Why? Because I was bored shitless and this is all I could think of. No, you don't get exposition. Does someone stop the action and give you a detailed flow chart when something odd happens in the subway?
A little jaunt through my modern Fantasy setting.
Morrigan Vs. Shadow
The rift in the universe was like an angry scar, bleeding. The difference was it was in the air. Through it, one could see the sky and icy wilderness of the other realm, the purplish sky as the twin suns set. The warriors had stopped storming through. They were busy being engaged by the hastily assembled soldiers, who had no clue the magnitude of the clash they were in, nor a clue why they seemed to be facing the cast of Lord of the Rings, equipped with assault energy rifles and what appeared to be a hovering tank.
While bullets and coherent energy screamed back and forth, two figures fought with far more archaic weaponry. One was like the invaders, save taller; a towering giant of eight feet, the creature resembled nothing so much as an angel, with upswept, pointed ears and angular features. In her hands was a sword, not bathed in flame but in chill, the ice of the realms between stars.
The other was a far less impressive figure. Perhaps five ten in height, five eleven on a good day, the man was plain in every feature save how he was moving as he tried to keep up with his winged rival. His brown hair was slightly charred and burnt, his eyes locked on the mad, red, bloodshot orbs of his opponent. In his hand, a long stick. It couldn't even qualify as a staff, except that it had all it's lesser branches cut off and some attempt at smoothing it down and carving it. It parried and struck the clearly enchant blade again and again, crackling with some kind of magic of it's own.
The man, clearly the slower, gave ground and circled around, blocking wild, impassioned swings from his opponent. With the patience of entropy itself he waited, until a chance came to lash out, spinning the makeshift staff over his head and then down with the built up momentum, cracking the invading 'angel' on the shoulder and knocking them to the ground for precious seconds.
In realms more esoteric, vast mystical energies lanced and flashed, as two personfications of massive forces fought for supremacy to effect the coming battle. As the angelic warrior slashed through shirt and into chest, a primal warcry ripped through the invaders, suddenly bolstered and aided by unseen forces. As the man tore himself free of the bone-numbing blade and kicked his opponent square in the jaw, the tides of luck again seemed to shift, as minute but noticable shifts in lighting exposed the invader's flanks to the watchful eyes of the soldiers, causing more gunfire to erupt.
Darkness ebbed and waned as the fight continued, drawing around the two as more lightsources came into being. Shadows moved unnaturally, flowing like water to the wounded and slowing man. The triumphant war goddess strode forward, even as the rift between worlds began to enlarge, bleeding across the space between universes. Despite the July heat, snow began to fall.
"You're weak, Chaos." The 'angel' sneered. "And so is this pathetic race you devoted so much to. This universe will be the playground of my people, and all shall tremble before my war neverending."
The quiet smile on the man's face was echoed in the sky by the roar of turbines, as a A-10 Warthog lumbered through the air, it's gun rattling. The first three rounds of it's anti-tank weapon dinged uselessly off the leading hover-vehicle's shields. The following dozen plowed straight through it, leaving huge holes and taking it out of the fight. In the wake of the first strafing run, the human soldiers rallied admirably, advancing in the sudden confusion sown by the unexpected air support. Advances were slow and bloody, but the invaders were beaten back.
"They're far crafiter than you give credit for.." The man referred to as Chaos smiled serenely despite the deep gash with a layer of supernatural frost over it. With a scream of fury at the apparent change of fortunes, the invader swung her sword down, intent to severe the head of her foe.
It never made it. For a moment, the blade was caught in the hand of Chaos, and in that moment, millions of years of fatigue, oxidization, and decay surged through the metal. Even her enchantments weren't perfect, and the weapon turned into a shower of dust, exposed to aeons in an instant.
Desperately conjuring to craft a new weapon, she found herself on the defensive; slow, wounded, but nonetheless emboldened, Chaos beat her back towards the rift. Attempts to fly away and to pick a new point of battle without losing her toehold were hampered by the shadows themselves, taking on an inky substance and snapping her wings with a horrific 'snap' of hollow bones.
Seeing their personification of war so humiliated in such a turn of fate, the invading army broke and fled, dragging wounded from shattered vehicles as the humans and their ragtag, hastily assembled defense force pushed them to the rift. As the last passed through, the tear began the slow process of shrinking.
