Forums » Role Playing
EDIT: P.S. Apologies to all for some of the grammatical mistakes in here... I just looked back at it now, and I realize that most of the time spent writing this was spent with -20 hours of sleep. I'll get around to fixing it later.
I was born to fly. Everything I knew of myself felt lighter than the world I was born into. It buoyed me into the heavens.
Though the life from before still molded my chains, I did not feel them yet.
I grew in a city. Unlike many cities, its attachment to nature was omnipresent.
My childhood home lay on the edge of one of the borders, a wall of trees and life lay on one side, with the expanse of the residential neighborhood on the other. The final resting place of my parents, who of course, like most itani, found this a place of peace, and retirement.
It was valuable, not as itself, but as an absence of clutter, a place from which they could leap to their own personal enlightenment.
To me, it was flowing, alive in itself. Much to the chagrin of my parents, I concentrated too hard on its simple beauty, and hampered my ability to align my mental focus.
Lacking the mental fortitude to join the local abbey. I chose to seek my alignment elsewhere, and managed to convince the enlistment representative that despite my marginal ability to achieve the one-ness with my ship, I had ability to keep up.
And so began my life as a soldier and combat pilot.
Combat pilots in itani culture, are a bit like the executioners of a society that condemns capital punishment. Officially, everyone wishes they didn't exist, and yet they still cling to the sentence.
I spent a few months in training, fighting hivequeen runoff and developing a spirit of comradery with my toonmates. I was a bit unique in my background. Most excelled at their respective abbeys, and were here to protect that. I instead was looking for something else. Despite their cultivated natures, they could not respect my search, since I appeared to be blind to the wealth of knowledge available. Though one friend, callsign flea, noted for his infinite patience, would always sit and listen.
This lonely environment was maintained up until I finally was given command of a true fighter, a Border Guardian Centurion and sent to the front. We traveled in convoy, protecting some head of state, whose name we weren't privy to.
Us new recruits played scouts, keeping our eyes open for the wink of a warpgate. It was not particularly complicated, and most used the opportunity to practice with their weps, weaving in and out, trying to replace anxiety with pattern. I mock-dueled flea, watching the way he moved, trying to stay ahead of him.
It was in this simple game that I realized my way of fighting. It wasn't a realization that the monks had ever spoken of. Suddenly, my mind went blank, every movement and command, flowed in and out, my mind was a sieve. I wasn't thinking about where he was going, it was just reaction. My fear melted.
I woke up to flea's communication.
"Shape, what WAS that? You moved like we do, what happened?"
I just thanked him and cut communication, I didn't want to corrupt the moment.
................................
Our shift was over. A few had noticed me and flea's combat, and came up afterward, brotherly pride on most of their faces. Several were curious to see if my mental abilities had increased to match my newfound ability to control my ship.
This kind of test tends to involve pilots throwing small, heavy objects at the pilot in question. The pilot then tries to deflect them by will alone.
Unfortunately for my ribs, Itani have excellent aim (they guide the stone with their own abilities) and my shield abilities were no better than before.
A number of apologies and a trip to the infirmary later, I was back in my quarters, writing home about my experiences. The subspace wormhole relay system(SWRS, pronounced "Sewers") would likely get the message back to Eo in a few days. Who knows what would happen by then.
My bunkmate, flea, watched me curiously, scanning me as if to see if I had developed some new appendage. I stopped and gave him a smirk and a shrug. What could I say? I didn't know how it happened, and a part of me told me that understanding wasn't a prerequisite.
To get our mind off the subject, I pulled out my goban, made of real wood, at least 1000 years old, a gift from my father, priceless beyond measure. I invited flea to a game.
My toonmates often ribbed me for my love of this object. While many of them also loved to play the game, it would have been the same for them, to simply play on their console, or on a synthwood copy.
I couldn't explain the simple beauty of its age, of the memories that it held. Every game seemed to tap into something, to connect to a memory of long ago. And while the lives lived above it might have been forgotten, the object of connection was visible.
And so we played. For all my mediocrity as a pilot, on the board,
I had the respect of all of my comrades.
Flea took a 5 stone handicap.
The game flowed, moving all over, until flea could no longer keep his groups safe. The weaknesses magnified till there was nothing left. I played fast, keeping good shape. It was of course, my callsign.
In the endgame, it was a foregone conclusion, but we played all the same, go is as much about teaching as it is about winning and losing. And as we began to fill the neutral space, the dame, the alarm rang through the corridor. The game remained, I would never see my goban again.
