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15: 18 - A Continuation #2

Friday, August 31, 2007

Written by: Melaisis

The next chapter is possibly one of the shortest I've ever written. Horribly rushed and somewhat complicated to understand if read too quickly, it is not one of my proudest works, but is relatively vital to the character development of Krathor and his hatred of trauma. I also introduce a new ability - blink - which comes in handy later on.

Chapter Three - The Shimmering Flats

“Five silver,” the goblin croaked. He coughed in Krathor’s unshaven face, leaving a stench of smoked herbs in the stale air. Krathor Ofane and his new ‘companion’ and crew were steadily cruising through the summer sky, five hundred feet above the Great Sea. The goblin and ex-Dalaran guard stood together, conversing in the hull of the mighty zeppelin. The below decks was unreasonably dusty, but Krathor didn’t dare to venture above until they landed. Ever since he had tried out a Gnomish flying machine and it had crashed horribly over the Ironforge Mountain, Krathor had been scared - almost literally – to death of heights.

“Couldn’t you have told me the cost of the flight before I boarded?” Krathor groaned. But the goblin shook his head.

“Nasty place, those Barrens are. Ever since the Horde set up their towns there, it’s been a Nether to obtain a landing license. Y’think I was prepared to stick around? Didn’t think so.” The goblin grinned. “Now, pay up.”

Krathor reluctantly stuck his hand into his filthy pockets of his shirt, and dug out five pieces of silver, placing them on the goblin’s outstretched hand. The flight master nodded a word of thanks, then limped away to join the rest of his chums with their navigation across the ocean. Almost exactly four years had passed since the events of Dalaran, and Krathor had remained as poor as he had been ever since he had persuaded the mage Opline to force open a gateway in the forbidden halls of the magi city to escape. His shield had been sold in the exchange for riding alongside a small grouping of Tauren as they made their way across the dusty Kalmdorian plains. What a Tauren could use a shield for was beyond Krathor, but he overlooked the simple matter. At times where he only had a simple, rusting sword to protect himself from goblin con-men with, Krathor regretted that he let his shield be bought so easily.

Krathor slumped against the wall of the cabin, the light thuddering of the metal motors onboard the ship humming sweetly into his ears. Rhythmic, soft, consistent. Krathor gave a sigh and closed his eyes. With the humming of the whirring blades on the rear of the zeppelin still filling his idle and tired brain, Krathor drifted off to sleep. It was the first proper rest the magic-wielding warrior had had in weeks, and he slept relatively soundly. He remained dreamless, as he had been for some time, as both his lust-after fantasies and dastardly nightmares had both been experienced in reality. Krathor’s eyes did not open, until the low buzz of the engine at ceased – and instead, had been replaced with the sounds of battle. The squirms of goblins running about the ship and calls of “Brace!” from the captain unnerved Krathor, and he prepared for action.

The zeppelin hit the ground with a mighty thud that shook everyone onboard. Wooden skirting cracked and flaked off the side. Krathor steadily got his feet as the rotor to the rear stopped whirring, and strained his ears for sounds of movement. The mighty flying ship was still scraping along the rough ground, and – with a swift glance out the open hull backing – Krathor supposed that they were not far inland; great dust clouds from the movement were filling the air inside the cabin, making the once-knight-captain wheeze and cough. The land-borne zeppelin skidded to an uneasy halt, and the disturbed dust faded.

Then, the gunshots began.

The smell of dust and herbs that had filled the atmosphere was now gone from Krathor’s lungs. Instead, it was the odour of gunpowder that seeped down from above decks that caught the attention of a still drowsy Krathor. Feeling his way around, the warrior managed to proceed up the stairs, to see the horrors that lay in wait:

The goblins were scattered across the decking and rigging of the masts. Most were armed with hastily-assembled muskets, whereas the green-skinned sailors with the greater authority wielded unsafe-looking explosives and great axes, forged from the huge anvils and fires within Undermine. Their blades glistened in the dawn light, as the captains and lieutenants rallied their men into battle formation.

‘Dawn? How long have we been flying!?’

Krathor then proceeded then to look what was without the shipping. The zeppelin had landed in a strange location; one where the very land itself seemed to reflect the sun’s rays – making everything below the zeppelin appear to be nothing more than a shiny wasteland. The poorly-armed warrior turned to face what the crew of the ship were all staring, and firing, at. At the bow side of the ship, the land seemingly gave away into a huge ditch. The land in the hole was not perfectly flat, or shimmering like the ground around it – but rather dark, and dirtier. Krathor gazed into the pit, and, as he did, a swarm of huge insects emerged from it. Each colossal being the size of a watchtower, covered in markings that warned of poison and death to all those who encountered the beasts. There were so many – greatly outnumbering the fighters upon the landed zeppelin. With the first pass, the flying insectoids had managed to displace the main mast of the vessel, causing it to crash down and through the decking, goblin crewmen leaping out of the way of the mighty monolith. This enraged the captain, who was stood on the poop deck, and let out a huge battle cry that made him sound uncannily like a Murloc, and then lopped an over-sized bomb at the estranged assaulting swam. Three of the huge flies were taken out at once at the explosion, whereas the other goblins concentrated on firing upon the surviving bugs.

Half-running, half-crawling, Krathor reached the poop deck to join the inspiring goblin captain. Gasping for breath, Krathor managed to enquire as to the situation between gasps. The goblin shrugged, reloaded his gun and replied:

“Sithid scum from the desert. Kill anything and everything with two legs, ‘hey do. No man woman nor child has survived ‘dis sort of encounter. ‘Cept ‘dem Druids.” The goblin captain turned away from the battle, and looked far out into the shimmering sands in some sort of hope a thousand Druid reinforcements would come and aid them. After a good few moments of total ignorance from the fighting that was taking place around and above his own, once-flying galleon, the goblin turned back to Krathor and simply sighed, his voice laced with disappointment:

“Well, human. Better be off, y’know. We’ll probably die here…” he placed a green-skinned hand upon Krathor’s slightly-shaking shoulder. “…But you may have a chance, kid.” And, with that, the goblin cocked his gun into the swarm-filled sky above, and returned to firing recklessly at the Sithids. Krathor stared at the goblin, stunned at what little optimism he had still left. Minutes went by, and when the captain of the crashed airship turned to reload again, he still was surprised to see Krathor there, staring. Having moved barely an inch since the goblin had wished him gone. Scowling, the goblin pointed behind him; off the deck and out towards the endless sands.

“Go, human; it’s your only chance.” It was not the lexis themselves that persuaded Krathor to do as the goblin wished; but rather the captain’s pleading eyes that bore into Krathor’s until, finally, the ex-Dalaran soldier moved, slowly and still half-crouching to avoid attention from the airborne enemies that still passed above the fighting troop. Krathor reached the end of the poop-deck, and reluctantly took a quick glance downward to the empty sands. It was at least a thirty-foot drop before the ground. Building his courage hastily and without bothering to take a look at the situation of the small Sithid versus goblin war which was taking place mere metres away from him; Krathor grabbed hold of the railing, and took an uneasy, unplanned and downright suicidal vault over the edge of the grounded ship. Krathor landed hard on the sand below; but the golden grain cushioned his blow considerably. Wasting little time, Krathor regained his footing on the ground and set his course for the dusty horizon. Just as he praised everything good and holy for his unpredicted survival of the jump, he heard a familiar buzzing from behind. As Krathor dashed to around forty feet away from the vessel and insect-spawning crag nearby, a loud hissing sound filled the air. Filled with renewed curiosity, Krathor glanced over his shoulder; to see the wreck of the transport ship he had arrived on slowly slip into the hive, and it was lost from sight, followed by a great smashing sound that echoed eerily around the walls of the crevasse it had fallen into. By this point, Krathor was considerably a lot more scared than he had been before. The intimidating goblins had been nothing compared to the new threat that faced him as he ran through the barren lands. The green-skins had demanded money; but now the insects that were perusing him would demand his life.

