Codex Good Old Games Short Story Competition
Codex Good Old Games Short Story Competition
Competition - posted by DarkUnderlord on Tue 25 August 2009, 13:47:22
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">UPDATE: Competition's Closed.</span> Winners announced below.
<span class="postbody">Would you like to win a game of your choice from anything in the Good Old Games catalogue? Then enter the Codex Good Old Games Short Story Competition. Here are teh rulez: </span>
Below are the entrants we have received for each category.
<h1>The winners of our GOG competition
</h1>
<h1>1. Speculative fiction set in a future society based around the teachings of Volourn.
</h1>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By <span class="name">Lonely Vazdru[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">"...and this, good citizens, concludes our daily analysis of the teachings of Volourn. Honoured be his blade. Tomorrow, we’ll study the fine art of never backing one’s claims.”
- Sir, I mean, your Biowareness, can I speak to you for a moment ?
- Sure my son what is it ?
- It’s our last child, Vince, we’re having a hard time with this one.
- Ah, young Vince, how old is he now ?
- Just turned 15 your Biowareness.
- Boys are sometimes restless when so young, what seems to be the problem ?
- Actually, quite the opposite of restlessness, your Certitude, we caught him hacking into the main distraction program.
- Hacking “Alwayssummer Days” ? He must be a moron. Why would he ever do that ?
- Well, to make it turn based.
- Then he is a moron. Period.
- Curse of Troika ! I was afraid you might say that. Is there nothing we can do ?
- That depends. How good is he at r00fling ?
- Not that good, your Condescendancy. His moves are OK, but his timing is way off. He sometimes r00fles at the dinner table. Which is very improper, I know.
- We will not make a diplomat out of this one, that’s for sure. Does he at least spam correctly ?
- No, your Self-righteousness, he is sort of locked in an iron tower. Refusing to communicate in a constructive fashion. He sometimes drops a one liner here and there, but not even close to what a true Volournian would consider fitting.
- Then he is truly lost. Get rid of him.
- You mean, kill our own son ?
- Of course not.
- Then what do you mean ?
- Do your research already. Do I have to explain it everytime ?
- No, your Certitude, you don’t. It’s just that since he can’t be a r00fler or a spammer, and since there are no other employments, we thought maybe the clergy...
- No. Just no.
- So ? To retardo ?
- Yes. And spare me the whinning.
- Well, thanks, I guess, your Biowareness.
- Don’t you forget something citizen ?
- SOZ is shit !
- SOZ is shit, to you too.
- So honey ? How did it go ?
- Not too well, I’m afraid. The kid’s bound to retardo.
- Good riddance I say. Do you know what ? Just ten minutes ago, I was in the midst of an intense Alwayssummer Days’ fight. I had been staring at my character fighting all by himself on the screen for what ? Not even three minutes... when the little brat flat out r00fled at me. We’ll be better off without him.
- Sure Hon’. Whatever you say.
Upstairs, in his room, little Vince is busy scheming. He’ll make good his escape from the unmoderated lands of retardo. And he’ll be back. With a game. A game so slow, he’ll even implement recoil animations, and misses, and different options to choose from. Ha ha ! That’ll show them.
r00fles.</span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><span class="name">By Darth Roxor[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Volournia - the r00floic epic</span>
Uncounted years have passed since the day
Our master Volourn, brave, mighty and gay
Fled the place which knows no glee
That was the Codex of Are-pee-gee.
The high priests claim that the honourblade
Had received a drastic vision and 'farewell' bade
For the phantasm claimed that beyond the heights
Of the mountains of internet and torrents of bytes
Laid a wonderland for him to create
And us, his worshippers, to anticipate.
After showing these riches and beauty forlorn
The shade muttered 'it's time for r00fles, Volourn!'
And r00fles he did.
Following the prophecy's call and instructions
He hadn't thought twice about his actions
After crossing the deadly mountains of gray
He soon found the land in which we live today.
The first settlement and capital was built in a matter of hours
As everyone recognized in him the messiah's powers.
His influence spread quickly across the whole plain
And adopting the title of Pretty Princess, he began his reign.
Upon an oaken throne, bound by the prophecy's bond
In the city of Bioware, capital of Canada the Second.
The year is Anno Volourni 1800 and prosperity is still here.
His grand Advisor, Gaider, holds us all very dear
And told The Princess that seeking an alliance might be splendid
For us, the people, would profit from such a deed.
His eyes turned to the people of Electrarts, a megalopolis
Which has a grim reputation of acting with malice.
Volourn might not see the dark and gritty future ahead
For His wisdom with age has deteriorated.
The master taught us to respect the will of Bioware...
But why does E and A fill me with care?
The slaves that are forced to mine Obsidian are sozzy at best
But what if in our vanity we'll become like them and the rest?
A puppet... nothing more than a doll
That starts dancing when it takes its toll...
A vision is upon me, my senses dull
I see ruin, forgotten is the spawn of Bhaal
False maturity is hailed as 'the new excrement'
And a horrible bard's music empowers the bereavement
No r00fles is sung, men turn to trolls
The darkness dwells in Volourn's halls</span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By <span class="name">Stereotypical Villain[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">May - 2233
Bishop Bioharia sat in his room, preparing for his daily sermon to the people of Volournia... He looked down at the sacred book of Bioware, which had been passed down to him when the bishop befored him had his last reload and decided to quit this game and move on to the next title. He fingered the texts and remembered a passage from the book which described the origin of this utopia...
"And so it was that the fiend known only as Beth had claimed the innovative titles of this world when Volourn picked up arms to fight. He amassed an army using his god-like charisma and 22 skill points of diplomacy and lead them to the very home of the great evil... The epic, dark, and mature conflict which followed set the world ablaze for an undetermined amount of time but our saviour had accounted for this by casting an epic level spell, transporting his army to the boundries of our reality and back, thus avoiding the purge sparked by Bethsidian hands... Sadly the great evil had survived, taking shelter in huge underground vaults, and the saviour had expended all his spells for that day and needed to rest until he had the strength to face the evil once again... This is where we built our city, and this is what we guard. May our saviour roll a natural 20 and awaken soon, lest we are once again threatened by the evil which sleeps under the ground..."
The bishop now knew what the people needed to hear... They needed a promise of six different starting points, origins if you will, and a return to "old school" roleplay, only different... Yes, the great Volourn and the great Bioware had blessed him this day...
October - 2233
Loyal citizen Biogiri sat down in his stuffed chair, eager to see what the neural interface community had to say about "the new grit", as the sermon produced by the bishop had been called. Shock awaited him, for there was somebody on the network who had the audacity to call this brilliant sermon "banal" and "shit"... As he prepared to type in a reply to this insult to all he held dear he was shocked, once again, to see somebody reply to this message with the word... "R00fles"... This sacred word had been forbidden since the dawn of time, and he, as well as everybody else knew that this could only mean that the saviour was nearing that perfect 20... Soon they would pick up arms and wipe out the evil once and for all... </span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By Sillelak</span>
<span class="postbody">
</span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By <span class="name"><a name="866392">[/url]Jaesun[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">“This is SHIT!” exclaimed SkywayMetalcraze.
“Patience, young one.”
The old man comforted the young and brash SkywayMetalcraze. All too often, these new recruits were quick to judge and lost site of the enormous task at hand.
“The Age of Decadence MMOG is indeed shit, as you might say, but lets us not forget, we follow the Biowarian ways.”
“r00fless.” muttered SkywayMetalcraze, under his breath.
After the incredible and destructive RPG wars that ensued in 2012, SkywayMetalcraze found himself alone, and without focus for his hatred of RPG’s. Bioware, Iron Tower Studios and Cleve, lead a terrible war, and marketing campaigns that left the entire state of the RPG gaming community into splinter cells of hatred. EMP suicide bombers would approach each companies fortresses, in an attempt to destroy the companies within their selective targets.
“Master Geralt… fuck I hate your name. And I just fucking HATED that game, but anyways, what the fuck are we going to do NOW!” as he slammed his fists onto the desk in front of him.
“We have them all, EXACTLY where we need them to be my young friend.” Said Master Geralt, with just a twinkle in his eye.
SkywayMetalcraze gave Master Geralt a sudden but puzzled look at him. “Saint has been eating nothing but Taco Bell and has been repeatedly shitting down the exhaust vent of Cleve’s vault and we cannot break his defenses! EMP’s are useless! And Vince still has not produced the combat demo of Age of Decadence and he now is stating they will release an Age of Decadence MMOG! This is madness! Even when Annie has an entire p0rn site dedicated to her tits, with proceeds going to Iron Tower Studios, the fucking retards of the community still support Vince! Fuck! How can Bioware possibly survive with all this fail?”
