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[News] Tuesday Tales - Valentine Edition

Discussion in 'UO Siege Perilous' started by Guest, Feb 15, 2006.

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    <font size="2" color="#000000" face="Arial"> <div><table width="100%" bgcolor="#ff99cc" border="2" cellpadding="2" bordercolor="#ff00ff" cellspacing="1"> <tr valign="top"> <td width="724"> <table> <tr> <td> [​IMG] </td> <td> [​IMG] </td> </tr> </table> </td> <td rowspan="4" width="200" background="http://uo.stratics.com/newspics/siege/blind_otto_siege_story_night_love_fractal_001.jpg">  </td> </tr> <tr valign="top" height="161"> <td width="724"> [​IMG]ink?  What do you mean, it's pink? I can't see anything anyway, so I'll have to take your word for it. That scribe's probably been re-arranging my paint pots again.

    Still, 'twas the celebration of Val 'n Tyne, or some such, last night, and hues of love, and the blood spilled thereover, are probably appropriate.

    The numbers who gather weekly in Wispwood Shire continue to grow, it seems, although Robert Franko is continuing to cause concern (and, in some cases, relief) by his absence. It is feared that a large owl has consumed him. If any know of his whereabouts, please send a large keg of beer his way. Hourly.

    It has often perplexed me that we can pour up to one hundred bottles of potion into a crafter-made keg, but, to date, no one has successfully found a means to make kegs hold ale in a similar manner. But, I digress. I will leave the filling of kegs to Robert's admirers, and those who hold his bar tab.


    Having slept away the past fortnight, I returned to the podium last night, with the lastest two chapters of my epic from the early days of Lord British's rule, entitled 'Cows'. Here then, for your reading pleasure, or mechanical edification, are those scrolls.

    <table bordercolor="#000000" width="80%" align="center" bgcolor="#ffffff" border="1"> <tr> <td background="http://uo.stratics.com/newspics/siege/blind_otto_siege_backgrounds_cowspots.gif" align="middle" width="411">
    "Cows"
    Chapters VI and VII
    by
    Blind Otto

    </td> <td>[​IMG]</td></tr></table>
    <table bordercolor="#000000" width="80%" align="center" bgcolor="#ffffff" border="1"> <tr> <td>

    "Cows" - Chapter VI</p>

    <font color="#800000">[​IMG]he old hermit squatted in his hole.</font></p>

    <font color="#800000">It was a nice hole, as holes went.</font></p>

    <font color="#800000">The sides were angled just right, to keep the worst of the bad weather out.
    There were juniper bushes nearby, which provided a good supply of berries.
    The insects that lived around the area were crunchy, and especially nice when roasted over his small fire.
    Best of all, no one bothered him. Well, hardly anyone.
    There were the local kids, who occasionally came to toss stones down the hole,
    to see what reaction they could get from
    the 'crazy old man who lived in a hole', but he just smiled at
    them, and hit them with his bone axe, and that was the way that
    everyone liked it. Or so he assumed. No one ever came back to complain.</font></p>

    <font color="#800000">He had just finished picking enough juniper berries for his evening meal, and
    climbed back down into his hole, when the ground began to shake.</font></p>

    <font color="#800000">The ground never shook. It was a RULE.
    RULES, as far as the old hermit was concerned, were a fact of life.
    The sky was blue, except when it wasn't.
    Eating red beetles made the glowing yellow people appear
    and tell him that loincloths were for lesser beings.
    Going to the river when the bear was there was a bad idea.
    And, the ground in his hole should not shake.
    It was a RULE.</font></p>

    <font color="#800000">He stuck he head out of the hole, to see what was responsible
    for the breaking of his RULE.</font></p>

    <font color="#800000">Then three dozen of Lord British's guards came diving into the hole,
    screaming madly, and landed on him.</font></p>

    <font color="#800000">He just had enough time to get out from under them, and stick his head up for another look,
    when a giant metal hoof descended, and squashed everyone in the hole.</font></p>

    <font color="#800000">As the hoof got stuck, and the cow was unable to ever get free again,
    all the occupants of the hole were awarded the British medal of valor.
    Posthumously.</font></p>

