This page has been created only as a sample, but I’ll try to have some fun with it anyway. As you will probably notice this page has been done with some document editor of unspeakable name, so please, if you don’t like it, just fuck off, ok?

During the few minutes I will spend typing this page I’ll try to, given the opportunity, show you the good guys and chicks I’ve met during the last few days. This way Vero PrettyButt (she’s real, man!!) will see what can be done very easily with this editor. Needless to say that I’m not going to show you the actual pictures of this people (simply because I don’t have any picture of them yet…) but some pictures I’ve found around the net. I hope you like them. And the story begins…

As a youngling I had always wanted to go upstairs, to grandma’s room, but I never had the guts to get in. Not because of any stupid psychological trauma, but because of the door. It was a pine door, finely carved with a poem in elvish that said:

“Three Lectures for the Scottish-kings under the rainy sky,

Seven for the Shopping-lords in their malls of stone,

Nine for International Students doomed to fly,

One for the Erasmus Advisor on his dark throne

In the Land of Glasgow where the Teachers lie.

One Lecture to rule them all, One Lecture to find them,

One Lecture to bring them all and in the darkness bitch them

In the Land of Glasgow where the Teachers lie.“

but the poem was not the problem, it was the door itself. Every time I tried to open the door, when holding the handle, I felt it warm and pulsing, heat flowing towards me from the carvings.

For many years this feeling kept me from opening it, scaring me to hell. But as time passed I grew up , lost virginity, became a brave, cunning young man and tried to open the door one last time. But this time I decided to stare at the door, convince myself that it was just a door (warm, pulsing one, though) and nothing else and then I would be able to hold the handle and swing the door open. And there I was, brave and cunning, young but adult, staring at the fuc*%£ door. I stared at its carvings, read the poem many times trying to make some sense out of it. I stared at the handle, making sure I knew which side I should twist it to. I stared at the hinges, checking to which direction the door would swing. I stared at every crack in the door, just to be sure there was nothing more to stare at. And then, after staring at it for hours, and as my bravery began to overwhelm my childish fear I felt something new, something weird, something creepy. I felt the door staring back at me. And that scared the shit out of me, and made me run downstairs yelling like a madman.

But you must be wondering now why I wanted to get inside my grandma’s room, and there’s a very good reason. Many years ago, when she was young and full of vitality (I must say she still can beat the shit out of any troll, though) she was an Thrill Hunter, one of those brave, strong, smart, crazy younglings that joined the Way of Erasmus seeking adventures, strong emotions, new sensations and terrible hangovers. During her trips, she had seen things unknown for most of the people in our town, charted many unexplored dungeons (and got hers charted too), learned new languages, fought against the Dark Lecturers and endured foreign cuisine. She kept in her room many secret treasures, old memories, and magic presents, all knew to me at that time. And now that you know the reason, let’s continue with the story.

So, after screaming like a little child for some hours, I decide that the only way of getting through that door was, in fact, joining the Thrill Hunters to explore the Way of Erasmus on my own and to become a real adult man. With this decision in mind, I packed some food, a bunch of coins, polished my chain-mail armour, shield and sword, and started my journey along the Way of Erasmus.

Joining the Thrill Hunters was very simple, I only had to fill in some forms, pass a couple of tests about foreign languages and choose a destination. The destination lists was not very long, but long enough to keep me thinking deeply about the subject for some hours. There were plenty of interesting places (all unknown to me), but after reading the list thoroughly I found a name that gave me a special feeling. The name had something mystic, almost magical, that made me remember the stories my grandma told me when I was a child, stories about faraway places, old cultures and dangerous paths, with adventures behind every log and spell-casters in every tower. The name of that place was Glasgow.

So with this destination in mind I travelled for weeks through deep forests, snowy mountaintops and infernal deserts, enduring bad weather and fighting some brigands from time to time. I had only one destination in mi mind, so every city I went through, every town I slept in and every hut where I asked for shelter were nothing more than places to be left behind, places to be remembered to show thankfulness or out of some unsatisfied curiosity willing to wait until I became a brave grown up young man to push me to sneak inside the local Wizard’s Guild.

And after one month of constant walking, I finally arrived to Glasgow.

The city appeared after reaching a hilltop, spreading for many miles through the northern riverside of river Clyde. Even from a distance I saw magnificent buildings defining the skyline of the city, buildings old enough to tell stories about the dawn of time (a pity they didn’t speak much!). These buildings housed the most important Guilds and Schools in town: the Wizard’s Guild, the Cathedral of the Cofrady, the School of Jugglers and Jesters, the Firemen Guild and the Fighters Guild. Among these ancient buildings there was one much older, classy, with a magical aura of charm, power and knowledge, known as the University of Glasgow. This University was the main knowledge centre in the country and to this University many students of the existing Guilds all around the world came to improve their knowledge in hand-to-hand fight, different crafts (ale-crafting the most prominent of them all), spell-casting, tartan lore, necromancy, battle tactics, weapon-fighting, siege theory and many other subjects.

After watching this beautiful city form a moment I went downhill and headed towards the nearest inn, booked one room for about six months and went upstairs to get some rest, because even an Erasmus Thrill Hunter needs to rest from time to time…

When I woke up the sun was setting on the horizon, displaying an amazing mixture of colours as its blood-red light sloshed lazily through a myriad of tiny clouds, playing with their shapes, shadows and textures to show a picture of beauty I had never seen before. But without being able to care less about such a beauty I put on my armour, sword and shield and went out to the street, ready to merge with the local nightlife. I spent some hours walking the streets of Glasgow, looking for some young virgins in need of losing their virginity fast because of some evil necromancer planning some weird ritual involving some virgin-slaughter, but I found none. I also looked for some young virgins in need of losing their virginity because some ugly- looking duke wanted to marry them, but I also failed. I even tried to fins some not-so-virgin-women in need of some help in order to get some worthy reward, but I failed again…

Absolutely convinced that I was doing something wrong I decided to go back to my room and wait for a more lucky tomorrow, but then I heard a soft melody, played with a mixture of instruments I couldn’t recognize (violin, guitar, flute, accordion and pipes, ok?) and I followed the melody through dark alleys out of curiosity, arriving after some minutes of fast walk to an old, dark-wood and stone made tavern with a mountain landscape painted on the windows. Driven by the sound of that melody I approached the entry door, which read “The Ben Nevis Bar” and without thinking about it I went inside. As I swung the door open I felt the melody explode in front of me, flooding my body with new, pulsing energy, making me feel alive and eager to enjoy the night. The inside of the tavern was warm and welcoming, with some smoke lingering in the air as if bewitched by that vivid melody. To the left, close to the door, was a coal fire keeping at bay the damp, chilling night trying to sneak from outside. A couple of bartenders, woman both, served drinks with professional hand and a pleasant smile at the bar, in front of the entry door. On the far side of the tavern, to the right, was a group of musicians, the source of that melody, playing casually with outstanding skill. And all around there was people drinking, speaking, laughing, making new friends and meeting old ones, each one of them with an interesting story about his past, some of them with a promising future, but all of them enjoying the music.

TO BE CONTINUED…