Blog Archives
Age of Worms Session Recap: Ruinlords vs The World
(Editor’s Note – Yes, I know the formatting keeps changing. I’m still trying to find a good fit, so please bear with me. Muchos appreciated.)
Previously…
The Ruinlords, a team of hardened warriors competing in the Champion’s Games, had just rescued their manager Ekalim from the Fixers when they found themselves face-to-face with Saint Alduin.
Want to Follow Their Story?
Check out our Age of Worms Session Recaps to see how the Ruinlords’ journey unfolds!
Audience with Saint Alduin
The fires of Tent City flickered and spat, throwing long, jagged shadows across the crowded streets. Laughter and drunken boasts drifted through the air, mixing with the scent of roasted meat and unwashed bodies. Then, like a candle snuffed in a storm, everything stopped.
A hush fell over the crowd, thick and unnatural. The kind of silence that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Then came the light—blinding and gold, cutting through the night like a knife through soft flesh. Saint Alduin had arrived.
His armor gleamed as if it had been forged from the sun itself, every polished plate reflecting the flickering flames around him. The air seemed heavier, pressed down by something unseen but undeniable. His purple eyes swept across the gathered crowd, unreadable and knowing. And then, they found the Ruinlords.
“So,” he said, his voice smooth as oiled steel. “These are the Ruinlords.” A smirk twitched at the corner of his lips. Not a sneer, not quite. Just amusement. He nodded, acknowledging their role in dragging the Helm of Titan’s Wrath back into the world. No gratitude. No condemnation. Just fact.
The Silver Flight—his knights, his disciples—had entered the Games not for the thrill but for something deeper. A test. The arena was a forge, and steel that failed the heat deserved to shatter. Weakness was not tolerated. Not by the arena. Not by him.
When he turned to leave, his parting words landed like a graveyard chill. “Tread lightly, Ruinlords. Fate’s a tricky beast, and I hate to see potential go to waste.”
The Feast of Aroden
Days later, at sunset, the arena gates yawned open, revealing the Feast of Aroden—a spectacle of gluttony and excess draped in gold and crimson. Banquet tables groaned under the weight of food, their surfaces slick with grease and spilled wine. Bonfires raged, flickering light catching the edges of polished armor, dancing across the jewels on noble fingers. The smell of roasting meat was thick, intoxicating, drowning out the distant coppery scent of old blood soaked into the arena sands.
Gladiators, merchants, and highborns alike took their places. And then came Loris Raknian.
He walked like he owned the world, his steps slow, measured, every inch of him reveling in the unspoken understanding that, in this place, he did. At his side sat Vixus, the reigning Champion, soaking in the crowd’s adoration like a man convinced he was untouchable.
Talabir Welik, referee of the Games, stepped forward, his voice steady as he recited the Rules of Battle. No betrayals. No flight. Surrender was respected. Death was expected.
Raknian raised his goblet. “Champions of Tymon,” he declared, and the arena roared in response. The feast had begun. But beneath the laughter, beneath the clinking of silverware and the slurred toasts, something cold slithered beneath the revelry. A tension. A watching.
Intrigues of the Evening
Raknian’s Interest: His eyes kept drifting to the Ruinlords, sharp and weighing. Not curiosity. No, this was the gaze of a man measuring meat before the butcher’s knife came down.
Ekalim’s Obsession: The Ruinlords’ coach, Ekalim Smallcask, barely touched his food. His eyes tracked Raknian like a hound that had caught the scent of something rotten.
Tirra’s Proposal: The rogue from Magnimar’s Gilded Claw came bearing an offer. A bet on the Ruinlords, with a generous cut of the winnings—if they could bring down Vixus’s Warband. The price? 2,500 gold up front. And one favor: If you fight them, don’t kill them.
Into the Coenoby
The feast ended, but the night did not. The Ruinlords descended into the Coenoby, the underground lair of gladiators awaiting their turn to bleed.
The air was thick. The walls sweat with the breath of too many men crowded in one place, each carrying the stink of fear and anticipation.
Guards stood at attention, ensuring no battles started before the Games officially began. But everyone knew: come dawn, steel and spell would rend flesh, and only a fraction of them would leave the sands walking.
A horn sounded in the distance, deep and hollow as a graveyard wind. Tomorrow, the blood would flow.
