The Way of Moderation has ended (page 566)

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thoadthetoad

5,642 posts

Peasant

Posted May 20, '11 12:01am UTC

IT wasn't until today that Cen told me I was supposed to throw in my entry. Now I know. So I shall do that now.

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Strop

10,816 posts

Bard

Posted May 20, '11 12:15pm UTC

Did you guys get my entry? I sent it in yesterday >___>

I got it, but it was hard to read on my phone so I'll send you proper feedback tomorrow!

I'm just a cameo right? And will my story be illustrated?

Yes, and not at this current moment, but certainly it will make an illustrated appearance sometime...

IT wasn't until today that Cen told me I was supposed to throw in my entry. Now I know. So I shall do that now.

Awesome.

Just finished my cover, tomorrow I pray that it will be sufficiently quiet for me to finish the next parts!

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Strop

10,816 posts

Bard

Posted May 21, '11 3:30pm UTC

Okay. UPDATE TIEM. The plot thickens!

Miracle Drug

Despite the all-out assault on the whole of the city, the Cathedral still stood intact. Whether one would call it a miracle, a selective kind of divine intervention, or simply the fact that nobody cared about the antiquated piece of Gothic architecture enough to lob rocks at it when the Aristocrat Alley was ripe for the ruining just a stone's throw yonder...

The air hung cool and heavy, with the same timeless, and empty quality as always. Over and under the pews, saturating the felt carpet that lined the aisle all the way to the lectern, and behind that, the sacred altar. Or, at least what was left of it, for the giant clocktower bell was still lodged mightily in the ground where it used to be, for none of the self-titled monks that kept the Cathedral were capable of lifting or working out how to lift it out of the ground and repair the damage wrought all the way back from the dodgeball round...

A shadow crouched before the bell, its head bowed, hands clasped, mimicking the clasped hand of Mary in the stain glass window, bowed before Jesus on the cross. Then its long, pointy horse ears twitched.

"Dan," Strop began, then straightened. "Naw. That would be blasphemy. But," he mused to himself. "We could all do with some divine intervention right about now. Divine intervention in our favour, that is. But would it really work-"

Just then, another shadow emerged from the recesses of the vaults.

From The Shadows- by HecticHermit

"Talking to yourself, ponyboy?" the always-grubby Hectichermit said. "Although technically, one could never really talk to themselves because they are... themselves."

"Let's just get to business," Strop said, in no mood to humour Hermit's ramblings. "Did you get the message?"

Hectic bowed slightly, drawing closer to Strop until both shadows stood before the giant silhouette of the bell. "If you seek, I shall provide."

"Good," Strop said. "In that case, do you remember that, uh, 'good stuff'?" Strop started fidgeting, clearly uncomfortable with the combination of the venue and the subject matter.

Hermit spread his hands. "All my stuff is 'good stuff', my good man, err, horse. Speaking of which, how do you know if the stuff that affects you one way would affect others the same way?"

Strop was about to grind his fist into his head when he suddenly realised that Hermit was making a lot more sense than his convoluted grammar suggested. "Wait, what?"

"You're a horse," Hermit explained. "Or maybe you are a man. Or maybe you are a horse-man?"

Strop shook his head rapidly, then lifted his nose defiantly. "I don't know what the effects will be. But being the herbalist, I trust you would."

Even as he said it, Strop could not ignore the chill passing across the back of his neck. He swatted at it, trying to convince himself that it was merely the weight of the air. "So. Back to the original question. Are you ready?"

"As ready as can be, which is to say-" Hermit began. Strop cut him off with a palm.

"I need you to get as much of that crop as you can to the Armusement Park."

Hermit was not done asking in riddles: "When you say as much of that, how much does that really mean?"

Strop turned and started walking out of the Cathedral, fading into the rows of pews. "Enough for a million people."

---

by Cen

Strop stopped abruptly in the alley, starring out at the chaos the city had transformed into. That mess out there resembled his mind more than he would like to think about, and more than he could ever show to anyone. If the ditz of ArmorGames suddently fell depressed, who knew what beating the already low spirit would take.
More so, would he even be able to pull himself back on his own legs as he sunk deeper into the reality of what was going on?
Strop whinnied shrilly and charged out from the alley, after his collegues that had almost disappeard down the street.
For now he would keep up the facade, even if it was simply to keep himself going.

---

IMPORTANT: The following people are now authorised to post the entries they sent in!

Goumas
Kingryan
Chill

I have received stuff from Thoad, I await the rest of your entry.

Hermit, I will email you some instructions on something you can write if you have time.

Xzeno, Crimson, Mav, I will also email you with more details on how the plan will go down. Once we have all the entries in, we'll get on with the show!!!

Efan, if you are at all around, please email us your status.

