(Entry is neatly penned, with ornate loops. The text glows faintly like flame.)
Dear Diary:
It's been quiet, and I've been educating myself with Master Lehninger's treatise on Biochemistry. It has been two days since I was carefully removed and ripped from my blister pack. Feels so good to be out of there! It also appears that she has placed me upon a spot of honor, right next to her tomes of knowledge. My plastic brethren, alas have to content with a spot on her shelves. This is in turn located upon a gigantic wood desk.
I've noticed our owner's strange tendencies to plug a long coil to a gigantic screen. One end of the coil is attached to a thing which I assume to be a stone of power - whenever she pushes a silvery mechanism, the most unearthly whirling noise is generated from the screen. The screen will then flicker to life and light will appear on it. I am not sure why this is here - perhaps she has Chaos infestation? If this is the case, we must investigate as soon as more of my brethren joins the battle.
There appears to be a box of dwarves and goblins atop a storage bin. I can only assume that this belongs to a friend and that it is merely stored here - it would make no sense that she would devote her time to any other army but to us -
Half a second. I think one of the Archers is stuck underneath the dark stone of power again. I shall attempt a rescue. Until next time.
Signed,
Caradryan.
[Humor/Journal]: Journal of a ragtag High Elven Army
Moderators: The Heralds, The Loremasters
[Humor/Journal]: Journal of a ragtag High Elven Army
Last edited by Arondight on Thu Dec 25, 2008 1:10 am, edited 3 times in total.
DEAR DIARY:
(This part appeared to have been nearly crossed out with a single, firm flaming stroke)
SHE STEPPED ON ME AND ANARIS. AND THE ENTIRE REGIMENT. OH [this portion have been clearly burnt off by whoever was scratching it out]. OW. OWOWOWOWOWOWOWOWOWOW THE PAIN THE PAIN THE PAIN MY PAINT JOB IS RUINED THE PAIN THE
(This part seems to have abruptly came to a stop as Caradryan appeared to have scribbled something along the sidelines)
Balance and control. Balance and control.
Dear Diary.
Today I was stepped on by my owner, along with a regiment of the finest sons and daughters of Ulthuan. Though we mourn our losses of limb and torsos, I am confident that she will put us back together. We shall extract harsh vengeance against the now-assembled dwarves who pushed us off the cliff-shelf of The Room. Even now, we wait eagerly as she steps out to seek the magical adhesive that will put us back together.
(This part appeared to have been nearly crossed out with a single, firm flaming stroke)
SHE STEPPED ON ME AND ANARIS. AND THE ENTIRE REGIMENT. OH [this portion have been clearly burnt off by whoever was scratching it out]. OW. OWOWOWOWOWOWOWOWOWOW THE PAIN THE PAIN THE PAIN MY PAINT JOB IS RUINED THE PAIN THE
(This part seems to have abruptly came to a stop as Caradryan appeared to have scribbled something along the sidelines)
Balance and control. Balance and control.
Dear Diary.
Today I was stepped on by my owner, along with a regiment of the finest sons and daughters of Ulthuan. Though we mourn our losses of limb and torsos, I am confident that she will put us back together. We shall extract harsh vengeance against the now-assembled dwarves who pushed us off the cliff-shelf of The Room. Even now, we wait eagerly as she steps out to seek the magical adhesive that will put us back together.
Last edited by Arondight on Thu Nov 06, 2008 6:17 pm, edited 1 time in total.
(Entry is neatly penned, with ornate loops. The text glows faintly like flame.)
Dear Diary:
My owner has just spent the last hour in front of her laptop screen instead of priming me. It is just as I feared! The box-screen is a gateway to the warp, and it's drawing her soul in! It is made out of strange material, and our blades cannot scratch it.
On a separate note, our archers are now floating blissfully in a tub of a mixture between "nail polish" and some other, green and chaotic looking liquid. Hopefully they'll be well before the day's up.
Dear Diary:
My owner has just spent the last hour in front of her laptop screen instead of priming me. It is just as I feared! The box-screen is a gateway to the warp, and it's drawing her soul in! It is made out of strange material, and our blades cannot scratch it.
On a separate note, our archers are now floating blissfully in a tub of a mixture between "nail polish" and some other, green and chaotic looking liquid. Hopefully they'll be well before the day's up.
good thing cadrian has sworn an oath of silence or i'd have to be listing to this on some podcast ... the horror... the pain... the pain .... the pain...
pictures-pictures!!
does cadrian make any scetches in his dairy?
-btw elves have more than one god, so instead of oh my god it might state, " by the flames of asuryan)
pictures-pictures!!
does cadrian make any scetches in his dairy?
-btw elves have more than one god, so instead of oh my god it might state, " by the flames of asuryan)
(The next page is written differently, presumably by the Spear/Sea guard captain. Large, blocky letters lined the pages rigidly, suggesting the writer was of Chracian descent.)
XI, Storm 44, 209.
[Sigmarite Calendar, Eleventhmonth, sixth day, Year 2008]
At long last! I never thought I'd see the day - thought we were going to gather dust with those 4th edition goblins for the rest of eternity!
Daily reports. Nothing of the usual. The troops raided the drawer lately and replenished ourselves with a ready supply of "ramen-noodles," a type of fast human fare that is cooked by boiling it in a simple pot of water and adding spices to it. Currently, only four of the twenty of us have been assembled. But that is alright. The shining host can wait. And judging by the amount of painstaking care she's putting on our paint, I would daresay that we look better than all the other ones out there.
Especially the dwarves. Whoever did those guys did a terrible job, as I can smell their Chainmails and Fortress Greys and ugh. Dwarf...Flesh all the way up here from the top shelf. I wish high command would get us ready faster. I've heard that the Empire already have a regiment of musketeers assembled.
That being said, I have no idea why high command decided to issue all of us feathers on our helms. But as a soldier, I cannot question orders! I will wear them with pride!
...Even if it was painted in a most horrid reddish colour. Gah! We shall stand watch tonight and pray that she does not knock anything over. The poor lads and lasses in the Archer regiment never knew what hit them!
XI, Storm 44, 209.
[Sigmarite Calendar, Eleventhmonth, sixth day, Year 2008]
At long last! I never thought I'd see the day - thought we were going to gather dust with those 4th edition goblins for the rest of eternity!
Daily reports. Nothing of the usual. The troops raided the drawer lately and replenished ourselves with a ready supply of "ramen-noodles," a type of fast human fare that is cooked by boiling it in a simple pot of water and adding spices to it. Currently, only four of the twenty of us have been assembled. But that is alright. The shining host can wait. And judging by the amount of painstaking care she's putting on our paint, I would daresay that we look better than all the other ones out there.
Especially the dwarves. Whoever did those guys did a terrible job, as I can smell their Chainmails and Fortress Greys and ugh. Dwarf...Flesh all the way up here from the top shelf. I wish high command would get us ready faster. I've heard that the Empire already have a regiment of musketeers assembled.
That being said, I have no idea why high command decided to issue all of us feathers on our helms. But as a soldier, I cannot question orders! I will wear them with pride!
...Even if it was painted in a most horrid reddish colour. Gah! We shall stand watch tonight and pray that she does not knock anything over. The poor lads and lasses in the Archer regiment never knew what hit them!
[img]http://www.abload.de/img/amaranthwtlu.gif[/img]
Colors are fragrant, but they fade away. In this world of ours, nothing live forever. Today, let us cross into the realm of reality, and let there be no shallow dreaming.
Farewell.
Colors are fragrant, but they fade away. In this world of ours, nothing live forever. Today, let us cross into the realm of reality, and let there be no shallow dreaming.
Farewell.
(Entry is neatly penned, with ornate loops. The text glows faintly like flame. However, some parts of it was uneven, suggesting that at least the writer was disgruntled.)
Dear Diary:
The dirty, smelling stout things are being dangerously provocative. They have already taken the Great Drawer and the Black Box of Intense Radiation and even now marches upon our shelves. If it weren't for the fact that they belonged to my owner's good friend I would have shoved all of them out of the window without a second thought.
I have also, after much struggle, defeated the Warp Box that has been plaguing the mind of my owner. It seems that the evil thing runs on an external power supply, and its internal powers will run dry in a few hours. She seems distraught, however, as she mentioned something about dead batteries and unreliable power supplies and needing it to take notes in class...
Having surveyed our position, we have decided to set up base camp on the Second Desk Shelf. The Book Pile is a defensive position and ensures that we are noticed and seen - it appears that my owner takes great pride in us and often shows us to her fellow humans, who view us with a mixture of curiosity, respect, and carefully disguised mirth. Here are reactions.