The buzzing came again. Louder than before. Krathor shot another look to his rear, and almost wet his pants with fear. For now, perusing him, were two of the largest bugs he had ever seen. Each was the size of an arcane palace in Dalaran; and seemed just as deadly. They were flying, of course, as the beat of their huge, transparent wings was causing the unnerving noise that chilled Krathor to the bone. The duo gained on their human prey quickly, their fangs gnashing away as they approached the helpless Krathor. Then, metres away from a certain death, as Krathor began to see his entire – if somewhat incomplete – life flash before his eyes, there was sound that even drowned out that of the furious insects. It was a sound that pressed against Krathor’s eardrums and closed in on his ribcage. It echoed the beat of his heart. The sound of his breathing. Death? It had to be, as Krathor felt himself lose all hope and faith in life, time almost came to a complete standstill.

But it was not death.

In fact, it was something quite different. As Krathor’s muscles seized up with all movement and proclaimed his routing futile, the human broke through all dimensions of space and time. When he was able to gather his thoughts from the experience, the noise, the near-morality, Krathor found himself forty yards away from the Sithid who - mere seconds ago – had been pressing upon his back, hungry for his death. The sensation picked up again, and Krathor transported another forty yards away in a heartbeat. The unnatural sound of the giant insect enemies grew further and further afield. Another terrified heartbeat. Another forty yards. Another beat. Another forty. Each time he pulled further and further away from his pursuers with hardly the intent to at such an incredible rate.

It went on, for miles and miles and miles. Until Krathor managed to calm himself, the noise faded, and his world stopped spinning. With strained ears, he listened for any signs of the battle he had – once again – escaped from. Not a peep. Krathor did not know how far he had travelled with his so-called ‘blinking’ – but what he did know, was that he would certainly have to learn to control the ability.

Author: Melaisis | Comments: | Leave Your Response?

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12: 38 - The Fall of BB8

Written by: Dee4leeds

It's the last day of BB8 so I thought how better to "celebrate" then to say how this series went wrong. I hope (somehow) the head-producer finds this website and reads it thoroughly.

The Fall of BB8

Pre-Launch
So it's a mouth to go before the start of BB8 usually meaning that I begin to check various BB fan sites looking for the latest news and lame attempts at BB logos. (Seriously... a target?) Well this year was different. No hype. A few aerial pictures from the Daily Sport. Then the release of possibly the worst logo of any BB...any where. A logo which reeked of "Gay-pride".

(Right, before the site is bombarded with comments from angry homosexuals, I just like to add that I'm sure Gay's don't need a gay pride parade, the same way I don't need a human pride parade. Stupid Fag's always with the complaining.)

And a house which seem to have as much thought put as creating robot zombies when all you have to do is create a serum to cure the dead and "accidentally" spill it in a swamp. Here's where the house went wrong:

- Cooker in the bedroom.
Wow! The evil genius in all of us can hardly contain ourselves.

- Bath in the Living Room.
Really? Even when you have an extra large shower in another room. Whatever will they choose...

- Fridge in the Garden?
Woah! In the summer. Even this English summer. Most of been tough.

To be honest the ONLY decent part of the house was the walkway to the Dairy Room. That was uber-cool. Now, a random target on the floor. Davina made a point of it... then nothing. WHAT A WASTE OF TIME! Talking of useless object added for the reason of keeping interest. The fish-phone. Why? Why? Why? Let's call the Australian Big Brother. So. I don't care.

Housemates

What happened to people going on the show merely for the experience. John Tickle, Eugene Sully and Craig Something from the first big brother, all good housemates. Nikki, Charley and Chantelle, all shit housemates.

NOBODY. repeat, NOBODY. Wants housemates who argue, complain and have relationships. I'll come back to this point in my next post.

Tasks

What tasks? Where there any tasks in BB8? I don't remember any and that's not because I turned over the channel to a repeat of Jerry Springer on LIVING.

Twists

"What if it's all an act?" Carole 30 seconds after saying hello to that actress off the Banana- sorry Setanta Sports adverts. Wow. Must of been a tough act. I know! How about a real god dam Australian! (I-think-we're-fighting-Canadians!) That would of probably been much better. And how about making the video feed not obvious. I guessed the twist before they showed it to the audience. Generic Windows movie maker style graphics on a loop? However did I guess.

The Fake eviction. Could that be the sound of Charley saving...AGAIN!?! Yes and will add that that evening was the reason why I stopped watching BB8. You fucked with us too much.

Davina

"TonightstwistsisogoodIfeelIcanttalk!" GURN "Nowwearebackwithagreattwist" GURN "ohmygodIcantphysicallycomprehendhowgood" GURN "thistwistisImightactuallyfalloverhahahaha!"

WOAH! WOAH! WOAH! Calm down Davina. Why is every twist the greatest thing... ever. And I mean ever. She always feels the need to go up to the camera and convince us it's perfect twist. When all I am thinking is "Davina. DAVINA! Get out of my personal space!"

Stop it now.

Spin-off Shows

- BBLB
This used to be the best part of the Big Brother franchise. Every episode use to start with an opening pun and then Dermot crossing his arms in a (now ironic) X-factor manner. Followed by "Little Brothers Big News" which had fun elements such as "Ginger Watch" and "Pas-phone." Now we have a "Chiggy-O-meter" and a "Bramanda-O-meter" and a "Lamy-O-meter." As stated above NO ONE CARES ABOUT RELATIONSHIPS!

And Dermot? You selt out.

- BBBM
Russel Brand's done a runner because "he wants to pursue other challenges" aka I shitted myself after the (not) racism row. So because Channel 4 couldn't find a decent replacement they decided to use the common gimmick of guest presenters. Thus finding out that either Ian Wright or Avid Merrion should get the job full time. (I'm personally leaning more towards Ian Wright because if Avid merrion was picked it would ruin the joke.)

That's all fokes. Next time: How to improve BB9.

Labels: Big Brother

Author: Dee4leeds | Comments: | Leave Your Response?

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16: 15 - 1000

Thursday, August 30, 2007

Written by: Dee4leeds

Yeah I thought I just point out that we have broken the 1000 unique visitors...

...and 1500 on the MySpace blog. (Which isn't such a good thing, because the MySpace blog is suppose to entice readers.)

I'm sure it will be just the same people though, they have just re-ca-fo-bell-ed their router.

News...news...I'm planning something for the 1st birthday of the website... remember the word "planning" though. Because knowing me that's all it will stay as. I shall have to discuss it with Mel, Teh and Wom.

Labels: 1000 visitors, 1st Birthday, Birthday, The Three Rs

Author: Dee4leeds | Comments: | Leave Your Response?

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12: 31 - A Continuation #1

Monday, August 27, 2007

Written by: Melaisis

Indeed, since no one has bothered to make a post between this and my last one, I thought I might as well slap the next part of Krathor's story up. In this chapter I incorperated elements of WoW such as an instance boss (Arugal), old places (Gilenas) and a proper location accessable in-game (Silverpine Forest). This was probably one of the easiest (if not slowest) chapters to write, because it was very obvious where the three were to go next.

Chapter Two - Silverpine Forest

The mage, soldier and knight walked many a mile through the sandy dunes of the Lordaeron shores; just to the west of Silverpine Forest. It was a long, almost unnecessary trip, but both Krathor and the mage agreed that travelling on the ruined roads was not the best option to consider. So the small company weaved their way through the rocks and sand of the coast. They were making steady progress, and on the second night since their flight from Dalaran, the trio could make out the silhouette of the small tower perched upon a steep hill in the distance. It was a great sight for the humans to see; as it marked the entrance to the tiny hamlet of Pyrewood. A safe refuge, they supposed – as long as the Scourge had not reached the small village by the time they arrived there.

Of course, none of the group dared to show their relief, as the events at Dalaran still shocked each one of them. Krathor was outraged as his own, irrational behaviour, the mage - Opline Hightoe - was equally shocked at Krathor’s behaviour, and had not dared to start causal conversation with either of his two new companions ever since the exodus, fearing for his own life. The guard, last of Krathor’s unit, had not spoken either, in fear of breaking his superior’s temper once again. He had just followed, loyally… for the time being, at least. The soldier was happy to let the other two; Krathor and Opline – mourn for their lost ones. The soldier – a man by the name of Sinq Valentine – was not exactly joining in their silent weeping for the loss of Dalaran. The city, in Sinq’s eyes, had been doomed to the fates long before the Scourge made themselves known in what the Kirin Tor lovingly called the ‘Plaguelands’. After all, the Lich King had not only recruited the great mage Kel’Thuzad to join his plight. Others from Dalaran had been contacted, of course, many others. Some had neglected the Lich King’s call and thus died for it in the battle that commenced only a couple of days ago. The ones that had been loyal to the master’s call, had survived. Or this was what Sinq appeared to believe, regardless. In truth, the Lich King was indiscriminate with the attack on Dalaran, but Valentine had been broken down to relying solely on his faith in his cause; In the Scourge’s cause. He would let the two he travelled with lead him to Pyrewood, where they could part their ways and he could join with his master.