Okay. UPDATE TIEM. The plot thickens!\r\n\r\n[b]Miracle Drug[/b]\r\n\r\nDespite the all-out assault on the whole of the city, the Cathedral still stood intact. Whether one would call it a miracle, a selective kind of divine intervention, or simply the fact that nobody cared about the antiquated piece of Gothic architecture enough to lob rocks at it when the Aristocrat Alley was ripe for the ruining just a stone's throw yonder...\r\n\r\nThe air hung cool and heavy, with the same timeless, and empty quality as always. Over and under the pews, saturating the felt carpet that lined the aisle all the way to the lectern, and behind that, the sacred altar. Or, at least what was left of it, for the giant clocktower bell was still lodged mightily in the ground where it used to be, for none of the self-titled monks that kept the Cathedral were capable of lifting or working out how to lift it out of the ground and repair the damage wrought all the way back from the dodgeball round...\r\n\r\nA shadow crouched before the bell, its head bowed, hands clasped, mimicking the clasped hand of Mary in the stain glass window, bowed before Jesus on the cross. Then its long, pointy horse ears twitched.\r\n\r\n"Dan," Strop began, then straightened. "Naw. That would be blasphemy. But," he mused to himself. "We could all do with some divine intervention right about now. Divine intervention in our favour, that is. But would it really work-"\r\n\r\nJust then, another shadow emerged from the recesses of the vaults.\r\n\r\n[img]http://i438.photobucket.com/albums/qq105/strawpony/Way%20Of%20Moderation/FromTheShadows.png[/img]\r\n\r\n[i]From The Shadows- by HecticHermit[/i]\r\n\r\n"Talking to yourself, ponyboy?" the always-grubby Hectichermit said. "Although technically, one could never really talk to themselves because they are... themselves."\r\n\r\n"Let's just get to business," Strop said, in no mood to humour Hermit's ramblings. "Did you get the message?"\r\n\r\nHectic bowed slightly, drawing closer to Strop until both shadows stood before the giant silhouette of the bell. "If you seek, I shall provide."\r\n\r\n"Good," Strop said. "In that case, do you remember that, uh, 'good stuff'?" Strop started fidgeting, clearly uncomfortable with the combination of the venue and the subject matter.\r\n\r\nHermit spread his hands. "All my stuff is 'good stuff', my good man, err, horse. Speaking of which, how do you know if the stuff that affects you one way would affect others the same way?"\r\n\r\nStrop was about to grind his fist into his head when he suddenly realised that Hermit was making a lot more sense than his convoluted grammar suggested. "Wait, what?"\r\n\r\n"You're a horse," Hermit explained. "Or maybe you are a man. Or maybe you are a horse-man?"\r\n\r\nStrop shook his head rapidly, then lifted his nose defiantly. "I don't know what the effects will be. But being the herbalist, I trust you would."\r\n\r\nEven as he said it, Strop could not ignore the chill passing across the back of his neck. He swatted at it, trying to convince himself that it was merely the weight of the air. "So. Back to the original question. Are you ready?"\r\n\r\n"As ready as can be, which is to say-" Hermit began. Strop cut him off with a palm.\r\n\r\n"I need you to get as much of that crop as you can to the Armusement Park."\r\n\r\nHermit was not done asking in riddles: "When you say as much of that, how much does that really mean?"\r\n\r\nStrop turned and started walking out of the Cathedral, fading into the rows of pews. "Enough for a million people."\r\n\r\n---\r\n\r\n[i]by Cen[/i]\r\n\r\nStrop stopped abruptly in the alley, starring out at the chaos the city had transformed into. That mess out there resembled his mind more than he would like to think about, and more than he could ever show to anyone. If the ditz of ArmorGames suddently fell depressed, who knew what beating the already low spirit would take. \r\n    More so, would he even be able to pull himself back on his own legs as he sunk deeper into the reality of what was going on?\r\n    Strop whinnied shrilly and charged out from the alley, after his collegues that had almost disappeard down the street. \r\n    For now he would keep up the facade, even if it was simply to keep himself going. \r\n\r\n---\r\n\r\n[b]IMPORTANT:[/b] The following people are now authorised to post the entries they sent in!\r\n\r\nGoumas\r\nKingryan\r\nChill\r\n\r\nI have received stuff from Thoad, I await the rest of your entry.\r\n\r\nHermit, I will email you some instructions on something you can write if you have time.\r\n\r\nXzeno, Crimson, Mav, I will also email you with more details on how the plan will go down. Once we have all the entries in, we'll get on with the show!!!\r\n\r\nEfan, if you are at all around, please email us your status.