"Intriguing. How do you play with them?"
"Like, what the heck is that? Seriously. I can't believe you'd be interested in, like, that. And paint? Eewww."
"I knew you were always nerdy, but this ... I'd say you have the D&D guys beat!"
"Ooh, the toy elves are so cute! n___________n"
"As long as you don't waste too much of your time...you know, careers don't build themselves."
"OMG LOOK AT THE LITTLE TOY SOLDIERS IT'S LIKE WHAT MY LITTLE BROTHER PLAYS WITH!"
"Interesting. Quite a unique concept. The cost, however, leaves a little to be desired."
And so on.
With this, I have only one thing to say.
I am not a toy.
I repeat. I am not a toy.
I am a miniature of the finest quality - made out of solid pewter and alloy. 99060210116 is my code, and I was forged in the deepest recesses of the dark anvils that constitutes Games Workshop. I am the Keeper of the Scared Flames; I am the Halberd that CLEAVES EVIL. I AM CARADRYAN, CHOSEN OF ASURYAN, CAPTAIN OF THE PHOENIX GUARD, VANQUISHER OF THE DAEMONIC WARP BOX LENOVO X61 AND I WILL NOT BE TRIFLED WITH. THE NEXT FEMALE TO SQUEAL AND CALL ME TOY WILL BE MET WITH THE WRATH OF MY FLAMING BLADE.
Signed,
Caradyran.
Dear Diary:
The dirty, smelling stout things are being dangerously provocative. They have already taken the Great Drawer and the Black Box of Intense Radiation and even now marches upon our shelves. If it weren't for the fact that they belonged to my owner's good friend I would have shoved all of them out of the window without a second thought.
I have also, after much struggle, defeated the Warp Box that has been plaguing the mind of my owner. It seems that the evil thing runs on an external power supply, and its internal powers will run dry in a few hours. She seems distraught, however, as she mentioned something about dead batteries and unreliable power supplies and needing it to take notes in class...
Having surveyed our position, we have decided to set up base camp on the Second Desk Shelf. The Book Pile is a defensive position and ensures that we are noticed and seen - it appears that my owner takes great pride in us and often shows us to her fellow humans, who view us with a mixture of curiosity, respect, and carefully disguised mirth. Here are reactions.
"Intriguing. How do you play with them?"
"Like, what the heck is that? Seriously. I can't believe you'd be interested in, like, that. And paint? Eewww."
"I knew you were always nerdy, but this ... I'd say you have the D&D guys beat!"
"Ooh, the toy elves are so cute! n___________n"
"As long as you don't waste too much of your time...you know, careers don't build themselves."
"OMG LOOK AT THE LITTLE TOY SOLDIERS IT'S LIKE WHAT MY LITTLE BROTHER PLAYS WITH!"
"Interesting. Quite a unique concept. The cost, however, leaves a little to be desired."
And so on.
With this, I have only one thing to say.
I am not a toy.
I repeat. I am not a toy.
I am a miniature of the finest quality - made out of solid pewter and alloy. 99060210116 is my code, and I was forged in the deepest recesses of the dark anvils that constitutes Games Workshop. I am the Keeper of the Scared Flames; I am the Halberd that CLEAVES EVIL. I AM CARADRYAN, CHOSEN OF ASURYAN, CAPTAIN OF THE PHOENIX GUARD, VANQUISHER OF THE DAEMONIC WARP BOX LENOVO X61 AND I WILL NOT BE TRIFLED WITH. THE NEXT FEMALE TO SQUEAL AND CALL ME TOY WILL BE MET WITH THE WRATH OF MY FLAMING BLADE.
Signed,
Caradyran.
Last edited by Arondight on Fri Nov 07, 2008 3:37 am, edited 1 time in total.
[img]http://www.abload.de/img/amaranthwtlu.gif[/img]
Colors are fragrant, but they fade away. In this world of ours, nothing live forever. Today, let us cross into the realm of reality, and let there be no shallow dreaming.
Farewell.
Colors are fragrant, but they fade away. In this world of ours, nothing live forever. Today, let us cross into the realm of reality, and let there be no shallow dreaming.
Farewell.
I actually enjoyed reading most of it.. 1 thing though. EDIT POST IS YOUR FRIEND! It becomes way nice to read when it's just one post with a few spaces and a line between entries. 
[img]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v109/mdelarbre/slaanesh.jpg[/img][quote="Raneth"]Noodle was elected prime minister for the duration of the crisis.[/quote]
(Entry is neatly penned, with ornate loops. The text glows faintly like flame. The text smelled faintly of singed metal.)
Dear Diary:
A note to self: Do not touch twin narrow black slots located in the walls. Just because the spears and archers can do it doesn't mean you can. Apparently, you conduct electricity. They don't. Touch again only if you wish to re-learn the feeling of Asuryan's Trial.
There is now a total of fourteen of us fully painted and assembled, including me. I have to say, the archers all look ridiculous with those red feathers on their heads - Vaul knows where she got them from. Of course, I remain incomplete - though she has spent at least six or seven hours getting all the layers of paint to show up properly. I have to say, when compared to the painting of myself, I don't look half bad. I just wish she would hurry up and finish my highlighting.
Currently, everything is well in order normally. I have investigated the DAEMONIC WARP BOX LENOVO X61 and have decided that it is not tainted by Chaos. While she was out today, me and my brethren have figured out the rudimentary basics of a virtual communications system with these boxes. It appears that the box radiates a type of arcane signal, in which the signal is carried out through some means and transmitted through great distances. We have found a crate of "Ferrero Rocher," a type of energizing sweet dark ball and it should feed the Shining Host for at least two weeks.
On another note, the battle against the bearded ones is going badly. The dwarves can have the stupid second shelf. They just don't fight fair - hogging all the potential supplies. Today, they tried to roll a can of New England Clam Chowder at us in retribution for their defeat in the actual game our owners played. (Which, by the way, we won in large part due to my valiant actions. Thank you, thank you.)
Not only are they taking potshots at our position through carefully aimed slingshots located near the Black Box of Intense Radiation, but they were also flinging paint at us left and right whenever they felt like it. The Sacred Fires of Asuryan protected me, of course. However, the covers of some Tomes, particularly "Sir Gawaine: Elevene Romances and Tales" and "Safe Food: Bacteria, Biotechnology, and Bioterrorism" is utterly ruined. Eva (Overheard some of her friends talking to her regarding some advanced mathemathica, so I assume that it must be her name) was not pleased, but she did manage to paint a few more of us after frantically wiping the covers. I think she's asleep now - she's been sleeping a lot more lately. Perhaps due to the cold that everyone has been catching?
The dwarves are rallying again as they're now loading a Rice Krispie. I fear that our tomes can no longer hold the next assault. But fear not! I think Eva is aware of our plight. Otherwise, she would not have left a glue gun here at our disposal.
Come a little closer...a little closer....
Dear Diary:
A note to self: Do not touch twin narrow black slots located in the walls. Just because the spears and archers can do it doesn't mean you can. Apparently, you conduct electricity. They don't. Touch again only if you wish to re-learn the feeling of Asuryan's Trial.
There is now a total of fourteen of us fully painted and assembled, including me. I have to say, the archers all look ridiculous with those red feathers on their heads - Vaul knows where she got them from. Of course, I remain incomplete - though she has spent at least six or seven hours getting all the layers of paint to show up properly. I have to say, when compared to the painting of myself, I don't look half bad. I just wish she would hurry up and finish my highlighting.
Currently, everything is well in order normally. I have investigated the DAEMONIC WARP BOX LENOVO X61 and have decided that it is not tainted by Chaos. While she was out today, me and my brethren have figured out the rudimentary basics of a virtual communications system with these boxes. It appears that the box radiates a type of arcane signal, in which the signal is carried out through some means and transmitted through great distances. We have found a crate of "Ferrero Rocher," a type of energizing sweet dark ball and it should feed the Shining Host for at least two weeks.
On another note, the battle against the bearded ones is going badly. The dwarves can have the stupid second shelf. They just don't fight fair - hogging all the potential supplies. Today, they tried to roll a can of New England Clam Chowder at us in retribution for their defeat in the actual game our owners played. (Which, by the way, we won in large part due to my valiant actions. Thank you, thank you.)
