Kilo

I don't hit on my people my level or lower all the time and I'm level 121. If you don't like hitting 0's now I'd stop playing the combat part of runescape.

[hide=] Why are you ranging in Karil's? Black d'hide has better melee defence, the same ranged bonus AND doesn't degrade. [/hide] Check again, it's not the same range bonus.

No way i need to get 85 slayer even if i have to fight may way past every random a 1000th times lol :twisted: 83 is actually better profit than 85, for the record. Now we won't hate on you for not saying that. Can we close this topic? I mean how many have we had that are exactly like this? >.>

40k/hr. 45k/hr at most if you focus.

It should end soon! (150th anyone?) More goblins after this? Bummer, I hate that quest line, I want more myreque.

I think people are most curious than gullible.

Use the search function of your bank to find it. I have no idea why you went to a german server.

< Tipit Rs official- 850? I used to write stories there.

That doesn't compare at all to this situation, and is a horrible analogy. I don't think rares effect the economy as much as they used too. There is so much money floating around now, rares might as well be in their own little market. It's a part of Rs history, why give them out to everyone? Those people were around back then, they deserve the items, we don't.

Other guy was asking about the exp from waves of Jad's a few days ago ^ Well what hasn't been done, I'd do it on the red dragon's on red dragon isle in the wilderness.

(oops late) I'll read any book a friend recommends to me. As long as the characters are treated correctly, so no I don't believe I would like Dumbledore up there.^ I think if the characters of a novel are raped, and maltreated then the book isn't worth burning. If the book ends the same way it starts I don't find it worthwhile unless it leaves a moral truth. I know I'm old fashioned, but whoever said that was bad? When I look at a book, I want to see something new, and original. I hate books that are unmistakeable rip offs of other books. Stephen King,Haruki Murakami, and George Orwell all span different genres. The only genre I don't look into as much is nonfiction. If I'm going to read I might as well escape somewhere, why would I read about reality? I live in reality I know what it's like I don't need it explained. I'll figure it out as I go along. *Burns my soapbox*

Sailing! nah, probably something else. Sailing seems like an addition to construction more than anything.

Ha, you made my day just now. Hope you like it. ^^

I'm sorry, I didn't I was even going to post this story on here, and I didn't know it wouldn't come out the same passing from my word processor to here. I'll go through it.

I won't lie to you man (I don't want to sound mean), but those things look crappy. I'd sell them, but that's just me. If you find an outstanding outfit with them, I'll eat my words.

Soul wars comparing to Castle wars? It's like comparing J.D. Salinger to J.K. Rowling.

Apparently tipit and my TAB button don't like each other. You don't have any critique of the actual story though? I mean spelling errors I like to know about, but I'd also like some constructive criticism concerning the plot itself. :o OT: Nice Bible verse in your signature.

I think the drop rate is all over the place on this one. I had two on my first task of 150 but none on a task of 135. So 1 in 143? :P I don't think it's very low.

All my passwords are hard to guess. :o except this one XD

I'm glad they fixed gmauls, too bad the injuries already put my brother steve in a comma. D:

260 regular bones is another item recieved if gambling. I found the minigame a little boring, and it doesn't offer anything spectacular.

Fishing potions are a total waste of money if you use them for fishing. Summoning familiars work better, and last much longer.

