young. No wonder they're so short-lived!
At last, their guilt pushes them to action. As it's getting quite late, we decide to take the children back to the Cabal for the evening and figure out more permanent arrangements later. Xicar carries Emma, and I distract Charley and Tom from a potentially scary situation by pointing out tracks and telling them stories on our walk back to the Cabal.
The acolytes who greet us express reluctance to take the children in. We explain that it's just for one night, and we will personally see to other arrangements for them in the morning. We see the children to a simple guest room and put them in the charge of a matronly acolyte. I instruct her to ensure they are bathed and well-fed this evening, and to watch over them and tend to their further needs, if any.
Before retiring to our chambers, we drop in on Mossad and bring him up to speed. He's not happy we brought them here, as the Cabal is no place for children, but understands that we were doing the best we could under the circumstances.
In the morning, I use my encyclopedic knowledge of the area to locate a reputable orphanage. We take the orphans with us to check the place out. The place is well-built and clean (though worn), and the proprietress is a plump, cheery looking woman with curly red hair and rosy cheeks. She was obviously born to work with children. She greets us skeptically (people tend to get intimidated when a squad of Greycloaks in full regalia drop in unexpectedly), but relaxes a bit when she notices the children. We have her show us around the place, which she does with pride. It is obviously a well-run operation. The children in her care are healthy, happy and clean. She speaks at length about the "betterment program", under which the older children learn skills or trades of their choosing, so that they may be be prepared to make a life for themselves outside the orphanage.
Xicar asks Charley and Tom if they would like to stay here instead of going back to their old apartment. They enthusiastically agree and beg us to let them stay in the orphanage. With the children agreeable, we enter negotiations with the proprietress. She takes some convincing, but after a compassionate speech from Xicar and some bombastic religiosity from Nineve, she agrees to take them in. We see the children settled in and the proprietress shows us out. As thanks, and to defray the costs of their care, I donate 30 pp to the orphanage from party funds.
As we turn down a deserted alley on the way back to the Cabal, Zolara appears!
The Choosing:
Nineve – The Wax Works
Ashe – The Desert
Xicar – The Brass Dwarf
The Spread:
The Theater The Lost The Brass Dwarf
The Tangled Brier The Owl The Sickness
The Eclipse The Beating The Uprising
"The Theater represents both your position in the greater scheme of things, and your recent moment of triumph on stage. Although Lost for a time with in the Tangled Brier, you have emerged, with new knowledge and hope for the future, despite the dangers you may never really forget. The Eclipse reveals self-doubt and loss of purpose. It also represents losing one's way along a path. The Eclipse overshadows your most difficult trials, but thus far you have overcome every one.
"Here, the Lost has finally been made whole, although now he is lost in a different way. For him, the word makes no sense. The Owl represents the harsh reality of the natural order. The Owl's needle binds life together, but can just as easily pick it apart. It is a card of life and death. The Beating warns of coming under attack from all sides, but also indicates the dissolution of a greater whole. Strength – no matter the source – dissolves under the relentless attack.
"The Brass Dwarf represents surviving a grave danger. He also warns of a possible dark fate for one, which may save others from danger. The Sickness warns of corruption, in this case of a multitude of souls, and is influenced by the Uprising. The Uprising represents a powerful force of overwhelming strength, that if not brought under control could spell disaster, especially being under the influence of the Sickness. I fear a terrible riot or plague looms in your futures."
On that cheerful note, we stop by Tamclar's house and invite him out for a drink. We get settled with our cups, and Tamclar tells us that he has a personal matter that has been distracting him lately. "I never spoke to you about my life before we met in Kolbenborg. I moved there to escape my past." Tamclar rolls up his sleeves to reveal two tattoos: one a pair of crossed claw-hammers, the other, the dwarven characters HFLLFH.
Xicar recognizes the tattoos. The hammers indicate membership in the notoriously violent dwarven syndicate the Hammerheads. Infamous for numerous criminal activities in predominately dwarven lands, the Hammerheads have a presence in most cities with a significant dwarf population, especially among the underprivileged in dwarven communities. The runes stand for "Hammerheads For Life, Life For Hammerheads."
Tamclar continues "I made a name for myself in the Hammerheads; that was when I was a lot younger. Then I got married, and had a son. I decided it was time to get out. I left the Hammerheads quietly, and settled in Kolbenburg, made a living as a miner. Things weren't great, but we got by. Then my wife took ill. Later the goblins came, and you know most of the rest. A lot of the survivors of Diamond Lake made their way to Istivin, and I, uh, became something of a local hero in the dwarven community."
Attracting attention to himself was the last thing Tamclar ever wanted to do. He worries that his unintentional notoriety will put him back on the mafia's radar. Nothing's happened yet, but he wanted to come clean about his past and voice his present concerns. We tell him we've got his back, and head back to the Cabal after finishing our drinks.
The next day, Mossad calls us into his office. He greets us warmly, but immediately gets down to business, occasionally pausing to take a bite from a tray of cookies and dried fruit on his desk. "From your report, the situation with the tax collector's children was a rather difficult one. I'm glad you handled it so well."
Mossad pauses to select a cookie from his tray before continuing, "A wealthy patron of the Cabal contacted me. It seems she has a servant that has failed to report for her duties for several days now. She fears the worst, and would like the body collected and laid to rest appropriately. Here's the address, and name. Try to be quick about this one; I've got more for you after lunch."
The carriage drops us off several blocks from Mossad's address, at the edge of a particularly poor slum. A street urchin, in exchange for a silver piece, guides us to the houses we seek. It is one of a cluster of wretched multi-story hovels, with cramped pigsties close to the broken windows and sad little gardens near the doors growing nothing but stagnant puddles. At the doors and windows some men and women lounge or prowl about, and take little notice of us, except to laugh to one another or to say something as we pass about gentle folk minding their own business and not muddying their boots with coming to look into other people's.