Not only are they taking potshots at our position through carefully aimed slingshots located near the Black Box of Intense Radiation, but they were also flinging paint at us left and right whenever they felt like it. The Sacred Fires of Asuryan protected me, of course. However, the covers of some Tomes, particularly "Sir Gawaine: Elevene Romances and Tales" and "Safe Food: Bacteria, Biotechnology, and Bioterrorism" is utterly ruined. Eva (Overheard some of her friends talking to her regarding some advanced mathemathica, so I assume that it must be her name) was not pleased, but she did manage to paint a few more of us after frantically wiping the covers. I think she's asleep now - she's been sleeping a lot more lately. Perhaps due to the cold that everyone has been catching?
The dwarves are rallying again as they're now loading a Rice Krispie. I fear that our tomes can no longer hold the next assault. But fear not! I think Eva is aware of our plight. Otherwise, she would not have left a glue gun here at our disposal.
Come a little closer...a little closer....
[img]http://www.abload.de/img/amaranthwtlu.gif[/img]
Colors are fragrant, but they fade away. In this world of ours, nothing live forever. Today, let us cross into the realm of reality, and let there be no shallow dreaming.
Farewell.
Colors are fragrant, but they fade away. In this world of ours, nothing live forever. Today, let us cross into the realm of reality, and let there be no shallow dreaming.
Farewell.
((Most of my friends are of the nerd-geek variety, by the way. Thank you all for reading!))
(The entries on this page are actually carved into the paper with a substantially sized axe. Whoever "wrote" it must have been skilled indeed.)
Honorable Journal:
Ancient Asur philosopher say, 'Hope is sunshine which illuminate darkest path.' Sadden I am to unable to speak coherently, but instead must resort to riddle-like language. Very happy to make acquaintance of charming young lady studying alchemy as commander. Appreciate daily dusting and honorable plastic cover. Kindness in heart much better than gold in mountain halls.
With great honor and respect, today I join Captain Caradryan's crimson-plumed fighters. Honorable defense of Second Shelf is now in place. Personal thought that dwarf and Asur engage battle through misunderstanding. Hasty conclusion like blackpowder - easy to explode, but only foolish man waste word when argument is lost. Pitilly I sees dwarfs burn by glue-thrower. Yet they listen no. Mind like parachute - only function when open. Front seldom tell truth. To know occupants of house, always look in backyard. Verily we may then know true motive.
-Korhil.
(Entry is neatly penned, with ornate loops. The text glows faintly like flame. A few specks of hot glue can be still seen on the parchment)
Dear Diary:
Bwhahahaha. The foolish dwarves burn. BURN. BURN, I TELL YOU, BURN! BURN MORE. The molten fires of the glue-gun cries out for the vengeance of my people's painting which can only be repaid in hot, melting SLUSH. PURGE AND BURN! BURN, YOU UNCOUTH BARBARIANS. EAT HOT GLUE!
Of course, I wouldn't say anything like that. But if I could talk, that's what I WOULD have said.
...On a separate note, we received much-needed reinforcements today, both from the old box and the new box. In particular, Korhil and some handmaidens (Heavens know how she managed to find them! I thought Eva had a low budget...) are a welcoming addition to the mix. The archers are cleaning out the shelf for the ladies as we speak now.
Sadly, it seems that Korhil's been cursed with Gift of Poorly Made Factory Product. There is a huge lump of metal along the side of his arm and face that's preventing him from speaking properly. I hope Eva gets a modeling knife or something - he makes NO SENSE, whatsoever, but all the troopers are nodding sagely whenever he opens up his mouth. Also, his constant use of the words "respect," "honor," and "humble" is driving me up the wall!
Ah, it appears that dinner is ready. I'll be back in a bit.
Signed,
Caradryan.
(The next page is written differently, presumably by the Spear/Sea guard captain. Large, blocky letters lined the pages rigidly, suggesting the writer was of Chracian descent.)
XI, Storm 51, 209.
[Sigmarite Calendar, Eleventhmonth, 11th day, Year 2008]
Daily Report: Everything in order. A contigent of handmaidens have joined our ranks. Should be bolstering morale considerably. Repelled the dwarves thanks to Cap's insane gambit with the glue gun.
[[Author's Note: Cap = Caradryan.]]
On another note, four of the lads, including me, have been highlighted! This would mean two things. Either High command wants us in battle, or ....High command wants us in a display case somewhere.
I hope it's not the latter. It wouldn't be very sporting if she put us back in the display case. We held up those G-Ded Skinks for so long during the last battle.
Sidenote: I think Cap's gone insane. He's been hogging the glue-thrower and firing it blindly at anything that moves. Hm? Oh, no. I'm not concerned about the dwarves, I'm worried about him messing up High Command's desk! Right now, we have some of the lads and lasses after him right now with cleaning clothe and pick because he's been dripping that thing everywhere!
(The entries on this page are actually carved into the paper with a substantially sized axe. Whoever "wrote" it must have been skilled indeed.)
Honorable Journal:
Ancient Asur philosopher say, 'Hope is sunshine which illuminate darkest path.' Sadden I am to unable to speak coherently, but instead must resort to riddle-like language. Very happy to make acquaintance of charming young lady studying alchemy as commander. Appreciate daily dusting and honorable plastic cover. Kindness in heart much better than gold in mountain halls.
With great honor and respect, today I join Captain Caradryan's crimson-plumed fighters. Honorable defense of Second Shelf is now in place. Personal thought that dwarf and Asur engage battle through misunderstanding. Hasty conclusion like blackpowder - easy to explode, but only foolish man waste word when argument is lost. Pitilly I sees dwarfs burn by glue-thrower. Yet they listen no. Mind like parachute - only function when open. Front seldom tell truth. To know occupants of house, always look in backyard. Verily we may then know true motive.
-Korhil.
(Entry is neatly penned, with ornate loops. The text glows faintly like flame. A few specks of hot glue can be still seen on the parchment)
Dear Diary:
Bwhahahaha. The foolish dwarves burn. BURN. BURN, I TELL YOU, BURN! BURN MORE. The molten fires of the glue-gun cries out for the vengeance of my people's painting which can only be repaid in hot, melting SLUSH. PURGE AND BURN! BURN, YOU UNCOUTH BARBARIANS. EAT HOT GLUE!
Of course, I wouldn't say anything like that. But if I could talk, that's what I WOULD have said.
...On a separate note, we received much-needed reinforcements today, both from the old box and the new box. In particular, Korhil and some handmaidens (Heavens know how she managed to find them! I thought Eva had a low budget...) are a welcoming addition to the mix. The archers are cleaning out the shelf for the ladies as we speak now.
Sadly, it seems that Korhil's been cursed with Gift of Poorly Made Factory Product. There is a huge lump of metal along the side of his arm and face that's preventing him from speaking properly. I hope Eva gets a modeling knife or something - he makes NO SENSE, whatsoever, but all the troopers are nodding sagely whenever he opens up his mouth. Also, his constant use of the words "respect," "honor," and "humble" is driving me up the wall!
Ah, it appears that dinner is ready. I'll be back in a bit.
Signed,
Caradryan.
(The next page is written differently, presumably by the Spear/Sea guard captain. Large, blocky letters lined the pages rigidly, suggesting the writer was of Chracian descent.)
XI, Storm 51, 209.
[Sigmarite Calendar, Eleventhmonth, 11th day, Year 2008]
Daily Report: Everything in order. A contigent of handmaidens have joined our ranks. Should be bolstering morale considerably. Repelled the dwarves thanks to Cap's insane gambit with the glue gun.
[[Author's Note: Cap = Caradryan.]]
On another note, four of the lads, including me, have been highlighted! This would mean two things. Either High command wants us in battle, or ....High command wants us in a display case somewhere.
I hope it's not the latter. It wouldn't be very sporting if she put us back in the display case. We held up those G-Ded Skinks for so long during the last battle.
Sidenote: I think Cap's gone insane. He's been hogging the glue-thrower and firing it blindly at anything that moves. Hm? Oh, no. I'm not concerned about the dwarves, I'm worried about him messing up High Command's desk! Right now, we have some of the lads and lasses after him right now with cleaning clothe and pick because he's been dripping that thing everywhere!
[img]http://www.abload.de/img/amaranthwtlu.gif[/img]
Colors are fragrant, but they fade away. In this world of ours, nothing live forever. Today, let us cross into the realm of reality, and let there be no shallow dreaming.
Farewell.
Colors are fragrant, but they fade away. In this world of ours, nothing live forever. Today, let us cross into the realm of reality, and let there be no shallow dreaming.
Farewell.