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thisisnotanalt

9,821 posts

Shepherd

Posted May 21, '11 8:11pm UTC

Chill shook his head, melting the sweat and ice that had covered his face.
The room he was in was semifrozen, and cluttered. The walls were shelves, which were lined with mugs, sheet music, books, and notes - with the occasional piece of coffee-making paraphernalia punctuating the display. The room was a pentagonal sub-sub-basement, deep underground and unknown to the rest of armorgames. Chill had it added to the 20th mansion in the Aristocrat Way when he moved in - a workshop and a practice room, all for him. The light came from a series of candles - electric light was too unpretentious - except for a laptop on a shelf, which was open to a webpage about coffee. The hallway leading out of the room led to a water basin, which Chill would freeze and move to ascend into the sub-basement, the basement, or the main floor. The drop was a few hundred feet down a narrow cylindrical pathway, as a measure against invaders - and it worked. Already a troll had broken in and fallen to his death stumbling into it. The audio of the room was populated either with Chill playing violin, making coffee, or refreezing the doorway (the ice would often crackle loudly as it was being refrozen), and Chill hadn't set foot outside of the room in days.
Chill siphoned the coffee grounds out of the dzezva, before cooling the water. The coffee was re-added and re-boiled, releasing even more caffeine from the Robusta beans he was using. They were stupidly caffeinated and they tasted as if they were the personification of Newt Gingrich â" old, bitter, and prone to inducing palpitations. Those beans had run their course, so Chill discarded then. Guarana was employed next. The brewing process had been such siphoning and replacing ad nauseum for the past few days. Chill separated out a sphere of the coffee - making sure it was perfectly stirred - before setting it in a petri dish. He separated out the water molecules, leaving only a large mass of caffeine. The water he discarded into the air, and the caffeine he re-integrated with the rest of the coffee. Pouring the rest into three small vials, Chill set them down - corked, of course - with his other supplies. Inhaler, 10 vials of hypercaffeinated Balkan coffee solution, self-defense spork. Steeling himself for the journey ahead, Chill gathered his things and ascended the elevator to the main floor of the house.
There was little time between when Chill set foot on the main floor and when the front door was bashed in. A troll, with a flaming club made out of a "Fix PSN" sign, was lumbering through the foyer. Chill was light-footed enough to remain undetected when sitting still, and did not move a muscle for minutes. It was a clamor of crying tritones - the troll had smashed his three violins with a swipe of the club - that motivated him to leave. Chill drew a large ball of water out of the surrounding environment and froze the troll in place - suspended in mid-breath. His fierce expression was fixed forever as Chill made his way out of the front door of the house and into the dystopia of the city of Armorgames in the midst of a troll infestation.
The infestation was news to Chill - the cryptic request he had received was all that hinted at any sort of trouble. The cityscape looked like Osgiliath during a bad hair day. A quick pillar of ice and a survey of the horizon convinced Chill that the Shopping Quarter and the Tavern were infeasible as routes to the Armusement Park, which was his destination. The Cathedral, however, was relatively intact - and so was the Construction Zone, which was beautifully open. Chill implanted himself in a sphere of water surrounded by cold air, only his head sticking out, and controlled the sphere for movement.
Chill was moving very fast. His inhaler was inside an air bubble along with the vials, and he had to concentrate hard to move quickly without soaking them. He slowed down once to take a dose of the medicine, then returning to full speed. The street was zooming by. The occasional AGer on the road would see him pass by and comment on it - "Oh, that's that former Way of Moderation contestant! Funny mode 'a transportation, donchaknow?" or something to that effect.
Chill zipped past the Cathedral almost too quickly to soak up the scene. It was intact, an oddity when compared to the disarray the rest of Armorgames was in. Chill could have sworn he saw something there - something . . . perissodactylous. Something . . . equuacious. But it sank down into the recesses of the back of his mind, to be ignored forever.
The Cathedral led right into the Construction Zone. It was open territory, games starting to assemble themselves in the ether, their creators present but out-of-sight. Chill worked mostly to dodge the games and the trees - a zombie holding a pipe came out of nowhere, a trebuchet almost knocking Chill out of the watery orb. The Construction Zone had few trolls in it, as it was a low-priority target. With the Armusement Park in sight, Chillâs spirits were lifted.
Chill reached the gate and vaulted it. Quickly freezing water under him allowed the force of the expansion to propel him up, and when combined with a jump, got him over the short fence. The landing was considerably less masterful, with Chill spraining an ankle on the way down. He froze himself a small cast for it so he could walk untroubled - he also tried to control the blood that was causing the ankle to bruise, but he hadn't the time to focus on it. He had to meet Strop and give him the vials. And so, slipping into the crowd like an ice cube into a glass of water, Chill sought out the ninja horse that had requested these strange elixirs.

Chill shook his head, melting the sweat and ice that had covered his face.\r\n           The room he was in was semifrozen, and cluttered. The walls were shelves, which were lined with mugs, sheet music, books, and notes - with the occasional piece of coffee-making paraphernalia punctuating the display.  The room was a pentagonal sub-sub-basement, deep underground and unknown to the rest of armorgames.  Chill had it added to the 20th mansion in the Aristocrat Way when he moved in - a workshop and a practice room, all for him.  The light came from a series of candles - electric light was too unpretentious - except for a laptop on a shelf, which was open to a webpage about coffee.  The hallway leading out of the room led to a water basin, which Chill would freeze and move to ascend into the sub-basement, the basement, or the main floor.  The drop was a few hundred feet down a narrow cylindrical pathway, as a measure against invaders - and it worked.  Already a troll had broken in and fallen to his death stumbling into it.  The audio of the room was populated either with Chill playing violin, making coffee, or refreezing the doorway (the ice would often crackle loudly as it was being refrozen), and Chill hadn't set foot outside of the room in days.\r\n           Chill siphoned the coffee grounds out of the dzezva, before cooling the water.  The coffee was re-added and re-boiled, releasing even more caffeine from the Robusta beans he was using.  They were stupidly caffeinated and they tasted as if they were the personification of Newt Gingrich â�" old, bitter, and prone to inducing palpitations.  Those beans had run their course, so Chill discarded then.  Guarana was employed next.  The brewing process had been such siphoning and replacing ad nauseum for the past few days.  Chill separated out a sphere of the coffee - making sure it was perfectly stirred - before setting it in a petri dish.  He separated out the water molecules, leaving only a large mass of caffeine.  The water he discarded into the air, and the caffeine he re-integrated with the rest of the coffee.  Pouring the rest into three small vials, Chill set them down - corked, of course - with his other supplies.  Inhaler, 10 vials of hypercaffeinated Balkan coffee solution, self-defense spork.  Steeling himself for the journey ahead, Chill gathered his things and ascended the elevator to the main floor of the house.\r\n           There was little time between when Chill set foot on the main floor and when the front door was bashed in.  A troll, with a flaming club made out of a "Fix PSN" sign, was lumbering through the foyer.  Chill was light-footed enough to remain undetected when sitting still, and did not move a muscle for minutes.  It was a clamor of crying tritones - the troll had smashed his three violins with a swipe of the club - that motivated him to leave.  Chill drew a large ball of water out of the surrounding environment and froze the troll in place - suspended in mid-breath.  His fierce expression was fixed forever as Chill made his way out of the front door of the house and into the dystopia of the city of Armorgames in the midst of a troll infestation.\r\n           The infestation was news to Chill - the cryptic request he had received was all that hinted at any sort of trouble.  The cityscape looked like Osgiliath during a bad hair day.  A quick pillar of ice and a survey of the horizon convinced Chill that the Shopping Quarter and the Tavern were infeasible as routes to the Armusement Park, which was his destination.  The Cathedral, however, was relatively intact - and so was the Construction Zone, which was beautifully open.  Chill implanted himself in a sphere of water surrounded by cold air, only his head sticking out, and controlled the sphere for movement.\r\n           Chill was moving very fast.  His inhaler was inside an air bubble along with the vials, and he had to concentrate hard to move quickly without soaking them.  He slowed down once to take a dose of the medicine, then returning to full speed.  The street was zooming by.  The occasional AGer on the road would see him pass by and comment on it - "Oh, that's that former Way of Moderation contestant!  Funny mode 'a transportation, donchaknow?" or something to that effect.\r\n           Chill zipped past the Cathedral almost too quickly to soak up the scene.  It was intact, an oddity when compared to the disarray the rest of Armorgames was in.  Chill could have sworn he saw something there - something . . . perissodactylous.  Something . . . equuacious.  But it sank down into the recesses of the back of his mind, to be ignored forever.\r\n           The Cathedral led right into the Construction Zone.  It was open territory, games starting to assemble themselves in the ether, their creators present but out-of-sight.  Chill worked mostly to dodge the games and the trees - a zombie holding a pipe came out of nowhere, a trebuchet almost knocking Chill out of the watery orb.  The Construction Zone had few trolls in it, as it was a low-priority target.  With the Armusement Park in sight, Chillâ��s spirits were lifted.\r\n           Chill reached the gate and vaulted it.  Quickly freezing water under him allowed the force of the expansion to propel him up, and when combined with a jump, got him over the short fence.  The landing was considerably less masterful, with Chill spraining an ankle on the way down.  He froze himself a small cast for it so he could walk untroubled - he also tried to control the blood that was causing the ankle to bruise, but he hadn't the time to focus on it.  He had to meet Strop and give him the vials.  And so, slipping into the crowd like an ice cube into a glass of water, Chill sought out the ninja horse that had requested these strange elixirs.

