This time when he woke up he was in the Stygian haven. "Dammit!" Another one of those peculiar rules of the world in which he lived was that he had to report his location by binding at a strange stone usually in small towns with strange 'staring' inhabitants or inside a 'haven'.
He had last done this in Stygia and that meant he was miles away from the action in the frontier. This is what he got for his 'sin' of not signing in and reporting where he was. "Ok. Well whilst I am here I may as well replenish my stocks." He ran down to the docks and dived into the water.
"Hibernia can wait I need fish!"
The roleplaying thread (a thread for tongue in cheek roleplaying)
& not just any old fish, but a very special fish indeed!
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Paddock - L60 Male Man Hunter - SM Tailor
Moegren - L53 Male Man Captain - SM Weaponsmith GM Woodworker
Paddreth - L60 Male Man Minstrel - SM Jeweller GM Cook
Skyros - L57 Male Man Loremaster - SM Scholar GM Farmer
Pauncho - L60 Male Hobbit Burglar - SM Armoursmith
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Paddock - L60 Male Man Hunter - SM Tailor
Moegren - L53 Male Man Captain - SM Weaponsmith GM Woodworker
Paddreth - L60 Male Man Minstrel - SM Jeweller GM Cook
Skyros - L57 Male Man Loremaster - SM Scholar GM Farmer
Pauncho - L60 Male Hobbit Burglar - SM Armoursmith
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Aran_Thule
- Posts: 1179
- Joined: Mon Feb 07, 2005 12:00 pm
Meanwhile in Castle Sauvage, hordes of cleric gathered.
Unlike the druids in Ligen who normally stood silent and unresponsive these 'holy' defenders actively discussed the state of affairs in Albion.
"i used to be out there, seeking glory in the kings name" said one, dressed in formaly grand armour that now showed signs of rust. "Now all thoose scouts pester me for my blessings"
His comments were interupted by the sudden arrival of a saracen clutching a bow who just stood before him looking impatiant.
The cleric chanted his blessing and the scout headed off without even a word of thanks.
A nearby armsmans looked up from where he had been sitting and called out tiredly. "Looking for group" but none responded, his calls going unheeded like the countless times before.
Another cleric, this one red eyed, turned and explained his problems.
"Damn thoose midgards and hibernians, why do they always attack us?"
A voice came from the shadows nearby swiftly followed by an infiltrator.
"I know i overheard a Hibernian war party, it seems their leader doesnt like paying taxes"
The clerics looked at him in confusion, then motioned for him to continue.
"The might not have taken the relic but the forces holding the bridge gave them enough time to remove the ale barrels being stored at the milegate."
"What!" shouted a nearby friar "why our ale, everytime its our ale why cant they take something else.
The assassin looked at his listeners and shook his head angrily.
"i head them saying why" he pause to gain the words that hurt him to say.
"They go for the ale because they cant stand our whine"
Unlike the druids in Ligen who normally stood silent and unresponsive these 'holy' defenders actively discussed the state of affairs in Albion.
"i used to be out there, seeking glory in the kings name" said one, dressed in formaly grand armour that now showed signs of rust. "Now all thoose scouts pester me for my blessings"
His comments were interupted by the sudden arrival of a saracen clutching a bow who just stood before him looking impatiant.
The cleric chanted his blessing and the scout headed off without even a word of thanks.
A nearby armsmans looked up from where he had been sitting and called out tiredly. "Looking for group" but none responded, his calls going unheeded like the countless times before.
Another cleric, this one red eyed, turned and explained his problems.
"Damn thoose midgards and hibernians, why do they always attack us?"
A voice came from the shadows nearby swiftly followed by an infiltrator.
"I know i overheard a Hibernian war party, it seems their leader doesnt like paying taxes"
The clerics looked at him in confusion, then motioned for him to continue.
"The might not have taken the relic but the forces holding the bridge gave them enough time to remove the ale barrels being stored at the milegate."
"What!" shouted a nearby friar "why our ale, everytime its our ale why cant they take something else.
The assassin looked at his listeners and shook his head angrily.
"i head them saying why" he pause to gain the words that hurt him to say.
