Harakiri

Because me, Xewleer, Archimage, Zonorch, strat, hiitchiiker, unoalexi, powerent, and others do not use it as much anymore...Xewleer is somewhere else right now or something cuz' he is never not on here this long...IDK...I like deviant art a bit more...more freedom to write stuff...

the rest looks alot like flames to me AM I IN COURT OR SOMETHING?!? jeez is it realy too much to ask for POLITE DISAGREEMENT??? EVERYONE LOOK UP POLITE IN DICTIONARY PLZ well alot of u a few of u have been nice =] and yes wow does make alot more money then jagex but at least wow has a place other then fan sites to complain about it? they silence whoever complains about it on thier site and do NOTHING(that ive seen) and too all of you guessin i have no life or w/e ur wrong and plz get off my thread ur infecting it with... well watever u got =\ again il say same thing as i did many times already if you disagree like i see many of u have DO IT POLITLY OR LEAVE! im sick of gettin attacked by ppl who judge others too harshly for thier own good.. im not on trial here jagex is! blahahahha i quit runescape when the updates of death came out these days im workin and drop by runescape every once in a while to see wats up and wonder y my friends list all red(NOT) and well this is my latest rant =] mostly outa sheer bordom and it gets so interesting here =] but as one of you said if so many of u KNOW jagex customer support fails y dont u do somethin about it? dont worry guys youl only have to put up with this fool till wow comes out and i forget bout ruinedscape XD You refer us to look at a dictionary to look up polite...well let me refer you to a dictionary so you can learn to spell -their -politely -boredom ETC. And what does the last sentence mean? WOW's been out since like 04 or something like that...but I don't think they want anyone with an IQ less than 25 over there...

Now is it just me, or does this quote along with the whopping post total of 2 this guy has lead me to believe that this is eatrunearrow? If not, then arrow must have invented a noobish, developmentally delayed rant forum poster cloning machine.

They are starting to fix things.... 8-) Look at the new graphics, much better than the other ones...

