kurk brak

(( "I liked you when you watched me fish"?! WHAT THE FUDGEDOODLES (watch the language around children, ya'know) IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN? WHAT'S WITH THE PAST TENSE? I 'LIKED' YOU WHEN YOU WATCHED ME FISH? OH, I SEE, SO APPARENTLY YOU HATE ME WHEN I'M NOT WATCHIN' YA FISH, HUH. HUH. THAT'S JUST GRREEAEAAAT!

This will conclude today's Willrage.))

I don't think it's long enough. Redo it. All of it.

Got bored, wanted something to do, like writing, wrote fifteen page biography, took half of it, posted it.

Wind gusts at the speed of a horse (in Minecraft cases, a pig) in the Eastern Sands of Asulon. Sun scalds the sand, causing it to be like walking upon burning coals should your feet unfortunately meet with them. Heat radiates in the center of these deserts, and few creatures are brave enough to establish shelter within the heat’s everlasting waves. One could say that this desert is entirely uninhabitable, but a group of people gathered here, seeing no other suitable land to shelter themselves from threats. These people might be suspected as the Mighty Orcs, or the Fearless Humans, or even the Ground-loving Dwarves, but no, the least likely of the four races was the very one to settle here.

Little elves ran and played about in the deserts as if they were meadows, frolicking about the sandy dunes, rolling through the gravel as if they were grassy hills and plains. All outspoken and brave, this group of elves was an odd one. One might suspect elves to live in a giant tree, or with one of the other races, but these elves were different from the rest. They lived in hollowed out sand-pits, in which they could shelter themselves from the constant dust storms, and easily defend themselves should anyone be wise and brave enough to make their way towards this humble city. All of the elves were generally at ease, except for the sure-to-come exception to this statement, which went by the name of Bydal.

Bydal hardly ever did what the other kids might’ve expected from him; unlike the others who found merriment skipping about and flinging stones, Bydal amused himself by sitting inside and reading books or staring at things. This wasn’t entirely his choice, his parents often encouraged his studies, but Bydal eventually grew to enjoy it due to nurturing and motivation from the parents that he highly respected. As a result of staying inside all the time, Bydal was never very social and was never really accepted by his peers. They sat and stared through his windows, watching the boy read his textbooks.

What was Bydal studying, you might wish to know? He studied something unlike that of what is inference when the word ‘studying’ is announced. Bydal did not study mathematics, he did not study history; he studied magic. The elves of this desert were strange elves, as stated, and Bydal’s parents wanted something good from him. They wanted a son that would have power and respect with the other elves, not a son that was insulted and made fun of. Of course, locking him away and encouraging him to lock himself away was what inspired many of the insults; he still grew to be a little better, bit by bit, at the comprehension of magic.

Bydal could only live with studies for so long, however, and as he neared what might be called ‘teenage years’ should a human reflect on them, Bydal’s studies decreased and his spelunking desire skyrocketed. A young Bydal stepped out of the door to his familiar rock-hut, and began trekking up the edge of the hole. Many people gathered to observe this spectacle; a mobile Bydal was something few people ever got to see. More than a few people knew Bydal as the quiet bookworm of the town that you’d never see outside short of a miracle.

Of course, one would suspect Bydal to go relatively unnoticed, but he was still talented when it came to academics and magic; he was a key factor in discussion about the town. He was relatively unaware of this, but he was fairly popular here. Bydal still walked up the hill, despite all of the murmurs of excitement and the gasps of surprise. Bydal was entirely determined to walk up this hill and nothing was going to stop him. He didn’t even wear protection against the sands; a clear rookie mistake. Still, he continued walking, and even after the discussion behind him had fallen out of his earshot, he still shook with nervousness.

Bydal realized he’d need some sort of protection, and clearly hadn’t thought about it beforehand. He brought his palm to his forehead, and then, he lowered his hands to his long coat’s pocket, and drew his short, dry, black stick; a substitution for a wand, for nothing better could be found. He held it as readily as he could, without much field experience, and continued walking through the deserts. Eventually, night fell as Bydal continued walking. These circumstances might’ve made a man not used to the desert shake in fatigue, but it was a natural gene for descendents of these elves to have stamina beyond that of so many other denizens of Asulon.