    <font color="#800000">This, of course, was of no comfort whatsoever to the old hermit,
    or the the minor deity that he spent the next millenium arguing with.</font></p>


    <font color="#800000">The rest of the cows rumbled on towards Britain, apart from one,
    which paused to eat the juniper bushes.</font></p>

     </p>

    "Cows" - Chapter VII</p>

    <font color="#0000a0">[​IMG]irsta ran through the village, screaming at the top of her lungs for everyone to evacuate.
    Of course, most people just stopped and stared at her.
    Why should they leave because of the cows?
    Cows? Well, a charging bull could gore you, but cows?
    Had this young woman gone simple? Spent too much time in the sun?
    They muttered amongst themselves, shaking their heads, and tending to
    their wares, for the most part.</font></p>

    <font color="#0000a0">Then, the first huge mechanical beast came lumbering into town.</font></p>

    <font color="#0000a0">The townsfolk fled.</font></p>

    <font color="#0000a0">The creature headed straight for the village well, and shoved it's
    large "head" inside. </font></p>

    <font color="#0000a0">There was a gurgling sound, and a grinding, then a clanking...</font></p>

    <font color="#0000a0">and the beast fell over sideways, water spouting from every
    join and seam in it's body.</font></p>

    <font color="#0000a0">Several other creatures came into the town, and stood over their
    fallen fellow, while one of them pawed at it with it's front hoof.</font></p>

    <font color="#0000a0">Kirsta hid behind a cart-load of fruit, and watched, terrified
    and fascinated at the same time.</font></p>

    <font color="#0000a0">Then, to her amazement, all of the creatures knelt down,
    shuddered, and fell apart.</font></p>

    <font color="#0000a0">Huge springs bounced everywhere. Giant cogs rolled across the ground.
    Metal sheets fell with resounding clangs, and strange devices that
    she had no name for rolled all about the place.</font></p>

    <font color="#0000a0">Then, there was silence.</font></p>

    <font color="#0000a0">Kirsta looked around, but she was alone. All the villagers had
    headed for the hills.</font></p>

    <font color="#0000a0">A wrinkled, grey hand landed on her shoulder from behind,
    causing her to scream in fright.</font></p>

    <font color="#0000a0">"You will have to do." A raspy voice said.</font></p>

     </p></td></tr></table>

    More mechanical moo-ing mayhem will arrive next week!

    Yancey then took to the podium, to the cheers of the dragon-fans, and the squawks of the tavern parrot.

    <table bordercolor="#ff8000" width="80%" bgcolor="#ffff80" border="3" align="center"> <tr> <td width="116">[​IMG]</td> <td align="middle">The Dragon Rider Saga
    Part V of VII
    "Justin"
    by
    Yancey DeFlorio
    </td></tr></table>
    <table bordercolor="#ff8000" width="80%" align="center" bgcolor="#ffff80" border="3"> <tr> <td>
    [​IMG] ustin's fondest memories:
    The place that he called home,
    The people he called family,
    The fields in which hed roam.

    He was a Dragon Rider,
    Even though he wasn't born,
    He ate and drank their customs --
    Their allegiance he was sworn.

    The night that Justin came to them
    Lightning filled the sky.
    The rain was whipping sideways,
    You could feel the thunders cry.

    The man rode at a gallop,
    Deep imprints in the mud.
    The horse's nostrils flaring,
    Heaving chest and frothing blood.

    He stopped outside the tavern,
    There was commotion from inside.
    He checked the bundle strapped to him,
    Loosening the knots that held it tied.

    He wore a hooded riding cloak,
    Soaked through and black as night.
    A short sword hung from his left side,
    A long sword from his right.

    Checking to make sure his hood
    Was covering his face,
    He lifted up the door latch,
    Then he stepped into the place.

    His eyes adjusted quickly
    To the bright lights in the room,
    Trained to notice everything
    And never to assume.

    He counted fifteen riders
    Spread about the inn.
    Fifteen pairs of rugged eyes
    As they all looked at him.

    No one saw his smile
    From underneath his hood,
    But even if they knew his thoughts,
    Wouldnt have done them any good.

    The stranger walked up to the bar,
    Rain dripping from his cloak.
    He turned to face the riders --
    In a commanding voice he spoke.

