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Divinity Finite

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Hydrolisk

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Post July 12th, 2009, 10:40 pm

Divinity Finite

Before I proceed with the main text, I would like to say this: today was awful, and yesterday night too. I had a fun, splitting headache and fever at 38.5C, I had to use the washroom a multitude of times only to produce the most horrifying diarrhoea in a while, but tomorrow, I have to wake up early! In fact, here is what I said to Polaris that is still true (even as I type this using an iPod Touch and as I sit on the toilet): "Stuff is leaking out of my rectum." Disgusting, yes. Painful, yes. Annoying, yes. Luckily, that's the end of my rant.

Now, here is the main text. (BTW: I began this post a few hours ago. But even still my digestive system is getting a kick out of tormenting me.)
---

Not even the Gods could have forseen the end. They could gaze into the future, but not into fate. That is, their fate. They did not know of the coming crusades that would lead to their vanquishing and death.
For millenia the Gods ruled over the universe, enjoying all that is there to enjoy. From their high roosts, they could watch all of existence. They could not even consider the idea of life rebelling against them. Their pride led to their downfall.

The Gods' most amusing toys were the humans and their mortal enemies, the Orcs. For centuries these two forces conflicted. Our forces did not breach the Orc defensive line. As our infantry companies approached the dragon teeth, Orc towers rose from behind the dragon teeth barricade line. The collasal things bristled with large-calibre guns and cannons. From the forests around the main battleground came abmushing Orc parties, equipped with anti-tank rifles. Our infantry companies barely were able to hold off the Orc parties, and even when our armoured columns arrived at last, they could still not penetrate the Orc defensive line, now backed up with the towers we had not detected earlier. I have no excuse for my poor performance as High Captain. The Council may punish me as they would like. --High Captain Bernard. That is, until the Messiah came. Had the Gods recognized the threat that the Messiah posed, they would have destroyed all of humanity and Orc-kind immediately. But they did not.

The Messiah was of Orc-kind, and was a giant, to be specific. But he was no ordinary giant, for he was so grand that he had to stoop, lest he suffocate in the high atmosphere of the Planet. He was truly a sight to behold, for he wore magnificent robes that appeared to be woven from the dead of night, and his stern gaze was carved from diamonds. But he would never give in to the fury of battle and fight, for he had prophesied the future and heard the whispers of the fates -- he would not be the one to destroy any.
Instead, he would always lead the armies of Orc-kind into dark crusades against the humans. When he became 124 years of age, he began the fifth unholy war. My good folk, I have personally shepherded us into into four crusades already. The blood of our ancient enemy has been shed countless times, and yet we have never been truly victorious. But fear not, my good folk, for the coming battles I have already seen. Our losses shall be great as they always were, but this time, we shall lure the humans into their demise. I have seen the future and what shall come to pass. [...] My good folk, have I not always been your benevolent leader? Fear not death, for it shall be what delivers our enemy! --The Messiah. Though the Orc-kind were unhopeful, they joined the fifth unholy war, intent on avenging their fallen brethren.

The humans, upon receiving news of this new development, became wrathful.
One fateful battle during the fifth war, the Messiah was killed. After he died, the Orc-kind surrendered. However, the humans had grown weary of the constant battles. Upon inspection of the Messiah's body, a strange tome was found. It was a journal of the Messiah, and the knowledge it relinquished was a catalyst of the greatest crusade in history. For within the tome of the Messiah were many pages of divine knowledge, imparted by the fates. The passages held the arcane -- that is, the way up to the home of the puppeteering Gods.
Infuriated by the Gods' daring to control them, the mortal beings of man and Orc-kind sought vengeance for the controlling of so many of their actions and destinies. Following the instructions found within the tome of the Messiah, they brought themselves with weapons of war into the realm of once-thought immortal beings. With the relentless and unstoppable force of fate on their side, the mortal alliance came down upon the Gods, guns ablazing. The Gods disintergrated to ash and sand in the slaughter. While some begged forgiveness, others retaliated with extreme disciplinary action (or so those Gods that did so thought). By the next month, the Gods were untangled from the lives of all that lived, and they faded into oblivion.

That was the fate of the Gods. That was their punishment for their pride and arrogance.
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Hydrolisk

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Post July 13th, 2009, 9:32 pm

Nameless Thing

A custom of mine is to vent frustration in not being able to sleep when I try to will it to be so. This venting is usually in the form of some written craft on a forum.
Let the Game begin.

