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First post (sorry to butcher your formatting, Bucky.):

BOOM 

Jimmy Sut-Tons-Of-Fun lived in shit shack township, and boy, did the town ever live up to the name. Yes, a bit of a misnomer, but quite frankly, it suited the idiocy of the place quite well. Jimmy served as the village idiot, another misnomer, as the government did in fact have the place marked down as a town. But, all the same, Jimmy had the intellectual capabilities of a dead rat. 

One day, Jimmy decided he needed more attention, as his massive ego needed constant stroking. But truly, who can blame him, for everyone loves a good ego stroking from a firm hand, time and time again. So Jimmy opted to announce his departure from town in the market square. 

"I'll be questing on a journey all summer long," said Jimmy. "But I will be back. I promise. I swear. I vow. I will be back, for I know you shall miss me dearly, as I am great and godly. I'm going to a land, far in the south, where creatures called alligators eat small toddlers with delinquent parents." 

"I hope an alligator bites off the head of your cock!" roared the crowd. 

"I'm not taking my rooster with me." Jimmy scratched his head, for he did not understand this nonsense. Mothers shielded the eyes of their children from Jimmy's poor display of public decency. But Jimmy's idiocy had already poisoned the minds of the town-folk, for a village idiots bleeds his poison into the world through his mouth. The foolish women should have covered their little darlings ears. But Jimmy blundered on with his speech, as idiots are prone to do. "Still, that's not very nice. Anyway, I shall return!" 

"Jimmy, you dolt," said a voice in the crowd. "You won't go anywhere. You'll just slink around in the shadows and try not to speak for awhile to save your pride. Hell, you won't set foot from the village a single day, not even to go gawk at Miss Mizal when she bathes in the river and bares her bosom for the world to see. A fine bosom it is though. Aye, but what bosom isn't fine?" 

The rest of the crowd "huzzah"'d in agreement. 

And so Jimmy Sutton, village idiot of shit shack township, lurked in the shadows all summer long, just as the man predicted. All for the best of course, he did not deserve to lay eyes on fine princess bosom. 

BOOM 

Now that you understand, my lovelies, go forth and poke the stupid from the world with the pointy stick of mockery from lore. We shall do the world a great service, rise from the ashes and fondle princess bosom to our hearts' content, all while stroking our grand egos to the brink of cataclysmic ecstasy.

 

 

 

Second:

Actually, it was a call to arms for people to post satirical stories and parodies, in a clearly vain effort to swing the focus of the community back towards writing. For a writing community, we tend to do very little writing. 

BOOM Blood dripped down onto the old dirt track in the forest from a ghastly wound between Bucky's ribs as he stumbled along. Stripped down to his underclothes, he long ago abandoned the shattered remains of his armor. No doubt the looters would pick it apart for scrap. He looked a beggar at best, a walking corpse at worst. His mouth tasted of grit, and his chapped lips bled through gaping fissures and cracks. Starving, dying of thirst, the old soldier knew he couldn't last much longer if he didn't find a means of sustenance. But he labored on down the track, propping himself up with a gnarled branch. Folks said a lot of things about Bucky. They could say plenty more too. But one thing nobody could ever say, is that he rolled over like a broke dick dog with his tail hung low and head down in the dirt. A true masochist at heart, Bucky vowed to fight the pragmatic fight to the end. He'd leave the good fighting for dead men. He didn't know what happened to Steve or Malk. They had fight in them, sure as shit they did. But sometimes having fight inside... well, it's just not enough. Still, Bucky held out hope his companions yet lived. If not, he'd avenge them too. So whether it be by the will of the gods, fate, divine purpose, the power of will or just a gamblers' luck, somehow, he found a way to carry on. Bucky collapsed to his knees when he reached the stream, dunked his head down into the water and guzzled deep. He pulled his head up, wretched, crawled a bit further upstream and started guzzling again. The poor bastard wanted nothing more than to just flop down on the bank and rest a moment. But the King's Fools kept hounding him. They made an awful racket, as fools are prone to do. And Bucky heard them a good way off. So he laid a trap. He drew his dirk and squirmed into the mud. A vengeful spirit with a cold reptilian heart, Bucky waited in the depths of the filth. The King's Fools paraded into the stream, sloshing around, drunk and disorderly. They deserved to die. Each and every single one of them. So Bucky sprung from the muck. He severed the tendons in the back of the nearest fool's knee as he rose. On his feet, the dirk flashed, opened the throat of the leader's horse. The beast through the dumb bitch from it's back as it crumbled in the final hysterics of life. Weighed down by heavy armor, she sank to the bottom of the stream, drowned on blood and water. Bucky slaughtered them all like a mad butcher and left the corpses to rot where they lay. A village occupied by the King's Fools drew water further downstream. Gods willing they'd drink the poison and shit their guts out as they died. A pragmatic man, he roasted the corpse of the cleanest kill over a spit and ate to his heart's content. He scavenged the bodies, dressed the wound in his side, took a massive shit right in the middle of the stream, splashed some water over his arse, and then he lumbered on his way. No one ever accused Bucky of being nice. A merciless bastard, he'd cut the throats of any King's Fool that crossed his path. He'd flay their children too, for stupid breeds stupid and the world needs less, not more, of that dickery. So remember King's Fools, the last thing you ever want to do, is accuse an old soldier of a crime he didn't do. BOOM The warning shots have been fired. The battery is prepared for full scale bombardment. We take no prisoners.

You have appeased me.

This was beautiful and inspirational. I may just have to write something for you when I get home.

Keep fighting the good fight. Never give up, never surrender...oh wait, didn't you say you'd lost interest in CYS? :(

Don't do that! Let your hate give you strength. If the last defender of Cystia falls, the swarm will drive us all away. 

The Lounge is lost! It's not writing-based, it can't be held! Just flee! Flee! The swarm has arrived. It is theirs now.

No, the 8th Legion of Narkin the VIII is here! With the assistance of the Grammar Nazis forces, we shall sweep the Lounge and destroy the filth that dwells within!

Let's tidy that up a bit.

BOOM

Blood dripped down onto the old dirt track in the forest from a ghastly wound between Bucky's ribs as he stumbled along. Stripped down to his underclothes, he long ago abandoned the shattered remains of his armor. No doubt the looters would pick it apart for scrap. He looked a beggar at best, a walking corpse at worst.

His mouth tasted of grit, and his chapped lips bled through gaping fissures and cracks. Starving, dying of thirst, the old soldier knew he couldn't last much longer if he didn't find a means of sustenance. But he labored on down the track, propping himself up with a gnarled branch. Folks said a lot of things about Bucky. They could say plenty more too. But one thing nobody could ever say, is that he rolled over like a broke dick dog with his tail hung low and head down in the dirt. A true masochist at heart, Bucky vowed to fight the pragmatic fight to the end. He'd leave the good fighting for dead men.

He didn't know what happened to Steve or Malk. They had fight in them, sure as shit they did. But sometimes having fight inside... well, it's just not enough. Still, Bucky held out hope his companions yet lived. If not, he'd avenge them too. So whether it be by the will of the gods, fate, divine purpose, the power of will or just a gamblers' luck, somehow, he found a way to carry on.

Bucky collapsed to his knees when he reached the stream, dunked his head down into the water and guzzled deep. He pulled his head up, wretched, crawled a bit further upstream and started guzzling again. The poor bastard wanted nothing more than to just flop down on the bank and rest a moment. But the King's Fools kept hounding him. They made an awful racket, as fools are prone to do. And Bucky heard them a good way off. So he laid a trap. He drew his dirk and squirmed into the mud. A vengeful spirit with a cold reptilian heart, Bucky waited in the depths of the filth.

The King's Fools paraded into the stream, sloshing around, drunk and disorderly. They deserved to die. Each and every single one of them. So Bucky sprung from the muck. He severed the tendons in the back of the nearest fool's knee as he rose. On his feet, the dirk flashed, opened the throat of the leader's horse. The beast through the dumb bitch from it's back as it crumbled in the final hysterics of life. Weighed down by heavy armor, she sank to the bottom of the stream, drowned on blood and water.

Bucky slaughtered them all like a mad butcher and left the corpses to rot where they lay. A village occupied by the King's Fools drew water further downstream. Gods willing they'd drink the poison and shit their guts out as they died. A pragmatic man, he roasted the corpse of the cleanest kill over a spit and ate to his heart's content. He scavenged the bodies, dressed the wound in his side, took a massive shit right in the middle of the stream, splashed some water over his arse, and then he lumbered on his way.

No one ever accused Bucky of being nice. A merciless bastard, he'd cut the throats of any King's Fool that crossed his path. He'd flay their children too, for stupid breeds stupid and the world needs less, not more, of that dickery.

So remember King's Fools, the last thing you ever want to do, is accuse an old soldier of a crime he didn't do.

BOOM

The warning shots have been fired. The battery is prepared for full scale bombardment. We take no prisoners.

Thanks, hard to do a clean transfer on my phone.

You've done us all a service, Kiel.

Have a cute animal.

<3 Puppy! :D

I just wonder if Jimmy will come out of hiding now. If he was a good sport, he'd write a blurb about hunting stags and devouring the tasty, tasty venison.

Bucky stood on the roof of the fort, watching as the city around him burned.  A single tear welled in his eye, but he would not let it fall. He would not show weakness. He needed to be strong, for his people. He had built this city brick by brick, a sanctuary for satire and parody. The fine Library of Swift up in flames, all its works of wit lost, taken by the ever-crackling flames of the barbarian horde. The bathouses, where once the finest of princess bosom's were there to be seen and fondled, now lay in ruins, a pathetic smattering of tents sent up there for the horde to stay in. The existence of those tents were a mockery, for the horde neither built nor slept. Every moment they fought, an unstoppable mass charging forward to take from him what he loved.

"Sir Bucky! We have gathered what survivors remain! We are ready to flee the city! Lady Mizal is already preparing to regroup her forces for another stand! We need not die here!" Steve shouted from the ramparts below him.

"No, faithful friend. I will not leave. This is my dream. This is my city. I swore I would die in its defense. I will not break my vow."

"But Bucky, there are survivors! We have pulled what few scholars remain from the wreckage! Even Malk's probably somewhere! We can rebuild!" Steve said desperately, although he knew the stubborn old fool would never budge.

"I'm tired, Steve. I am tired of rebuilding. If this city falls without a fight, so will a thousand others. Better to live a learned man than wander the wreckage of civilization like an ignorant fool!"

"Then I shall stay with you!" Steve volunteered.

"No. You must take the others and flee. Your place is with them."

"But...!"

"I shall say no more!" Bucky shouted.

Steve nodded.

"Goodbye, old friend."

"Goodbye, Steve."

Steve quickly left, heading to the last passage towards free lands to assemble the survivors. Bucky watched them, leave, before turning his eyes back to the approaching horde. He watched them approach for what seemed like eternity, wordlessly.

"You realize what has to happen," a voice said.

Bucky turned, and saw the Almighty God Mod Kiel Farren standing there.

"I know," Bucky said, allowing the teardrop to fall.

"Yet you stay anyway?" Kiel asked.

Bucky nodded, staring out into the city.

"So be it," Kiel said, as he unleashed his full power.

 

In the distance, Steve watched as the white light vaporized the city.

Oops. Nvm.

So, yeah, if y'all wanna congregate here to post more satire, should work. If you'd rather stick to your individual posts, I am also fine with that. Honestly, any excuse to see you guys write more stuff like this is welcome.

Bucky stood at the doors of Swift Library, his sword raised. Blood coated his once fine, shining armor. He dodged a claw strike, grabbing the paw of the Warrior Cat and impaling it through the chest. He withdrew his blade, watching as they endlessly approached. Malk struggled to stand as he leaned on his sword, his leg badly wounded, fighting with a troll's axe he had picked up.

"Bucky, get down!" Malk yelled as his axe cut through the thick, slimy skin of another troll.

Bucky dropped to the floor, as bullets flew overhead him, almost taking his head off. He saw, far in the distance, the enemy's leader, dressed in full, white robes that covered her body, as well as a pointed white hat that completely covered her face. A round badge depicting a cross completed her outfit. She raised her assault rifle, and opened fire again as a row of books exploded behind Bucky.