"They go for the ale because they cant stand our whine"
Aran Thule, Epic Sniper and Sojourner, Guild leader of the Artisans of Willow(roleplay guild)
And the sun shines onto a table stained with lots of colors in a capital of Hibernia with lots of alchemists standing there discussing the possibilities of use for Albion ale.
Alch 1 "Yess, if you miksh tha' stuff in wiw you' potions you can shave oon e'ery elevensh boddle."
Alch 2 "Wouldn't that mean that the recipe is diluted?"
Alch 1 "<hic> Nooo. Noo differensh whatshoeve'."
Alch 2 "You got no side effects?"
Alch 1 "Onli by dringing t'e stuff myshelf."
Alch 1 "Yess, if you miksh tha' stuff in wiw you' potions you can shave oon e'ery elevensh boddle."
Alch 2 "Wouldn't that mean that the recipe is diluted?"
Alch 1 "<hic> Nooo. Noo differensh whatshoeve'."
Alch 2 "You got no side effects?"
Alch 1 "Onli by dringing t'e stuff myshelf."
"If you are not living on the edge, you occupy too much space!"
Meanwhile off the coast of the Stygian delta Sharkith quaffed the fishy potion and dived deeper and deeper into the warm waters. He stealthed up to avoid being spotted and spent some time hunting around for his quarry. After skewering a few choice fish he started to swim to the surface.
At that moment he gasped his potion had run out. He gargled as he searched frantically through his backback (yes he has the ability to swim with a backpack
) for more. None. He panicked and swam to the surface as slowly he began to drown. He exploded above water only to discover a large skiff nearby, a helping hand brought him on board.
"Haaar!" the fine figure cut a strong chisel-like pose as he stood above Sharkith straddling one of the benches. Sharkith could not help but notice something in his trousers the shape of a rather large cod.....
At that moment he gasped his potion had run out. He gargled as he searched frantically through his backback (yes he has the ability to swim with a backpack
) for more. None. He panicked and swam to the surface as slowly he began to drown. He exploded above water only to discover a large skiff nearby, a helping hand brought him on board."Haaar!" the fine figure cut a strong chisel-like pose as he stood above Sharkith straddling one of the benches. Sharkith could not help but notice something in his trousers the shape of a rather large cod.....
After a long night's sleep on the small boat. Sharkith woke up to Ankh, the gay pirates' inescent choking on a large fish. Sharkith fratically checked his pants realising that the large cod that had previously been camping his ball sack had dissapeared. By this time Ankh had began his epic journey across the great Mesothalasa ocean. Nothing was in sight for what appeared months for Sharkith.
In the distance the great Stygian Queen was sighted. Sharkith saw this as his opportunity to escape. He grabbed his bag with a potion from Ankh's pocket while he was sleeping and clambered off the side of the boat towards the large ship on the horizon...
In the distance the great Stygian Queen was sighted. Sharkith saw this as his opportunity to escape. He grabbed his bag with a potion from Ankh's pocket while he was sleeping and clambered off the side of the boat towards the large ship on the horizon...
Verail Lasero Lurikeen Brehon Enchantress 
Valmaare 50 Sylvan Brehon 
Mordenaar Gaulslayer 50 Lurikeen Silver Hand Vampiir 
Alm TeamZerg Lurikeen Constantoir BladeShade 
"Oh my", said Sharkith, "I am so lucky u happen to sail by just in time to save my life. I could never think of a way to repay you for this." But the pirate started to smile and said: "No worries little friend, i can think of many a way u can repay me and my sailor m8 Ankh. I am Captain Xest by the way, may i know ur name?"
Sharkith was confused, did he have water in his ears, or did this pirate really talk in a girlish way?? "I am Sharkith from Hibernia!", he said to the pirate, "i was out here to get some more fish after that sneaky luri Caestar stole my other."
"Aaarr m8y, u have not to worry! Myself and Ankh do a lot of fishing as well", said Captain Xest, "but first let me take u to the Blue Oyster Bar for a pint!"
Sharkith was confused, did he have water in his ears, or did this pirate really talk in a girlish way?? "I am Sharkith from Hibernia!", he said to the pirate, "i was out here to get some more fish after that sneaky luri Caestar stole my other."