    My name is Garrett Tanner.
    I'd like to make this quick.
    I'm looking for a rider,
    A man whose name is Nick.

    The riders started chattering,
    The tension you could feel.
    One of them approached the man,
    Stopped dead, with blur of steel.

    I wouldn't! said the stranger,
    Both swords drawn from his coat.
    One pointed at the young man
    Within inches of his throat.

    I did not come to fight you,
    But if I must I will.
    Though, losing fifteen riders --
    Shoes really to hard to fill.

    The rider slowly backed away,
    Stopped the others with a wave,
    Stranger, we'll get Nick for you,
    Then we'll mark this spot your grave.

    Again the stranger smiled
    As he re-sheathed both his blades,
    Just tell him Tanner's here for him
    And his humor slowly fades.

    The rider sent a messenger,
    Then said, This warning I will give:
    The rider that you ask for
    Is the best that's ever lived.

    Maybe you're just crazy,
    Or never heard of him,
    But he's a legend among riders
    With his dragon, Tamarin.

    Garrett said, I've heard of him,
    Both legends, man and beast,
    I also know the dragon's gone --
    It's been two years at least.

    Just then the door burst open
    And, through it, stepped a man
    With gigantic muscled shoulders,
    Battle scars and weathered tan.

    There was a smirk upon his lips
    As he looked the strangers way,
    Someone roused me from my sleep,
    Now this man will have to pay.

    Sleep wont help your beauty much,
    Was Garretts cool reply.
    I'd rather kiss my horses rump
    Than look you in the eye.

    The tavern filled with laughter,
    But then, was quickly stopped,
    As Nick looked at the riders --
    The smiles quickly dropped.

    Then a smile split Nicks face,
    Why Tanner, dare you speak?
    I always knew it'd be a horse
    Would make your knees go weak.

    Garrett threw his hood back
    And everyone could see,
    Admiration that these men had,
    With respect and dignity.

    Nick looked close at Garrett,
    What is it brought you here?
    I know you did not come this far
    Just to share a beer.

    And what, if I may ask you,
    Is that thing strapped to your chest?
    I swore that I did see it move,
    But surely, my eyes jest.

    The powder that I'd given him
    So he could survive the ride,
    Is starting now to lose its hold --
    I can feel him move inside.

    Garrett took the bundle off,
    Unwrapped the leather skin,
    A little boy of one or two
    Was safely tucked within.

    I need to leave him here with you
    Until I can return.
    I wouldn't ask you such a thing
    If it wasn't of great concern.

    Both his parents murdered,
    But he's the one they seek.
    I need to find who did this,
    I'll be back within a week.

    Nick looked at his friend and said,
    The boy is safe with us.
    If you say this needs to be,
    In your word, I'll put my trust.

    Garrett spoke, Theres one more thing --
    I need the riders oath,
    That tonight did never happen,
    For the protection of us both.

    My men and I will take this night
    To our very grave.
    And all around the dim lit room,
    The riders oath was gave.

    Garrett reached to hug his friend,
    Well, you know, I'd love to stay,
    But time will wait for no man.
    So, I must be on my way.

    That was twenty years ago:
    So Justin found a home,
    People he called family,
    And a destiny, all his own.

    So our past is neatly tucked away
    And tomorrow may never come.
    So, the choices that we make today,
    Will dictate where we're from
    </td></tr></table>
    An awed hush fell over the tavern, with the patrons not certain whether to applaud the tale, or wonder at the content. More than a few eyes turned nervously towards the door as the wind rattled it, but no one entered.

    Katharine then grasped the chance, and, leaping spryly to the stage, she presented this to the room:


    <table bordercolor="#ff0000" width="80%" bgcolor="#ff8080" border="1" align="center"> <tr> <td align="middle" width="554">
    "Blood Moon"
    by
    Katharine

    </td> <td> [​IMG] </td></tr></table>
    <table bordercolor="#ff0080" width="80%" bgcolor="#ff8080" border="1" align="center"> <tr> <td>
    .... [​IMG] he moon hung low in the sky but the occupants inside were oblivious
    Blood pouring from wounds here and there, wounds that seemed to never heal.