"Where'd she get a gun?" Bucky asked frantically. "This is supposed to be medieval times, isn't it?!"

The Almighty God Mod Kiel appeared, floating above the battle, watching down. A troll attempted to swing it's flail at Kiel, but as soon as the flail touched his glowing blue robes, the troll was consumed by a blinding light. When the light dulled down, nothing remained.

"Kiel! What are you doing here?" Malk shouted.

"The library is lost. I'm contemplating just consuming the building with the light," Kiel said, as a round of KKK's bullets simply evaporated as they neared him.

"No! Please, almighty one! Think of the beautiful satire here! It's art!"

Kiel adopted the Thinker's pose mid-air, as Bucky grabbed another untrained conscript, stabbing his sword through her stomach repeatedly and tossing her aside. He grabbed another by the throat, but bullets thudded into her back as KKK tried to secure another kill, friend or foe.

"I will save what I can," Kiel decided..

Instantly, massive rows of books began to glow and levitate. They spiraled through the air, as a glowing, spiraling portal appeared on the roof, and began to suck up many of the books.

"What's going on?" Malk asked, diving to avoid a bullet.

"I'm taking them to a new library," Kiel said, as what books remained were transported through the portal. "I've done what I can. Flee now."

Bucky nodded. He grabbed Malk, putting his arm over his shoulder and helping the brave soldier limp off.

"Men! We're fleeing!" Bucky screamed.

Bucky quickly led his allies out of the library. He continued acting as a crutch to Malk as they hurried away. The library behind him was consumed by white light, but it didn't matter now. He'd done all he could, and he wasn't finished fighting yet. He would avenge everyone who had fallen. He had not lost.

Yep, totally how it went down.

(I wish this was a story game, it would absolutely deserve an 8.)

Where the heck is @Malkalack anyway? What was the point of helping him, he's never there when the kingdom needs him.

I assume it's Bucky's lover.

If you’re going to have a call to arms, you’re going to need an anthem  

The spam on the site is retarded and dumb
The trolls in the forums run free
And gathered together comes a shitstorm
Let us embrace tyranny

The talk on the threads is obscenely braindead
The Lounge is a river of pee
And somewhere a story awaits unread
Let us embrace tyranny

The mods in their armchairs are shaking their heads
The hackers are always furries
But soon says a whisper, nuke the threads
Let us embrace tyranny

Now CYStia, CYStia, show us the sign
Your members have waited to see
The morning is brighter when the site is purged
Let us embrace
Let us embrace
Let us embrace tyranny!

Oh CYStia, CYStia, show us the sign
Your members have waited to see
The morning is brighter when the site is purged
Let us embrace
Let us embrace
Let us embrace tyranny!

Let us embrace
Let us embrace
Let us embrace tyranny!

(Seth to Kiel: You still think you can control them?)

Oh CYStia, CYStia, show us the sign!
Your members have waited to see
The morning is brighter when the site is purged
Let us embrace
Let us embrace
Let us embrace tyranny!

"The hackers are always furries"

It's funny because it's true.

KINGDOM OF NEW CYSTIA, 416 YEARS LATER

In a suburb of Thelounge, that infamous city made green and prosperous by the extra chunky raw sewage piped in from the farthest reaches of the kingdom and beyond, a 14 year old girl sat in her bedroom, the sickly glow of her monitor dimly illuminating shelves crammed full of Warrior Cat books and stuffed foxes with cartoonish expressions. Scattered about the room as well were all the usual trappings of a sheltered and privileged young teenager's life, rarely acknowledged or noticed, though utterly reliant on the labor and forbearance of others.

Taking a moment first to lick a thick slurry of chocolate and cheetoh dust off her fingers, Crescent finished typing her post.

 

Immediately, inspiration struck and she started following it up with another.

'...and so as anyone can see, other than not being strong enough to fend off a SWAT team, the Alligator City shooter was completely within his rights, and did nothing wrong. Those so-called 'victims' were weak and contributed nothing to the world.'  

But before she could hit 'submit' there was a sudden sharp plinking sound against her window. Crescent tilted her head and hefted herself to her feet, stepping over to peer out and frowning as she spied movement in the rank bushes below. There was someone hiding there. "Who's down there?" she mumbled. Picking up her phone and the nearest stuffed fox for security, she made her way downstairs. She bet this was some prank, possibly orchestrated by that weird girl from school who quoted Batman movies. Crescent had always thought she was strange, possibly even dangerous, though in truth she still had difficulty wrapping her mind around the fact that quoting movies was even a thing that people did. She'd certainly never heard of it, in her extensive real life and online experience.

"Who's out here?" she said shrilly, on sight of the suspect shrubbery. "I find your behavior somewhat questionable. Don't make me call a mod."

The bushes rustled and crackled and a man in a disturbingly sticky penguin costume leapt out, a gleaming butcher knife clutched in one flipper. Crescent gawped a moment, then shrieked and fled. The penguin man waddled after her, surprisingly swift, and she could hear his beak clacking in unspoken menace with every step.

Legs aching, heart pounding, Crescent ran until she could run no more. Stumbling into the shadowed doorway of a dark building in the historical sector, her ears strained for any hint of her pursuer. There was nothing to be heard but the distant whooping and assorted jackassery of the Fool's Saturnalia, a common activity in Thelounge. The Farren Force would no doubt be along soon to break it up.  

With a sudden shaky bout of giggling, Crescent realized she was safe, and not only that, but somehow she'd managed to keep her little stuffed fox with her throughout her panicked flight. It stared at her with dead glassy eyes and its little sewed on smile, but she projected all the feelings onto it she was too cool and edgy to have for members of her own race, and hugged it tightly to her.

One of the shadows she shared her hiding spot with parted from the rest.

There, staring down at her with unfathomable contempt and barely constrained fury, stood not the madman in the penguin suit, but something far worse.

"N-no..." Crescent whimpered. "You're not real! You're only a legend!"

Undeniably a creature of flesh and blood, but just as undoubtedly something that had once been human, and was so no longer. The skeletal face and proud antlers (reaching for the heavens their possessor had sworn never to let his spirit fly to, 'til the last Fool lay bleeding in the streets and all Cystia was safe) could belong to none other than Sir Bucky the Grim Revenant, Cystia's eternal defender, and eternal avenger.

The screams, once they began, didn't reach their abrupt end for a very long time.     

 

THE NEXT MORNING

Kaity tugged her white hooded cloak around herself to ward off the chill morning air and hummed a tune as she puttered about unpacking her things. Though she'd only moved to Thelounge two days ago, she'd already met many of the neighbors and liked to think she'd made an impression. Laid out on the kitchen table were what remained of the stack of flyers she'd passed out door to door while making introductions. 'Are YOU contaminating the human race? Why more natural selection is needed!' the title proclaimed. At the bottom, her initials of KKK in ornate golden letters, set against the backdrop of a flaming longsword. Though a printing mishap had removed the tip of the blade so that it more closely resembled a cross, she was fond of her trademark signature. She'd designed it herself. It represented her innate sense of justice, which drove her day and night to long for a world where all the not-good-enough people were cleansed by fire and sword.   

Gosh, she hoped the neighbors would like her.

The doorbell rang.

"...hello?" she asked politely, after opening it to reveal a tall, grim figure wearing some kind of deer skull mask, for some reason. Whoever he was, he was streaked and spattered with drying clots of gore, completely nude except for a necklace made of what looked like all ten of an obnoxious tween's severed fingers, and, even stranger, some sort of fuzzy stuffed fox, its stuffing ripped out so that it could be worn like a hand puppet on...well, it wasn't worn on his hand.

At first she could detect nothing wrong or out of place with any of this, but then suddenly she gasped. "Y-you..." Kaity pointed with a trembling hand. "The pattern of that red paint, it looks exactly like a sentence with comma splice!"

She spit on her thumb and rubbed the offending comma away. Though no longer a teacher, and no longer permitted within five miles of a school per the judge's orders, the old instincts were hard to quash.

"Well, let me give you an invite now, since you obviously find me so interesting!" KKK twittered, oblivious to her danger.

The figure cracked a ghastly smile, and Kaity fancied she saw traces of blood on its teeth.

Sir Bucky stepped past the doorway. Into the house. And shut the door behind him.

If this site had a like button, I would like the absolute hell out of this post.

Holy--Bucky, you murderous dolt.

*looks at thread*

mizal.........

*looks at response*

It's .... so informative! Typing an emote, typing a word, and then going ......... Y'know, the takeaway from FFVIII, was that saying ...... wasn't very useful, not to imitate it. Thanks for playing!

Mmhmm... It's as if she already knows me... No that's not what I'm like!

My shelf is less than 1/8 Warriors and Seekers (it's a small shelf and I just basemented half my books), I don't own any stuffed foxes, and I don't like... Cheetos or whatever. (I like chocolate, but "dusting" stuff off my hands isn't sanitary. There's something called soap and a sink.)

Crescentstar.........

*Mizal clicks the Post Message button*

(Since when did we start talking in third-person about ourselves?)

*Crescentstar <mews^*

I know you're not as stupid as you keep pretending to be. I really do wish you would take this small but precious, oh so precious and rare ounce or two of intelligence you possess, and use it for good instead of just slightly more creative idiocy.

Stupid?... Perhaps I did act that way... :3 I know I'm not stupid. At least in book smarts I'm not.

Using anything for good? Ehhhh...

Book smarts is ultimately much less important then street smarts. The fact that you understand long division is irrelevant to whether you're a moron.

I know... logic and me mix as good as oil and water. Polar oil and very nonpolar water.

Anyway, future cat-eared bride of zombie mecha hitler needs to go to bed now... *drags self away from computer*

Two words: Eternal Love.

The panzer division goes deeper into the enemy territory. The enemies should be able to see the swarm of tanks heading to their way. They don't even have the proper firepower to defeat Raven's army of tanks. They only have primitive weaponry. So... they pray so that Stalin will help them. And yes... the magical power of pure communism evolves the primitive people into Tovaritchs. They just disappear and pop into existence, wearing Russian uniforms and armed with PPsH submachine guns.

Raven47 cringes at this as he observes with his binoculars. "What kind of sorcery is this?!"

Oh noes, incoming Russian bias...

A lot of WW2 Russian tanks pop into existence and the enemies (who evolved into Slavs) enter the tanks. The fleet of tanks consist of numerous T-34/85, SU-100, IS-2, ISU-152, KV-2-2-2 (yes, this is crazy), and other Soviet tanks.

Meanwhile, Raven's panzers are downgraded from sci-fi main battle tanks into WW2 tanks. Raven's MBT turns into a Panzerkampfwagen Tiger Ausf.B 'Koenigstiger' (Allied forces call it the King Tiger). The other tanks also turn into WW2 German tanks, such as the King Tiger, Tiger, Panther, Panzer IV, Stug III, and some other German tanks.

Xx_M1CH43L_W1TTM4NN_xX (just refer him as Michael Wittmann, or Wittmann) has his tank turned into a Tiger I.

"What the hell? I thought we're going to battle against some medieval nuts. We're not here to fight the Bolsheviks! And for God's sake, why our Leopards just turned into world war 2 tanks?"

"Hell if I know," Kurt Knispel says through the radio, him commanding a King Tiger.

"Guys, you know... we are encountering crazy Russian communism power stuff right now!" Raven yells.

"Scheisse! I just hope their tanks are not made of Stalinium!" Wittmann mutters.

Then, this music suddenly plays...

Yup. Brace yourself... incoming Russian bias. It will be like battle of Kursk all over again...

(Sorry, played too much War Thunder)

Tanks for nothing

The tank continues to press forwards, small arm fire pinging off cold steel. A cold smirk, Teutonic efficiency will always trump the Slavic hordes. Deeper and deeper, through fire and flame, skeletons crunching under the tread.

"Commander, we are in position to flank the invaders"

A pause.

"Lieutenant, surely we are the invaders here."

"Ahh, of course Commander, I forgot whether it was a father or mother we were impregnating today. No matter."