(My deviant art is the first place to look for more chapters and info on this ever expanding series) Prologue: "Jesus Christ." The 2008 Ford Escape slowed down and drove to the side of the highway wedged between two fields of corn. The man driving got out and ran to the stop sign sitting fourteen feet behind the car. Nailed to it was a human head. A small part of its spinal cord dangled from its neck. It was nailed to the sign with a stake through the forehead. Dried blood surrounded the stake. The man looked into the deeply set green eyes of the head. He saw a look of pure horror in the eyes, yet the lips were curled into a somewhat convoluted smile. Flies buzzed around the head, and apparently a couple found the inside of it their home. The man walked back to the car and hopped into the drivers side. The man beside him stared. "It was a human head." The driver said, turning the key into the ignition and closing his door. "What the hell is going on around here Jack?" The passenger asked. "How in gods name am I to know?" Jack drove back onto the highway and set his cruise control to sixty-five. He turned on the radio, and flipped through the channels. He settled on a classical station now playing Mozart, but his passenger switched the channel to a heavy metal station and cranked the knob controlling the volume. Jack screamed out at his companion. "Christ! Can we get any louder?" Apparently his companion did not hear. Jack moved his hand to the knob and turned it, and then shut off the radio. His companion quit headbanging and looked at him in bewilderment. "That's an awesome song!" "Its nothing but brainwash. Watch yourself Harry. Could lose an eardrum." Harry shook his head. "I've been listening to this all my life and have never lost an eardrum!" "Not to late." Harry just chuckled. "You are just one of those people that don't understand people like me." "Whats there to understand? That kind of music is made to make people go deaf!" "No its not. It always has a message." "You have to turn the volume up to hear a guy shout the message of "Praise Satan" at the top of his lungs." Suddenly, Jack noticed a small gas station up ahead. A sign indicated it as Bob's Gas Station and Conveniences. Jack turned the wheel and entered the lot. He pulled up to one of the four gas pumps aligned in a row. An old man in a straw hat strode out of the double doors of a small shack and hobbled over to the car. He shifted against the car for balance and went to the pump. He pulled the nozzles safety catch off. Jack walked out of the car and looked at the man. "I can handle it." Jack said. The old man finished fiddling with the side of the car, and started pumping gas into it. "Its fine. Not much company around here. Your probably the first people I have seen in several months. Most people tell me they nearly drive the other way when they see the head on the stop sign back there, and I always tell them they should have listened." "Why is there a stop sign there anyway? There was no intersection or no other streets around." "Its supposed to scare you. The message is all there. Stop, decapitated head. You all must be those [developmentally delayed]ed people I hear are clogging the streets of New York." "I am not [developmentally delayed]ed old man. I thought that maybe..." "An animal did it? The head dropped from the sky? What?" He took the nozzle from the car and put everything away. "How much do you want?" Jack pulled his leather wallet from his back pocket and took a couple of bills from it. "Twenty will do." Jack handed him two ten dollar bills and went back into his car. Harry laughed. "What a crazy old [cabbage]. Probably a murderer." The old man walked back toward the shack, and Jack turned the key in the ignition when he noticed a couple people come from the corn around the station. They looked at the car maniacally. "Who the hell are these people?" Harry started shaking vigorously. "What are you doing?" Harry stopped and told Jack, "I have a bad feeling." "So what are you now, a psychic?" The people were closing in on the car. Jack stepped on the pedal and drove into them. He waved his arms to the side, a movement that was supposed to make them move. Instead they stood prone as Jack ran into them. Their bodies smashed into the windshield, leaving blood and cracks all over. Jack turned on the windshield wiper. The blood scooted to the sides and began to make a trail as the car moved forward. Jack looked out the back window. "Who the..." Suddenly the old man from the gas station was on the hood of the car. Jack stepped on the gas and watched the old man fall beneath the car. Suddenly, he felt the car lurch to a stop. The old man rolled out from under the car holding an armful of circuits in his left fist. He threw them onto the ground and began screaming at the other people. Jack and Harry both nodded and jumped out of the car, running toward the corn. The old man watched them run forward and into the corn. The people all ran into the corn as well as the old man stood inspecting the car. The men having left the doors open, he looked inside. He found a small box and dug though it. He found a stack of magazines. They were all gentlemen books. The old man shredded them all with his bare