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Don't violate board rules, keep it serious, only add one sentence per post...you know the drill.
To start off:
Three weeks since the first snow fell, and still the ground rose by a foot everyday.
Hooahguy
04-02-2009, 20:08
Three weeks since the first snow fell, and still the ground rose by a foot everyday. When the ground reached sky-high, the airplanes became grounded.
Strategos Alexandros
04-02-2009, 20:18
Three weeks since the first snow fell, and still the ground rose by a foot everyday. When the ground reached sky-high, the airplanes became grounded. All attempts to clear the snow had now ceased, it having been deemed wiser just to wait for the snow to stop falling.
Hooahguy
04-02-2009, 20:35
Three weeks since the first snow fell, and still the ground rose by a foot everyday. When the ground reached sky-high, the airplanes became grounded. All attempts to clear the snow had now ceased, it having been deemed wiser just to wait for the snow to stop falling. that would be nice, except it never stopped!
Megas Methuselah
04-02-2009, 20:53
Three weeks since the first snow fell, and still the ground rose by a foot everyday. When the ground reached sky-high, the airplanes became grounded. All attempts to clear the snow had now ceased, it having been deemed wiser just to wait for the snow to stop falling. that would be nice, except it never stopped! In celebration, Megas Methuselah baked a cake.
Three weeks since the first snow fell, and still the ground rose by a foot everyday. When the ground reached sky-high, the airplanes became grounded. All attempts to clear the snow had now ceased, it having been deemed wiser just to wait for the snow to stop falling. that would be nice, except it never stopped! In celebration, Megas Methuselah baked a cake. Megas was a foul man, a selfish old man who loved winter and hated the summer.
I'm not refering to you meth, just trying to divert the story from your spammy sentence :juggle2:
Strategos Alexandros
04-02-2009, 21:01
Three weeks since the first snow fell, and still the ground rose by a foot everyday. When the ground reached sky-high, the airplanes became grounded. All attempts to clear the snow had now ceased, it having been deemed wiser just to wait for the snow to stop falling. That would be nice, except it never stopped! In celebration, Megas Methuselah baked a cake. Megas was a foul man, a selfish old man who loved winter and hated the summer. He lived in a small cave in the hills, cackling and prancing madly to himself at the sight of all the snow.
The Vuk did see the spammy outcome of his beautiful and perfect thread, and lo! A spirit of anger did come upon him and he did smite the spammers with the unholy power of his righteous wrath!
:furious3:
What part of serious did you guys not read? Shall we start again?
The Vuk did see the spammy outcome of his beautiful and perfect thread, and lo! A spirit of anger did come upon him and he did smite the spammers with the unholy power of his righteous wrath!
:furious3:
What part of serious did you guys not read? Shall we start again?
I was trying to revert it to seriousness and making light of the situation, It was methuselath that kinda sidetracked it. I think the story is acceptable enough to carry on with.
Fine...but it already doesn't make very much sense. :P Thank you for standing up against spam sir. :bow: Have a balloon. :balloon2: (and have another :balloon:)
Three weeks since the first snow fell, and still the ground rose by a foot everyday. When the ground reached sky-high, the airplanes became grounded. All attempts to clear the snow had now ceased, it having been deemed wiser just to wait for the snow to stop falling. That would be nice, except it never stopped! In celebration, Megas Methuselah baked a cake. Megas was a foul man, a selfish old man who loved winter and hated the summer. He lived in a small cave in the hills, cackling and prancing madly to himself at the sight of all the snow. Megas was the archmage of the Council of Ice, and his mission was rid the world of all things good and warm, till all was as cold as his icy heart.
Rhyfelwyr
04-02-2009, 21:24
The bit about the snow being so high it grounded the airplanes makes it a bit unrealistic...
In any other thread I support spam but yours is the exception :wink:
Three weeks since the first snow fell, and still the ground rose by a foot everyday. When the ground reached sky-high, the airplanes became grounded. All attempts to clear the snow had now ceased, it having been deemed wiser just to wait for the snow to stop falling. That would be nice, except it never stopped! In celebration, Megas Methuselah baked a cake. Megas was a foul man, a selfish old man who loved winter and hated the summer. He lived in a small cave in the hills, cackling and prancing madly to himself at the sight of all the snow. Megas was the archmage of the Council of Ice, and his mission was rid the world of all things good and warm, till all was as cold as his icy heart. People always saw him as the senile person, the lonely decrepit plotter, he was never taken seriously. Now was his chance to change the discriminative mind and views.
Megas Methuselah
04-02-2009, 21:30
Three weeks since the first snow fell, and still the ground rose by a foot everyday. When the ground reached sky-high, the airplanes became grounded. All attempts to clear the snow had now ceased, it having been deemed wiser just to wait for the snow to stop falling. That would be nice, except it never stopped! In celebration, Megas Methuselah baked a cake. Megas was a foul man, a selfish old man who loved winter and hated the summer. He lived in a small cave in the hills, cackling and prancing madly to himself at the sight of all the snow. Megas was the archmage of the Council of Ice, and his mission was rid the world of all things good and warm, till all was as cold as his icy heart. People always saw him as the senile person, the lonely decrepit plotter, he was never taken seriously. Now was his chance to change the discriminative mind and views.
The fabled Vuk, who walked with giants and was a hero of old, rose from slumber to prominence in a bold attempt to recover his past glories and reverse these tragic turn of events.
Three weeks since the first snow fell, and still the ground rose by a foot everyday. When the ground reached sky-high, the airplanes became grounded. All attempts to clear the snow had now ceased, it having been deemed wiser just to wait for the snow to stop falling. That would be nice, except it never stopped! In celebration, Megas Methuselah baked a cake. Megas was a foul man, a selfish old man who loved winter and hated the summer. He lived in a small cave in the hills, cackling and prancing madly to himself at the sight of all the snow. Megas was the archmage of the Council of Ice, and his mission was rid the world of all things good and warm, till all was as cold as his icy heart. People always saw him as the senile person, the lonely decrepit plotter, he was never taken seriously. Now was his chance to change the discriminative mind and views.
The fabled Vuk, who walked with giants and was a hero of old, rose from slumber to prominence in a bold attempt to recover his past glories and reverse these tragic turn of events.
Don't think you will get out of this that easily sir. ~;) :clown:
Three weeks since the first snow fell, and still the ground rose by a foot everyday. When the ground reached sky-high, the airplanes became grounded. All attempts to clear the snow had now ceased, it having been deemed wiser just to wait for the snow to stop falling. That would be nice, except it never stopped! In celebration, Megas Methuselah baked a cake. Megas was a foul man, a selfish old man who loved winter and hated the summer. He lived in a small cave in the hills, cackling and prancing madly to himself at the sight of all the snow. Megas was the archmage of the Council of Ice, and his mission was rid the world of all things good and warm, till all was as cold as his icy heart. People always saw him as the senile person, the lonely decrepit plotter, he was never taken seriously. Now was his chance to change the discriminative mind and views. The fabled Vuk, who walked with giants and was a hero of old, rose from slumber to prominence in a bold attempt to recover his past glories and reverse these tragic turn of events. The ancient pack now broken, and their glory of old faded to a memory, Vuk now had to hunt alone.
Cute Wolf
04-03-2009, 05:18
Three weeks since the first snow fell, and still the ground rose by a foot everyday. When the ground reached sky-high, the airplanes became grounded. All attempts to clear the snow had now ceased, it having been deemed wiser just to wait for the snow to stop falling. That would be nice, except it never stopped! In celebration, Megas Methuselah baked a cake. Megas was a foul man, a selfish old man who loved winter and hated the summer. He lived in a small cave in the hills, cackling and prancing madly to himself at the sight of all the snow. Megas was the archmage of the Council of Ice, and his mission was rid the world of all things good and warm, till all was as cold as his icy heart. People always saw him as the senile person, the lonely decrepit plotter, he was never taken seriously. Now was his chance to change the discriminative mind and views. The fabled Vuk, who walked with giants and was a hero of old, rose from slumber to prominence in a bold attempt to recover his past glories and reverse these tragic turn of events. The ancient pack now broken, and their glory of old faded to a memory, Vuk now had to hunt alone. And then he pray to the God, to stop the blizzard from falling, so all the rest of the men would be free from the frozen jail.
Megas Methuselah
04-03-2009, 07:05
Guys, pay attention to paragraph changes. New paragraphs are easier on the eye and are part of the literary arts.
Three weeks since the first snow fell, and still the ground rose by a foot everyday. When the ground reached sky-high, the airplanes became grounded. All attempts to clear the snow had now ceased, it having been deemed wiser just to wait for the snow to stop falling. That would be nice, except it never stopped! In celebration, Megas Methuselah baked a cake. Megas was a foul man, a selfish old man who loved winter and hated the summer. He lived in a small cave in the hills, cackling and prancing madly to himself at the sight of all the snow. Megas was the archmage of the Council of Ice, and his mission was rid the world of all things good and warm, till all was as cold as his icy heart. People always saw him as the senile person, the lonely decrepit plotter, he was never taken seriously. Now was his chance to change the discriminative mind and views.
The fabled Vuk, who walked with giants and was a hero of old, rose from slumber to prominence in a bold attempt to recover his past glories and reverse these tragic turn of events. The ancient pack now broken, and their glory of old faded to a memory, Vuk now had to hunt alone. And then he pray to the God, to stop the blizzard from falling, so all the rest of the men would be free from the frozen jail. Alas, it was not to be; Rhyfelwyr of Wales, a renowned thief and vagabond, had steathily advanced towards Vuk as he knelt in prayer and, with a quick hand, snatched the fabled one's staff.
Three weeks since the first snow fell, and still the ground rose by a foot everyday. When the ground reached sky-high, the airplanes became grounded. All attempts to clear the snow had now ceased, it having been deemed wiser just to wait for the snow to stop falling. That would be nice, except it never stopped! In celebration, Megas Methuselah baked a cake. Megas was a foul man, a selfish old man who loved winter and hated the summer. He lived in a small cave in the hills, cackling and prancing madly to himself at the sight of all the snow. Megas was the archmage of the Council of Ice, and his mission was rid the world of all things good and warm, till all was as cold as his icy heart. People always saw him as the senile person, the lonely decrepit plotter, he was never taken seriously. Now was his chance to change the discriminative mind and views.
The fabled Vuk, who walked with giants and was a hero of old, rose from slumber to prominence in a bold attempt to recover his past glories and reverse these tragic turn of events. The ancient pack now broken, and their glory of old faded to a memory, Vuk now had to hunt alone. And then he pray to the God, to stop the blizzard from falling, so all the rest of the men would be free from the frozen jail. Alas, it was not to be; Rhyfelwyr of Wales, a renowned thief and vagabond, had steathily advanced towards Vuk as he knelt in prayer and, with a quick hand, snatched the fabled one's staff. So vuk drew his sword and left the thief's head lying in the ever rising snow.