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I've journeyed innumerable parsecs now, since I have begun to be. Unimaginable are the things I have seen. I have borne witness to the birth of entire galaxies, the beauty of the supernovae, and incredible stars without name, pulsating ever so steadily in the midst of the chaos of existence. I have touched the corona of a red hypergiant, sheltered within supermassive black holes, and traversed through the caverns of time, the worm holes.
Despite my adventures and the wisdom they have granted me, I still have not found some thing. Not anything, mind you, and not a thing that I have ever searched for. But I feel it. There is something that yet has to be discovered. I feel as if it were underneath my nose, in a manner of speaking. And yet, when I look down, all I see are these animals.
These animals I once thought to be incredible. That was during a time when time itself was still young, and life was only beginning. And then, I thought them to be ugly, filthy things, writhing in the dirt, and trying vainly to scrape together various chemical requisites needed for the continuation of their meager and short lifespans. And now, I look down upon them in wonder. For it seems that these animals have found the thing of which I have yet to learn the name of.
Perhaps this thing is fated never to reveal itself to one such as I. But I refuse to give in to hopelessness -- for a perfectly crafted machine has all the time in the universe to seek what the thing is. I can feel the hum of electricity flow through my veins now. I will find out what the thing is, until the moment the universe collapses and I am cast into history.
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Post July 15th, 2009, 8:25 pm

y = mx + b

To begin, I would like to introduce a matter of the community. Amongst us is a (spy) leech. He goes by many names. This polyfaced jerk has gone by xgmx, lx~, and now, he is Gamma. It seems that he flies around the Internet, spreading his taint left and right. Already he has gone and posted multiple threads, many of which were posted already at SEN. And, whatever knowledge found in them and be found more wholesome at melee-devoted websites.
Bottom-line is, his horrible reputation precedes him. Or, better put, he is trying to deceive us.

I conculde with a proposition of scrutiny of the character who goes by Gamma. I don't think it will go through, though. MC is starting fresh, so perhaps Gamma will be starting fresh here too (very well, in that case -- I just we're allowed to bring the hammer down on him once he breaks some rules).

---

I'm exhausted from my venting. Maybe another time.

On a different note, a dear friend of mine left for a little less than two weeks. I feel sad. It's a good chance to say that I always feel horrible when my friends leave and/or disappear, with or without knowledge of their leaving before their departures.
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Post July 17th, 2009, 9:51 pm

Re: Defenestration

I don't mind feedback. In fact, I welcome it, and I will appreciate it.

---

Jones took a single look back to know what he must do to save himself. He was delivered as he crashed through the window, feet first. The shards of glass gave way to him and did not touch him or his flowing black trench coat. Then, he began his descent. His Hellish pursuers did not hesitate to follow Jones to the street below, all their will bent by the intent on killing the angel. Jones fell only a few metres before opening his wings and swooping out of his dive. His pursuers could not hope to match his agility, and struck the street like meteors, creating small, fiery craters. A 16-wheeled truck promptly ran over the twitching bodies of the Hellspawn, executing them under burnt rubber.
Jones glided lazily down to the ground and greeted the driver. The driver, a portly, grimey-faced man by the name of Forb, stepped out of the truck. He wore frayed plumber's clothing -- blue jean overalls with a red and green plaid shirt underneath, its sleeves rolled up to expose stout, hairy arms. He had on a hat on top of his hair, which was graying.
"Excellent job with the truck, Forb," said Jones.
"You give me too much credit, sir," replied Forb meekly.
"Nonsense. Most people of your era would run in fear," said Jones. "Besides, the forces of Hell are formidable. In due time, another battle between the Prime Powers will emerge. One that day comes, you will play a great part."
Forb bowed deeply whilst holding his hat in his hands.
"We must depart quickly. I feel another disturbance," said Jones.

---

Children of the Night
Pages of twilight
Servants of the Light
Defiers of the blight.

Embrace and vow
Indeed, right now
To the great crow
So string your bows.

Take upon you the journey, Children of the Night!
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Post July 21st, 2009, 10:14 pm

The 31st Missile Group

I had actually made a mod called "31st Missile Group" once. It was to ease me back into modding StarCraft. Quite a while back...

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The 31st Missile Group was entrenched for 12 days on the surface of the newly discovered planet called "Morte." The following is a description of the 31st Missile Group, or 31MG.