A man in a suit, wearing sunglasses despite the evening hour, approached 'Chaos'. "Thank you, Mister Tahalshia." He said softly. "Project Twilight again, personally thanks you for your efforts and actions as a private citizen against these incursions. The Sidhe portal will be locked down here, you have our word."
Tahalshia shook his head slowly, leaning on his staff. He wondered about the National Guardsmen who made up this ragtag defense group. What would their families be told? How much would they remember after Twilight was done with their heads? "Just try and be more prepared for the next one.." He muttered. "They don't send the Morrigan through on a whim. Crafting a suitable body for her must have taken them.. A while." He exhaled. "I need some medical attention and a lift home."
"Of course, sir." The agent nodded firmly, then paused. "Sir. I happened to hear her while she was still here. She referred to you as Shade. I've been reviewing some old manuscripts about a God of Chaos called Sh-.."
A shadow descended over the man as he fell silent. "I'm sure you did." Murmured the man as he walked towards the car he knew would take him where he needed to go. "And sadly, you won't remember that ever again." A deep sigh escaped his lips. "Because some things aren't meant to be known."
Human Vs. Sidhe(Collected One-Offs)
Moderator: LadyTevar
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SirNitram
- Rest in Peace, Black Mage
- Posts: 28367
- Joined: 2002-07-03 04:48pm
- Location: Somewhere between nowhere and everywhere
Human Vs. Sidhe(Collected One-Offs)
Last edited by SirNitram on 2006-01-05 01:31am, edited 1 time in total.
Manic Progressive: A liberal who violently swings from anger at politicos to despondency over them.
Out Of Context theatre: Ron Paul has repeatedly said he's not a racist. - Destructinator XIII on why Ron Paul isn't racist.
Shadowy Overlord - BMs/Black Mage Monkey - BOTM/Jetfire - Cybertron's Finest/General Miscreant/ASVS/Supermoderator Emeritus
Debator Classification: Trollhunter
Out Of Context theatre: Ron Paul has repeatedly said he's not a racist. - Destructinator XIII on why Ron Paul isn't racist.
Shadowy Overlord - BMs/Black Mage Monkey - BOTM/Jetfire - Cybertron's Finest/General Miscreant/ASVS/Supermoderator Emeritus
Debator Classification: Trollhunter
I never saw this! OMG, Nit, you *really* have to keep writing about the Human/Sidhe war! This was fantastic!
Me: Nope, that's why I have you around to tell me.
Nitram: You -are- beautiful. Anyone tries to tell you otherwise kill them.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" -- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet
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SirNitram
- Rest in Peace, Black Mage
- Posts: 28367
- Joined: 2002-07-03 04:48pm
- Location: Somewhere between nowhere and everywhere
Primarily a exposition post.
New Recruits
"Welcome, gentlemen, to Project Twilight." Said the man in the suit. He wasn't a soldier, nor an officer. He was a civilian, but he was one who clearly was serious about the discussion he was having. The scars on his face and hands also suggested hard work if nothing else. It was a bit better than some of the civilians soldiers got to meet, giving them orders. But not by much.
"The secrecy you've been exposed to in all this must be trying, but if we have chosen correctly, it is something you will quickly adapt to and learn to cope with. The compensation for such is worthwhile, but the risks are high. But I should explain the whys and wherefores now." The man stepped back, turning on a projector.
"It has come to the United States' Government's attention that we are not alone in the universe. No, not little green men. Beings that are far closer to us, and with far more in mind for us than mere extermination. Until we obtained certain classified information from allied governments, all indications pointed to these beings being mythology. But they are, I assure you, very real." On the screen, a person appeared. But things were off; his bone structure was different, his body angular, his ears pointed.
"The best name we can affix is Sidhe; the culture they had the most contact with came up with that one, the Irish. They've gotten into modern culture as 'elves', but this ain't no Lord of the Rings. They don't have bows and swords and quaint ships pissing off somewhere else. They've got high technology and some downright nasty deployment capabilities." The image shifted, showing rifles, pistols, vehicles, and body armour.
"The cultural subsect we've encountered is led by a being called The Morrigan; in mythology, the goddess of War and decay. Probably just a jumped-up Sidhe who likes to lead her followers on bloody rampages. She's taken an interest in us, though; seems way back when this world was ripe for indulging in a little R&R, only their soldiers idea of R&R was to kidnap children and lure people to their deaths via music. Sadists to the extreme, and slave-takers to boot."