-
Luna Guardian
- Pendragon
- Posts: 1700
- Joined: Mon Aug 09, 2004 6:52 am
- Location: Cold, miserable and expensive Finland
Arondight wrote:(The next page is written differently, presumably by the Spear/Sea guard captain. Large, blocky letters lined the pages rigidly, suggesting the writer was of Chracian descent.)
Hey, we don't write in large blocky letters! We can write just as gracefully as the next elf. Now, where's the axe blade on this here pen..?
Arondight wrote:(The entries on this page are actually carved into the paper with a substantially sized axe. Whoever "wrote" it must have been skilled indeed.)
Ah, there it was
Keep up the excellent work Arondight! Your journal actually inspired me to maybe start considering about perhaps thinking about writing something like this for my upcoming Battlefleet Gothic project. You've gained the Luna Guardian Stamp of Approval (it's an honour, trust me)
Prince Deral Lionbane, head of the House of Lionbane, Lord of Lionstone and Warden of Tor Charta
Luna, try not to beat them too hard. They are proud about their pseudo-glorious past and their present nothingness, you know.
-Elmoth, about Caledorians
Luna, try not to beat them too hard. They are proud about their pseudo-glorious past and their present nothingness, you know.
-Elmoth, about Caledorians
(Entry is neatly penned, with ornate loops. The text glows faintly like flame. For some strange reason, this entry smells like nail polish remover.)
Dear Diary:
I smell like nail polish remover.
Naturally, she decided to bolster our forces through um, unnatural means. Though I have learned of this "internet," I am still leery and suspicious of using such a warp-twisted mechanism. To us miniatures, there is a certain place, known as Saranqu narae silosse cthulu esille bayniel, in which unloved, broken, and often badly painted miniatures are placed for sale at a ridiculously low price. The humans call this thing "eBay." We call it Purgatory. Judging from what the Archers told me, it truly is a terrifying place. I can't say anything though - I came from Neil's Warstore, where each and every blister is carefully cared for.
Anyways, I am heartened to see more of the Phoenix Guard. They're blissfully soaking in a tub of nail polish remover as I write, along with all of the other elves.
All but one, that is, and I spent the greater portion of my afternoon comforting her. The poor girl was in tears because her previous owner applied a paint layer so thick that it made the dwarves nearby [who began yet another offensive to push us off the shelves - the nerve!] look like Golden Daemon winners. I felt really bad, but there wasn't anything I can do. (I can attest to this. Even Eva gave up on her in frustration after scrubbing for nearly an hour this morning. Whoever painted her might have just dunked her in the paint instead)
On another note, there is a battle with the Bretonnians tomorrow. I also heard that the Green Knight is taking us out to dinner after the battle. May the best army win! I can't wait.
Signed,
Caradryan.
~~~~~~~~
(A new handwriting - clearly feminine - is on the next page. Sparks flew gently as a faint scent of raspberries lingered in the air. Both suggest that the writer must have been a mage, or at least a trainee from the White Tower.)
Well, well. It appears that the de-facto leader of our legions have purposefully left me out of every single one of his entries. I don't blame him. I've been a controversial figure ever since I was put together. Only now have I successfully persuaded Carrie to let me have a go at the army journal.
He and Korhil have been unusually supportive, really. And my Handmaiden roomies are a wonderful bunch. All of us, along with Carrie and Korhil are housed near the English texts, where life is never dull and there's always plenty of laughter and studying.
...The less of which could be said about the rest of the army. The Archers avoid me like the plague, the Silver Helms scoff, and the poor Spearmen captain is usually punching a few of his elves out and screaming to not ogle me while apologizing profusely for their behavior.
I don't see what the deal is. So I'm "half naked." Big deal? It's not like the elves have never seen bare leg or bare midriffs before. Or maybe it's the attention Eva pays to me - she's managed to modify the staff a little so it looks like the Staff of Magius, and she's also making me a set of "more conservative clothing," which I don't mind at all. Given the Rochesterian weather, I really do appreciate the extra layers.
No, I think the fact is that I'm from Reaper and the GW males are naturally leery towards anything non-Games Workshop. It doesn't matter. They'll probably warm up after a few matches.
Anyways, the quill's enchantments are wearing off, so I'll stop here. Until then. <3
Dear Diary:
I smell like nail polish remover.
Naturally, she decided to bolster our forces through um, unnatural means. Though I have learned of this "internet," I am still leery and suspicious of using such a warp-twisted mechanism. To us miniatures, there is a certain place, known as Saranqu narae silosse cthulu esille bayniel, in which unloved, broken, and often badly painted miniatures are placed for sale at a ridiculously low price. The humans call this thing "eBay." We call it Purgatory. Judging from what the Archers told me, it truly is a terrifying place. I can't say anything though - I came from Neil's Warstore, where each and every blister is carefully cared for.
Anyways, I am heartened to see more of the Phoenix Guard. They're blissfully soaking in a tub of nail polish remover as I write, along with all of the other elves.
All but one, that is, and I spent the greater portion of my afternoon comforting her. The poor girl was in tears because her previous owner applied a paint layer so thick that it made the dwarves nearby [who began yet another offensive to push us off the shelves - the nerve!] look like Golden Daemon winners. I felt really bad, but there wasn't anything I can do. (I can attest to this. Even Eva gave up on her in frustration after scrubbing for nearly an hour this morning. Whoever painted her might have just dunked her in the paint instead)
On another note, there is a battle with the Bretonnians tomorrow. I also heard that the Green Knight is taking us out to dinner after the battle. May the best army win! I can't wait.
Signed,
Caradryan.
~~~~~~~~
(A new handwriting - clearly feminine - is on the next page. Sparks flew gently as a faint scent of raspberries lingered in the air. Both suggest that the writer must have been a mage, or at least a trainee from the White Tower.)
Well, well. It appears that the de-facto leader of our legions have purposefully left me out of every single one of his entries. I don't blame him. I've been a controversial figure ever since I was put together. Only now have I successfully persuaded Carrie to let me have a go at the army journal.
He and Korhil have been unusually supportive, really. And my Handmaiden roomies are a wonderful bunch. All of us, along with Carrie and Korhil are housed near the English texts, where life is never dull and there's always plenty of laughter and studying.
...The less of which could be said about the rest of the army. The Archers avoid me like the plague, the Silver Helms scoff, and the poor Spearmen captain is usually punching a few of his elves out and screaming to not ogle me while apologizing profusely for their behavior.
I don't see what the deal is. So I'm "half naked." Big deal? It's not like the elves have never seen bare leg or bare midriffs before. Or maybe it's the attention Eva pays to me - she's managed to modify the staff a little so it looks like the Staff of Magius, and she's also making me a set of "more conservative clothing," which I don't mind at all. Given the Rochesterian weather, I really do appreciate the extra layers.
No, I think the fact is that I'm from Reaper and the GW males are naturally leery towards anything non-Games Workshop. It doesn't matter. They'll probably warm up after a few matches.
Anyways, the quill's enchantments are wearing off, so I'll stop here. Until then. <3
[img]http://www.abload.de/img/amaranthwtlu.gif[/img]
Colors are fragrant, but they fade away. In this world of ours, nothing live forever. Today, let us cross into the realm of reality, and let there be no shallow dreaming.
Farewell.
Colors are fragrant, but they fade away. In this world of ours, nothing live forever. Today, let us cross into the realm of reality, and let there be no shallow dreaming.
Farewell.
(The entries on this page are actually carved into the paper with a substantially sized axe. Whoever "wrote" it must have been skilled indeed.)
Honorable Journal:
I am writing because Caradryan is currently unable to come and record our events. This is Korhil. The surgery was a success and at last I can think and write normally. The Spear Captain is taking care of the general daily affairs, so I'll just comment on some things here.
I was unable to join my kin against the Bretonnians. My lion lads (and lass did pretty well out there without my guidance. The Green Knight is an absolutely gracious host when it comes to dining selection - the chef of Avalon is almost as good as ma's cooking back home!
Caradryan's been taking it pretty hard. Poor lad. He put up an honorable battle, but Bretonnian calvary just wasn't meant to be taken on with infantry. No. You need toughness. You want muscles. Then you want some muscles on those muscles. Afterwards, you want more muscles all encased in elven steel, silk, lion pelt. You also want muscles using large elven axes. That'll bring down those horsemen, guaranteed.
I think the fact that he failed to strike down the Paladin even with Asuryan's blessing was what broke his spirit. The last time I saw him he was drowning his sorrows in a carton of 100% non-concentrate Grape Juice.