hands. When he came out of the car he found people returning from the corn with two struggling people in their arms. The old man smirked at them and went to the one driving. "Since there will be no next time, I shall give no speech to you about stopping at a stop sign." The old man thrust his hand into the drivers neck. Blood spattered all over the old man. The passenger screamed, wide-eyed. The old man turned to him and proceeded using the same method. The bodies were then dragged into the shack, where the old man cut the head off of the two bodies and found two stakes. He then went to his attic and found two stop signs. He grabbed a mallet and left the shack, going down the highway with the two heads dangling from his left arm, the stop signs under his left armpit, and the mallet and stakes in his right arm. He proceeded with putting up the signs and placing the heads into them. He then went back to his shack. Chapter 1: A Jeep Grand Cherokee drove along the dirt path, dust blowing up in its wake. Trees formed a wall on either side of the path, and gave the place an eerie feel. It did not help that there were no street lamps and instead, there were lanterns on the side of the road. It was nearly midnight, and all Zach Archer wanted was to get a drink. Zach groaned as he hit a pothole. The damn bar needed to be put somewhere else, not in the middle of nowhere. The only bar in town and to get to it, you had to drive down the scariest street on Earth. The trees began to part and Zach noticed the rectangular building ahead, yellow lights nearly blinding Zach. He reached the little gravel parking lot in front of the bar, and did a rather pathetic job of parking, nearly clipping a Nissan pulling out of the parking lot. After the driver showed his appreciation, Zach parked and got out of the car, walking towards the screen door of the building. He opened it, and was immediately encompassed by smoke. The men at the bar in front of Zach were smoking like maniacs, cartons of cigarettes lying on the bar. Behind the bar, a door opened and the barkeeper walked out with a garbage bag. "You [bleep]s better pick all of these up." He motioned at the cartons. The barkeeper then noticed Zach's slender figure in front of the door. "Hey Zach. How's it going?" Asked the plump and balding barkeep. "Not bad Burt. Everything was fine till I find myself surrounded in smoke." One of the men at the bar turned on his bar stool and started turning his cigarette in his lips. "Second hand smoke ain't gonna kill ya." The man said. Burt prodded the man in the back. He turned back toward the bar, and Burt took the cigarette from the mans lips, smashing it out in a metal ashtray on the bar. "You all can stop smoking or get the hell out. Now that Zach's here, your all gonna stop smoking. Stop trying to kill yourselves with these friggin things." The men at the bar groaned and smashed out their cigarettes, then got up and filed out of the bar, staring at Zach as they left. Zach went to one of the bar stools and sat down. "Get me a Guinness." Zach said. Burt nodded and rummaged beneath the bar until he came up with a mug. He went to a nozzle protruding from the wall and bent it. The amber fluid rushed out, and found its place in the mug. Burt bent it back upwards and placed the mug in front of Zach. "So, whats up?" Burt asked. "My step-brother and his friend were coming over from New York. They were bringing over some porn and stuff to sell to old Pinkertown." "Old pervert..." Burt muttered. "They were going through Iowa, and were supposed to call me once they found a motel. I have not heard from them for two days. I called their cell phone, and someone picked it up. All I heard was a slight groan, and then the person at the other end hung up." "That doesn't sound to good." "Your telling me. Mary is scared as hell." Mary was Zach's wife of three years. They'd been through hell and high water together, yet this had smashed his wife even more than her mother dying from cancer two years ago. Zach had a feeling she knew something he did not. "Have you called the police?" Asked Burt, breaking Zach's thoughts. "Yup. And they called some police in Iowa. We have gotten nothing from them." "I find it suspicious." "What do you mean?" "Maybe something killed them. You know Iowa. The people there are about as screwed up as them people in Iraq." Zach laughed. "Lets talk about something else. I am sure this will settle itself out soon enough." Burt nodded. "So, read the paper today?" "Sure did. Who would've thought gas was going to go up fifty cents in the next month." "Sucks to be me. Drive around in a Jeep that gets eighteen miles to the friggin gallon." "Jesus...need to trade that in, get a cheap 1980 Chevy or Ford. Those get tons of miles." "Yeah, I know...pain in the [wagon] to get one though when you live in the middle of nowhere..." "Zach, we live on the border of Nevada and California. Why are you so bored. Drive over to Beverly Hills and wish you were rich enough to own one of those cribs. Or go to L.A and go see a show. Or hell, go east and go gamble all your money away in Las Vegas, gambling's always a good way to make the trouble go away." "You know what? Your right. I am taking Mary to Las Vegas to get her