Their keen abilities in survival were (quite obviously) one of the few things that kept this group alive. With the rumored elf-eating Mori residing in the Sacred Forests, as called by this group, they had to hide in order to not have themselves eaten for lunch. Although the Mori’s eating of them was evaded, there were quite a few other creatures that enjoyed eating these deliciously fleshy, meat-plentiful, outrageously tall elves. One of which is going to be exampled in a moment.

Bydal, growing tired, made his way towards the nearest oasis. You might be asking how he knew where the oasis was. Well, it was part of desert survival. He wasn’t falling to your average mirage symptoms, for this environment was nothing new to him, and if something that looked like an oasis were to appear, it would surely be a real one or a incredibly deceiving and oddly created rock formation. Another way he could tell was the moistness of the air and the direction from which it was coming. This was a fairly easy thing to observe for experienced desert dwellers. They were nicknamed Sand Elves for a reason; it’s natural for them to know how to survive in this terrain.

The Oasis was a rather nice one; a small circle of water surrounded by dry grass, encircled by tree with dry, grey-green leaves.

Bydal sat down by the water and took off his boots, thinking about how worried his parents must be. No doubt, he’d be confined to his room for another two months when he returned, so he planned to make the most of this adventure. He leaned forward and filled his canteen with water, and took a short swig, refilling it again. Sitting down, he slowly lowered his feet into the water, and let out a deep sigh. Even with the natural abilities of a ‘Sand Elf’, his feet were still suffocating in his boots. He removed his gloves, and took off his long coat, leaving himself in a thin, long, yellow shirt and his white trousers. He hadn’t even noticed the cold of the desert night before lightly nodding off into a small rest.

Sleeping prey is good prey, thought the spider, if spiders were blessed the ability to speak. These monstrous excuses for spiders might have already been large, but this one was even bigger; might’ve been seven feet across. This creature, along with others from its group, would tear a still-relatively-tall Sand Elf into shreds that were soon to be devoured by the weaker ones of the nest, along with several organs saved for the warrior spiders. Even spiders have a system, people.

A rustle in the trees caught Bydal’s attention. He’d always been a light sleeper, and this scenario didn’t change that fact. He quickly jumped to his feet, and snapped his head left and right, surveying the area.

Large sets of glowing red eyes stared down on Bydal. They emanated clicking sounds. These were sounds that sounded hungry.

He instinctively lowered his hands to where his pockets would’ve been, but he had tossed aside his long coat last night as he was going to sleep. He glanced over to where it should’ve been, but it wasn’t there. These spiders were smart, and had tugged away his coat and his boots while he was sleeping. He had absolutely nothing to defend himself with, other than his hands and feet, and started gulped. “Can’t use magic with my hands yet,” he thought. “I’m too novice for that.” He snapped his fingers repeatedly, a motion he often used to relieve himself of stress, but it didn’t work fairly well in this situation.

The spiders were actually more worried than Bydal would’ve suspected. They had suspected him to either run away screaming or to instantly attack. Both of their assumptions failed to happen. He just continued sitting there, staring down at the ground, his long blonde hair dropping down over his shoulders. The spiders’ clicking sounds were not hungry sounds. They were quite clearly nervous sounds. Each arachnid was too scared to jump into a pit with this supposedly brave and powerful figure, and they didn’t know entirely what to do.

It couldn’t have been more convenient for Bydal. He was able to survey the entire area. In the top of the third tree to his left was his long coat, not defended by any spiders. “And I had suspected them to be smart,” he thought, silently grinning. As he bent towards the ground to pick up a stone, the spiders seemed to rise on what would’ve been a human’s heels. He rose with the stone, about the size of a fist in his hands. “I’ve got one chance at this. Now, which spider should I hit?” He looked at each of the spiders, judging size and strength. One of them caught his attention.

It was the same seven-foot-across spider that had surveyed the area as Bydal slept. According to Bydal’s deductions, this spider was somewhat of a leader. “If you eliminate the foundation, the rest will crumble. In this case, that spider is the foundation.” Bydal raised his arms. The spiders grew even more restless.

With a simple, whoosh, flick, whiz, the stone was well on its way towards the spider’s exoskeleton.