“Mature gaming” remarked Master Geralt. “And pics of ScottishMartialArts….”
SkywayMetalcraze’s jaw dropped. Master Geralt grinned and gave SkywayMetalcraze a wink. “I… see my master. Bioware is wise, more wise than I could have anticipated…. I am speechless.” “It is ok my friend, we who follow the way of Volourn always have a special are you fucking dumb card up our sleeve.”
“So the Desire Demon in Dragon Age 3 is…” “Yes, my young friend… yes” Master Geralt eyes beamed to SkywayMetalcraze.
“r00fles” said SkywayMetalcraze.</span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By <span class="name"><a name="866758">[/url]Mikayel[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">I present a short story about a young group of master actors attempting to enact the greatest epic ever written to the acceptance of Her Majesty the Grand Dragoness, Volourn.
-------
The manager came into the room in a hurry while mumbling obscenities to himself. More changes to the script, no doubt.
"Yes Mr. Guyder, what are we changing this time? Has the dragon prince become a princess of the neighboring kingdom to whom a Lich was promised her hand? Or perhaps our plucky hero of chosen god blood isn't modest and humble enough and we shall strip him of his tattered rags for a rag? What could we possibly change this time, a-hmm?"
Mr. Guyder the manager stood rather unstill in his shaking bout.
"I'm so sorry my dear young artists to force this upon you! You know I would not if I didn't have to! All these changes, they require so much... <span style="font-style: italic;">effort!</span> Tis her Grand Dragonessship the lady Volourn! She demands more, much much more! She says this current play is so sozzy that she, in her holy righteousness, “could not sozz out of it if she was made of sozz itself!” And to be quite frank, my dear young masters, I've no idea what in the blasted hells a sozz is!”
I must admit, I did feel for the man. He had slaved much in helping to create the greatest epic of our time but her Ladyship, the Grand Duchess of Rooflia, was most displeased with our stories in any shape we had presented it. We had gone from a simple tale of a philosopher teaching his young student the meaning of perspective with minor social commentary to an adventurous tale of a philosopher's escape from being condemned to death to a story about a man who rescues a philosopher from a tyrant king to a dragon wielding dragon princess who destroys a world devouring dragon and marries its daughter to become grand dragon of a dra-OH BLAST IT ALL TO HELL THIS IS PURE DRIVEL!
“Mr. Guyder I can take NO more of this! Her Draconic Excellence shall have to deal with the script as is, we are on in 5 minutes and there is no possible way to convey any changes to the crew and stage hands at this point! We simply can't make with another idiotic change!”
Mr Guyder wasn't sure of what to say next...
“Young sir you know that her Majestic Majesty of Ma... the Queen hasn't been most understanding of not having her way, not since her great metamorphosis into her true female form. I do so shudder to think what she'll say...But alas I do so understands, I do! I shall simply make with hiding and allow the show to be as it is...
-At the end of the finale of the play-
Lead Actor: “Well, the audience seems rather unresponsive...”
Supporting Actor: “What did you expect? With all these changes the story had gone from pretty good to some banal boring piece of shitty shit.”
Lead Actor: “Well I thought it was alright...”
Supporting Actor: "Plebe."</span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By <span class="name"><a name="869945">[/url]RottingNaziSurfer[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">A Farewell to Volourn
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">21:17 November 4, 2109-
Oh God. I can't find out what is happening outside this exploding building I am holed up in. I keep thinking to myself I am the only Volourn Statue Sculptor Technician left in the Grand New V City. I am the ony one to etch the sixty-nine teachings of Volourn into each of those future artifice free statues that will stand on every corner. But this can't be true. I don't even know what is going on outside this room that I have taken cover in. Explosions are continuous above me, on the upper floors. The Forlorn Machines must be using their plasma grenades.
They came out of nowhere. The Forlorn Machines seemed to materialize out of the steel structures of our Grand V City. They are against the teachings of Volourn. "Anti-V's" we call them.
21:37
Any minute I know these Machines will come through the door. I'm laying in steel rubble. Must have been from a plasma cannon that blew half the neighboring wall away. Maybe the hole in the wall will be better cover. No. Better not move. I grip the cold steel of my particle beam shotgun just a bit tighter.
21:40
I can hear the Forlorn Machines at the door, grinding and whirling to get in. It sounds louder in the darkness. I have to be ready. There is nothing to bar the door with. I wish I could somehow attach my flashlight to my shotgun. And then, suddenly I remember Volourn's 1st teaching:
"Never forget the duct tape."
<span class="name"><a name="870243">[/url]<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By Quilty[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
I don't know if it's day or night. There are no windows here in the basement. I've lost count of how many days it has been. A month? I can hear him moving upstairs, humming to himself. His voice frightens me. His eyes are kind, and when he comes down to feed me, I look into them and almost pity him. But when he speaks I can't stop myself from shivering. He feeds me cornflakes in cold milk. I try to swallow it down but sometimes I shake so bad some of it falls on my chin. Those are horrible moments. He puts down the bowl and spoon and takes my face in his large, hairy hands. He cleans my chin, his face so close to mine I can smell alcohol on his breath. He tells me of all the things he loves, but I never listen. I think of my family.
***
Yesterday he said he would let me go if I did something for him. I accepted at once. I don't care what it is. He can do whatever he wants to me. He seemed satisfied and left early. He always leaves the light on, and for that much I'm thankful. Even if the mattress is filthy and I haven't bathed in days. Light is all I have now. I tried to write as soon as he left, but I was so happy I couldn't hold the pen. I had stopped caring if he found these notes, but now I'm almost free I'll have to hide them better. I mustn't anger him now.
***
It's over. He left an hour ago. He was so mad. Oh god. Oh god. He'll never let me go.
He came down in the morning, and I was so happy. Yesterday I didn't care what he wanted me to do. But as soon as I saw him today I wasn't so sure any more. He wore a blonde wig and a long robe. He had make-up on his face. It looked awful. He sat down next to me and told me how unhappy he was. How none of this makes any sense. How life has no meaning any more and nothing brings him joy.
Then he said "Do you think I'm pretty?" It was the same thing he asked me the night when I was coming home from school, a moment after he grabbed me from behind and put a damp cloth on my mouth.
"Yes." I managed. "I do."
I hoped that would be all. But then he stood up and said "I was in a cage for so long, and look what they did to me." He turned his back to me and let his robe fall around his ankles. He was naked underneath. But his back, god his back...
"I'll never fly again" he said. It was still raw and fresh and there was blood everywhere and when he asked me that question again, I screamed. I screamed and tried to run away.
He is mad, so mad right now. I know he is. It's over. He'll never let me go.</span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By <span class="name"><a name="870693">[/url]Talonfire[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Volourn Age: Codex Effect</span>
It was the year 2100, over seventy years before there was an ancient evil that toppled the very foundations of the world. An ancient evil that rose up from the ashes and spread a great plague that wiped out nearly all of humanity; the people would have lost hope if not for the greatest savior the world had ever known... Volourn.
Volourn had rallied nearly every RPG Community in the world and succeeded in stopping the vile plague by locating the legendary "Tears of Gaider", and brought about a new age of prosperity, shallowness, and pretty princesses. The former RPG developer, now mega corporation known as BioWare became a new global government under the leadership of Volourn who decreed that BioWare would be the only corporation allowed to develop RPGs, and the people had to obey as Volourn's word was law. What most of the people of the world did not realize was that Volourn was the ancient evil that brought about the plague, and on that fateful night those who knew the truth would finish the fight.
"This story is shit!" Screamed an angry Skyway as he slammed the wall while the Volourn Express elevator traveled upwards to the lion's den, the BioWare headquarters penthouse.
"Like, shut the hell up Skyway, all you fucking do is whine." Said an annoyed Mary Sue.
"Fuck off, you may be the Champion of the Codex spoken of in the prophecy but I don't fucking trust you! I've been disappointed too many fucking times."
"What-EVER!" Mary Sue responded as she took out a pocket mirror and fixed her hair.
"Mary Sue is right Skyway, you're as bad as Carth Onassi from that old BioWare Star Wars game." Said a calm and gloomy looking DarkUnderlord.
Before Skyway could respond to such an insult the elevator doors opened; the Codex's chosen champions entered the home of their most hated enemy. Much to the horror of the trio, everything in the room was a sinister looking bright pink.
"Gag me with a spoon," said Mary Sue as she stuck a finger in her mouth, "like, what terrible fashion sense!"
"Indeed, Volourn's presence is overwhelming." Said DarkUnderlord in his usual calm tone.
As the trio looked over the office an evil laughter filled the room. "Muahahahahaha!" A fat clown dressed in bright pink laughed as he stepped out of the shadows.