mind off of her brother." "What you gonna do there?" Zach rubbed his chin, considering. "I guess I'll take her to the hoover dam, get us piss poor by playing craps or blackjack at one of those brightly lit casinos on the strip. Maybe go laugh at prostitutes." "If you see Betty, tell her I swear I will pay her double next time I get to Las Vegas. I got broke playing the slot machines last time I visited." Zach laughed. "Good ol' Burt." zach drunk down his Guinness and then payed Burt a bit more than Burt said he had to pay, and then left. He went to his Jeep and drove home. Viva las Vegas. Chapter 2: Mary went to the front door and set her brown, patent leather suitcase down. She then looked down at her gold Rolex watch and noticed it was seven thirty in the morning. Zach said they would be driving off by seven fifteen, yet here she was standing in front of the large wooden door, looking up the stairs in front of her, waiting for Zach. "Zach, what are you doing?" She asked. Zach appeared at the top of the stairs. "Sorry, just got a lot to pack." He hefted a large suitcase up. "We are going to be gone for exactly four days Zach..." "I know, I just want to take some things with me." She opened the front door and stepped out onto a green doormat and looked over her shoulder. "Hurry up." She turned around, picked up her suitcase and crossed the bright green lawn, dew dampening the bottom of her khaki pants. "Son of a [bleep]!" A group of three cop cars stopped in front of a stop sign with a head nailed into it. The six cops from the group took in the sight. There was a stake through the forehead, and it smirked slightly. The cops wretched. "I am going to call HQ and tell them we need to get some people to help us identify these heads. You guys try and take it down." The slightly pudgy cop who said this turned towards his squad car and got in, grabbing the radio on his dashboard. "HQ this is Sergeant Washington, searching I-85 for signs of Jack Kinglsey and Harry Germain. Down the street about 35 miles south of Lewiston, we found a head nailed to a stop sign. Asking for you to get somebody out here to take the head and identify it." Static. "Calling them in someone right now." Washington got out of the car and watched as the new guy on the force held the head in his hand in disgust. Washington motioned toward the squad cars. "Lets keep going. You guys," he pointed at the new guy and another cop he particularly hated, "stay here. We will keep moving and see what the hell is going on." They nodded and Washington got into his car, waited for everyone else to situate themselves, and drove further down the road. Zach placed some chips on the black six. All five of the other people playing placed their chips. Zach watched as a man wearing a glittery jacket spun the wheel and dropped the ball in. There were some satisfying clicks as it bounced off of the small plastic wedges in between the numbers, until it jumped into the border and spun around and around. Zach pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the small droplets of sweat forming on his forehead. He wanted to look classy around all of these rich men and women who could waste away a million dollars playing roulette without a care in the world. When Jack looked up, he saw that the ball had found its place in the black six. What were the odds of that? He collected his chips, amounting to around four thousand dollars, and ran off. He found Mary at the slot machine, pulling the lever protruding from the side of the cheating, money eating machine. The slots fell into place. A cherry,cherry, and the casinos logo. Mary banged her fist against it. "Piece of crap!" She said. Zach tapped her shoulder, and showed her the inside of his pocket, where he held four red chips, each for a thousand dollars, and some others that he had picked up from his roulette win. "WOW! They bet a lot over there!" "The guys over there were rich! I bet a hundred dollars, and they bet around a thousand each." Mary jumped up and down. "Does this mean we can get a fancy dinner?" "Well, I am sure that can be arranged." They walked hand in hand to a cashier. Zach handed all of his chips to him and the cashier handed him the crisp bills one by one. Zach thanked him and took Mary out to the strip. "There is a nice restaurant in the Luxor. The cathouse is what its called." Zach said as they walked down the sidewalk, trying to avoid the thronging crowds. "Okay." Mary was happy. It was not much money he had won, but she was probably happy that all those quarters she had wasted on the slot machine had not been a waste. Bob's Gas Station and Conveniences loomed ahead of Washington. Washington and his squad had encountered two more heads nailed to stop signs along the road and was suspicious of this place since it was the only building for miles. He drove his car into the lot and parked along a gas pump. The other squad car stopped behind Washington's, and two people came out, Williams and Darkkin. Washington's partner in the car was Jacoby. They all walked toward the small wooden shack at the side of the pavement making up the gas station. Washington got there first and knocked. "Hello?" He knocked again. Suddenly, a hand broke through the door and went for