The urchin guides us to a three story cottage at the farthest corner. The door squeals loudly as our group nearly fills the otherwise empty ground-floor room. The room is surprisingly dark, barely illuminated by the light from the doorway. The damp weather has reduced the floor to a sticky morass of smelly mud. The building is silent, except for the creak of floorboards above us. The whole pace smells foul; it's not a scent we can put our fingers on, but it's definitely unpleasant. I hear the faint sound of dripping water from somewhere above us.
The stairs creak loudly as we climb them. Near the top of the stairs, something black scuttles out of the shadows and races across the floor! Nineve startles a little, but I notice it's just a rat. It's got something in its mouth, but I can't tell what it is. A strange, flickering light, like that of guttering candles, leaks out into the hall from a door only slightly ajar. The foul smell is stronger here, and we can clearly hear the sounds of dripping water.
We go through the door into the room. Besides ourselves, there are in this damp, offensive room a woman with a black eye, holding a little bundled baby by the fire; a man, all stained with mud and clay, lying at full length on the ground, smoking pipe; a powerful young man fastening a collar on a dog; and a girl doing some kind of washing in very dirty water. They all look up at us as we come in, and the woman seems to turn her face towards the fire as if to hide her bruised eye; nobody gives us any welcome. "There ain't," growls the man on the floor, "any more of you to come in, is there?" A pause. "Because I thought there weren't enough of you, perhaps?" This elicits laughter from the man and the washing girl. The young man with the dog echoes the laughter noisily.
Nineve "Ahems" loudly. The sprawled man says "So what is it you want with us, other than crowding our cozy abode, that is?" Using as few words as possible, we explain we are inqiring after a missing servant girl. He answers, "Her? Ha! I been drunk for 3 days, and I'da been drunk for four if I'da had the money. She's been here ta whole time. That's her, by the fire. And how did she get that black eye? Why, I give it her; and if she says I didn't, she's a-lying!" We're a little taken aback by this, and stand in stunned silence for a moment at the candidness of this drunken lout.
Impatiently, he continues "I suppose you're done now? You've done what you came for, its time you went." This seems pretty reasonable. Nineve tells the servant she should report back to work or send word to her employer. As we turn to leave, I glance at the child held by the woman near the fire. She only looks at it as it lays on her lap, and she moves to cover her discolored eye with her hand when she feels my eyes upon her. I notice with a shock of dismay that the little baby is quite dead, and has been for some time.
The woman meets my gaze and she knows I know. At first she stares at me in astonishment, and then bursts into tears.
This is clearly the reason for the servant's absence. She refuses to relinquish the deceased infant, or accept its pitiful fate. Perhaps we can help her move on with her life, as well as provide the child with a proper burial. Strangely, the rest of the family, particularly the abrasive man still lying on the floor, are silent as I speak to the woman by the fire. The others quickly realize the situation and join me.
I visit with the woman for a few moments, gaining a little insight into her misery. I learn that her name is Jenny, and this is the 4th infant she has lost. Xicar carefully explains to the woman, and the rest of the family, the gravity of the situation, and the importance of moving on, and letting go. He finds a particularly moving passage in the White Book to relay to the woman and her family. They seem to find the words of Wee Jas especially comforting in this dark time. Building on this, he begins an impromptu sermon, conveying the message of Wee Jas in such a way that the woman finds a great deal of comfort in his words. After we at last convince the woman to relinquish the deceased infant (to Xicar, the baby-carrier), Nineve takes the opportunity to lambaste them for their putrescence. In a powerful speech about the physical dangers and moral degeneracy of filth, she intimidates them into cleaner living conditions. Even the drunk on the floor is up and cleaning the hovel by the time we leave.
As we leave the pathetic scene behind us, we realize that it has grown quite late, evening is near, and a red, fierce glow spreads through the all-pervading fog that swirls around the city so that all seems like a waving, hazy sea of blood.
Mossad won't be happy that we'll be returning so overdue, but given the circumstances, he should understand. As we walk toward the closest area that we can reasonably expect a carriage to be available, we can't help but notice several plumes of dark smoke rising above the hovels and towers nearby. It is not the smoke of chimneys, but of large fires burning.
Nearby, a sudden commotion breaks out as a handful of dirty vagabonds come flying toward us out of the fog, like wisps of straw blown by the wind, their eyes wide with fright as they sprint past. A thin, high-pitched scream cuts through the air as a young girl, clad in a torn and blood-stained frock stumbles out of the heavy mist. The girl falls at Xikar's feet with a wail and a sob, and lays clutching at his ankles. She lays still, and a quick examination shows that she seems to have only fainted.
Although we are used to grotesque sights, the figures that appear next cause a slight coldness to travel down our spines. Two men have emerged from the fog and stand before us in silence. They are tall and gaunt, and their clothes hang from them in bloody tatters. Blood and other fluids streak their faces and dribble from their slack-jawed mouths; their eyes are inhumanly large and inhumanly red. As they stand there, it seems that only their burning eyes live.
Several similar figures shuffle out of the obscuring fog, and stand for a moment, regarding us with their hideously red eyes as their torn lips and jagged teeth suddenly gape in a series of horrid, dripping grins.
In this silent moment of dread, it dawns on me: Oh my god, it's the Zombie Apocalypse!
Suddenly, the girl a Xikar's feet leaps up, her talon-like nails tearing at his face, the hideous red eyes staring into his with a terrible threat, noxious fluids pouring from her nose and mouth!
As if responding to a cue, out of the mist they are swarming, the terrible, tattered shadowy shapes in the fog; out of the alleys they come charging and down the street they clamber, and their red eyes and dripping mouths are all turned toward us, the figures who stand alone in the street. The fog belches them forth in an unholy torrent.
Nineve bisects the girl clinging to Xicar and prepares to fight, but I know we have no choice but to RUN. I drag them after me, my mind racing through all the possible avenues of escape. As we flee into the fog the dead hands are close at our backs. We keep running. Gradually I realize that it has become silent for a moment. I look around to realize with growing dismay that we've become separated in our flight; my companions are gone. I am alone in the oppressive fog and growing darkness.