All that was heard was a crack and a hiss, followed by various other hisses as spiders rushed about, some to their leader’s side, some away from the scene entirely. Not a single one made a move for Bydal. Bydal rushed over to the tree containing his long coat, no, more importantly, his wand. This moment of confusion was only going to prove an efficient one for a short while, and he needed more defense than rocks to kill ten (a simple rough estimate) spiders all alone. Climbing the tree swiftly, he reached into the pocket of his long coat, which hadn’t suffered any damage, oddly. He drew out his wand, and pointed at the spiders.

“Let’s pray this works,” he announced aloud. He muttered a simple phrase, and shot a gust of wind out of his wand. It’s simply an element in which he was skilled, but it was hardly an offensive one. Spiders were blown away, and legs were detached as they slammed against trees and each other. Bydal needed no better invitation to leave. He searched the top of the tree, looking for his boots.

All he found was a few scraps of leather and what used to be the soles of his shoes.

“What ‘sole’less spiders.” He chuckled at his own wordplay, and sighed once more, realizing he’d begin the walk home with no shoes. He turned around, seeing the few spiders capable of movement chasing after him. “Oh well,” he thought, and he jumped out of the tree.

He hit the ground running.

At the speed Bydal was going, getting back home was hardly a time consuming task. He had turned around to blow away a few spiders before, but hadn’t actually stopped action for a few hours. Long after the spiders had been lost, he was still running. He was hardly paying attention to where he was going, but instinctively, his body followed the path it had recently gone the opposite direction on. Running on, breathing heavily, Bydal jumped down into the sand pit. Rolling as he struck the bottom, he heard quite a few people shriek. “Jeez, it’s just me!” He shouted, and these had been the first words most of the public had heard from him, but still, he looked upwards.

As if on cue, a large, brown cloud of sand swallowed the sky and created a translucent dome over the top of the sand pit. “Oh.” He mumbled to himself as he ran towards the closest shelter possible; a small inn (yes, Sand Elves have those, too), one at which many people gathered.

Especially during sandstorms.

Walking in, all attention was drawn to the heavily breathing figure with out-of-line hair, seemingly-bewildered eyes, dust-ridden clothes, and a tattered long coat. As if not noticing everyone staring at him, he quickly made his way towards a seat. He plopped down at a table next to some of the town folk, and was going to offer greeting when a familiar voice yelled at the top of its lungs, “Bydal! What in the name of Keldrith were you thinking!? You would’ve lost your life in that sandstorm, and judging from your appearance, you nearly lost your life from so much more! Idiot, stick to your studies!” Constantly screaming in his ear, his mother continued scolding him, while he sat distantly, staring blankly down at the table. He had actually enjoyed the events of the last day or so, but still, he was scolded for it.

Leaving the inn after his mother had gotten drunk and started to flirt with married men (derp), he sighed deeply. It was nearly dawn; he didn’t see what going to sleep now would do. He needed to get a weapon beside his wand, of course, and still needed new shoes. When dawn broke, if he’s not wearing protection on his feet, he’ll have blisters wider than his wrist on his feet. He stopped by the general’s market and purchased a new pair of fairly dark boots, and decided to commission a tailor to fix his long coat. While the long coat was fixed, he browsed stores for weaponry, looking for something efficient to use. He settled on a short, curved blade, similar to a cross between a scimitar and a katana. “It’ll have to do,” he thought, as he handed the man three hundred Yjors (Yo-hurs—currency for the Sand Elves), and started back to the tailor’s stand.

Pulling his long coat over his shoulders, he looked upwards, staring into the dark sand clouds. They were beginning to clear, he realized, and instantly he set out for the edges of the sand pit. He wanted to see the sky as the sandstorm cleared, as it is always a sight to behold; the swirling leftover dusts, the seemingly unfamiliar color of the light blue sky, and the blazing sun’s rays being a sight you’re actually pleased to look at. Not to mention, it’d be sunrise just as the sandstorm cleared this time around, and the light reflecting off the morning clouds and the swirling dusts clouds. He thought this a spectacle to see indeed, so he thought he’d get the best view possible.