"This villain is cliche shit!" Shouted Skyway as he shook his fist at Volourn.
"So the last of the Codex stands before me adamant on restoring depth and originality in RPGs. Morons." Volourn said in a high pitched, nasally voice.
"Like, we're so going to take you down you fat, ugly transvestite. We've so gathered all of the 'Fragments of the Codex'" Mary Sue said as she started brandishing her magical powers.
"It's about fucking time, this story has too much shitty dialogue. Too bad the combat system is shit too." Said Skyway.
"Ah battle, excellent! Remember you two, all we have to do is spam Power Attack." DarkUnderlord added as he took out a fruity looking futuristic laser rifle.
An epic battle that lasts two minutes ensued. To the party's great surprise Volourn began to shapeshift as hesheit became weaker. The hideous clown became a hideous fifty foot dick wearing a top hat and a monocle.
"Volourn is really a fifty foot dick? This will be a battle worthy of remembrance should be perish." DarkUnderlord said as he looked upon the towering monster.
"Like, Volourn is a fifty foot dick? That explains a lot." Mary Sue replied.
"This plot twist is shit!" Skyway exclaimed.
Another epic two minute battle ensued until the fifty foot dick finally collapsed. Cut to ending ceremony.
"Like, we so totally saved the world!" Mary Sue proudly said.
"Yes, now we must rebuild RPGs from the ground up. It will be a long and difficult challenge, but with Volourn gone and BioWare's collapse we will prevail." DarkUnderlord stated.
"This ending is abrupt shit!" Shouted Skyway as the tale ended. </span>
<span class="postbody">
</span>
<h1>2. Why/How Age of Decadence should be made into an MMORPG. Entrants are encouraged to include hypothetical gameplay examples and prototype screenshots.</h1>
<span class="name"><a name="865910">[/url]<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By Silellak[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody"><span style="font-style: italic;">Eurogamer's Retrospective on <span style="font-weight: bold;">Age of Decadence Online[/quote]. Post date: August 11, 2012.
As most gamers know, tomorrow marks the 2nd anniversary of Age of Decadence Online, as well as the Wii release date. It is perhaps best known as "the game that dethroned World of Wacraft", and though WoW fanboys may claim they still have the advantage in subscription numbers (both games are estimated at somewhere around 10 million subscribers), even they cannot deny the success of this phenomenon. Though tomorrow officially marks the beginning of our AODO Extravaganza, with everything from developer interviews to tips from so-called "professional players", today we want to spend a few minutes reflecting on AODO's humble beginnings as a single player turn-based RPG into the worldwide phenomena we know and love today.
In previous interviews, lead designer Vince has gone into detail regarding this significant change of direction for the game. "It was ironically the RPG Codex that guided us to this point." The RPG Codex, formerly a bastion of old-school gamers known for their abrasive attitudes towards developers, was shut down in 2011 by the Polish government due to several lawsuits revolving around the Codex's coverage of the latest CDP release, <span style="font-style: italic;">The Director's Perfected Cut of The Witcher: Limited Collector's Ultimate Edition</span>.
"At one point in mid-2009, there was a thread where AoD's graphics were being critized by the Codex. It really hit home for us, because we were already starting to question if AoD could sell as a single player game to anyone but a few hundred people. By this time, we had already secretly begun the conversion of AoD into an ARPG, but they showed us it wouldn't be enough to win over the mainstream. We needed something more. And we thought - in what genre can we get away with sub-par graphics? And so, on that day, AODO was born."
"Our biggest concern was working around the hard-coded elements in our engine. This is how our most innovative, and universally praised, system - the AAP, or Awesome Action Points - was born. Rather than determining how much you could do in a single turn, the AAP system would serve the same purpose the XP system in other games did. Essentially, the more Awesome your Action is, the more AAP received and the faster your character develops."
It has been said, by both detractors and fans, that AODO "out Blizzard-ed Blizzard" - not only was the game even more casual friendly than WoW, but it was the first true MMOARPG, becoming the "Diablo Online" that people had long-expected Blizzard to release. This impression led Iron Tower studios to jokingly add a raid boss by the name of "Big D" into the game - which was followed quickly be a lawsuit from Blizzard. In the end, Iron Tower was protected by parody laws.
The future looks bright for ITS. Since release, they've gone from around 5 employees to around 500. Their next planned release is Zombie RPG Online from Double Bear Productions.</span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><span class="postbody">By </span><span class="name">Someone else[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">*NOTE: this interview takes place in an alternative universe where Lionhead Studios bought ITS.
<span style="font-weight: bold;">Interview with Peter Molyneaux and Vince, from Liontower Studios.</span>
<span style="font-weight: bold;">Hi Peter. Hi Vince. Could you talk us about the new merger between Lionhead and ITS?</span>
<span style="font-weight: bold;">Peter</span>: Oh, well. Two months ago I was surfing the Net when I saw a little indie game: Age of Decadence. The first thing I thought was: "This is what I want Fable Online to be". I immediately phoned Vince to tell him my idea. He was really excited about it. And so, we joined together to make a new fabolous game: Fable Online: Age of Decadence.
<span style="font-weight: bold;">Vince</span>: Yeah, master Peter is right.
<span style="font-weight: bold;">You, Peter, are well known for being a creative mind. How did you managed to mix the elements of a classical and conservative RPG like Age of Decadence with the revolutionary and fresh elements of Fable 2?</span>
<span style="font-weight: bold;">Peter:</span> It wasn't too hard. First of all, we completely changed the dialog system. Age of Decadence was too hard for new players, and, as you know, I think that games must be for everyone. So, we replaced the old dialogs of AoD with the Fabolous Fable Emotive System.
<span style="font-weight: bold;">Vince:</span> OOOH, I love you Petey.
<span style="font-weight: bold;">What about the other Fable innovations, like the dog and the breadcrumb trail?</span>
<span style="font-weight: bold;">Peter:</span> Oh, they fit veeeery well our new game. Every new player will have his own dog. As usual, it will become dark and gritty if you are evil or sweet and pink if you're a good person. There's the breadcrumb trail too. We think that player is stupid, so, a breadcrumb trail will help him during his quests.
<span style="font-weight: bold;">Vince:</span> HEYAAAAA!!! STUPID PLAYER! HIHIHIHI
<span style="font-weight: bold;">Let's talk about MMORPG elements in the game.</span>
<span style="font-weight: bold;">Peter:</span> Yeah. The game features over 100 game modes: Player vs player, dog vs dog, player vs dog, dog vs player, fart vs fart, burp vs burp and more.
<span style="font-weight: bold;">Vince:</span> Woohoooo... this game rocks!!!
<span style="font-weight: bold;">It does indeed. Thank you for your patience.[/quote]
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By Annie Carlson</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Excerpts from the <span style="font-style: italic;">Game Informer </span>5th anniversary feature on <span style="font-style: italic;">AoD Online</span>:</span>
“As I approached the marble steps leading up to the massive edifice that was DoubleBear Productions, I couldn’t help but feel deeply awed, admiration stirring in my gut and making this feeble reporter’s knees tremble. To approach the very temple where <span style="font-style: italic;">Age of Decadence Online</span> was made – such a rare honor that I hardly need to explain to you readers!”
“. . . Meeting Annie Carlson in person is so different than the pictures convey. The golden crown, the purple tunic of royalty, the genetically engineered mini-doublebear obediently padding along at her heels – it’s not hard to see how well she’s taken on the persona of the epic conqueror she emulates. Portraits of her gaze down imperiously from the walls, reminding the viewer of her own takeover and absorption of Iron Tower Studio and all its properties a little over six years ago.”
". . . She chuckled when I asked her why it took such a short time to take <span style="font-style: italic;">Age of Decadence</span> from a small indie game to a massive online phenomenon, grinding foes like <span style="font-style: italic;">World of Warcraft</span> into the dirt within a bare year of its release. ‘Why lie?’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘The game had the flexibility to run on almost any system, that was one plus. But combat being turn-based? And so strategic! Well, that had to go. So I made it a system people wanted – one they always longed for but were afraid to request directly.’ She refers, of course, to the revolutionary ‘click combat,’ where whichever opponent is able to click their mouse button the most times is declared the winner . . . she waved off any suggestions that funding coming from mouse manufacturers (and Apple itself, for the iPhone version of <span style="font-style: italic;">AoDO</span>) is a result of this fast-paced, frantic system leading to users breaking their hardware, and as a good reporter I knew not to bring it up ever again.”
“. . .But what of Vince D. Weller, the former owner of Iron Tower Studio, said to have taken to carrying around a sign saying THE END OF GAMING IS NEAR and marching around the DoubleBear premises? What of his disappearance nearly four years ago? ‘I wish I knew,’ Carlson said with grave sincerity, sighing and letting her sweater kittens bounce just a little bit. ‘B.Mitsoda was the last one to talk to him, and he said he was getting out of the business – that’s all.’