As I wander, I come upon, cowering in a corner, near some crates, a young boy. Standing protectively over him is a large dog, his fur and jowls smeared with gore. He growls deep in his chest as several lurching corpses approach. Reuniting with my companions is my priority, but I can't abandon these two to their fate. Dog, whom I have named Furmis'ul, seems to share my thoughts, and we leap to their aid. I notice the zombies do not attack animals; they seem to only be interested in humanoids. I tell the boy not to be scared, and the two dogs and I tear through the approaching knot of zombies with a smooth efficiency.
When the immediate danger has passed I check the boy for wounds. Convinced he is unharmed (and thus uninfected), I tell him and his dog to come with me if they want to live. I know that mobility is our best defense. We stick mostly to the rooftops, leaping between buildings and balancing on ledges rather than risking confrontation on the ground. I take the time to frequently check for any sign of my companions, but the city is a maze and they are lost to me in it. Fortunately, I know we are all heading to the same destination: The Cabal.
Wholly in my element, I dance over obstacles and skirt the roving undead mobs as if it were child's play. I've trained my whole life for exactly this eventuality, and it's immensely satisfying to see my long preparations serve me so well. I reach the Cabal swiftly, with Furmis'ul, the boy and his dog in tow, all of us completely unscathed. The look on the faces of acolytes who quickly usher us in reminds me that I should probably not be grinning. I regain my stoicism and inquire after my companions. I'm apprehensive but not surprised to learn that I am the first to arrive back. Despite my fervent protests, Mossad forbids me from going out after them. I wait in the entry hall, pacing like a caged lion. After what seems like an eternity, Nineve staggers into the tower, barely alive and sentient, a shattered husk of her former self. There is no sign of Xicar.
In the morning, however, Xicar strides into the Cabal having somehow survived, "Courtesy of the Brass Dwarf", he says.
As we tend the wounded and work to come up with a plan for this new crisis, we are interrupted by a courier from one of the secure areas. It's a package from the orphanage! Inside is a note from the children and a doll for each of us, which they made as a thank-you for rescuing them and bringing them to such a nice place to live. The gift warms the cockles of our hearts (and we get a permanent +1 morale bonus to Will saves as long as the dolls are in our possession!)

subset: commoncrawl


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At first glance, Iris, daughter of Jude Law and Sadie Frost, 12, looked like the poster child for age-appropriate fashion while attending the Vivienne Westwood fashion show in London this week. Complete with a Peter Pan collar and small pastel hearts scattered about the white, short-sleeved frock, it appeared to be a nice contrast to the too-old-and-too-sexy-too-early garb to which we often see tweens flock. Only once you looked more closely, it wasn't quite so innocent.
You see, all those cute little candy hearts were filled with sayings that were anything but sweet. Instead the sayings included things like: "Blow Me," "Drink Poison," "Choke," "Eat Shit," and "Please Drown." Personally, I think it's kind of hilarious, but plenty of people were up in arms about Sadie letting the little lady wear the dress. So she took to Twitter to offer an explanation/apology.
She said the dress had been bought for Iris as a gift (no word as to by whom), but that she had no idea that it was anything other than adorable. And you know what, I buy that. Sadie has four kids, and things can get hectic. You don't always have time to read your kids' clothing.
The other day, as my son was standing in line with his second grade class in the school parking lot to say the Pledge of Allegiance, I gasped as I realized he had his uniform shirt on inside out. It's a monogrammed white polo shirt so it was VERY apparent, yet there I'd gotten him out the door and to school without noticing. Not my best mom moment, especially when his friends noticed and he got embarrassed. But it happens, and I totally believe Sadie when she says she just didn't notice.
What I don't quite buy is her assertion that Iris didn't know. "Iris is a sweet, innocent girl," she tweeted. I'm sure she wants to believe that, but c'mon. What 12-year-old girl do you know that isn't incredibly picky about what she's going to wear? And one that's headed to a Vivienne Westwood fashion show certainly is more likely to be fashion conscious. Does her mom really believe she didn't scrutinize each and every phrase on that frock? Please. She knew exactly what she was wearing.
She probably put it on, threw a sweater on top, and prayed her mother didn't notice. Kids trying to get away with fashion infractions -- behind their parents' backs and right under their noses -- is nothing new, and I'd say little Iris here just got away with a big one.
Do you think you would notice if your child went out the door in an outfit like this?
Image via Pacific Coast News


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This is a three part examination of "Truth" in photojournalism. Part one deals with the reality behind the image, part two deals with honesty, accuracy and the meaning of the word "truth", and part three deals with the power of the real photograph.
These three columns originally appeared in the January, February and March 2011 issues of News Photographer Magazine.
By John Long
The honest photograph has power because it is real.
"I have a radical idea: let's not follow anyone. Let's follow our best instincts and create a new way of doing." – John Long
I was quietly watching television one day when on came a Microsoft Windows 7 "To The Cloud" commercial. It showed a woman working on a photograph of her family members who were sitting for a group portrait and she was taking their heads from different frames in order to make one good photograph. She ends by saying, "Windows gives me the family nature never could." It was being touted as a good thing.
I sat there thinking, "Brian Walski was fired for doing the same thing."
Is there any hope for our profession? I am less and less convinced there is, almost daily. And yet I refuse to give up hope.
I have long been aware of the book The Reconfigured Eye: Visual Truth in the Post-Photographic Era by William J. Mitchell of MIT, published in 1992. He stated that we were experiencing a paradigm shift in our perception of the very nature of photography. We had always thought of a photograph as a solid, two-dimensional object, a moment in time caught forever on a piece of paper. But in the age of computers, the photograph was becoming liquid, changeable – each time we changed even a single pixel, we created a new original, and if we created images with an electronic camera, we had no referent to go back to, no negative, no beginning point.
The public has come to view photographs this way. Photojournalists have clung to the notion that a photograph should show what the photographer saw and what the camera recorded, period. I am not sure how much longer we can hold out against what seems to be a force of nature. We either defend our vision of what makes an honest photograph or we find a new way of presenting honest information visually in a liquid environment, and I have no idea how that can be accomplished. If the generation coming out of college today cannot answer this question, photojournalism is dead.
