"
Like my mother always said: 'a wraithwing in tar is worth twenty two on a trapdoor'"
muttered Beethro as he chased the last bat into a sticky cave and regained his balance on the lip of the newly created chasm. "
Mother always did know best. I wish I had written down more of the things she told me before I left home."
Suddenly the room got noticebly colder and Beethro felt great gobs of goose pimples galloping down his spine. Spinning around with dread, he was met with something he hadn't seen since... Wait that looks like... oh no!
"
You wish you had written down ANYTHING I said before you left! Or learned to read and write for that matter!"
It was his mother. Or a reasonable facsimile thereof. Not that Beethro knew what a facsimile was. Or the proper usage of thereof. She was a bit taller than he remembered. She had taken on a bit of a greenish sheen since he last saw her. And she had learned how to levitate. But there was no mistaking that wart on her nose (the one that he had helped her comb every morning until he was 16) or the wiry grey hair pulled into a bun so tightly it stretched the wrinkles on her face sideways and drew her beady eyes into tiny little slits.
"
I need to get out of this dungeon air.... I'm starting to hallucinate again."
"
You're not hallucinating, you dolt. Now stand up straight! Clean off that sword! Buckle up your sandles... You'd think I didn't teach you nuthin about being presentable: Remember, in a dungeon cleanliness is next to getting paid."
"
Don't you mean 'I didn't teach you
anything. And you were talking about clean rooms, not clean clothes."
"
Don't you sass me, boy, and another thing..."
Two hours later, after finally figuring out why she looked taller (she was hovering 6 inches off the floor!) and working out a theory of tar invariance, Beethro finally managed to work a word in edgewise.
"
Look mom, its been right lovely seeing you again, but I've got to finish up this dungeon. I promise, as soon as I get out of here, I'll run right over to the adult literacy program at the local community college and write down all the stuff you ever said to me. I promise..."
"
Alright deary, you always were so buried in your work. Don't forget to eat your vegetables."
And so Beethro set off, leaving the ghostly apparition of his mother behind (he didn't think Dugan would mind too much if he left just one little pesky ghost in the dungeon - afterall, what could she do? Nag the guards to death?). After he left the dungeon, he found the first scribe he could lay his hands on, and dictated all of his mother's sayings for posterity.
Ok, so the idea here is to come up with witty pieces of advice for fellow smitemasters and other denizens of the Eighth.
Well, get to it!
[Edited by stigant at
Local Time:01-25-2005 at 08:40 PM]
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Progress Quest Progress
I think he writes a note in one, too, I forget. I know for sure he made detailed maps of the dungeon with dimensions noted, and it was good enough to impress an architect, so I'm pretty sure he can draw and write well enough 