‘Best not arise suspicion,’ Sinq thought to himself, as he followed Krathor and Opline into a small clearing just off the shoreline. Surrounded by many tall trees with the cloudy sky being cut away by the leaves of the flora, the three decided to make camp. The mage conjured a small fire and the small party ate in silence. That was, until, Krathor cleared his throat and looked from the grey eyes of Opline, to Sinq, and back to Opline:

“I apologise for my behaviour,” the knight muttered hastily. The mage grunted in approval, and the tension was eased. It was Sinq who seized the opportunity in renewed conversation to satisfy some of his own curiosity:

“How far do we have to travel until we reach Pyrewood?”

Opline turned to Sinq in surprise at his question, but Krathor was unphased and continued to swallow the last of his food – salmon – before answering his undergraduate:

“Another day, or two,” the knight said coolly. “That is as if the Scourge hasn’t reached there first,” Krathor mumbled. Sinq’s eyes lit up in hope of this situation, but quickly noticed Opline studying his face, and reverted to his depressed expression. The magician gave a quizzical look, but thought nothing of it. Or, at least, he thought not to mention it.

Shortly after, the trio decided to call it a night. Krathor stomped out the fire, his plate boots getting slightly scolded, and wandered off to find his own shelter nearby. Opline ventured out to the shoreline once again, and, using the last of the day’s energy, conjured a water elemental to stand guard throughout the night. Ordering the other-worldly beast onto a lengthy patrol pattern around their sleeping perimeter, the mage retired for the evening. Only the lone soldier, Sinq Valentine, was left awake.

The warrior had prepared for this opportunity. Sinq quickly stripped himself of most of his heavy, Dalaran protector armour, leaving himself in a simple red silk shirt and similarly coloured trousers.

‘Red,’ he thought to himself. ‘The colour of blood.’

The guard discarded his old, dirty armour into the sea, and re-strapped his weaponry (a small dagger and Bludstone Hammer) to his waist, and set off deeper into the forest. He passed a slumbering Krathor on the way, and momentarily considered giving the captain a pounding with his hammer, but decided against it. After all, Krathor, despite being somewhat miserable during the travel from Dalaran, was only a mere peasant doing his job. If he could not accept discipline and power being received from one of a higher ranking; he certainly could not become a willing servant to the master by his own will. Sinq was chillingly aware of the Lich King’s omniscience and understanding of thought. Or, at least what he assumed the being would think. After all, would knew that the once-shaman would think at all? Regardless, killing someone who he had served for many a year out of pure spite would surely have been looked down on, regardless of what the said superior actually was. After all, Sinq had reckoned Krathor to be drastic and unruly – yet the Lich King was guaranteed to be ten times worse; if not the more favourable commander. Carefully, the warrior stepped over the sleeping body of Krathor, and set off into the night to seek out his master. He turned back once to check on his captain, but Krathor was fast asleep. Sinq felt a pang of guilt of his betrayal as he turned about, and sprinted off into the darkened forest.

Krathor, upon his awakening, noticed the absence of Sinq at once. The soldier’s passing had left a fairly obvious trail in the long and untamed grass that besieged the trees of the forest. In his hindsight, the dissertation of the last of the last of the knight’s regiment was to have been expected. Sinq Valentine had been suspiciously silent ever since the exit from Dalaran, and his sole question the night before had almost confirmed his fears. Krathor thought to go after Sinq at once, but by the time he found a still slumbering Opline in case of the need for reinforcements, he had thought of better things to do. If the coward had indeed escaped, then he would be to the subject of the remains of the Dalaran army, or that of the Scourge. Krathor brushed the subject aside when the mage questioned him about it, and the two continued down the coastline in a more social mood. The threat of being outnumbered two-to-one had put Opline off conversation, it seemed, but now there was just the couple of them; things gained fluency. The day went by, dream-like for the two travellers.

“But mage,” Krathor began, as the two weaved their ways throughout the trees that surrounded them, “Couldn’t you have simply given us a portal out to Pyrewood Village primarily? Surely you didn’t make us trek this far on foot by design?”

Opline inclined his head slightly, and replied: “Yes, and no. Due to er… circumstance at the time, I did not have enough energy to conjure a gateway to the hamlet. But also, who was to say that Pyrewood hadn’t been taken by the undead menace anyway? Soldier, you would have even complained more if we had gone from out of the freezer and into the frying pan!”

The mage gave an awkward chuckle, as Krathor stayed silent, thinking. Minutes went by, and the two continued their journey into Silverpine, going further and further from the coast now; hoping to find the direct road to their destination.

Then, after a good hour of further journeying, the two heard a cry that sickened them both to the very pits of their stomachs. Krathor, in particular, recognised it at once. For it was the voice of Sinq calling to them. Well, not to the two specifically, but to something else, taunting it, yet his tone remained laced with fear and caution. The two travellers quickened their pace at the shouts, until both mage and knight broke free of the trees, and were able to see the cause of the excitement. Opline staggered back in surprise, but Krathor remained somewhat motionless, his eyes struggling to take in the sight that was set before his eyes.

The two had, quite unfortunately, emerged from the west side of the forest between what Krathor would later claim to be a ‘rock and a hard place’. Metres away down the road, to their right, stood a great battalion of human troops, flagged in colours that Krathor had only ever seen a few times. The insignia was that shaped awkwardly like a sickle and nail, and – although once a red colour – was now perfectly black. A few purple-clad soldiers mixed with these strange, darkly-clad men, but the Dalaran-purple troops evident at a glance were the minority

A few metres to the left stood the army of the Scourge; or at least a unit of it. Leading this group was none other than Sinq himself, still sporting his red-coloured silk clothing and his sun-baked, yet still healthy, skin. Yet there was something wrong – for, despite him being at the head of the Scourge lines, the undead were not attacking him. In fact, they were rallied by his hostile calls and curses to the human lines yards in front of him. His eyes glowed unnaturally red with every mockery, stirring the undead troops behind him into a battle fury.

“Human scum!” Sinq shouted, irony weaving its way into his voice. “The Lich King shall rule all!” And with that, a mighty battle cry went up from both sides of the road, half-deafening Krathor. Moments after the Scourge and humans charged at one another, and a battle commenced. Sinq dived in, leading the assault upon the humans – his kin – whilst the Scourge followed behind him, without hesitating. Krathor watched as he smashed the skulls of five of the black-cloaked forward troops, before being rounded upon by a small group of Dalaranians and quickly dealt with. Krathor forced himself to look away as Sinq’s cloth was ripped to pieces by the infuriated human Alliance, and concentrated in making a strategic retreat back into the forest.

Krathor glanced around. If he was going to flee from the battleground, he might as well bring Opline with him – at least until Pyrewood. A member of the Kirin Tor would surely be more accepted there by Baron Silverlaine than a deserter from the Dalaran ranks. Krathor looked around once more for his companion, but still could not spot him out from the bloody mass of corpses and battling undead and humans. Hoping that the archmage would make his own way out of the fray, Krathor backed into the forest, and began to run south. He was only hours away from the village now, and he could surely make it by nightfall – or at least keep the Scourge from catching up with him until he could reach further protection. So, the aging warrior ran, jumping over roots and fallen branches of the vegetation within the wood. Slowly, time ceased to mean anything, and Krathor just kept running and running from the battle behind him as if his life depended on it; which it probably did.

Suddenly, as Krathor still proceeded through his path on a slightly beaten track, he saw a light through the gaps in the trees. Light, and smoke. Immediately, he began to panic, believing that the Scourge had managed to set alight the forest in order to burn it down and flush out any remaining of the human resistance. Upon closer inspection, however, this was not the case. As Krathor drew closer to the source of the flames, it was evident that they were coming from a – if not rather large – campfire. The flames illuminated a small collection of tents in the clearing by the side of the main road, most of the tents were draped in the same dark colours which the human army to the north had been wearing earlier, but some of the tents were purple. Dalaran’s colours. It was to these Krathor made his way over. As soon as he emerged from the dense cluster of trees, however, he was approached by a High Elf, bearing the insignia of Dalaran.