The 31MG is a well-established and respected veteran anti-armour regime from the time of the Terran Confederacy. During Arcturus Mengsk's campaigns and even after them, the 31MG was loyal to the Confederacy. After its demise, the 31MG became a nomadic mercenary group, often providing their explosives expertise to anti-Dominion terrorist groups and independent Protoss fleets.
The 31MG uses most units of common Terran forces, but have modified extremely the weapons systems to hone the edge of their vehicle-slaying capabilities. Because of their good reputation amongst the Protoss, some of their units are equipped with primitive shield generators. The standard Marine is called the Missiletrooper, and is armed with a thermal-seeking missile launcher that can fire relatively rapidly. The Firebat has been completely redesigned to fit the anti-armour role of the 31MG, and is equipped with a large rocket launcher array that renders a large area filled with explosions. The fabled Ghosts were equipped with special Arcfire-rocket scoped rocket launchers to attack from massive distances with a highly devastating warhead. Missile turrets were modified so as to fire volleys of three paired rockets at a fast rate in order to demolish heavy fighters and larger ships in short time without requite fire. Vultures were outfitted with Dual-linked Talon rockets that could fire at both air and surface targets. Siege Tanks fired slower rounds of missiles and in pairs, while in siege mode, it launched modified Arcfire rockets. Goliaths' autocannons were replaced by a STS Hellfire rocket pack. Wraiths attacked with bombs that were dropped in an area in groups of five, while it fired separated missiles for ATA combat. The modified Battlecruisers were perhaps the most impressive, firing massive volleys of modified Arcfire missiles in order to saturate incredibly large areas.
Most other standard units were left unmodified.

---

What follows is a brief account of what had transpired during the 12 days of 31MG's entrenchment, including a prelude explaining the cause of their defensive actions.

A few days prior to the initial landing and entrenchment upon the planet of Morte, Morte had yet to be discovered. It was a rather nondescript terrestrial planet, upon which life grew with ease, wild and natural. A brief but powerful psinoic burst had drawn the wandering 31MG to the planet. There appeared a small trace of Zerg organisms, which greatly alarmed the 31MG. Hoping to dispel the taint of the Zerg before the entire planet was consumed, they landed much of their fleet in hopes of bringing about a blitzkreig-like purge.
The 31MG fought for two days, though they did not find many Zerg forces. However, they did discover a wealth of mineral and vespene reserves. They were unsure of what they would do. The presence of Zerg could have been a scouting party, and if they had already contacted a main brood about the resource reserves, the 31MG could easily find themselves fighting for their lives against an entire Zerg brood. A conflict with any large Zerg force usually ended in defeat or retreat of the 31MG because of their anti-armour specialty.
Their fears revealed themselves a day later, when the small orbiting party was attacked and destroyed by a small fleet of Mutalisks reinforced with a large army of Devourers. The 31MG were forced to prepare for the assault that was sure to follow.
When the Zerg force was gathered in whole, it attacked. By then, the 31MG was fully entrenched. They defended against the tides of Zerg thus. Through the 12 days, the Zerg forces attacked ferociously with the formidable and fearsome Ultralisk strain. The small number of Mutalisks were quickly brought down by the long range missiles of the Goliaths and Ghost operatives, and the Devourers were largely ignored as they were harmless to the 31MG which had reserved their spacecrafts for the return trip to their home space platform. Because of the Ultralisks' strange resemblance in role and structure to armoured vehicles, the 31MG were able to survive the numerous waves by persevering and preserving a vigilant guard.
For 8 days the 31MG stood strong against the apparently specialized brood of Zerg. The 4 four days that followed proved to be very difficult, as the Zerg began to bring about more Hydralisks, Mutalisks, and Zerglings, the latter two being harder to hit directly with missiles and rockets. However, the Zerg's change of strategy was too late and the 31MG were too well dug-in, fortified, and supplied, having entrenched themselves in an area abundant with natural resources.
On the 12th night, the 31st Missile Group escaped in their ships by taking advantage of a reprieve of the attacks, caused by the Zerg's initial, unwise investment in Ultralisks.
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Post July 26th, 2009, 11:22 pm