Breaking the awkward pause, the turret swivels towards the enemy, definitely a defender not an attacker, and a shell falls into place.

"Now, x_M1CH-"

****

"I did another one! It's about tanks and it ha-"

"No."

The pages flutter once again to the floor, as sadness erupts, threatening to rust the 'tank's' pitted hide.

"YOU JUST HATE EVERYTHING"

"Yes, yes I do" she sighs, and flicks her monitor on, showing ream after ream of tank stories, gun stories, and FPS letsplays. "But this isn't a me thing, this is a you thing - this is you writing the same story again, and again, and throwing your treasured fetishes in. And now, you've gone meta I suppose, and may be self parodying? All the details of which tank, and what tanks are around, and no important details, just reams of words. Appaloosa, Warlander, Morgan, Waler, Sokolsky, what does that add to the story? What does it take away? Because, my eyes were glazed by the time the second one was named. By inserting your handle, and having these stage notes throughout, it just doesn't work. A light touch, and may have worked. But this heavy handed heaving? No, it's just too much"

A flicker, and she turns back to her own screen, ponies prancing in the background. A hand raises and arbitrarily dismisses him

Raven was just having fun. It's supposed to be comedy, not realism. But well... whatever. Iavatus dismissed him. So, he focuses back on his storygame.

Either way, even if some people don't like him, he won't stop being himself.

THE END

Bucky,

Sorry to hear about what happened to your thread…again.

Regards,

EndMaster

The Moron ~ An Abridged Version of Something Not Shitty

Once upon a midnight dreary, while Bucky pondered, weak and weary, over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore. While he nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping at his chamber door.

"'Tis some moron," he muttered, "tapping at my chamber door - only this and nothing more."

Quoth the moron, idly fapping, while his brain did keep happyslapping
And all the fingers did keep tapping
Bereft of sense but energy sapping
To see the words that came a-flapping
Onto the thread
NEVERTOPIC

Such a tragedy, that our beautiful poems weren't saved. 

Well... it's that time again boys. Another initiate has ascended.

Mason grabs his hunting knife. Now, you best believe he's been channeling his strife. Hell no! No need to hide your wife. Rife with fire in his eyes and packing cyanide pills, he's arrived to deliver cheap thrills and spill the Fools' blood in a cascade, no wait, a flood. Dried mud cakes his boots. A snide smirk on lips, he strides across the great divide to fire another broadside at defilers of the written word.

He kicks the bird brain in the fruits. "Let's get this straight. I'm not letting you live long enough to find a mate. This knife is meant to castrate. Your fate is sealed. And when I'm done and your skin's peeled and laid out in the field to dry, they'll hear you scream and cry for a fortnight. You're a blight on this world. And no white knight can save you. None of them are worth piss. Embrace the eternal kiss of death and enter the abyss."

The blade flashes. And Mason's moving on. There's nothing but ashes.

Next up is the fat cats and rat bastard scum. He grabs a warrior's skull, crushes it in his palm like a plum. Do you hear the beat of the drum? Drink your rum, get numb, for a new avenger has come.

*wipes away a tear* Our little Mason is all grown up now.

*notes that he was once a fool :P*

Are you trying to catch a snowflake on your tongue?

Just noticed that.

 

:P ****

Catching a snowflake:

 *
:P

Spitting tobacco out the side of your mouth:

:P*

That's not even counting the ones that RAPIDLY get sexual.

Given the lot around here, I just figure they’re all licking lead paint off a wall.

They're clearly catching a spider in their mouth.

If it has six legs, it's an insect, not a spider. GAWD!

Bruh, calm down. It's mizal we're talking about here.

Can it be a cute, harmless little wasp?

Mizal's my arch-nemesis. I despise everything about her ever since... the incident. She's literally worse then Brennon.

Stupid question... She's a she??? I thought only guys could... Never mind...

She can't be that bad *phffttt*

Only guys could...? I am super interested to see where you were heading with that.

She's worse then if Brennon, Ryder and some sentient form of cancer had a three way-love child.

Come on guys, why can't we just love each other?

Except for Brennonwilson1, Brennonwilson2, Brennonwilson3, TheFINALBRENNON, Jackaboy, Animeguy1, Grrrrr, Meiwmsi, Jwmai, Bjhvjy, Cherryhel15, and Ryder. We can choose not to love them.

'Shot through the heart, and you're to blame cause you give love a bad name'

I can practically here Kiel fangirling.

I feel a...disturbance...in the fandom! Oh wait, it's just Kiel.

'Oh, we're halfway there, oh oh, LIVIN' ON A PRAYER'

'Take my hand, we'll make I swear, oh oh, LIVIN' ON A PRAYER!'

*guitar riff*

Bacon Pancakes
Making Bacon Pancakes
Take some bacon and I'll put it in a pancake
Bacon Pancakes That's what its gonna make
Bacon Pancaaaakes

*Lays song over New York*

DAMMIT STEVE, I thought we had a formal agreement never again to speak of...the incident.

But all right you sick fuck, if this is how you want it to be. You will regret ending our truce, I must warn you.

What incident? ( ?° ?? ?°)

Holy fuck the Lenny Face...

What the fuck is the Lenny face and why is it every fucking where?

Is it one of those stupid annoying Youtuber memes or some shit? I swear every single one of those fuckers needs to be punched in the goddamn face.

Nothing a good noodling wouldn't fix, right guys? The devil's in the details, with a noodle event like this one. Inside urinating out, not... well, said enough.

Noodling?! The fuck!?

You know the feeling of a wet, noodley like thing slowly caressing your inner thigh?

I do.

*grabs trash bin and brings to face. Barfs all over Steve* Holy shhhhhhhh- *passes out*

I'll have what he's having

*gulp*

If he doesn't know that feeling yet,  I'll make some calls and see to it that our little Wizzy learns all about it tonight.

You don't want to know, man. You don't want to know. You might think you want to know, but you don't/

Okay, then, let's not speak of this again.

Yep, if Steve says it's bad, then it's probably REALLY bad.

The baddest of the bad.

Bad to the bone *guitar riff*

Some spiders don't have all their legs. Don't discriminate.

*sniffles* 

Did you make all of that rhyme just for me, Bucky? 

Edit: the poems were saved, yay! Thanks to iavatus. 

Would you like a rhyme, just for you?

I'd graciously accept any rhyme that you're able to make then. ^^ 

I'll come up with something tomorrow then.

Take your time, make it extra special. ^^ 

Well, I keep thinking you're Malkalack because those sock look like Putin's snowmobile, and That's rhymes with 'Bara...

...

...#TharaBara

No, Sent, it's #BaraApples

#TharaBara, dammit!

#BaraApples !

It makes more sense!

Why limit ourselves on one name? We can just have both so everyone's happy in this ideal world of ours.

Does Bara apples rhyme? No, it doesn't! Therefore #TharaBara! I rest my case!

Screw that, it's TharaBucky now. He's writing poetry for her now.

Well, Mizal didn't write me any back when I wrote for her...

I could write back.. ;)

That was because I was afraid the next step would be you standing outside my bedroom window in your underwear if you received any encouragement.

That's not very creative. I'm deeply wounded.

EDIT: Thara understands.

You meanie.

Pretty sure Bucky standing outside anyone’s window in his underwear is independent of whether he receives encouragement or not.

I'll be sure to return the favor in kind. :D

I'm not sure how all of this makes me feel... TharaBara sounds hilarious though. 

The ballad of Taink Bo:

Tim was peeved when Silas walked into Tim's throne room when he was trying to hold court, shoving concerned citizens aside, nearly flooring an old man as he cut to the front of the crowd, wrestling his arm free of a guard's grasp and raising his hand.
"Milord!" Shouted Silas, seemingly oblivious to the armed men standing around him waiting for Tim to say the word.
"What is it, Silas?" Tim said curtly, "I'm trying to hold court!"
"It's urgent shit, mate!" Silas cried, "There's fat, headless dragons without legs explodin' all the peasants!"
"I'm a baronet now!" Tim said indignantly, "I have responsibilities and stuff! I can't be your squire anymore!"
"Yeah ye can! Hav'ne taught ye everythin' I know about cookin' an' killin' yet, so yer trainin's not finished!"
"I'll never know everything you know about cooking and killing, Silas. You've been at those things since you were like 12!"
"Ezzacly! Yunnae what they say! Never stop learnin'!"
"I'm not your squire! Guards, send him to the back of the line!"
The guards grabbed his arms and began pulling him back, but Silas managed to reach into his belt and procure a scroll:
"Wait! This paper says you are my squire still, even if you own more land an' shit!"
"What? Give me that!" Tim snatched the scroll, his face growing worried as he scanned it's words, "How did you get Kiel to sign this!?"
"Made 'im an onion, chicken, an' swiss sandwich on sour bread and gave 'im some alone time. See, that's the kinda thing y'can learn to do when yer my squire!"
"I don't need to know that," Tim said, "just take me to these freakin' dragons and let's get this shit over with."
"You remind me of me when I was a squire!" Silas said nostalgic ally as he ran through a grumbling crowd, "Get yer horse and follow me!"
~
"Really!?" Steve asked incredulously as Silas dragged the ballista missile over, "This is your battle strategy!? We're only two people!"
"You know that old saying about David and Goliath, right?"
"There is no saying! It's a-"
"Shut up and fire the ballista before the powder charge goes off!"

Tim obliged, and one mechanical dragon had its side blown off. While wounded, perhaps mortally, with no real ability to move any longer, there was no blood. The beast continued roaring, and while shaken, turned its gristly tortoise - she'll shoulders to point its long, headless neck at the two heroes.

"BULL FUCK!" Screamed Silas in rage as they ducked behind the hill, pulling the ballista behind them. They had narrowly escaped the dragon's exploding fireball.

"Great fucking job, Silas!" Tim said with no small amount of frustration, "You've fucking killed us all!"

"No, no, I'm a knight errant! Killing dragons is my shit!... I just haven't encountered a headless metal dragon before..."

"Well, you're the closest thing we have to an expert on the subject! What do you suggest!?"

"I suggest you attach me to the next ballista shot and fire me into their king. That should distract 'em long enough for you to go get Brad. Brad's an expert on fighting kinds of Dragons I haven't even fuckin' heard of!... Possibly cus he us one..."

"Which one's the king?"

"Prubly the one with the gaudy red flag hangin' off it. Smells like bratwurst an' saurkraut from over here... I think these might be German Dragons..."

Silas wrapped his arms around the ballista shot and held on for dear life after he finished loading it on. Tim aimed carefully at the tank, and the flag came into view.

Silas hadn't ever seen the flag on anything other than these steel monsters and the men that sometimes came out of them, it represented no faction he had ever seen, but when he looked at it, he felt something deep inside that hurt him very much. He felt the compulsion to gut everyone inside, grab their small intestines, and make them all shit down their own throats.

The bizarre spinny symbol, in its little white circle, surrounded with a sea of blood red awakened a berserker rage deep within him that Silas could barely manage to bite back with all-too-well-practiced self restraint...

Then he was flying through the air, then he landed with a thunk as the tremendous bolt pierced the heart of the monster.

Silas had only a split-second to think. In order to kill a dragon, you had to THINK like a dragon! Silas stroked his chin again, trying to think of a way to-

"What is this!?" A distinctly not - German voice shouted from inside. Silas subtly slid down the ballista toward the hole to get a better ear-view.

"This is a top-of-the-line Panzer m4! They invaded Russia with this shits! It is made of several-foot - thick steel folded thousands and thousands of times over by master blacksmiths atop mount Alps! It is the best ever tank! I has a 16-hour gas-tsnk range, can fire both explosive, armor piercing, incendiary, atomic, turbo, technicolor, play-do, pulsar, and phaser rounds! It has a 93.0 caliber 5-bore smith & koch mounted machete gun with water-cooled magazine flux capacitors, pump-action quadruple-barrelled Higgs-Boson recalibration drives with 54 semi-automatic triple-action mechanized muzzle-loading technology, and neuro-gravitronical ram-downloading dragonbane lemming suppressor plates! It has no recoil! It has a max speed of 40 clicks per parsec! It has 30 blood grooves! These mechanics are bullshits! This kind of shits would never have happened in 'WWII 5', the superior RTS! There's a reason the Further won Salerno, Brest, Anzio, Okinawa, Nancy, Pearl Harbor, Bataan, and Iwo Jima!"