"I ain't gonna lie to you boys. The technology isn't on our side, and this will be the first time you've ever had to fight like that. They've got alot of tricks we aren't even close to figuring our; they wrap their vehicles in some kind of force field that'll blunt attacks unless you hit them repeatedly and hard in rapid succession. Stuff that makes even their heavy tanks glide above the ground without a problem. Even energy weapons. But we do have our own upper hands."
The images changed again, showing a bizarre panorama; it was as if the country hillside shown was on cloth, and 'torn', and on the other side was a metropolis under strange colours, with things emerging. At the head were tanks that glided over the grass, never touching it. "The only entry points they can make are pretty small; choke-points one and all. And if we can keep them from setting up a foothold, they'll close up again."
"Now I know what you're all thinking. You're thinking this is a joke. You can't really be dragged down here to fight elves from another dimension. You can't really be hearing this." The unidentified man in a suit said. "But you are, and it's real. And the other thing you're thinking is, why me? I'll tell you why."
"You aren't the best shots. You aren't the most silent. You aren't even the best at maintaining your equipment. But you have all, each and every one of you, demonstrated that you don't crack under pressure, even the most wierd of pressure. That's important. Because the reality of the situation won't sink in until that first contact with the enemy; and then you must be able to shake it off and open fire."
"Assuming none of you wash out or chicken out, you'll be ready to deploy anywhere in our sphere of influence within twenty-four hours. You won't get much heavy gear following you, but speed of deployment is the overriding goal in this. If we wait to position an Abrams or twenty at each incursion, they'd have a tear so wide.. Well, we'd be up shit creek. And no one wants that."
New Recruits
"Welcome, gentlemen, to Project Twilight." Said the man in the suit. He wasn't a soldier, nor an officer. He was a civilian, but he was one who clearly was serious about the discussion he was having. The scars on his face and hands also suggested hard work if nothing else. It was a bit better than some of the civilians soldiers got to meet, giving them orders. But not by much.
"The secrecy you've been exposed to in all this must be trying, but if we have chosen correctly, it is something you will quickly adapt to and learn to cope with. The compensation for such is worthwhile, but the risks are high. But I should explain the whys and wherefores now." The man stepped back, turning on a projector.
"It has come to the United States' Government's attention that we are not alone in the universe. No, not little green men. Beings that are far closer to us, and with far more in mind for us than mere extermination. Until we obtained certain classified information from allied governments, all indications pointed to these beings being mythology. But they are, I assure you, very real." On the screen, a person appeared. But things were off; his bone structure was different, his body angular, his ears pointed.
"The best name we can affix is Sidhe; the culture they had the most contact with came up with that one, the Irish. They've gotten into modern culture as 'elves', but this ain't no Lord of the Rings. They don't have bows and swords and quaint ships pissing off somewhere else. They've got high technology and some downright nasty deployment capabilities." The image shifted, showing rifles, pistols, vehicles, and body armour.
"The cultural subsect we've encountered is led by a being called The Morrigan; in mythology, the goddess of War and decay. Probably just a jumped-up Sidhe who likes to lead her followers on bloody rampages. She's taken an interest in us, though; seems way back when this world was ripe for indulging in a little R&R, only their soldiers idea of R&R was to kidnap children and lure people to their deaths via music. Sadists to the extreme, and slave-takers to boot."
"I ain't gonna lie to you boys. The technology isn't on our side, and this will be the first time you've ever had to fight like that. They've got alot of tricks we aren't even close to figuring our; they wrap their vehicles in some kind of force field that'll blunt attacks unless you hit them repeatedly and hard in rapid succession. Stuff that makes even their heavy tanks glide above the ground without a problem. Even energy weapons. But we do have our own upper hands."
The images changed again, showing a bizarre panorama; it was as if the country hillside shown was on cloth, and 'torn', and on the other side was a metropolis under strange colours, with things emerging. At the head were tanks that glided over the grass, never touching it. "The only entry points they can make are pretty small; choke-points one and all. And if we can keep them from setting up a foothold, they'll close up again."
"Now I know what you're all thinking. You're thinking this is a joke. You can't really be dragged down here to fight elves from another dimension. You can't really be hearing this." The unidentified man in a suit said. "But you are, and it's real. And the other thing you're thinking is, why me? I'll tell you why."
"You aren't the best shots. You aren't the most silent. You aren't even the best at maintaining your equipment. But you have all, each and every one of you, demonstrated that you don't crack under pressure, even the most wierd of pressure. That's important. Because the reality of the situation won't sink in until that first contact with the enemy; and then you must be able to shake it off and open fire."