“I looked up to B.Mitsoda himself for answers, but he stared down at me with no expression, his vast blue tallness and empty eyes without sympathy. ‘You should go now,’ he said, and I found myself outside the gates of DoubleBear Productions again, bewildered and amazed.” </span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
By JarlFrank (who can't enter 'cause he's Codex staff but he wrote this anyway)
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="name"><a name="883941">[/url]</span><span class="postbody"><span style="font-size: 18px; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Age Of Decadence Online</span>, or: how an indie game turned into a cash cow</span>
<span style="font-style: italic;">This is a review filled with developer quotes by the very popular gaming magaine Gamefaps, followed by an interview about the original, offline version of Age of Decadence which will, even though Iron Tower focused on creating an immersive MMO, be released as a special edition.</span>
Age of Decadence. Does this name ring a bell? Yes, it's the wonderful little game that turned from turd to blockbuster. At first, it was supposed to be some turnbased harcore RPG with shitty graphics, based on some great RPG hits of the 90's or something, like Fallout. But yeah, everyone knows Fallout was made by Bethesda in 2008 so it was just a load of bullshit. But it got better. They updated the graphics engine and decided to go online, and from the remains of a shitty retro-crap game grew a massive multiplayer online hit that could throw WoW off the genre throne.
But while the focus of the game turned from singleplayer to multiplayer, the developer team still tried to keep some of the core mechanics, wanting to please both the fans of the original concept and the fans of the new, more modern concept.
"The combat system of Age of Decadence Online is one of our greatest achievements.", says Vince D. Weller, lead designer of AoD Online. "While we wanted to keep the turn-based nature of the game, we couldn't do a direct turn-based mode in an online game. This is why we decided to merge turn-based with real-time to create a very innovative and intuitive combat system that will please fans of turn-based tactical combat as well as people who like more action."
And indeed, their combat system is fresh, unique and simply amazing. Just like in turn-based RPGs your character has a couple of action points, and "there are still turns going on in the background", says Mr Weller. "You see, the system isn't completely real time: there are turns, but everyone is taking his or her turn at the same time, without having to wait for the enemy to finish theirs."
The system Mr Weller describes there basically works like real time - you click the left mouse button, and your character attacks. You click the right mouse button, and he blocks. It's quite similar to games like Dark Messiah of Might and Magic, with the only difference that every action you take will consume action points. Once you've run out of action points, a new turn will start and you will regain all your action points. This is what makes this system so unique - it plays like real time, but everyone is actually taking turns, with all turns taking place at the same time. You can spend a whole hour in one single turn of combat, if you don't click the attack button very often. But while you stay in your first turn of combat, the enemy might already be spending his 6th turn frantically hacking his sword at you. It's this seamless integration of turn-based mechanics into real time action which makes this game so mindblowingly awesome.
<span style="font-style: italic;">As this screenshot shows, some of the game's features have been problematic, but they were all fixed to the satisfaction of the players</span>
The game still had some problems in its beta-phase, though. Many beta testers complained about one very innovative, but arguably also very annoying, feature: fake magic items. Items which are sold to the player by NPCs for a lot of money - which aren't really magical. Some NPCs in the game will try to sell you fake items, but if your character believes that the item is magical, it will appear as a normal magical item, except that it will do nothing if you equip it. This led to people buying expensive magical rings which promised increased stats, but when they equipped the rings, nothing changed. Some people believed it to be a bug, so Iron Tower Studio found a very clever way to make the feature less annoying: "Because some people complained about it, we devised a very interesting workaround based on the motto 'faith can move mountains'. As long as your character believes that the item is magical, you will still recieve the stat bonus, even if the item is fake. This way we can keep our very innovative feature without making it tedious for the player.", says Vince.
With all these really innovative never-seen-before features, Age of Decadence Online is promising to become a massive blockbuster, maybe even able to outsell World of Warcraft. "The development of the game was very difficult since we always tried to keep the hardcore RPG crowd in mind, whom we originally planned to make the game for. When we decided to make an MMORPG, many people were disappointed, but as you can see we never forgot about them. We implemented all the hardcore features they wanted and slightly modified them in order to make them more accessible, without losing any of their hardcoreness.", says Mr Weller about the game. And indeed, while the game feels very modern and innovative, people who like turn-based combat and complex game mechanics will feel right at home because of the great combat mode.
While AoD Online is a title we're really looking forward to, there's also another game by Iron Tower Studios that is soon going to be released. It's the original singleplayer Age of Decadence, which plays exactly as AoD Online except that it's single player and has a story. Now we're going to have a little interview with Vince D. Weller about the game and how the vision of it changed during its development.
Gamefaps: Mr Weller, the single player version of AoD Online is going to be released soon. As I have read, it is going to be like the original hardcore RPG version, complete with fully turnbased combat and extensive dialogue, but there have been some changes to it. Could you explain the changes made to the game since the original idea?
Vince: Of course. You see, while the game had almost everything hardcore RPG fans could desire, it was not enough for us. We wanted it to have literally everything. This is why we decided to add some more features to the game and release it as Age of Decadence: EXTREME Edition.
While it had a lot of choices before, we thought something was lacking. There weren't enough opportunities for collar-grabbing and being a total badass, so we added more EXTREME dialogue options. Now you can grab every NPC by the collar, or, in case the NPC isn't wearing a shirt (as is the case with many of the naked women in the game), directly by the throat. One great example is when you're having a conversation with Claudius and have to decide if you want to fight for or against him:
EXTREME OPTION 1: Fuck you, motherfucker, I'm going to fucking kill you!
EXTREME OPTION 2: Fuck them, motherfucker, I'm going to help you kill your fucking enemies, fuck yeah!
As you can see, this example perfectly illustrates the improvements we made in the EXTREME Edition. The game is a lot darker, grittier and more mature now.
Gamefaps: You also radically changed the equipment system to make the game a lot more dark, gritty and mature. Could you explain the changes?
Vince: Well, generally, we improved the armor of the female characters to be more realistic. We replaced full plate mail with chainmail bikinis, boots with armored toe rings, chest armor with steel nipple guards, greaves with studded leather g-strings and helmets with armored tiaras. This gives the female characters a whole new outfit, which is a lot more realistic and mature than it was before.
Gamefaps: How did you get the idea to create an RPG set in a post-apocalyptic Roman-inspired world, anways?
Vince: Well, to us, roleplaying is running around in Legionary Armor, killing things.
Gamefaps: Some people accused you of dumbing down the game, making it more accessible to the masses and abandoning your hardcore fans for the money. Is there any truth to that?
Vince: No, we did not dumb the game down at all. And we didn't do anything for the money. We decided to make an MMORPG because we believe that this is the genre of the future, where the profits... I mean, the best gameplay lies. We decided to release a single player version for our hardcore fans because we like them, not because we want to make more money from the additional sales. We also decided to add DLC not because of the money, but because we want to give the best upgrades to our fans for little money.
We also listened to our fans whenever they had any complaints. We had a lot of people saying that our game needs more bloom, and we included more bloom. Everything for the fans!
Gamefaps: Speaking of DLC, how will it work?
Vince: Well, generally the DLCs will be adding new content to Age of Decadence EXTREME Edition. We did not have enough time to finish the game because we focused on developing the MMO, so you will have to download the ending by DLC. In the original, you will be able to progress up to the last dungeon, where you will stand in front of a locked door. Downloading the DLC will allow you to open it, fight the final boss and see the ending.
Furthermore, we will release many useful tweaks like "Stop making the game crash every 5 fucking minutes", "Improve the horribly broken combat balance" and "Make those buggy quests actually completable" for as low a pice as 10$.
If you buy the Collector's Edition of the game, which is about 30 dollars more expensive than the regular version, you will recieve a special coupon that gives you a discount of 1% to every DLC you download, making those useful DLCs even cheaper than they already are!
Gamefaps: Now, one last question: why did you decide to make the game into a more modern, streamlined RPG instead of the oldschool title you originally had in mind?
Vince: Well, as we saw how popular games like Oblivion, Mass Effect and Fallout 3 are, and especially how much copies they sell, we decided that there is a lot more fame and profit to be had in creating such a game. Of course, we didn't do any of it for the money, but for the fans, who will truly be grateful that we decided to make a modern RPG with up-to-date gameplay mechanics.
Gamefaps: What did you tell to the people who were disappointed that you changed your original vision?