DAY ONE: The First Battle
Morning came slow, dragging itself over the city like a weary giant.
The matchups were posted. Gladiators huddled around, whispering, pointing. The heroes dance card was set:
- The Ruinlords
- The Crowned Conquerors – Arrogant nobles wrapped in wealth and magic, their true strength bought rather than earned. Their hired champion, the pugilist Pake Jaul, was the real threat.
- Sapphire Squad – Fighters from Absalom, slick as oil and twice as slippery. Their leader? A bard with a pirate’s heart and a cutthroat smile.
- The Mountain’s Fury – Three stone giants, their eyes burning with revenge for the death of their lord, Mokmurian.
One by one, the teams rose into the arena, lifted from the depths like condemned men brought to the gallows.
Talabir Welik’s voice rang out over the crowd, naming the warriors, sealing their fates. The stands erupted into cheers. Somewhere in that sea of voices, bets were placed, fortunes made and lost in the span of seconds.
The Battle Begins
The Ruinlords didn’t hesitate. Pake Jaul opened his mouth, and that was enough reason to strike first.
Tike Myson, grown to monstrous proportions, met Pake in the arena’s heart. Their fists collided, thunder on thunder, the crack of impact shaking the air. Around them, mages hurled fireballs, rays of searing light turning sand to glass.
But the Ruinlords weren’t just there to trade blows. Vaz’non answered fire with fire—a draconic inferno that swallowed the nobles whole. One moment, they stood, armored in arrogance. The next, they were charred husks, burnt offerings to the crowd’s hunger. The last survivor fell to his knees, surrendering with eyes wide and white with terror. Cal’s magic missiles ended any second thoughts.
Pake fought on, his fists landing like warhammers, but Tike was relentless. Bigger. Stronger. A wall of muscle and fury. The pugilist staggered, his final breath a gurgle of pain before his body hit the sand.
Across the battlefield, Dunner charged, closing the distance between him and the giants.
Vaz’non lit the way, a fireball blooming like a second sun above the Mountain’s Fury.
The giants, once content to pelt the Sapphire Squad with boulders, turned their attention toward the Ruinlords.
The ground trembled beneath their advance.
And the battle had only just begun.
Pathfinder Session Recap: Saints and Sinners
In our latest Pathfinder – Age of Worms campaign session (Editor’s Note: that’s Session 41 for the three of you keeping track), the party’s journey to Tymon for the Champion’s Games took an unexpected turn, plunging them into a tense encounter with desperate mercenaries and unveiling ominous glimpses of the larger threats lurking in the shadows. From a chaotic battle at a forest encampment to the chilling arrival of Saint Alduin and whispers of dark conspiracies surrounding Loris Raknian, this session was packed with drama, danger, and revelations.
For those so inclined, you can find more of our Age of Worms session summaries on our World Anvil page HERE!
The Fixers’ Camp
The day started simply enough. A quiet road, the kind of road that doesn’t give much back—just dirt and trees and the occasional bird. But then Cal’s eyes caught it: a little glint in the dirt, something small that didn’t belong. A poker chip from the Wavestone. That’s the funny thing about small things—they can drag a person into big trouble. Many of the passengers aboard the Wavestone had travelled this road the past day. However, only one had spent enough time in the Wavestone’s casino to still have a poker chip to his name – the Ruinlord’s coach/manager Ekalim Smallcask.
The trail wound into the woods, opening into a clearing that smelled like smoke, oil and desperation. Gears, vials, and half-finished machines littered the place like a junkyard for broken dreams. And there they were, the Fixers—a gang of tinkering misfits who’d bitten off more than they could chew. In the middle of it all was Ekalim, tied to a post but warning the Fixers that they wouldn’t like the outcome if his team were to find him.
The Ruinlords found him. The Fixers didn’t like the outcome.
Tike, Dunner, and Alfie tried to talk their way out of a fight, but Tike’s stare—the kind of thing that makes your skin itch—didn’t do them any favors. The Fixers twitched like over-wound clocks, and then everything unravelled. The fight was short, sharp, and mean like most fights are. When it was over, the ground was soaked, the air stank of burnt metal, and the Fixers were done—most of them dead, one tied to the same post as Ekalim. Fair’s fair, after all.