Three weeks since the first snow fell, and still the ground rose by a foot everyday. When the ground reached sky-high, the airplanes became grounded. All attempts to clear the snow had now ceased, it having been deemed wiser just to wait for the snow to stop falling. That would be nice, except it never stopped! In celebration, Megas Methuselah baked a cake. Megas was a foul man, a selfish old man who loved winter and hated the summer. He lived in a small cave in the hills, cackling and prancing madly to himself at the sight of all the snow. Megas was the archmage of the Council of Ice, and his mission was rid the world of all things good and warm, till all was as cold as his icy heart. People always saw him as the senile person, the lonely decrepit plotter, he was never taken seriously. Now was his chance to change the discriminative mind and views.
The fabled Vuk, who walked with giants and was a hero of old, rose from slumber to prominence in a bold attempt to recover his past glories and reverse these tragic turn of events. The ancient pack now broken, and their glory of old faded to a memory, Vuk now had to hunt alone. And then he pray to the God, to stop the blizzard from falling, so all the rest of the men would be free from the frozen jail. Alas, it was not to be; Rhyfelwyr of Wales, a renowned thief and vagabond, had steathily advanced towards Vuk as he knelt in prayer and, with a quick hand, snatched the fabled one's staff. No one knew why a Vuk -a wolf- would carry a staff, but Rhyf knew that it must be truely important, for Vuk would never do anything trivial or stupid.
:laugh4:
well now i'm feeling a little left out, i'll just go sit on the swings all alone and leave the big kids to play on the fort~:mecry:
well now i'm feeling a little left out, i'll just go sit on the swings all alone and leave the big kids to play on the fort~:mecry:
ummm...why can't you add your own sentence?
rotfl
I DID!!!!
lol, it needs to be serious. :P Try again. lol
oh, well, i was trying to be kind of serious. :sweatdrop:
I'll try again tomorrow after a good night's sleep
Megas Methuselah
04-03-2009, 20:36
Three weeks since the first snow fell, and still the ground rose by a foot everyday. When the ground reached sky-high, the airplanes became grounded. All attempts to clear the snow had now ceased, it having been deemed wiser just to wait for the snow to stop falling. That would be nice, except it never stopped! In celebration, Megas Methuselah baked a cake. Megas was a foul man, a selfish old man who loved winter and hated the summer. He lived in a small cave in the hills, cackling and prancing madly to himself at the sight of all the snow. Megas was the archmage of the Council of Ice, and his mission was rid the world of all things good and warm, till all was as cold as his icy heart. People always saw him as the senile person, the lonely decrepit plotter, he was never taken seriously. Now was his chance to change the discriminative mind and views.
The fabled Vuk, who walked with giants and was a hero of old, rose from slumber to prominence in a bold attempt to recover his past glories and reverse these tragic turn of events. The ancient pack now broken, and their glory of old faded to a memory, Vuk now had to hunt alone. And then he pray to the God, to stop the blizzard from falling, so all the rest of the men would be free from the frozen jail. Alas, it was not to be; Rhyfelwyr of Wales, a renowned thief and vagabond, had steathily advanced towards Vuk as he knelt in prayer and, with a quick hand, snatched the fabled one's staff. No one knew why a Vuk -a wolf- would carry a staff, but Rhyf knew that it must be truely important, for Vuk would never do anything trivial or stupid. Indeed, despite the fact that the snarling Vuk had recently befriended Miotas the Sheep, Rhyfelwyr of Wales still had a stubborn belief in the wisdom of the fabled Vuk.
Rhyfelwyr
04-03-2009, 23:59
Three weeks since the first snow fell, and still the ground rose by a foot everyday. When the ground reached sky-high, the airplanes became grounded. All attempts to clear the snow had now ceased, it having been deemed wiser just to wait for the snow to stop falling. That would be nice, except it never stopped! In celebration, Megas Methuselah baked a cake. Megas was a foul man, a selfish old man who loved winter and hated the summer. He lived in a small cave in the hills, cackling and prancing madly to himself at the sight of all the snow. Megas was the archmage of the Council of Ice, and his mission was rid the world of all things good and warm, till all was as cold as his icy heart. People always saw him as the senile person, the lonely decrepit plotter, he was never taken seriously. Now was his chance to change the discriminative mind and views.
The fabled Vuk, who walked with giants and was a hero of old, rose from slumber to prominence in a bold attempt to recover his past glories and reverse these tragic turn of events. The ancient pack now broken, and their glory of old faded to a memory, Vuk now had to hunt alone. And then he pray to the God, to stop the blizzard from falling, so all the rest of the men would be free from the frozen jail. Alas, it was not to be; Rhyfelwyr of Wales, a renowned thief and vagabond, had steathily advanced towards Vuk as he knelt in prayer and, with a quick hand, snatched the fabled one's staff. No one knew why a Vuk -a wolf- would carry a staff, but Rhyf knew that it must be truely important, for Vuk would never do anything trivial or stupid. Indeed, despite the fact that the snarling Vuk had recently befriended Miotas the Sheep, Rhyfelwyr of Wales still had a stubborn belief in the wisdom of the fabled Vuk. Having fell and cracked his head off a rock, Rhyfelwyr remember that he is in fact not Welsh, but due to the ancient Brythonic languages of his Scottish homeland, had given himself a very unfortunate name, which led to much confusion over his nationality.
Megas Methuselah
04-04-2009, 08:19
Three weeks since the first snow fell, and still the ground rose by a foot everyday. When the ground reached sky-high, the airplanes became grounded. All attempts to clear the snow had now ceased, it having been deemed wiser just to wait for the snow to stop falling. That would be nice, except it never stopped! In celebration, Megas Methuselah baked a cake. Megas was a foul man, a selfish old man who loved winter and hated the summer. He lived in a small cave in the hills, cackling and prancing madly to himself at the sight of all the snow. Megas was the archmage of the Council of Ice, and his mission was rid the world of all things good and warm, till all was as cold as his icy heart. People always saw him as the senile person, the lonely decrepit plotter, he was never taken seriously. Now was his chance to change the discriminative mind and views.
The fabled Vuk, who walked with giants and was a hero of old, rose from slumber to prominence in a bold attempt to recover his past glories and reverse these tragic turn of events. The ancient pack now broken, and their glory of old faded to a memory, Vuk now had to hunt alone. And then he pray to the God, to stop the blizzard from falling, so all the rest of the men would be free from the frozen jail. Alas, it was not to be; Rhyfelwyr of Wales, a renowned thief and vagabond, had steathily advanced towards Vuk as he knelt in prayer and, with a quick hand, snatched the fabled one's staff. No one knew why a Vuk -a wolf- would carry a staff, but Rhyf knew that it must be truely important, for Vuk would never do anything trivial or stupid. Indeed, despite the fact that the snarling Vuk had recently befriended Miotas the Sheep, Rhyfelwyr of Wales still had a stubborn belief in the wisdom of the fabled Vuk. Having fell and cracked his head off a rock, Rhyfelwyr remember that he is in fact not Welsh, but due to the ancient Brythonic languages of his Scottish homeland, had given himself a very unfortunate name, which led to much confusion over his nationality. In the end, Rhyfelwyr of Wales had come to the conclusion that he was, in fact, Cornish.
So you all know, I am posting the completed story along with a list of contributers in the Mead Hall once it is finished, so do your best to make it a serious, good read. ~;) (or as serious as we can salvage out of this :P)
Three weeks since the first snow fell, and still the ground rose by a foot everyday. When the ground reached sky-high, the airplanes became grounded. All attempts to clear the snow had now ceased, it having been deemed wiser just to wait for the snow to stop falling. That would be nice, except it never stopped! In celebration, Megas Methuselah baked a cake. Megas was a foul man, a selfish old man who loved winter and hated the summer. He lived in a small cave in the hills, cackling and prancing madly to himself at the sight of all the snow. Megas was the archmage of the Council of Ice, and his mission was rid the world of all things good and warm, till all was as cold as his icy heart. People always saw him as the senile person, the lonely decrepit plotter, he was never taken seriously. Now was his chance to change the discriminative mind and views.
The fabled Vuk, who walked with giants and was a hero of old, rose from slumber to prominence in a bold attempt to recover his past glories and reverse these tragic turn of events. The ancient pack now broken, and their glory of old faded to a memory, Vuk now had to hunt alone. And then he pray to the God, to stop the blizzard from falling, so all the rest of the men would be free from the frozen jail. Alas, it was not to be; Rhyfelwyr of Wales, a renowned thief and vagabond, had steathily advanced towards Vuk as he knelt in prayer and, with a quick hand, snatched the fabled one's staff. No one knew why a Vuk -a wolf- would carry a staff, but Rhyf knew that it must be truely important, for Vuk would never do anything trivial or stupid. Indeed, despite the fact that the snarling Vuk had recently befriended Miotas the Sheep, Rhyfelwyr of Wales still had a stubborn belief in the wisdom of the fabled Vuk. Having fell and cracked his head off a rock, Rhyfelwyr remember that he is in fact not Welsh, but due to the ancient Brythonic languages of his Scottish homeland, had given himself a very unfortunate name, which led to much confusion over his nationality. In the end, Rhyfelwyr of Wales had come to the conclusion that he was, in fact, Cornish.
The hunt had begun, for Vuk knew that if he was to save humanity from the menacing old Megas, he would need the powers of the shadow staff that the foul taffer had stolen.
Megas Methuselah
04-04-2009, 08:36
Three weeks since the first snow fell, and still the ground rose by a foot everyday. When the ground reached sky-high, the airplanes became grounded. All attempts to clear the snow had now ceased, it having been deemed wiser just to wait for the snow to stop falling. That would be nice, except it never stopped! In celebration, Megas Methuselah baked a cake. Megas was a foul man, a selfish old man who loved winter and hated the summer. He lived in a small cave in the hills, cackling and prancing madly to himself at the sight of all the snow. Megas was the archmage of the Council of Ice, and his mission was rid the world of all things good and warm, till all was as cold as his icy heart. People always saw him as the senile person, the lonely decrepit plotter, he was never taken seriously. Now was his chance to change the discriminative mind and views.
The fabled Vuk, who walked with giants and was a hero of old, rose from slumber to prominence in a bold attempt to recover his past glories and reverse these tragic turn of events. The ancient pack now broken, and their glory of old faded to a memory, Vuk now had to hunt alone. And then he pray to the God, to stop the blizzard from falling, so all the rest of the men would be free from the frozen jail. Alas, it was not to be; Rhyfelwyr of Wales, a renowned thief and vagabond, had steathily advanced towards Vuk as he knelt in prayer and, with a quick hand, snatched the fabled one's staff. No one knew why a Vuk -a wolf- would carry a staff, but Rhyf knew that it must be truely important, for Vuk would never do anything trivial or stupid. Indeed, despite the fact that the snarling Vuk had recently befriended Miotas the Sheep, Rhyfelwyr of Wales still had a stubborn belief in the wisdom of the fabled Vuk. Having fell and cracked his head off a rock, Rhyfelwyr remember that he is in fact not Welsh, but due to the ancient Brythonic languages of his Scottish homeland, had given himself a very unfortunate name, which led to much confusion over his nationality. In the end, Rhyfelwyr of Wales had come to the conclusion that he was, in fact, Cornish.