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Nurvana

2,520 posts

Farmer

Posted May 22, '11 2:30am UTC

The cityscape looked like Osgiliath during a bad hair day.

Where's Faramir when you need him?

Great job guys, I was deeply despairing there for a moment.

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kingryan

4,196 posts

Farmer

Posted May 22, '11 5:51am UTC

The setting sun was hardly noticeable amongst the smoke and fires, and as KingRyan looked tiredly out from one of the library balconies, he wondered how much longer this fighting would go on for. He beloved city, which he had seen grow from its first roots in Beta was now burning, a silent tear rolled down his face and he remembered all those that had come and gone.

In all his time in the city of ArmorGames, there had never been a situation as bad as this. Sure, at times there had been fires and rebellions, but nothing to this magnitude. And where were the mighty Moderators now? What about that Tournament that was meant to be happening to get a new Mod, that obviously didn't happen - and if it did, it hasn't worked. And the mighty administration had disappeared too. Where was Queen Carlie, and the great great great McNeeley. KR sighed as he thought of the small note hidden within his house which was given to him by McNeeley when he first arrived in the ArmorCity.

It had been quiet around the Library for some time, so KR hoped that it had been forgotten about. The event that happened next could be said to have been caused by the 'jinx' of KR hoping that, but in reality it was actually a complex series of events involving a piece of toilet paper, but that will not be discussed here.
A large mob of Newf*gs appeared around a bend on a street near a library. They were carrying an assortment of weapons and other odd devices, ready to destroy the Library from the ground up.

KR's heart-rate increased and his old heart began to struggle under the stress. He panted and wheezed as the mob got closer, knowing that this was probably the end.

A moderate sized crowd had congregated at the Amusement Park. KingRyan stared around at those around him, some of them he didn't even know, but he noticed a few familiar faces around. The rumour was that the last Moderators were coming to help liberated ArmorGames once and for all.

As the old KingRyan waited, a slight thought of wonder flew through his mind - how exactly did he get to the Amusement Park?

The setting sun was hardly noticeable amongst the smoke and fires, and as KingRyan looked tiredly out from one of the library balconies, he wondered how much longer this fighting would go on for. He beloved city, which he had seen grow from its first roots in Beta was now burning, a silent tear rolled down his face and he remembered all those that had come and gone.\r\n\r\nIn all his time in the city of ArmorGames, there had never been a situation as bad as this. Sure, at times there had been fires and rebellions, but nothing to this magnitude. And where were the mighty Moderators now? What about that Tournament that was meant to be happening to get a new Mod, that obviously didn't happen - and if it did, it hasn't worked. And the mighty administration had disappeared too. Where was Queen Carlie, and the great great great McNeeley. KR sighed as he thought of the small note hidden within his house which was given to him by McNeeley when he first arrived in the ArmorCity.\r\n\r\nIt had been quiet around the Library for some time, so KR hoped that it had been forgotten about. The event that happened next could be said to have been caused by the 'jinx' of KR hoping that, but in reality it was actually a complex series of events involving a piece of toilet paper, but that will not be discussed here.\r\nA large mob of Newf*gs appeared around a bend on a street near a library. They were carrying an assortment of weapons and other odd devices, ready to destroy the Library from the ground up.\r\n\r\nKR's heart-rate increased and his old heart began to struggle under the stress. He panted and wheezed as the mob got closer, knowing that this was probably the end.\r\n\r\n\r\nA moderate sized crowd had congregated at the Amusement Park. KingRyan stared around at those around him, some of them he didn't even know, but he noticed a few familiar faces around. The rumour was that the last Moderators were coming to help liberated ArmorGames once and for all.\r\n\r\nAs the old KingRyan waited, a slight thought of wonder flew through his mind - how exactly did he get to the Amusement Park?

offline

Hectichermit

1,828 posts

Bard

Posted May 23, '11 4:07am UTC

yaay my bad pic made it :P, anyways i got some time this week to write something. I will be busy after this week though for like a month. Anyways just send me it I'll see what I can come up with.