The ethics I have been espousing for the last 20 years are based on a vision of photography created by and lived by Robert Capa, Eddie Adams, the Turnley brothers, Life magazine, Bill Eppridge, and my personal hero, David Douglas Duncan. It is the ethics of accuracy.
The transition from our traditional view of photography to the new world of electronic photojournalism has given rise to an enhanced interest in ethics and been the cause of much confusion in our discussions of ethics.
How we make photographs has changed drastically. I remember the first time I made a print. I was amazed at the magic as the image emerged on the white piece of paper floating in a bath of Dektol. I remember making separations and putting a halftone screen on photographs, and tipping the easel to correct parallel lines, and using hot breath to darken areas or potassium ferricyanide to lighten areas. I could read a negative. I could make a color print. I had skills. The very nature of the old processes determined or at least influenced the ethics of photography and photojournalism for us. Students today know computers. This has changed how they perceive photography and with this different perception comes a new way of defining ethics, at least in part.
This is the liquid environment. This is the paradigm shift Mitchell talked about and it really is more profound than I ever expected.
The working conditions faced by photojournalists today have made it difficult to remain ethical in the face of demands by cost-centered leadership to take the easy way out. If an editor finds it easier to use Photoshop to change a flawed photograph than to send a photographer back to fix the situation by reshooting, then that is what happens (this has been true since 1982 when National Geographic moved the Pyramids in their computer instead of sending a photographer back to reshoot the photograph as a vertical for the cover). If a photographer balks at having his or her photograph altered, he or she can be laid off. There are a million kids out there just waiting for an opening. How can you defend your ethics when your family needs to eat?
Now that all photographers (television and still) work in same department, whose honesty is paramount? Whose is the lowest face on the totem pole? Who will not compromise to hold onto a job? Integrity has a price sometimes.
Add to these problems the fact that so many still photojournalists have been asked to become videographers or to work for Web sites where speed means everything and quality is a totally alien concept. Do we slap together photographs from spare parts, or set up fake moments, just to get it quick and up online where the only value is the value of the next 10 minutes?
Do we adopt the ethics of our television brethren? Theirs is a time-tested process shaped by the technical restrictions of motion and sound and the fact they have to work with "stars." How does a still photographer steeped in the values of documentary still photojournalism become a viable videographer? I am not knocking the ethics of my television brethren. It is just that the ethics we in newspapers live by have evolved differently. Should we live by the ethics of stills when we are making stills, live by television ethics when we are making videos, and live by the ethics of radio people when we are creating audio? And I might add, do we abandon all fact checking when we shoot for the Web?
These challenges to today's photojournalists make my esoteric debates on art or removing meaningless details from photos with Photoshop seem petty. We are overwhelmed with the realities of life, threatened with economic disaster and bombarded by the likes of Bill O'Reilly and Keith Olbermann.
And yet, my heart will always be with the traditional. I believe deeply in the value of the real photograph. The great photograph is a window into history. It allows us to be present as history is happening, to see for ourselves the moment Martin Luther King, Jr., was shot at the Lorraine Motel, to see Lee Harvey Oswald crumble with a bullet in his abdomen, to see the effects of war on a little Vietnamese girl burned by napalm, to see the invasion on D-Day. And also to see history in much less spectacular fashion as it happens in our local town councils, or school sporting events, or any of the events that make up our daily lives. The honest photograph has power because it is real. It has power because it shows us exactly what the photographer saw and what the camera captured at the moment the shutter was tripped. History demands accuracy.
There is value in these images. There is no value to the photograph when "Windows gives me the family nature never could."
Write to Long at [email protected]


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Throw a Spongebob Themed Party
If you are looking for a great idea for your child's birthday, consider throwing a cartoon themed party. You can find plenty of decorations for all popular cartoons and the party will sure be a hit.
SpongeBob episodes
For example, consider Spongebob Squarepants. Spongebob is one of the most popular cartoon characters that appeals to kids from little to big. He is funny, witty and has a cast of friends that everybody loves.
For your party, you can easily decorate the location with Spongebob related posters, balloons and table sets. Wilton sells Spongebob shaped cake baking pan that will make creating a custom cake a breeze.
During the party, find some fun games or pull up some creative fun short Youtube videos for kids. Here is one that everybody is going to love:


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Bogota Bomb Blast Leaves 2 Dead
BOGOTA, Colombia – A bomb intended for a hardline former interior minister killed two of his bodyguards and injured at least 31 people in Bogotá's uptown commercial district Tuesday in an attack that has not been seen in the capital for years.
The former minister, Fernando Londoño, suffered minor shrapnel wounds and was out of danger, authorities said. Video footage showed a stunned Londoño, his face bruised, being led from the wreckage in a dark suit and red tie.
Bogotá Mayor Gustavo Petro said a pedestrian attached an explosive to a door of Londoño's armored SUV and set it off remotely. He said authorities had video of the attack.
The attacker "walked away disguised" and a wig of long black hair and a hat were found in the area, Petro told reporters.
It was the first fatal bombing in the capital in nearly a decade of an apparently political nature. While officials didn't ascribe blame, some analysts suspected the country's main leftist rebel group, the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia, or FARC.
"We don't know what's behind it," said President Juan Manuel Santos. "But rest assured that the government isn't going to be knocked off track by terrorist acts."
A morning radio host who is an archconservative and a stringent critic of the FARC, the 68-year-old Londoño was interior and justice minister in 2002-2003 under former President Alvaro Uribe.
He hosts a daily radio show called "The Hour of Truth" and firmly opposes peace talks with the FARC, calling the rebels "terrorists" and "murderers." He has also been critical of Santos for allegedly being soft on the rebels, who have stepped up attacks in recent months.
Under Uribe, Colombia's U.S.-backed military dealt major setbacks to the FARC, diminishing its numbers by roughly half to about 9,000 currently. Colombia's capital became progressively safer, the conflict increasingly limited to less populated hinterlands.
The last major bombing in Bogotá was in 2003, when the FARC bombed the exclusive El Nogal social club, killing 36 people. The cocaine trade-funded FARC was also blamed for a pre-dawn bombing outside an office building housing Caracol radio in August 2010, but that blast only injured nine people.