The hunt had begun, for Vuk knew that if he was to save humanity from the menacing old Megas, he would need the powers of the shadow staff that the foul taffer had stolen. In response, the aged and despised Megas Methuselah, archmage of the Council of Ice, drafted together a strike force of Finnish conscripts; it was their goal to capture Rhyfelwyr of Cornwall and enact brute torture upon the thief before stealing his stolen staff and returning it to their lords and masters in the Council of Ice.
Three weeks since the first snow fell, and still the ground rose by a foot everyday. When the ground reached sky-high, the airplanes became grounded. All attempts to clear the snow had now ceased, it having been deemed wiser just to wait for the snow to stop falling. That would be nice, except it never stopped! In celebration, Megas Methuselah baked a cake. Megas was a foul man, a selfish old man who loved winter and hated the summer. He lived in a small cave in the hills, cackling and prancing madly to himself at the sight of all the snow. Megas was the archmage of the Council of Ice, and his mission was rid the world of all things good and warm, till all was as cold as his icy heart. People always saw him as the senile person, the lonely decrepit plotter, he was never taken seriously. Now was his chance to change the discriminative mind and views.
The fabled Vuk, who walked with giants and was a hero of old, rose from slumber to prominence in a bold attempt to recover his past glories and reverse these tragic turn of events. The ancient pack now broken, and their glory of old faded to a memory, Vuk now had to hunt alone. And then he pray to the God, to stop the blizzard from falling, so all the rest of the men would be free from the frozen jail. Alas, it was not to be; Rhyfelwyr of Wales, a renowned thief and vagabond, had steathily advanced towards Vuk as he knelt in prayer and, with a quick hand, snatched the fabled one's staff. No one knew why a Vuk -a wolf- would carry a staff, but Rhyf knew that it must be truely important, for Vuk would never do anything trivial or stupid. Indeed, despite the fact that the snarling Vuk had recently befriended Miotas the Sheep, Rhyfelwyr of Wales still had a stubborn belief in the wisdom of the fabled Vuk. Having fell and cracked his head off a rock, Rhyfelwyr remember that he is in fact not Welsh, but due to the ancient Brythonic languages of his Scottish homeland, had given himself a very unfortunate name, which led to much confusion over his nationality. In the end, Rhyfelwyr of Wales had come to the conclusion that he was, in fact, Cornish.
The hunt had begun, for Vuk knew that if he was to save humanity from the menacing old Megas, he would need the powers of the shadow staff that the foul taffer had stolen. In response, the aged and despised Megas Methuselah, archmage of the Council of Ice, drafted together a strike force of Finnish conscripts; it was their goal to capture Rhyfelwyr of Cornwall and enact brute torture upon the thief before stealing his stolen staff and returning it to their lords and masters in the Council of Ice. It was now a race to see who could find the crafty thief first.
Three weeks since the first snow fell, and still the ground rose by a foot everyday. When the ground reached sky-high, the airplanes became grounded. All attempts to clear the snow had now ceased, it having been deemed wiser just to wait for the snow to stop falling. That would be nice, except it never stopped! In celebration, Megas Methuselah baked a cake. Megas was a foul man, a selfish old man who loved winter and hated the summer. He lived in a small cave in the hills, cackling and prancing madly to himself at the sight of all the snow. Megas was the archmage of the Council of Ice, and his mission was rid the world of all things good and warm, till all was as cold as his icy heart. People always saw him as the senile person, the lonely decrepit plotter, he was never taken seriously. Now was his chance to change the discriminative mind and views.
The fabled Vuk, who walked with giants and was a hero of old, rose from slumber to prominence in a bold attempt to recover his past glories and reverse these tragic turn of events. The ancient pack now broken, and their glory of old faded to a memory, Vuk now had to hunt alone. And then he pray to the God, to stop the blizzard from falling, so all the rest of the men would be free from the frozen jail. Alas, it was not to be; Rhyfelwyr of Wales, a renowned thief and vagabond, had steathily advanced towards Vuk as he knelt in prayer and, with a quick hand, snatched the fabled one's staff. No one knew why a Vuk -a wolf- would carry a staff, but Rhyf knew that it must be truely important, for Vuk would never do anything trivial or stupid. Indeed, despite the fact that the snarling Vuk had recently befriended Miotas the Sheep, Rhyfelwyr of Wales still had a stubborn belief in the wisdom of the fabled Vuk. Having fell and cracked his head off a rock, Rhyfelwyr remember that he is in fact not Welsh, but due to the ancient Brythonic languages of his Scottish homeland, had given himself a very unfortunate name, which led to much confusion over his nationality. In the end, Rhyfelwyr of Wales had come to the conclusion that he was, in fact, Cornish.
The hunt had begun, for Vuk knew that if he was to save humanity from the menacing old Megas, he would need the powers of the shadow staff that the foul taffer had stolen. In response, the aged and despised Megas Methuselah, archmage of the Council of Ice, drafted together a strike force of Finnish conscripts; it was their goal to capture Rhyfelwyr of Cornwall and enact brute torture upon the thief before stealing his stolen staff and returning it to their lords and masters in the Council of Ice. It was now a race to see who could find the crafty thief first. The thief however, had fled Cornwall sometime back, and was now hiding in the far away land of Indostan.
Three weeks since the first snow fell, and still the ground rose by a foot everyday. When the ground reached sky-high, the airplanes became grounded. All attempts to clear the snow had now ceased, it having been deemed wiser just to wait for the snow to stop falling. That would be nice, except it never stopped! In celebration, Megas Methuselah baked a cake. Megas was a foul man, a selfish old man who loved winter and hated the summer. He lived in a small cave in the hills, cackling and prancing madly to himself at the sight of all the snow. Megas was the archmage of the Council of Ice, and his mission was rid the world of all things good and warm, till all was as cold as his icy heart. People always saw him as the senile person, the lonely decrepit plotter, he was never taken seriously. Now was his chance to change the discriminative mind and views.
The fabled Vuk, who walked with giants and was a hero of old, rose from slumber to prominence in a bold attempt to recover his past glories and reverse these tragic turn of events. The ancient pack now broken, and their glory of old faded to a memory, Vuk now had to hunt alone. And then he pray to the God, to stop the blizzard from falling, so all the rest of the men would be free from the frozen jail. Alas, it was not to be; Rhyfelwyr of Wales, a renowned thief and vagabond, had steathily advanced towards Vuk as he knelt in prayer and, with a quick hand, snatched the fabled one's staff. No one knew why a Vuk -a wolf- would carry a staff, but Rhyf knew that it must be truely important, for Vuk would never do anything trivial or stupid. Indeed, despite the fact that the snarling Vuk had recently befriended Miotas the Sheep, Rhyfelwyr of Wales still had a stubborn belief in the wisdom of the fabled Vuk. Having fell and cracked his head off a rock, Rhyfelwyr remember that he is in fact not Welsh, but due to the ancient Brythonic languages of his Scottish homeland, had given himself a very unfortunate name, which led to much confusion over his nationality. In the end, Rhyfelwyr of Wales had come to the conclusion that he was, in fact, Cornish.
The hunt had begun, for Vuk knew that if he was to save humanity from the menacing old Megas, he would need the powers of the shadow staff that the foul taffer had stolen. In response, the aged and despised Megas Methuselah, archmage of the Council of Ice, drafted together a strike force of Finnish conscripts; it was their goal to capture Rhyfelwyr of Cornwall and enact brute torture upon the thief before stealing his stolen staff and returning it to their lords and masters in the Council of Ice. It was now a race to see who could find the crafty thief first. The thief however, had fled Cornwall sometime back, and was now hiding in the far away land of Indostan. Vuk knew that if he was to catch him, he would need help.
Megas Methuselah
04-04-2009, 09:34
Three weeks since the first snow fell, and still the ground rose by a foot everyday. When the ground reached sky-high, the airplanes became grounded. All attempts to clear the snow had now ceased, it having been deemed wiser just to wait for the snow to stop falling. That would be nice, except it never stopped! In celebration, Megas Methuselah baked a cake. Megas was a foul man, a selfish old man who loved winter and hated the summer. He lived in a small cave in the hills, cackling and prancing madly to himself at the sight of all the snow. Megas was the archmage of the Council of Ice, and his mission was rid the world of all things good and warm, till all was as cold as his icy heart. People always saw him as the senile person, the lonely decrepit plotter, he was never taken seriously. Now was his chance to change the discriminative mind and views.
The fabled Vuk, who walked with giants and was a hero of old, rose from slumber to prominence in a bold attempt to recover his past glories and reverse these tragic turn of events. The ancient pack now broken, and their glory of old faded to a memory, Vuk now had to hunt alone. And then he pray to the God, to stop the blizzard from falling, so all the rest of the men would be free from the frozen jail. Alas, it was not to be; Rhyfelwyr of Wales, a renowned thief and vagabond, had steathily advanced towards Vuk as he knelt in prayer and, with a quick hand, snatched the fabled one's staff. No one knew why a Vuk -a wolf- would carry a staff, but Rhyf knew that it must be truely important, for Vuk would never do anything trivial or stupid. Indeed, despite the fact that the snarling Vuk had recently befriended Miotas the Sheep, Rhyfelwyr of Wales still had a stubborn belief in the wisdom of the fabled Vuk. Having fell and cracked his head off a rock, Rhyfelwyr remember that he is in fact not Welsh, but due to the ancient Brythonic languages of his Scottish homeland, had given himself a very unfortunate name, which led to much confusion over his nationality. In the end, Rhyfelwyr of Wales had come to the conclusion that he was, in fact, Cornish.
The hunt had begun, for Vuk knew that if he was to save humanity from the menacing old Megas, he would need the powers of the shadow staff that the foul taffer had stolen. In response, the aged and despised Megas Methuselah, archmage of the Council of Ice, drafted together a strike force of Finnish conscripts; it was their goal to capture Rhyfelwyr of Cornwall and enact brute torture upon the thief before stealing his stolen staff and returning it to their lords and masters in the Council of Ice. It was now a race to see who could find the crafty thief first. The thief however, had fled Cornwall sometime back, and was now hiding in the far away land of Indostan. Vuk knew that if he was to catch him, he would need help. He felt it was necessary to acquire the aid of his mercenary friend, Miotas the Sheep, who was much loved amongst his species.
Three weeks since the first snow fell, and still the ground rose by a foot everyday. When the ground reached sky-high, the airplanes became grounded. All attempts to clear the snow had now ceased, it having been deemed wiser just to wait for the snow to stop falling. That would be nice, except it never stopped! In celebration, Megas Methuselah baked a cake. Megas was a foul man, a selfish old man who loved winter and hated the summer. He lived in a small cave in the hills, cackling and prancing madly to himself at the sight of all the snow. Megas was the archmage of the Council of Ice, and his mission was rid the world of all things good and warm, till all was as cold as his icy heart. People always saw him as the senile person, the lonely decrepit plotter, he was never taken seriously. Now was his chance to change the discriminative mind and views.
