Do we actually need a list?
We can't just be all like "Wyrd, gentlemen! I am participating in your thingy too!" and laugh it off, and come June 1st, cuss as we realize how this was a choice that we should not have made lightly?
BUT IT SHALL BE TOO LATE.
Geez, Veive. I have no idea how this hyar team-writing thing is gonna pan out. On the one hand, you write good, and on the other hand...
On the other hand...
*frown*
ON ONE HAND, you write dark fantasy. On the other hand, I write nonsense. We shall have to put our heads together! Else, we shall write something like this.
Quote:
As he walked down a dark path, a path as dark and winding as the innermost twistings of that bottomless hole in his chest that some of the men ventured to call his heart, The felt the unmistakeable feeling - the feeling that he was being watched, watched by a pair of eyes both malevolent and interested.
The immediately pulled out his good, trusty "Hammy", lord of the hammers. He swung the mighty mallet over his head, and the faint squeak echoed through the dead trees of the forest. "Avast!" he called. "I can see you from here!" A bluff, of course. But hopefully, his unknown assailant would be cowed by The's display of Ham.
The half-orc stepped out of the bushes, glaring at The from underneath a series of scars and scabs, ragged ribbons of flesh that crosshatched his still mostly-intact left eye - his right socket stood emptily, a gaze directed at eternity.
"A foolish maneuver," he growled, in a guttural voice that spoke of the graveyard, the crows, and the dead men in the gallows. "Now you have more than me to worry about. Your bellow will draw archers from four corners of the world."
"Then I shall have to make an example of you, shan't I?!" The leaped at his would-be assassin, twirling Hammy through the air. A death-squeak ripped through the chill winter air, and bright pink blurred. With a thump and a squeak like a thousand squirrels, Hammy slammed into the broadside of the assassin's head. He staggered, and The, pressing the advantage, followed with a cunning assault on the orc's tummy.
"My! Tummy!" The half-orc shrieked like a little girl. "You'll burn in Hell for this!"
"Only if the Devil can catch me, slowpoke!" The stuck Hammy back into his belt, and watched the half-orc collapse.
If the Devil was this slow, The wouldn't have to worry about dying for some time.
Word!
WYRD TO YOUR MOTHYR!
SOLID.