"Assuming none of you wash out or chicken out, you'll be ready to deploy anywhere in our sphere of influence within twenty-four hours. You won't get much heavy gear following you, but speed of deployment is the overriding goal in this. If we wait to position an Abrams or twenty at each incursion, they'd have a tear so wide.. Well, we'd be up shit creek. And no one wants that."
Manic Progressive: A liberal who violently swings from anger at politicos to despondency over them.
Out Of Context theatre: Ron Paul has repeatedly said he's not a racist. - Destructinator XIII on why Ron Paul isn't racist.
Shadowy Overlord - BMs/Black Mage Monkey - BOTM/Jetfire - Cybertron's Finest/General Miscreant/ASVS/Supermoderator Emeritus
Debator Classification: Trollhunter
Out Of Context theatre: Ron Paul has repeatedly said he's not a racist. - Destructinator XIII on why Ron Paul isn't racist.
Shadowy Overlord - BMs/Black Mage Monkey - BOTM/Jetfire - Cybertron's Finest/General Miscreant/ASVS/Supermoderator Emeritus
Debator Classification: Trollhunter
Short, sweet, and to the point. Very nice. 
But you should write more about The NoneSuch Ministry as well.
But you should write more about The NoneSuch Ministry as well.
Me: Nope, that's why I have you around to tell me.
Nitram: You -are- beautiful. Anyone tries to tell you otherwise kill them.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" -- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet
-
SirNitram
- Rest in Peace, Black Mage
- Posts: 28367
- Joined: 2002-07-03 04:48pm
- Location: Somewhere between nowhere and everywhere
All That Glitters..
Pursuit over international lines was something of a tricky subject, but Bill Weston's mind was on other things right now. London's nightlife hadn't been his idea of an ideal place to pursue the Sidhe, and things were getting decidedly uncomfortable as he had come across a nightclub that, he had to admit, should be getting more of a crowd.
Perhaps it was the bouncer; the huge individual was shaped like a barrel, with some more barrels attached into what might be limbs and a final barrel on top for a head without much of a neck. He was built like a brick house, and red seemed a major part of his colour scheme, pants, shirt, tattoos.. And one disturbingly out of place little cap, jauntily at an angle on his head. As the obviously strange man checked Weston's ID and chuckled, he caught sight of the man's teeth, but only for a second. No one really filed their teeth to a point, did they..?
Instead of stupidly staring, however, he hurried inside, and was greeted by a collection of sights he was sure marked this place as a Sidhe hangout. Strange smells and sounds, coloured drinks which definately didn't look like merely food colouring, and stranger. There weren't even any lights; just a bluish glow hanging in the air. It cast the occupants in a strange light, and they were strange enough. But.. And here's where his brain fumbled. He had studied hundreds of pictures of Sidhe. He knew what they looked like. And these weren't them. Most looked utterly human, though a collection near the bar had some of the thickest beards he'd ever seen outside of a man dressed as Santa, and were oddly short for all that they were stout.
His survellience of the suspected safehouse ended when a young woman on the stage approached the microphone and began to sing. He couldn't perceive words, but he did feel, suddenly, as if he was wrapped in warm, pink cotton. His senses dulled. He felt safe, warm, and happy. He found himself propelled closer, taking up a seat near the stage. The rest of his mind seemed to have shut off entirely as the song filtered through the room.
When the song ended, he blinked away the haze. He peered at the woman, and while she didn't have the angular features he'd come to expect, her ears did have the telltale point. More odd, though, she looked damp, as if she had just emerged from the shower. As he fully emerged from his reverie, he glanced to both sides, and spotted a man with more of the angles.. though very much muted.. he had come to expect. And the man was looking at him.
On instinct, Weston reached for his sidearm, but hesitated as he heard a 'click'. As his eyes lowered, he saw the other man had already got his own sidearm into his hand, and it was aimed at him. "No one would bat an eye." He murmured. "They know what you are. They have a good guess what you're here for. And that's why they wouldn't care. So relax. Enjoy the show. We're going to talk, if you can keep your eyes off the scenery."
Bill recoiled, expectably, at that declaration. "What I am? Don't lump me in with you.. You things! I'm human!" He hissed under his breath.