The fabled Vuk, who walked with giants and was a hero of old, rose from slumber to prominence in a bold attempt to recover his past glories and reverse these tragic turn of events. The ancient pack now broken, and their glory of old faded to a memory, Vuk now had to hunt alone. And then he pray to the God, to stop the blizzard from falling, so all the rest of the men would be free from the frozen jail. Alas, it was not to be; Rhyfelwyr of Wales, a renowned thief and vagabond, had steathily advanced towards Vuk as he knelt in prayer and, with a quick hand, snatched the fabled one's staff. No one knew why a Vuk -a wolf- would carry a staff, but Rhyf knew that it must be truely important, for Vuk would never do anything trivial or stupid. Indeed, despite the fact that the snarling Vuk had recently befriended Miotas the Sheep, Rhyfelwyr of Wales still had a stubborn belief in the wisdom of the fabled Vuk. Having fell and cracked his head off a rock, Rhyfelwyr remember that he is in fact not Welsh, but due to the ancient Brythonic languages of his Scottish homeland, had given himself a very unfortunate name, which led to much confusion over his nationality. In the end, Rhyfelwyr of Wales had come to the conclusion that he was, in fact, Cornish.
The hunt had begun, for Vuk knew that if he was to save humanity from the menacing old Megas, he would need the powers of the shadow staff that the foul taffer had stolen. In response, the aged and despised Megas Methuselah, archmage of the Council of Ice, drafted together a strike force of Finnish conscripts; it was their goal to capture Rhyfelwyr of Cornwall and enact brute torture upon the thief before stealing his stolen staff and returning it to their lords and masters in the Council of Ice. It was now a race to see who could find the crafty thief first. The thief however, had fled Cornwall sometime back, and was now hiding in the far away land of Indostan. Vuk knew that if he was to catch him, he would need help. He felt it was necessary to acquire the aid of his mercenary friend, Miotas the Sheep, who was much loved amongst his species. Many were fooled by the gentle, sheepish appearance of Miotas, for what all of them failed to see was the cache of heavy weaponry under his wool.
Three weeks since the first snow fell, and still the ground rose by a foot everyday. When the ground reached sky-high, the airplanes became grounded. All attempts to clear the snow had now ceased, it having been deemed wiser just to wait for the snow to stop falling. That would be nice, except it never stopped! In celebration, Megas Methuselah baked a cake. Megas was a foul man, a selfish old man who loved winter and hated the summer. He lived in a small cave in the hills, cackling and prancing madly to himself at the sight of all the snow. Megas was the archmage of the Council of Ice, and his mission was rid the world of all things good and warm, till all was as cold as his icy heart. People always saw him as the senile person, the lonely decrepit plotter, he was never taken seriously. Now was his chance to change the discriminative mind and views.
The fabled Vuk, who walked with giants and was a hero of old, rose from slumber to prominence in a bold attempt to recover his past glories and reverse these tragic turn of events. The ancient pack now broken, and their glory of old faded to a memory, Vuk now had to hunt alone. And then he pray to the God, to stop the blizzard from falling, so all the rest of the men would be free from the frozen jail. Alas, it was not to be; Rhyfelwyr of Wales, a renowned thief and vagabond, had steathily advanced towards Vuk as he knelt in prayer and, with a quick hand, snatched the fabled one's staff. No one knew why a Vuk -a wolf- would carry a staff, but Rhyf knew that it must be truely important, for Vuk would never do anything trivial or stupid. Indeed, despite the fact that the snarling Vuk had recently befriended Miotas the Sheep, Rhyfelwyr of Wales still had a stubborn belief in the wisdom of the fabled Vuk. Having fell and cracked his head off a rock, Rhyfelwyr remember that he is in fact not Welsh, but due to the ancient Brythonic languages of his Scottish homeland, had given himself a very unfortunate name, which led to much confusion over his nationality. In the end, Rhyfelwyr of Wales had come to the conclusion that he was, in fact, Cornish.
The hunt had begun, for Vuk knew that if he was to save humanity from the menacing old Megas, he would need the powers of the shadow staff that the foul taffer had stolen. In response, the aged and despised Megas Methuselah, archmage of the Council of Ice, drafted together a strike force of Finnish conscripts; it was their goal to capture Rhyfelwyr of Cornwall and enact brute torture upon the thief before stealing his stolen staff and returning it to their lords and masters in the Council of Ice. It was now a race to see who could find the crafty thief first. The thief however, had fled Cornwall sometime back, and was now hiding in the far away land of Indostan. Vuk knew that if he was to catch him, he would need help. He felt it was necessary to acquire the aid of his mercenary friend, Miotas the Sheep, who was much loved amongst his species. Many were fooled by the gentle, sheepish appearance of Miotas, for what all of them failed to see was the cache of heavy weaponry under his wool.He had been trained in the art of being a mercenary by the mighty warriors of the Maori tribes in the far off lands of the kiwi, where his species is much loved.
Three weeks since the first snow fell, and still the ground rose by a foot everyday. When the ground reached sky-high, the airplanes became grounded. All attempts to clear the snow had now ceased, it having been deemed wiser just to wait for the snow to stop falling. That would be nice, except it never stopped! In celebration, Megas Methuselah baked a cake. Megas was a foul man, a selfish old man who loved winter and hated the summer. He lived in a small cave in the hills, cackling and prancing madly to himself at the sight of all the snow. Megas was the archmage of the Council of Ice, and his mission was rid the world of all things good and warm, till all was as cold as his icy heart. People always saw him as the senile person, the lonely decrepit plotter, he was never taken seriously. Now was his chance to change the discriminative mind and views.
The fabled Vuk, who walked with giants and was a hero of old, rose from slumber to prominence in a bold attempt to recover his past glories and reverse these tragic turn of events. The ancient pack now broken, and their glory of old faded to a memory, Vuk now had to hunt alone. And then he pray to the God, to stop the blizzard from falling, so all the rest of the men would be free from the frozen jail. Alas, it was not to be; Rhyfelwyr of Wales, a renowned thief and vagabond, had steathily advanced towards Vuk as he knelt in prayer and, with a quick hand, snatched the fabled one's staff. No one knew why a Vuk -a wolf- would carry a staff, but Rhyf knew that it must be truely important, for Vuk would never do anything trivial or stupid. Indeed, despite the fact that the snarling Vuk had recently befriended Miotas the Sheep, Rhyfelwyr of Wales still had a stubborn belief in the wisdom of the fabled Vuk. Having fell and cracked his head off a rock, Rhyfelwyr remember that he is in fact not Welsh, but due to the ancient Brythonic languages of his Scottish homeland, had given himself a very unfortunate name, which led to much confusion over his nationality. In the end, Rhyfelwyr of Wales had come to the conclusion that he was, in fact, Cornish.
The hunt had begun, for Vuk knew that if he was to save humanity from the menacing old Megas, he would need the powers of the shadow staff that the foul taffer had stolen. In response, the aged and despised Megas Methuselah, archmage of the Council of Ice, drafted together a strike force of Finnish conscripts; it was their goal to capture Rhyfelwyr of Cornwall and enact brute torture upon the thief before stealing his stolen staff and returning it to their lords and masters in the Council of Ice. It was now a race to see who could find the crafty thief first. The thief however, had fled Cornwall sometime back, and was now hiding in the far away land of Indostan. Vuk knew that if he was to catch him, he would need help. He felt it was necessary to acquire the aid of his mercenary friend, Miotas the Sheep, who was much loved amongst his species. Many were fooled by the gentle, sheepish appearance of Miotas, for what all of them failed to see was the cache of heavy weaponry under his wool. He had been trained in the art of being a mercenary by the mighty warriors of the Maori tribes in the far off lands of the kiwi, where his species is much loved. The true secret (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_FA85RO89HA) to his ability though was even a secret to his long lost brother, Vuk.
Strategos Alexandros
04-04-2009, 10:08
Edit: Argh, I can't type fast enough!
(moving swiftly on, lest the story stagnates)
Three weeks since the first snow fell, and still the ground rose by a foot everyday. When the ground reached sky-high, the airplanes became grounded. All attempts to clear the snow had now ceased, it having been deemed wiser just to wait for the snow to stop falling. That would be nice, except it never stopped! In celebration, Megas Methuselah baked a cake. Megas was a foul man, a selfish old man who loved winter and hated the summer. He lived in a small cave in the hills, cackling and prancing madly to himself at the sight of all the snow. Megas was the archmage of the Council of Ice, and his mission was rid the world of all things good and warm, till all was as cold as his icy heart. People always saw him as the senile person, the lonely decrepit plotter, he was never taken seriously. Now was his chance to change the discriminative mind and views.
The fabled Vuk, who walked with giants and was a hero of old, rose from slumber to prominence in a bold attempt to recover his past glories and reverse these tragic turn of events. The ancient pack now broken, and their glory of old faded to a memory, Vuk now had to hunt alone. And then he pray to the God, to stop the blizzard from falling, so all the rest of the men would be free from the frozen jail. Alas, it was not to be; Rhyfelwyr of Wales, a renowned thief and vagabond, had steathily advanced towards Vuk as he knelt in prayer and, with a quick hand, snatched the fabled one's staff. No one knew why a Vuk -a wolf- would carry a staff, but Rhyf knew that it must be truely important, for Vuk would never do anything trivial or stupid. Indeed, despite the fact that the snarling Vuk had recently befriended Miotas the Sheep, Rhyfelwyr of Wales still had a stubborn belief in the wisdom of the fabled Vuk. Having fell and cracked his head off a rock, Rhyfelwyr remember that he is in fact not Welsh, but due to the ancient Brythonic languages of his Scottish homeland, had given himself a very unfortunate name, which led to much confusion over his nationality. In the end, Rhyfelwyr of Wales had come to the conclusion that he was, in fact, Cornish.
The hunt had begun, for Vuk knew that if he was to save humanity from the menacing old Megas, he would need the powers of the shadow staff that the foul taffer had stolen. In response, the aged and despised Megas Methuselah, archmage of the Council of Ice, drafted together a strike force of Finnish conscripts; it was their goal to capture Rhyfelwyr of Cornwall and enact brute torture upon the thief before stealing his stolen staff and returning it to their lords and masters in the Council of Ice. It was now a race to see who could find the crafty thief first. The thief however, had fled Cornwall sometime back, and was now hiding in the far away land of Indostan. Vuk knew that if he was to catch him, he would need help. He felt it was necessary to acquire the aid of his mercenary friend, Miotas the Sheep, who was much loved amongst his species. Many were fooled by the gentle, sheepish appearance of Miotas, for what all of them failed to see was the cache of heavy weaponry under his wool. He had been trained in the art of being a mercenary by the mighty warriors of the Maori tribes in the far off lands of the kiwi, where his species is much loved. The true secret (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_FA85RO89HA) to his ability though was even a secret to his long lost brother, Vuk.
Nonetheless, keeping faith, Vuk called him over the zappynwmobilphon and arranged a meeting at the four ways inn in the neutral, (and still not frozen) town of Zendar.
Nonetheless, keeping faith, Vuk called him over the zappynwmobilphon and arranged a meeting at the four ways inn in the neutral, (and still not frozen) town of Zendar.
Normally I would regard that as semi-spam, but after all the fond memories it brings, I simply cannot.
Normally I would regard that as semi-spam, but after all the fond memories it brings, I simply cannot.