"Aaarr m8y, u have not to worry! Myself and Ankh do a lot of fishing as well", said Captain Xest, "but first let me take u to the Blue Oyster Bar for a pint!"
Thandruil lvl51 Elf Ranger RR6L3 ML10 CL5 :thand:
Thand lvl51 Warden RR6L5 ML10 CL5
Vanara lvl50 Animist ML10
Extreme lvl50 Blademistress ML10
GM of Fallen Spirits :ranger:
Retired from DAoC now and started BF2142!
Thand lvl51 Warden RR6L5 ML10 CL5
Vanara lvl50 Animist ML10
Extreme lvl50 Blademistress ML10
GM of Fallen Spirits :ranger:
Retired from DAoC now and started BF2142!
Wyst was happily culling the badger population of Emain Macha when the cries went up that the tower was under seige. KNowing this could only result in two possible outcomes, the enemy seize the tower or a repair order would come in his direction he headed to the tower in preparation to defend or repair, whichever was required.
As he raced over the ruins surrounding the tower, his feet lightly touching the f*LAG*stones he felt his focus disappear and was lost to consciousness.
Upon waking in Drum Ligen he realised something was very wrong, he was suddenly in the form of a Shar female and found himself having to withhold very violent tendencies. This was not right, not right at all.
Over-hearing a conversation from the far side of the clearing, he distinctly heard a druidic type making discouraging references to having to enhance some lonely stealther type who had just re-appeared after suffering some form of relapse. Unable to listen to this tedious s*LAG*ging off of a friend he/she drew swords ready for a duel. As he/she moved through the crowd to find the perpetrator, another disorientation took place.
OK, Conn*LA, G*od only knew how long it had been since he last visited this remote spot, and what on earth was he now doing in the form of an Elf. At least he was male again, but wearing a robe was just uncomfortable after years of toil in heavy armour. Looking around he saw two sylvans casting up the field of shrooms. He heard their shouts come over, they were trying to b*LAG some form of power regeneration from him. Oddly enough he suddenly realised he could help them out and did so for the good of the sylvan race. As the surges of energy passed through he felt the sudden weakness and passed out.
This time he knew exactly where he was. Altan Garran, home of the Sylvan exiles, and more worryingly, home to his Mother. Passing towards the nearest treehouse, he heard the pleasantries. "Morning Cwmblyss, how are you today?" Looking down he realised he now inhabited the body of his mother.
This was now well beyond a joke! The *G*ods *O*f *A*lbion had clearly gone too far this time in their retribution of the people of Hibernia and it had to end RIGHTNOW.
As he raced over the ruins surrounding the tower, his feet lightly touching the f*LAG*stones he felt his focus disappear and was lost to consciousness.
Upon waking in Drum Ligen he realised something was very wrong, he was suddenly in the form of a Shar female and found himself having to withhold very violent tendencies. This was not right, not right at all.
Over-hearing a conversation from the far side of the clearing, he distinctly heard a druidic type making discouraging references to having to enhance some lonely stealther type who had just re-appeared after suffering some form of relapse. Unable to listen to this tedious s*LAG*ging off of a friend he/she drew swords ready for a duel. As he/she moved through the crowd to find the perpetrator, another disorientation took place.
OK, Conn*LA, G*od only knew how long it had been since he last visited this remote spot, and what on earth was he now doing in the form of an Elf. At least he was male again, but wearing a robe was just uncomfortable after years of toil in heavy armour. Looking around he saw two sylvans casting up the field of shrooms. He heard their shouts come over, they were trying to b*LAG some form of power regeneration from him. Oddly enough he suddenly realised he could help them out and did so for the good of the sylvan race. As the surges of energy passed through he felt the sudden weakness and passed out.
This time he knew exactly where he was. Altan Garran, home of the Sylvan exiles, and more worryingly, home to his Mother. Passing towards the nearest treehouse, he heard the pleasantries. "Morning Cwmblyss, how are you today?" Looking down he realised he now inhabited the body of his mother.
This was now well beyond a joke! The *G*ods *O*f *A*lbion had clearly gone too far this time in their retribution of the people of Hibernia and it had to end RIGHTNOW.