In the quiet after the storm, the party searched the camp while Ekalim, shaking off his bonds, muttered something about the Fixers’ debts and how the people they owed wouldn’t take kindly to losing their muscle. His voice wavered just enough to let the Ruinlords know he believed it.
Arrival at Tent City
The road ended at Tymon, where the city rose like a promise or a threat—maybe both. The walls were high, the banners snapping in the wind, and the noise was relentless: the clatter of merchants, the shouts of gladiators, the hum of a place that knew something big was coming. Tent City sprawled outside the gates like a carnival gone to seed, colorful and chaotic, with the kind of tension that clings to the skin.
At the Dusty Pavilion, the party met Tessara, a half-elf former gladiator with a bad limp, a sharp tongue and sharper eyes, and Gorik, a dwarf who looked like he could pour a drink and break a nose in the same motion. While Ekalim went off to “gather information” (whatever that meant), Cal leaned on magic to dig deeper into the shadows. What came up wasn’t pretty. Loris Raknian, the man behind the Champion’s Games, was a name people didn’t say too loud. They talked about a ruthless man who feared getting old and kept his grip on power by whatever means necessary. But the whispers went deeper, darker.
Saint Alduin’s Arrival
And then came the night.
The fires of Tent City flickered, casting shadows that twisted and stretched as the crowd pulsed with life. It felt safe enough, or at least safer than it had any right to. But that was before the air changed before the hum of voices stopped dead like the whole place had forgotten how to breathe.
Saint Alduin didn’t just arrive—he descended. Golden armor lit like it had been forged in the sun, radiating power that pressed down on everything like a fist. A gladiator—a man with more pride than sense—shouted something stupid. Alduin didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. A single beam of light erupted from his helm. When it was over, the gladiator wasn’t there anymore. Just a smear of ash on the ground surrounding a few pieces of bone.
The crowd froze. And then Alduin smiled. Not a real smile—it was too sharp, too practiced, the kind of thing that belonged on the face of a man who didn’t believe in kindness. His purple eyes cut through the night like blades, and when they found the party, they could feel the weight of him, the knowing in his gaze.
“I’ve heard about you,” he said, his voice quiet but full of something else. A promise, maybe.
Or a warning.
Pathfinder Session Recap: Heart of the Labyrinth
In this First Edition Pathfinder session recap of our Age of Worms campaign, the party faces deadly challenges inside the Heart of the Labyrinth, battles their former ally Kaldir Stormrage, and narrowly escapes the grasp of the infernal devil Pyraxus. Plus, a tense meeting with Elric Toplo uncovers dark truths about the Ebon Triad and the looming Age of Worms. #TTRPG #Pathfinder
Cal Volsung stood at the edge of a nightmare, his hands trembling as the theyrium cocoon whispered promises of power. Its foul essence slithered through his veins, twisting muscle and sinew, turning him into something else. His skin darkened, the edges of his vision swam, and he saw his hands become long, spidery things—drow hands. The curse clung to him tighter than a drowning man’s grip, and no matter how hard he fought, it was there. Oh, he staggered back out of the cocoon’s reach, sure. But the sickness inside him lingered, a poison worming its way into his soul. The others stood in a circle, silent, knowing what they knew but not wanting to say it: Cal was marked. And no one knew if that mark could be erased.
The Heart of the Labyrinth, that wicked engine of doom, sat dead and cold at the chamber’s center. Its once-thundering pulses had gone silent, and for a heartbeat, it felt like the whole world held its breath. Then the air grew heavy, thick as bad dreams. Shadows stretched, slithering up the walls like oil slicks. And that’s when they heard it—a low, rolling chuckle that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once.
It was Pyraxus.
His voice slithered through the air, mocking them, wrapping around their throats like a noose. “You think you’ve won? This maze—my maze—isn’t just gears and stone. It’s flesh and bone. And you? You’re inside me.” His laughter filled every crack, every shadow. The temperature dropped, and the walls seemed to inch closer, like the whole labyrinth was swallowing them whole.
Kaldir Stormrage, the half-dragon berserker, gritted his teeth as the voice wormed its way into his mind. Pyraxus whispered promises sweet as honey and dark as tar—power, brotherhood, purpose. Kaldir, already hanging by a thread, felt that thread snap. His eyes glazed over, and his scales took on a dull, infernal sheen. When he opened his mouth, it wasn’t a man’s roar—it was the guttural bellow of a devil.