:grin: :beam:
Vuk look at post 17#! you scared him off! He was actually being serious, you just posted to late and he had to pay LOL
Vuk look at post 17#! you scared him off! He was actually being serious, you just posted to late and he had to pay LOL
nah, don't mind me, i'm a sheep after all, we're easily scared by big meanie wolves
Three weeks since the first snow fell, and still the ground rose by a foot everyday. When the ground reached sky-high, the airplanes became grounded. All attempts to clear the snow had now ceased, it having been deemed wiser just to wait for the snow to stop falling. That would be nice, except it never stopped! In celebration, Megas Methuselah baked a cake. Megas was a foul man, a selfish old man who loved winter and hated the summer. He lived in a small cave in the hills, cackling and prancing madly to himself at the sight of all the snow. Megas was the archmage of the Council of Ice, and his mission was rid the world of all things good and warm, till all was as cold as his icy heart. People always saw him as the senile person, the lonely decrepit plotter, he was never taken seriously. Now was his chance to change the discriminative mind and views.
The fabled Vuk, who walked with giants and was a hero of old, rose from slumber to prominence in a bold attempt to recover his past glories and reverse these tragic turn of events. The ancient pack now broken, and their glory of old faded to a memory, Vuk now had to hunt alone. And then he pray to the God, to stop the blizzard from falling, so all the rest of the men would be free from the frozen jail. Alas, it was not to be; Rhyfelwyr of Wales, a renowned thief and vagabond, had steathily advanced towards Vuk as he knelt in prayer and, with a quick hand, snatched the fabled one's staff. No one knew why a Vuk -a wolf- would carry a staff, but Rhyf knew that it must be truely important, for Vuk would never do anything trivial or stupid. Indeed, despite the fact that the snarling Vuk had recently befriended Miotas the Sheep, Rhyfelwyr of Wales still had a stubborn belief in the wisdom of the fabled Vuk. Having fell and cracked his head off a rock, Rhyfelwyr remember that he is in fact not Welsh, but due to the ancient Brythonic languages of his Scottish homeland, had given himself a very unfortunate name, which led to much confusion over his nationality. In the end, Rhyfelwyr of Wales had come to the conclusion that he was, in fact, Cornish.
The hunt had begun, for Vuk knew that if he was to save humanity from the menacing old Megas, he would need the powers of the shadow staff that the foul taffer had stolen. In response, the aged and despised Megas Methuselah, archmage of the Council of Ice, drafted together a strike force of Finnish conscripts; it was their goal to capture Rhyfelwyr of Cornwall and enact brute torture upon the thief before stealing his stolen staff and returning it to their lords and masters in the Council of Ice. It was now a race to see who could find the crafty thief first. The thief however, had fled Cornwall sometime back, and was now hiding in the far away land of Indostan. Vuk knew that if he was to catch him, he would need help. He felt it was necessary to acquire the aid of his mercenary friend, Miotas the Sheep, who was much loved amongst his species. Many were fooled by the gentle, sheepish appearance of Miotas, for what all of them failed to see was the cache of heavy weaponry under his wool. He had been trained in the art of being a mercenary by the mighty warriors of the Maori tribes in the far off lands of the kiwi, where his species is much loved. The true secret to his ability though was even a secret to his long lost brother, Vuk.
Nonetheless, keeping faith, Vuk called him over the zappynwmobilphon and arranged a meeting at the four ways inn in the neutral, (and still not frozen) town of Zendar. Upon arriving at the four ways inn they discovered, to their great surprise, that the mighty enchanter Tim had issued forth from the Cave of Caerbannog to lend his mighty fire conjuring abilities to the anti-ice coalition.
Three weeks since the first snow fell, and still the ground rose by a foot everyday. When the ground reached sky-high, the airplanes became grounded. All attempts to clear the snow had now ceased, it having been deemed wiser just to wait for the snow to stop falling. That would be nice, except it never stopped! In celebration, Megas Methuselah baked a cake. Megas was a foul man, a selfish old man who loved winter and hated the summer. He lived in a small cave in the hills, cackling and prancing madly to himself at the sight of all the snow. Megas was the archmage of the Council of Ice, and his mission was rid the world of all things good and warm, till all was as cold as his icy heart. People always saw him as the senile person, the lonely decrepit plotter, he was never taken seriously. Now was his chance to change the discriminative mind and views.
The fabled Vuk, who walked with giants and was a hero of old, rose from slumber to prominence in a bold attempt to recover his past glories and reverse these tragic turn of events. The ancient pack now broken, and their glory of old faded to a memory, Vuk now had to hunt alone. And then he pray to the God, to stop the blizzard from falling, so all the rest of the men would be free from the frozen jail. Alas, it was not to be; Rhyfelwyr of Wales, a renowned thief and vagabond, had steathily advanced towards Vuk as he knelt in prayer and, with a quick hand, snatched the fabled one's staff. No one knew why a Vuk -a wolf- would carry a staff, but Rhyf knew that it must be truely important, for Vuk would never do anything trivial or stupid. Indeed, despite the fact that the snarling Vuk had recently befriended Miotas the Sheep, Rhyfelwyr of Wales still had a stubborn belief in the wisdom of the fabled Vuk. Having fell and cracked his head off a rock, Rhyfelwyr remember that he is in fact not Welsh, but due to the ancient Brythonic languages of his Scottish homeland, had given himself a very unfortunate name, which led to much confusion over his nationality. In the end, Rhyfelwyr of Wales had come to the conclusion that he was, in fact, Cornish.
The hunt had begun, for Vuk knew that if he was to save humanity from the menacing old Megas, he would need the powers of the shadow staff that the foul taffer had stolen. In response, the aged and despised Megas Methuselah, archmage of the Council of Ice, drafted together a strike force of Finnish conscripts; it was their goal to capture Rhyfelwyr of Cornwall and enact brute torture upon the thief before stealing his stolen staff and returning it to their lords and masters in the Council of Ice. It was now a race to see who could find the crafty thief first. The thief however, had fled Cornwall sometime back, and was now hiding in the far away land of Indostan. Vuk knew that if he was to catch him, he would need help. He felt it was necessary to acquire the aid of his mercenary friend, Miotas the Sheep, who was much loved amongst his species. Many were fooled by the gentle, sheepish appearance of Miotas, for what all of them failed to see was the cache of heavy weaponry under his wool. He had been trained in the art of being a mercenary by the mighty warriors of the Maori tribes in the far off lands of the kiwi, where his species is much loved. The true secret to his ability though was even a secret to his long lost brother, Vuk.
Nonetheless, keeping faith, Vuk called him over the zappynwmobilphon and arranged a meeting at the four ways inn in the neutral, (and still not frozen) town of Zendar. Upon arriving at the four ways inn they discovered, to their great surprise, that the mighty enchanter Tim had issued forth from the Cave of Caerbannog to lend his mighty fire conjuring abilities to the anti-ice coalition. While at first our two heroes were unreceptive to Tim, they couldn't help but grow warmer to his fiery attitude after he bought them both a couple of whiskies.
Rhyfelwyr
04-08-2009, 00:06
Three weeks since the first snow fell, and still the ground rose by a foot everyday. When the ground reached sky-high, the airplanes became grounded. All attempts to clear the snow had now ceased, it having been deemed wiser just to wait for the snow to stop falling. That would be nice, except it never stopped! In celebration, Megas Methuselah baked a cake. Megas was a foul man, a selfish old man who loved winter and hated the summer. He lived in a small cave in the hills, cackling and prancing madly to himself at the sight of all the snow. Megas was the archmage of the Council of Ice, and his mission was rid the world of all things good and warm, till all was as cold as his icy heart. People always saw him as the senile person, the lonely decrepit plotter, he was never taken seriously. Now was his chance to change the discriminative mind and views.
The fabled Vuk, who walked with giants and was a hero of old, rose from slumber to prominence in a bold attempt to recover his past glories and reverse these tragic turn of events. The ancient pack now broken, and their glory of old faded to a memory, Vuk now had to hunt alone. And then he pray to the God, to stop the blizzard from falling, so all the rest of the men would be free from the frozen jail. Alas, it was not to be; Rhyfelwyr of Wales, a renowned thief and vagabond, had steathily advanced towards Vuk as he knelt in prayer and, with a quick hand, snatched the fabled one's staff. No one knew why a Vuk -a wolf- would carry a staff, but Rhyf knew that it must be truely important, for Vuk would never do anything trivial or stupid. Indeed, despite the fact that the snarling Vuk had recently befriended Miotas the Sheep, Rhyfelwyr of Wales still had a stubborn belief in the wisdom of the fabled Vuk. Having fell and cracked his head off a rock, Rhyfelwyr remember that he is in fact not Welsh, but due to the ancient Brythonic languages of his Scottish homeland, had given himself a very unfortunate name, which led to much confusion over his nationality. In the end, Rhyfelwyr of Wales had come to the conclusion that he was, in fact, Cornish.
The hunt had begun, for Vuk knew that if he was to save humanity from the menacing old Megas, he would need the powers of the shadow staff that the foul taffer had stolen. In response, the aged and despised Megas Methuselah, archmage of the Council of Ice, drafted together a strike force of Finnish conscripts; it was their goal to capture Rhyfelwyr of Cornwall and enact brute torture upon the thief before stealing his stolen staff and returning it to their lords and masters in the Council of Ice. It was now a race to see who could find the crafty thief first. The thief however, had fled Cornwall sometime back, and was now hiding in the far away land of Indostan. Vuk knew that if he was to catch him, he would need help. He felt it was necessary to acquire the aid of his mercenary friend, Miotas the Sheep, who was much loved amongst his species. Many were fooled by the gentle, sheepish appearance of Miotas, for what all of them failed to see was the cache of heavy weaponry under his wool. He had been trained in the art of being a mercenary by the mighty warriors of the Maori tribes in the far off lands of the kiwi, where his species is much loved. The true secret to his ability though was even a secret to his long lost brother, Vuk.
Nonetheless, keeping faith, Vuk called him over the zappynwmobilphon and arranged a meeting at the four ways inn in the neutral, (and still not frozen) town of Zendar. Upon arriving at the four ways inn they discovered, to their great surprise, that the mighty enchanter Tim had issued forth from the Cave of Caerbannog to lend his mighty fire conjuring abilities to the anti-ice coalition. While at first our two heroes were unreceptive to Tim, they couldn't help but grow warmer to his fiery attitude after he bought them both a couple of whiskies. Tim spiked miotas' drink; however his plan backfired, as miotas was flung into a drunken murderous rage.
Hooahguy
04-08-2009, 20:06
Three weeks since the first snow fell, and still the ground rose by a foot everyday. When the ground reached sky-high, the airplanes became grounded. All attempts to clear the snow had now ceased, it having been deemed wiser just to wait for the snow to stop falling. That would be nice, except it never stopped! In celebration, Megas Methuselah baked a cake. Megas was a foul man, a selfish old man who loved winter and hated the summer. He lived in a small cave in the hills, cackling and prancing madly to himself at the sight of all the snow. Megas was the archmage of the Council of Ice, and his mission was rid the world of all things good and warm, till all was as cold as his icy heart. People always saw him as the senile person, the lonely decrepit plotter, he was never taken seriously. Now was his chance to change the discriminative mind and views.