Wyst Fullthinker 50 Warden ML10 BM RR8+
Vilcleft Cullthinker 50 BM ML10 BL RR5+
Ydrys Bard ML10 Soj RR4+
Hegglion 50 Voidy M10 convoker RR3+
Grusalug Hero, brainless ML8 WL RR3+
Cwmblyss MotherofWyst ML10 Conv RR2+
Ydryst Darkside screamer ML10 RR4+
Arnfiorgrit Valewalker ML8 RR3+
Molarbfloem Druid ML10 Perfector RR6+
Quickflick NS ML5 RR3+
Some others of lesser note on other servers of no consequence
All now asleep and probably forgotton
Vilcleft Cullthinker 50 BM ML10 BL RR5+
Ydrys Bard ML10 Soj RR4+
Hegglion 50 Voidy M10 convoker RR3+
Grusalug Hero, brainless ML8 WL RR3+
Cwmblyss MotherofWyst ML10 Conv RR2+
Ydryst Darkside screamer ML10 RR4+
Arnfiorgrit Valewalker ML8 RR3+
Molarbfloem Druid ML10 Perfector RR6+
Quickflick NS ML5 RR3+
Some others of lesser note on other servers of no consequence
All now asleep and probably forgotton
King Thandruil, master of the Fallen Spirits was in Gandelf's laboratory where the great wizard was showing him his latest creation. It was a chastity belt, except it had a rather large hole in the most obvious place which made it basically useless.
'This is no good, Gandelf!' Thandruil exclaimed, 'Look at this opening. How is this supposed to protect my lady, Satyn the Queen of Fallen Spirits, when I'm on a epic quest?'
'Ah, sire, just observe,' said Gandelf. He then selected his most worn out staff, one he got prior to discovery of Atlantis, one that he was going to salvage anyway. He inserted it in the gaping aperture of the chastity belt whereupon a small guillotine blade came down and cut it neatly in two.
'Gandelf, you are a genius!' said the grateful monarch. 'Now I can leave, knowing that my Queen is fully protected.'
After putting Satyn in the device, Thandruil then set out upon a lengthy Quest, far south to Bog of Cullen. Several years passed until he returned to Tir na Nog. Immediately he assembled all of his knights in the courtyard and had them drop their trousers for an informal 'short arm' inspection.
Sure enough, each and every one of them - be it Bourkester, Amedor, Valky, Sporin, Sehanine or Windwalka - was either amputated or damaged in some way. All of them, except Sir Ankh.
'Sir Ankh,' exclaimed Thandruil. 'You are my one and only true knight! Only you among all the nobles have been true to me. What is it in my power to grant you? Name it and it is yours.'
But, alas, Sir Ankh was speechless.
'This is no good, Gandelf!' Thandruil exclaimed, 'Look at this opening. How is this supposed to protect my lady, Satyn the Queen of Fallen Spirits, when I'm on a epic quest?'
'Ah, sire, just observe,' said Gandelf. He then selected his most worn out staff, one he got prior to discovery of Atlantis, one that he was going to salvage anyway. He inserted it in the gaping aperture of the chastity belt whereupon a small guillotine blade came down and cut it neatly in two.
'Gandelf, you are a genius!' said the grateful monarch. 'Now I can leave, knowing that my Queen is fully protected.'
After putting Satyn in the device, Thandruil then set out upon a lengthy Quest, far south to Bog of Cullen. Several years passed until he returned to Tir na Nog. Immediately he assembled all of his knights in the courtyard and had them drop their trousers for an informal 'short arm' inspection.
Sure enough, each and every one of them - be it Bourkester, Amedor, Valky, Sporin, Sehanine or Windwalka - was either amputated or damaged in some way. All of them, except Sir Ankh.
'Sir Ankh,' exclaimed Thandruil. 'You are my one and only true knight! Only you among all the nobles have been true to me. What is it in my power to grant you? Name it and it is yours.'
But, alas, Sir Ankh was speechless.
Hep, treated MMORPG addict, on the way to master his uni
Morana, one of a few Rangers, that did not Zerg. Retired for good.
Morana, one of a few Rangers, that did not Zerg. Retired for good.