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goumas13

4,752 posts

Grand Duke

Posted May 23, '11 6:54am UTC

Goumas arrived home rather easily, since the invaders were too busy pillaging and burning to bother chasing him. Unfortunately, when Goumas was in the driveway he saw that the front door was wide open. Somebody had broken into, he was absolutely positive the doors were locked completely before he left. After further inspection the ex-alchemist realized why the door was wide open, there was no door anymore and a big chunk of wall was missing.
Goumas thought that it wasn't wise entering the house under these circumstances, nonetheless he decided to go in, he had to see what was missing, so he could later report it to a mod. Nobody had touched his books or clothes and the appliances seemed to be all still there. It was time then to watch some soccer, to relax. However that was virtually impossible, somebody had stolen the TV.
Now, Goumas was very annoyed, they really shouldn't have touched his TV. He had to get revenge.
Where was he suppose to go? The park. Everybody was going to be there, perhaps his TV would be there too.
The wannabe-soccer-coach started walking quickly towards the park, but after just only a couple steps he had found his beloved TV.
A six-hundred-pound gorilla was holding it, so big and strong it didn't have to worry about anything. The gorilla started painting a picture on the screen, some sort of white rose, using a six-inch brush.
Goumas had to do something quickly if he wanted to stop the gorilla, to save his TV, so he yelled at it "Hey! Big ape leave my TV alone!"
The gorilla didn't answer, it had finished painting its picture. The great ape took a look around and hung the picture on the wall with a sledgehammer and a spike.
Goumas realized now that the gorilla was bigger, stronger and angrier than when they first met. He had to run to the park as soon as possible and hide behind the other people, he would certainly be safe there. If Goumas tried to face the gorilla he was a dead duck.

Goumas arrived home rather easily, since the invaders were too busy pillaging and burning to bother chasing him. Unfortunately, when Goumas was in the driveway he saw that the front door was wide open. Somebody had broken into, he was absolutely positive the doors were locked completely before he left. After further inspection the ex-alchemist realized why the door was wide open, there was no door anymore and a big chunk of wall was missing.\r\nGoumas thought that it wasn't wise entering the house under these circumstances, nonetheless he decided to go in, he had to see what was missing, so he could later report it to a mod. Nobody had touched his books or clothes and the appliances seemed to be all still there. It was time then to watch some soccer, to relax. However that was virtually impossible, somebody had stolen the TV.\r\nNow, Goumas was very annoyed, they really shouldn't have touched his TV. He had to get revenge.\r\nWhere was he suppose to go? The park. Everybody was going to be there, perhaps his TV would be there too.\r\nThe wannabe-soccer-coach started walking quickly towards the park, but after just only a couple steps he had found his beloved TV. \r\nA six-hundred-pound gorilla was holding it, so big and strong it didn't have to worry about anything. The gorilla started painting a picture on the screen, some sort of white rose, using a six-inch brush.\r\nGoumas had to do something quickly if he wanted to stop the gorilla, to save his TV, so he yelled at it "Hey! Big ape leave my TV alone!"\r\nThe gorilla didn't answer, it had finished painting its picture. The great ape took a look around and hung the picture on the wall with a sledgehammer and a spike.\r\nGoumas realized now that the gorilla was bigger, stronger and angrier than when they first met. He had to run to the park as soon as possible and hide behind the other people, he would certainly be safe there. If Goumas tried to face the gorilla he was a dead duck.

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Strop

10,816 posts

Bard

Posted May 24, '11 1:24pm UTC

Most excellent. We're still missing Efan, but now I'll be able to move on.

NEXT UP: the final Checkpoint before the fateful battle!

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Strop

10,816 posts

Bard

Posted June 5, '11 3:16pm UTC

It has come to my attention that tomorrow is the 2nd anniversary of the opening of the WoM tournament... I admit that I would have liked to be much further along than we are now. I was also going to drop a huge update but between the final week of work in which my colleague suffered an unexpected emergency and had to take leave, travel and now leave (for my sister's wedding) I haven't had much access to internet.

Fortunately you can expect a bumper update tomorrow. It'll be picture-light as I've been doing most of my work on my lap, but it will also advance the story more than I've managed in any one go for the past six months!

After that I SHOULD be able to email everybody I need to about where they come in. And then **** gets real!

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crimsonblade55

5,420 posts

Shepherd

Posted June 5, '11 11:14pm UTC

Sounds awesome, though it has also come to my attention that I am most likely going to be graduating from high school before this whole thing ends which for some reason I find kind of funny. I honestly didn't expect to find myself writing about this on an alienware desktop when I started. Regardless real life keeps getting in the way and that's understandable.

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Nurvana

2,520 posts

Farmer

Posted June 6, '11 2:04am UTC

And then **** gets real!

Little scares me more than unrealistic ****.

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Cenere

13,657 posts

Jester

Posted June 6, '11 8:20am UTC

Dear WoM (thread), congratulations on the amazing delay that has caused you to grow into a full 500+ pages thread with two years behind you, and a huge number of views.
I would have made you cake, but I am far too lazy right now for that, so probably not.
As many of the other involved with you, you can be sure that I had no idea you would grow this... mature, and two years is more than any other thread would have been allowed in most cases, especially with the lack of feedback at times.
To think that you should have been done and over with by Halloween, then Christmas, then summer, then October, then January, then today is... perhaps a little too optimistic, now that I think about it. But that is how it is, when you are young and naive.
Either way, I congratulate you on your anniversary-slash-birthday (though the idea was birthed a lot earlier... Jeez...), and hope you... live long and, or, get a conclusion soon.