“News from the front, human?” The High Elf questioned, but Krathor shook his head:

“I have come from Dalaran,” he explained. “The front the-“ but the Elf cut the other off, holding his blade towards the human’s face:

“A deserter?”

“I am not a deserter if there isn’t anything left to desert,” Krathor snapped back. The Elf guard nodded, looked into the distance, back the way Krathor had came, then back into Krathor’s, slightly fear-filled eyes. With a tinge of annoyance lining his voice, the Elf sighed and decided:

“Report to Pyrewood; if that nutter Arugal hasn’t already reached Silverlaine. Maybe they will send more troops from Arathor, then.”

With this, Krathor gave a confident nod at the order, and made to dash off past the small encampment. But before he could make his fifth step, something snagged upon his mind, and turned back to mutter to his temporary High Elf commander:

“You wear those colours of Dalaran, like my own,” Krathor commented. “But the other troops… the majority of our army here in the forest… they wear… black?”

The Elf gave a solemn nod, and replied in an almost inaudible whisper:

“They are the troops of Gilenas. One day, only about a week ago, the grand wall – do not press me for its name, for I cannot remember – that protects entry to the kingdom opened its gates, and out poured five legions of these humans, all clad in black. The gates stayed open for a few more days, and have now shut.”

“Why?”

The Elf quickly raised a finger to his lips, shot a daring look over to the other groups of tents, were the Gilenas army rested, and beckoned Krathor further south down the road. Once they were safely out of earshot of the black troops, the High Elf sighed, and began:

“Gilenas is not known for its superior arms. It does not use dirty Dwarven steel, or our Elven magi. The troops are sailors and captains of sea-faring vessels, not bulking, fearless meat shields that you see here,” he gestured back at the camps. “Even we lowly soldiers noticed something was wrong when they suddenly offered their services. Turns out, only hours after the legions had arrived, a diplomat from the kingdom – with a tiny escort – arrived at Silverlaine’s place. Apparently, they didn’t send a force at all, at least, not a force that was approved by their estranged courts. The men had just proclaimed mutiny against their commanders, and went to aid their fellow Man here.”

“What does this mean, then?” Krathor hastily said. Movement was coming from the groups of dens behind the talking human and Elf. But not the simple switching of the watch or the breaking of a meal; full mobilisation had began to occur. The guard Krathor was speaking with had also noticed this, it seemed, and quickly mumbled:

“That, if the gates of Gilenas were to close, we are doomed. First the North will fall, then-“

“Hurry up talking to your recruit there, Smali!” One of the Elf’s companions called from the grouping behind, grinning. The Elf whom Krathor had been talking to – Smali – gave a reassuring, overly-jolly wave back, and turned to Krathor again, straight faced:

“Get word to Silverlaine; the place is doomed.”

With that, ‘Smali’ ran off to join his unit, and Krathor pressed on in the opposite direction. He was still wary of the absence of Opline, and looked about his self every few minutes for any signs of the mage. By the time late afternoon dawned, Krathor had reached the small, fortified town of Pyrewood Village. The place was in uproar. The blacksmith was full of purple and black-armoured soldiers, wanting their weapons sharpened or chains added for extra effectiveness. Goblin zeppelins flew over the scene regularly, bringing supplies to the remaining villagers and vast groups of fighting men and Elves that had gathered there. Calls from officers, knights and drill sergeants filled the entire hamlet, making Krathor uneasy, reminding him unnervingly of the scene just before Dalaran’s downfall. He suddenly felt woozy as he reached the small town square, sick at the sounds of preparation before the battle – the slaughter. Propping himself up on the side of the inn wall, he suddenly remember to give in his report of the situation to an appropriate superior. Silverlaine? The baron?

Sucking in his gut, and blanking the feeling of sickness from his mind, Krathor began the small ascent to the baron’s keep which overlooked the town. The hill upward was full of guards and civilians alike, all in a jumbled rabble. Pushing his way through the crowds that had gathered on the slope, Krathor found his way at the forefront of the chaos: The bridge over the dry, castle moat was down, but there were a grouping of several, somewhat exhausted-looking guards people protecting the main, barricaded entrance to the keep. The men were bloodthirsty, angry and somewhat annoyed at the situation, attempting feebly to calm the unrested peasants down. Every shout from the small unit was interrupted by that of many more of the locals of Pyrewood, making peace-keeping almost futile. Observing the scene led to little success, so Krathor finally asked one of the guards not trying to protect entrance to the keep:

“What’s happening?”

The guard looked over Krathor for a moment, for he was also dressed in Dalaran purple – although it was more polished and less battered than Krathor’s – then caught sight of Krathor’s ‘Knight-Captain’ badge, which still hung loosely from his chest. The guard jumped to attention, and replied:

“Sir, the populace is uprising, sir!”

Krathor groaned.

“I can gather that, but why?”

“Sir, Silverlaine refuses to send for help from the neighbouring kingdoms of Arathor and Gilenas, sir!”

“But the black troops of Gi-“

“Sir, only rebelled minority, sir! Gilenas still refuses to send aid officially!”

With this, the guard waved a hand causally towards the direction of the great wall that separated the peninsula of Gilenas from the rest of Lordaeron. Through the light mist that had settled over Pyrewood, Krathor could vaguely make out the gates: Closed. Krathor grunted and prepared to resign, then questioned:

“So why are the people forbidden from entering the keep?”

“Baron Silverlaine talks with the archmage Arugal, sir.”

And with that, the final words of Smali’s echoed throughout Krathor’s mind: ‘Report to Pyrewood; if that nutter Arugal hasn’t already reached Silverlaine.’ In a sudden act of selfishness; whether it be due to the feelings he had gotten from being around the pre-battle, the treason of Sinq, the death of his trusted lieutenant, the fall of Dalaran or all of these factors put together, Krathor shrugged and walked away. If the good baron wasn’t able to listen to his own people, then he doubted that any reason or information that the warrior was able to give the lord would be taken heavily. Perhaps a nod of the head, or maybe a scolding for bringing him the bad news. Whatever the outcome, it certainly wouldn’t have been worth him – Krathor – coming all of that way, loosing so much…

So he left the town. He considered waiting around for Opline, or even hoping for sanctuary in Gilenas. Another day, it would have been likely he’d taken both options in his stride. But not that day. The day of death, of lies, of deceit – despite being it expected already, it did not help it from hitting hard. The inevitability of it all made the loss more sour tasting to Krathor, and he found himself wandering far, far away from Pyrewood and the beaten track – closer to Amber Mill than anywhere else. His mind kept going over and over the other things that the High Elf had mentioned, too: Was all really lost? After all, how could you kill something that is already dead? And what about Gilenas? Had they prevailed through the infamous Alterac crisis? Or had this been a one-off and they really did intend to close their doors once and for all?

Krathor let out a stubborn grunt, and felt around in the grass for somewhere comfortable to sit down. As his hands felt the grass beneath him gingerly, literal sparks flew from his fingertips, causing Krathor to snap back in horror. He tried it again, just softly poking away and feeling at the grass, looking for somewhere dry, and his fingers sparked again, almost causing a small fire beneath him. The warrior sighed, filled with an ocean of anxiety and a softer, more unnatural feel that made his stomach tighten and his fists clench.

Magic; another thing to worry about.

Author: Melaisis | Comments: | Leave Your Response?

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15: 01 - A Writer's Mess

Thursday, August 23, 2007

Written by: Melaisis

Quite appropriately to this topic, today I found out that I recieved the highest grade in my AS level English Language class. Well done me! Anyway, in relation to this, I've decided to post what was going to be my first 'big' project in the writing world. For a very simple summary of this piece; I like to call it 'a backstory which got out of hand'. That's right, in this post (and the ones to follow) you'll find a trail of what happened when my creativity got carried away and... well, slowly fizzled out. It was written for the World of Warcraft, actually, to introduce my mage, Krathor, to the server I played on. But it really went from that to documenting my own experiences upon the said realm. Perhaps one day I'll take up the story again and finish it, but for now...