"We don't know what's behind it...But rest assured that the government isn't going to be knocked off track by terrorist acts."
Londoño's driver and a police bodyguard were killed in the attack shortly before midday on Calle 74 a half block from Caracas Avenue. The district is packed with office buildings, stores, restaurants and banks.
Catalina Ballesteros, a 24-year-old student, was in a bus that was badly damaged by the blast. She said she was surprised at the concentrated force.
"After the explosion it was chaos," said Ballesteros, who suffered only cuts. She said she saw one man on the street who had fainted.
Londono was being treated at the Clinica del Country hospital for minor shrapnel wounds in his face and was out of danger, said the hospital's director, Jorge Ospina.
An additional 24 people were treated for injuries at the clinic, eight of whom were released, Ospina said. Six others were treated at a different hospital, El Marly, said police Gen. Rodolfo Palomino.
Ospina said the only person seriously injured in the blast was a 38-year-old passer-by who needed surgery and was in danger of losing his right arm.
Earlier Tuesday, police said they had deactivated a car bomb in the center of the city and said they presumed it was from the FARC. Police said they arrested the person who was driving the car.
It was not known if the incident was related to the apparent attack on Londoño. Santos convened Petro, Colombia's chief prosecutor and its military and police brass for an afternoon security session.
Santos considers himself a progressive and, in addition to a military hard line against the FARC, has sought to return stolen land to peasants and pay reparations to victims of Colombia's long-running civil conflict.
The FARC was blamed by authorities for two bombings in February in provincial Colombia that killed at least 16 people, and military analyst Alfredo Rangel said he suspected it Tuesday's bombing because of Londoño's hard line against the rebels.
Leftist congressman and human rights activist Ivan Cepeda said he feared the attack could trigger others attack, including those targeting the left.
"I see a clear intent to destabilize," Cepeda said, blaming "sectors who don't want peace."
Political scientist Vicente Torrijos of the Universidad del Rosario, supported the theory that the FARC was to blame as it "seeks to show itself to the world as an organization sufficiently strong militarily and no only a weak organization that is only looking to negotiate with the government."
The FARC has been seeking peace talks and last month released what it said were its last "political prisoners," 10 police and soldiers held for as many as 14 years.
In newspaper columns and on the radio, Londoño hasn't just attacked the FARC as standard-bearer of Colombia's right wing.
He also firmly defends Uribe against allegations that the former president was too cozy with backers of illegal far-right militias. Dozens of political allies of both men have been imprisoned on criminal conspiracy convictions for colluding with the militias.
The militia leaders made peace with Uribe's government but most of their top leaders were extradited to the United States, where they are serving prison terms on drug trafficking convictions.
The FARC, meanwhile, suffered serious setbacks under Uribe, who left office in 2010, but continue to inflict casualties on security forces in ambushes and hit-and-run attacks.
It currently holds a French journalist who was accompanying security forces on a drug lab-destroying mission when rebels detained him two weeks ago. The FARC said on Sunday that it intends to free him soon.
Based on reporting by The Associated Press.
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Travel the World From Your Front Porch
Live-in residents on ocean liners say life at sea fulfills their fantasy of travel—without many of the hassles. Dawn Wotapka joins Lunch Break with a look at some of the world's most luxurious ships. Photo: Utopia Residences.
This transcript has been automatically generated and may not be 100% accurate.
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WELLESLEY, Mass. – Host Wellesley College tallied 14 unanswered points during a span of seven minutes en route to a 44-26 win over MIT in a NEWMAC women's basketball game on Wednesday night. Freshman Mari Kordell (Ijamsville, Md.) compiled nine points, four steals, and two assists for the Engineers (8-9, 4-7 NEWMAC).
The Blue opened the game with five straight points while a Kordell three-pointer put MIT on the board. A layup and three-point play gave Wellesley some breathing room, but a layup by freshman Alexxis Isaac (San Antonio, Texas) narrowed the gap to five (10-5) at the 13:30 mark. After over two minutes of scoreless play, the Blue began its pivotal run that resulted in a 24-5 advantage with 4:14 left in the half.
Despite the deficit, the Engineers closed the frame with a 9-2 spurt to enter the break trailing, 26-14. Merrifield started the scoring burst with two free-throws, followed by a trey from sophomore Tamara Pena (Aliso Viejo, Calif.), and a layup courtesy of junior Lauren Sascha Burton (Seattle, Wash.). Wellesley broke up the spree with a layup while Merrifield sank a pair of shots from the charity stripe with 37 seconds to go.
MIT scored seven of the first nine points to start the second stanza and come within eight (29-21) with 13:40 on the clock. This was as close as it would get as the Blue registered seven points over the course of the next nine minutes.
Kordell drained two free throws to end the Cardinal and Gray's scoring drought, and after a Wellesley layup, Isaac converted one of her own to make the score 38-25 with 2:46 left in the game. Unfortunately this would not be enough to spark a late rally as the Blue wrapped up the win by recording eight of the last nine points.
Merrifield totaled five rebounds, four points, two assists, and two steals as Pena added six points and two steals. Burton rounded out the squad with six boards and three steals.
MIT will conclude its road trip at league foe WPI on Saturday, Jan. 28.


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August 2011 In Box - Letters to the EditorPosted in Features on August 1, 2011
Project Dirt Clod
I just had to check if that was Four Wheeler's project Dirt Clod peeking its nose into the Ultimate Revival picture of the yellow truck getting loaded on the flatbed ("Ultimate Revival," part 1, May '11). Sure looks like it wants to be seen again. I would love a revival of it. Hopefully with a better paintjob this time.
Via email
Sharp eye, Brian. I started helping on old Dirt Clod before I even got a job in this industry 16 years ago. Over the years we have been trying to revive it. In fact, now it actually runs and stops again. We'll keep you updated on the progress and maybe better paint.
Death Wobble Fix
I own 10 4x4 vehicles. I am the original cut-to-fit, paint-to-match expert, and I love to read your magazine. There is always something in it to make me grin.