The formatting kills the story a bit, but here it is. Errors welcome. The Black Stained Chair [Chapter 1] A horrible retching came from the front room of my old antique store. I rushed from the kitchen to the front of the old, musty shoppe, fearful a car had rammed itself through the showroom of antiques. I saw a man with a wood splitting axe chopping an old dinette set in two. I stood gaping past the hallway opening, eyes wide. The man noticed me quickly, and put one finger up on his left hand for me to give him a moment to catch his breath. I looked from him to the dinette, cocking my head to the left, and watched, stunned, as he walked towards me. As I was getting ready to bolt, he put up his left hand to dissuade me. [Para1] Im willing to pay you for allowing me to destroy these antiques, he wheezed at me. [Para2] As I registered what he said I was inclined to ask, what? [Para3] I will pay you for letting me mess with your little gallery, showroom, whatever the hell you call it here, he said. [Para4] Taken aback by the absurdity of his request, I couldnt help but ask, what? again. [Para5] Leaning on the woodcutting axe the man replied, Now sir, dont be so totally deluded as to ask me yet again of what my request is. [Para6] In a stupor of amazement of the wrecked antiques that I had taken much time to acquire I asked incredulously, why? [Para7] Why! What a good question a curious person could ask. Why collect antiques? he said with toothy smile. [Para8] An anger came over me as I began yelling. Its not very important what I said, but the man did end up leaving my store regardless after offering to pay me for the damage. With fiery, malicious contempt of his ignorance I petitioned him physically to leave. Chapter Two [Chapter 2] Weeks went by and the blue commercial grade carpet that held the tiny shards of glass from the dinette, passed the way of my bare foot more than once. All had settled, as I had always liked the all to be. Settled and quiet, quiet and lonesome, I cant remember a time when I needed any noise but the ticking of old clocks to be mine rhyme scheme. [Para1]The shiny store bell jingled as I walked through the showrooms outer door. I walked left and went to the mail box positioned near the edge of my building. In the small town the buildings were positioned along a straight road, evenly spaced apart with enough privacy for deer and fawn of the sectioned off forest. [Para2]A stained black chair or table leg stood supporting edge of my home leaning patiently for me to take notice. The top of the black stained leg was also black, and no note lay with the piece. The wind blew the silence my way, and I turned to watch as a slow moving black sedan rolled past me at nearly 20 miles per hour, well below the posted speed limit. It picked up speed as it distanced itself from my remote shoppe, and drove over the hill at the top of the road. [Para3] Uneasiness carried itself with the breeze created by the car to me, and I was consciously shaken from the black chair leg and sedan. The black stained chair leg being leant against my house of all houses seemed rare at most, and the eerie sedan didnt alleviate the feeling of dread I had obtained from the last few minutes either. Both seemed an omen, but luck or kismet found no shelter in the apartment complex of what I was thinking. Chapter 3 [Chapter1]I forgot about the sedan, and the black chair leg made a quick trip to my trash can. I had been writing in my upstairs study for most of the day because the shoppe remained closed on Mondays from lack of customers. The study consisted of an oak desk stained a light brown for that old cottage style, and the walls were colored blue along with a complimenting beige carpet. Large floor to ceiling windows out looked from the front of my house to the street across. A reproduced Rembrandt hung upon the wall across from my desk, portraying a spiral staircase and a man in deep meditation. The exit of the study lay directly opposite my bedroom which remained dark. [Para1] A loud explosion of rapping shook me back beside myself in the fear I had experienced days before from the black leg, and I paused in a desecration of my nerves then bolted down my narrow set of stairs. Upon reaching the door I noticed the man from weeks ago with a large smile on his face stretching from ear to ear eagerly rapping on my glass store door. Uneasiness pushed its way into one of my apartment rooms, and this man with his toothy grin didnt appease my sense of courage. I walked hesitantly to the door, and unlocked the bolt holding it shut. Howve you been as of late my good friend! he said enthusiastically. [Para2] I sighed without hiding it, What do you want now? [Para3] Want? I need to ask you to appraise something for me, even though its a little damaged. He led me to his car, a white Jetta, Thats good at least, I said to myself look at me worrying over chair legs. The jolly, not jingly, man took out a black stained chair from the back seat of his car. All four legs were intact, but the