Chapter One - Dalaran

Roughly five years ago…

Dalaran was under siege from the minions of the Lich King. Krathor (who had been a guard of the Kirin Tor for almost a decade) was one of the first to hear the reports of the fall of Lordaeron and the massacre at Stratholme by the ‘prince’ of the nation; Arthas Menethil. During the day, Dalaran scouts had brought hourly reports of the incoming legions of Scourge; the column of the main army stretching at least fifteen miles long. They were ceaseless, never bothering to stop for a break. Then again, they were the slaves of the most powerful Lich in all of the land; they couldn’t halt even if they wanted to. It was inevitable that Dalaran would be assaulted, and Krathor knew that the city would not hold long. As another day of waiting came and went, and Krathor was leading his small troop of guards away from yet another pointless meeting of the warriors that still remained loyal to the archmagi. The council had been rushed, as the drums of war had sounded five minutes in. At that moment, as Krathor led his small number of fatigued, worn men across the battlements, the Scourge were sighted.

A great shout went up through the ranks of the guards. Rumours had been spreading through the troops for the duration of the cloudy day as to if the undead would really make an appearance during the daylight hours. Now, it appeared, those rumours were about to be confirmed. As the late summer sun set over the horizon, the guards of Dalaran, second city-state in the nation of Arathor, cowered together like puppies that had just lost view of their mother. Krathor Ofane was one of these said guards. Armour gleaming in what remained of the day’s light, he, with five hundred of his fellow surviving protectors of the archmagi, braced to see what would come of the day’s end.

Granted, Krathor and his small patrol were in a better position than most, they on looked at the frontlines of the hurried defence fell immediately, as the endless, suicidal, slaves of the Lich King threw themselves at the mixture human and Elven vanguard. When the forward crew fell (which they did all too quickly), a great group of monstrous beings came out from the Scourge flanks. Cloaked totally in black, with only a skull helm as physical protection, these mysterious creatures, with the lifting of barely a bony finger, were able to raise the entire deceased Dalaran guard from death. A simultaneous gasp went out from the human forces as their dead companions came back from their short afterlives. Some still warm from their blood lazily travelling through broken veins, the raised dead turned on the defending Dalaran army, and proceeded to continue with the suicidal rush against the city walls, joining their new Scourge allies as undead themselves. The more humans that fell, the more that the darkly-clad ones were able to raise in their own favour. From atop the last stone wall that protected the higher members of the archmagi order, Krathor overlooked the bloody battle with unprecedented interest. His small unit of men had just fought off a few stragglers of the Scourge that had been detached from the main force and found their way up the towers, but two of his comrades had been injured in the bloody combat. That left only Krathor himself and two others out of the starting five atop the stone walls that were able to fight, or at least defend themselves. The battle that raged below did nothing positive for the group’s morale, either. The Scourge were advancing at a terrific rate, faster than any of the Kirin Tor or any of Krathor’s warrior superiors had expected. With a great sigh, Krathor turned away from the battle to his remaining friends, who were awaiting his orders.

“That’ll be all,” Krathor resigned. He took a glance down at the bloody mess that lay just behind his lieutenant. The corpse (if you could call the sodden remains that) which lay on the dirtied floor was that of Burgess, his brother. The fates had spoken out against him, and, unluckily, he had been skewered with a femur of one of his fallen undead enemies. None of the small company were medics, so they had decided a quick death for the fallen champion. Krathor turned away, somewhat ashamed and guilty over the death of his sole (no longer) surviving relative; the lieutenant foresaw this and what Krathor was feeling, and thus assured:

“Do not blame yourself, Krathor,” the captain sighed and replied, taking the subject away from his fallen kin:

“What is the use of fighting anymore? The city has fallen, and the more people that die, the more that go to aid the Scourge. Surely we mu-“

Krathor stopped. The sounds of battle, terrified screams and the ominous raising of the dead from below had ceased. Fighting against the biting wind that now assaulted the battlements, Krathor took a hasty glance back onto the ground below. The fighting had halted, and a pathway was forming through the mass of undead that was assaulting the city. Through this gap in the crowd, rode a figure dressed in imperial armour, his silvery hair whipping back, much to the misfortune of the figure that floated somewhat dreamily behind him, dressed as those raising the dead had been – another necromancer. The two were talking in low voices which were hardly audible over the roar of battle as they made their way through the parting of their army without hassle. The rider of the undead steed was obvious: Arthas. The second figure that trailed behind, annoyed at the lengthy hair bellowing in his face was, assumedly, Kel'Thuzad. They passed through the ranks, under the wall where Krathor and his guard stood solemnly, and into the passageways that created a maze under the arcane city without trouble. Even the human and Elf guard that stood at the gates, metres away from where the tunnels lay, did not try to interfere, either out of being bewitched, or fear. As soon as the commanding duo disappeared from sight, the Scourge gave an all-mighty battle cry that shook Krathor to the bone, and charged onwards into the main district of Dalaran, away from the entrance where Arthas and his trusty comrade had entered. Any human defenders that still stood defiant on the ground below fell like lambs to the slaughter, and were brought back by the prepared necromancers almost immediately. Krathor and his guard looked on in horror at the Scourge’s refined progress towards the Kirin Tor’s main hideaway. At that moment, those who still lived, including the displeased knight-captain Krathor himself along with his comrades, had a grave decision to make. Would they leave the great refuge of the mages and priesthood to succumb to the endless waves of the Scourge? Would they abandon the body of Burgess in the chance of their own survival? Or would they stay and sacrifice himself for the people that had given them so much hospitality and wealth? Was this worth it? What if they became undead? After what seemed like years, the captain finally came to a worthy choice:

“…There is nothing we can do for the city.” With a great heave, Krathor lifted his rusted and bloodied purple shield bearing the insignia of the Kirin Tor, unsheathed his chipped short sword and beckoned his two remaining soldiers forward to the entrance of the tower that led off the battlements, without bothering to turn back. His surviving comrades hesitated slightly, and then followed.

Krathor led them down corridor after corridor into the great passageways that lay under the city – designed to keep those addicted to magic, or foolish enough to venture down there, lost forever. Supposedly the tunnels were used as both a labyrinth for prisoners never to escape from, and a place to store treasure without the risk of it being taken. One of the higher members of Dalaran’s society however, an old architect, had mentioned during their last meeting the very probable possibility that an ancient escape route may exist beneath the system of passages. Each of the three comrades prayed silently that they would not lead into the silver-haired Deathguard, or the Lich Kel’Thuzad whilst they stumbled about in search for the subtle exit. Krathor was grateful for the silence, not only did it insure that his soldiers put their faith entirely in his hands – lessening hostility – but it also gave Krathor ample ability to listen out for incoming enemies; Be it Scourge minion low-life, or something much more dreadful. It also gave the warrior time to think. Not only about where he was going – because the small troop had been lost in the maze of passageways five minutes into travelling through them (although he refused to admit it), but also to other matters. How had the Scourge been allowed to come so far south? Had Lordaeron fallen? What of his brethren? His friends on the outside? Were they dead and turned into unnatural barbaric beings, also? Then there was the matter of leaving Burgess behind… What if he became Scourge? Surely there wasn’t enough of him left to be raised… But if the Scourge magic masters did bring him back to ‘life’, then it would be Krathor’s responsibility.

So, as those who remained of the West Wall Regiment of the Dalaran guard travelled through the underground district of the city, Krathor made himself promise that he would seek out his own answers to those questions. Be it within five minutes, or five years. He would find the answer. Refocusing his thoughts, Krathor continued to lead his men down the corridors, for what seemed like forever, powered by only the scraps of energy and adrenaline he had left to muster.

Then, the knight captain was distracted from his thoughts. Footsteps echoed through the hallowed halls ahead. Voices, also. Human voices? Staying silent, Krathor signalled to the accompanying duo that there was indeed, something coming their way. A few glances around and Krathor spotted a stone enclave in which the three struggled to fit into. Swords at the ready, half-drenched in shadow, the three awaited the coming of the beings from the other end of the darkened hall.