For the thread/WoM!

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kingryan

4,196 posts

Farmer

Posted June 6, '11 12:01pm UTC

Happy Birthday WoM (thread),

It seems like yesterday when I first wrote on your pages (page 7 by the time I got back from my camp or something...I don't know, I have a go at you back there for something Strop)...thinking that you would would be just like the MWT but awesomer.

Back then, I was fifteen. So young, so naive. Wtf that was 2009 and I was in year 10! Gosh, now I'm in year 12 and doing exams and stuff.

We must also remember our great host-thingos/people/animals...we'll go with things...who have been running (putting it off) all this time. Without them this whole thread would not have happened.

So yeah, lets find a conclusion.

Happy Birthday WoM

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Strop

10,816 posts

Bard

Posted June 6, '11 6:46pm UTC

Happy Birthday WoM! I had something in the works for you but that'll have to wait just a little while because I was working on something more important... THE UPDATE!

---

In the previous installment: the moderators had some kind of plan, but struggled to reach the Armusement Park. Strop detoured to cut a shady deal with Hermit, but caught up with them to find most of the people of AG disheartened, but reassuringly safe.

The Value of Folly

Statistics never lie. They may be omitted, misinterpreted, or even misleading but data is as data always was: raw information. The Aristocrat Alley may have stood as the pinnacle of the individualistic desires of the aspiring AGer, but the truth of the matter was that it was the figures that nobody cared about that spoke the strongest. In fact, most of the deeds and happenings in the city at its prime, had nothing at all to do with the exchange of currency.

And that was why the Armusement Park was the location of choice for an evacuation in an emergency such as this. Being utterly unproductive, it had been completely overlooked in the raid. Now, though, it had taken on a new life as a refugee camp. The vast expanses of grassy greens and trees just starting to regain their cover had been swamped by tents, people and animals, all looking lost and forlorn as they milled around in disorganised swirls. The occasional motivated person flitted from place to place trying to be helpful... but the doldrums were just too overwhelming, and those bright sparks were swallowed up in a sea of malaise.

To this scene the moderators eventually arrived, convening at the top of a small hill that overlooked the entire park. Stealthily, a scaffold was set up, some canvas thrown over the top, so they could look out without being looked in on. Perhaps they were even trying to wall themselves from the oppressively despondent air that gripped the place.

Huddled around a single lantern, the silent six sat, twiddling their fingers. For seconds, minutes, so uniformly did the moments pass that it was impossible to tell, they didn't utter a word. Occasionally, one would lean over, peel the flap of the tent aside, peer out, then look back in.

Finally, the dwarf broke the silence. "What happens if he doesn't come?"

The Dragonmistress hunched defensively. "He will. There's no way he won't hear my call."

Dank seemed to engage in some internal struggle for a moment, before peering out the flap in the tent again. "I don't mean to be a downer, but you do realise that time is run-"

A meaty hand shot out. "It's okay, Dank. We know. But we have to be as patient as we can for now," Asherlee reminded him.

"But the rains..." Dank trailed off into meaningless gesticulations.

"If it makes you feel any better, I can try again." The Dragonmistress sighed, bringing a small metallic whistle to her lips.

Right at that very moment they were alerted to a sudden outburst of screams and cries from outside. Fearing the worst, they rushed out of the tent and saw thousands upon thousands of people, their eyes and pointed fingers glued on a rapidly growing black mass in the sky. At first nearly indistinguishable from the storm clouds from which it emerged, it soon became apparent that this mass was far blacker, more sinister, more positively evil than any cloud could ever be. And when it coughed, and blew a giant plume of fire that singed the hairs of many an AGer, there was no more doubt as to its identity.

The horned Western dragon, Devoidless the Ancient, landed directly on top of the mod tent, crushing it into the hilltop, settled on his scaly posterior, and took a drag of his cigarette.

"You guys make too much noise, you know?" was all he said.

"Well how nice of you to show up," Dank grumped, obviously remembering their previous meeting. "Did you finally get over yourself?"

"Say, I think I've gone a bit deaf in my old age," Devoidless shot back, "Was that the wind I heard?"

"Is that a tear in your eye?" Dank pointedly asked.

Devoidless did not reply, but a quivering slowly became apparent. It originated from his lower lip, then migrated to his whole jaw, then neck, then sholders, until he looked like his own seismic tremor. Then he threw himself wholly onto the Dragonmistress.

"I thought I'd never see you again!" he choked out between sobs. "The first time you called I thought I was hearing things!"

"You were, you big lug," DM said, chuckling a little as she attempted to fend off his crushing embrace. "You're never out of range of my whistle." Strop couldn't help but notice that despite her words, DM's expression was that of relief.

"And Asherlee too! That makes two of my favourite people in the whole wide world!" Devoidless suddenly dragged the lot of them into a giant group hug, where they all suffered each others' BO, plus abrasions from the dragon's scaly plates.

"If you please," Dank interjected, extricating himself. "Everybody is staring."

"Yes," Moe added," I expect they want us to say something, now that we've been noticed."

Indeed, the spectacle of their reunion had drawn the attention of most, if not everybody at the park, meaning some hundreds of thousands of people were now staring at them (or at least looking in their general direction trying to figure out what they were looking at). Each and every one of those people looked on, hoping for some direction or anything they could latch on to other than the thought of impending doom.