---------------
We got a short briefing while the BG's were being primed. A small serco raiding party, a few proms and guardians, had jumped out of warp near our position and were rapidly approaching. I felt the sudden acceleration as my cent was kicked out of the cruiser,
and I hit the accelerator.
Behind me, the rest of my toon continued to pour out, while turbo exhaust blurred the vision in front. Checking my radar, I had 5 red signatures on a vector to a ship in the middle of the convoy.
Something wasn't right. No raiding party was that stupid, 5 serco S-class fighters against a fully armed itani fleet? Was this Serco hubris? We'd been warned of the serco honor complex, but even this seemed too much. The markings didn't resemble the SAF fleet though. A separatist group?
The fleet was doin it by the book, as the larger frigates took positions on the outside, the Centurions swarmed in after the enemies. Suddenly, my radar dropped out, communications went to static, and I was all alone in a sea of coordination.
The formation started to break up as entropy reigned. I was blinded as hundreds of warpgates opened.
A few things went through my head. The serco had clearly set up a EM-field, emanating from one of the small fighters. Radar and any EM-signal were totally drowned out by the noise. The upshot was that the serco were in the same situation we were. The downside was that they almost certainly were ready for it.
A large attack group moved in toward the capital frigate, my home now for the last few months. A few fighters broke off from their pursuit of the initial attack party, but there was no structure to their maneuver. They were roughly 20 individuals against a finely tuned machine. They didn't last long.
4 prometheus-class vessels unloaded a rocket screen out of which there was no escape. Some of the finer pilots managed to take out a few of the rockets, but the explosions of their comrades made any survival past the first volley impossible.
Flea and I were still on a vector to the initial force, but out of the 5 there was no way of determining which prom held the device, perhaps they all did.
It was too late for even such hope. The ambush had already taken out the outer defenses and was working its way in. The proms had backup. Flea apparently didn't notice.
He unloaded on one of the proms, dropping it to 15% hull, I swooped in and mopped up.
Still no luck. Radar was dead, and our other frigates were in various modes of complete defeat.
I realized there was no escape. Serco didn't keep prisoners for anything other than the games, or military tests.
Flea was dodging 4 serco. Eternally in his wake and shrouded by the explosions of our own fighters, my luck won out. I had been ignored.
My moment of brilliance, my moment of cowardice, I climbed inside an empty cargo container (the BG doesn't carry much, but we are equipped for short resource runs) and set up my baby for self destruct. There might be a way to get out of this alive.
I felt the simu-grav of the ship drop out, and I was in free fall.
There are no windows in a cargo canister, and no sound of space.
I broke down in my suit. What was the use of my newfound abilities or understanding? when I didn't have the honor to die with my comrades.
I had 3 hours of air, if my idea worked, I would regret living to the end of my days. If it didn't, circumstance would leave me the honor I denied.
-----------------------------------
The explosion of my ship had briefly buffeted the cannister. I spent the time with my possessions. A small ion blaster, a radio, a few rations, and a clamshell stone, still with me from the game --- A pauper's grave.
I scanned the local bands for activity. An hour ago, the static had subsided, and I had been listenin ever since.
Its not as if I could contact anyone. There was still a chance the serco were out there and there was no way to use the radio to send out a message that didn't use itani encryption, it was hardwired in.
I slept. Life is about transitions, the best times are when you don't notice them.
On the practical side, it might buy me a few more minutes. When you're stressed you tend to be a bit of a "Huffer".
..........................
I was at the top of a cliff. Beneath me water raged. The edge stretched out to both sides and curled, enclosing the sea.
I walked forward and fell.
My feet connected with the wall and ran to keep up.
Down into the water,
which drew me in, and then, in a singular, smooth motion,
carried me back onto the cliff wall.
And I ran, ran along the side, till I was slowly pulled down into the water again.
Again it took me in, and continued.
All I could feel was the thrill of running
and of being connected to the water. We had merged,
and I raged
with it.
Never run on wet sandstone,
I tripped, and awoke.
I was back in simugrav.
-----------------------------------------
I waited.
After about an hour sitting in my prison, clutching my blaster, the inevitable came.
I heard the latches on the cargo container click, one by one.
When it opened, I stood up and aimed at my captor.
The boy stopped dead and stared, then crumpled to the floor.
For a moment, I thought I had fired,
but he was still breathing
and my sidearm was cold.