They did not have to wait long. For the echoing speakers were quick with their pace, and reached the hiding place of the three guards from the battlements with surprising ease. Krathor was equally quick, for as the small escort passed the shadowy stone enclave, the knight captain spotted a flash of black robe. The same type which the necromancers wore. Fuelled by anger, hatred and a little ounce of foolishness, Krathor leapt out from his hiding place, sword swinging angrily. It turned out that the apparent necromancer had brought an escort, cloaked in torn purple garments. These were the first to hit the cold floor thanks to Krathor’s swordsmanship. With an energy that rocked the very foundations of his soul, Krathor swung his weapon with incredible speed, and the five guards of the other small company were cut to pieces. Then, without further ado, the knight captain turned onto the one they were protecting: The wearer of the black cloak.

Uncharacteristically, the necromancer began to cower as Krathor raised his sword to strike the final blow upon the ‘Lich King’s servant’. The knight was stopped however, for one of his soldiers that had leaped out of the shadows, over the corpses at his feet, and come in between Krathor and the necromancer. Wielding his own Truesilver Champion, the brave lieutenant parried Krathor’s blow away from the cloth-wearer. Enraged at the man’s erratic behaviour, the aggressor turned about for another shot, but was parried again by the same lieutenant. Finally, the other companion of the hiding threesome called out “Stop! Stop!” from behind, and grabbed Krathor’s arms. The knight thrashed wildly against his constraints, believing that his own men had now been bewitched by the Lich King. This was not the case; however, as Krathor struggled against the other holding him, his faithful lieutenant brought about the quivering wearer of the blackened cloak. With a great heave, the lieutenant pushed back the hood on the cloak, half-holding the terrified body in his arms at the same time.

The thing that cowered, that the deputy of Krathor Ofane was holding, was not a necromancer. The face that met Krathor’s was not that of a skull, or ghostly, wailing banshee, or one with fiery-hot eyes, given to him after being tortured by a horrendous evil. Instead, it was that of a normal human being, somewhat old, by all accounts – but human all the same. Ashamed and embarrassed – and even angrier than he had been previously, Krathor threw off the man who was holding him, and approached the darkly-clad man, knuckles clenched. To everyone’s surprise, it was the newly-revealed stranger that spoke first, fear being quickly replaced by anger now he was over the initial terror of being raided by the furious captain:

“What on Azeroth do you think you’re doing, fiend?!” He shouted at Krathor irritably, his voice echoing down the passageways that surrounded them. “I am an archmage of this city!” He cried in dismay. “Now my escort is ransacked and I am assaulted by our own guard?!”

Krathor would not stand for this. The knight had seen his own brother being slain at the hands of the Scourge, and the man that now confronted him dared to pressure him immensely for acting on impulsion and timing – as he had been trained to be by the very order that now scolded him as the city fell!? It was all too much to bear. A slight chuckle escaped from Krathor’s mouth, and, moving his lieutenant aside, he pushed the archmage up against the wall of the passage by the scruff of the neck, and demanded:

“Look, mage, I have been to the Nether and back in the past half hour. If you dare to criticise me for acting in accordance with what I have been trained, then you have only brought this on yourself…”

With this, Krathor raised his sword to the eye-line of the archmage, and poised it to strike. The knight had truly snapped, and, fearing for their own lives, his lieutenant and underling did not bother to intervene. The fresh blood from the (now deceased) soldiers scattered about dripped from the blade slightly onto the dark cloak, and this made the archmage nervous once more. His black pupils dilated in renewed fear, and Krathor seized the opportunity:

“You will get us out of here, mage,” Krathor demanded. “I know little of wizardry and magic, but I do know that you can create portals. I want –“ Krathor inclined to himself and then his two loyal allies with a nod of his head “- You to get us out of here. Now. To the coast, preferably. Somewhere far from here.”

The mage swallowed, and gave a very slight nod of admittance. Krathor released his grip on the magic-weaver and let him prepare the portal. Just as the magic began to form on the tips of the mage’s fingers, he spoke with a squeak:

“I can only make a portal big enough for three of us.”

Krathor opened his mouth to speak against this, to declare that the mage himself was going to be the one to stay behind, but he was beaten:

“I shall stay.” It was the lieutenant. Krathor was speechless for a moment, and the lieutenant looked at the knight captain, as if daring to challenge his decision. After a few long moments of hostile eye-contact, Krathor finally gave into the choice, being in no mood to question the actions of someone who still remained so brave in light of the horrific events. He focused his thoughts once again back to the situation, just as the mage announced:

“The portal is ready.”

There was a blazing light that illuminated the entire passageway for as far as Krathor could see, and then the light seemed to focus – and came into a rounded shape that appeared to float in mid-air. A window in space and time that led into what seemed like a different world. The light from throughout the passage faded, but the round window still kept providing the energy needed to see. For, from the other side of the portal, the sun was slowly setting, lighting up the entire beach, which was presumably somewhere nearby. From the other side, the shouts of Scourge-speak and orders could be heard clearly through the evening air. It was a strange concept, stepping through a portal into somewhere miles away. A trip that would take at least an hour completed in a second…

The other soldier who had restrained Krathor when he almost attacked the archmage volunteered without fret to venture through the portal first. He appeared safely on the other side and beckoned the mage and knight to step through, gesturing that it was safe. The mage wasted no time in escaping, and literally jumped through the portal, onto the sandy shores on the other side. Then, it was Krathor’s turn.

An unexpected wail echoed down the passageway. It was a lot nearer to home than the sounds of the battle which were happening on the other side of the magical gateway. Close, in the tunnels. The air turned considerably chillier immediately, and another ghastly wail came. Krathor knew what it meant, and so did the lieutenant whom they were leaving behind. With a final, graceful nod and pat on the back, Krathor stepped through the portal onto the Lordaeron seaside, and, just as the portal closed, he was able to catch the last moments of his lieutenant’s life: His calls for help and mercy. His shouts of dismay and chopping of his Truesilver sword through the freezing air. But the banshees – horrible, ethereal beings full of despair and hate were upon him soon enough, their ‘song’s leaving a ringing in Krathor’s ears that would persist in the months afterward. The portal closed up on itself as the howls of terror died away into deathly silence, and the mage, warrior and knight were left, alone, on the empty beach, the sounds of the battle at Dalaran slowly dying off in the distance.

Labels: Fanfiction, World of Warcraft

Author: Melaisis | Comments: | Leave Your Response?

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16: 11 - "Friends! Help! A guinea pig tricked me!"

Monday, August 20, 2007

Written by: Dee4leeds/Omicron Persi Eight

Dee4leeds' Introduction: Well...to kick start a quote thing for me here is A selection of the best Futurama Quotes. Well at least the best quotes the guest writer thinks. So anyway...

Best Futurama Quotes

This is a list of great quotes from all the characters. If you think I've missed out some great ones, feel free to mail me.

Fry
"I'll be whatever I wanna do."
"People said I was dumb, but I proved them."
"Full price for gum?! That dog won't hunt, Monsignor."
"No, I'm ...doesn't!"
"Ugh, it's like there's a party in my mouth and every one's throwing up."
"Its just like the story of the grasshopper and the octopus. All year long the grasshopper kept burying acorns for winter while the octopus mooched off his girlfriend and watched TV. Then the winter came, and the grasshopper died, and the octopus ate all his acorns and also he got a race car. Is any of this getting through to you?"
"Crazy theories one, regular theories a billion."
"But existing is basically all I do!"
"Whoa! Letters like 'u' and 'r' can mean words like 'you' and 'are'!"
"That's not why people watch TV. Clever things make people feel stupid and unexpected things make them feel scared."
"Magic. Got it."
"It's like that drug trip in that movie I saw when I was on that drug trip."
"This show's been going downhill since season three."
"Leela, there's nothing wrong with anything."
"Words. Nothing but sweet, sweet words that turn into bitter orange wax in my ears."
"Valentine's Day's coming? Aw crap! I forgot to get a girlfriend again!"
"I did do the nasty in the past-y."
"I can't wait until I'm old enough to feel ways about stuff."
"My folks were always on me to groom myself and wear underpants. What am I, the pope?"
"This is the best movie I've ever seen. It has a vampire and an explosion!"
"Hey, I have an idea. Let's do that!"