I should be sharpening Chayal - there is a battle coming up this Saturday against the very dwarves who now harass us with rubber band slingshots. Hm. Be right back. I'll let Niniane finish the rest of the events.
(Sparks flew gently as a faint scent of raspberries lingered in the air. Both suggest that the writer must have been a mage, or at least a trainee from the White Tower.)
It's not his fault. We've told him that many, many many times. He didn't let ANYONE down. I'm fine with the loss, the Spears are fine with the loss, Korhil's fine with the loss. It's ok. No big deal. The Green Knight wasn't supposed to be there. There wasn't anything he could do. We're miniatures, for Isha's sake. Miniatures! Heck, even the Green Knight and his buddies came over earlier to make sure he was alright. Asuryan isn't disappointed. Ulthuan isn't going to fall. He hasn't dishonored the Asur, etc. etc.
Finally, I lost my temper and told him that I cast the wrong spell in the game, and if I was acting like him, then I'd never have stepped out of the White Tower in the first place. That did the trick. He's asleep at the moment, so I'm going to finish what Korhil started. The battle was a disaster, but with that much calvary and the fact that we were so hopelessly outnumbered, I doubt Aenarion himself would have made a difference.
No, actually. Aenarion would have. That's beside the point. The point was, we lost. Big deal. Besides, it earned me some small degree of fame among the troops - I did kick the Paladin in the crotch, by the way. Heehee. You should have seen the expression on his face as he went down and onto the shelf. Met him - Launcelot was his name, I think - over dinner that night. A gentleman, to be sure. All the Knights of the Round, as they were called were like that. Looking forward to cooperating with them in the future.
Anyways, that's pretty much it. We finished the game. The Green Knight took us to a little bar in the middle of Lyonesse for a drink and some card games. We got back to the shelf around midnight, right when Eva came back bleary-eyed from studying all night. So it all worked out.
Carrie's stirring, I think. I'll get the maidens. They've been working hard on something to cheer him up. Until then!
P.S. The High Loremaster himself may be paying us a visit! I'm SOOOOO EXCITED! SQUEE! <3
P.S.S. Change extremely strappy wood-elven heels into something more durable before kicking plated codpiece or attempting to kick sense into platemail-wearing elf.
((Author's note: I got Teclis. At 4$, it was quite a bargain.))
Honorable Journal:
I am writing because Caradryan is currently unable to come and record our events. This is Korhil. The surgery was a success and at last I can think and write normally. The Spear Captain is taking care of the general daily affairs, so I'll just comment on some things here.
I was unable to join my kin against the Bretonnians. My lion lads (and lass did pretty well out there without my guidance. The Green Knight is an absolutely gracious host when it comes to dining selection - the chef of Avalon is almost as good as ma's cooking back home!
Caradryan's been taking it pretty hard. Poor lad. He put up an honorable battle, but Bretonnian calvary just wasn't meant to be taken on with infantry. No. You need toughness. You want muscles. Then you want some muscles on those muscles. Afterwards, you want more muscles all encased in elven steel, silk, lion pelt. You also want muscles using large elven axes. That'll bring down those horsemen, guaranteed.
I think the fact that he failed to strike down the Paladin even with Asuryan's blessing was what broke his spirit. The last time I saw him he was drowning his sorrows in a carton of 100% non-concentrate Grape Juice.
I should be sharpening Chayal - there is a battle coming up this Saturday against the very dwarves who now harass us with rubber band slingshots. Hm. Be right back. I'll let Niniane finish the rest of the events.
(Sparks flew gently as a faint scent of raspberries lingered in the air. Both suggest that the writer must have been a mage, or at least a trainee from the White Tower.)
It's not his fault. We've told him that many, many many times. He didn't let ANYONE down. I'm fine with the loss, the Spears are fine with the loss, Korhil's fine with the loss. It's ok. No big deal. The Green Knight wasn't supposed to be there. There wasn't anything he could do. We're miniatures, for Isha's sake. Miniatures! Heck, even the Green Knight and his buddies came over earlier to make sure he was alright. Asuryan isn't disappointed. Ulthuan isn't going to fall. He hasn't dishonored the Asur, etc. etc.
Finally, I lost my temper and told him that I cast the wrong spell in the game, and if I was acting like him, then I'd never have stepped out of the White Tower in the first place. That did the trick. He's asleep at the moment, so I'm going to finish what Korhil started. The battle was a disaster, but with that much calvary and the fact that we were so hopelessly outnumbered, I doubt Aenarion himself would have made a difference.
No, actually. Aenarion would have. That's beside the point. The point was, we lost. Big deal. Besides, it earned me some small degree of fame among the troops - I did kick the Paladin in the crotch, by the way. Heehee. You should have seen the expression on his face as he went down and onto the shelf. Met him - Launcelot was his name, I think - over dinner that night. A gentleman, to be sure. All the Knights of the Round, as they were called were like that. Looking forward to cooperating with them in the future.
Anyways, that's pretty much it. We finished the game. The Green Knight took us to a little bar in the middle of Lyonesse for a drink and some card games. We got back to the shelf around midnight, right when Eva came back bleary-eyed from studying all night. So it all worked out.
Carrie's stirring, I think. I'll get the maidens. They've been working hard on something to cheer him up. Until then!
P.S. The High Loremaster himself may be paying us a visit! I'm SOOOOO EXCITED! SQUEE! <3
P.S.S. Change extremely strappy wood-elven heels into something more durable before kicking plated codpiece or attempting to kick sense into platemail-wearing elf.
((Author's note: I got Teclis. At 4$, it was quite a bargain.))
[img]http://www.abload.de/img/amaranthwtlu.gif[/img]
Colors are fragrant, but they fade away. In this world of ours, nothing live forever. Today, let us cross into the realm of reality, and let there be no shallow dreaming.
Farewell.
Colors are fragrant, but they fade away. In this world of ours, nothing live forever. Today, let us cross into the realm of reality, and let there be no shallow dreaming.
Farewell.
-
Original Dragon Prince
- Posts: 199
- Joined: Tue Nov 14, 2006 10:08 pm
- Location: caledor (louisiana, u.s.)
i like it. keep it coming.
Warhammer, at it's core, is a game of Rock, Paper, Scissors. As long as all choices in an army book fall under these categories, with their inherent strengths and weaknesses, there is balance. Imbalance occurs when the designers make a Rock that is immune to Paper. Daemon Princes, Ironblasters, etc.
-
Korhain Ironglaive
- Posts: 18
- Joined: Sat Jun 07, 2008 3:10 pm
- Location: Ontario, NY,Yes it says Ontario, no I don't live in Canada
(Entry is neatly penned, with ornate loops. The text glows faintly like flame. A splotch of purple can be found on the corner of one page.)
Dear Diary:
.....I've had enough of these Asuryan-damned TSA officials at this Asuryan-damned airport!
So, Eva took us home - clearly understandable, as you see. She wanted to paint a few of us between papers. That was all well and good - except for the officials, who had the brains of a night goblin and smelled like one too.
"What is this?"
"That's a miniature from Games Workshop, sir."
"A what? Let me see."
Anyways, so we were unceremoniously dumped, in a neat pile, in front of some complicated machinery as some rubber gloved man started poking us. While I can't complain about landing facefirst into a Maiden Guard's lap, the girl was not as pleased and told me to keep my eyes from wandering. Anyways, you get the idea. It was awkward. He turned us over, couldn't decide if we were dangerous or not, then called one of his buddies over. They couldn't figure it out. Finally, the boss-person was called.
"Yeah, those are toys. Harmless, really."
Muttering something about how dangerous we look, he carelessly packed us back into the little pipet box and handed it back to my owner. I swear, if my halberd was sharpened, I would SO stab him. Stabbity stab stab stabbage stab. STAB - oh, shoot. I spilled my drink.
Anyways, I got over our defeat. Life is back to normal. We resume training and our silent vigil over the shelf tomorrow. The High Loremaster himself have joined our ranks, though he leaves military tactics to me, preferring to command from the sidelines.
(Sparks flew gently as a faint scent of raspberries lingered in the air. Both suggest that the writer must have been a mage, or at least a trainee from the White Tower. This page is full of little hearts and excited scribbles.)
OH, ISHA. I SAW HIM. HE WAS SO HANDSOME, AND SMART AND WITTY AND AND AND AND AND AND AND GUESS WHAT? GUESS WHAT? THE HIGH LOREMASTER IS STAYING WITH US. HE'S STAYING. STAYING. STAYINGSTAYINGSTAYINGSTAYING-
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK.