Vince: Well, basically, this isn't your grandpa's RPG anymore. This is the future, and it is good. At first I was against progress, too, and wanted to make games in the style of the 90's, but then I saw how much more profi... fun there is to be had with modern games, so I changed my mind and really hope that I could also change the minds of all the other people who think that RPGs aren't as good as they used to be anymore.
Gamefaps: Well, thanks for the interview, Mr Weller! We'll all be looking forward to your awesome gritty dark mature extreme collargrabbing action multiplayer online RPG!
Iron Tower Studio; Putting the RAPE back into RPG.</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
</span>
<h1>3. Developing Grimoire: A Day in the Life.</h1>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By Elite</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">Developing Grimoire: A Day in the Life - By Cleveland Mark Blakemore (IQ 297)
As Cleveland Mark Blakemore neared the 17th straight hour of coding his fingers hastened into a blazing frenzy. Scarcely a minute later they stopped. He had not tired, he had not relented – he had finished. This was Grimoire. His life’s work, his dream. It was perfect, sublime. Not so much evolutionary as revolutionary. It wouldn’t set a new benchmark for RPGs, it would change the way society perceived games. It would usher in a new era of enlightenment - the digital renaissance, the elevation of mankind out of the gutter.
Blakemore was not an emotional man by any means, but the beauty of his own magnum opus brought a smile to his face. Those with keen eyes and a surplus of attention might’ve noticed a single tear roll down his face, but the chances of anybody infiltrating Blakemore’s super-bunker were very close to nil. Perhaps it is true that no man is an island, but if so then Blakemore must’ve been an exceptionally narrow peninsula. People were a distraction, one that his glorified basement provided shelter from.
Blakemore had seen the face of power. Power is passion and apathy intertwined. It is unwavering devotion to a cause, at the expense of all other things. Blakemore had no life and his profit on that was greatness. His loathing of social interaction enabled him to be the best. He could burn brighter than the sun, he could soar higher than an eagle. His general indifference granted him exceptional focus on the scant few things that he cared about. Like nipple piercings, Grimoire and the world record for Cheetos consumption.
Blakemore lived for this moment of triumph. Proving his worth, demonstrating his brilliance. All those who had doubted him would be silenced, all those who mocked him would be ridiculed and at long last he would get the praise he so rightfully deserved. But did the world deserve him? The world had thrown fire and scorn at him, but he had survived. He had endured and drawn strength from enduring. The hardships he faced yesterday were responsible for his glory today. In truth he should thank his enemies, as they forged him into the Übermensch he was. But there was bitterness in Blakemore’s heart. He wanted to strike back at the world for its cruelty and his masterpiece afforded him that opportunity.
Why should he care what fools thought? An artist who burns his work to spite his audience is no less an artist. What if people didn’t understand what made it so special? The world didn’t share Blakemore’s IQ of 297 (verified by three separate online tests), they did not see the truth as he did. A thousand niggling doubts leant weight to Blakemore’s maliciousness and he let out a heavy sigh. He hit Ctrl+A followed by Del. The whole process would start again tomorrow. The cycle would continue, always and forever.</span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By Seymour</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">In the dark recesses of his australian bunker, Cleveland Mark Blakemore grew impatient. Hordes of savage cybernegroes and gay chinese jews howled their hatred of the white race as they broke like the waves against his Thinkboy defense system, the searing heat of its near-endless napalm supply creating a dense fog amidst the ice that almost covered the growing mountain of untermenschen corpses. Cleve paid them little heed, however, for his inestimable IQ had already predicted their attack and its inevitable failure in 374.298 different scenarios; in a few moments, all that would be left was food for the cheetahs. No, what was in his mind was far less pedestrian than the post-apocalyptic world banging in his unwielding reinforced doors: Grimoire.
Fifteen years had passed since he first announced his magnum opus to a now deceased world. All his predictions had inexorably come true one after the other: the collapse of Amerikwa due to the influx of lower races enforced by socialist multikult media, the coming of the ice age, the nuclear missiles flying like a swarm of locusts while the horde of manboons drooled over Oprah in the televitz, never knowing what they didn’t know that they didn’t know until it hit them.
Now here he was, and still the only thing he could not foresee were the random surges of unparalleled creativity and brilliance in his Asperger’s gifted mind. Trying in vain to distract himself from the memory of his one failure and boredom, Cleve checked the computer system’s status and the number of food rations left in the silos and its estimate duration at this rate of consumption, but the numbers would pop up in his head before they could ever appear onscreen. He tried estimating the market price of baby meat, the current Dow Jones index and the probable date for the establishment of a utopian society comprised of his Aryan offspring with titanium bones, all of which consumed the better part of a minute.
Suddenly, his mind wandered. “What was it that I used to do to pass the time and escape Grimoire before the meltdown of civilization?” A semblance of a smile formed in his lips as he searched the shambles of what was once known as “the internets” cached in a small partition of his HD. A strange advertisement for internet poker hailed him to RPGCodex, where the last headline read “THIS IS LIKE THAT THING CLEVE WAS TALKING ABOUT”. Its forums, as usual, were filled with cynicism and disbelief. While some hailed ITZ as a refreshing return to the old-school days when life was hardcore and ironman, most pronounced it boring, banal, overhyped shit or, worse still, Fallout 3. Cleve lost track of the time laughing at those long gone angry cunts and their stubbornness in being wrong about everything, and next he knew it was late in the evening already.
“Oh well”, he thought, “I’ll finish Grimoire tomorrow”.</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<span class="postbody"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">By John</span>
</span>
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 30px;">Day 15: Work on Grimoire is coming along nicely. In other news, Mr. Osenstein's been trimming his hedges all morning. I think he's just using that as an excuse to eavesdrop on me.
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 30px;">Day 36: Still going smooth with Grimoire. At this rate it will be released by the end of the year. I caught that money-grubbing Osenstein gazing at my souped up Prius. He'd better not lay a dirty finger on it.
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 30px;">Day 188: Grimoire is on hold. The Osenstein menace was a bigger threat than I'd anticipated. Work on my underground bunker will commence shortly.
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 30px;">Day 478: The bunker is complete! Yes! Free from the Jews! Grimoire should be finished in a month. Things are going great!
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 30px;">Day 1843: GODDAMN FILTHY FUCKING JEWFUCKS Also, Grimoire will be entering beta in a week.
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 30px;">Day 4960: So I'm totally finished with Grimoire. I have, like, some dialog to finish, a bug or two to squash. Look for it next week.
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 30px;">Day 10539: THE JEWACOLYPSE IS COMING, BITCHES!!!
</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
</span>
By [subject name here]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">Grimoire: Future
Cleveland reclined back into his office chair. Hands behind his head, he closed his eyes and let out a sigh of relief. Grimoire, his life’s work, what he will be remembered by when he passes, is finally complete. He leaned forward, put his shaking hands back onto the sweat-coated desk. He opened up his internet browser, eager to tell his brethren at the codex that his work had finally been finished.
Cleveland’s fingers majestically flowed across the keyboard, creating a beautiful, masterfully crafted forum post that would inform the masses of his success. He attached his favorite screenshots of the game to the post to prove that this was for real, and not some kind of sick joke.
Cleveland pressed his left mouse button triumphantly, sending the post to the series of tubes that is the internet. He could only imagine the joy in everyone’s hearts that this news would cause. He could see the reviews now, all of them overwhelmingly positive.
Even the codex's review.
As he impatiently mashed the F5 key, he felt some doubt that his game wouldn't be as well-received that he hoped it would. What if they hated it? What if no one cared anymore?
All of his questions were answered when the first wave of comments appeared. “Graphics suck,” said FlameThrower, formerly known as MetalCraze. Then came slenkar, saying, “Demo or it didn’t happen.” Others called him a liar. Most expressed their anger at the grotesquely long development cycle of the game.
Cleveland felt crushed. All of these years working on the game, for nothing. Nothing but complaining and moaning. Maybe Grimoire wasn't ready for this world, he thought. Or maybe, the world wasn't ready for Grimoire.
Whatever the reason for their dismay, Cleveland felt that he needed to delay the game some more. It just needs another month or two in development, that’s all! He quickly typed in his announcement that Grimoire would not be coming out yet after all. “Polish issues,” he said. To which Volourn said, “r00fles!”
Everyone else just cursed.
But this did not deter Cleveland, not at all. He knew that if he just took a little more time making the game better looking, it would be better received. Grimoire would see the light of day, and when it did, it would no doubt be dubbed the greatest game ever made by the folks of RPG Codex.</span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By Spacemoose</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">Once upon a time there was a young boy named Cleve. Cleve was 49 years old and lived in GD, Codexia. While walking home from school one day, a fat Kingcomrade jumped out from behind a a gaping anus and tackled Cleve to the ground. But just when he was about to let out a scream for help, Cleve realized that the fat Kingcomrade was only licking his face, not trying to bite it off. At that moment, Cleve decided to keep the fat Kingcomrade as a pet. And on the way home he decided to name his pet fat Kingcomrade ''Butthurt Detected.''