Bender
"This is the worst kind of discrimination. The kind against me!"
"Oh. Your. God."
"My life, and by extension everyone else's is meaningless."
"Oh wait, you're serious. Let me laugh even harder."
"Call me old fashioned but I like a dump to be as memorable as it is devastating."
"Boy, who knew a cooler could also make a handy wang coffin?"
"I'm Bender, baby, please insert liquor!"
"They're not very heavy, but you don't hear me not complaining."
"You may need to metaphorically make a deal with the devil. By 'devil' I mean robot devil and by 'metaphorically' I mean get your coat."
"Congratulations Fry, you've snagged the perfect girlfriend. Amy's rich, she's probably got other characteristics..."
"You're watching Futurama, the show that doesn't condone the cool crime of robbery."
"Bite my glorious golden ass!"
"Every body's a jerk. You, me, this jerk."
"I hate the people that love me and they hate me."
"Do I preach to you while you're lying stoned in the gutter? No."
"I could pound your head 'til you thinks that's what happened."
"Comedy's a dead art form. Now tragedy, that's funny."
"Tempers are wearing thin. Let's hope some robot doesn't kill everybody."
"Would you kindly shut your noise-hole?"

Leela
"You buy one pound of underwear and you're on their list forever."
"Look Fry, you're a man and I'm a woman. We're just too different."
"At the risk of sounding negative, no."
"Look, I don't know if shooting penguins will help the environment or not. But I do know that the decision shouldn't be in the hands of people who just wanna kill for fun."
"Hey you guys, look what I bought on a wild impulse. New boots! They're like my old ones but with a crazy green stripe. Woo! Never know what I'm gonna do next!"
"Alright, This is the third hose fight I've broken up today, and the second using actual hoses."
"Still, given the chance, I'd give in to urges far more shocking."
"Hey, hey! We can all fight when we're drunk."
"Am I going crazy? Have my years of wild hedonism finally caught up with me?"
"I'll find Fry's coffin, get his corpse, and keep it under my mattress to remind me that he's really dead. That'll prove I'm not insane!"
"This is Fry's decision. And he made it wrong, so it's time for us to interfere in his life."
"Please don't stop playing, Fry. I wanna hear how it ends."

Professor
"Everyone, I have a very dramatic announcement, so anyone with a weak heart should leave now. Goodbye!"
"Dirt doesn't need luck!"
"Choke on that, causality!"
"Sweet Zombie Jesus!"
"Everyone's always in favour of saving Hitler's brain. But when you put it in the body of a great white shark, ooohh! Suddenly you've gone too far!"
"Oh, they say madness runs in our family. Some even call me mad. And why? Because I dared to dream of my own race of atomic monsters, atomic supermen with octagonal shaped bodies that suck blood..."
"Tell them I hate them!"
"Yes, it's a perfect scale model of the universe's largest bottle. I put a tiny spaceship inside to keep it from being boring."
"Yes, that sequence of words I just said made perfect sense."
"Oh, my, yes."

Zoidberg
"Stop! Stop! If you interrupt the mating dance the male will become enraged and maul us with his fearsome gonad!"
"My next clue came at 4:15, when the clock stopped. And another came 2 hours later at 4:15 when I discovered the murdered body of Amy's dead, deceased corpse!"
"...And that's how I got my new shell. It looks just like the shell I threw out yesterday, and I found it in the same dumpster, but this one had a live racoon inside."
"Friends! Help! A guinea pig tricked me!"
"Tell it to claw."
"Instead of 'claus' he writes 'claws'. Now that's humourous! Today's comedians could learn from this card."
"Finally I have a good claw. See, three human females, a number and a king giving himself brain surgery."
"I lost it. ...In a volcano."
"I don't trust that doctor. I bet I've lost more patients than he's even treated."

Amy
"Ew, pukeatronic!"
"Oh, so this is where you shop for your boots."
"Wow, sporty go-kart, Leela! It's so hip and sexy, not like you at all."
"Hey, let's go car shopping! My parents said if I got all B's they'd buy me a bar. And I got all C's!"

Hermes
"That's not a cigar. Uh... and it's not mine."
"I'm calling the police! ...Right after I flush some tings."
"I'm gonna go home and relax, the traditional, Jamaican way - a glass of warm milk and a good night's sleep."
"What's that you're hacking off? Is it my torso? It is! My precious torso!"

Zapp
"I've never heard of such a brutal and shocking injustice that I cared so little about."
"The best way into a girl's bed is through her parents. Have sex with them, and you're in."
"I am the man with no name - Zapp Brannigan, at your service."
(from his chat-up line book) "If I said you had a nice body would you take off your pants and dance around a little?"
"If we hit that bullseye, the rest of the domino's will fall like a house of cards. Checkmate."
"Kif, I'm headed to the men's room and I'll be needing an attendant, so- oh, I'm sorry, you're crying, like a woman."
"Teenagers all smoke, and they seem pretty on the ball."
"The spirit is willing, but the flesh is spongy, and bruised."
"What makes a man turn neutral? Lust for gold? Power? Or were you just born with a heart full of neutrality?"
"Why'd you open your bong hole you smelly hippy? You'd sacrifice a beautiful woman to save a moderately attractive monkey?"
"You win again, gravity!

Morbo
"Windmills do not work that way! Godnight!"
"Stop it, stop it, it's fine. I will destroy you."
"Kittens give Morbo gas."
"Pathetic humans! Prepare to write down the recipe!"

Author: Dee4leeds | Comments: | Leave Your Response?

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01: 52 - "I H8 GORGE BUSH! DOWN WIF DA WAR! I H8 SADDAM!"

Written by: Melaisis

Now let's be honest here, kidda. Why do you hate George Bush? Do you really understand his foreign policy and you know exactly what each member of the complicated hierarchy which make up the upper echelons of the White House is up to and what they plan to do with the situation in Iraq? Because, let's be honest here, that's all you care about anyway. Your hatred of the President of the United States - no more than a figurehead for a cabinet of men (and the occasional woman) who are far more powerful than he is - derives from the shit job you believe him to be doing in the Middle East, does it? The absolute loathing which you hold for one of the Western World's most infamous politicians obviously comes from your far superior knowledge of the drama between officials in Baghdad, I apologise. Oh wait, what's that? You don't even know where Baghdad is?

So you heard on ABC/BBC one time that the Coalition Against Terrorism (or whatever they're calling themselves nowadays) that we're going to war against a country run by AN EVUL DICTATOR!!11. Great work, Sherlock. Now all you have to do is solve world hunger and find out where Madelaine McCann bailed to and people will be claiming you're the greatest mind in human history. But you forget, you ignorant twat, that Saddam's regime fucking worked.

You heard me.

"O NOEZ! HE KILED 10000Z OF HIZ OWN PPLZ!"

So?

I'm not denying that Saddam was a genocidal, power-hungry, rob-from-the-poor-and-give-to-the-rich stereotype here (In fact, he rather did look like Disney's vision of the Sheriff of Nottingham in their version of Robin Hood, but anyway...). He was. Whether you're a gullible bastard who opens wide when the media feeds you lies or someone who actually knows what they're talking about with this topic; Do not deny that Hussein was an incredibly sadistic man. However! After the Anglo-Iraqi war during the course of WWII (the Brits had stolen the area from the Ottomans, and then the Iraqis chose the moment about a decade after to rebel. Great timing you Arab gits!) and the years after that the whole place descended into turmoil between the three warring Muslim sects in the country, and it was up to the Ba'ath party to seize control and revolutionise government eventually during the start of the 1970s.

Y'know, prior to the first Gulf War, you could say that Saddam was more of a powerful, liberating figure than people like Fidel Castro or "Che" Guevara ever were. If governmental propaganda hadn't been so harsh on the bloke, you could have been rooting for him instead. Castro, Guevara and Hussein share some similarities, after all. They all killed members of their own people (either by coups or abusing power) and they all united their fellow countrymen eventually. And finally, all three were pursued by the CIA until (in the case of "Che" and Hussein) they were executed by them. So why is it you don't have a poster of Saddam Hussein on your wall, eh?

I also love it how people discuss the situation in Iraq, and then it slowly leads onto Muslims. Because after all, we all know that all Islamists are evil and must be destroyed as Saddam has been et cetera. Well I'll save the 'It's not the Iraqi Muslims you should look out for' rant for another day, and simply say this: Saddam did more to conform Islam for the newer world than you'd ever dream of by trying to have an 'innteuclal disschion' with your friends whilst drinking alcopops and acting 'hardcore'. It is hard not to portray Hussein as a sort of idol with this, but the man did fight for women's rights to work, be educated and wear what they want in the Arab world. Now he's gone, look what's happened: Militias are literally shooting women on the street if they are not dressed 'appropriately'. If you believe the only decent reason for going to war was to topple a dictator, then you were rather incorrect. There are far, far worse leaders out there than Saddam. To quote his last words from the transcript of his execution:

[Voice] You have destroyed us, killed all of us, our nation is ruined.
[Saddam] I helped you survive. Iraq is nothing without me!