The fight was brutal. The party threw everything they had at their former ally, but Kaldir fought like a wild storm, fists and flames battering them with the fury of a god gone mad. They shouted his name and begged him to fight the corruption, but it was like shouting into a storm—he couldn’t hear them. And in the end, they had no choice. Their blades found flesh, and Kaldir fell, his monstrous body hitting the ground with a dull, final thud.
That’s when Pyraxus’ voice came again, dripping with glee. “You think killing him freed him? No, no, his soul is mine now. You only saved him from one prison just to toss him into another.”
Before the party could catch their breath, the treasure hoard at the heart of the Labyrinth began to move. Gold coins lifted into the air like a swarm of angry wasps. Gems glittered with a dark, hateful light as they spun into a storm of metal and malice. The hoard came alive, and it wanted blood.
It was chaos—coins cutting through flesh like razors, gems smashing into armor with bone-shattering force. The party fought tooth and nail to survive the storm, but it was like trying to hold back the tide. They couldn’t win, not like this. Their only hope was the Clockwork Gate at the far end of the chamber, the portal flickering like a candle on the edge of going out.
With trembling hands and racing hearts, they worked together, each second feeling like an hour, assembling the gate piece by piece. And all the while, Pyraxus was in their heads, whispering doubts and fears, filling their minds with images of failure. One wrong move, one missed bolt, and they’d be trapped in the labyrinth forever.
Just as the storm of treasure closed in for the kill, the gate roared to life with a mechanical clatter. They leapt through, one by one, hearts in their throats, as Pyraxus unleashed one final illusion—a blaze of hellfire and chaos, the walls crumbling, the air turning to poison. But the heroes knew it wasn’t real. They had to know. They clenched their eyes shut, gritted their teeth, and stepped through the gate—one last leap of faith.
Tike Myson was the last to step through. As the portal swallowed him, he glanced back over his shoulder one final time. Pyraxus stood at the center of the storm, a devil made of shadows and fire, bound to a prison of his own making. And then, the gate slammed shut, leaving the Labyrinth—and its infernal master—behind.
A Meeting with Elric Toplo
The heroes barely had time to catch their breath before the summons came. Elric Toplo wanted to see them, an old friend of Alfie Bud and a scholar of dark things best left buried. When they arrived at his estate, they were met by Pollard, a wiry old butler whose eyes held too many secrets. He led them through the grand foyer, past ancient suits of armor and faded banners from battles long forgotten. There, among the relics of another time, hung a painting—two boys kicking a soccer ball across a sunlit field. Alfie and Elric, once friends, before the world grew dark around them.
Elric met them in the parlor, a room that smelled of old books and pipe smoke. He was a thin man, his frail frame wrapped in a scholar’s robes, but there was steel in his eyes. When he spoke, it was with the quiet authority of someone who knew too much. And what he knew now was the stuff of nightmares.
Green worms. The kind that don’t just kill you—they take you. They burrow into your flesh, into your mind, turning you into something else. Something worse. And these weren’t just mindless undead; no, these creatures were part of something bigger. They were pieces of Kyuss Descimus, a necromancer who dreamed of godhood and damn near got there. Elric told them how the worms spread like a disease, each one a piece of Kyuss’ mind, each one whispering his will. And the Ebon Triad—they were working to free him. The prophecies were already in motion, gears turning in the shadows, and if the heroes didn’t stop it, the Age of Worms would come.
GM Notes
Running this session was a little like trying to balance on a knife’s edge. It had moments where everything clicked into place like clockwork gears, and others where I could feel things slipping, no matter how tightly I tried to grip the narrative. Here’s where the session shined, and where it didn’t.
What I Liked About The Session
- The Kaldir encounter – a shot at salvation that slipped through their fingers.
I wanted to give the players a real chance to avoid having to fight Kaldir, their ally-turned-berserker. The encounter wasn’t just a hack-and-slash; it was a puzzle wrapped in tragedy. They had different ways to pull him back from the edge—through persuasion, tactics, or skill checks designed to disrupt the mental grip of Pyraxus. Unfortunately, the dice turned cold on them at the worst moment. Still, that’s the kind of heartbreak I love in a game: the players had the tools, the opportunities, but fate had other plans. A gut-wrenching failure makes for a better story than an easy victory any day. - The Escape Protocol – skill checks done right.