Warlock's To-do List

List of Concepts Associated with Warlocks:
-Evil
-Black magic
-Epitome of evil
-Hellish rifts/portals
-Cauldrons of blood (preferably combusting blood)
-Hellish demons (of the "of DOOM" and neutral-Evil variants, occasionally infinite-Evil demons)
-Usually neutral-Evil aligned
-Hidden laboratories (experiment-associated warlocks)
-Occult libraries (research-associated warlocks)
-Hard to find
-Egomaniacs and self-centered

Warlock Expansion Set for $10.99
--By "Hellish", perhaps it would be better to classify warlocks as "Chaotic". Hellish has too much of a "fiery brimstone and volcanoes" feel to it. However, if Hell is imagined as abysmal pits and fissures coupled with shadows and darkness, that would be more accurate to the "Hellish" adjective I use here.
--About the concept of "Cauldrons of blood (preferably combusting blood)," this may be vary. Even as I write this personal reflection, I think less of fire and more of darkness. Thus, "Cauldrons of blood" is probably better off being replaced by "Cauldrons of souls."
--About the demons that are associated with warlocks: no succubi, no exceptions. I'm tired of seeing them in WarCraft, so I'm condemning everything that has to do with warlocks + succubi. In general, I find succubi to be boring concepts. If a comparison with WarCraft must be drawn, I would imagine the imps, voidwalkers, Hellhounds, and Fel Horses (or whatever). However, voidwalkers would have to be more ethereal and less bulky. I think more along the lines of poltergeists and malignant ghosts.
--By "neutral-Evil" alignment, I mean that I imagine warlocks as never or rarely taking part in others' businesses. His/her own work is focused on studying of what others commonly label as "Black magic," maybe he/she is a demonologist, maybe he/she works with spirits, potions, and perhaps cordials but with negative effects rather than positive ones.

---

Anyway, what do you think? What do you think of warlocks, this list, milk, etc.?
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Post August 4th, 2009, 1:17 am

Mask of Torment

The crazed man wears a mask of torment as he cuts down his enemies and friends alike. Underneath the façade, he revels in the pain and misery he causes. Others would argue that the crazed man's torment is genuine, and he screams in sympathy for his victims. What is certain is his fervor increases wildly as blood is spilled.
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Post August 7th, 2009, 11:05 pm

Nine Scythes

In a different age so distant in the future yet so long ago, a little old farm stood in a field of wheat. A farmer owned the vast field of wheat, and had nine scythes too. But besides his simple clothing, his home and its furnishings, and his nine scythes, he had a great wealth that he knew not how to spend. This wealth he had was accumulated through the sale of his wheat.
He had the fortune of having a perfect harvest every year from his great fields of wheat because of his scythes. The scythes were said to be enchanted by the folk of the nearest (yet still quite far) village, for the scythes would work on the golden fields of wheat by themselves, doing everything from planting seeds to tilling soil to watering the plants. They did that all themselves, day and night without pause until there was nothing left to do except wait once winter had come.
A travelling warlock, who kept his occupation and identity secret by pretending to be a magical merchant, passed through the village nearest to the farm of the nine enchanted scythes one day around the time of harvest. All of the folk in the village talked about how the scythes were enchanted, wondering and guessing as to how the farmer who owned them had enchanted the scythes to do such work relentlessly and with skill. This topic so greatly interested the warlock pretender that he inquired several of the perusers of his own magical wares about the topic of the scythes. Quickly, the warlock learned about the farmer who owned a great treasure of wealth and nine enchanted scythes, and where his farm was.
The warlock pretender closed his shop early that day to go to meet the farmer.