cushion of the chair had been eaten at by moths or rodents. Offset by the color of the chairs upholstery, I agreed to fix it for the man. Along with collecting antiques I repaired damaged pieces for people who were willing to pay me the work. Chapter 4 [Chapter4] Off the main showroom was a workshop where I had all the tools necessary to repair, and make furniture. It included two work tables and a sewing machine, a metal cabinet in the back of the room held various fabrics to replace any that were beyond repair. A large sink sat next to the cabinet with a large selection of acids, basic chemicals, and stains underneath for removing stains from fabric not totally beyond the void of uselessness. [Para1]To better detect the severity of the damage done to the black chair I undid the screws holding the legs to the base, and removed the first leg. Usually only the show-wood was stained for the appreciation of viewers, but the tops of the legs of chair were stained black as well. If a recreation of the Apollo 13 space shuttle had been teleported into my workshop with Harry Potterian magic I dont believe I would have been more surprised than I was at that point. If the top of the chair leg was the entrance to a worm hole that began sucking me into its depths I wouldnt have been more surprised. My hands nested in my hair and made their way down my face in pure agony of the situation I was in. Desperation fisted my hands, and I began rubbing them together with the potential of starting a fire. [Para2] Being the sensible man I was, I sprinted out of the workshop through the showroom, and out the glass door to the trash can by the side of my home. Rain sprinkled down silently, mournfully on my shirt cooling my neck as if to say it was sorry for what was going to happen to me. Removing the lid of the trash can, a strong odor ran through my face like being sprayed with a wasp-killer. All my trash was double bagged, so nothing except odor escaped the latex. The chair leg I had thrown away should have been along the side in fact I remembered it being there the night before when I had taken the trash out. Unfazed by the reek I pushed the top bags aside and went rummaging for the odd end. [Para3] I dumped the trash can out right out onto the roads partitioned off walking path. The rain kept trying persistently to relax my nerves, but it felt more like steam was rising off my neck from the heat of disillusionment I was encountering. I groped the bags of trash for the black leg; I knew wouldnt be there. I stared silently back at my house with a deep pit in my stomach, and let the rain fall over my shoulders matting the hair to my forehead like a damp cloth applied by a concerned nurse. Chapter 5 [Chapter 5]I sat in my bed quietly listening to the rain patter quietly on the roof of my house and store. Like the soft rains of Sara Teasdale, but the swallows did not sound for hope had lost its feathers. I felt as alone as Spring might have felt, and I didnt care much whether humanity persisted beyond my walls because with humanity persisting I knew that the man who destroys furniture persisted as well. If I could be with a fellow member of my kind I would have though because comfort comes where many are bound along with joy. [Para1]Lonely I was sitting in bed, my feet squirming as restless feet do, hearing every minute sound larger than birds singing Sinatra which they seldom do. The pitter and the patter continued steadily into the beginning hours of the day, and I sat patiently waiting for the sun that I knew would bring quiet relief, and maybe even the death of the black stained chair man. The darkness grew darker however as it always does when nearing the light, and death seemed to carry it on its shoulders from the windows to the bed spread stroking my feet to remind me it was there, it was there. [Para2] A huge screeching of wood came from downstairs, and jump started my heart like a car battery in the dead of winter. A moaning of wood and metal shuddered through the house spirited off the walls and reverberating in my temples like the bells of St. Martins worrying over their farthings. I jumped out of bed, and swung the door open leading down the steps to the showroom. He must be coming in the back, otherwise he would have just broken the glass in the front door I say to myself. When I reach the bottom of the stairs I head directly to my workroom after glancing down the hallway towards the kitchen where the back door was locating. He hadnt gotten through yet, and I had a degree of surprise on my side. [Para3] I went directly to the tool board, and picked out three medium sized hammers and a large wrench. I donned my tool belt and placed all but the wrench in the available slots. I poked my head barely out of the doorway of the workshop and looked down the narrow hallway. The man was apparently in the kitchen possibly making a sandwich for himself, or cleaning up the doorway splinters as to not intrude on my generosity. I clenched a hammer in my left hand and threw it into the