Silas was struck with an idea. In order to beat someone who obviously invaded just to pedantically spew their irrelevant-to-the-story historical knowledge and drone for another incoherent paragraph about personal interests they had never actually given anyone a reason to care about, he had to do it right back!

Silas stepped down from the ballista and drew his sword, Catslayer! It shimmered in the sunlight with a glow of justice, and all the other things that legendary blades did. Silas took a deep breath, cleared his throat, and prepared for his battle soliloquy.

"This sword is a 1257 M3 hand-and-a-half sword, made from crushed - bone steel in the furnaces of Rolf the Big! It is designed with a broad, straight blade for weighty swings and balanced near the bottom of the blade for easy manueverability! It's longer than a one-handed and shorter than a two-hander, making it good for short and mid-range combat, granting a reach advantage over shortsword and a drawspeed and close-range maneuverability advantage over two-handers, which, contrary to popular belief, are not SUPPOSED to be called zweihanders. Yes, it's a proper term, but it's not THE proper term. Zweihander is LITERALLY just two-hander in German. The blades are sharp, capable of cleaving a warrior cats' skull clean in two! The point is long and sharp for slamming into armor chinks and using grappling techniques to crowbar an armored opponent to the ground for easy dispatchment! The hilt and handle are made from a dragon's phalanges, so when half-swording techniques are employed to turn the sword into a war-pick, foes are torn asunder by its dual razor claws! The handle is the dragon's middle finger, it and the runes on the sword are specially blessed by the gods to deliver righteous smiting to those with black hearts of evil! I also have a crossbow, a slow-reloading but fast and accurate machine of death that was once banned by Pope Innocent in 1139 for being too damn good at murdering the Christians!

But I don't just like weapons! I also happen to be a master chef who, like many other people of a certain refined taste, happens to be sexually attracted to sandwiches and the women who eat them! I also know how to do dragon shouts and sing badly, which kind of go hand in hand!"

With each word of his incessant babble, the tanks began to rust and fall apart, like wet origami.

"Also, one of my favorite songs is 'Bang Thine Head' by the minstrels known as Quiete Riette, it is a heavy metal song with an awesome bass line played on the electric lute, which was invented by Leslie of Paul in 1167! And also, the Katana sucks! It was a last ditch holdout weapon for guys to avoid capture with, and the reason they were able to cut through the bodies of multiple prisoners is because they had extra long handles during Bladen testing to increase the force of the swing! It's a load of bullshit and I daresay the kanabo, naginata, bow, or literally fucking anything else the samurai used were by entire orders of magnitude much deadlier than the fucking mantelpiece decorations they wore on their belts! There were no Katana formations for a goddamn reason!"

The limbless dragon monsters crumbled to the ground as Silas decided to add the finishing touch, tipping their corpses over and making men pour out with the unrelenting force of three-syllable video game references.

The general flew out of his Flaggy monster corpse and onto his knees, glistening anime eyes looking over the mighty Silas with contempt too deep for words.

"Why do you do this shits to me!? What have I do to you!?"

"Your Mary-sue ass came in and broke the genre for no goddamn reason other than to randomly reference a video game you were playing and reference peripherally related history and shit, so I did the same thing to show you what it's like!" Said a voice from above.

Silas looked up at the sky with a perplexed look on his face. A stray brick from the 4th wall, presumably from the holes left behind by the tanks literally coming out of the blue, fell beside him.

"The fuck ' re you?"

"Sentinel, your writer."

"Oh?... Can ye fix this mess here?"

The voice laughed, his scrawny but devilishly handsome features glistening in the screenlight, "Nah. I'm not gonna stick my hand out into the internet to help you out when you can just do it yourself. The internet 's fucking diseased. It has conceited fools like you and Raven in it! I'd much rather stay here in Metaland, where it's safe."

"Fuck you too, you pompous twat!" Silas shouted at the man in the sky.

"You're mean! You're mean as shits! You're just anger at me because I'm so special and unique!"

"You are." Sentinel said, "We all are, in our own little ways... but some of us are just fucking abysmal. You need to work on that." Sentinel said as the sky closed up in front of him and the 4th Wall was repaired.

"Hey, Sent!" Silas yelled, because it was worth a try, "Can I have a pet dragon? I don't see why he can have a thousand metal ones but I can't-"

It was too late, the sky had closed up. Silas had nothing left to do but continue his work. He was a knight errant after all, and what was a knight errant without a righteous hero moment?

Silas stood atop the defeated remains of a tank, sun setting in a blaze of glory behind his silhouette as he pointed his sword at the general,

"What's your name, Villain?"

"I'm Raven. Who are you?"

"My name is of no importance, it's what I do that counts!"

Catslayer glistened like a beam of morning sunlight as rays shone off it, and all those other things that legendary swords do, as he raised it up over his head...

"You disgrace the delicious smell of traditional German food, your uniform clashes with the time period, your dragons are shittier than our dragons, and your flag really pisses me off for deeply ingrained, primal reasons I have yet to put my finger on. I should kill you... But I won't! I won't even beat the shit out of you!"

He sheathed his sword, letting his flowing cape wrap around his shoulders as he stepped down.

The silhouettes of Dragons rose out over the golden sunset, and an army of flying lizards, TRUE dragons, landed in the field of destroyed machines. Brad landed gracefully next to them, a majestic sight to behold.

"This better be fucking important!" Tim said, stepping off Brad's back, "I had to climb up a while fucking mountain and fight through a cave of monsters to find him and his dragon buddies!"

"Yeah! Those were some of my best goblin underlings!" Said Brad, with much perturbation.

Silas ignored them, looking away from everyone so as not to lose himself in Brad's seductive gaze. He whistled for his horse, which could be seen on a hill not far away.

"But make no mistake, Raven!" Silas said, "Your punishment will be grave as fuck!"

Raven looked up up at the Penguinite, glaring with the fury of a thousand hurtled anuses. (Anii?)

"What is it!?" He asked, dying to cull the tension.

Silas stood in silence until his horse arrived, he then mounted it and turned to look at the three:

"Raven, I sentence you to help these guys clean up all the busted mechanical dragons lying around here. They really fuck up the Feng shui of these craggy New-Zealand-like plains!"

And with that, the hero rode away  into the sunset as it dawned on the three what they had just been tasked with. Silas rode on, search of more mighty quests to do, more evil to stop dead in its tracks, more puppies, babies, and kittens to save from undeserved and sticky ends, and more villages to do violent community service at. For a hero's job is indeed never done. A knight errant has all lands put under their just and mighty protection. In time, the bards would sing of his feats, the sagas would detail his adventures... But for now, he just had three people in the fjords singing (well, yelling...) "SENTINEL YOU ASSWIPE!"

O_O

And damn... that's really long.

Heh.

Please dude, they stopped using neuro-gravitronical ram-downloading dragonbane lemming suppressor plates halfway through the first World War.

I mean, good story, but it really hurts it that you failed at such basic fact checking.

Yeah, it was a blatant anachronism meant to satirize the frivolity of Raven's gun nutting. Besides, the mechanisms that replaced them were ventral axionic magnet-injection antimatter glob reflectors with lepton density filament cores and Seinfeldium compression gradients, which just aren't as funny, given their sinister use in various humanItalian disasters and genocidal conflicts as a means of causing dysentery outbreaks.

I honestly cannot tell if you're just putting complex words together or if you actually have some sort of guideline for naming this stuff.

It's just technobabble. It symbolizes what I see when I try to read Raven's bulsch.

Ah, I see. This revelation now promotes to think about similar times in my life.

This should be a book!

I love your funny writing style. When I read it I picture it being written on an old scroll with bagpipes playing in the background, a mystic voice reading.

"Made 'im an onion, chicken, an' swiss sandwich on sour bread and gave 'im some alone time."

^ And sometimes, that's all you really need. <3

Also, how did you know I love sourdough bread?

That moment you realize you fucked a mountain.

There were sounds of combat in the distance. This in itself was nothing unusual; furious cries and the clanging of swords were as common in Cystia as sacks of drowned kittens. What was mildly surprising was that the newly erected, pristine city walls had been baptized in blood so soon after the old had been vaporized by divine intervention at the climax of the last battle.   

Mizal sighed in mild irritation and rubbed at her temples. "Fools..." she muttered, before straightening up and giving the weird little dragon thing that always sat on her head a pat.  Wandering about the room, she began gathering up what seemed to be a very disorganized collection of parchment sheets covered front to back in indecipherable code, laying them out on a table next to a tray of colorful vials.

At times this all grew so tiresome. Her habit was to stay cloistered in her chambers or the castle grounds, mingling only with the nobility of the kingdom, if she must mingle at all. But the fighting had come so near, with the people of Thelounge falling victim to a ragged horde of foreign Fools, that she herself had been drawn into the struggle, wreaking some minor devastation and crippling one of the enemies white-cloaked commanders with alchemical weapons that, up until then had been strictly experimental. Lowly, ignorant peasants that the people of Thelounge were, she'd felt it was her duty to help those fortunate than her.

It was almost funny now, reflecting on how naive they had all been in years past, thinking that by tightening the laws on depravity and disorderly behavior and purging the Cat Cultists they would free the kingdom from their lunatic grasp. But factions of Fools sprung up under new banners, and it seemed the war against the gibbering, squamous hordes seeking to overthrow the safety, sanctity, and very sanity of Cystia would never end.

Still. The endless conflict was not without its benefits. Unhooking a lantern from the wall, Mizal crossed the room and removed the padlock from a heavy trapdoor, tugging it open and shining the light down to dimly reveal the squirming bundles bound hand and foot and laid out on the cold stone floor.  

After the Cat Cultists had been forcibly removed, she had worried raw materials would be harder to come by. Happily, that had not been the case.         

Thundering hoofbeats somewhere in the courtyard outside drew her attention to the window. Sir Bucky and...Steve were apparently riding forth on fresh mounts to lead a fresh assault on the enemy position, their newly appointed squire, Mason, following behind. Slowly.

Mizal shook her head. The boy was still insisting on riding that camel everywhere he went. She'd even heard him talking to it. Disturbingly, he'd had the gall to name it Mizal.

Still, he'd come far from the task of mucking the special stable for the quarantined horses with diarrhea he'd been assigned to upon his original attempts to defect and redeem himself from the ranks of the Fools. Supposedly he'd even distinguished himself in battle recently, under Sir Bucky's supervision.

Steve, now. Mizal watched him as he rode toward the gate, eyes narrowed. She hated Steve more than anyone else alive. Everyone knew of the rivalry between Bucky and Steve, but few knew the depths of the mutual spite she and the latter shared for each other, or the terrible incident in New Dool that had spawned it.

If that loathsome orc buggerer wasn't so useful in defending the kingdom... Her hands closed into fists as her gaze reflexively swept the rack of potions. Well, who knows what accidents might occur.  

The thought seemed to linger with her, until she abruptly turned back to the window and shut it tight againt the distractions outside. Cystia would have to look to its own affairs a few days. She had a plan, and much work to do.   

Oh, this is a great addition.

Thundering hoofbeats somewhere in the courtyard outside drew her attention to the window. Sir Bucky and...Steve were apparently riding forth on fresh mounts to lead a fresh assault on the enemy position, their newly appointed squire, Mason, following behind. Slowly.

Mizal shook her head. The boy was still insisting on riding that camel everywhere he went. She'd even heard him talking to it. Disturbingly, he'd had the gall to name it Mizal.

Especially this.

"Because Mizal was a really important member."

Totally because of that.

This fantastic. I love every thing about it.

The blast of a lone trumpet echoed over a battlefield, giving voice to the carnage. Here, a valiant defence of a scrap of turf, a mere bump in the ground but surrounded by those who died bravely, if ignomiously. There, a shell of a house stands silent witness to the depravities pushed onto the defenders once their ability to fight, if not will to, is broken, their shrieks mingling into the surrouding areas where the same unholy scene is repeated, again and again.