I DON'T REMEMBER MUCH - JUST THAT I TRIED TO JUMP OFF THE DESK TO MAKE SURE IT'S REAL AND IT IS REAL AND THAT HE CAUGHT ME IN HIS ARMS AND AND AND
Note from Caradryan: The rest of this page has been giving all of us, including the High Loremaster trouble. It will be completed when he can figure out the myriad strings and loops and drawings, alongside the hurriedly scribbled writings.
(As you turn the page, you hear the crackling of arcane energy. Letters glow like the moonlight in a starless sky, pulsing with eldrich power. Whoever wrote this must have been a powerful wizard indeed.)
I've survived onslaughts from Slann Mage-Priests, Daemonic Sorcerers, Vampire Counts, the Witch King himself. I've been doused in brake fluid, soaked in pinesol, brushed by acetone, stepped on, dropped, even picked up by small children during tournaments in a previous era. I've known the cold, glaring light of the store shelf, the bottomless dark pit of cookie jars, and the welcoming sunlight on a windowsill.
I am Teclis. High Loremaster of the White Tower. Druchii fear me. Malekith loathe me. And it is today, that my grimy base coats have been washed off, leaving me once again ready to return to the fray. I see my brethren line up before me, their eyes sincere in genuine respect. Why, the very air in my presence pulse with arcane might. Nodding, I walk pass them. The smooth wooden surface faintly tremble beneath me - or is that because someone is writing on the desk?
Dear brother. I wish you well, wherever you are. And I hope you will be joining us soon. The Lady is usually busy, but at least we are not stuffed in a cookie jar like the previous times. That, and this mageling of hers scare me. First of all, she would only shut up when I'm saying something, and then she recorded it down using permanent quills usually down to the letter and the facial expression. She literally chased me around for at least an hour yesterday asking for a momento. When I casually remarked that I'm not here for a "visit," I'm staying for good, she squealed, ran up the shelf and broke into a run towards the edge of the desk.
Honestly, what am I supposed to do? Let her jump? Of course not! With a twirl of my hand, the gentle winds of magic stopped her fall and placed her gently into my arms. Her reaction? A sigh, and then she promptly passed out.
Well, dear brother, I can imagine you nodding your head in approval. I wasn't aware of my own popularity. But as I have stated. This encounter was a little unnerving, if you know what I mean. But at least now I understand, if only a little, of your effect on women.
Until next time.
Your brother,
Teclis.
(The entries on this page are actually carved into the paper with a substantially sized axe. Whoever "wrote" it must have been skilled indeed.)
Honorable Journal:
It is the season of Thanksgiving. I would like to give thanks for....
for...(this part contain many scratches, as if Korhil is unsure of himself)
Well, I guess food, for one. Good food and drink. I'm thankful that we have a permanent place to stay, and I'm also thankful for this nice coat the Handmaidens made me. Oh, and mah axe. Can't quite forget Chayal - been with me through a thousand scraps! And my owner, of course. Not the best sculpter or painter around but puts up a good effort. And also all the members of that one website about us that she frequents - including all the readers, the posters, and two names in which I must mention. Guardian of the Moon for persuading our owner to get more White Lions, all the members of the painting section for helping, and Lord Musashi and his companions for coming up with stratagems that have been helping us defeating our opponents.
I'd like to thank eBay for spreading us around. I'd also like to thank Games Workshop for making us. Thank you to Niniane for being there for everyone, Caradryan for keeping everyone in good spirits and cheer, Seaguard Captain for keeping the troops in order, the Phoenixs for keeping base in order, Maidens for their touch that lightens up the atmosphere, the Green Knight for sending the troop homemade ginger ale cookies, Luthor for beer, all the spears -
I guess I am really thankful for everything and everyone. Everyone, just for who they are - the good, the bad, and the annoying parts. Thank you, Asuryan, for bringing all of us together in this strange world and strange place. Without the bad things happening, we cannot appreciate how good things really are.
Honorable Journal. If I continue on, I will just carve the entire book into a large book of thank-yous. So I think I'll stop here. Thank you!
Dear Diary:
.....I've had enough of these Asuryan-damned TSA officials at this Asuryan-damned airport!
So, Eva took us home - clearly understandable, as you see. She wanted to paint a few of us between papers. That was all well and good - except for the officials, who had the brains of a night goblin and smelled like one too.
"What is this?"
"That's a miniature from Games Workshop, sir."
"A what? Let me see."
Anyways, so we were unceremoniously dumped, in a neat pile, in front of some complicated machinery as some rubber gloved man started poking us. While I can't complain about landing facefirst into a Maiden Guard's lap, the girl was not as pleased and told me to keep my eyes from wandering. Anyways, you get the idea. It was awkward. He turned us over, couldn't decide if we were dangerous or not, then called one of his buddies over. They couldn't figure it out. Finally, the boss-person was called.
"Yeah, those are toys. Harmless, really."
Muttering something about how dangerous we look, he carelessly packed us back into the little pipet box and handed it back to my owner. I swear, if my halberd was sharpened, I would SO stab him. Stabbity stab stab stabbage stab. STAB - oh, shoot. I spilled my drink.
Anyways, I got over our defeat. Life is back to normal. We resume training and our silent vigil over the shelf tomorrow. The High Loremaster himself have joined our ranks, though he leaves military tactics to me, preferring to command from the sidelines.
(Sparks flew gently as a faint scent of raspberries lingered in the air. Both suggest that the writer must have been a mage, or at least a trainee from the White Tower. This page is full of little hearts and excited scribbles.)
OH, ISHA. I SAW HIM. HE WAS SO HANDSOME, AND SMART AND WITTY AND AND AND AND AND AND AND GUESS WHAT? GUESS WHAT? THE HIGH LOREMASTER IS STAYING WITH US. HE'S STAYING. STAYING. STAYINGSTAYINGSTAYINGSTAYING-
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK.
I DON'T REMEMBER MUCH - JUST THAT I TRIED TO JUMP OFF THE DESK TO MAKE SURE IT'S REAL AND IT IS REAL AND THAT HE CAUGHT ME IN HIS ARMS AND AND AND
Note from Caradryan: The rest of this page has been giving all of us, including the High Loremaster trouble. It will be completed when he can figure out the myriad strings and loops and drawings, alongside the hurriedly scribbled writings.
(As you turn the page, you hear the crackling of arcane energy. Letters glow like the moonlight in a starless sky, pulsing with eldrich power. Whoever wrote this must have been a powerful wizard indeed.)
I've survived onslaughts from Slann Mage-Priests, Daemonic Sorcerers, Vampire Counts, the Witch King himself. I've been doused in brake fluid, soaked in pinesol, brushed by acetone, stepped on, dropped, even picked up by small children during tournaments in a previous era. I've known the cold, glaring light of the store shelf, the bottomless dark pit of cookie jars, and the welcoming sunlight on a windowsill.
I am Teclis. High Loremaster of the White Tower. Druchii fear me. Malekith loathe me. And it is today, that my grimy base coats have been washed off, leaving me once again ready to return to the fray. I see my brethren line up before me, their eyes sincere in genuine respect. Why, the very air in my presence pulse with arcane might. Nodding, I walk pass them. The smooth wooden surface faintly tremble beneath me - or is that because someone is writing on the desk?
Dear brother. I wish you well, wherever you are. And I hope you will be joining us soon. The Lady is usually busy, but at least we are not stuffed in a cookie jar like the previous times. That, and this mageling of hers scare me. First of all, she would only shut up when I'm saying something, and then she recorded it down using permanent quills usually down to the letter and the facial expression. She literally chased me around for at least an hour yesterday asking for a momento. When I casually remarked that I'm not here for a "visit," I'm staying for good, she squealed, ran up the shelf and broke into a run towards the edge of the desk.
Honestly, what am I supposed to do? Let her jump? Of course not! With a twirl of my hand, the gentle winds of magic stopped her fall and placed her gently into my arms. Her reaction? A sigh, and then she promptly passed out.
Well, dear brother, I can imagine you nodding your head in approval. I wasn't aware of my own popularity. But as I have stated. This encounter was a little unnerving, if you know what I mean. But at least now I understand, if only a little, of your effect on women.
Until next time.
Your brother,
Teclis.
(The entries on this page are actually carved into the paper with a substantially sized axe. Whoever "wrote" it must have been skilled indeed.)