Looking up into the sky as the clouds cleared, his mind swam with thoughts as he stared into the beautiful sunrise. The dunes had spare dust blowing from their apexes, and the sun was a ball of red on a purplish-pink horizon. “I’ll never be able to go out of the city again, and I’ll never get to see things like this. This is one of the things that you’ll only see ever so often; it’s a shame that I’ll have to miss them all. I want to go out there and see this sort of sunrise in other places. I’m going to do that eventually. But, for now, I’ll just keep doing what it is I’ve been doing.”

And that’s exactly what he did.

Bydal’s adventure was a pretty boring one from there until the events I’m going to tell you about now, but while he studies his magic, things are stirring. Deserts aren’t the peaceful forests of the Aegisian Malinor, I suppose. Mercenaries and bandits roam these places too, along with giant clans of violent humans and dwarves with the occasional Orc that seek the absolute destruction of all other people within the desert along with all other creatures and frankly all other life.

No pressure.

These large, powerful, bloodthirsty, obliteration-desiring clans had all united with one sole purpose; the purpose of absolutely destroying all of these Sand Elves. The Sand Elves were overall in better living conditions than these bands, and this made the clans mad. Their leaders all spoke of how the Sand Elves were constantly exhibiting their amazing sand-pit and attempting to provoke their clans, and that their destruction was an absolutely necessary outcome. Being the idiots that these people are, they specifically said, and I quote; “Derr, at least weh git tah guh and keel somadem’ Sand Pointies!” Sand Pointies was a word that was often used to describe the Sand Elves by the other inhabitants of the Eastern Sands.

You know. Because they’re too idiotic to realize what an Elf is.

But, still idiots will be idiots, and that’s what they did. The leader of the unified clan, Human Battlemaster Jrializoniansmitaz the Fifth (nice name, right?) spoke with one of his attendants. “’Ey, Attendan’. Go and git meh sum watah, will yeh? Uh, and guh and tell err’one dat wu’re attackin’ now.”

Water was gotten and attacks were started.

The Sand Elves had absolutely no reason to suspect these Human-Dwarf-Orc clans would attack them; they didn’t even know a grudge was held. The issue could’ve easily been settled had the Human-Dwarf-Orcs just politely asked the Sand Elves how they built their homes, and the Sand Elves would’ve given a detailed explanation and one of their old sand pits that was currently uninhabited. They then could’ve had some lunch and discussed an alliance, but that didn’t happen, did it?

No. It really didn’t. Due to the fact that the next part of this story is crucial, I’ll stop my sarcastic tone right now. Let’s go see how Bydal’s doing, shall we?

Bydal was sitting in his dirt-hut-room, and doing something he rarely did; he was drawing. He was drawing what he pictured the lush forests to be shown as. He was drawing himself and others from his group of Sand Elves running about the trees and standing on branches as normal elves might do. He let out a deep sigh, and then flipped his paper over as his door opened. He didn’t want his parents seeing his drawings, but to his surprise, it wasn’t his parents who had called. It was one of the Protectors.

Protectors are what you could call the ‘guards’ of the ‘city’. The Protector shouted to the entire household, “Issue, Issue, all able-bodied men are to report to the borders, all females and children are to evacuate!” He took a look around the room and saw Bydal. Bydal was only fifteen at the time, and had a rather shocked expression on his face. “You, you may be a child, but you’re still an able-bodied man! Get over here!” And with that, the Protector dragged Bydal around by his arm until they had reached the rims of the sand pit. Looking upwards, the following sight could be viewed.

Smoke billowed in the air, with sparks rising after them, burning the small amount of kindling used to maintain the spark’s glow rather quickly, leaving ash to fall down over the city. While sandstorms themselves could be beautiful, this kind of dust just wasn’t pleasant in the least. It was dark and defiant, and had an aura of destruction about it. If one were to look slightly below the smoke, the following sight could be seen.

Ranks of men filing in behind each other with makeshift cacti swords and axes that were really inefficient in general, but the numbers was the more fearful factor. Tents were set up behind the marching men, which made it evident that should this rank fail to obliterate the township, more reinforcements were to be sent immediately. It was highly unlikely that a city with a population of five hundred was going to resist against that many men.

Let alone keep a population of five hundred.