If you believed that the only reasonable justification for entering Iraq was Saddam, then you were very wrong. Of course, many will see that as me attacking the war, because it sort of is. But disproof of what you've heard about the former leader of the country could help you put just a little less faith in the man you love to hate also. Do we have an understanding?

To continue:

So, why else do you think you hate George Bush, or the war in Iraq? Is it, for instance, because the media shows clips of him being a blundering idiot? Well then, your Highness, go take a look at George Bush prior to his presidential candidate status. How? Take a trip onto YouTube, perhaps? During his governor days, George was a very capable public speaker. It is no surprise that, on reflection, he got into the seat of presidency. Heck, I would of elected him. Now why has Mr. Bush Jr.'s mental state deteriorated so much that he now even struggles to form a sentence on stage? Pressure, probably. He now has about a thousand 'advisers' shouting in his ear about what to say about which issues. Could you do that?

No. Fuck no. Of course you couldn't. You, my unspecified friend, are not the son of one of the worst fuck-ups in American history and wish, more than anything, to get out of his shadow. I don't want to confuse you here, but the George Bush you think you hate now is only a small reflection on how bad his dad (who was the original 'George Bush') was. So, how dare you consider it a 'balanced argument' when you judge that, because you saw some clips of him fucking up that it is fine to poke fun. It isn't. You may claim that 'well I'm not the president of the United States! That's not my job!'. You're right, and we're all fucked if you ever come near the Oval Office. Bush now faces more problems than anyone ever did back in the 1990s, hence his many public cock-ups. Still, could you run a country facing both a war abroad and a Jihad upon home soil? Didn't think so. You can't even handle the prospect as a citizen or onlooker of the said nation, nevermind actually being an important factor in any of that.

Why else do you hate the war in Iraq?

Oil? Oh.

Yeah, well, unlike the issue of Saddam, I can't plead your own ignorance with this. Obviously some twat thought he was 'cleverer dan those washingtonne phatcatz' when he came up with this theory, and was right on the money.

Just a decade or two too late, mind.

When Rumsfield supplied weapons to Saddam in the '80s, no one denied that support from Iraq in the Iraq-Iran war was merely out of superficial benefit on the side of the USA. They wanted oil, and by securing interest in the area they gained it following the conflict. That was great back when the situation in the Middle East was fresh, the IRA still had it going on and Miss. Thatcher was doing a Hitler on the British unions. The West had a shit load to deal with on the domestic side of things, like, well, the above, I suppose. A behind-closed-doors alliance with Saddam and Iraq (who were able to produce a massive amount of oil at the time, far more than needed by the West at the time) worked well for both parties involved.

Now what happens twenty years later, when you lead a country restless for action against Guerrilla terrorists who have far more world-wide capabilities than you do, and the nation is crying out for more fossil fuels or you might as well publish a report on 'How to commence global economical collapse' now?

That's right, you do the thing which will either make or break your career as a politician. Something which would leave people posting under Greek-based names in your defence on the Internet whilst the rest of your idiot country criticises you. Something which would ensure that the said country could gain access to the facilities required to sustain itself for at least another decade before indeed, the threat of all fossil fuels running out came about.

You may say that sending troops to a little-known Arab nation under the disillusion of lies about 'weapons of mass destruction' to be immoral and a waste of time. You claim that 'da lads' need to be 'sent home' because of whatever reason. You state that 'Bush' was 'wrong' to send the army there whilst you are sure the situation could have easily been solved via diplomacy. Well that happened, fourteen years before you were even conceived. I'm not going to openly flame supporters of the UN and Coalition's Armed Forces here, but when I say you need to STFU if you insist that 'your boys' come home, I mean it. Really, they're paid thousands of pounds on active duty for being out there anyway. They were hardly conscripted into service and thus it was their own choice to go to Iraq and serve under whoever rules the respective country at the time. They are now over there protecting a country which has fallen into chaos and digging up as much oil as possible.

Ouch, I just had a go at the Armed Forces. But that what happens if you feel the great need to express your 'freedom of speech' at someone who is doing a shit load of a better job than you ever could.

Bush is doing his best.

The situation is hardly ideal.

What you thought about Saddam was a lie.

But what you thought about oil was right. My point is that of 'so?'. You can hardly go complain about the war and then drive off in your three tonne 4 by 4 when the reason we're over there in the first place is to fulfill the capitalistic desires of you, or rather, your parents.

In summary, Bush has made a great sacrifice at the cost of his reputation. But it would hardly bother him or his spin doctors. Most of the people who reckon they're all-so-clever to have a go at him via MySpace bulletins have another good few years to go before they can even consider voting. Then when they are of the said age, I hardly doubt they'll bother to register. I don't agree with any war, but really, the amount of hypocrisy that spouts from the mouths of some of these people is incredible. You can hardly poke at the conflict whilst screaming at your oil tycoon daddy for another yacht, really. As for the Saddam issue, you can hardly complain now he's gone and a whole new country is ripe for the picking from prospective terrorist organisations, you fascist-hating moron.

Labels: Those Fat Cats In Washington

Author: Melaisis | Comments: | Leave Your Response?

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13: 14 - Dumb Questions #7: The New Blood

Friday, August 17, 2007

Written by: Dee4leeds

"And yes, I am aware that this will only appeal to about 0.5% of our readers, but that's a better milestone that the more recent posts. ;)"

Could that be Mr. Melaisis having a not-so sly attack at Sir Dee4leeds' quick "Flying Post?" Well how else can I reply then to do a cheap post. Yes that's right. Dumb Questions is back. With a Vengeance. Like Die Hard 3. (Though I do believe this is the second time Dumb Questions has return with a vengeance. I really should check the lower pits of The Three R's. I'll leave that for another day.) So sit back as I put no effort into a post, in which "Those Fat cats in Washington" will appear and probably some sections of text "stolen" from Wikipedia.

But before I start lets give it up for Wikipedia. Its the best encyclopedia around. (And will be bought by Google before the end of the year.)

Is it OK to use the AM radio after noon?

Well to be honest, the crap which is on AM radio means that at no time should AM radio be aloud to be listened to. For the record AM stands for "Amplitude Modulation." (I knew that without the help of Wikipedia!)

Is a small pig called a hamlet?

No, but it really should be. That way I can do Last Action Hero jokes. Such as Hamlet (The Shakespere character) saying "To be, or not to be" with a cigar and granade in his hand. Then pulling the pin on the granade and coldely saying "Not to be" and the castle exploding with Arnie escaping on a motorbike.

Why is "abbreviated" such a long word?

Because I say so. OK?

Why don't you ever see the headline "Psychic Wins Lottery"?

Becuase a story like that would not make Headline news unless it was a large rollover such as a jackpot like £35mil. (Like that woman the other day.)

Why get even, when you can get odd?

Those Fat cats in Washington.

END.

Author: Dee4leeds | Comments: | Leave Your Response?

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06: 17 - MMORPG And Me, One?

Saturday, August 11, 2007

Written by: Melaisis

Right, it was half five in the morning, I was planning on pulling an all-nighter in order to get my body clock back on track, and I had just eaten a full packet of cookies. So what do I do? Record a prototype podcast about comparing 'sharded' MMORPGs with those with only one constant server. God, I sound so tired:

http://www.switchpod.com//users/Melaisis/MMORPGandMe.mp3

And yes, I am aware that this will only appeal to about 0.5% of our readers, but that's a better milestone that the more recent posts. ;)

Author: Melaisis | Comments: | Leave Your Response?

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15: 23 - Melaisis can fly?

Wednesday, August 08, 2007

Written by: Dee4leeds

Not Literally! (Possibly Literally) He can fly in this cheapo game thing which I create on some website creator. So have you ever wanted to throw stones at Scott, with the great possibility of killing him because of his often over the top and cheesy rants? I know I do! Well now you can! Come join in the fun.

See, wasn't that fun?

Author: Dee4leeds | Comments: | Leave Your Response?