Honorable Journal:
It is the season of Thanksgiving. I would like to give thanks for....
for...(this part contain many scratches, as if Korhil is unsure of himself)
Well, I guess food, for one. Good food and drink. I'm thankful that we have a permanent place to stay, and I'm also thankful for this nice coat the Handmaidens made me. Oh, and mah axe. Can't quite forget Chayal - been with me through a thousand scraps! And my owner, of course. Not the best sculpter or painter around but puts up a good effort. And also all the members of that one website about us that she frequents - including all the readers, the posters, and two names in which I must mention. Guardian of the Moon for persuading our owner to get more White Lions, all the members of the painting section for helping, and Lord Musashi and his companions for coming up with stratagems that have been helping us defeating our opponents.
I'd like to thank eBay for spreading us around. I'd also like to thank Games Workshop for making us. Thank you to Niniane for being there for everyone, Caradryan for keeping everyone in good spirits and cheer, Seaguard Captain for keeping the troops in order, the Phoenixs for keeping base in order, Maidens for their touch that lightens up the atmosphere, the Green Knight for sending the troop homemade ginger ale cookies, Luthor for beer, all the spears -
I guess I am really thankful for everything and everyone. Everyone, just for who they are - the good, the bad, and the annoying parts. Thank you, Asuryan, for bringing all of us together in this strange world and strange place. Without the bad things happening, we cannot appreciate how good things really are.
Honorable Journal. If I continue on, I will just carve the entire book into a large book of thank-yous. So I think I'll stop here. Thank you!
[img]http://www.abload.de/img/amaranthwtlu.gif[/img]
Colors are fragrant, but they fade away. In this world of ours, nothing live forever. Today, let us cross into the realm of reality, and let there be no shallow dreaming.
Farewell.
Colors are fragrant, but they fade away. In this world of ours, nothing live forever. Today, let us cross into the realm of reality, and let there be no shallow dreaming.
Farewell.
-
Luna Guardian
- Pendragon
- Posts: 1700
- Joined: Mon Aug 09, 2004 6:52 am
- Location: Cold, miserable and expensive Finland
I got an honourable meantion! Ahem, I humbly thank thee.
On topic, I think you've given the heroes of the Asur brilliant and lovable characteristics. Jolly good
On topic, I think you've given the heroes of the Asur brilliant and lovable characteristics. Jolly good
Prince Deral Lionbane, head of the House of Lionbane, Lord of Lionstone and Warden of Tor Charta
Luna, try not to beat them too hard. They are proud about their pseudo-glorious past and their present nothingness, you know.
-Elmoth, about Caledorians
Luna, try not to beat them too hard. They are proud about their pseudo-glorious past and their present nothingness, you know.
-Elmoth, about Caledorians
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Elrond DoomSong
- Posts: 9
- Joined: Sat Mar 15, 2008 12:47 am
(Entry is neatly penned, with ornate loops. The text glows faintly like flame. What appears to be chocolate crumbs littered the pages.)
Dear Diary:
Cookies are tasty, and at last, we're finally home. With a substantial block of time, I hope we'll finally get painted. I am currently too full to be thinking of anything at the moment, and I highly doubt there will be anything for us to do. Ah, such is the beauty of vacation - at long last I can take off that plate and put on something more cheery.
We shall now dub the weeks past as "Hell Week." Seriously. She didn't do anything but buried her head in her books and notes and whatnots for the past couple of days. I, for one cannot understand her decision of putting work before food. That's unthinkable. You can't do anything on an empty stomach well!
That being said, I am pleased at the progress of the rest of the army. SeaCap has finished his modification of the Chainsaw Bolt Thrower and used it to great effect in the last couple of games. He is working on getting the Archers some Tau Pathfinder Markerlights for the next game. Korhil's White Lions have arrived, and High Loremaster's personal entourage are here as well. I have a box of my Guards stuck in New Zealand somewhere, and a ton of us needs fixing. Other than that, life looks fairly good.
I have been reading a fair bit of Eva's Art of War, as well as all of the Books that govern our existence. Somehow, I have the sinking feeling that the massively crushing victories we often inflict on players with perfectly calibrated lists designed to DESTROY! in tournaments were the results of good rolls and nothing else.
....Or she's letting on a little more than she belies. I mean, in the last game, she DID manage to break a unit of Greatswords with her unarmored ARCHERS on a charge -
- Hng on. I heard something explode in the back. Sigh. SeaCap must be trying something again. Dear Asuryan. I hope he didn't buy the Necron Cold Fusion Reactor...
~
(As you turn the page, you hear the crackling of arcane energy. Letters glow like the moonlight in a starless sky, pulsing with eldrich power. Whoever wrote this must have been a powerful wizard indeed.)
Dear Brother:
I must admit. Having a nubile young female attending to my every whim is a plus. Considering that this one - Niniane actually shows a great deal of magical promise is a little bonus. On the battlefield she carries the extra scrolls and whatnots, but off the battlefield she's a dear.
You remember the Annals of the Lines of Aenarion, right? She managed to sort out the pages of that whole document in a mere two days. Her translations are fairly good, and she's picking up Bretonnian and High Gothic - at this rate, she'll be able to answer to some correspondences within the month. My office smells fresh, and well, she makes some pretty good tea - almost as good as yours. When you arrive, you must try some!
Did I mention that she also do massages?
If only I actually took students, but alas. You know my spirit. I make a poor professor and an even poorer general. Captain Caradryan, however, seems to pay no heed and instead seems to instantly defer to my recommendations. Only some insanely lucky rolling manages to save us most of the time, as I honestly know nothing of war - where do you pick up your knowledge of command anyways, brother? I only wish I had some of your natural talents.
I'll have to end here, as my bath is ready. Be careful, brother, I've heard some nasty news involving royal airmail. Safe Journey.
Until next time.
Your brother,
Teclis.
~
XI, Storm 78, 209.
[Sigmarite Calendar, Twelvethmonth, 22th day, Year 2008]
After long hours at the lab, repeated testing, failures, failures, and more failures, we have succeeded. The druchii smirk and laugh. The dwarfs snort at our effects to improve technology. Even my own men didn't believe that such a thing can exist...
Until now!
After discovering the internet, I have found that there is a separate realm called "Warhammer 40,000" in which many advanced technological wonders have been found. Coercing Eva into buying bits in the name of Phoenix King, we have succeeded in making the impossible become possible.
Behold! The Repeater Chainsword Thrower! Using the finest principles of projectile motion, this little thing fires Striking Scorpion Chainswords. Yes, the dwarves still laughed. The laughter died in their throats as a whizzing chainsaw flew past their heads, instantly demolishing an entire column of soldiers and sowing massive amounts of terror and confusion in their ranks.
We are currently in the process of acquiring gravitational platforms for our Archers. The enemies of the Asur will tremble before our technological might! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
(The antiquated writing shone briefly as you turned the page, bringing back memories of warm autumn days spent by a pair of twins in their youth.)
Deare Brothyr:
I thanke thee fir thy myssyve and thy welwyshes. I fare well. Unfourtunately, I feare that I may not joyneth thir company, ays thyr shyppyng oef thyr Unyted States ys much slowe. I shalle mete ye yn Janurarye, whenne I am nat stucketh underneathe thyse pyle oef mayl-boxes yn thyr unyversyte.
Thy Brothyr,
Tyryon.
(The entries on this page are actually carved into the paper with a substantially sized axe. Whoever "wrote" it must have been skilled indeed.)
Honorable Journal:
Today I brought great glory to the Asur! Let it be known that the Emperor of Mankind fell to Korhil's axe! Loremaster Teclis' magecraft is strong, but on some occasions you just need a few good axes to get the job done!
You couldn't trust most of the Empire anymore. No, sir. Brother Luther was a good man. A pity he was fired for suggesting an alliance against our common enemies. Unlike her friend, who uses an honorable balance of the finest Imperial forces, this guy on the other hand fielded a massive gunline, along with the Emperor, who is a bad penny. An armored, mustached, griffon-riding penny of most SINISTER EVIL.
Their cannons spewed dark fire and smoke and caused much pollution, but their puny guns do NOTHING against CHRACIAN AXES. RAAAAAH. There is nothing Chayal cannot cut!
Oh. Korhil wishes everyone a merry Wintery season. He hopes you eat lots and become fat and happy.
Dear Diary:
Cookies are tasty, and at last, we're finally home. With a substantial block of time, I hope we'll finally get painted. I am currently too full to be thinking of anything at the moment, and I highly doubt there will be anything for us to do. Ah, such is the beauty of vacation - at long last I can take off that plate and put on something more cheery.