    Growing even more pale, the vampiress lay at death's door for the second time in her existance
    mumbling incoherently every now and then she slept only to awaken screaming...
    crying tears of blood, praying for the death that would end her as it had him...

    The scribe to the blind one sat beside her ... catching as much blood as she could,
    helpless as it flowed from the vampiresses body

    Nothing could stop the inevitable it seemed... but then something did.

    Suddenly the wounds healed... and the blood in the bowls glowed... but still she slept.

    Still she prayed to die so that she could see him..

    still...


    She awoke sweating from head to toe, seeing the scars on her body from the battle before,
    and again she cried...

    then she was awakened by the same voice that woke her up from her slumber when she was turned.

    He was there...
    he was alive...
    and even more tears flowed, but this time they were of joy

    .... and this time, they both were blessed...

    forever
    </td></tr></table>

    Leaving Katharine and Spyder canoodling at a dark table to the side of the tavern, Aeric Horn strode up to the podium, raised a tankard of ale high, and spoke thusly:

    <table bordercolor="#ffff80" width="80%" bgcolor="#ffffff" border="1" align="center"> <tr> <td align="middle" width="72">[​IMG]</td> <td> <p align="center">"A Toast to The White"
    by
    Aeric Horn
    </p></td></tr></table>
    <table bordercolor="#ffff80" width="80%" bgcolor="#ffffff" border="1" align="center"> <tr> <td>
    [​IMG]  TOAST! A TOAST!

    Tell me friends do ye recall...
    when The White would give the battle call
    and stalwart fighters all would gather round?
    Stout steeds gave forth their winter breath

    The White he'd say "do not fear death"
    and we'd all fall in behind without a sound
    To the battle we at last would come
    To aid friends and see justice done

    The White led ever onward, win or lose
    At battle's end we'd raise an ale
    dance a jig, and tell a tale
    so many sleeping hours did we lose

    And now again the fiends we fight
    But now we go without The White
    Yet the spirit of he and others still lives on
    As I raise this ale with friends tonight

    And make this toast unto The White
    We remember all good friends who now are gone

    TO THE WHITE!
    TO FRIENDS OLD AND NEW!
    AND TO NEW ADVENTURES!
    </td></tr></table>

    Made braver by the ale, Kemo hurled himself at the stage! When he'd recovered from that collision, he presented a fine tale of love, fitting for the night, and, if my ears did not deceive me, causing several of the ladies present to bat their eyelids at him.

    <table width="80%" align="center" border="1" bgcolor="#ff80c0"> <tr> <td width="486"> <p align="center">
    "Love is an adder"
    by
    Kemo ven Ayen

    </p></td> <td>[​IMG]</td></tr></table>
    <table width="80%" align="center" border="1" bgcolor="#ff80c0"> <tr> <td>
    [​IMG] ove Is an Adder
    Its poisonous toxins
    travel deep into the heart
    and suffocates it

    Its glorious death only surmises when another being taunts and torments the poisons within.
    The Adder of love is Curious and unrelenting.
    It will attack many unsuspecting victims,
    and you will not know you have been bitten by the beast until you are caught... disoriented...
    and found sickened in the adders fury.

    Beware the Bite of The adder of love.
    It could be both the bite of Life or of death.
    It can either bring happyness or sorrow ,
    but In the end The toxins of the love adder will wear away at the body and you will die.

    Love The love Adder.

    It loves you .
    </td></tr></table>
    Kemo's other offering for the eve was this:

    <table width="80%" border="1" align="center" bgcolor="#80ffff"> <tr> <td width="87">[​IMG]</td> <td align="middle">"Fine Seagull"
    by
    Kemo ven Ayen
    </td></tr></table>
    <table width="80%" border="1" align="center" bgcolor="#80ffff"> <tr> <td>
    [​IMG]nce there was a Fine Seagull
    Who flew gracefuly over the sea
    Then one day he thought it would be grand to fly over the bay
    And so he did
    And now he is a bagle.
    </td></tr></table>

    McAndrews, new to the shire, and obviously not accustomed to the fine Wintermoor ale that is regularly sent to their tavern, staggered to the stage, and gave us a confusing rendition...