The fabled Vuk, who walked with giants and was a hero of old, rose from slumber to prominence in a bold attempt to recover his past glories and reverse these tragic turn of events. The ancient pack now broken, and their glory of old faded to a memory, Vuk now had to hunt alone. And then he pray to the God, to stop the blizzard from falling, so all the rest of the men would be free from the frozen jail. Alas, it was not to be; Rhyfelwyr of Wales, a renowned thief and vagabond, had steathily advanced towards Vuk as he knelt in prayer and, with a quick hand, snatched the fabled one's staff. No one knew why a Vuk -a wolf- would carry a staff, but Rhyf knew that it must be truely important, for Vuk would never do anything trivial or stupid. Indeed, despite the fact that the snarling Vuk had recently befriended Miotas the Sheep, Rhyfelwyr of Wales still had a stubborn belief in the wisdom of the fabled Vuk. Having fell and cracked his head off a rock, Rhyfelwyr remember that he is in fact not Welsh, but due to the ancient Brythonic languages of his Scottish homeland, had given himself a very unfortunate name, which led to much confusion over his nationality. In the end, Rhyfelwyr of Wales had come to the conclusion that he was, in fact, Cornish.
The hunt had begun, for Vuk knew that if he was to save humanity from the menacing old Megas, he would need the powers of the shadow staff that the foul taffer had stolen. In response, the aged and despised Megas Methuselah, archmage of the Council of Ice, drafted together a strike force of Finnish conscripts; it was their goal to capture Rhyfelwyr of Cornwall and enact brute torture upon the thief before stealing his stolen staff and returning it to their lords and masters in the Council of Ice. It was now a race to see who could find the crafty thief first. The thief however, had fled Cornwall sometime back, and was now hiding in the far away land of Indostan. Vuk knew that if he was to catch him, he would need help. He felt it was necessary to acquire the aid of his mercenary friend, Miotas the Sheep, who was much loved amongst his species. Many were fooled by the gentle, sheepish appearance of Miotas, for what all of them failed to see was the cache of heavy weaponry under his wool. He had been trained in the art of being a mercenary by the mighty warriors of the Maori tribes in the far off lands of the kiwi, where his species is much loved. The true secret to his ability though was even a secret to his long lost brother, Vuk.
Nonetheless, keeping faith, Vuk called him over the zappynwmobilphon and arranged a meeting at the four ways inn in the neutral, (and still not frozen) town of Zendar. Upon arriving at the four ways inn they discovered, to their great surprise, that the mighty enchanter Tim had issued forth from the Cave of Caerbannog to lend his mighty fire conjuring abilities to the anti-ice coalition. While at first our two heroes were unreceptive to Tim, they couldn't help but grow warmer to his fiery attitude after he bought them both a couple of whiskies. Tim spiked miotas' drink; however his plan backfired, as miotas was flung into a drunken murderous rage. Then the octosquids came and boosted everyone!
Rhyfelwyr
04-08-2009, 23:43
Three weeks since the first snow fell, and still the ground rose by a foot everyday. When the ground reached sky-high, the airplanes became grounded. All attempts to clear the snow had now ceased, it having been deemed wiser just to wait for the snow to stop falling. That would be nice, except it never stopped! In celebration, Megas Methuselah baked a cake. Megas was a foul man, a selfish old man who loved winter and hated the summer. He lived in a small cave in the hills, cackling and prancing madly to himself at the sight of all the snow. Megas was the archmage of the Council of Ice, and his mission was rid the world of all things good and warm, till all was as cold as his icy heart. People always saw him as the senile person, the lonely decrepit plotter, he was never taken seriously. Now was his chance to change the discriminative mind and views.
The fabled Vuk, who walked with giants and was a hero of old, rose from slumber to prominence in a bold attempt to recover his past glories and reverse these tragic turn of events. The ancient pack now broken, and their glory of old faded to a memory, Vuk now had to hunt alone. And then he pray to the God, to stop the blizzard from falling, so all the rest of the men would be free from the frozen jail. Alas, it was not to be; Rhyfelwyr of Wales, a renowned thief and vagabond, had steathily advanced towards Vuk as he knelt in prayer and, with a quick hand, snatched the fabled one's staff. No one knew why a Vuk -a wolf- would carry a staff, but Rhyf knew that it must be truely important, for Vuk would never do anything trivial or stupid. Indeed, despite the fact that the snarling Vuk had recently befriended Miotas the Sheep, Rhyfelwyr of Wales still had a stubborn belief in the wisdom of the fabled Vuk. Having fell and cracked his head off a rock, Rhyfelwyr remember that he is in fact not Welsh, but due to the ancient Brythonic languages of his Scottish homeland, had given himself a very unfortunate name, which led to much confusion over his nationality. In the end, Rhyfelwyr of Wales had come to the conclusion that he was, in fact, Cornish.
The hunt had begun, for Vuk knew that if he was to save humanity from the menacing old Megas, he would need the powers of the shadow staff that the foul taffer had stolen. In response, the aged and despised Megas Methuselah, archmage of the Council of Ice, drafted together a strike force of Finnish conscripts; it was their goal to capture Rhyfelwyr of Cornwall and enact brute torture upon the thief before stealing his stolen staff and returning it to their lords and masters in the Council of Ice. It was now a race to see who could find the crafty thief first. The thief however, had fled Cornwall sometime back, and was now hiding in the far away land of Indostan. Vuk knew that if he was to catch him, he would need help. He felt it was necessary to acquire the aid of his mercenary friend, Miotas the Sheep, who was much loved amongst his species. Many were fooled by the gentle, sheepish appearance of Miotas, for what all of them failed to see was the cache of heavy weaponry under his wool. He had been trained in the art of being a mercenary by the mighty warriors of the Maori tribes in the far off lands of the kiwi, where his species is much loved. The true secret to his ability though was even a secret to his long lost brother, Vuk.
Nonetheless, keeping faith, Vuk called him over the zappynwmobilphon and arranged a meeting at the four ways inn in the neutral, (and still not frozen) town of Zendar. Upon arriving at the four ways inn they discovered, to their great surprise, that the mighty enchanter Tim had issued forth from the Cave of Caerbannog to lend his mighty fire conjuring abilities to the anti-ice coalition. While at first our two heroes were unreceptive to Tim, they couldn't help but grow warmer to his fiery attitude after he bought them both a couple of whiskies. Tim spiked miotas' drink; however his plan backfired, as miotas was flung into a drunken murderous rage. Then the octosquids came and boosted everyone! Before killing them and sucking their faces off like in Pirates of the Caribbean.
Hooahguy
04-12-2009, 02:52
Three weeks since the first snow fell, and still the ground rose by a foot everyday. When the ground reached sky-high, the airplanes became grounded. All attempts to clear the snow had now ceased, it having been deemed wiser just to wait for the snow to stop falling. That would be nice, except it never stopped! In celebration, Megas Methuselah baked a cake. Megas was a foul man, a selfish old man who loved winter and hated the summer. He lived in a small cave in the hills, cackling and prancing madly to himself at the sight of all the snow. Megas was the archmage of the Council of Ice, and his mission was rid the world of all things good and warm, till all was as cold as his icy heart. People always saw him as the senile person, the lonely decrepit plotter, he was never taken seriously. Now was his chance to change the discriminative mind and views.
The fabled Vuk, who walked with giants and was a hero of old, rose from slumber to prominence in a bold attempt to recover his past glories and reverse these tragic turn of events. The ancient pack now broken, and their glory of old faded to a memory, Vuk now had to hunt alone. And then he pray to the God, to stop the blizzard from falling, so all the rest of the men would be free from the frozen jail. Alas, it was not to be; Rhyfelwyr of Wales, a renowned thief and vagabond, had steathily advanced towards Vuk as he knelt in prayer and, with a quick hand, snatched the fabled one's staff. No one knew why a Vuk -a wolf- would carry a staff, but Rhyf knew that it must be truely important, for Vuk would never do anything trivial or stupid. Indeed, despite the fact that the snarling Vuk had recently befriended Miotas the Sheep, Rhyfelwyr of Wales still had a stubborn belief in the wisdom of the fabled Vuk. Having fell and cracked his head off a rock, Rhyfelwyr remember that he is in fact not Welsh, but due to the ancient Brythonic languages of his Scottish homeland, had given himself a very unfortunate name, which led to much confusion over his nationality. In the end, Rhyfelwyr of Wales had come to the conclusion that he was, in fact, Cornish.
The hunt had begun, for Vuk knew that if he was to save humanity from the menacing old Megas, he would need the powers of the shadow staff that the foul taffer had stolen. In response, the aged and despised Megas Methuselah, archmage of the Council of Ice, drafted together a strike force of Finnish conscripts; it was their goal to capture Rhyfelwyr of Cornwall and enact brute torture upon the thief before stealing his stolen staff and returning it to their lords and masters in the Council of Ice. It was now a race to see who could find the crafty thief first. The thief however, had fled Cornwall sometime back, and was now hiding in the far away land of Indostan. Vuk knew that if he was to catch him, he would need help. He felt it was necessary to acquire the aid of his mercenary friend, Miotas the Sheep, who was much loved amongst his species. Many were fooled by the gentle, sheepish appearance of Miotas, for what all of them failed to see was the cache of heavy weaponry under his wool. He had been trained in the art of being a mercenary by the mighty warriors of the Maori tribes in the far off lands of the kiwi, where his species is much loved. The true secret to his ability though was even a secret to his long lost brother, Vuk.
Nonetheless, keeping faith, Vuk called him over the zappynwmobilphon and arranged a meeting at the four ways inn in the neutral, (and still not frozen) town of Zendar. Upon arriving at the four ways inn they discovered, to their great surprise, that the mighty enchanter Tim had issued forth from the Cave of Caerbannog to lend his mighty fire conjuring abilities to the anti-ice coalition. While at first our two heroes were unreceptive to Tim, they couldn't help but grow warmer to his fiery attitude after he bought them both a couple of whiskies. Tim spiked miotas' drink; however his plan backfired, as miotas was flung into a drunken murderous rage. Then the octosquids came and boosted everyone! Before killing them and sucking their faces off like in Pirates of the Caribbean. Then they ate some Matzah.
King Jan III Sobieski
04-12-2009, 04:30
Three weeks since the first snow fell, and still the ground rose by a foot everyday. When the ground reached sky-high, the airplanes became grounded. All attempts to clear the snow had now ceased, it having been deemed wiser just to wait for the snow to stop falling. That would be nice, except it never stopped! In celebration, Megas Methuselah baked a cake. Megas was a foul man, a selfish old man who loved winter and hated the summer. He lived in a small cave in the hills, cackling and prancing madly to himself at the sight of all the snow. Megas was the archmage of the Council of Ice, and his mission was rid the world of all things good and warm, till all was as cold as his icy heart. People always saw him as the senile person, the lonely decrepit plotter, he was never taken seriously. Now was his chance to change the discriminative mind and views.