I climbed out, my weapon still steadied, though my arm was fighting to tremble.
He was very young, not older than 20, and not serco either. The small Biocom insignia on his jumper gave me all the information I needed to know.
A salvaging crew had picked me up. Searching through the battlefield for scrap, they got me. And now, I had to figure out what to do next. Blowing this kid away was certainly out.
Crouching next to him, I whispered to him in common:
"Get me to safety and I'll make sure you're well compensated"
No response. I cuffed him on the back of the head and spoke a bit louder:
"Wake up, I don't want to kill you"
He gulped, and nodded quickly.
I relaxed my grip on my gun a bit:
"What's your name?"
He breathed out slowly and lowered his hands
"They call me Anson"
----------------------------
Now, of the rest of my life, I'm afraid I may have to be rather brief.
A friendship budded with the young merchant, and we traveled long together, attempting to repair both ships and wounds.
With the sheer absurdity of the loss of life facing me, I realized that the only end to this war that I could live with, was an end without a winner.
At every turn though I was hampered, we would rush in to defend a
venting fighter, only to see a vessel bearing the same UIT marks as ours pass us by and jump through a wormhole toward itani space. Phase arrays were a pricy commodity.
The hypocrisy of it drove me mad.
"Neutrals", selling arms, and always in balance. Keeping the blood of the conflict flowing to every cancerous cell in the galaxy.
And forever was "the Law" revered.
"There can be no morality without the law", I was told by an elderly merchant, and he gave me a condescending gaze. I shot back at him, "Unjust and flawed law makes its own morality".
Anson could see the anger within me growing, and our stays on UIT
controlled planets became shorter with each passing year. The drink killed the pain of my old cowardice in facing these demons, and found me fighting them everywhere, and in everyone I met.
It was just a matter of time.
----------------------
He was a luxgoods trader from Artana. Good looking, ambitious, with a silver tongue and a gold wallet.
But despite his considerable accolades and advantages. He had the misfortune of pushing me past the breaking point.
A slight, no more than a trifle. He laughed at my robe and my implants (merchant issue) , and smiled, "So the Itani have finally realized the profit motive, eh?"
My anger swelled my eyes shut, my mind pushed every ignorant and shortsighted conversation relating the war and the flow of commerce into the forefront.
He was dead before I had finished remembering.
Anson ran off in fear.
-------------------
I fled to the one place where I believed an itani could fall in love with their shame. I fled to serco space.
I sold my robes, my merchants implants, and spent what I had on black market serco military issue implants. I would blend in, and sink into my depression.
As they jacked my mind in, I felt the sudden shock of a disorderly consciousness. Full of "artificial" data and a kind of almost drug-induced perception, I stumbled a bit.
My purity was gone. And I wandered from colony to colony, drinking and fighting.
Until finally, I came upon a farmstead in the wilderness of Betheshee I.
I heard yelling and ran to the scene of the crime, to find two boys locked in combat. I was going to pull them apart and admonish them, when, to my surprise, the tussle ended.
One boy stood up and proclaimed his defeat. The other waved it off and said in a commanding fashion, "Once more Romus, and then we go home"
The boy leapt up, and charged him.
Such a thing would have been unthinkable for itani children. To fight for no reason but to fight, barbaric it seemed.
But as I looked at it, I realized that there was no malice in it.
The boys were far more clearheaded in these things than I ever thought was possible.
My mind swirled, would not this violence escalate? Was this just the beginning of some shakespearian tragedy?
And I looked over, to see their father, a blaster in one hand, a pitcher of water in the other.
----------------
What followed was too personal for me ever to commit to page. Sufficeth to say, the serco understood their community, they loved one-another's company.
There was no desire to seek enlightenment, they had contentment.
And so alongside them, I took up the path of the warrior.
But never against my itani brethren, misguided I now saw them, but not without their values.
I had to kill the war, if that meant killing every cell in its body.
So begins a pirate.
I was born to fly. Everything I knew of myself felt lighter than the world I was born into. It buoyed me into the heavens.
Though the life from before still molded my chains, I did not feel them yet.
I grew in a city. Unlike many cities, its attachment to nature was omnipresent.
My childhood home lay on the edge of one of the borders, a wall of trees and life lay on one side, with the expanse of the residential neighborhood on the other. The final resting place of my parents, who of course, like most itani, found this a place of peace, and retirement.
It was valuable, not as itself, but as an absence of clutter, a place from which they could leap to their own personal enlightenment.