"Well," Zophia shrugged. "We should at least tell them something." With that remark, she raised the 'fone to her mouth and cleared her throat. "Ahem." Then she announced:

"Hi guys. This is the one safe place left in the whole city. Stay put until the trouble dies down."

Then she clicked off the 'fone. The announcement, predictably, was met with a large round of confusion.

"Well, what else was I supposed to have said?" Zophia protested, before finally rolling her eyes and clicking the 'fone on again.

"What I mean is, we have a plan. But it's dangerous out there so the best thing for you to do would be nothing. We'll let you know when it's safe again."

Then she clicked it off again. "Guys? We do have a plan, right?"

Strop scratched the back of his head. "Well, seeing as 'voidy has returned to us in our hour of need, we can proceed, I think."

"Proceed with what?" Devoidless asked.

"In case you haven't noticed," Strop waved his arms around, "The city's in a spot of bother. We're going to save it."

"And we need you because we can't leave this place without getting swamped by rioters and looters." Zophia chimed in.

"Wait a minute," Devoidless growled. "I don't like the sound of where this is going."

"That's right!" DM announced. "You're going to be our taxi."

"I'm a dragon!" Devoidless immediately objected. "Not a-" He stopped just as quickly when DM whipped out her whip. "You're not going to make me do that are you?"

The great dragon Devoidless bowed his head. "No, mistress."

---

Arms folded and slumped against a tree, Nill had been silently observing the spectacle of the moderators at the Armusement Park, and their eventual departure on the back of Devoidless. She wasn't particularly impressed.

"I can't believe they'd ignore the users like that," she muttered to herself. "Whatever happened to people power?"

That said, one glance around the perimeter of the park said it all: there wasn't much power in the people. Not the way they were, anyway. This served only to infuriate Nill further. How could everything crumble so badly in the face of one emergency? That a change in circumstance could change a people so thoroughly, she could not accept it. All that it would take would be their attention and some choice words, and they would be well on their way to seizing their fate from the jaws of death. Only it would be all the harder for the fact that, in her current state, she was not a moderator.

But she didn't need to be.

A young man passed by her field of vision and she did a doubletake. He looked more alert, more motivated than most of them, and she could have sworn that he was asking people if they needed help. One man among hundreds of thousands offering help was nothing more than a drop in the ocean, but if they could be organised somehow... thinking about it some more, she realised that she recognised him as a contestant in Strop's godforsaken tournament that arguably caused every single trouble she could think of at this moment. Not just that, but a contestant who had made the final four. Surely there was a resource just waiting to be tapped!

"You, yes, you!" She pointed directly at him, and he looked up, surprised. "You interested in helping out? There's something I need you to do."

---

Here you have it, the stirrings of a people-powered response! I shall send through some emails to touch base (because I lost contact for a while), and will continue updating throughout this week as much as I can. After all, you'd be wanting to see what this vague and risky plan of the mod team is, wouldn't you?