The fabled Vuk, who walked with giants and was a hero of old, rose from slumber to prominence in a bold attempt to recover his past glories and reverse these tragic turn of events. The ancient pack now broken, and their glory of old faded to a memory, Vuk now had to hunt alone. And then he pray to the God, to stop the blizzard from falling, so all the rest of the men would be free from the frozen jail. Alas, it was not to be; Rhyfelwyr of Wales, a renowned thief and vagabond, had steathily advanced towards Vuk as he knelt in prayer and, with a quick hand, snatched the fabled one's staff. No one knew why a Vuk -a wolf- would carry a staff, but Rhyf knew that it must be truely important, for Vuk would never do anything trivial or stupid. Indeed, despite the fact that the snarling Vuk had recently befriended Miotas the Sheep, Rhyfelwyr of Wales still had a stubborn belief in the wisdom of the fabled Vuk. Having fell and cracked his head off a rock, Rhyfelwyr remember that he is in fact not Welsh, but due to the ancient Brythonic languages of his Scottish homeland, had given himself a very unfortunate name, which led to much confusion over his nationality. In the end, Rhyfelwyr of Wales had come to the conclusion that he was, in fact, Cornish.
The hunt had begun, for Vuk knew that if he was to save humanity from the menacing old Megas, he would need the powers of the shadow staff that the foul taffer had stolen. In response, the aged and despised Megas Methuselah, archmage of the Council of Ice, drafted together a strike force of Finnish conscripts; it was their goal to capture Rhyfelwyr of Cornwall and enact brute torture upon the thief before stealing his stolen staff and returning it to their lords and masters in the Council of Ice. It was now a race to see who could find the crafty thief first. The thief however, had fled Cornwall sometime back, and was now hiding in the far away land of Indostan. Vuk knew that if he was to catch him, he would need help. He felt it was necessary to acquire the aid of his mercenary friend, Miotas the Sheep, who was much loved amongst his species. Many were fooled by the gentle, sheepish appearance of Miotas, for what all of them failed to see was the cache of heavy weaponry under his wool. He had been trained in the art of being a mercenary by the mighty warriors of the Maori tribes in the far off lands of the kiwi, where his species is much loved. The true secret to his ability though was even a secret to his long lost brother, Vuk.
Nonetheless, keeping faith, Vuk called him over the zappynwmobilphon and arranged a meeting at the four ways inn in the neutral, (and still not frozen) town of Zendar. Upon arriving at the four ways inn they discovered, to their great surprise, that the mighty enchanter Tim had issued forth from the Cave of Caerbannog to lend his mighty fire conjuring abilities to the anti-ice coalition. While at first our two heroes were unreceptive to Tim, they couldn't help but grow warmer to his fiery attitude after he bought them both a couple of whiskies. Tim spiked miotas' drink; however his plan backfired, as miotas was flung into a drunken murderous rage. Then the octosquids came and boosted everyone! Before killing them and sucking their faces off like in Pirates of the Caribbean. Then they ate some Matzah.
Then the people danced in the streets and worshiped the Golden Calf!
Hooahguy
04-12-2009, 05:55
Three weeks since the first snow fell, and still the ground rose by a foot everyday. When the ground reached sky-high, the airplanes became grounded. All attempts to clear the snow had now ceased, it having been deemed wiser just to wait for the snow to stop falling. That would be nice, except it never stopped! In celebration, Megas Methuselah baked a cake. Megas was a foul man, a selfish old man who loved winter and hated the summer. He lived in a small cave in the hills, cackling and prancing madly to himself at the sight of all the snow. Megas was the archmage of the Council of Ice, and his mission was rid the world of all things good and warm, till all was as cold as his icy heart. People always saw him as the senile person, the lonely decrepit plotter, he was never taken seriously. Now was his chance to change the discriminative mind and views.
The fabled Vuk, who walked with giants and was a hero of old, rose from slumber to prominence in a bold attempt to recover his past glories and reverse these tragic turn of events. The ancient pack now broken, and their glory of old faded to a memory, Vuk now had to hunt alone. And then he pray to the God, to stop the blizzard from falling, so all the rest of the men would be free from the frozen jail. Alas, it was not to be; Rhyfelwyr of Wales, a renowned thief and vagabond, had steathily advanced towards Vuk as he knelt in prayer and, with a quick hand, snatched the fabled one's staff. No one knew why a Vuk -a wolf- would carry a staff, but Rhyf knew that it must be truely important, for Vuk would never do anything trivial or stupid. Indeed, despite the fact that the snarling Vuk had recently befriended Miotas the Sheep, Rhyfelwyr of Wales still had a stubborn belief in the wisdom of the fabled Vuk. Having fell and cracked his head off a rock, Rhyfelwyr remember that he is in fact not Welsh, but due to the ancient Brythonic languages of his Scottish homeland, had given himself a very unfortunate name, which led to much confusion over his nationality. In the end, Rhyfelwyr of Wales had come to the conclusion that he was, in fact, Cornish.
The hunt had begun, for Vuk knew that if he was to save humanity from the menacing old Megas, he would need the powers of the shadow staff that the foul taffer had stolen. In response, the aged and despised Megas Methuselah, archmage of the Council of Ice, drafted together a strike force of Finnish conscripts; it was their goal to capture Rhyfelwyr of Cornwall and enact brute torture upon the thief before stealing his stolen staff and returning it to their lords and masters in the Council of Ice. It was now a race to see who could find the crafty thief first. The thief however, had fled Cornwall sometime back, and was now hiding in the far away land of Indostan. Vuk knew that if he was to catch him, he would need help. He felt it was necessary to acquire the aid of his mercenary friend, Miotas the Sheep, who was much loved amongst his species. Many were fooled by the gentle, sheepish appearance of Miotas, for what all of them failed to see was the cache of heavy weaponry under his wool. He had been trained in the art of being a mercenary by the mighty warriors of the Maori tribes in the far off lands of the kiwi, where his species is much loved. The true secret to his ability though was even a secret to his long lost brother, Vuk.
Nonetheless, keeping faith, Vuk called him over the zappynwmobilphon and arranged a meeting at the four ways inn in the neutral, (and still not frozen) town of Zendar. Upon arriving at the four ways inn they discovered, to their great surprise, that the mighty enchanter Tim had issued forth from the Cave of Caerbannog to lend his mighty fire conjuring abilities to the anti-ice coalition. While at first our two heroes were unreceptive to Tim, they couldn't help but grow warmer to his fiery attitude after he bought them both a couple of whiskies. Tim spiked miotas' drink; however his plan backfired, as miotas was flung into a drunken murderous rage. Then the octosquids came and boosted everyone! Before killing them and sucking their faces off like in Pirates of the Caribbean. Then they ate some Matzah.
Then the people danced in the streets and worshiped the Golden Calf! then g-d struck them down with lightning bolts from his eyes!
Megas Methuselah
04-12-2009, 07:44
Three weeks since the first snow fell, and still the ground rose by a foot everyday. When the ground reached sky-high, the airplanes became grounded. All attempts to clear the snow had now ceased, it having been deemed wiser just to wait for the snow to stop falling. That would be nice, except it never stopped! In celebration, Megas Methuselah baked a cake. Megas was a foul man, a selfish old man who loved winter and hated the summer. He lived in a small cave in the hills, cackling and prancing madly to himself at the sight of all the snow. Megas was the archmage of the Council of Ice, and his mission was rid the world of all things good and warm, till all was as cold as his icy heart. People always saw him as the senile person, the lonely decrepit plotter, he was never taken seriously. Now was his chance to change the discriminative mind and views.
The fabled Vuk, who walked with giants and was a hero of old, rose from slumber to prominence in a bold attempt to recover his past glories and reverse these tragic turn of events. The ancient pack now broken, and their glory of old faded to a memory, Vuk now had to hunt alone. And then he pray to the God, to stop the blizzard from falling, so all the rest of the men would be free from the frozen jail. Alas, it was not to be; Rhyfelwyr of Wales, a renowned thief and vagabond, had steathily advanced towards Vuk as he knelt in prayer and, with a quick hand, snatched the fabled one's staff. No one knew why a Vuk -a wolf- would carry a staff, but Rhyf knew that it must be truely important, for Vuk would never do anything trivial or stupid. Indeed, despite the fact that the snarling Vuk had recently befriended Miotas the Sheep, Rhyfelwyr of Wales still had a stubborn belief in the wisdom of the fabled Vuk. Having fell and cracked his head off a rock, Rhyfelwyr remember that he is in fact not Welsh, but due to the ancient Brythonic languages of his Scottish homeland, had given himself a very unfortunate name, which led to much confusion over his nationality. In the end, Rhyfelwyr of Wales had come to the conclusion that he was, in fact, Cornish.
The hunt had begun, for Vuk knew that if he was to save humanity from the menacing old Megas, he would need the powers of the shadow staff that the foul taffer had stolen. In response, the aged and despised Megas Methuselah, archmage of the Council of Ice, drafted together a strike force of Finnish conscripts; it was their goal to capture Rhyfelwyr of Cornwall and enact brute torture upon the thief before stealing his stolen staff and returning it to their lords and masters in the Council of Ice. It was now a race to see who could find the crafty thief first. The thief however, had fled Cornwall sometime back, and was now hiding in the far away land of Indostan. Vuk knew that if he was to catch him, he would need help. He felt it was necessary to acquire the aid of his mercenary friend, Miotas the Sheep, who was much loved amongst his species. Many were fooled by the gentle, sheepish appearance of Miotas, for what all of them failed to see was the cache of heavy weaponry under his wool. He had been trained in the art of being a mercenary by the mighty warriors of the Maori tribes in the far off lands of the kiwi, where his species is much loved. The true secret to his ability though was even a secret to his long lost brother, Vuk.
Nonetheless, keeping faith, Vuk called him over the zappynwmobilphon and arranged a meeting at the four ways inn in the neutral, (and still not frozen) town of Zendar. Upon arriving at the four ways inn they discovered, to their great surprise, that the mighty enchanter Tim had issued forth from the Cave of Caerbannog to lend his mighty fire conjuring abilities to the anti-ice coalition. While at first our two heroes were unreceptive to Tim, they couldn't help but grow warmer to his fiery attitude after he bought them both a couple of whiskies. Tim spiked miotas' drink; however his plan backfired, as miotas was flung into a drunken murderous rage. Then the octosquids came and boosted everyone! Before killing them and sucking their faces off like in Pirates of the Caribbean. Then they ate some Matzah.
Then the people danced in the streets and worshiped the Golden Calf! then g-d struck them down with lightning bolts from his eyes! This great display of power left the pathetic Zeus feeling weak and humbled, and so he decided to search for a beautiful maiden to restore his self-esteem.
:sweatdrop: I thought we were talking about a sheep, a wolf and a thief from Cornwall. Where'd Zeus and the Octosquids come from? :dizzy2::inquisitive:
:sweatdrop: I thought we were talking about a sheep, a wolf and a thief from Cornwall. Where'd Zeus and the Octosquids come from? :dizzy2::inquisitive:
I don't know, but whereever the heck they came from, they are going right back. ~;)
END OF STORY! lol :clown:
New story and new rules start here:
This one is going to be a serious story, and we are going to try to make it a good story that someone would really sit down and read. I want to see if without any prior planning we can see each other's posts, adjust our own ideas, and come up with something as good as what one person could write.