To me, it was flowing, alive in itself. Much to the chagrin of my parents, I concentrated too hard on its simple beauty, and hampered my ability to align my mental focus.
Lacking the mental fortitude to join the local abbey. I chose to seek my alignment elsewhere, and managed to convince the enlistment representative that despite my marginal ability to achieve the one-ness with my ship, I had ability to keep up.
And so began my life as a soldier and combat pilot.
Combat pilots in itani culture, are a bit like the executioners of a society that condemns capital punishment. Officially, everyone wishes they didn't exist, and yet they still cling to the sentence.
I spent a few months in training, fighting hivequeen runoff and developing a spirit of comradery with my toonmates. I was a bit unique in my background. Most excelled at their respective abbeys, and were here to protect that. I instead was looking for something else. Despite their cultivated natures, they could not respect my search, since I appeared to be blind to the wealth of knowledge available. Though one friend, callsign flea, noted for his infinite patience, would always sit and listen.
This lonely environment was maintained up until I finally was given command of a true fighter, a Border Guardian Centurion and sent to the front. We traveled in convoy, protecting some head of state, whose name we weren't privy to.
Us new recruits played scouts, keeping our eyes open for the wink of a warpgate. It was not particularly complicated, and most used the opportunity to practice with their weps, weaving in and out, trying to replace anxiety with pattern. I mock-dueled flea, watching the way he moved, trying to stay ahead of him.
It was in this simple game that I realized my way of fighting. It wasn't a realization that the monks had ever spoken of. Suddenly, my mind went blank, every movement and command, flowed in and out, my mind was a sieve. I wasn't thinking about where he was going, it was just reaction. My fear melted.
I woke up to flea's communication.
"Shape, what WAS that? You moved like we do, what happened?"
I just thanked him and cut communication, I didn't want to corrupt the moment.
................................
Our shift was over. A few had noticed me and flea's combat, and came up afterward, brotherly pride on most of their faces. Several were curious to see if my mental abilities had increased to match my newfound ability to control my ship.
This kind of test tends to involve pilots throwing small, heavy objects at the pilot in question. The pilot then tries to deflect them by will alone.
Unfortunately for my ribs, Itani have excellent aim (they guide the stone with their own abilities) and my shield abilities were no better than before.
A number of apologies and a trip to the infirmary later, I was back in my quarters, writing home about my experiences. The subspace wormhole relay system(SWRS, pronounced "Sewers") would likely get the message back to Eo in a few days. Who knows what would happen by then.
My bunkmate, flea, watched me curiously, scanning me as if to see if I had developed some new appendage. I stopped and gave him a smirk and a shrug. What could I say? I didn't know how it happened, and a part of me told me that understanding wasn't a prerequisite.
To get our mind off the subject, I pulled out my goban, made of real wood, at least 1000 years old, a gift from my father, priceless beyond measure. I invited flea to a game.
My toonmates often ribbed me for my love of this object. While many of them also loved to play the game, it would have been the same for them, to simply play on their console, or on a synthwood copy.
I couldn't explain the simple beauty of its age, of the memories that it held. Every game seemed to tap into something, to connect to a memory of long ago. And while the lives lived above it might have been forgotten, the object of connection was visible.
And so we played. For all my mediocrity as a pilot, on the board,
I had the respect of all of my comrades.
Flea took a 5 stone handicap.
The game flowed, moving all over, until flea could no longer keep his groups safe. The weaknesses magnified till there was nothing left. I played fast, keeping good shape. It was of course, my callsign.
In the endgame, it was a foregone conclusion, but we played all the same, go is as much about teaching as it is about winning and losing. And as we began to fill the neutral space, the dame, the alarm rang through the corridor. The game remained, I would never see my goban again.
---------------
We got a short briefing while the BG's were being primed. A small serco raiding party, a few proms and guardians, had jumped out of warp near our position and were rapidly approaching. I felt the sudden acceleration as my cent was kicked out of the cruiser,
and I hit the accelerator.
Behind me, the rest of my toon continued to pour out, while turbo exhaust blurred the vision in front. Checking my radar, I had 5 red signatures on a vector to a ship in the middle of the convoy.
Something wasn't right. No raiding party was that stupid, 5 serco S-class fighters against a fully armed itani fleet? Was this Serco hubris? We'd been warned of the serco honor complex, but even this seemed too much. The markings didn't resemble the SAF fleet though. A separatist group?