Here’s the thing: I’ve got one player whose PC is built to absolutely destroy skill checks—high bonuses stacked across Knowledge and various proficiencies. And yeah, that tends to leave the others twiddling their thumbs when those moments arise. But the Clockwork Gate sequence forced everyone into the spotlight. Sure, Mr. Skill Master got his moment to shine, but this wasn’t just his show. Every player had a role to play; the clock was ticking, the pressure was on, and success was a team effort. That tension, where everyone contributes meaningfully? That’s the gold standard I aim for.
What I Didn’t Like
- The Elric Toplo info dump – when sticking to the script goes sideways.
Here’s where I dropped the ball. I leaned too hard on the published material, which ended up biting me. The whole idea was for Elric Toplo to provide critical intel on the green worms and the Ebon Triad, but my Skill PC had already aced some big rolls earlier, uncovering most of that lore. By the time they met Elric, it felt like a rerun—info they already knew but wrapped in a fancier package. I should have improvised—pivoted off-script and given Elric something new to add, a breadcrumb that wouldn’t spoil future events but still rewarded the players for their patience in getting to that point. Lesson learned: just because it’s written doesn’t mean it can’t be rewritten on the fly. Keep it fresh, keep it dynamic, or risk having those high-stakes moments fall flat.
Pathfinder Age of Worms Campaign: Cogsworth Labyrinth Adventure Recap
This is the summary from the last First Edition Pathfinder gaming session of my Age of Worms campaign. It probably won’t make too much sense for those familiar with the campaign—or anyone outside my group of players, for that matter. In this side quest, the heroes known as the Ruinlords (Pathfinder punny joke, lol) had discovered a maze called the Cogsworth Labyrinth that was said to hold the dragon hoard of the bronze dragon Pyraxus. And now, we pick up from there.
The Cogsworth Labyrinth wasn’t just a maze—it was a death trap with teeth, and the Ruinlords were stuck in its jaws. They moved cautiously, but even the air felt wrong, thick with the charge of something waiting to strike. The heroes didn’t have to wait very long. The veins of Theyrium (a powerful ore believed to have originated in the Abyss) running through the walls pulsed once, then exploded into life, twisting into long tendrils like crystalline vipers. Each one cracked free with a sound that cut through the stillness like a bone snapping. They didn’t just lash out—they hunted, driven by something far worse than instinct.
The fight was a blur of blood, sweat, and desperation. No time to think, no time to plan—just survive. Barely. But they did, and when the last of those glowing tendrils shattered to dust, the party pressed forward, deeper into the guts of the Labyrinth. They found themselves in a place built for violence: the arena. Towering curved metal walls surrounded them, casting eerie green light from the Theyrium veins embedded in the structure. In the center stood a hulking mass of death—the Crowd Pummeler 9-60, a mechanical monstrosity designed to kill, and it locked onto them the moment they stepped inside.
The Pummeler didn’t hold back. Every blow felt like a freight train, every second stretched out into a brutal eternity. But the Ruinlords weren’t pushovers. They dug deep, working together, finding weak spots, until finally, the machine faltered. But even in its death throes, the Pummeler whispered a grim warning: the defences around the Heart of the Labyrinth were ramping up, preparing for something worse.
The party limped onward, finding temporary relief in a chamber called the Gnomish Recovery Matrix, though ‘relief’ was a generous word. The machines in the room were meant to heal, but nothing in this place came without a catch. Kaldir Stormrage—half-dragon, half-berserker, all fury—had been broken by the Theyrium, his mind lost to madness. The Matrix gave him a chance, though, filtering the corruption from his system long enough for him to regain his senses. But Kaldir wasn’t calm. There was too much fire in his eyes, too much fear. He’d been in the Labyrinth for so long, twisted by the Theyrium, searching for the dragon Pyraxus—who he believed was his blood relative. The heroes wanted to help Kaldir find the dragon’s lair, but their motivation was more financial than altruistic.
They pushed on into the Workshop of Cogsworth, where the air smelled of old metal and broken dreams. This was where things got personal. Trixwynn Cogsworth greeted them, having been left to die by her aunt and the original creator of the labyrinth, Valeria Cogsworth. Trixwynn was barely recognizable as the gnome she once was. She’d fused herself with a monstrous machine, a scorpion-like horror powered by Theyrium, and she wasn’t sane anymore. Her mind was as broken as the machines around her, twisted by centuries of isolation and rage. Trixwynn ranted, her words sharp with bitterness and madness, promising to make the party suffer, promising they would see the true power of Theyrium before they died.