We shall now dub the weeks past as "Hell Week." Seriously. She didn't do anything but buried her head in her books and notes and whatnots for the past couple of days. I, for one cannot understand her decision of putting work before food. That's unthinkable. You can't do anything on an empty stomach well!
That being said, I am pleased at the progress of the rest of the army. SeaCap has finished his modification of the Chainsaw Bolt Thrower and used it to great effect in the last couple of games. He is working on getting the Archers some Tau Pathfinder Markerlights for the next game. Korhil's White Lions have arrived, and High Loremaster's personal entourage are here as well. I have a box of my Guards stuck in New Zealand somewhere, and a ton of us needs fixing. Other than that, life looks fairly good.
I have been reading a fair bit of Eva's Art of War, as well as all of the Books that govern our existence. Somehow, I have the sinking feeling that the massively crushing victories we often inflict on players with perfectly calibrated lists designed to DESTROY! in tournaments were the results of good rolls and nothing else.
....Or she's letting on a little more than she belies. I mean, in the last game, she DID manage to break a unit of Greatswords with her unarmored ARCHERS on a charge -
- Hng on. I heard something explode in the back. Sigh. SeaCap must be trying something again. Dear Asuryan. I hope he didn't buy the Necron Cold Fusion Reactor...
~
(As you turn the page, you hear the crackling of arcane energy. Letters glow like the moonlight in a starless sky, pulsing with eldrich power. Whoever wrote this must have been a powerful wizard indeed.)
Dear Brother:
I must admit. Having a nubile young female attending to my every whim is a plus. Considering that this one - Niniane actually shows a great deal of magical promise is a little bonus. On the battlefield she carries the extra scrolls and whatnots, but off the battlefield she's a dear.
You remember the Annals of the Lines of Aenarion, right? She managed to sort out the pages of that whole document in a mere two days. Her translations are fairly good, and she's picking up Bretonnian and High Gothic - at this rate, she'll be able to answer to some correspondences within the month. My office smells fresh, and well, she makes some pretty good tea - almost as good as yours. When you arrive, you must try some!
Did I mention that she also do massages?
If only I actually took students, but alas. You know my spirit. I make a poor professor and an even poorer general. Captain Caradryan, however, seems to pay no heed and instead seems to instantly defer to my recommendations. Only some insanely lucky rolling manages to save us most of the time, as I honestly know nothing of war - where do you pick up your knowledge of command anyways, brother? I only wish I had some of your natural talents.
I'll have to end here, as my bath is ready. Be careful, brother, I've heard some nasty news involving royal airmail. Safe Journey.
Until next time.
Your brother,
Teclis.
~
XI, Storm 78, 209.
[Sigmarite Calendar, Twelvethmonth, 22th day, Year 2008]
After long hours at the lab, repeated testing, failures, failures, and more failures, we have succeeded. The druchii smirk and laugh. The dwarfs snort at our effects to improve technology. Even my own men didn't believe that such a thing can exist...
Until now!
After discovering the internet, I have found that there is a separate realm called "Warhammer 40,000" in which many advanced technological wonders have been found. Coercing Eva into buying bits in the name of Phoenix King, we have succeeded in making the impossible become possible.
Behold! The Repeater Chainsword Thrower! Using the finest principles of projectile motion, this little thing fires Striking Scorpion Chainswords. Yes, the dwarves still laughed. The laughter died in their throats as a whizzing chainsaw flew past their heads, instantly demolishing an entire column of soldiers and sowing massive amounts of terror and confusion in their ranks.
We are currently in the process of acquiring gravitational platforms for our Archers. The enemies of the Asur will tremble before our technological might! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
(The antiquated writing shone briefly as you turned the page, bringing back memories of warm autumn days spent by a pair of twins in their youth.)
Deare Brothyr:
I thanke thee fir thy myssyve and thy welwyshes. I fare well. Unfourtunately, I feare that I may not joyneth thir company, ays thyr shyppyng oef thyr Unyted States ys much slowe. I shalle mete ye yn Janurarye, whenne I am nat stucketh underneathe thyse pyle oef mayl-boxes yn thyr unyversyte.
Thy Brothyr,
Tyryon.
(The entries on this page are actually carved into the paper with a substantially sized axe. Whoever "wrote" it must have been skilled indeed.)
Honorable Journal:
Today I brought great glory to the Asur! Let it be known that the Emperor of Mankind fell to Korhil's axe! Loremaster Teclis' magecraft is strong, but on some occasions you just need a few good axes to get the job done!
You couldn't trust most of the Empire anymore. No, sir. Brother Luther was a good man. A pity he was fired for suggesting an alliance against our common enemies. Unlike her friend, who uses an honorable balance of the finest Imperial forces, this guy on the other hand fielded a massive gunline, along with the Emperor, who is a bad penny. An armored, mustached, griffon-riding penny of most SINISTER EVIL.
Their cannons spewed dark fire and smoke and caused much pollution, but their puny guns do NOTHING against CHRACIAN AXES. RAAAAAH. There is nothing Chayal cannot cut!
Oh. Korhil wishes everyone a merry Wintery season. He hopes you eat lots and become fat and happy.
[img]http://www.abload.de/img/amaranthwtlu.gif[/img]
Colors are fragrant, but they fade away. In this world of ours, nothing live forever. Today, let us cross into the realm of reality, and let there be no shallow dreaming.
Farewell.
Colors are fragrant, but they fade away. In this world of ours, nothing live forever. Today, let us cross into the realm of reality, and let there be no shallow dreaming.
Farewell.
(As you opened the page, you couldn't help but to feel sombre, as if all the laughter in the world suddenly disappeared. Suddenly, it dawned upon you that this wasn't a diary entry, but more along the lines of a...)
"Here Lieth Sea Guard Captain."
(The intricate carvings on this particular page resembled a ...tombstone!?)
"Fallen in service to the Phoenix King. His star will forever shine among our hearts.
Firstmonth, twelvethday, year 2009 of the Imperial Calendar"
(As you turn the page, you hear the crackling of arcane energy. Letters glow like the moonlight in a starless sky, pulsing with eldrich power. Whoever wrote this must have been a powerful wizard indeed.)
Dear Brother:
Humans are such outrageous creatures at times. I am writing on behave of the Captain of the Phoenix Guard, as he is currently unable to come and write but is instead planning a funeral service.
Niniane is here. She's been crying an awful lot lately over the past two days. Understandable, as most of the Guard and the regular rank and file troops have been absolutely demolished. She seemed to think it's her fault for performing spectacularly with her spellcasting - which utterly devastated the other side. Those Tzeetchian mages. You know what they're like.
I am a little fuzzy on the exact details, but apparently the entire host was swept off the table in maniac fury after a certain other human have lost to Eva. I myself did not participate in the battle - Ah! Sorry. I'll give you more details as it comes. Luthor and his monks have arrived, and I need to go and greet them.
Until next time,
Your brother,
Teclis.
"Here Lieth Sea Guard Captain."
(The intricate carvings on this particular page resembled a ...tombstone!?)
"Fallen in service to the Phoenix King. His star will forever shine among our hearts.
Firstmonth, twelvethday, year 2009 of the Imperial Calendar"
(As you turn the page, you hear the crackling of arcane energy. Letters glow like the moonlight in a starless sky, pulsing with eldrich power. Whoever wrote this must have been a powerful wizard indeed.)
Dear Brother:
Humans are such outrageous creatures at times. I am writing on behave of the Captain of the Phoenix Guard, as he is currently unable to come and write but is instead planning a funeral service.
Niniane is here. She's been crying an awful lot lately over the past two days. Understandable, as most of the Guard and the regular rank and file troops have been absolutely demolished. She seemed to think it's her fault for performing spectacularly with her spellcasting - which utterly devastated the other side. Those Tzeetchian mages. You know what they're like.
I am a little fuzzy on the exact details, but apparently the entire host was swept off the table in maniac fury after a certain other human have lost to Eva. I myself did not participate in the battle - Ah! Sorry. I'll give you more details as it comes. Luthor and his monks have arrived, and I need to go and greet them.
Until next time,
Your brother,
Teclis.
[img]http://www.abload.de/img/amaranthwtlu.gif[/img]
Colors are fragrant, but they fade away. In this world of ours, nothing live forever. Today, let us cross into the realm of reality, and let there be no shallow dreaming.
Farewell.
Colors are fragrant, but they fade away. In this world of ours, nothing live forever. Today, let us cross into the realm of reality, and let there be no shallow dreaming.
Farewell.
-
Arellion Sapher
- Posts: 106
- Joined: Mon Dec 08, 2008 6:40 pm
- Location: Albion