It will be short, and when it is done, I will post it in the Meadhall for people to read, so keep it serious and please do your best to make it a good story.
Do not go outside the world parameters:
Fantasy world called Sargafold
Main character is a theif/pickpocket/street urchin
There is very limited magic
Very few magical creatures, and they are grounded in reality
Protagonist has to end up being the hero, not the villian. ~;)
Other than that, feel free to use your imagination, just do not jump from one thought to another, make sure that the previous thought was carried through.
START!:
A viel of fog and smoke concealed the street ahead and the pale green light of the street lamps reflected off the cobblestones underfoot.
EDIT: Any posts from Frogbeastegg are more than welcome. :beam:
Megas Methuselah
04-12-2009, 09:12
A viel of fog and smoke concealed the street ahead and the pale green light of the street lamps reflected off the cobblestones underfoot. The small, rural village slept lazily under the dark shroud of night, paying no heed to the uncouth farmers stumbling back home from a hard night of drinking at the local tavern.
Rhyfelwyr
04-12-2009, 21:41
A viel of fog and smoke concealed the street ahead and the pale green light of the street lamps reflected off the cobblestones underfoot. The small, rural village slept lazily under the dark shroud of night, paying no heed to the uncouth farmers stumbling back home from a hard night of drinking at the local tavern. Cackling voices could be heard faintly overhead, as witches flew around in their girocopters, stealing dwarves from unsuspecting townsfolk.
Makanyane
04-12-2009, 22:51
A viel of fog and smoke concealed the street ahead and the pale green light of the street lamps reflected off the cobblestones underfoot. The small, rural village slept lazily under the dark shroud of night, paying no heed to the uncouth farmers stumbling back home from a hard night of drinking at the local tavern. Cackling voices could be heard faintly overhead, as witches flew around in their girocopters, stealing dwarves from unsuspecting townsfolk. The farmers contemplated these apparitions and suspected that they may have had just a few too many real ales.
hmmm...I go away on vaca and the whole place falls apart. ~;) Was it the idea of being serious in the Spamroom Frontroom that turned you all off? :beam:
Thank you for keeping it real Makanyane. :bow:
A viel of fog and smoke concealed the street ahead and the pale green light of the street lamps reflected off the cobblestones underfoot. The small, rural village slept lazily under the dark shroud of night, paying no heed to the uncouth farmers stumbling back home from a hard night of drinking at the local tavern. Cackling voices could be heard faintly overhead, as witches flew around in their girocopters, stealing dwarves from unsuspecting townsfolk. The farmers contemplated these apparitions and suspected that they may have had just a few too many real ales. No one paid heed to the hay laden cart making its way through the street torward the city.
A viel of fog and smoke concealed the street ahead and the pale green light of the street lamps reflected off the cobblestones underfoot. The small, rural village slept lazily under the dark shroud of night, paying no heed to the uncouth farmers stumbling back home from a hard night of drinking at the local tavern. Cackling voices could be heard faintly overhead, as witches flew around in their girocopters, stealing dwarves from unsuspecting townsfolk. The farmers contemplated these apparitions and suspected that they may have had just a few too many real ales. No one paid heed to the hay laden cart making its way through the street torward the city. The drivers heavy purse keeping him tight lipped about the scoundrel hidden amongst the load.
someone else can make up a name, I'm hopeless at those :P
Mind if I reword it a bit miotas?
A viel of fog and smoke concealed the street ahead and the pale green light of the street lamps reflected off the cobblestones underfoot. The small, rural village slept lazily under the dark shroud of night, paying no heed to the uncouth farmers stumbling back home from a hard night of drinking at the local tavern. Cackling voices could be heard faintly overhead, as witches flew around in their girocopters, stealing dwarves from unsuspecting townsfolk. The farmers contemplated these apparitions and suspected that they may have had just a few too many real ales. No one paid heed to the hay laden cart making its way through the street torward the city. The driver's heavy purse clouded the vision of the soldiers standing guard at the gate, so that they did not see scoundrel hiding amidst the hay. Darren knew that he would need to exit the cart without being seen before it arrived at the stables outside the Klypsky Mansion.
Darren is the name I have used (with variations of spelling of course) for almost all the protagonist in my stories :P. I do not know why, but I like it. He is an assasin some times, a thief others, a blacksmith once, and even a sheep herder's son captured and raised as a nomad. :P I guess he is back to being a thief. :P
Nah, go for it I realise my writing isn't the best
A viel of fog and smoke concealed the street ahead and the pale green light of the street lamps reflected off the cobblestones underfoot. The small, rural village slept lazily under the dark shroud of night, paying no heed to the uncouth farmers stumbling back home from a hard night of drinking at the local tavern. Cackling voices could be heard faintly overhead, as witches flew around in their girocopters, stealing dwarves from unsuspecting townsfolk. The farmers contemplated these apparitions and suspected that they may have had just a few too many real ales. No one paid heed to the hay laden cart making its way through the street torward the city. The driver's heavy purse clouded the vision of the soldiers standing guard at the gate, so that they did not see scoundrel hiding amidst the hay. Darren knew that he would need to exit the cart without being seen before it arrived at the stables outside the Klypsky Mansion. He slipped ghost like from the hay as the driver conveniently paused beside dark alleyway to examine his wheels.
A veil of fog and smoke concealed the street ahead and the pale green light of the street lamps reflected off the cobblestones underfoot. The small, rural village slept lazily under the dark shroud of night, paying no heed to the uncouth farmers stumbling back home from a hard night of drinking at the local tavern. Cackling voices could be heard faintly overhead, as witches flew around in their giro copters, stealing dwarves from unsuspecting townsfolk. The farmers contemplated these apparitions and suspected that they may have had just a few too many real ales. No one paid heed to the hay laden cart making its way through the street toward the city. The driver's heavy purse clouded the vision of the soldiers standing guard at the gate, so that they did not see scoundrel hiding amidst the hay. Darren knew that he would need to exit the cart without being seen before it arrived at the stables outside the Klypsky Mansion. He slipped ghost like from the hay as the driver conveniently paused beside dark alleyway to examine his wheels. As the driver continued on to deliver the hay to the stables, Darren cautiously darted from shadow to shadow through the streets, making his way to the meeting spot.
Gah, a meeting spot? more people? you're overtaxing my creative skills here!
I might get some sleep and see how it's progressed in a few hours. :laugh4:
Makanyane
04-19-2009, 21:18
A veil of fog and smoke concealed the street ahead and the pale green light of the street lamps reflected off the cobblestones underfoot. The small, rural village slept lazily under the dark shroud of night, paying no heed to the uncouth farmers stumbling back home from a hard night of drinking at the local tavern. Cackling voices could be heard faintly overhead, as witches flew around in their giro copters, stealing dwarves from unsuspecting townsfolk. The farmers contemplated these apparitions and suspected that they may have had just a few too many real ales. No one paid heed to the hay laden cart making its way through the street toward the city. The driver's heavy purse clouded the vision of the soldiers standing guard at the gate, so that they did not see scoundrel hiding amidst the hay. Darren knew that he would need to exit the cart without being seen before it arrived at the stables outside the Klypsky Mansion. He slipped ghost like from the hay as the driver conveniently paused beside dark alleyway to examine his wheels. As the driver continued on to deliver the hay to the stables, Darren cautiously darted from shadow to shadow through the streets, making his way to the meeting spot. Once there he looked around nervously, would the person he had come all this way to meet actually turn up in time?
King Jan III Sobieski
04-19-2009, 22:17
A veil of fog and smoke concealed the street ahead and the pale green light of the street lamps reflected off the cobblestones underfoot. The small, rural village slept lazily under the dark shroud of night, paying no heed to the uncouth farmers stumbling back home from a hard night of drinking at the local tavern. Cackling voices could be heard faintly overhead, as witches flew around in their giro copters, stealing dwarves from unsuspecting townsfolk. The farmers contemplated these apparitions and suspected that they may have had just a few too many real ales. No one paid heed to the hay laden cart making its way through the street toward the city. The driver's heavy purse clouded the vision of the soldiers standing guard at the gate, so that they did not see scoundrel hiding amidst the hay. Darren knew that he would need to exit the cart without being seen before it arrived at the stables outside the Klypsky Mansion. He slipped ghost like from the hay as the driver conveniently paused beside dark alleyway to examine his wheels. As the driver continued on to deliver the hay to the stables, Darren cautiously darted from shadow to shadow through the streets, making his way to the meeting spot. Once there he looked around nervously, would the person he had come all this way to meet actually turn up in time? Suddenly, Darren was startled by a whistling noise.
Quirinus
04-20-2009, 16:55
A veil of fog and smoke concealed the street ahead and the pale green light of the street lamps reflected off the cobblestones underfoot. The small, rural village slept lazily under the dark shroud of night, paying no heed to the uncouth farmers stumbling back home from a hard night of drinking at the local tavern. Cackling voices could be heard faintly overhead, as witches flew around in their giro copters, stealing dwarves from unsuspecting townsfolk. The farmers contemplated these apparitions and suspected that they may have had just a few too many real ales. No one paid heed to the hay laden cart making its way through the street toward the city. The driver's heavy purse clouded the vision of the soldiers standing guard at the gate, so that they did not see scoundrel hiding amidst the hay. Darren knew that he would need to exit the cart without being seen before it arrived at the stables outside the Klypsky Mansion. He slipped ghost like from the hay as the driver conveniently paused beside dark alleyway to examine his wheels. As the driver continued on to deliver the hay to the stables, Darren cautiously darted from shadow to shadow through the streets, making his way to the meeting spot. Once there he looked around nervously, would the person he had come all this way to meet actually turn up in time? Suddenly, Darren was startled by a whistling noise. It seemed to be coming from the general vicinity of the fountain with the ornate statue.
Hooahguy
04-21-2009, 02:33
A veil of fog and smoke concealed the street ahead and the pale green light of the street lamps reflected off the cobblestones underfoot. The small, rural village slept lazily under the dark shroud of night, paying no heed to the uncouth farmers stumbling back home from a hard night of drinking at the local tavern. Cackling voices could be heard faintly overhead, as witches flew around in their giro copters, stealing dwarves from unsuspecting townsfolk. The farmers contemplated these apparitions and suspected that they may have had just a few too many real ales. No one paid heed to the hay laden cart making its way through the street toward the city. The driver's heavy purse clouded the vision of the soldiers standing guard at the gate, so that they did not see scoundrel hiding amidst the hay. Darren knew that he would need to exit the cart without being seen before it arrived at the stables outside the Klypsky Mansion. He slipped ghost like from the hay as the driver conveniently paused beside dark alleyway to examine his wheels. As the driver continued on to deliver the hay to the stables, Darren cautiously darted from shadow to shadow through the streets, making his way to the meeting spot. Once there he looked around nervously, would the person he had come all this way to meet actually turn up in time? Suddenly, Darren was startled by a whistling noise. It seemed to be coming from the general vicinity of the fountain with the ornate statue. Then the statue began to move!
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