"That's kinda the point." The stranger murmured. "One hundred percent human. Nothing strange about you. No, shut up. Stay quiet and let me drive a point into your head before you say anything more; people are listening." A deep sigh. "Look. I'm on your side. I'm mostly human. I even work for the government, which I'm guessing is what you do. You've got the 'how do you know' look now.. I know because you Yanks are all the same. Twilight, right? Right. No Such Ministry, myself. Yes, very funny joke, isn't it?"
"I'm laughing on the inside." Bill muttered, glancing around. A dancer was the entertainment now; he was sure she was the one he had tracked in here. Of course, she had been wearing alot more..
"Ah, that's your big, scary mark?" The other man sniggered a bit. "Her name is Alice. No, not some big long name in Gaelic that sounds like Alice, Alice. Because she's a native. An immigrant, right and proper." He waited, as Bill's mind processed what that meant.
"You let them live here?! Don't you know what they're up to?" He hissed again. More heads turned.
"Yep." The stranger murmured. "Better than you do, I see. Crash-course time. That gal up there? Doesn't give a damn about The Morrigan. There's about a hundred and sixty, maybe seventy nations in the home realms of the Sidhe, and maybe four follow Old Lady Bitch Queen. Alot are sending civilians here, because of the same reason she's invading. But that's complex."
Bill blinked slowly. "I guess I can buy not every person in a world is out to invade, but why come here..?"
"Easy. Their universe is ending." The man shrugged. "Shut up and enjoy the show. She's a damn good dancer. Name's Blackthorne; we'll talk more after I relax a little more. In the meantime, don't look at anyone funny. And for Gods' sakes, don't drool over the Siren the next time she sings."
Pursuit over international lines was something of a tricky subject, but Bill Weston's mind was on other things right now. London's nightlife hadn't been his idea of an ideal place to pursue the Sidhe, and things were getting decidedly uncomfortable as he had come across a nightclub that, he had to admit, should be getting more of a crowd.
Perhaps it was the bouncer; the huge individual was shaped like a barrel, with some more barrels attached into what might be limbs and a final barrel on top for a head without much of a neck. He was built like a brick house, and red seemed a major part of his colour scheme, pants, shirt, tattoos.. And one disturbingly out of place little cap, jauntily at an angle on his head. As the obviously strange man checked Weston's ID and chuckled, he caught sight of the man's teeth, but only for a second. No one really filed their teeth to a point, did they..?
Instead of stupidly staring, however, he hurried inside, and was greeted by a collection of sights he was sure marked this place as a Sidhe hangout. Strange smells and sounds, coloured drinks which definately didn't look like merely food colouring, and stranger. There weren't even any lights; just a bluish glow hanging in the air. It cast the occupants in a strange light, and they were strange enough. But.. And here's where his brain fumbled. He had studied hundreds of pictures of Sidhe. He knew what they looked like. And these weren't them. Most looked utterly human, though a collection near the bar had some of the thickest beards he'd ever seen outside of a man dressed as Santa, and were oddly short for all that they were stout.
His survellience of the suspected safehouse ended when a young woman on the stage approached the microphone and began to sing. He couldn't perceive words, but he did feel, suddenly, as if he was wrapped in warm, pink cotton. His senses dulled. He felt safe, warm, and happy. He found himself propelled closer, taking up a seat near the stage. The rest of his mind seemed to have shut off entirely as the song filtered through the room.
When the song ended, he blinked away the haze. He peered at the woman, and while she didn't have the angular features he'd come to expect, her ears did have the telltale point. More odd, though, she looked damp, as if she had just emerged from the shower. As he fully emerged from his reverie, he glanced to both sides, and spotted a man with more of the angles.. though very much muted.. he had come to expect. And the man was looking at him.
On instinct, Weston reached for his sidearm, but hesitated as he heard a 'click'. As his eyes lowered, he saw the other man had already got his own sidearm into his hand, and it was aimed at him. "No one would bat an eye." He murmured. "They know what you are. They have a good guess what you're here for. And that's why they wouldn't care. So relax. Enjoy the show. We're going to talk, if you can keep your eyes off the scenery."
Bill recoiled, expectably, at that declaration. "What I am? Don't lump me in with you.. You things! I'm human!" He hissed under his breath.