    <table width="80%" align="center" border="1" bgcolor="#80ffff"> <tr> <td align="middle" width="582">"One bright day"
    by
    McAndrews
    </td> <td>[​IMG]</td></tr></table>
    <table width="80%" align="center" bgcolor="#80ff80" border="1"> <tr> <td>
    [​IMG]ne bright day
    in the middle of the night
    two dead boys got up to fight
    back to back they faced eachother
    drew their swords and shot eachother
    a deaf polieceman eard the noise
    and cam and shot the two dead boys.
    </td></tr></table>
    Shortly after this, he mysteriously fled, clutching his hands over his mouth. Perhaps a lighter ale would be more appropriate next week - or less of the same one?


    Yancey had another tale of love for us, which set the tavern wenches swooning all over again.

    <table width="80%" bgcolor="#ffceb7" border="1" align="center"> <tr> <td width="1">[​IMG]</td> <td align="middle">"What is love"
    by
    Yancey DeFlorio
    </td></tr></table>
    <table width="80%" bgcolor="#ffd2a6" border="1" align="center"> <tr> <td>
    [​IMG] hat is love, but an emotion,
    So strong and so pure,
    That nurtured and shared with another
    All tests it will endure?

    What is love, but a force
    To bring the mighty low,
    With the strength to shame the mountains
    And halt times ceaseless flow?

    What is love, but a triumph,
    A glorious goal attained,
    The union of two souls, two hearts
    A bond the angels have ordained?

    What is love, but a champion,
    To cast the tyrant from his throne,
    And raise the flag of truth and peace,
    And fear of death o'erthrow?

    What is love, but a beacon,
    To guide the wayward heart,
    A blazing light upon the shoals
    That dash cherished dreams apart?

    And what is love, but forever,
    Eternal and sincere,
    A flame that through wax and wane
    Will outlive life's brief years?

    So I'll tell it on the mountaintops,
    In all places high and low,
    That love for you is my reason to be,
    And will never break or bow.
    </td></tr></table>

    With a mighty "Yarrr!" Angharad took the floor, and told us of a pirate's valentine.

    <table width="80%" align="center" border="1" bgcolor="#ffcee7"> <tr> <td align="middle" width="498">"A pirate's valentine"
    by
    Angharad
    </td> <td>[​IMG]</td></tr></table>
    <table width="80%" align="center" border="1" bgcolor="#ffd2ff"> <tr> <td>
    [​IMG] hh, 'tis grand indeed to be young and in lust -
    Tousled and glowing and happily mussed!

    Laughing in th' clasp of a bold buccaneer;
    New joys to be had wi. yon privateer -

    Reveling through nights wi' nary a thought
    As to what one should do -- or what one ought not.

    SWashing and buckling - such blood-stirring rites!
    Enough to give rise *coughs* to th' subsequent nights

    Of roaring camraderie and more private play;
    Pairings an' frolics an' romps in th' hay

    Fie to th' natsayers! Avast wi' th' glum!
    Life be a pleasure, when well-soaked in rum.
    </td></tr></table>
    By this point, Spyderbite was getting extremely embaressed by Katharine's public displays of affection, and decided to change the mood, with a tale of a dagger!

    <table width="80%" align="center" bgcolor="#000000" border="1"> <tr> <td width="3">[​IMG]</td> <td align="middle"><font color="#ff00ff">"Mandolin's Dagger"
    by
    Spyderbite</font></td></tr></table>
    <table width="80%" align="center" bgcolor="#000000" border="1"> <tr> <td>
    <font color="#ffd600">[​IMG] hile riding in the lands of Tokuno
    in search of ales to satisfy my thirst
    I found many a tavern, diverse and intriguing
    but feeling rather sober, I settled on the first

    While sitting myself down on a stool made of yew
    I was handed a beer that had an odd smell
    The barkeep nodded, eager for me to drink,
    the liquid he'd served me, doth stank like t'was brewed in hell

    Not one to turn down a drink,
    I thanked the kind barkeep and drew long on the stein
    I shook and I shivered, and quaked in my seat,
    my soul did shudder as did my spine

    As the spirits ran through me, I took a gander about
    a short fella sat beside me, smiling and grinning
    I tipped my straw hat and gave him a greeting
    But as I gazed on his fat purse, my mind was on sinning