When Cleve and his new pet finally got home, guess who was standing on the front porch? That's right, it was Cleve's mother, Jews. And boy was she surprised to see a fat Kingcomrade following Cleve into the yard! ''What in world is that?'' shouted Jews. ''It's a fat Kingcomrade,'' answered Cleve. ''Dah, I can see that, Cleve, but what on earth is it doing here?'' said Jews. ''It's my new pet!'' answered Cleve. ''Oh you think so do you?'' remarked Jews. ''I wouldn't get your hopes up. You know how your father hates fat Kingcomrades. But, well, I suppose you can keep him until your father comes home.'' And with that Cleve grabbed Butthurt Detected by the scruff of the neck and led his new pet into the house--even though he knew his father was probably going to dissaprove.
Once in the house, Cleve and Butthurt Detected played and played, that is until Cleve's favorite television show, ''No Jews, Just Right,'' started. At that point Cleve forgot all about Butthurt Detected having an unsupervised run of the house. That is until half way through ''No Jews, Just Right,'' when Cleve was brought back to reality when he heard his father shout, ''heil hitler!! Cleve! Get your supple ass in the raperoom...NOW!!'' With that Cleve rushed into the raperoom to see what all the fuss was about. When he entered the raperoom, there stood his father, Elder George, pointing toward the grimoire. ''Will someone please explain that?'' asked his father. Then, as Cleve followed his father's finger to where it was pointing, he instantly knew what his father was so upset about. There, smack dab in the middle of the grimoire, was the biggest pile of Kingcomrade doo-doo he had ever seen!
''I don't EVEN want to know how that got there,'' said Elder George. ''But you had better get it cleaned up now! And you had better get rid of whatever it is that could have done such a thing!'' Well, knowing his father as well as he did, Cleve knew there was no sense even asking his father if he could keep Butthurt Detected for a pet. So without hesitation, Cleve set out to find where Butthurt Detected was hiding. After a few minutes of looking, Cleve discovered Butthurt Detected crouched beneath the table that Cleve did his cocksucking on. ''Come on, Butthurt Detected, it's time to find you a new home. And hey, don't look at me that way, I'm not the one who did the dirty deed on the grimoire!'' scolded Cleve. ''Thanks to you I'll never get to have my own pet Kingcomrade!!
And with that Cleve led Butthurt Detected out of the house and down to the local gaybar in the bunker. They had a pet section and Cleve knew the owner would find Butthurt Detected a good home. So after saying good-bye to Butthurt Detected, and thanking the owner of gaybar in the bunker, Cleve walked backed home and attempted to dround his sorrows by slamming down a half dozen mannschafts. But Cleve's pitty party came to an abrupt end when his father reminded him about the mess he had neglected to clean up. And low and behold, midway through the clean-up, Cleve suddenly became thankful that someone else was going to have to do it from now on. The End.</span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By Zuluf</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">The Day Before Grimoire
(a fictitious narrative through the eyes of genius Cleve Blakemore, circa 2015.)
The large victorian clock rang twenty to midnight. I hulked through the vast apartments, opening double doors and riding down staircases in the 28-room mansion, clapping to turn digital chandeliers on and off with childish routine. There was something relaxing in being obnoxiously rich. It all started when I sold the publishing rights to Grimoire to Zenimax, wholesaling t-shirts, posters and McDonald’s Action Figures to kids all over the globe.
I remember this one Zenimax suit telling me once: “You know, at this rate you don’t even have to finish the game.” I smirked, he couldn’t understand. None of them could.
The aching enormity that was my head shook with disapproval. How can they possibly understand? These intellectual dwarfs, these blockheaded mongrels spilling the maelstrom of our gene pool with common filth, how can they ever understand the Grand Scheme of the Grimoire?
They could not, naturally. As I watched the four swimming pools outside the mansion shimmer with the sharp fall of summer rain, I felt alienated from the rest of the human race. My mother once told me: “You’ll do something grand one day. Something to make me and your father very, very proud.”
So I strived, the whole shebang – locker doors in my face, jocks staring me down, the humility of not connecting with your average homo sapiens, always thinking in the back of my head, always reminding myself that the ubermensch living inside me will once burst like a xenomorph out of someone’s ribcage, gnawing away at the simplicity and naivitee of every “normal” bloke out there.
I had promised my mother, on her dying bed, that I will hold the world in my palm one day and that the magnitude of my actions will make the gods tremble.
A thunder, striking a pillar with all the writings snapped me back to the present. The intercom beeped briefly and the Zenimax CEO demanded that I upload Grimoire.ISO to the designated ftp server. After all, the pre-orders will get their download link at midnight. Or so they thought.
It would be somewhat cliche to cackle like an evil mastermind at this point. Or sneer, or rub my hands in malicious accomplishment. It would be redundant. There are eight billion people who have preordered my latest creation, and they will all scream in agony at the news of having lost 49,99$ each, but this gives me no pleasure, no satisfaction.
I walk to my laboratory, a hall of marble with slithering cables stretched between tens of LCD screens. Only one of them is turned on – flashing a confirmation window for the deletion of my masterpiece. Grimoire. ISO. I press yes and watch the fruit of twenty years’ labor fade away like stardust.
By the time they find out, it will all be too late. I pull the red curtains in my bedroom and see an angel – she says her name is Blair. The lace around her thigh unwinds and she reveals the wonders of the woman. They will never understand why I spent the intellectual effort equivalent of a Supernova and destroyed it in the blink of an eye. I prowl and descend upon her white, pale flesh and let out an evil laughter that shakes the halls as my virginity expires.</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><span class="postbody">By Trash[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="name"><a name="871166">[/url]</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">So close.
The sun slowly rises above the windblasted outback while a small group of skeletal figures in rags quietly assembles beside the broken tarmac of what once used to be a road. They huddle together for some protection against the searing winds and settle down to wait. After what seem like ages a rumbling can be heard in the distance. It slowly comes closer untill a number of apc's with desert camouflage and trucks carrying heavy equipment can be seen.
The vehicles come to stop near the group of people and from the first apc a figure in a hazmat suit exits and approaches them. He eyes them for a moment and before speaking in impeccable english.
The glorious revolutionary people's army of the People's Republic of China greets you and is proud to see the triumph and strenghtening of cooperation between our two countries. You reported an underground facility housing a number of contra-revolutionaire reactionairies?
One of the ragged people slowly nods and points towards a number of small mounds and heaps amidst the rubble of what once seems to have been an house. From between a few remaining black teeth he croaks, 'The bastard's holed up down there. Mind you, he killed a number of us who came and asked for help. He got the place surrounded with barb wire, mines and traps. Sits there being as happy as a tick and lets us rot here topside.' With that he spits on the ground and steps back.
The man in the suit retreats back into his apc. After a short while a swarm of figures in hazmat suits exit the vehicles and start unloading the heavy equipment. Once this is done they get to work. For hours the perimeter is cleared of traps and obstacles untill the machines are able to reach their destination. While the ragged group watches on the digging starts. Soon the dirt stops flying and the machines retreat. One of the apc's approaches the hole and spews out a small group of heavily armed men who descend into it.
A number of explosions ensue, followed by intense gunfire. Thick black smoke billowes from the hole while the sounds of a furious battle below continue. After a few minutes the gunfire ceases and everyhting goes silent untill there are some more muffled explosions. After that, nothing.
The officer from the first apc has climbed out from it and walks up to the group of ragged people. He removes his mask and lights a cigarette while eyeing the hole. A small smile appears on his face when a fat bleeding man is dragged topside by the commando's. Screaming and shouting about finally nearly finishing his masterpiece the man is kicked and punched towards one of the apc's. Next one up is a sobbing woman who desperately tries to get close to the two crying children that get pushed out of the hole. One of the soldiers beats her to the ground with the butt of his rifle and then drags her to another one of the apc's. The ground shakes as a deep concussion behind them spews out a large plume of smoke from the collapsing hole.
The officer is about to walk away when the man that pointed the bunker out turns to him. 'What now?', he asks. The officer seems about to ignore him, then shrugs and turns to him. The man will be interrogated and then brought before a revolutionary court to be judged. The woman shall have the honor of serving our troops needs in our comfort camp. A fitting end to class traitors. The ragged man hesitates for a moment before he speaks up. 'I didn't really mean that. There were promises of food if we cooperated.'