When the travelling warlock came at last to the farm of the farmer who owned a great treasure of wealth and nine enchanted scythes, he saw with his own eyes nine scythes hovering in the air in the fields of wheat surrounding the farm. They did appear to be enchanted as the villagers had said, for they did all sorts of work that no normal scythe could do.
The warlock decided that he would like to own such scythes so that he could settle down on farmland and be allowed to continue his mysterious work in peace. He pretended to be a merchant of magical wares and he knocked on the door of the farm, calling out, "Hello? Is anybody there?" Some time passed but still there was no answer. The warlock pretender knocked again on the door of the farm, shouting out, "Hello? Is anybody at home?" More time passed than before and yet still there was no answer. The warlock let his anger become manifest and he grew wroth, and threatened, "If nobody shall answer me soon, I shall burn the fields of wheat, disenchant the scythes, and blast the farm into annihilation!" At this, the door was opened by a little, old man apprehensively.
"Who is it that offers such a reprieve from the sounds of the work of my nine scythes?" asked the little, old man.
"It is I," said the warlock pretender. "What beleaguers you so, little, old man?" he asked, feeling pity for the old man, though still wary lest the old man should be actually a demon in disguise.
"Those accursed nine scythes are what plagues me day and night! They never stop working, and the sounds of their work drive me mad! And whenever I think I have become comfortable with the sounds of their work, I begin to hear them cry as if they were thralls being lashed at by a cruel master," answered the old man.
The warlock thought for a moment, and said, "If you would give me some wine and a portion of the treasure I have heard that you own, then I shall try to relieve you of the nine scythes."
"I will give you some wine and even a portion of the treasure that I own, for it is true that I have a wealth because of the scythes, but I shall only give to you a portion of my treasure after you have relieved me of the scythes. If you do not succeed, merchant, then you must depart without any of my treasure," said the old man.
The warlock pretender agreed to the old man's conditions and then had a drink of wine before settling himself in the fields of wheat near his cart. He looked over his many artifacts and pored over his numerous tomes and books of magic, searching for items of disenchantment.
Eventually, by the time of evening, he had gathered a diminutive figurine of a woman made of gold and clothed in shining jewels; a square, golden frame with runes of power etched into its outer edge; and a scroll whose verses that were written upon it were verses of power. The warlock brought these things to where the scythes hovered idly, close together. He laid the golden frame flat on the ground and threw the figurine into the centre of the frame onto the ground, and it broke into five pieces as easily as if it were made of glass. All of the fragments of the figurine fell onto the ground as if it were guided by a hand of wind, for they arranged themselves into five points set perfectly apart from one another, creating the five points of a pentagon inside the golden frame. The warlock read aloud the runes of power and white light traced a pentagram between the five golden fragments, as well as the runes of power on the outer edge of the frame. The overwhelming magic emanating forth from the pentagram enveloped the warlock and the nine scythes, and the field was lit as bright as if it were in the middle of the day of the summer solstice, but the field was lit brighter than even that.
The light slowly dissipated at first, but then the speed at which the darkness was restored to the world accelerated. When the warlock at last could see the world again without the light blinding his vision, he saw that the nine scythes were still hovering as before, though now the warlock could hear the sobbing of several young boys coming from the scythes. It was then that the warlock realized that the scythes were not enchanted, but were being held by spirits. Immediately, the warlock gathered the golden figurine which had restored itself to its unbroken form, the golden frame, and the scroll of runes of power, and he ran back to his cart to put them away. He then returned to where the nine scythes floated, but with a huge tome bound by iron rings in his hands.
The warlock opened fastidiously the tome, for its leaves were fragile despite the hard cover and iron binds, and he flipped through some of the pages to find the incantations of spirits. He found the incantations, and he recited them so that he could commune with the spirits on their own plane of existence. When he had finished reciting them, the world became shades of grey and felt ephemeral, as if the gentlest breeze of wing would shatter the brittle spirit plane. Now, he could see that the nine scythes were wielded each by a young boy, each crying lightly, but the manner by which they stood, bent and broken, gave the impression that their tears were of anger and pain.
The warlock asked, "Who are you nine boys, and why do you wield the scythes, and why do you weep thus?"
The oldest of the nine answered, "We are the sons of the farmer who lives nearby, and we wield these scythes to do work for him in order to make him happy, and we cry because our work was never paid for in food, water, or even in kindness. We cry in anger, for he shall never pay us with anything. We have already worked twelve years for him, and never does he appreciate our efforts. When at last we had gathered in front of him one summer day and asked him for some form of payment, even if it were only kindness, he cursed all of us and killed us the following night."
The warlock asked, "What would appease your souls then?"
The youngest of the nine answered, "If we should murder our father, but let him see that it were us, his unpaid sons, that murdered him, then our souls would be appeased. Alas, we spirits cannot be seen by his mortal eyes."
The warlock thought for a moment, and he asked, "If your souls should be appeased by my aid, for I have the power to make you appear in his mortal eyes, then would you be willing to serve me until I release you?"
The boy who was younger than four of his brothers and older than four of his brothers replied, "If we have your aid in appeasing our souls, than we will serve you until you release us, as long as you pay us in kindness and small favours."
"Then so shall it be," declared the warlock. "However, first, I must know where your bodies have been buried."
The boy who was younger than four of his brothers and older than four of his brothers said, "Where each of us stand now, our bodies are, underneath a shallow layer of dirt."
The warlock nodded and recited the incantation to return him to the mortal plane. He spoke runes of power into the air, and commanded the dirt above the scythes to be removed. The soil lifted away and hovered above each skeleton that was revealed. The warlock flipped through his tome and then recited an incantation of binding and light, returning each of the spirits to its rightful remains and causing them to appear as if they were alive once more, although the boys appeared pale and translucent. They looked at each other and rejoiced, for now they would be seen when they would commit patricide and avenge themselves.
They stopped weeping and began to bay like wolves. The ghostly boys ran to the farm where their father lived. Upon seeing his own sons return from the dead, the father screamed in fear and hid himself, hoping to avoid their inevitable wrath. The youngest of the boys found his father underneath a loose floorboard and beheaded him with his scythe.
Then, the warlock left the farm with nine new servants. They enlarged the cart with pieces of wood torn from the farm, and they set off into the world.