Screams were heard as the warriors entered town, to be met be about ten Protectors and five of the ‘able-bodied men’ that had ‘volunteered’ to assist in helping. Bydal was not among these men, but unfortunately, he was in an even worse position. The Protector that had dragged him out here had been slain, and he was met by three warriors; oddly enough, one of the warriors was human, the next Orc, and the other Dwarven. While still being faced with death, he had to appreciate the irony of the four races meeting being his downfall. It was rather odd to him. Still he had a smile on his face as the cactus-club came down on his forehead.

Waking up, being dragged into a tent, Bydal moved his hand to his forehead. There was dried blood caked across his forehead, along with a bandage on the initial wound’s location. The memory of getting it was dim; it appeared that the short term memory of his brain wasn’t functioning very well at the moment.

Only thing was, it wasn’t very short-termed. He’d been unconscious for around three days now, and noted that his stomach was nearly digesting itself due to hunger. He sat up, but the action caused the pain in his head to skyrocket. He yelled, “Gah, I need food!” The warrior dragging him chuckled. His face looked familiar; could it have been the man who struck him? It was possible, but still, he had more pressing issues at the moment. He had to get out of here. He slid his hand down to his pocket, and felt the familiar presence of his wand, but didn’t think the amount of focus he was capable of mustering was enough to work the spell.

He decided that for now it would be better to wait, and not do too much. Cooperation would be better in this situation, at least until he could do something about his imprisonment.

He tried to speak with the clan’s people and captains, but it was impossible. They spoke a different language. Not only that, but things sounded odd in his ears. The wound to his head had been a serious one, and it probably wouldn’t recover for a while. He became known as “bandage boy”, as the bandage slung across his head was always present.

And there weren’t any other surviving prisoners to wear bandages.

He had been the first and only to get out of the fray living. Women and children evacuated, and were probably still alright, but the few friends Bydal had actually made had just been killed in a massive attack. Mentally, he was in a lot of pain right now, so much that the physical pain was numbed by the sheer power of his thoughts. He wasn’t exactly angry, just depressed. He had never been one to hold grudges, even against people that killed his entire homestead.

One evening, after eating dinner in the presence of the captains, Bydal took a slightly different route than the one he would normally take to get to his tent. He had made a habit of walking around the camp, trying to familiarize himself as well as possible. As he turned a corner, some odd behavior surprised him. People were packing to leave. He continued observing for a moment, but then his mind connected. “I can go ahead and leave when they set out to travel! It’s not like they’ll pay much attention to a prisoner, they’ve got to conduct the traveling! Finally!” His preparations began immediately.

Having gathered his blade and wand, and all of the food he (this  word is 4,000 word typed) could pillage from the cookhouse, or tent, in this case, he diligently waited until dawn broke to slip away from the camp. While everyone was busy trying to keep up with the fast-paced commanders, no one even noticed the rock flinging into the head of the Chief Commander, giving him a fatal wound.

That also was not noticed.

(This isn’t the WHOLE thing, the WHOLE thing is just SUPER LONG, pfft. This is just what I feel like posting for right now. After Bydal develops a bit through RP, I’ll post the rest of his biography, along with some things he’s done in RP. Kay? Kay.)

I should do some poetry. Just because I could. Should I? Yes? Good.

GODDAMNIT, IF EVER DOESN'T GET A GODDAMN PIECE OF GODDAMN POETRY I'M GOING TO GODDAMN BASH SOME GODDAMN GODDAMNING HEADS IN, GODDAMNIT.

That will conclude this GODDAMN rant.

Bydal returns to the sign, looking at it rather longingly. "I-I think i-it would be w-wiser to kn-know the people th-they let join before s-saying that th-they love everyone. . . They m-most likely d-do not care a-about me." Bydal touches two fingers to the paper before leaving it sitting where it was left.

*Will Forestin reads the notice, looking at it oddly.*

"Hell no."

*He leaves.

*Bydal looks at the notice, curiously. He reads about this Cyrus family.

"W-Wow! What n-nice people. . . I w-wish that I knew p-people like that."

*He ponders signing his name, then walks off. He plans to think about it.*

Simon never fails to impress~!

+1. Definitely. I can't wait for this to come into effect, and go ahead and put my name on the list if necessary~! To restate, CAN'T WAIT!