Washington's face, clawing out his eyes. His partners pulled pistols from their hip holsters and aimed the at the door. Williams shot, and suddenly there was a groan from inside of the shack and the hand retracted. Washington was standing in front of the door, unmoving. Williams went to him. "Sir?" Washington turned around and screamed. Williams did as well. Washington's eyes hung from the sockets, drooping down to his mouth. Blood gushed from his eye sockets. Washington screamed more, and Williams shot him in the forehead, spraying blood and brain all over the pavement of the gas station. Jacoby yelled. "What was that for?" Williams turned on him. "He was going to die anyway. He should not have to die in pain!" Suddenly, people were coming from the corn surrounding the gas station. "What the hell?" Williams asked. Chapter 3: Williams, Darkin and Jacoby raised their pistols toward the people coming from the corn. Williams then shot one of the people, a woman in a tattered dress and a blouse exposing her ample breasts. Her head flung back, and blood sprayed from the wound, her breasts popping out of the blouse even further. Then, her head flung forward. Blood poured from the wound, trailing down her face, over her eyes and into her open mouth. The people began to advance on the cops. Williams screamed for the others and kicked open the door to the shack. The others ran in and Jacoby shut the door behind himself. The man inside lay on the floor, flailing about. Williams guessed that was Bob. He kicked Bob in the stomach. "What the hell is going on?" Williams asked. Darkin pulled a radio off of his belt. There was static and then: "HQ." "We need help ASAP. Washington is dead! And there are these people...they are like monsters or something!" "Sending backup to your location but you sound like you've had a bit to much to drink." Darkin clipped the radio back onto his belt and watched as Williams assaulted Bob, asking questions that were answered only with a horrendous groan, like that of a dying animal. Suddenly, there was a smash, and Darkin was grabbing at his throat as twenty flailing hand broke through the door, two of which grabbing his neck. He screamed as the grip of the hands tightened. Williams ran to him and began smashing the butt of his gun against the fingers around his neck. They released there grasp and Darkin flung forward, lying on the floor lightly rubbing his bruised neck. "Watch out!" He screamed as the door flew off its hinges right into Williams. Williams fell to the floor, the door lying on top of him like the lid of a coffin. Zach sat at the edge of the hotel bed, rubbing the toes of his wife. His wife laughed as he began to move his hand up her leg. "No Zach, not in a hotel bed, its not right. Somebody has to clean it you know." "Fine." He withdrew his hand and stood, walking to the large black phone sitting on an oaken desk next to a picture window, looking down on the strip. "Hello?" "Hello, room service, this is room 2401 and I would like it if you brought up a bottle of champagne." "Very well sir." Zach hung up the phone and sat back down on the bed. In front of it was a dresser, on which stood a large television. Zach grabbed the remote from beside his wife and turned it on. The light was blinding as he switched stations. He settled on Fox News and watched as a pretty little blond in a short little skirt talked about the rising price of gas. Zach was being hypnotized by the little blond's legs when there was a knock on the door. Zach got up and opened it, pushing a cart with a bottle of champagne and two glasses into the room. After paying a generous tip, he closed the door and swung around to his wife. "All we need are some Yankee candles and the scene would be just right." "Not in this room honey." That had the tone of finality in it. "Fine honey." George Karel would usually be off shift at this time, but now he had to stay. First, there were heads nailed to stop signs on I-82 and now there were monsters? The heads had been found but monsters were never gonna cut it with him. Perhaps those cops were drunk. There were no monsters in Iowa. Iowa was the lords land. The dispatcher walked into his office and shook her head, throwing her strawberry blond hair over her shoulder. "What the hell is going on out there sir?" "I have no idea." "Hey [wagon], get over here!" The man in the Hawaiian shirt and khaki pants motioned for the hotel owner. The owner walked over, looking at the startled faces of the patrons as a gun was aimed at his head. "What sir?" The man pointed the gun at the owners groin. "Where is Zach and Mary Archer staying? Tell me or your snake will be decapitated." Zach took a sip of the champagne and looked at his wife. "Good?" She took another sip and nodded. "Very." He laughed and began to place his hand all over her. She laughed to and began to place her hand on him. "Does that song "Black Magic Woman" apply to a white magic woman?" Zach asked. She laughed. "I'm your Hollaback girl." "Now your just being bananas." He spelled bananas and stopped himself at the last N. Then, there was a knock on the door. Zach went to open it, but suddenly found himself lying on the floor, blood pouring from a wound in his shoulder. Mary screamed.