I have read your death wobble stories and your suggestions of ways fix them. You left out the most important steps in diagnosis ("Death Wobble," Dec. '09). These steps are important: Have your buddy rock the steering wheel back and forth like a kid would play driving a car: moving all the slop in the steering wheel, hitting the end of each left then right cycle with force, but not enough to turn the tire more than an inch or so back and forth. Then, and only then, can you get under your rig and see where the bushings are moving.
Movement in the leaf spring bushing? Tie-rod ends moving with the arm they are attached to simultaneously? Draglink or pitman arm test the same way simultaneously? Steering box mounting bolts and broken framework under the steering box are the cause 70 percent of the time. Look at the biscuit or coupler to the steering wheel shaft. Look for loose frame rivets on GM and Fords especially. Strut rod bushings and bracketry and crossmember mounts under the engine holding the frame halves together get loose. How about the Panhard bar bushings and mounts?
You need to jack it up, taking the load off of the ball joints, and then check for play. Hands on top and bottom, then push and pull for sloppy joints or trunnions, then put a 3-foot prybar under the tire from the side and pry up against the tire. Release a couple times and look for sloppy ball joints or trunnion bushings. You had most of it. I just had to add a little more.
Seattle, WA
Good points, Loren. All these items need to be checked, but swapping tires can show how bad your own set really is. Thanks for the advice.
Reader Rant
Hack This!
I thought I had seen it all. Then I read your article "Van Hack" (May '11). Leave it to Petersen's to take a rare piece of automotive history (not just a 4WD van, but one with the exceptionally rare twin I-beam front axle) and destroy it for the sake of selling magazines. To make matters worse, the article seems to make a mockery of safety. People cutting sharp metal without the proper hand and eye protection, blasting through running water, and not a seatbelt or helmet in sight (that metal pie pan on the passenger's head does not constitute a helmet!). The only thing missing was someone welding in sandals with a Corona in his hand. Is this really the example that you want to set?
Gene Savage
Via email
Darn, we couldn't find a photo of us welding with Corona in hand, so we missed the trifecta. The fact of the matter is that you didn't buy the derelict van while it was for sale for nearly a year, and no one else did either. Not only that, but this country is founded on the principle of freedom, which means that a person has the freedom to purchase a rusted-to-the-bone, unserviceable van (rare or not) and do what he wants with it. Why didn't you save this van? And maybe we will take all the running gear and put it in another rust-free van and turn it into a museum piece. Of course, you will be funding the project, correct?
Do we agree with destroying a piece of history? No, but we detest those who try and strip away our freedoms and dictate what we can and can't do. What's next? Every Ford Fairmont made in that rare sea-foam green color with gold interior has to be protected? In the words commonly attributed to Voltaire, "I may not agree with what you write, but I will defend to the death your right to do so."
And don't even get us started on the so-called safety aspect. Simply because you don't see your approved safety measures in place doesn't mean they aren't there. Next time we'll add the tagline "Professional alien on closed planet. Do not attempt on Earth."
The Great Diesel Shootout
Even though I have no intention of buying a new diesel pickup, the shootout was the first article I read when I got the June '11 issue today. I especially liked how you guys engineered the test to be as close to an "apples to apples" test as possible. There's absolutely no way anyone could say you went into it with a bias. You put these trucks to the test doing what they were meant to do, instead of the typical show-and-shine reviews given by other magazines.
One thing has me puzzled, however. You pretty much glossed over the unpredictable nature of the F-250's exhaust brake. Even more puzzling, you seemed to find the GMC's locking diff issue to be a bigger problem than the Ford's exhaust brake. I have to say that I think you have this completely bass-ackwards. Having to apply the brakes two or three times on occasion in order to get the exhaust brake to activate is a much more serious flaw and safety defect than the need for some wheelspin in order to get the rear diff to lock. The need to spin a wheel in order to lock the rear diff doesn't have the potential to turn the truck and trailer into a runaway on a steep descent, for example.
But other than that, it was a fine article, and just goes to show that any of the trucks will get the job done, regardless of the badges and emblems. Keep up the good work!
Phil Smith
Windham, ME
Thanks, Phil. We appreciate all of the technical features of all the trucks, and do realize how important brakes of any type are. The F-250 exhaust brake system may have been unpredictable inasmuch as how to engage it, but it did work regardless. The GM Gov-Lok? You actually never know when it will work. We stand by our coverage.
Notes From the Throne
I have never written a letter to an editor before, but when I just read one of your responses to a letter in your In Box (May '11), I felt I must comment. I was in my second office (the kind that flushes), and I almost fell off the toilet when I read your response to Steve Bush's letter titled "Speaking of Altered Reality." I haven't laughed that hard in a while.
Clearly he made statements that he could not back up, but what was so priceless was how you shot him down on every account. That analogy about the unrealistic truck and the Playboy model was one of the best I have ever heard. Obviously, we all don't have 100 grand to build toys that we go out and destroy, but if somebody (say, a magazine company) can do it to provide the general public with entertainment, some product testing, and a fun story, well, isn't that the point of auto magazines to some extent? I read other car magazines that frequently showcase $100K-plus vehicles, I don't get angry with the editors because I can't buy them all. My Ferrari budget for this year is only $95K—ha ha.
Anyways, great response. Keep up the good work. Also, being a Land Rover enthusiast for the past 20 years, I was thrilled to see a magazine testing a Land Rover and it actually winning ("2011 4x4 of the Year," Feb. '11). After all, off-road excellence has always been a Land Rover trademark.
David X
Via email
What can we say? Thanks for laughing!
North Africa Revelations
Regarding 4xForward, June '11: Since you're heading out to North Africa, I had an epiphany. I can't help but notice what these, uh, freedom fighters are riding around in and on. Why not take notes and pics of these 4x4s while cruising the African desert? I've seen lift kits, snorkels, and winches on these various trucks, which seem to come with must-have accessories like rocket launchers, .50-caliber machine guns, and anti-aircraft for those pesky desert critters like snakes, bats, and such.