Can beautiful be defined by this trailer?

Yes.

Do I want this thing now?

Yes.

Do we all LOVE this server?

We all damn better had.

Is Arcadius' voice-over awesome?

Quite.

Is LotC the best server out there?

http://troll.me/images/monocle-guy/indeed.jpg

All sounds good, but i wonder....how many guilds have you joined and left?

4, having joined and left these multiple four guilds multiple times.

(( Ever's character deaths make me want to kill off my character just to do a better story than him. <.< Anyways, yeah, great work on the story, Briannabelle. You too, of course, Ever/Ingot. And, err, umm, Apparently, I was supposed to spread the news when given the will for Ever. Right?

Well I didn't get the will until five years after his death. So you can't blame me for that, can you? And what kind of person spreads the news of his best friend's death? You want me to run around with a silver bell shouting it? Yeah. I say this in the least offensive way. ))

MC name: HarrizonBitzis

RP name: Will_Forestin

Short bio 2-3 paragraphs (include your personality traits IC):

Will Forestin had and has a fairly simple life. He grew up with his noble parents, eventually growing bored with the protective life he led, and set out to enjoy himself for once. He wandered into the wilds of Aegis, rushing about constantly, searching for the adrenaline he thrived upon now. He didn't find much enjoyment in wandering, however, and joined a few guilds along the way. He never stayed in these for long, however, and eventually grew bored of this life entirely. Once again, he settled down, lived a silent life. However, now, he's out searching for adventure once again.

Will is a nice enough person, should you give him reason to be nice, and he's very loyal to those who earn his trust. He can be nasty when he needs to, however, and isn't very forgiving if you rub him the wrong way. All of his past experiences have made this certain. He's used to getting kicked around, and usually won't object to it. He's also very mouthy, always being sarcastic, always mouthing off and insulting people he shouldn't insult.

Why do you wish to join us?: Will is looking for thrills and adventure, and thinks the Wolf Pack can bring it to him. Not only this, but he does need to fill up his coin purse just a little more.

What can you bring to us (material things as well as immaterial): Will can't bring too many material things yet, aside from his finesse in battle and a few riches that he's had stashed away. Immaterial, he can bring his skill in planning things, and his wit.

What are your most prominent skills (Include the level of these skills):

Swords: 90

Archery: 44

Wrestling: 32

Do you worship Iblees?: Nope.

Do you have a villain application? If yes what evils do you have?:

I do have a villain application, and I have evils 1, 2a, and 4.

Do you understand and agree to the rules: Yes.

((Awwww yeaaaa!!! I started that Ka-Hooli thing back in late July, finally someone else believes in him also <3 ))

(( BROTHERHOOD! ))

"Your poetry is bland,

Your speech is unclear.

There is one thing I would wish from you, dear.

Is to stop this insult to poetry, these rhyming of words,

Since when in English properly use 'Nerds'?

And your rhyme scheme is horrible,

AB BB CB, Oh my.

What sort of joke are you playing at, you can't even rhyme!

It is unstable, unnerving, and simply discord itself,

I doubt you can keep the rhyme 'elf'!

But fret not my dear,

whom so darling calls a *****.

Is to cease this nonsense, let me leer.

For your wordplay has no sense,

And your vocabulary, less than immense.

Just to stop the racket and fear.

I'm afraid to say, your words are true.

And the last thing I wish to do is continue.

But you're forced my hand,

and my wordplay is indeed bland.

I did not wish to poison your ears,

but I did this in nothing less than fear.

For if a poetry war were to begin,

I am quite sure that you would win,

And I do not seek for mindless poems,

I'd rather we not have them, ( <--- Fail rhyme right there. )

So, I will ask once more,

can we end this silly war?

(I can't let you have the last word, even if I fail at poetry entirely. :P)

" A man skilled in poetry?

I do suppose I must oppose thee.

A challenge of wits and wordplay,

A challenge you must not go astray.

We shall battle with our wits,

And harm with out words.

Let the sharp sting arise,

Many in the clash, their final demise.

If you are willing, if you are wise,

Then stand up to the podium, and begin, off with the lies! "

" I do admit, I have not known you much in-game,

Above, I was simply having a merry bit of fame.