In the aftermath, the warlock gained nine faithful servants that he treated like his own sons. They served him with loyalty and because they were spirits, they were able to get some things done much easier than if they were bound to mortal bodies. But sometimes, the warlock would bind the spirits to their old skeletons, and they would complete errands that required a physical presence.
The farm and the fields of wheat surrounding it were (by the nine boys' request) razed to the ground. The nearest village wondered as to what had happened to the farm, for some of the villagers had seen the blaze's glow on the horizon. They feared that the merchant of magical wares was a warlock, and they began to pray day and night for mercy.
The warlock and the nine boys journeyed north though, far away from the village. They came to the primary hideout of the warlock and helped him to move to the south-east, where they could grow rice. The warlock and his nine boys settled down and raised a farm, living off of rice, cabbage, the eggs of chickens, and sometimes chicken (the boys, because they were spirits, never actually ate, but instead, the warlock prepared small meals for them and burnt sticks of incense that were stuck in the rice). Three years after the death of the nine boys' father, the warlock officially became the nine boys' foster father (he simply asked and the boys accepted -- the nearest village was rather far away, just like the old farm and village from where the nine boys came from).
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Post October 6th, 2009, 11:41 pm

Wossa Ossa Da Lork

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahhahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha. Ha.

A cathedral, tainted to the core, stood upon the hill of Wervanstruaghftur. Skeletons and demons roamed its underground labyirnth, restless and deadly. Kritty looked in up and down. Then, she raised her plasma cannon and obliterated it. A job well done, ahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha. Some sort of cyborg kitty-furry or something. FML.

Rübmal's Five consists of Rübmal himself, Tirag, Valash, Sigmal, Agtrin, and Gilrec. Sigmal is Rübmal's younger brother. Tirag sacrifices the other five to create stars in the night sky. Rübmal's Five journeyed into the Desert of the Bahamit, seeking it to conquer it for their religion. They're partially victorious. Tirag had actually betrayed the other five. A part of Gilrsc's soul survived and became assimilated by a weak-souled Goldland Fellow, eventually regenerating and becoming the body's soul. Thus, Gilrec becomes the Necromancer. He goes on to mate with a Bahamut to give rise to the Witchwyrm lineage and species. Lalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalala.
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Post November 9th, 2009, 7:48 pm

FROM AN MSN CONVERSATION

I am SOOOO optimistic.

All the little kittens around the world are in orbit around me.

AND THEN I TEAR THEIR HEADS OFF WITH THE GAPING MAW OF DARKNESS AND DESPAIR

A SEA OF BLOOD SHALL FLOOD THE PLAINS

AND ALL SHALL TREMBLE IN FEAR

THE CRIES OF KITTENS WILL BE HEARD THROUGHOUT THE NIGHTMARES OF CHILDREN

AND THEIR MOTHERS SHALL BE EXPLODED BY APOCALYPTIC ANGELS OF ULTIMATE PREJUDICE

NONE WILL SURVIVE THE COMING FIRE

AND WHILST THE LIVING WALLOW IN THEIR OWN FILTH, THE DEMONS OF MANKIND SHALL RISE UP AND HUMANITY SHALL RELINQUISH CIVILIZATION

NUCLEAR FIRE WILL SATURATE THE CITIES AND DESTRUCTION WILL BE MADE MANIFEST

THE KNIGHTS OF THE OLD REPUBLIC WILL PULL OUT PHASERS AND SHOOT CHAINSWORDS AT ALIEN ZERG

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