Go read it on my deviant art page! See you guys later! :D

http://ratchet573.deviantart.com/ See you in August. Busy over there ^^^ and going on vacation for a couple weeks with no time to worry about two communities. Join my new fan base there and read the adulty story Area 52...as well as ind out a secret I have kept from you...

Blue Jay is taking over. I have a lot going on...mostly my new life on deviantart: http://ratchet573.deviantart.com/ I'll be back the end of July or beginning of August, but I a just too busy. Can one of you volunteer to play Blue Jays character since he is the Dungeon master now?

You can jump into the game at the moment if you like. Probably should be inside the cave with Zerg and try to help them. Really the level up system is just there. It was an after thought that really doesn't matter. I'll tell you how much you have leveled up after a quest so you can use those new magics.

^^^ Re...vis...ion? What is that?

I loved the mummy and love Jet Li! Woot! Finally a movie to look forward to! All the other movies I looked forward to I ended up seeing the preview for and noticing how much suck it was.

Vantage point?

I also have a wii and a ps3 and a psp...though my gaming selection is so limited that you might find me having some games...but not enough...I have Halo3, GTA4, Bioshock, COD4, and MGS4...wow...thats a lot of awesome...I WANT MASS EFFECT!!!

That was hilarious...he even mentioned spotted [bleep]...the worlds oddest named (Its sponge cake right?)...

Oh...griffball! I love that game! Kill griff woot! The commercial thing was funny. "Oh look a griffball, I will slowly pick it up and throw it back into the arena..." BOOM! I would join you...but I don't have enough time... Good luck anyway! :thumbsup:

The smell of burning flesh, quite pungent as anything, infiltrated my stuffed up nostrils, the smell like sticking your face into an ogres armpit. I looked at the bloody and convulsed corpse and yelled at my partner, "Bucket please." To late for at the time the bucket had been placed before my feet, I had thrown up all over the blue carpet of the bedroom. "Good job...puke on the crime scene." My partner rolled her eyes and I just laughed. "Well its better than puking on you right?" "You are a pathetic excuse for an investigator." "And you are a pathetic excuse of a woman." "EXCUSE ME?" She slapped me. I had a searing pain on my cheek now, and rubbed it lightly. "Please excuse my remark...its only the truth. You are a man in a woman's body." I dodged the next slap and grabbed her arm, lightly twisting it. "Please don't screw with me anymore." "Why not Henry?" "Because I just figured out where I am and who that is." I pointed a scratched up finger at the burnt body. "That's John, he was the local occult book seller." "Oh dear lord...get off this obsession you have with the occult." "Its not my fault I was born into a family of magicians obsessed with the paranormal and demons and monsters." __________________________ My name is Henry Archer. I was born in a small village south of Falador. It used to be called small and desolate by everyone living there, now its called extremely small and unlivable. Remington is the technical name,but technical names are only for scientists and rich jerkoffs. How's that old poem go? Born in a small town with no name and then the city folks come and start to play their little game name the town a village instead, and say how inhumane it is to walk around with heads. It only makes sense if your from a small town, or, as the poem implies, what city folks call a village. Of course, then the city folks shun us because we live in the "burbs". They mean suburbs in their crazy and pathetic language. Too much slang. They are quite a lazy bunch, not even able to say the word will not, instead saying "won't". Now that I am a city folk I guess I get why. There is to much to do and to much to say so you just want to get right to the point. So when I became a teenager, I got a job in Falador with a local blacksmith, at first running coal and such from the mine to the furnace, and then to the blacksmith, and then mining, and then using the furnace, until finally I was making swords and daggers for adventurers who would come by. I envied them, their carefree life where they could go anywhere, slept out in the wild and scared all the beasts away just by staring at them. I learned soon enough that that was BS... My parents being the magicians they were (not technically wizards since my parents "Magic" appealed only to children) they were obsessed with the occult. Our local witch, who was also ironically a [bleep], told me I would be able to work for her. Old Hetty. I always hoped she'd keel over dead while I was stirring her potions. But of course, that never happened. I was practically doing this for my parents so they would be able to read some of her occult books. Soon, I got sick of it and quit, which led to my first adventure. Hetty was a nut. Maybe it was that large wart on her nose, or perhaps it was just having lived for quite some time. I did not know. But what I did know was that I totally screwed up. She screamed at me. She yelled, "You are mine forever." I just plainly said, "Nope." She became an enraged old woman. I was hoping she would have a heart attack by then, but she stayed standing. Its weird, because then I decided to run to Falador and ask one of those adventurers I so envied to help me, and the man simply replied, "A witch? Are you crazy? Those are tough..." I cannot remember what obscenity he used, but I remember that it was quite a chain of them. Soon, I was all over Falador, asking everyone to help me, and they would always laugh at me like I were a jester. So, I decided I would face the mean old biddy myself. I made my own sword at the blacksmiths, and walked back to Remington with it. I bombarded her house and began cutting everything up. Her pot fell before me, some type of green liquid suddenly touching her shoes. She just screamed as she turned into a frog. Typical witch type stuff. So, I decided to take her books and sell them at the wizards tower, a nearby complex full of old guys saying that they could control the elements. Soon enough, I learned that it was nothing to laugh about. They had power beyond my imagination and as I began giving them some of the books, they told me I had untapped power in me and that if I trained with them, I would be powerful. Yeah, right... _______________________________ And here I am, so powerful, I am literally able to go to the bathroom in my pants and leave no trace... Well, that was not the best example I could have given you but I guess its the only one that comes to mind. I guess its because here I am in the goblin and elf warzone, with no ditch to go in. God I hate these modern warzones, don't even have the decency to add in someplace to go to the bathroom. Well, I was here in the wonderful world of pathetic people fighting with oversized turtles because of one of the goblins, Wartface I believe is his name. I go over to the amazingly complex barracks of the goblins, where I find some guards. I just wave them off and they walk away in a drunken state. The large wooden building provided much cover from the pounding rain outside. So much in fact, that I was dodging waterfalls coming from the broken ceiling. Once I found the small and lumpy bed of Wartface, I kicked it. I heard a grunt and saw a large and ugly face peek out from beneath the bed. "War over yet?" He asked. "Not yet." I said and sat down on the bad. My [wagon] suddenly felt a sharp pain. I pulled the covers away, and noticed a large ant that's abdomen was crushed beneath my butt. "Sorry." I said and sat up. The ant rushed away and I began to rub my butt. Thankfully, no one came in during this time and noticed this. Wartface paid no attention in his masterful hiding spot below the bed. "So Wartface, know anything of an occult bookseller in Ardoungue?" "Um, no...I am just goblin. Not big bad magician like you." "Not magician, wizard. There is a difference." "Oh yeah, such a huge difference. One pulls bird from sleeve and other pulls bird from nowhere." "Yes. And I might pull a terrorbird from nowhere if you do not answer my question." "NO!" Wartface suddenly pulled out from under the bed and stood, his face now showing a bit of emotion. "Nothing but elven monstrosities." "Then answer my question." "The only occult man we know was dead the other day...burnt alive." "Yes, but do you know the person who killed him? Does he have any...somewhat odder than usual connections you know of?" "One...a dark wizard from large tower on island way west...past the land of elves even." "And this island is called?" "I do not know anything but that. Please no terrorbird." "Are you sure? I really need to work on my summoning..." "It is called Death Isle! There I tell you! You happy?" Suddenly, the goblins eyes rolled back in his head. "What the..." The goblin blew up. I groaned as I found myself covered in blood and guts. I threw my cloak to the ground and stomped off. "Always the friggin' cloak...always my favorite cloak...the one that costs a whole paycheck..." I continued my somewhat incoherent muttering all the way back to Ardoungue.