"That's kinda the point." The stranger murmured. "One hundred percent human. Nothing strange about you. No, shut up. Stay quiet and let me drive a point into your head before you say anything more; people are listening." A deep sigh. "Look. I'm on your side. I'm mostly human. I even work for the government, which I'm guessing is what you do. You've got the 'how do you know' look now.. I know because you Yanks are all the same. Twilight, right? Right. No Such Ministry, myself. Yes, very funny joke, isn't it?"
"I'm laughing on the inside." Bill muttered, glancing around. A dancer was the entertainment now; he was sure she was the one he had tracked in here. Of course, she had been wearing alot more..
"Ah, that's your big, scary mark?" The other man sniggered a bit. "Her name is Alice. No, not some big long name in Gaelic that sounds like Alice, Alice. Because she's a native. An immigrant, right and proper." He waited, as Bill's mind processed what that meant.
"You let them live here?! Don't you know what they're up to?" He hissed again. More heads turned.
"Yep." The stranger murmured. "Better than you do, I see. Crash-course time. That gal up there? Doesn't give a damn about The Morrigan. There's about a hundred and sixty, maybe seventy nations in the home realms of the Sidhe, and maybe four follow Old Lady Bitch Queen. Alot are sending civilians here, because of the same reason she's invading. But that's complex."
Bill blinked slowly. "I guess I can buy not every person in a world is out to invade, but why come here..?"
"Easy. Their universe is ending." The man shrugged. "Shut up and enjoy the show. She's a damn good dancer. Name's Blackthorne; we'll talk more after I relax a little more. In the meantime, don't look at anyone funny. And for Gods' sakes, don't drool over the Siren the next time she sings."
Manic Progressive: A liberal who violently swings from anger at politicos to despondency over them.
Out Of Context theatre: Ron Paul has repeatedly said he's not a racist. - Destructinator XIII on why Ron Paul isn't racist.
Shadowy Overlord - BMs/Black Mage Monkey - BOTM/Jetfire - Cybertron's Finest/General Miscreant/ASVS/Supermoderator Emeritus
Debator Classification: Trollhunter
Out Of Context theatre: Ron Paul has repeatedly said he's not a racist. - Destructinator XIII on why Ron Paul isn't racist.
Shadowy Overlord - BMs/Black Mage Monkey - BOTM/Jetfire - Cybertron's Finest/General Miscreant/ASVS/Supermoderator Emeritus
Debator Classification: Trollhunter
drool over... That's why she was damp?! 
You're mean, Nit.
You should also have given Black-chev a bit more detail so the ladies know how sexy he is
You're mean, Nit.You should also have given Black-chev a bit more detail so the ladies know how sexy he is
Me: Nope, that's why I have you around to tell me.
Nitram: You -are- beautiful. Anyone tries to tell you otherwise kill them.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" -- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet
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Mr. Coffee
- is an asshole.
- Posts: 3258
- Joined: 2005-02-26 07:45am
- Location: And banging your mom is half the battle... G.I. Joe!
Sir Nitram, that was a damned good read. Please, keep it going. Not to be to bold, but I'd love to be a proof reader for this. Thanks for the entertaining story, Sir.
I never would have thought I would wholeheartedly agree with Coffee... - fgalkin x2
Honestly, this board is so fucking stupid at times. - Thanas
GALE ForceCarwash: Oh, I'll wax that shit, bitch...
Heh. Good luck, he doesn't even let *me* proofread it. He just builds it and lets it fly like a paper airplane.
Me: Nope, that's why I have you around to tell me.
Nitram: You -are- beautiful. Anyone tries to tell you otherwise kill them.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" -- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet
-
Mr. Coffee
- is an asshole.
- Posts: 3258
- Joined: 2005-02-26 07:45am
- Location: And banging your mom is half the battle... G.I. Joe!
Maybe a third pert? I should be so lucky, Lady T. You're husband has the gift. I can only hope between us, we can promt him to write more of this wonderful story.
I never would have thought I would wholeheartedly agree with Coffee... - fgalkin x2
Honestly, this board is so fucking stupid at times. - Thanas
GALE ForceCarwash: Oh, I'll wax that shit, bitch...
I remember when you brought this story up in the Sci-Fi forum, it's very good. Please keep posting!
"Our people were meant to be living gods, warrior-poets who roamed the stars bringing civilization, not cowards and bullies who prey on the weak and kill each other for sport. I never imagined they'd prove themselves so inferior. I didn't betray our people – they betrayed themselves."
-Gaheris Rhade, Gene Roddenberry's Andromeda
-Gaheris Rhade, Gene Roddenberry's Andromeda