Seriously though, I about fell over when I saw a Libyan rebel Toyota with a snorkel, a lift, what looked like 37-inch BFG Mud-Terrains, and a rocket launcher in the bed. Started looking after that, and there seems to be more than a few of them running around the desert.
Be careful if you do decide to go, especially with Olive Drab–painted Jeeps!
Dennis Price
Via email
I was going to do features on many of these rides, but until the Libyans quit shooting at each other we've postponed the trip—and the features on RPGs!
Give Me a Brake
It seems a [sic] automotive magazine writer/editorial staff would know the difference between brakes and breaks. Please read item 3 on page 85 of the June '11 issue, "Easy Axle Upgrades." The misuse of breaks seems to happen in every issue. Unfortunately, I find this very distracting.
Great magazine.
David Luinstra
Via email
We know the difference, David. Do you know the difference between a and an? Unfortunately, I find that very distracting. On second thought, let's not dwell on unintentional mistakes and, instead, do our best to make sure they don't slip through and just go wheeling. Deal?
No Whiners Here!
I was reading my January issue when I came across an article of a gentleman who was complaining about receiving free off-road DVDs in the mail. He's one lucky fellow. If you can forward his unwanted DVDs to me, I promise I will not complain.
I'm from South Africa, living in the middle of the Kalahari Desert. Every month we buy a copy of your mag to keep up-to-date of all the latest off-road news and gadgets. I'll send you pics of our pickups and maybe we'll see them in your mag!
Thank you for a great magazine. Keep it up so we here in Africa can keep on enjoying it.
Rudolf Steenkamp
South Africa
We'll send you some swag so you can fly our colors over there—and thanks!
Submission Information
4-Wheel & Off-Road welcomes letters to the editor. Letters must include an address or a telephone number so the sender can be verified. Once verified, your name may be withheld at your request. Letters published in this magazine reflect the opinions of the writers, and we reserve the right to edit letters for clarity, brevity, or other purposes. Due to the large volume of mail we receive, we regret that we cannot reply to unpublished letters or return photos. Digital photos must measure no less than 1600 x 1200 pixels (or two megapixels) and be saved as a TIFF, an EPS, or a maximum-quality JPEG file. Write to: Editor, 4-Wheel & Off-Road, 831 S. Douglas St., El Segundo, CA 90245; fax 310.531.9368 Email to: email@example.com


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It's time again for the desperate rush to finish all of my state fair projects. I'm not sure what happened (I blame registering late at night and thinking I can complete more than I did) but I committed myself to 7 different classes (plus 2 classes for the local fair). I entered things in the felt category, handspinning category, and knitting category.
I have 2 sweaters that I'm submitting. The first is my handspun sweater, the Tangled Yoke Cardigan, spun from a local woman's CVM sheep. I worked on this sweater for the Knitting Olympics but was a button band away from finishing it when the closing ceremonies happened. I decided to do a grosgrain ribbon backing for the buttonbands. "Why?" you may ask. Well, It's a great way to put an excellent finishing touch to your sweater. I just like the idea that my buttonband won't gap and make it look like the sweater is too small! Have you seen the grosgrain ribbon video tutorial put together by the Knitmore Girls?
The second sweater is the Twist Cardigan. The yarn I am using is Berroco Vintage in a lovely grey. This yarn is a superwash wool/acrylic blend that is knitting up really well. The finished fabric feels really nice. I had major problems with the shoulder seams of this sweater because that is where the cable is so you have the combination of the knit and purl stitches. None of my seaming attempts looked very good. Oh, well, running out of time so it is what it is!
Another thing that has been giving me trouble is the bind off edges. I did a tubular cast on and bind off on each edge. I got the tutorial for the cast on edge from Ysolda Teague's website. It was super easy and I'll definitely be doing it again in the future. The bind off isn't strictly called a tubular bind off but an invisible bind off from Interweave Knits, Fall 2008. It is like doing a really long Kitchener Stitch. The finished look is nice but it felt like it took forever to do.
Mom helped me on Sunday by sewing the grosgrain ribbon onto the Twist and attaching the buttons. She sewed the grosgrain ribbon on in half the time it took me to do the same thing. She's definitely better at handsewing!
The next project I'm entering is for the knitted accessories category. It is a multidirectional scarf out of Noro Silk Garden Sock that I knit back in 2009. The Silk Garden makes a nice looking scarf but I don't think I would like it as socks.
Old picture of scarf
I was torn between adding a fringe or not to the scarf. Finally, I decided that it doesn't look finished without a fringe. So I added a 3 inch fringe to each edge with a color change on each side.
What else is left? Oh, yeah, a lace shawl. I have one shawl, a Swallowtail Shawl, finished for one friend (it was a tinsy bit late for her wedding). I let my friend know that she would be getting the shawl after the fair was over. It is knit from a cone of silk yarn that I picked up at Maryland Sheep and Wool in 2008. Originally, this yarn was supposed to be another stole but I ran out with a foot of knitting left to do. I frogged that and started a Swallowtail instead.
I also entered a pair of mittens into the felted knitted item category. You should be amazed that I could actually find these mittens because I felted them back in November. I've loved the look of this mitten pattern since I saw them at least 3 (or more) years ago. This is the second pair I have made with this pattern. This second attempt turned out much better because I used the correct weight of yarn (it's amazing the difference between chunky and worsted!). This pair is made out of a dark blue Cascade 220 tweed. They felted down to the perfect size and I'll definitely be using them this winter!
I almost forgot to talk about my handspun skein entries! My first handspun skein is the Red Berries yarn I finished back in March. The 6 oz of wool came from SOAR 2009 and I'm pretty impressed that it was spun up so quickly. Usually it languishes a lot longer. It is a 3-ply fingering weight that I'm planning to knit up into socks whenever it get around to it.
The other yarn is from a 100% silk bump that I bought at this year's Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival. It is 2 ounces of beautiful purple silk. I started spinning it first on one of the trindles I bought this year but then finished spinning the singles and plying on the wheel. The finished yarn is a nice 2-ply heavy laceweight. The yarn has a tiny bit of barberpoling (light and dark color spiraling together) but I like the way it looks overall.