The Chinese officer looks at the group of starving survivors and smiles. He points at the children and walks away.</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><span class="name">By Darth Roxor[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody"><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Milestone</span>
"Updating my holojournal. Again. The day is 23rd December, 2019, exactly ten years after the bombs fell. My clocks say that the hour is 16:37 and 23 seconds, although one shows 16:37 and 24 seconds. I do not know which I should trust anymore.
But where was I... Ahhh, yes, time to sit down and work on my masterpiece, that will revolutionize gaming forever. Today, I'll address the subject of -HOLY SHIT, the surface cameras have picked up movement! Oh my... is that you, Trash?" *series of maniacal laughter* "Look at you manboon! Pathetic creature of no IQ, sweating and panting as you run through the wasteland. How can you challenge a perfect, global apocalypse? But don't worry, think Calvinist - everything that happens is because God hates you! At least you have no control of it.
Hrrhrrhrr, yes... oh, but I need to go back to my work of art. These petty distractions are decreasing my efficiency. Something needs to be done about them... maybe shutting off the cameras? Yes, yes, that would be a start.
Starting the toolkit. Commencing divine creation. Yes, divine. Putting in all the lines of code that shape lives of every digital person, environments of the digital world, structure of the digital planet makes me feel like a forgemaster, like... <span style="font-style: italic;">God</span>... and my computer, the eternal forge, Eden, the place where all beings come to life, where PERFECTION can finally thrive, after being created in my image, because what else could serve as a model for the ultimate excellence, if not me? Cleveland Mark Blakemore: genius, prophet and the immortal with an adamantine endoskeleton. The real world may be destroyed, the 'people' who laughed at me before are now nearly extinct. It is my goal to repopulate the wasteland, but I shall create something TRANSCENDENT! Instead of leaving my bunker to the vast wastes that was once Melbourne, Australia, I shall create a <span style="font-style: italic;">new</span> world. Yes, Grimoire is no more just a game... it's a project. The AI I've been coding will ensure that the gameworld evolves by itself, and my shelter can generate all the needed power to sustain The New World indefinitely! Can you imagine? Finally, a perfect world, free of idiocracy and manboons, and I, the one and only, shall make it come to life! No longer will filthy jews and niggers DEFILE God's creation with their vile presence.
Today has been a fruitful day. I've been working nearly all the time, approximately 21 hours, 42 minutes and 50 seconds, but IT IS DONE! Yes, this sets another MILESTONE in the history of my grand design. The success I've achieved cannot be expressed in mere words, therefore I'm signing off to ponder the essence of my excellence."
The letter 'A' in the font Grimoire would use was finally <span style="font-style: italic;">done</span>.</span>
<span class="postbody">
</span>
<h1>4. DarkUnderlord.</h1>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By Shannow</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">Fez
Fez was my friend. He had always been into space travel and rockets and shuttles. All his life. As a kid he joined a club where they built rockets to scale and then shot them some hundred feet into the air just for the fun of it. After school he went on to become an engineer with an aeronautics company. We stayed in contact. When we met, he always told me about the newest satellite, spaceshuttle or rocket parts they were bulding for the NASA. One day when I picked him up for a class reunion I was a little early. While I waited for him to get dressed, I saw his own plans for a manned rocket hastily stuffed under a pile of newspapers. He had tried to hide them, but it was pretty obvious what he was doing there. I didn’t ask, though. We were friends after all and if he wanted to, he’d find the time and place. </span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
One day on my way to my lousy job in a lousy cubicle I drove down Main Street and saw a newsstand from the corner of my eye. I hit the brakes and nearly caused a major accident. There was a huge picture of Fez in the news. In every newspaper to be precise. I bought them all. And they all wrote the same. Fez had really done it. He built his own rocket called "Darkunderlord" and shot himself into space. The newspapers were calling him ‘local lunatic’, because after ten minutes in space on re-entry his rocket burnt up in the upper layers of the atmosphere an he himself perished. But I knew he'd never have made such a grave mistake. </span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
Some days after the rocket incident I received a letter. It was from Fez. It wasn’t very long or elaborate. He just thanked me for my friendship and said, that all his life he had looked for the right time, place and method to end his existence. I was startled, because I always thought, that I knew him. But I didn’t. Apparently nobody did. Everything he ever did was just a preparation for this moment. He probably even just made friends with me, because my father worked for a company supplying mechanical parts. Fez always knew, my dad would get me a place in the company, though I used to dream about becoming a park ranger in one of the national parks. I sat down and thought about both our lives. Mine was a circle, or rather a downward spiral, while his was a straight line. I must have been sitting there for two hours, when my wife returned from shopping. I looked at her. I really looked at her for the first time in my life. I hugged and kissed her and then I told her, we’d move. The next day I quit my boring job and moved west. </span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
As lousy stories go, I didn’t become a park ranger, after all. Instead I opened a bait shop for tourists. My wife left me some months after that, because she ‘didn’t recognise me anymore’ and I’m glad she did. The day she left, I looked up to the sky and thought of Fez. I opened a nice bottle of beer, sat down on my front porch and drank to all those who chose the manner of their death. Cheers, you lunatics.</span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><span class="genmed">By Nalanod[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody"><span style="font-style: italic;">(Disclaimer: I know nothing about DarkUnderlord except what his profile and the "Staff" link of the site had to say.)
</span>
The Big DarkUnderlord
Eight o'clock in the morning, mid August, the weather reports show a dense, low fog over most of Tennessee and off of the coast of California. I was wearing my Cybernegro Command Unit suit, a bulky powder-blue and yellow monstrosity that hid my disheveled and dirty appearance. The suit was too heavy for a foggy summer morning. Good that I wasn't in Tennessee or California.
It didn't matter that I was unshaven and still drunk from the night before. I was as ready for my appointment as any Web site forum administrator ought to be. It was time to talk about serious business.
The entrance to the Web site was dark. The white text on a background of blues and grays were a throwback to simpler times. Along the left were items of importance: a map, a key, a plan. A way through the darkness. But what lingered on the right, despite its dexterous placement, was entirely sinister.
I had read somewhere that the brain, like the Web site, was divided into two parts. The left was analytical. It was logical and literal, centered on facts and quantifiable information. Everything else belonged to the right.
I entered through the right. I am DarkUnderlord. I will make sure these forums hold up under the weight of so much idiocy. Bethesda threads are heavier than broken hearts.</span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By Wyrmlord</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">When I came to the House of the Howling Abyss, it was already dark. They made me eagerly welcome. And I, in spite of the deed, was glad of shelter from that ominous wood. I saw at once that there had been a deed; although a cloak did it may do to conceal it. The mere uneasiness of the welcome made me suspect that cloak.
The Dark Underlord was moody and silent. I had not come to pry into the secrets of Eternity or to investigate His private life, so had little to say, few questions to ask; but to whatever I did say he remained morosely indifferent. It was clear he suspected me of being in search of secrets of his gods, of being boldly inquisitive about his traffic with Time, or else he was darkly absorbed with brooding upon the deed.
I saw soon enough that there was another than me to welcome; I saw it from the hurried way that they glanced from the door to the deed and back. And it was clear that the welcome was a bolted door. Rust, decay, and fungus had been there; it was not a barrier any longer than would keep out even a wolf. And it seemed to be something worse than a wolf that they feared.
A little later on I gathered from what they said that some imperious ghastly thing was looking for the Underlord, that something that had happened had made its arrival certain. The wind soughed, the great tapers flared, their obvious fear and the silence of the Underlord grew more than ever a part of the atmosphere.
Then a few things screamed far off, then a little nearer, coming towards us, laughing hideously. I had not leisure to observe their fright; I thought of the back-door, for the forest was better than this; the Underlord was calm, his prophecy was made, he seemed to have seen his doom.
No new thing could perturb him.
But by rungs of ladders as old as Man, by slippery edges of the dreaded abyss, with ominous dizziness about my heart, a feeling of horror in the soles of my feet, I clambered from tower to tower till I found the door that I sought; it opened on to one of the upper branches of a huge and somber pine, down which I climbed on to the forest. And I was glad to be back in the forest from which I had fled.