    I asked the small man, "are you from these fair lands"
    he looked at me strangely, a funny look on his face,
    the tiny man, with his hands on his mug, shrugged and said
    "what matter is it foreigner, you'll die in this place"

    My mind started cranking, hamsters upon their wheels,
    this chap had a purse that I wanted and he was half my size,
    he carried no weapons, and seemed very drunk,
    surely I could take him and walk away with my prize

    So as the native did fall into an inevitable slumber,
    he snored and he mumbled, about treasures his land
    I worked my uber newbie dagger to cut the strings from his purse
    intent on his nonsense, I was shocked when he grabbed my hand!

    Expecting a death, from this short little fellow
    I held my L33T dagger, steadfast, my smirk still cocky
    The question had to be asked, "what makes you so confident"
    the little man just grinned and said in my tonuge, "dumb sosarian, of course its the saki!"</font>
    </td></tr></table>

    Hoffs then rose, and ended the eve with this tale:

    <table width="80%" align="center" border="1" bgcolor="#c0c0c0"> <tr> <td align="middle" width="475">"The Merchant of Vesper"
    by
    Hoffs
    </td> <td>[​IMG]</td></tr></table>
    <table width="80%" align="center" border="1" bgcolor="#c0c0c0"> <tr> <td>
    [​IMG]y story took place many years ago and concerns a rich merchant who lived North of Vesper, not far from Windermere Wood.

    One day the merchant summoned his servant and instructed him
    to travel into Vesper and procure some stores.

    The servant readied the two sturdiest packhorses and duly made his way to the market.
    In those days, the Vesper marketplace was situated on the mainland just to the West of the city, where the Ironwood Inn and Breana's Odds &amp; Ends shop now stand.

    After spending some time gathering the provisions, the servant felt himself knocked from behind.
    Upon turning around he beheld the cowled, skeletal figure of Death,
    with its bony arms raised menacingly above its head.
    Dropping all that he had, and knocking down several stalls in his panic,
    the servant ran madly through the islands of Vesper and thence into the woods.
    At length, he arrived back at the Merchant's house, where he collapsed exhausted at the owner's feet.

    When he had recovered sufficient energy, he raised his head to speak.
    "Master, Master," he pleaded, "Whilst in the market I was attacked by Death himself. I beg that you lend me your fastest charger so I may ride far away to Trinsic this night, and there take refuge."

    The merchant, a shrewd judge of character, looked into his servant's eyes
    and discerned the veracity therein.
    He did indeed give him the horse, no less than Nepfis, his Ethereal Mount.
    with instructions that he should ride henceforth and return in three day's time.

    Pausing only to fill a small bag of supplies, the servant climbed upon the steed
    and raced away to Trinsic via Minoc and Britain, steering North of the Mountains of Avarice to keep as far from Vesper as he could.

    (Folk didn't really trust the Moongates in those days. There were reports that people didn't get put back together properly on the other side. I think they called it Moongate Syndrome.)

    Anyway, after the servant had fled, the merchant saddled another horse
    and traveled into Vesper himself. Upon his arrival at the marketplace, the packhorses and goods were returned to him, for he was well known and respected throughout the area.

    Whilst loading the animals, in the distance he descried the dark-robed form of Death.

    Filled with curiosity, the merchant bravely marched up to the figure and challenged him.

    "Death," he intoned, "why did you accost my servant earlier today?"

    The dark body turned to face him and the voice spoke in a hoarse, forbidding whisper. "Attack your servant you say? I did no such thing.
    It was merely a gesture of surprise at having seen him here.

    For I have an appointment with him tonight....

    ....in Trinsic."
    </td></tr></table>

    [​IMG]he vote was called, and the tally stood as follows:
    Hoffs with 7,
    Spyderbite with 8,
    Katharine with 7,
    McAndrews with 4,
    Angharad with 9,
    Aeric with 9,
    and both Yancey and myself with 11.

    The prize money, by mutual consent, was awarded to NEW, where it will go to good use, welcoming newcomers to our shores - and hopefully, many a new story-teller as well!