Alone in the rubble, a tavern stands unbreached - it's walls tainted by smoke and blood, it's door adorned with wretched hands, severed from their owners in a most perfunctory way. The roof is decorated with varied banners, marking the brave souls who lurk within, defending this most important establishment. A nude man atop his rearing red steed. A silhouette etched into stone, brandishing a weapon. A stag skull, freed from flesh with a crown of branches. A figure, robed in knowledge, the hem soaked red. A maiden of reddest hair, her tongue darkened with blood and souls. A strapped man, confined within his own body.

The owners of these, and other brave figures collect around a table, a map of the town staked down, with statuettes representing forces placed haphazardly about, competing for space with tankards, drinking horns, drinking skulls and the occasional glass. And many, many pointy implements. A stubby finger traces a line from the tavern, to the nearest figurine, a squat green thing. Murmurs of agreement as the plan is drafted, additions and revisions are made, and soon the room is bare as the warriors strap on their strappables (including the youngest who arms and armours himself with strap-ons, for inciting terror if not wounds), and girded for war, go out to make it.

The gnarled innkeeper watches from the doorway as they march off, not in step, not in tune, not even in agreement, but with a purpose that binds them all together. The banter and bickering fade into the distance, leaving the tromping of boots as the serious minded, frivolous in aspect go towards their foe.

***

A familiar room, illuminated only by the lights of eldritch candles of wizardry.

"They march, not as an army, but as comrades. They seek the worst to smite, and exult their best to emulate and praise. Theirs, is a difficult task, to slay without falling into the same traps the enemy sets, but they look out and help one another, and refu-"

"Who? I don't get it, you didn't say who they were, or are, or what they're doing, or fighting, or anything. It's just, being all arty-farty"

She shrugs, and folds the papers up. "And that is what I wanted, and what works. Does it matter, precisely who? No, not really. The bravery, and cunning, they are the same no matter the name they wear. They know who they are, and there's clues a-plenty, if they want them."

"But, no dialogue, or describing their weapons, or armour. There's just, nothing to visualise."

"If you want visuals, watch a movie. I can't paint a better picture then your own imagination, I can create the skeleton, that you flesh out. I see it my way, you see it yours"

He huffs, and stomps off, clearly unsatisfied.

    “And now, may we give praise unto the Lords, that they may deliver us from the creeping darkness outside our walls.” The priestess’ voice cracked as her faith in the Administrationem wavered, even as she delivered a final sermon. What few Cystians that had survived the onslaught grimly looked up at her from the floor, as the pews were all stuffed against the door. 

    “What’s the fucking point, Mizal?” Bucky asked, dejected. The others slightly cringed at his dropping of the honorific “High Priestess”, but were willing to forgive him, given the dire circumstances. “The city’s lost.” As if to punctuate his statement, a  Guardsmen off in the distance made his death-rattle heard. 

    Steve only sighed, burying his head in his arms. His faith in the gods had been unshakeable in the past, allowing him to confront the harsh realities of life within the city walls. It was only now, at the moment of his death, that he’d realized the only truth in life; if the gods exist, they don’t give two shits about him, or anyone. 

    The Penguin hadn’t spoken for an entire day. He’d actually taken a fatal dose of cyanide, but nobody had noticed. 

    Across the temple’s once-sacred hall, the  sole survivor of the City  Guard let out an audible curse. 

    “Iavatus, what’s wrong?” The priestess asked, her voice little more than a  trembling squeak.

    “The door’s cracking. Those degenerates are nearly through -“ His speech was cut off as the door broke in half, spilling the piled-up barricade onto him. His bones broke with a sickening noise as the tide of inhuman filth spewed over him; a dozen small creatures trying to feast on the warm blood inside the church. 

    The survivors halted in their tracks, rooted to the floor by the sheer force of their terror, as the dozen festering demons formed a semi-circle around them. 

    The creatures stood roughly four feet tall; a good couple of heads smaller than even the shortest of them. Their limbs jutted out at arbitrary angles, lending them the appearance of asymmetrical dolls, sewn together by a mad child. Slivers of bone protruded from their stinking green flesh, which was rotted to the point of nearly falling off their slender frames. They had no eyes, but they all bore a wicked-shaped mouth, pulled back in a cruel leer. 

    The goblin weren’t the source of their terror, however. A larger creature had smashed aside the makeshift barricade, reducing the corpse of poor Iavatus to little more than a bloody smear, depressed into the ground. 

    This larger goblin - this troll! - stood at twice the height of a mortal man, although that was wear the resemblance to human beings ended. It bore the same pale-green, infected flesh as its smaller cousins, but while the goblins were lithe and lean, it carried rolls of fat that rolled off its form. Open sores covered its body, excreting pus like so many leaky pipes. 

    It hefted a massive club in one meaty fist, and the desecrated, decapitated corpse of a man named Tim in the other. It roared a loud, offensive snarl and strode forward, jaws open.

    If there was anyone left alive in the city, they would have been disturbed by the bone-chilling screams, mixed in with the pleasured bellows of the troll. 

H'WHAAAAAT

MEDIEVAL ZAAAAMBIES

?I like this one!

Damn it! It's only after I post it that I notice the grammatical errors. 

Awesome concept. 

Adding to the multiverse is fun:

 

 

"Are we there yet?" The young one asked. The pony she was riding on gave out a neigh, but luckily didn't rear back on the untrained child.

"This is the fifth time you've asked, Aty." The man said. He was dressed in leather armor and steel shoulder pauldrons, the left of which had a plate sleeve that cover his arm. His stallion under him trudged on, the 5 hour journey almost at an end.

"I know..." Atyoth replied, sulking a bit on her makeshift saddle. She perked back up quickly however. "I'm just a little excited to see the city! I've not been there for years!" She was extremely giddy and proceeded to do the "EEEEEEEEE!" hand thing.

"We'll be there before the sun sets, I assure you. Now, please, calm yourself." The man said, looking at the nearly setting sun. It was about 5:30. "A true knight must have patience."

"Tim, you always say that! 'A true knight must have this, a true knight must have that, blah blah blah blah blah'! When are you ACTUALLY going to start teaching me about becoming a knight?!" Atyoth snapped, annoyed.

"Oh? I've not taught you anything?" Tim says, slowing his horse to a stop. Atyoth stopped as well, turning to Tim, a stern look on her face.

"NO! You've not taught me about swordplay, you've not taught me ANY magic, and you've not even taught me how to properly ride! The only reason we approach so slow is I cannot gallop!" Atyoth says, her eyes attempting to pierce Tim's soul.

"YOU ARE THE WORST MASTER EVER!" Atyoth shouted, red in the face and out of breath. Tim is silent for a moment, either to process that sentance or to allow Atyoth to catch her breath, before speaking again.

"When I brought you into my home... when you'd no place to call... did I not teach you kindness or compassion?" He said. Atyoth looks shocked for a second, but quickly hides her surprise.

"When I fought off those bandits poking fun at you, did I not teach you honor or valor?" Tim said, eyes still not upon Atyoth. The young orphan shifted uncomfortably in her saddle.

"When I brought you on my many quests, of far off lands, with many new and mystical creatures that you have written down in that book there..." Tim says, voiced slightly raised, pointing at a bound book hanging off Atyoth's belt. "... did I not teach you ANY sense of exploration, adventure, or wonder?!"

When Tim looks up, Atyoth avoids his gaze. Tim continues.

"If you think not, than it is not I who is broken, but yourself! If you do not care to learn my lessons, than you don't need to learn!" Tim says, almost yelling. The young girl is on the verge of tears as she realizes.

"I'm so sorry, Master. I take it back. Please don't be mad at me..." She says, a single tear dripping from her face. Tim brings his stallion close to meet her, and puts a hand on her shoulder.

"Oh, Aty... I cannot stay mad at one such as yourself." Tim says as he raises her head with one hand slowly to face him, and looks into her watery eyes. "You have a burning spirit. But you must control it, less it spreads and consumes you. Please, do not cry." He says, wiping away her tears. "A true knight does not cry." He says, jokingly. Atyoth smiles and chuckles, and they make their way to the city.

 

"Hey, do you smell smoke?" Atyoth says. After a quick sniff, Tim gallops ahead. "Hey! Wait for me! C'mon, horsey, go!" Atyoth says as she kicks the horse into a light trot. "Whoa! It actually listened!"

Tim was on a hill up ahead, a silhouette in the setting sun.

"Master Tim! Master Tim, did you see what I..." Atyoth says as she sees the burning town of Thelounge, besieged by bandits and monsters of all sorts.

 

"By the almighty Alexp, no... Gods Mods no..." Tim said.

Atyoth?

Yes.

Who be it?

Me, obviously. *hair flip*

Proof required!

Awe! Thanks for putting me in, Tim. (I think.)

It was very, very hard to think of a name.

Hehe, I'm sure it was. 

Okay, now this makes me picture you and AYT as a team.

I ship it.

At_Tim's_Throat

Ship that shit.

Also, it's Tim's_Your_Throat.

Narkin The VIII looked down on the City of CYStia with a grim face. Many of the 8th Legion, originally 1,000 strong, had been captured by the Ryders of Anarchy. The brutal cat-rapist tortured the Kibble forces, and brutally raped them. Narkin had one option left.

He looked over the remaining 15 Kibble soldiers, and told one of the combat engineers, "I'm sorry about the genre, but we have no choice. Call in the Spear of Adun!"

The Kibble soldier's eyes widened, but he still pulled a large red button out of a pocket in his undershirt, worn by all the Kibble troops under their armor, or chain mail.

A bright blue light exploded above the city, revealing a massive golden starship. Spires and blue crystals stuck out, while a massive golden ball glowed in the center, surrounded by spinning platforms and structures. The thing itself like like an eleven tower that tipped on its side.

Narkin cried, "FIRE THE PURIFICATION BEAM!"

The cry echoed across the battlefield, and all were quiet. The golden orb glowed brighter. A hole opened under the orb. Then, a whirring noise was heard to all, and a pure golden beam sprung out from the cannon. It hit the ground, and began disintegrating a few buildings. The beam was also moving around. It vaporized the Ryders of Anarchy, the trolls, the demons, and any sort of zombified corpse that rose up. The Kibble cheered, as well as any of the surviving CYStians, for they, and the majority of the buildings were unharmed. Narkin and the Kibble survivors cheered lustily. Soon, all the Kibbles will be free of the terror of Ryder's rape! But suddenly, off in the distance, beyond the CYStian walls, rose gigantic war machines. Narkin shivered.

The people cried in terror. This was the end. The enemies have brought the most fearful weapons. The Spam-a-pults. The catapult-like machines were winding their arms back, preparing to fire the volleys of spam. Trolls loaded huge amounts of canned meats, email inboxes, and random threads into the Spam-a-pults. The first volley fired at the Spear of Adun. Narkin started receiving messages on his comm link. The Spear of Adun lit up as the shielding strained against the spam fire.

"Narkin!" Cried the combat engineer, "The Spear of Adun is taking heavy fire. The shielding is failing!"

Narkin swore, "Fuckaluckaduck! We have to destroy those things!"

"But how?!" The engineer cried.

The beam flickered and disappeared. The enemies cheered and went back to raping the Kibbles and cats, as well as charging the church and remaining strongholds.

Suddenly, the CYStians, Kibbles, and enemies alike heard heavenly music start playing. The dark gathering clouds parted, revealing a face with blue glowing eyes, covered with a blue hood, which featured many mystical designs. Everybody gasped.

"It's the great God Mod Kiel!" Yelled a Kibble being raped by Ryder.

Kiel's hands lit up with crackling lightning, and scorched the spam and the Spam-a-pults. He muttered something about sleep deprivation and disappeared. But a cheer went up from the CYStians. The engineer yelled to Narkin, "The spam is gone, the Spear of Adun can purify those poor bastards now!" Narkin jumped up and down from joy as the Purification Beam lit up again, and began, slowly but surely, scorching the enemy. The Kibble 8th Legion was now ready to fight again, most of the Ryders having been torched. They pushed forward valiantly, killing everything they could. The fight ahead was going to be tough, but they could pull through.