Happy Birthday WoM! I had something in the works for you but that'll have to wait just a little while because I was working on something more important... THE UPDATE!\r\n\r\n---\r\n\r\n[i]In the previous installment: the moderators had some kind of plan, but struggled to reach the Armusement Park. Strop detoured to cut a shady deal with Hermit, but caught up with them to find most of the people of AG disheartened, but reassuringly safe.[/i]\r\n\r\n[b]The Value of Folly[/b]\r\n\r\nStatistics never lie. They may be omitted, misinterpreted, or even misleading but data is as data always was: raw information. The Aristocrat Alley may have stood as the pinnacle of the individualistic desires of the aspiring AGer, but the truth of the matter was that it was the figures that nobody cared about that spoke the strongest. In fact, most of the deeds and happenings in the city at its prime, had nothing at all to do with the exchange of currency.\r\n\r\nAnd that was why the Armusement Park was the location of choice for an evacuation in an emergency such as this. Being utterly unproductive, it had been completely overlooked in the raid. Now, though, it had taken on a new life as a refugee camp. The vast expanses of grassy greens and trees just starting to regain their cover had been swamped by tents, people and animals, all looking lost and forlorn as they milled around in disorganised swirls. The occasional motivated person flitted from place to place trying to be helpful... but the doldrums were just too overwhelming, and those bright sparks were swallowed up in a sea of malaise.\r\n\r\nTo this scene the moderators eventually arrived, convening at the top of a small hill that overlooked the entire park. Stealthily, a scaffold was set up, some canvas thrown over the top, so they could look out without being looked in on. Perhaps they were even trying to wall themselves from the oppressively despondent air that gripped the place.\r\n\r\nHuddled around a single lantern, the silent six sat, twiddling their fingers. For seconds, minutes, so uniformly did the moments pass that it was impossible to tell, they didn't utter a word. Occasionally, one would lean over, peel the flap of the tent aside, peer out, then look back in.\r\n\r\nFinally, the dwarf broke the silence. "What happens if he doesn't come?"\r\n\r\nThe Dragonmistress hunched defensively. "He will. There's no way he won't hear my call."\r\n\r\nDank seemed to engage in some internal struggle for a moment, before peering out the flap in the tent again. "I don't mean to be a downer, but you do realise that time is run-"\r\n\r\nA meaty hand shot out. "It's okay, Dank. We know. But we have to be as patient as we can for now," Asherlee reminded him.\r\n\r\n"But the rains..." Dank trailed off into meaningless gesticulations.\r\n\r\n"If it makes you feel any better, I can try again." The Dragonmistress sighed, bringing a small metallic whistle to her lips.\r\n\r\nRight at that very moment they were alerted to a sudden outburst of screams and cries from outside. Fearing the worst, they rushed out of the tent and saw thousands upon thousands of people, their eyes and pointed fingers glued on a rapidly growing black mass in the sky. At first nearly indistinguishable from the storm clouds from which it emerged, it soon became apparent that this mass was far blacker, more sinister, more positively evil than any cloud could ever be. And when it coughed, and blew a giant plume of fire that singed the hairs of many an AGer, there was no more doubt as to its identity.\r\n\r\nThe horned Western dragon, Devoidless the Ancient, landed directly on top of the mod tent, crushing it into the hilltop, settled on his scaly posterior, and took a drag of his cigarette.\r\n\r\n"You guys make too much noise, you know?" was all he said.\r\n\r\n"Well how nice of you to show up," Dank grumped, obviously remembering their previous meeting. "Did you finally get over yourself?"\r\n\r\n"Say, I think I've gone a bit deaf in my old age," Devoidless shot back, "Was that the wind I heard?"\r\n\r\n"Is that a tear in your eye?" Dank pointedly asked.\r\n\r\nDevoidless did not reply, but a quivering slowly became apparent. It originated from his lower lip, then migrated to his whole jaw, then neck, then sholders, until he looked like his own seismic tremor. Then he threw himself wholly onto the Dragonmistress.\r\n\r\n"I thought I'd never see you again!" he choked out between sobs. "The first time you called I thought I was hearing things!"\r\n\r\n"You were, you big lug," DM said, chuckling a little as she attempted to fend off his crushing embrace. "You're never out of range of my whistle." Strop couldn't help but notice that despite her words, DM's expression was that of relief.\r\n\r\n"And Asherlee too! That makes two of my favourite people in the whole wide world!" Devoidless suddenly dragged the lot of them into a giant group hug, where they all suffered each others' BO, plus abrasions from the dragon's scaly plates.\r\n\r\n"If you please," Dank interjected, extricating himself. "Everybody is staring."\r\n\r\n"Yes," Moe added," I expect they want us to say something, now that we've been noticed."\r\n\r\nIndeed, the spectacle of their reunion had drawn the attention of most, if not everybody at the park, meaning some hundreds of thousands of people were now staring at them (or at least looking in their general direction trying to figure out what they were looking at). Each and every one of those people looked on, hoping for some direction or anything they could latch on to other than the thought of impending doom.\r\n\r\n"Well," Zophia shrugged. "We should at least tell them something." With that remark, she raised the 'fone to her mouth and cleared her throat. "Ahem." Then she announced:\r\n\r\n"Hi guys. This is the one safe place left in the whole city. Stay put until the trouble dies down."\r\n\r\nThen she clicked off the 'fone. The announcement, predictably, was met with a large round of confusion.\r\n\r\n"Well, what else was I supposed to have said?" Zophia protested, before finally rolling her eyes and clicking the 'fone on again.\r\n\r\n"What I mean is, we have a plan. But it's dangerous out there so the best thing for you to do would be nothing. We'll let you know when it's safe again."\r\n\r\nThen she clicked it off again. "Guys? We do have a plan, right?"\r\n\r\nStrop scratched the back of his head. "Well, seeing as 'voidy has returned to us in our hour of need, we can proceed, I think."\r\n\r\n"Proceed with what?" Devoidless asked.\r\n\r\n"In case you haven't noticed," Strop waved his arms around, "The city's in a spot of bother. We're going to save it."\r\n\r\n"And we need you because we can't leave this place without getting swamped by rioters and looters." Zophia chimed in.\r\n\r\n"Wait a minute," Devoidless growled. "I don't like the sound of where this is going."\r\n\r\n"That's right!" DM announced. "You're going to be our taxi."\r\n\r\n"I'm a dragon!" Devoidless immediately objected. "Not a-" He stopped just as quickly when DM whipped out her whip. "You're not going to make me do [i]that[/i] are you?"\r\n\r\nThe great dragon Devoidless bowed his head. "No, mistress."\r\n\r\n---\r\n\r\nArms folded and slumped against a tree, Nill had been silently observing the spectacle of the moderators at the Armusement Park, and their eventual departure on the back of Devoidless. She wasn't particularly impressed.\r\n\r\n"I can't believe they'd ignore the users like that," she muttered to herself. "Whatever happened to people power?"\r\n\r\nThat said, one glance around the perimeter of the park said it all: there wasn't much power in the people. Not the way they were, anyway. This served only to infuriate Nill further. How could everything crumble so badly in the face of one emergency? That a change in circumstance could change a people so thoroughly, she could not accept it. All that it would take would be their attention and some choice words, and they would be well on their way to seizing their fate from the jaws of death. Only it would be all the harder for the fact that, in her current state, she was not a moderator.\r\n\r\nBut she didn't need to be.\r\n\r\nA young man passed by her field of vision and she did a doubletake. He looked more alert, more motivated than most of them, and she could have sworn that he was asking people if they needed help. One man among hundreds of thousands offering help was nothing more than a drop in the ocean, but if they could be organised somehow... thinking about it some more, she realised that she recognised him as a contestant in Strop's godforsaken tournament that arguably caused every single trouble she could think of at this moment. Not just that, but a contestant who had made the final four. Surely there was a resource just waiting to be tapped!\r\n\r\n"You, yes, you!" She pointed directly at him, and he looked up, surprised. "You interested in helping out? There's something I need you to do."\r\n\r\n---\r\n\r\nHere you have it, the stirrings of a people-powered response! I shall send through some emails to touch base (because I lost contact for a while), and will continue updating throughout this week as much as I can. After all, you'd be wanting to see what this vague and risky plan of the mod team is, wouldn't you?

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