I should have known thee longer,

And let the relationship prosper.

Farewell, the drunken dwarf,

May the ashes be spirited towards a wharf.

For I shall not feel anguish, pain, or resent,

I have not known you long for any repent.

No gifts, no tidings, no thoughts in mind,

A tool of the gods, your corpse left behind.

But fear the otherworld not, I must inquire,

Will your soul burn, in the nether's pyre? "

Was my point unclear?

Oh, you're such a *****.

I believe we had spoken,

this is the last token.

I give you another chance,

to quit your childish advance.

The poetry shall end,

and then we can all be friends.

I have not supplied efficient rhymes,

and for this I regret to have wasted your time,

But I do hope you realize my reason for speaking,

as the foundations of poetry are already creaking,

We all shake the building as one,

which makes the destruction so much fun,

But for me to humbly ask you,

and you so quickly refused,

It is the ultimate insult alone,

entirely offensive on its own.

I do not wish to insult your words,

but go back to playing with all the nerds.

(BADDAG BING, BADDA BOOM. )

Simon, you I barely knew,

Otherwise, you'd be here too.

I'd be glad to have ya, I don't lie,

Among these pages, right before I die,

We shoulda roleplayed together more,

Play with me on Ingot, I implore.

(( Flerpderp ))

Whilst thine poem quarrel flares longer,

the sensation of burning hinders thine thread.

Do not attempt to battle with words,

for the forums your wages will hurt, instead.

For one last line, there is more I must say.

With my poetry, I have blown the both of you away.

*DERP.*

(( Okay, Ever's lying in my basement, emo'ing all over the floor. I HAVE SO MUCH CLEANING TO DO.))

Will sits across from Ever in the room, watching intently what he's doing. He's quite. . . Aggravated with the situation. Stupid people. All of them, stupid. He walks over to Ever, and pats him on the shoulder. He speaks with himself for a moment, with phrases such as, "Life sucks," "Why me?" and "Oh my dear Ka-Hooli, what did I do to deserve this?" He reads over the notes over Ever's shoulder, and frowns. He releases a deep sigh, then goes back to sitting on the floor across from Ever.

(( AND A HERP TO THE DERP. ))

(( OH MY GOD I'M LUCAS' FRIEND YOU DON'T KNOW HOW MUCH OF AN ACCOMPLISHMENT THAT IS YAY. Anywho, on a serious note. ))

*he closes the note, thinking to himself.* "I didn't realize Lucas and I were friends. . . *he thinks for a moment, how he's been trying to get Lucas to straighten out life. He smiles to himself. he says, "About time," and leans back against the wall, twiddling with a stick.* ((<-- EUR HUR. ))

Damn well deserved it, Lucas.

YOUZA BAWS.

I'm glad you've finally realized that we need. . .

THE SCIENCE

OF POSITIVITY.

Positive Will is Positive :mrgreen:

Oh, and I loved the video at the start, it was incredible. Plus, You made me seem pretty badass. I appreciate that.

(( I don't mean to FUSS or anything. But there are SO many improper ellipses within your story, it makes me want to kill a kitten. Instead of "..." You use, ". . .", making it proper.

Do not fail me. I believe in your grammatical abilities, Lucas.

~You-Know-Who! :mrgreen: ))

Pretty. Boss. That's all I gotta say. You're pretty good at this.

I still think I should have been in this thing, like, 500 times. You know, only fair. Because I'm awesome. Yup yup. Mmmmhmmmm.

Arrow Faced Will is Arrow Faced. Lolwut? :arrow:

Rupert, it wouldn't hurt my feelings if you started to spell my name right....

~Will Forestin :mrgreen:

Funny how most of Robin's fame is based on the beard on his face. :???:

Either way, Gratz, Robin. It's a pleasure knowing Player of the Week has it's head screwed on right, choosing a good player. CONGRATULATIONS DO ROBIN THE BEARDY-BOY.

~Will Forestin :mrgreen:

(( Considering the fact I'm not able to read your magical enlightened board, I'm not going to post anything RP. But It's nice to have you back, Hiebe. I kind of liked you as Blue, though.

~Will Forestin :mrgreen: ))