As Narkin and his squad stormed a house, pushed open the basement door, and killed several Ryders of Anarchy, the engineer exclaimed, "Narkin, this is sad news, but the Spear of Adun is pulling back. It needs at least three days to recharge its battery."

Narkin shrugged, as he decapitated and gutted another Ryder, "We can do without it. As we free more of Kibbles in basements being tortured, we will have an increasingly larger army to fight the enemy!" The engineer nodded and they got back to business.

EDIT: Hope that is a little more pleasing to the eye.

By any chance, does your profile pic depict armored Kielble Kibble?

I meant it as Kibble soldiers in armor. Obviously, these are the modern edition. But the picture is actually humans from StarCraft. If you look closely, you can see a little bit of the first guy's face.

When I get around to actually finishing my profile, I will actually draw some of my own shit.

@Tim36D ... That was the cutest bunny I have ever seen.

Welcome. ^_^

@WizzyCat - Very amusing. :3

Why thank you good sir! Hoping to make an impact on CYS lore!

EDIT: I can fix my formatting now!

(Space Opera Version)

NOTE: I tried to include as many people as possible. Sorry if you were not included.

The planets of our galaxy, CYStia, could not have been in more trouble. The Endpire, an evil empire controlled by only Master End himself, fought the valid knights of Kiel. Currently a the main battlefront was in Luingè, a planet in the middle sector of the Galaxy. 

The vast End navy lay stretched over Luingè, and dozens of soldiers on foot sieges the knight's homeland. 

"MUAHAHAHA!" End sat in his throne, looking over his forces. "I have come from the peaceful planet known as stortygamia, and established myself as a true leader. From then on I was more respected, and grew a vast army! Now I will destroy all who oppose me! If only.....I had enough time to write Rogues."

-----------------------

Meanwhile, on the battlefields of Luingè......

"Dammit Bucky! Stop stepping on my fucking gun! And take off that goofy skull helmet. We're on the battlefield!", A soldier named Steve yelled over the gun fire.

"Sorry, Steve, well you keep making references to some goddamn space opera called "Achilles". What the fuck is it anyways?"

Suddenly, a spam bomber flies overhead and launches a dozen mini-bombs.

"Duck!" A soldier yells.

From the ashes of the carnage, Kiel Soldiers grab their weapons and go back to the endless carnage.

"As I was saying...." Steve begins.

A commander runs over to them, interrupting."Hey! You two! I need you guys to escort Princess Mizal to a different thread, where it's safe. You better not screw up!" Steve and Bucky suddenly realize he's Commander Fucking Malk (yes, that's his go-to name), a veteran from many past wars.

"Aye aye!"

Malk gives them a strange look. "This isn't pirates. It the future."
This makes Steve and Bucky confused. The future? Isn't it the present? 
-------------
Meanwhile, in End's huge warship......

"Is he here yet?" End asks. 

"No, m'lord.", responds a hunched old stereotypical hag.

Just then, the doors slide open and a man wearing a gas mask strolls in. The bounty hunter has a minigun attached to one arm, and in the other is a small throwing knife. 

"So....is it Tim?"

The masked man gruffs. "Yes. Now what are you paying me big bucks for?" 

"The capture of Princess Mizal. High reward....eight thousand credits."

The supposed bounty hunter, Tim, nods and walks back out.

---------------

Princess Mizal runs through gunfire, and out to a new escort team. She needs to get the fuck out of here. Three men wait, one of them younger and shorter. It's Bucky, Steve, and a new recruit- Private Mason.

Bucky gets wide-eyed. "Oooh!"

Mizal ignores this, and yells over the battle. "Where are we going?" 
Steve ducks incoming fire. "Hopefully a spaceship taking us to the Parlor Rùm, a deserted planet where a small base sits."

"Okay." Mizal responds.

"Uh....guys, what's that?" Mason peers at the sky, scared.

A huge fighter spacecraft lands, and a masked man walks out. Wearing a gas mask and almost six foot five, he is literally one handing a minigun. "Come with me, Princess. Then no blood will be shed." 

"Never!" Bucky draws his CM Assault Rifle, firing bullet hell at the guy. Some bullets wedge into the armor, but most bounce off. 

The man gruffs. "Then so be it."

His fighter jet opens up, revealing a stowaway. "Oops." Says a voice from inside.

"Huh? Who are you?" Tim turns.

"Come on, while he's distracted!" Mason whispers. They run, but a young girl roughly Mason's age walks out. 

"They're escaping! Oh, and my name's AYT!" She does a anime-like pose, but Tim ignores and runs after them.
"Hey! I want to help!" AYT holsters a blaster pistol and fires a volley of plasma after them. 

Tim tosses a few micro grenades, and the explosions barely miss the group. "Hmph. Who sent you anyways?"

"Oh, General Claw told me to help you. I couldn't find a secure ride, so I boarded you!"

"That's seriously creepy."
--------------
A large spaceship awaits the three man escort, along with the Princess. Tim and AYT get closer, and fire at them. 

"Why don't you go and get Mizal?" Tim asks.

AYT gets wide-eyed. "YES!" She skips off, blaster in hand.

Bucky and Steve get to the ship with Mizal, Mason covering fire. The maniacal AYT enthusiastically throws fragmention grenades and destroys cover. Just then, a loose bomb hit the ship's inner "stomach". 

"Uh, captain, your ship is hit!" Mizal says, slowly inching back from the platform.

Wizzy, the captain of the S.S Fish, runs out and looks at the explosion. The gunner, a crazed Penguinite named Silas, gapes at it.

Bucky yells out, "You have to abandon it!" 

Wizzy looks back. "No.....ILL NEVER GIVE UP MY FISH!", he yells maniacally.

Suddenly, an entire fleet of Kiel tanks drive over, marked "RAVEN II" on each one.

A gunner calls, "we're here to cover you. The entire End fleet commandeered by General Claw is coming for her. She's seriously worth some price."

Mizal blushes, but then draws her secret illegal blaster - The Kid Crusher. 

AYT and Tim, from the other side gape at the tanks and the incoming backup.

"Great. Some pip-squeaks are going to get in my way." Tim glances at AYT and mutters, "especially her."

The Kiel and End forces gather, and Steve and Bucky can feel the impending doom. Mason literally pisses his pants, at least Bucky believes. 

Boom, boom, boom, the forces arrive. General Claw, a hooded necromancer walks forward.

"Give the girl.", he says, sending a sharp and cold feeling through all near.

In response, a blinding flash appears. A blue hooded man walks forward. People nearby gasp. 

"K-Kiel?" Claw seems unsteady for a second, but then gets back to being stern.

"Yes. It is I, the bringer of peace and love." Kiel says, and the Kiel army responds with "Hail Farren!"

Claw doesn't respond. Suddenly, he coughs out blood. Claws emerge through the ground, bony fingers grabbing his legs. Unresponsive, his skin tears and he falls to his knees. Claw is dead.

Soldiers, Kiel and End alike, aim their rifles at the ground. Thousands of bony, monstrous green creatures all swarm up from beneath the surface. Lasers, cannons, and bullets fly at the beasts. Trolls. A once thought extinct species, they have come once again to take back the surface and turn it into a world of chaos and destruction. 

Blood, guts, and furry arms launch into the air. Kiel launches blue energy bolts, AYT slings plasma, Tim mows them down, Wizzy uses the S.S Fish, and even the Penguinite gang, including Silas, Beta, and Band (twin penguins) help out. 

They are two.

But today they fight as one.

This is a fucking masterpiece. 9/8. Though AYT and Claw are kinda married. And Claw is a necromancer, so death can't really happen to him...

Thanks!

EDIT: Oh, and p.s, the bite of a troll kills all.

 

"It is I, the bringer of peace and love." *snort* Not a catchphrase I would've picked out for myself, but maybe it'll grow on me. I must admit, I do appreciate the imagery of trolls bursting out on the ground and clawing their way up to the surface as we blast them back into the dirt. It's kinda poetic.

I picture you with one of these faces, humbly staring the enemy right in the eyes.

... xD No.

... xD Yes.

.... XD yes please. I would love to see that face on Kiel's profile picture.

"You must defeat the trolls, my Rangers..."

 

But seriously, great job Mason. :D It seems fitting we now have a parallel kingdom of Cystia in space.

Haha, that picture. XD

Your welcome.

I imagined Zenyatta from Overwatch...

Nah, Alan the balloon is much more fitting.

Agreed.

Bucky you sureeeeee are taking your time with the poem you promised me. c: 

I expect it to be a extra extra extraordinary specialz now... it's not very nice to keep someone of my stature waiting. /Sarcasm.

 

I haven't forgotten. I've just been very tired the past two days.

Still tired, until otherwise, these three haiku will have to do. @TharaApples

~

The apples gleamed green
In Thara's lovely orchard
They kept her quite lean

~

We had our first tryst
On a moonlit autumn night
Kissing in the barn

~

The wicked wind wailed
While happy whores humped wizards
With wanton whimsy

This was certainly interesting to read...

Well then! I suppose it's my turn to write you something. 

Edit: It's doneeee! Oh and you aren't allowed to laugh at it either sir. >3

(My attempt at a story. Here goes nothing.)

The battlefield is covered in the mangled bodies of trolls and spammers alike, blood pooling in divots created by bombs and swords. Many CYStian soldiers have fallen during this great battle, their bodies littering the earth, covered in troll venom and lethal pen markings. Kiel, the leader of the charge, looks grimly across the hellish landscape, the ground looking like a living, breathing muscle with the amount of blood spattered across. Steve, Kiel's war general, and Raven, the tank fanatic, stood next to Kiel on either side of the saddened man. All were silent as they paid tribute to the many faithful and loyal soldiers that had fallen in this historic battlefield.

Steve spoke first. "M'lord, we have to continue the battle. We've got more trolls and spammers in Forum Games, and even more so in the Lounge. This was only Parlor Room." 

Raven smiled grimly. "The amount of bloodshed caused here was unfortunate, but we have to continue the battle. Who do you think we should leave here to fight?"

Kiel didn't respond for a long while. "...I'll leave Tim, Mason, Bucky, and Breezy here to defend the last of the noobs. We need to advance to the next war."

Both men nodded. "We'll fetch them from our soldier reserves. So we'll position them here?" asked Raven.

Kiel nodded curtly and turned on his heel, sweeping his long blue cloak behind him. "We won't lose this. In the name of Alexp."

Raven and Steve shot blanks into the air. "For Alexp!"

Kiel walked tirelessly, thoughts swarming his mind like a hive of angry wasps. Had he done the right thing by forging this war, by tearing the site in half? A CYStian civil war was not a sight to behold. His boots left angry, deep footprints in the soil untouched by enemy forces, and Raven and Steve followed meekly behind. The details of the battle fought here was irrelevant and the only important part was the end. All battles waged here were all the same--war, peace, war, peace. It was a never-ending cycle of death that had wiped out thousands, if not millions, of users on this site alone. A single tear snaked its way down the lord's face as he continued walking, his right-hand and left-hand men oblivious to his emotional state. Soon they reached the fork in the road, splitting not into two, but seven paths. Kiel turned to the second pathway to the left, marked 'Lounge', and continued his long, treacherous journey. At any point he could be ambushed, murdered, or robbed, but he let no such fear pierce his heart. His men followed wearily behind, Steve almost in anguish over the thought of how many of his friends and comrades had fallen at the last battle. Carnage reigned across the Kingdom in almost perfect unison, killing hundreds all at once. This wasn't the first war they'd seen grace this website, but they were certain it would be the last.

They arrived quickly at the next battlefield which resembled a large tavern, less CYStian soldiers dead and more trolls dead. A death god, called by the simple name 'Claw', yanked his sword out of a dying creature and let its body join the rest. He chuckled, almost without sanity, and sheathed his sword. Kiel looked on, barely noticing the man, as Raven and Steve reunited with their friend. 

"Where in the site where you?" Gasped Raven. "We needed help in Parlor Room!"

Claw laughed, death gleaming in his bluer-than-blue eyes. "I was busy here killing all these wretched...animals." He stomped on a dead, mangled corpse. 