The fleet was doin it by the book, as the larger frigates took positions on the outside, the Centurions swarmed in after the enemies. Suddenly, my radar dropped out, communications went to static, and I was all alone in a sea of coordination.
The formation started to break up as entropy reigned. I was blinded as hundreds of warpgates opened.
A few things went through my head. The serco had clearly set up a EM-field, emanating from one of the small fighters. Radar and any EM-signal were totally drowned out by the noise. The upshot was that the serco were in the same situation we were. The downside was that they almost certainly were ready for it.
A large attack group moved in toward the capital frigate, my home now for the last few months. A few fighters broke off from their pursuit of the initial attack party, but there was no structure to their maneuver. They were roughly 20 individuals against a finely tuned machine. They didn't last long.
4 prometheus-class vessels unloaded a rocket screen out of which there was no escape. Some of the finer pilots managed to take out a few of the rockets, but the explosions of their comrades made any survival past the first volley impossible.
Flea and I were still on a vector to the initial force, but out of the 5 there was no way of determining which prom held the device, perhaps they all did.
It was too late for even such hope. The ambush had already taken out the outer defenses and was working its way in. The proms had backup. Flea apparently didn't notice.
He unloaded on one of the proms, dropping it to 15% hull, I swooped in and mopped up.
Still no luck. Radar was dead, and our other frigates were in various modes of complete defeat.
I realized there was no escape. Serco didn't keep prisoners for anything other than the games, or military tests.
Flea was dodging 4 serco. Eternally in his wake and shrouded by the explosions of our own fighters, my luck won out. I had been ignored.
My moment of brilliance, my moment of cowardice, I climbed inside an empty cargo container (the BG doesn't carry much, but we are equipped for short resource runs) and set up my baby for self destruct. There might be a way to get out of this alive.
I felt the simu-grav of the ship drop out, and I was in free fall.
There are no windows in a cargo canister, and no sound of space.
I broke down in my suit. What was the use of my newfound abilities or understanding? when I didn't have the honor to die with my comrades.
I had 3 hours of air, if my idea worked, I would regret living to the end of my days. If it didn't, circumstance would leave me the honor I denied.
-----------------------------------
The explosion of my ship had briefly buffeted the cannister. I spent the time with my possessions. A small ion blaster, a radio, a few rations, and a clamshell stone, still with me from the game --- A pauper's grave.
I scanned the local bands for activity. An hour ago, the static had subsided, and I had been listenin ever since.
Its not as if I could contact anyone. There was still a chance the serco were out there and there was no way to use the radio to send out a message that didn't use itani encryption, it was hardwired in.
I slept. Life is about transitions, the best times are when you don't notice them.
On the practical side, it might buy me a few more minutes. When you're stressed you tend to be a bit of a "Huffer".
..........................
I was at the top of a cliff. Beneath me water raged. The edge stretched out to both sides and curled, enclosing the sea.
I walked forward and fell.
My feet connected with the wall and ran to keep up.
Down into the water,
which drew me in, and then, in a singular, smooth motion,
carried me back onto the cliff wall.
And I ran, ran along the side, till I was slowly pulled down into the water again.
Again it took me in, and continued.
All I could feel was the thrill of running
and of being connected to the water. We had merged,
and I raged
with it.
Never run on wet sandstone,
I tripped, and awoke.
I was back in simugrav.
-----------------------------------------
I waited.
After about an hour sitting in my prison, clutching my blaster, the inevitable came.
I heard the latches on the cargo container click, one by one.
When it opened, I stood up and aimed at my captor.
The boy stopped dead and stared, then crumpled to the floor.
For a moment, I thought I had fired,
but he was still breathing
and my sidearm was cold.
I climbed out, my weapon still steadied, though my arm was fighting to tremble.
He was very young, not older than 20, and not serco either. The small Biocom insignia on his jumper gave me all the information I needed to know.
A salvaging crew had picked me up. Searching through the battlefield for scrap, they got me. And now, I had to figure out what to do next. Blowing this kid away was certainly out.
Crouching next to him, I whispered to him in common:
"Get me to safety and I'll make sure you're well compensated"
No response. I cuffed him on the back of the head and spoke a bit louder:
"Wake up, I don't want to kill you"
He gulped, and nodded quickly.
I relaxed my grip on my gun a bit:
"What's your name?"
He breathed out slowly and lowered his hands
"They call me Anson"
----------------------------
Now, of the rest of my life, I'm afraid I may have to be rather brief.
A friendship budded with the young merchant, and we traveled long together, attempting to repair both ships and wounds.