crap is such a harsh word!!

Xewleehr! Have you been on drugs or something! Your post have been hyper...A lot...(Example=Bold) And you do it in a lot of Ratchets posts--oooooooohhhh, it's because they're Ratchets posts...In that case... I AGREE!!!!!!111111 Hahahahahaha, just kidding, seriously...It was pretty good, but not as funny as your other things which I still didn't like anyway but I go to and read now and again because I get a good laugh now and then even though I'm not a fan and stuff but I still go 'cause like I said above and stuff and Oblivion is a really fun game and I like playing it maybe you should base a story around that and make fun of bluejay in the process and (Runs out of breath and dies) I'm eager to see more...Er, I mean read more...Ya... Whoa...you guys need to take a nice little break from the forum...you guys are running out of sleep...

LOL...TY^^^ WOOT 100 posts! Anyway, 13 more days till I will be gone for 2 weeks with no internet, so somebody else will have to take over...who...??? You guys seem to be doing fine on your own, you have to get to Al Kharid castle, since everyone seems to be doing fine without me giving too much info I'll let you complete it however you like. Give you more freedom than a lot of those other RPGs...

^^^I think its the Mist...

...Um...I just am a comedian sort of guy...and like to write about crazy...situations?

One more, I sent Archimage an idea, and I wanna know if you could draw Zerg Hawks... Zerg... If you want to try heres his description: Wears tattered clothes, exposing his greyish flesh, rife with many tattoos (do whatever). He is a thief with a dagger. He is small (think of a hobbit...) and he thinks he is an elf, when he is actually human. Need anymore description tell me.

^^^I'll use.

kk

This topic of course!