You might be wondering why, when I took that photography class, there aren't pictures of every finished entry. The reason for that is I turned everything in at 4:30pm and the submission deadline was 5pm. There wasn't much time for taking pictures in there! I'll take pictures of everything in the display cases at the fair.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
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2011-04-21 / Opinion
Editorial: Hire a student this summer
Within a month, we will have tens of thousands of college students coming home and getting a wellearned break from their studies. Many will be looking for part-time jobs. In this tough economy however, they will have some difficulties as most businesses are cutting back and doing with less.
You must be an online subscriber to view this story.


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Peanut revenue generated under the 2002 farm bill is higher than what would be generated under the previous farm bill when comparing 10 representative peanut farms in the Southeast, according to a recent study conducted by the National Center for Peanut Competitiveness.
After the passage of the Farm Security and Rural Investment Act of 2002, the peanut program changed from a supply-management system to a market-oriented one. Many farmers have questioned whether such a monumental change would be beneficial to producers.
In addressing the issue, the National Center for Peanut Competitiveness used the Southeastern representative peanut farms database to compare potential peanut revenue under the 1996 Freedom to Farm Act and the 2002 Farm Security and Rural Investment Act.
The peanut revenue under analysis of the 2002 Act includes direct and counter-cyclical payments and quota buyout payments. This analysis compares the difference in the annual gross peanut revenue under each of the bills for each of the farms, as well as a composite or average for the farms for the years 2002 to 2007.
The new farm legislation eliminates the two-tier pricing system consisting of quota valued at roughly $610 per ton and additionals valued from $132 (loan rate) to $350 (contract additionals) per ton.
In its place is a system where peanut quota has been bought out, peanut prices are to be determined by the market, with a marketing loan ($355 per ton), loan deficiency payments and decoupled payments providing a safety net for producers.
Producers want to know, states the study, if they really are better off under the new program as compared to the 1996 farm bill. The focus of the study was not to consider the economic viability of peanut producers, but rather to compare the peanut income generated under the two farm bills, says Stanley Fletcher, economist with the University of Georgia's National Center for Peanut Competitiveness.
"While this study does not provide details on the sustainability of these farms under the new bill, it does point at that, given the representative farm database, revenue generated under the 2002 farm bill is substantially greater than what might have been generated under the 1996 farm bill when all the various intricacies of the peanut industry are considered," says Fletcher.
Analysis under the 2002 farm bill considered two production scenarios — no change in total production for the six-year period of the bill and a 2 percent increase in production for each year after 2002. Under the 2002 legislation, peanut income consisted of the value of production (quantity produced times the market loan price of $355 per ton) and government payments.
The government payments consisted of the annual quota buyout of 11 cents per pound on the pounds of quota each representative farm owned for years 2002 to 2006 and direct payments of $36 per ton and counter-cyclical payments of $104 per ton on 85 percent of the peanut "base" established on each farm for each year.
For the "base" payments, two scenarios were considered - that the farm received 100 percent of the eligible base payments, i.e., the producer was an effective negotiator, or that the farm received only the portion of base payments equal to the percent of cropland they actually owned (reflecting that many landowners "captured" the base payments associated with their land through higher rent prices, etc.).
Analysis under the 1996 farm bill considered quota and additional peanuts and consisted of three levels of pricing used to derive the value of production. For this analysis, quota pounds for 2002 were equal to the levels reported by each representative farm panel and were reduced by 2 percent for each succeeding year.
Likewise, total peanut production was assumed to decrease by 2 percent for years 2003 to 2007. Quota peanuts were priced at the prior support price of $610 per ton, half of the additionals were priced at $325 per ton - which was an average price for contracted additionals — and the other 50 percent of additionals were priced at $200 per ton, which reflects the average payout, including "pool profits" of loan additionals that were crushed. Quota rent also was taken into account in calculating peanut income under the 1996 law.
All other direct costs associated with peanut production were considered to remain constant under the two bills and were not a major focus in the study. While seed cost is expected to decrease under the 2002 bill, a seed price hasn't been established. Quota rent, however, directly affected income under the 1996 bill but was not an issue given the elimination of the quota in the 2002 bill.
To accurately compare the two bills, income under analysis of the 1996 bill was reduced by the quota rent, based on the representative farm data. Given that the prior program was a "no net cost" program, also included in the analysis under the 1996 bill was the potential assessment of $175 percent that would have been imposed on the quota produced in 2002 to cover the losses generated by the program in 2001. Then, for each representative farm and the composite of farms, the gross revenue under the 2002 bill was compared to the gross revenue less quota rent under the 1996 bill.
Results of the study showed that when producers captured 100 percent of the direct and counter-cyclical payments — regardless of whether production remained constant or increased under the 2002 analysis — revenue generated under the 2002 bill was higher than that generated under the 1996 bill for all years for all 10 farms, as well as the composite farm.
Likewise, when producers received the direct and counter-cyclical payments equal to the proportion of cropland owned, revenue generated by the 2002 bill was greater than that of the 1996 bill for all farms for all years when production was assumed to increase by 2 percent after year 2002.
When producers received the direct and counter-cyclical payments equal to the proportion of cropland owned, and production was held constant under the 2002 bill, revenue generated by the 2002 bill was greater than that of the 1996 bill for all farms for all years except 2007. Under this scenario — in 2007 — three of the representative farms had slightly lower income under the 2002 bill as compared to the 1996 bill.
When the aggregate of the six years is considered, the benefits from the 2002 bill can be seen to an even greater extent. If constant production is considered, the aggregate benefit of the 2002 bill over the 1996 bill ranges from $81,100 to $797,000 if the producer receives decoupled payments equal to the proportion of cropland owned.
If the producer receives 100 percent of the decoupled payments, those figures rise to $246,000 to $1,548,400 for the aggregate over the years 2002 to 2007. If production is considered to increase under the 2002 bill, the benefits received range from $115,000 to $972,000 for the proportion of decoupled payments equal to cropland owned and $280,000 to $1,723,400 with 100 percent of decoupled payments.


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