Steve saw madness join death in his expression. "Well, we'll be going, but do you know where we can find some recruits to defend Parlor Room?"

Claw pointed with a finger toward a young man dressed in slacks and a white tee gutting a monster with one large machete. "Take Mason. He's not been here for long, but his shirt is already stained with troll blood. Be wary, that blood can make you sick with only a single touch."

Kiel walked over to Mason, stepping over many deceased soldiers and trolls. "Excuse me, young man," he boomed, "I need to take you to Parlor."

Mason kicked the troll into a corner, smashing it on a chair. "Yeah, yeah, buddy, I'll go. Get my man Tim, and grab Breezy from Writing Workshop, and toss Atticus in here as well."

Atticus? Who the heck was Atticus? Kiel nodded curtly and left the room, leaving Steve and Raven behind to speak with Claw. Within two hours, he had gathered Breezy, a beautiful brown-haired woman dressed in a white dress, and Tim, a young man dressed in a sort of apocalyptic garb. He couldn't find Atticus anywhere, but while they were making the return trip to Lounge, they spotted a young girl sitting below a tree, sheltered in its shadow. She had her nose buried deep in her book. Kiel stopped. A girl? What was she doing here, all alone? He approached her, tapping the little girl on the shoulder. "Hello?"

The little girl looked up, glaring at him. "Yeah? What is it, m'lord? Do you require my assistance?" She let the book drop to the woodlands floor and stood. She curtsied.

"Yes," Kiel muttered. "We would like to find Atticus."

She blinked. "Well, sir, that's me. I'm Atticus. Just call me Attie."

Kiel flinched. Wasn't that a boy's name? Well, it was better than coins. He smiled and offered her his hand. "Well, Atticus Finch, welcome to the team. Let's go fight some monsters."

---

The war had ended. Millions dead and hundreds more injured. Kiel gazed across the large infirmary. It was a long and hard battle, but it was much worth it. Today, all trolls had been eliminated.

And it would stay that way.

Great entry.

*curtsy*

Rather amusing. Though the last sentence... will never be true! *evil chuckle, quickly building into an all-out maniacal laugh* MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA-blah-augh-hairball...

Thanks, Wiz. :P

... *whistles* I think this may just be my favorite cameo of me yet, particularly this part:

"Kiel walked tirelessly, thoughts swarming his mind like a hive of angry wasps. Had he done the right thing by forging this war, by tearing the site in half? A CYStian civil war was not a sight to behold. His boots left angry, deep footprints in the soil untouched by enemy forces, and Raven and Steve followed meekly behind. The details of the battle fought here was irrelevant and the only important part was the end. All battles waged here were all the same--war, peace, war, peace. It was a never-ending cycle of death that had wiped out thousands, if not millions, of users on this site alone."

It almost sounds like something I'd write for myself, and that's the best compliment in the way of character accuracy I could offer.

You're welcome, I worked hard on this one. 

(Well. instead of just posting random commetns everywhere on this thread, I'll actually contribute and post my own little story, hope you enjoy!)

 

The rain fell heavily this night.

Of course, this would only promote the dark mood around the town, but any waking day reminded the citizens of the hell that they had to face come morning. War was a savage beast, and it fed off of the small citizens constant labor in the fields. Many farmers and farm-hands were drafted out to help fight in the war against the goblins, orcs, and trolls, but it felt like a futile cause. Those that were left to work the fields had to do almost three times their normal work for half the pay, and it took its toll on the citizens. In another time, it wouldn't have been much a problem, but the kingdom's most recent war on the cat beasts had taken its price on the kingdom. Many men and women had died by those mongrel beast's hands, and few wished to talk of the other things that occurred. Most people found solace in the great gods, such as alexp, BerkaZerka, and Kiel_Farren, but even their almighty power could not so readily heal the wounds the war had on the land. They were examples to live by, but the Cat War could only be healed by time.

And it was in his tiny shack that malacith thought of the history of cystia, and the ever-growing presence of the battlefront reaching his quaint little town. Laying in his bed, he could only think of what tomorrow would bring.

And suddenly there came a tapping, as of some one gently rapping, rapping at malacith's door.

" 'Tis some visiter," He muttered, "tapping at my shack's little door - only this and nothing more."

And then the door flew ajar, and upon his doorstep he saw a child draped in a dark cloak. He looked young, and a seeming aura of weariness surrounded the chid.

"Sir," Said the child, "I-I n-need a place to rest. I cannot find my w-way around the town in the d-dark, and I'm sc-scared..."

"Screw you kid. Does this house look like orphanage to you?" malacith then got up from his bed and slammed the door shut, only to find the child laying down on his bed.

"What the hell? How'd you-, you know what, to hell with it. You can stay."

"Thank you kind sir!"

"Whatever."

An awkward silence then filled the room between the man and the child.

"...so," malacith began, "who are your pa-"

"Can you tell me a story?"

"What? Why?"

"So I can go to sleep, dummy!"

"You call me that again and you'll be sleeping in my cellar."

"You have a cellar?"

"Only a tiny one, but that's besides the point. If it'll make you go to sleep, I'll tell you a story. What kind of story do you want to hear?"

"I want to know about the great heroes of cystia!"

"Whew kid, you couldn't have picked a broader topic than that. Whose story do you want to hear?"

"All of theirs!"

"All of them?"

"Yup! And I won't go to sleep until you tell me."

"By the almighty alexp...fine. I'll tell you, but you better go to sleep after I'm done. Promise?"

"Promise."

"Alright. Well, we all know the story of creation with alexp, and how the line of god mod succession works, so let's skip to the great Cat War. Before the war started, all of the people of cystia lived in peaceful harmony. The great tales of our history prospered in that time, with little to no resistance for the good ways of old. But then, they came."

"Who did?"

"The Warrior Cats. No one really knows when they first came here, but what we do know is that they came with intent. The people tried to live peacefully with them and accept them for who they were, but over time, things got worse. They wouldn't agree to some of our sacred customs and rules that we had in these lands, and when we told them that they had to obey these rules just like any other person here, they retaliated violently. The wars brought death to an unprecedented scale in cystia on both sides, and for a while, most people thought the beasts would win. There was heavy resistance on our side as well, though, in the spirit of the almighty JJJ the Banisher, the great EndMaster, the holy Kiel, the beautiful lady mizal *sigh*, the kidnapped Steve, "strong man" Malkalack, the penguin gang, and many others. They gave us lowly people hope that our old life would return, and that we would scourge these beasts from our land, and they did. Many years passed in this onslaught of war, but in the end, cystia drove the beasts away and pushed them into another land."

"Wow...where did they go?"

"No one knows for sure, but what we do know is that we will never have to face those beasts again. But of course, those were the heroes of yore. They still live, and we all still consider them heroes. For some, their great duty to the lands had them ascend into godhood becoming a mod of the people, being granted unlimited power. Most of the others just went to rest from their tiring journey, but little did they know, another war would happen soon."

"The troll wars..."

"Well, not exactly. Most people say that the wars started with the trolls, but I believe otherwise. I think the war actually started between kidnapped Steve and the beautiful lady mizal. *sighs* "

"What? Why do you say that?"

"While I don't know the exact details, I'm pretty sure it started over wet noodles on someone's thighs and pissing. Both great heroes of the Cat War gathered new heroes to champion them in this war. You would know them now as Bucky the deer-thing-man-person, the unrelenting AYT, the leader of the army-for-hire WizzyCat, the skilled mercenary Tim, the respectable ninja Mason, the leader of the tank corporation Raven, and others. These heroes fought against each other in the name of either Steve or mizal *sigh*, and had almost come to destroying each other entirely one day, until they came."

"Who? The cats again?"

"No, not the cats again! It was the orcs, and goblins, and trolls, they came! Their beings came from the ground, horrible and distorted, and attacked everything. Lady mizal *sigh* and Steve called a truce amongst themselves  in name of the greater good, and fought together to fend off the monstrosities, and that's where we come to now. Here, the great heroes of yore are working with cystias new legion of heroes to fight off a common threat. Will Steve and mizal *sigh* continue their fighting after the war, only time will tell. But don't go thinking your not a hero! Us here back at the farms have one of the highest responsibilities, making sure our troops don't die by starvation. We may not be on the front lines right now killing for glory, heck, for all we know, we could be conscripted tomorrow, but know that us small people have a duty too, and we better make sure we hold true to those ideals."

"...do you think I'll have to kill something?"

"What do you mean?"

"Don't think I'm deaf, I can hear the front getting closer and closer to town every day! I...I'm scared to fight."

"...Well, I think anyone in their right mind should be scared to go and fight. Sure, it might be hard to do, but remember that we do what we must in the name of the greater good. Those trolls came here to kill us, and not doing anything about it will make the trolls jobs a helluva lot easier to accomplish, and I'll tell you what, I know for a fact that the great gods mods care enough about us to keep us safe from harm if we listen to them. I mean, c'mon, Kiel is awesome! Whoever doesn't think like that should..."

 

SOMEWHERE ON THE BATTLEFRONT

Kiel started to shiver violently.

"Holy Kiel, whatever is the matter?" Steve asked, looking worridley at the man god mod.

"I...I can't help but feel like...someone is...excessively praising me right now..."

 

BACK TO THE SHACK

After his long rant, malacith looked at the child and saw that he was fast asleep.

"Well, that was easier than I thought..." malacith got up and tucked the child into his bed. After doing so, he sat upon a wooden chair and silently prayed.

"O holy alexp, I come to you now, asking that you may smite the enemies that plague your beloved lands. I pray for the well fare of the troops, and a good harvest come tomorrow. I pray that, maybe someday, I shall be worthy in lady mizal's *sigh* eyes, and that kidnapped Steve gets un-kidnapped. In alexp's name I pray, Aman."

And with the final line of his prayer coming to an end, malacith silently fell into the dark abyss called sleep.

Cheers prison Barney.

This is great, Mr. thug Barney! Like how you added in our favorite Aman at the end.

Lol, praise is nice, excessive praise is nice-to-embarrasing, but cultish followers and rabid fans are creepy. xD You really want my character to feel a disturbance in the force, though? Bevan or Brennan are far more likely candidates. Your prayer was great, btw.

There should be an entire section of the site for stories and tales like this. It would be a great addition, and could be rather fun.

Bucky sat by himself beneath an old gnarled oak, running the whetstone along the edge of his blade. He needed something to occupy his mind constantly these days. The war losses kept mounting, and his allies consisted largely of idiots. So in another vain attempt to find some small reprieve, he volunteered to cook the daily ration of gruel. But that task had already been done, and he could hear the ragged survivors slurping away by the cookpot.

"What's in this soup?" asked Tim, spooning a portion of the slop and sniffing it suspiciously. "I don't trust it."

Steve rolled his eyes. "It's stew not soup you moron. There's an obvious difference."

"Fine. But that doesn't tell me what's in it."

"Rat, wild onion and potato stew," said Bucky. "Just eat it and shut up."

"Rat!? I'm not eating rat stew!" Tim's face exploded in horror, metaphorically speaking of course. "Oh, gods, is that a tail!?"

Malk slapped Tim across the face and stole the bowl of stew from his hands. He shoveled the contents into his mouth with lightning haste, burped, rubbed his belly and tooted a rancid fart. "Bucky could cook literal shit and make it taste good. But even if it tasted like ass, if you're bitching about it, you must not be hungry enough to deserve any. Because if you're hungry enough, you'll eat the asshole out of a Billy Goat and be thankful for it. Bucky taught me that a long time ago."

Steve nodded. "We have people practically starving in this camp. So keep bitching Tim. You'll never get to eat."

Elsewhere in the camp, some random asshole that deserted for a week demanded to know what he missed while he was gone. A warhammer to the face served as the typical punishment for desertion, but douchebags that couldn't be arsed to read the archived reports received a special punishment.

So following Bucky's directive, Mason took care of the bastard. First he stripped him naked and tied him to a wooden frame. Then he spent the next three hours placing burning hot coals on his skin with metal tongs: one coal at a time. Mason giggled with mad glee while the coals seared through the random assholes' eyes and sunk into his face. No one knew the art of torture like Bucky.