With the sheer absurdity of the loss of life facing me, I realized that the only end to this war that I could live with, was an end without a winner.
At every turn though I was hampered, we would rush in to defend a
venting fighter, only to see a vessel bearing the same UIT marks as ours pass us by and jump through a wormhole toward itani space. Phase arrays were a pricy commodity.
The hypocrisy of it drove me mad.
"Neutrals", selling arms, and always in balance. Keeping the blood of the conflict flowing to every cancerous cell in the galaxy.
And forever was "the Law" revered.
"There can be no morality without the law", I was told by an elderly merchant, and he gave me a condescending gaze. I shot back at him, "Unjust and flawed law makes its own morality".
Anson could see the anger within me growing, and our stays on UIT
controlled planets became shorter with each passing year. The drink killed the pain of my old cowardice in facing these demons, and found me fighting them everywhere, and in everyone I met.
It was just a matter of time.
----------------------
He was a luxgoods trader from Artana. Good looking, ambitious, with a silver tongue and a gold wallet.
But despite his considerable accolades and advantages. He had the misfortune of pushing me past the breaking point.
A slight, no more than a trifle. He laughed at my robe and my implants (merchant issue) , and smiled, "So the Itani have finally realized the profit motive, eh?"
My anger swelled my eyes shut, my mind pushed every ignorant and shortsighted conversation relating the war and the flow of commerce into the forefront.
He was dead before I had finished remembering.
Anson ran off in fear.
-------------------
I fled to the one place where I believed an itani could fall in love with their shame. I fled to serco space.
I sold my robes, my merchants implants, and spent what I had on black market serco military issue implants. I would blend in, and sink into my depression.
As they jacked my mind in, I felt the sudden shock of a disorderly consciousness. Full of "artificial" data and a kind of almost drug-induced perception, I stumbled a bit.
My purity was gone. And I wandered from colony to colony, drinking and fighting.
Until finally, I came upon a farmstead in the wilderness of Betheshee I.
I heard yelling and ran to the scene of the crime, to find two boys locked in combat. I was going to pull them apart and admonish them, when, to my surprise, the tussle ended.
One boy stood up and proclaimed his defeat. The other waved it off and said in a commanding fashion, "Once more Romus, and then we go home"
The boy leapt up, and charged him.
Such a thing would have been unthinkable for itani children. To fight for no reason but to fight, barbaric it seemed.
But as I looked at it, I realized that there was no malice in it.
The boys were far more clearheaded in these things than I ever thought was possible.
My mind swirled, would not this violence escalate? Was this just the beginning of some shakespearian tragedy?
And I looked over, to see their father, a blaster in one hand, a pitcher of water in the other.
----------------
What followed was too personal for me ever to commit to page. Sufficeth to say, the serco understood their community, they loved one-another's company.
There was no desire to seek enlightenment, they had contentment.
And so alongside them, I took up the path of the warrior.
But never against my itani brethren, misguided I now saw them, but not without their values.
I had to kill the war, if that meant killing every cell in its body.
So begins a pirate.
More, more, more.
I want to hear the next installment. Then maybe I'll learn to fight better:D
I want to hear the next installment. Then maybe I'll learn to fight better:D
Yeah we want one-ness too. :D
Great backstory Shape. Keep it up.
Broma-ba Slick
Broma-ba Slick
Excellent...now I wanna hear more :p
More.
Another or I shall organize a massive ec-88 raid upon your head.
/me wonders if flea will survive the next installment :D
shape stop being lazy, get to writing!!
shape stop being lazy, get to writing!!
flea is definitely going to die. I can almost hear flea make the "Hero speech" before being fried in the next installment....
Absence makes the heart grow fonder :P or at least more lazy. I have some intentions here, but its probably going to come down to being sleep deprived.
good. please stay sleep deprived :)
definitely more
Edit: Just connected it to the one at the top.
oooh
the suspense
the suspense
Oh jeez, I just realized why the title was familiar...
/me smacks Shapenaji
/me smacks Shapenaji
hehe, go player?
Edit: reminder, all new entries will be added to the end of the original one, for continuity
Edit: reminder, all new entries will be added to the end of the original one, for continuity
So far so good shape. Keep up the work. Hope to see new material soon.
More, please.
Good read!
Cron Lennan
Cron Lennan
Interesting! Reminds me of my story that I posted up about botting a Queen. Props. ^_^
~Tehnare
~Tehnare