showroom hitting a glass panel in a china cabinet spreading death snow into the carpeting. [Para4] The noise in the kitchen suddenly quieted and the mans voice came cackling out down the hall way. Oh, Jesus makes a move! Ill tell Joseph that your making a mess in there! I listened to the roaring of my quietly beating heart for him to say more and give away his position. Steps were taken towards me; I could tell from the creaking of the scuffed floor boards. He was coming down the hall at a strutting, leisurely pace as if we were old pals having a get together to remember the old college days. The hall ended before coming to the workshop door, so I would be between him and the glass door in the front of the store. [Para5] He began walking away from me down a row between large pieces of furniture looking at the glass on the carpet. The hammer had gone through the front pane of glass in the china cabinet and the back pane. I began exiting the workshop door, and began to follow him down the row. He began opening the china door and peeped his head through the door. With the wrench in my right hand I swung it hard as he spotted my from his peripheral vision and ducked his head. He was leaning on the woodcutting ax from the weeks before that he had used to demolish the dinette. He swung the ax quickly over his head as I was still reassuming my footing from the missed swing, and nearly clipped my foot shaving off a length of rubber on the right side of my right shoe. [Para6] I took my right fist and crested it against my left pectoral and jabbed violently with my elbow countering quickly before the man could raise the heavy ax again. I drove him into the row between the furniture. I drove the air out of his lungs as he grabbed my throat squeezing at my windpipe with a shuddering smile dancing over his lips erratically. With my right hand trying to lift myself as far away from the man as possible, my left hand reached one of the hammers in my belt. I struggled releasing the life saving killer from its noose. The head of the hammer danced playfully between my fingers as I struggled with the man, but I finally managed to grab the claw of the hammer and raise it above my head. [Para7] Two quick blows to the mans left chest made with the blunt end of the hammer him cough up blood with an unsurely and faltering smile. With his mouth full of blood and a deadly curve still sure of victory his hand loosened from my wind pipe as I jumped off him quickly. He sat there quietly wheezing as I stared down at him with a look of pity upon my face. I ran to the kitchen to gather my phone and call the police. I stood facing the wall and gave the emergency operator the correct information about residence, and the crime committed. I hung up and quietly contemplated what to do while the police came. As I mentioned my town is small, and the police would take at least ten minutes to respond. No thoughts went through my mind, it was blank with overuse of the two days, so 3 oclock silently crept upon the white clock. It struck three load notes that resonated through the house. [Para8] The black stained chair man who I thought was comatose suddenly appeared in the doorway with a shard of glass in his bleeding right hand. Two red puppet lines of blood came down his mouth in another sickly smile of his, and without hesitation I lifted the weighted third hammer from my belt and threw it straight at the mans chest with the impact to crack ribs. His left hand grabbed the doorway, but his feet lost their footing and he swung out of the room and hit carpet with a deadening thud. Chapter 6 [Chapter 6]I sat quietly outside of my store in the bright sunlight on the black stained chair, quietly watching the cars pass by as the sun caressed my face with motherly adoration. The shop had been doing better ever since I had began sitting outside by the front door. People seemed to respond better to a man who smiled at them as they motored past in a part of America not yet affected by poorly done news programs looking for ratings and money then good stories. No one looked at my quizzically because of my smile, and it seemed a regular thing for them to see. [Para1]I quietly reflect on how much time passed since Vince Cante had began harassing me as the police had put it so unabashedly with a slightly different word usage. He had apparently been a university professor of modern art, and many people attested to his sanity. Protests were staged at the antique store months before and the college campus where he had worked, and I was more concerned with the protestors than with Vince to be honest. The protestors apparently found something else to gripe at someone for, and I had been left with the black stained chair.

The rewards look better, but I don't get why didn't just move the Camelot Teleport for everyone. I mean who teleports to Camelot? "Oh I better go see Merlin, so I can hear the interesting things he has to say that I've heard before!"

Very nice, I wish I had the determination to just go down there :o