Trixwynn summoned a giant elemental, its body crackling with raw electricity, the air around it humming with the promise of violence. It surged forward like a living storm, all fury and power, crashing into the heroes with relentless strikes. They fought back, hard and fast, but it was like trying to punch a thunderstorm. When the elemental finally went down in a shower of sparks, the air smelled like scorched metal and burned flesh.
Then Trixwynn made her move. The gnome-turned-machine barreled into the fray, her mechanized body a blur of steel and fury. It was chaos. Flesh against metal. Magic against machine. The whole fight felt like the Labyrinth had come alive, watching them, waiting for them to make a mistake. Cal saw his opening in the madness, the Command Rod heavy in his hand. He jammed it into place and rerouted the Theyrium’s power, hoping it would shut this nightmare down.
But as Trixwynn fell, her last words sliced through the noise: resetting the Heart wouldn’t end things—it would set something far worse free. Her voice lingered like a bad omen, and then everything went dark.
The doors slammed shut with a shudder that felt final, like the Labyrinth was locking them in, sealing their fate. The Ruinlords stood there, trapped, nothing but the heavy sound of their breathing filling the silence. And in the distance, low and steady, they could hear it—a rumble, growing louder with each second. The ground shook, and the walls trembled. Then, all became as silent as a tomb.
GM Notes
Now, I’m diving into some GM notes on what I learned from this session. Part of the reason I’m writing this is because if I’m learning something, maybe it can help another GM out there too. If you’re one of my players reading this, you might want to stop here—there could be spoilers ahead! See you at the next session!
A Little About My Pathfinder Group
My Pathfinder group gets together about twice a month, with each session running roughly four hours. Depending on how things are going, that can sometimes stretch longer. For this particular session, I had planned for the game to end as the players entered the final room, where they would be confronted by the huge lightning elemental and the Scorpion Gnome. But the players weren’t interested in waiting until the next session to face the Big Boss, so they asked if we could keep going.
I agreed, but looking back, I kinda wished I hadn’t.
What I Liked About the Session
Gnomish Recovery Matrix:
This room provided a good break from the heavy combat flow. The players had just dealt with three Theyrium Tendril snakes, followed by a tough fight with the Crowd Pummeler. They were running low on resources, and the Gnomish Recovery Matrix gave them a chance to recover and learn more about their new ally, Kaldir. While I could’ve fleshed out the room a bit more, it served its purpose in pacing and character development.
What I Didn’t Like
The Combats:
My table has 5 to 6 players, and we can usually squeeze two combat encounters into a session. This time, though, we had three—one of which involved a powerful henchman and then the Big Boss herself. By the time they reached the final fight, it felt like more of the same. Each encounter had a solo, hard-hitting target, and there wasn’t enough variety to keep things interesting. The fights blended together in my mind. The fighter who specialized in “dirty tricks” (debuffs) was frustrated because most of the enemies were immune to his debuffs. I think if I had mixed up the types of creatures and introduced different mechanics, it would have been more engaging for everyone, including me.
The Prep:
As I mentioned earlier, I had planned for the session to end when they met the Big Boss, leaving a nice cliffhanger. I had the lightning elemental and Trixwynn prepared just in case, but what I didn’t have ready was what came after. The players had the Control Rod to reset the labyrinth, but I hadn’t finished the mechanics on how that would work. That was entirely on me.
Lessons Learned:
- Variety matters: Mix up creature types and mechanics to keep combat encounters fresh and engaging.
- Balance pacing: Consider breaking up combat with exploration, puzzles, or role-playing to avoid burnout.
- Prep beyond the immediate: Always be ready for what comes after the Big Boss fight—your players might surprise you by pushing forward.
- Adapt, but with limits: Be willing to extend sessions, but keep an eye on player fatigue and your own preparedness.
Additional Material
A couple of days after this session, I came across this video by Basic Liches on YouTube. In fact, watching the video prompted me to write this blog post. So, if you’re not into the blah blah blah of the written word, check out their great video linked below.
Rokk Talk 