    The true winners though, are those who get to hear these tales.
    Many thanks to all who put such effort into their crafting, and the telling thereof!

    And many thanks as well, to those who gather regularly to hear them!

    (are you SURE it's pink??)
    </td> </tr> <tr valign="top"> <td width="724" background="http://uo.stratics.com/newspics/siege/blind_otto_siege_story_night_love_fractal_001.jpg" height="130">  </td> </tr> </table> </div> </font>
     
  2. Mandolin

    Mandolin Guest

    Story Night keeps getting better and better each week! Thanks for the transcripts, Otto! Great turn out as usual!
     
  3. Katharine

    Katharine Guest

    Good job Otto... cept for the pink *shudders* hehe

    and just so you know there was no canoodling in the corner! We took that to the duelin pit, you should remember.. after all I came back in for a rez! [​IMG]
     
  4. Mandolin

    Mandolin Guest

    <blockquote><hr>

    We took that to the duelin pit, you should remember.. after all I came back in for a rez! [​IMG]

    [/ QUOTE ]

    Yah.. nothing says I Love You more than the strike of a woman's Soul Seeker. [​IMG]
     
  5. Ginsu-SP

    Ginsu-SP Guest

    What a great night!

    We have GREAT writers on Siege.

    Cheers!
    Aeric

    *P.S. I proudly wear my Initiate's death robe. But to all you fashion plates....
    rest assured I am totally stunning underneath.
     
  6. Katharine

    Katharine Guest

    <blockquote><hr>

    <blockquote><hr>

    We took that to the duelin pit, you should remember.. after all I came back in for a rez! [​IMG]

    [/ QUOTE ]

    Yah.. nothing says I Love You more than the strike of a woman's Soul Seeker. [​IMG]

    [/ QUOTE ]

    Yeah *dreamy sigh* hehehe... But then again, Daan got it too, and well Slova kinda beat me like I was his [​IMG] . First couple of rounds though, Spyder beat both me and Daan up pretty bad hehe.
     
  7. Mandolin

    Mandolin Guest

    Booze, stories, poetry and good old fashion arse kickin'.. just like the good ol' days. [​IMG]
     
  8. Goodah

    Goodah Guest

    It would be even better if someone could get a hold of Robert Franko so he could continue with the...

    Chronicles of Hooters and Beer!!!!! [​IMG]
     
  9. Mandolin

    Mandolin Guest

    Agreed!!! [​IMG]

    Rephrases: Hooters, Booze, Stories, Poetry &amp; Arse Kickin'! Now all we need back is our Mjo! (The Priestess that is! :p )
     
  10. Guest

    Guest Guest

    As incentive to summon Robert Franko back, I took this little ditty from a wandering bard with an owl on his shoulder, and a keg under his arm...
    <font color="brown">
    what is the multi-liquor
    what gets you drunk quicker
    what comes in bottles or in cans

    BEER!

    cant get enough of it
    ooh how we really love it
    makes me think im a man

    BEER!

    i could kiss and hug it
    but i would rather chuck it
    fill my belly up to here!
    beer beer beer beeeer!

    </font>

    Robert, wherever you are, I hope that the epic that you are obviously working on is worth the wait!
     
  11. <blockquote><hr>

    First couple of rounds though, Spyder beat both me and Daan up pretty bad hehe.

    [/ QUOTE ]
    Never try to kill a vampire with a holy sword. You would think it would work, but it doesn't... haha.
    Got my own back when i started testing out my other toys though. [​IMG]
    Hope you and Spyder enjoyed your gifts from the loot pot of Daan Mor. [​IMG]

    Back on subject though, story night was great as ever, i would have continued my tale, but i got bogged down in writing huge stories for my final Initiates quest for KSS.
    More next week! (I hope...)
     
  12. Mandolin

    Mandolin Guest

    <blockquote><hr>

    Hope you and Spyder enjoyed your gifts from the loot pot of Daan Mor. [​IMG]

    [/ QUOTE ]

    We never loot.. especially an Initiate. [​IMG]
     
  13. Jasmine-SP

    Jasmine-SP Guest

    Thank you for posting the transcript each week. I couldn't make it and I'd hate to miss a chapter of Dragon Rider or Cows.