Of course, Bucky knew many things, including how the random asshole acted as a spy for the King's Fools. The screams of an enemy's dying agony always brought cheer to Bucky's heart.

Fortunately, some few intelligent and interesting folk existed in the camp.

Thara sat down beside Bucky, nibbling at a luscious green apple. "I thought the stew was good, but I prefer apples."

"Where did you get that?"

"I'm an apple witch. Where do you think I got it?"

"You probably looted it from Briar's orchard about two leagues down the road."

"Maybe." An impish grin flashed across Thara's lips. "There's a barn. And it's still standing."

"No need to convince me. Let's go."

Naturally, Mizal, who had been eavesdropping with lusty loins (it was part of her sorceress magic), stalked the duo as they sauntered off to the barn - and presumably the old hayloft up top. After all, two is company, but three is a party.

I still liked it.

Tenouttaten.

Lol. You're a player, or at least you think you are, Buck.

Wow Bucky, you whore-ible person! *wink wink* XD

Bucky, you beautiful son of a bitch, you haven't made one of these I haven't loved yet. Well done.

This was very good Bucky! However, do you think I'd give away the secret to these apples so easily!? 

How are you blessed to have such skill at writing satire about a writing site?

I just want to highlight the fact that Jimmy was lurking around CYS pretty much every day since his summer farewell thread (where he got called out for not actually leaving) up until the day after I posted the first story in this thread.

So this means one of two things.

1) I deserve a medal for driving Jimmy away.

or

2) Jimmy's pride got wounded even more, and he's still lurking but logged off his account to try and save face after getting called out a second time.

Honestly, I'm disappointed he didn't return fire with his own blurb. This is a call to arms, after all. Not a horn of retreat.

I fucking love this thread.

No duh, Derpino! Everyone does!

Yeah. Everybody does. Also, Bucky started a second round, so looks like stuffs gonna happen!

Everyone, PREPARE TO CRINGE!

There was once a time of sheer war in the kingdom of CYStia. The WC Empire had made its home in the many districts of CYStia, and they continue to spread their power. They preach the love of domestic felines and tell all to rate even the most disgusting, vile, horribly made WC storygames a perfect 8/8. Not one CYStian particularly enjoyed such beliefs. Many arguments followed the WC Empire's appearance, and sometimes it escalated to full scale battles. The great deities of CYStia often remove evidence of such events, but the memories are never forgotten. The CYStians tried chasing the WC Empire outside of their kingdom. They were nothing but a plague, after all. No matter what they did, the WC Empire still remained. Even if they were sometimes not in the kingdom itself, they often created camps and forts not too far away and attracted many guests from the same fandom. These guests became full citizens of CYStia, and would spread the plague of WC forum games and storygames into the realm. Enough was enough.

Sentinels from the CYStian Royal Guard arrived at the camp of the WC Empire on horseback, wielding swords. "Leave our lands!" they shouted. "You do not belong here with your disgusting feline stories!"

They were met with a sharp caterwaul from the cats the WC Empire kept and even worshipped, and the encamped WC soldiers attacked the sentinels. The guardians weren't seen alive again. When they were found, the CYStians found mutilated corpses in place of the lively guards that left to deal with the WC Empire. Their horses were stolen, and the camp was destroyed with all of the soldiers gone. Such an act was followed by numerous attacks. It was a nonstop war against the CYStians once again. It was time to act.

A few CYStians gathered in a conference room. They tossed around ideas on how to rid CYStia of the WC Empire completely. Derpino cleared his throat.

"To catch a Warrior Cat," he stated, "you must think like a Warrior Cat. As painful as it may be, I must bring up my own past of being a supporter of the WC Empire. The same must go for Mistress AYT. Let us assist the CYStian forces with our knowledge of the WC Empire. We know what they believe, we know their weak spots."

"And what are we going to do, then?" the mason jar squire, Mason, called out.

"First, I must address one CYStian who has managed to drive away some of the scum that lurks within our kingdom: Jimmy." Derpino pulled out a medal and walked to Bucky, draping the medal around his neck. "Sir Bucky, one of the many great defenders of CYStia, we thank you for your service for our wonderful kingdom." Bucky does not smile, for he is not a gentle, warm warrior. He is a true, hardened soldier who had no time for any soft, teary bullshit.

Derpino turned to the rest of the CYStians. "Now, if anything attracts the WC Empire like a moth drawn to a flame, it is fanmade anything of the WC series. Art, fanfiction, blogs, anything. And especially roleplays and WC roleplaying sites..."

"We have the Warriors Forum RPs thread in the Forum Games District," Steve said. "That should be enough to keep the cat-worshipping fuckers entertained."

"And the CYSClan and SmiteClan groups haven't discouraged the WC Empire from keeping their shit in one place," Slasher added on.

"We also have the hugely popular SkyClan roleplay," AYT contributed.

Many voiced their opinion then. "That's the problem!" The roleplays only encouraged the worse WC fans to remain in the kingdom. Then Derpino spoke.

"How about I dedicate a piece of my own land to the WC Empire? To take away some of them from CYStia?"

"That's not enough," Silas muttered under his breath.

BOOM.

Raven raced in. "The Warrior Cats are invading!" he shouted. "We have a few CYStians fighting them off, but we need your forces!"

The CYStians leaped up and raced outside. It looked like a hellhole. Entire buildings were destroyed, and soldiers from both sides were falling to the ground. Some CYStians were fighting. They could see Malkalack leading his Capy Army against tamed felines, and the EndMaster himself using his powerful dark magic against the enemy. Lady Mizal was now rushing in on horseback. Narkin was there, as well, with an army of Kibble.

Mason had already disappeared from the group. He was found firing multiple mason jars at the opponent, piling jar after jar on catapults. Derpino saw his own army appearing, rushing into battle. AYT and Claw stood side by side, fighting together to take down their opponents. Silas had his Penguinites ready for war.

And just as Derpino pulled out his sword and was ready to decapitate a foe, his eyes flickered open. He found himself laying in his bed once again.

Because how in fuck's name is a guy like Derpino going to be able to join the CYStians at a conference, right?

I still liked it.

TimouttaTim.

Woot Woot?! Go Derp!

10/10 would read again 

Everybody here has an army of some sort.

but mason had inanimate mason jars

They are an army of their own.

Just like kittens in baskets. They have been saved up for many years for this moment. *flips mysterious floating switch, Mason is covered in angry, hissing, balls of fur.*

(Instead of derping around, time to contribute something.)

 

It has been two hours since the battle for the town is over. Casualties on both sides, but the enemy forces lost four times higher than Raven's mercenary forces due to air superiority, better equipment, and better training and experienced. Either way, the enemy still put up a good fight. Raven never thought they can be that tough.

Convoys of main battle tanks and other armored vehicles are rolling by the highway while assault troops are patroling around the town, making sure there is no enemy left to fight. Gunships and jets rule over the sky. It is such an intimidating atmosphere for everyone apart from Raven's mercenary forces.

"Ronson, take care of the tank. Be sure to stock it up with more shells. I'm gonna take a walk."

"Got it."

Raven walks away from his personal tank and into the street he goes.

He's getting tired of this war. Propagandas, bullshits, trolls, annoying fellow CYStians -- they always annoy him. Yes, war is good for his business and fortune. But he is just pissed at the atrocities and some unnecessary parts of the war. 

He sees a boy. The boy looks at his now-dead parents. Tears dropling from his eyes. Raven pats him on the shoulder and asks.

"Is there anything I can help you with?"

"You monster..."

"What is it?"

"I saw one of your tanks shooting at my house... I SAW IT!"

The boy leans closer to Raven, staring at him angrily.

"I uhh... sorry for that. It's hard to determine civilians or hostiles in situation like this."

"Sorry? You're sorry? You know what?! Fuck the CYStians and their enemies. I hate CYStia's politics. Its government just start unnecessary wars and arguments."

Raven sits down next to him. The kid also sits down.

"Hey, I'm having the same thoughts just like you. All the patriotic propagandas and drafting lower-class people to fight... just look at them. At first, they are enthusiastic. But now, they are getting tired of this unnecessary shit."

"I agree. I'm glad that you're not one of those more loyal and fanatic douchebags."

"Just doing my job. I get paid by the government, and then I do my job. Simple as that. Though I hope this will be over soon."

"And... my parents?"

"You'll be sent to a refugee camp and we will provide you all your needs. We have insurance."

"Thank you. You're not as evil as you look."

"Nah, I'm a complex and complicated person. By the way, you see a girl running around before?"

"What girl?"

"Long black hair, black apparel, cat ears... something like that."

"Oh, I've seen her running and climbing across the buildings. I dunno where she is now though. Last time I've seen that she was going north. Why are you asking?"

"Classified. Thank you, uhh... what's your name?"

"Ryan."

"Thanks Ryan. Good luck."

Raven bids the kid farewell. The boy stops mourning and seems to be happier now. No time for lolylagging, Raven has to find Crescentstar for unknown reasons.

WizzyCat's forces will occupy the town shortly and join Raven's mercenary forces in the next assault.

Fuck, that's hella different than just "WAR WAR, PEW PEW FIGHT."

Nice job.

Raven might be a warmonger and committed some bad deeds, but he's not a total asshole. In fact, he dislikes some of the actions committed by CYStian government. While he works for CYStia, he operates independently out from CYStian military protocol.

"We have insurance."

Nice RWBY reference to sneak in to there. I snuck in a massive reference to a certain game in my post. Nobody noticed...

Actually it's Crescent. But yeah... her profile pic resembles Blake somewhat.

Um. Does this mean I have to watch this thread now. I'm worried about what my character me will do...

Don't worry, I'll be nice with ya :P

... Good, good...

And now I will forever think of you as this thing.

This is why I love this thread

... You're humor forever humors me.

Ha.

Ha.

Rock lobster! 

Rock... lobster...?

Don't tell me....you haven't heard of it?

I don't even know... Is that bad?

Orginal: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2VCCiY17hKw

Family Guy version 1: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AtN1_bypFw4

Family Guy version 2: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f31mB6apCoE

?

Do you not even know of the B's that are 52?

Um. Er... I don't know anything about family guy except it's so stupid. And—

Huh?

You are a disappointment to the human race. Goodbye. *grabs flamethrower and fires at Crescentstar*

FOOOM

I'm a disappointment to the human race? Why would I feel the need to watch something like that? (I'm immune to fire)

Then eat Baneling you feck! *Pulls on random rope, Banelings fall onto Crecsentstar. End result: Small chunks of charred and destroyed flesh, acid on ground.*

Why does everyone keep killing me????

There were other instances?

I'm pretty sure mizal made Bucky kill me.

Poor you... you did nothing harmful after all.

Why would I ever? *innocent face*

Because it's hilarious, obviously

We've failed the younger generation. Run, people of old, run while you still can.

I am one human being that you haven't failed!

 

 

 

 

 

...Yet.

Yes...yes! We can still salvage some worth from the ashes. Go and listen to every song form the B-52s, Prince, Michael Jackson, Guns N' Roses, Stevie Wonder, David Bowie, Bon Jovi, Aerosmith, Van Halen, Led Zepplin, Metallica, AC/DC, Sting, The Rolling Stones, The Beatles, Green Day, Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Red Hot Chili Peppers, MC Hammer, The Notorious B.I.G., The Smashing Pumpkins, Eminem, U2, Coldplay, the old Linkin Park, The Black Eyed Peas, older P!nk songs (but her newer ones are alright too), Gorillaz, Fergie, Snoop Dogg, and other artists ranging from the 1980s to early/mid 2000s. You'll get the full experience this way.

Yes! Yes!

I prefer Russian songs tho. Led Zepplin is fine. I am not listening to Eminem in any way either.

Ah, anyway works. Just get the right time period, and your okay.

It's bad enough that you don't know about it, but the fact that I'm younger than you and even I know about it is sad. It's a oldies song!

Oh... That was dumb of me...

I just assumed it was an Asura's Wrath reference.

Your writing is horrendous at worst and mildly cringy at best.

Look... another Capy.