And the Dark Underlord in his menaced house--I know not how he fared--whether he gazes forever, disconsolate, at the deed, remembering only in his smitten mind, at which the little boys now leer, that he once knew well those things at which man stands aghast; or whether in the end he crept away, clambering horribly from abyss to abyss, came at last to higher things, and is wise and eternal still. For who knows of madness whether it be divine or of the pit?</span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By Spacemoose</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
</span>
<span class="name"><a name="866337">[/url]<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By Pseudofool[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
ADVENTURES IN SOLIPSISM
Deep within the kingdom of Solipsism, there was a Princess who had no business doing what she was doing just then, but, as per the Epic Guidelines that Ruled the Land, there was no one to stop her. The Princess, though betrothed to Lord Setaside, sought to blemish her chastity, not in some small, forgivable way, but in such a manner that, indeed, brought down the Epic Guidelines that Ruled the Land. Having had most commoners, layabouts, and hoodlums through one way or another, she had grown distraught, as her wedding was looming in the Not-Too-Distant-But-Not-Quite-Here-Yet-Future, and she still had not dissuaded Lord Setaside from their engagement, nor had she brought down Epic Guidelines that Ruled the Land, which, of course, bound them together. </span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
So just then, the Princess had set out, alone, down one of the many roads that led out Solipsism. It wasn’t that the people of Solipsism were insular or xenophobic or afraid; rather they were simply too lazy to bother traveling, or trading, or even keeping records or telling stories about the people who came to visit them. So the Princess just picked any old road, as each would have as much intrigue, mystery, and hopefully, debauchery, as any other.
She was dressed quite appropriately in hiking boots, denim shorts, and a white blouse with the Official Insignia of Solipsism, which was, a rather discrete, blank box. It was now morning—for she had left at night—and the animal life and country side was already beginning to alter ever so slightly from lush pastures and sing-song birds to rocky hillsides and animals who made a good deal of noise but would not show themselves. </span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
The Princess had foolishly neglected to pack a lunch, and so she was forced to roam around the rocky hillside, looking for some vegetation or, perhaps, a picnic basket that someone thoughtfully left behind. It was not long before she came upon one particular hillside, with one particular rock, where there was one particular sleeping creature. This was not an animal, she thought. For the creature, although sleeping, firmly grasped a large carafe with one of its green paws. She studied the creature’s features and eventually decided that it must be a goblin, though, of course, given the lack of storytelling, she had no basis for the claim—it just seemed to sound right, or look right, or something. </span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
Suddenly, the creature woke with a furious hiccup that knocked the Princess directly on her rear. She landed quite awkwardly on a crag of rock, and yelped herself, which in turn, startled the once sleeping creature. </span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
Then, to much dismay, the creature spoke, “Now look what you’ve made me do. Spilled my pious spirits, I have.” </span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
The Princess quite startled by the whole incident, collected herself, stood up, smoothed her shorts, and very appropriately announced, “What ghastly world we live in that goblins are allowed to talk?” </span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
“Pshaw, I am no…” the creature stopped, and held up a one finger, as if asking for a moment, and then preceded to belch. “What was I saying? Oh yes, I am not a goblin. I am an elf. An elf of quite high stature if I might say so myself.” Burp. </span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
“An orc, then, you are. Have it your way. But these orcs must be lowly creatures indeed to have someone, nay, something, like you held in high stature. Hmmpf.”
</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">“I’m an ELF, not an orc, an E-L-F, elf.” </span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
But it was at this moment that a very lewd, yet a very effective thought came into her mind. “Goblin, return with me to my land, and I shall make it worth your while.” </span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
“But why should I do that?” He covered his mouth, and burped into his hand. </span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
The Princess then proceeded to tell the elf of her predicament, though, of course, she was not very eloquent at telling her story, having been at a loss for hearing them. </span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
The elf took a great deal of time after her tale to respond, he walked between the crags of rock, lapped up his spilled spirits, burped thoughtfully, and finally, he spoke, “I’m sorry, madam, but I shan’t go with you. But I know of one who might be able to yet bring down these Epic Guidelines that Ruled the Land.” </span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
Princess was quite disappointed, as she had never been refused before, much less by any such creature as a goblin, “Well my orcish friend, what say you?” </span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
“I know of man, a princely man, at that, who might muddy your, um, sanctity, in the way you seek.” So the elf told the Princess of one of Dark Underlord, who had lived in seclusion not far from where they were now.</span><span class="gensmall">
</span>
<span class="name"><a name="866570">[/url]<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By PlanHex[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">Title:</span>
<span style="font-weight: bold;">A day in the life of developing Grimoire and AoD Online in Volurntopia starring DarkUnderlord as the 50ft Multi-Headed Dick</span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">Basic outline:</span>
VD and Cleve are developing their respective games down in Cleve's bunker <span style="font-style: italic;">{royal game-making place}</span> when Queen Volurn <span style="font-style: italic;">{Volurntopia allows princesses to inherit the throne}</span> stops by and tells them to combine their efforts
They unify their games/code+art into a single mind-blowing game and make DarkUnderlord test it
DU "accidentally" spills a cup of semen <span style="font-style: italic;">{that he made from wanking to The Witcher sex cards while no one was looking}</span> on the keyboard while testing the game, gets zapped, and transforms into a 50ft Multi-Headed-Dick
The giant DU multi-headed dick monster starts smashing up the place and fights aliens and Mothra and stuff
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">Epic conclusion leading in to the inevitable sequel:</span>
Our heroes stand in awe as the giant multi-headed dick strolls down the streets of Volurntopia towards the Statue of Romance Options <span style="font-style: italic;">{giant David Gaider statue}</span>
Multi-headed dick hits David Gaider statue in ass and legs
Volurn: "MULTIHEADED DICK HITTING ASS AND LEGS OH GOD ITS HEAVAN"
Cleve: "This is just like that thing I was talking about. Let's go back to my bunker until this blows over"
Volurn: "We can't! We must avenge DGaider!" [SHOW EAGLE CRYING]
Cleve: "I say hiding in a bunker is better. What say you, VD?"
[CAMERA ZOOMS IN ON VD] VD: "I vote kingcomrade" [VD COCKS HIS SHOTGUN]</span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By <span class="name">Annie Carlson[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
The entrance is exactly where your contact said it would be: carefully concealed, a nondescript building housing an average door that looked like it ran to elevator maintenance, an equipment locker that opened into a dank hallway that led further and deeper than the one lone bulb at the entrance could illuminate. You hesitated for a moment, not sure you wanted to venture on… but curiosity and resolve grip you and you head forward into the passageway.
Ten minutes later you feel the passage open up, smooth concrete vanishing from underneath your left hand, the surprise of it nearly sending you pitching into the darkness. You curse yourself for forgetting a flashlight, then remembering what your contact said about the denizens not liking the brightness. And – ah, there’s a dim light in the distance, a huddled mass being one-by-one ushered through a thick, barred door into the room beyond.
You breathe a sigh of relief as the voice behind the door accepts the password – again you mentally thank your contact – and you, too, are motioned in as the portal creaks open. Behind you, you see a man: older, bearded, bespectacled, round-faced. You think you know him, and when he sees you looking he quickly hides his face. It must have – must’ve been your imagination. You head inside.
The room is dark, full of lurking faces, indistinct in the gloom and the muted light. There is a slight murmur in the air: tense, withholding excitement like a dog at a chain, hungry for blood. At the center, under the lone lightbulb, stands a man with a malevolent gleam in his eye, his mouth twisted into a smirk as his gaze crawls over the assembled. You know this must be the man your contact spoke of – the only Dark Underlord. Your breath catches in your throat as he speaks, killing at once all other conversation in the room.
“Ladies and gentlemen – you all know why you’re here, don’t you?” A hoarse, vicious cry of glee rang shakes the walls, and the man holds up a hand for silence. “Of <span style="font-style: italic;">course</span> you do. Let’s introduce our contenders, then…”
“To my left – the Princess of Pretty, the Sultan of SHIT – you know him as… <span style="font-style: italic;">VOLURN!</span>” Boos and jeers erupt from the assembled as a creature slinks out of the shadows, hissing <span style="font-style: italic;">ssssssssozzy</span> through broken teeth.
“And to my right – the Lord of LPs, the Mullah of Majestic – <span style="font-style: italic;">Andyman Messiah!</span>” Cries and cheers spring out as a proud horse prances into view, a war-horn affixed upon his head.
“Now, I hate to say it,” the Underlord said with mock apology, “but it is <span style="font-style: italic;">impossible</span> to totally avoid combat on the Codex. But… that’s sort of the point, now isn’t it?”
“FIGHT!” he bellows, and the world dissolves into blood and noise.</span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By POOPERSCOOPER</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">I could feel it coming like a thousand pounds of draino but I just needed to go outside and try to change my life. I've been walking closer and closer each day to the nearest town to see what people have been up to. I stood on top of the hill looking down at the people going on about their superficial lives.
The gurgle became a bit louder and I knew something was wrong, I tried releasing a gentle pressure fart but ended up spraying the back of my pants with butt juice. I bit my upper lip with my lower teeth and contemplated what to do next.
I started running as fast as I could to my house. Sweat was pouring down my face and my face was getting more and more red, my 300 pounds of man was killing my knees but I kept running because I could feel the beast wanting to come out like a hundred pound baby out of a 90 pound woman. It was no longer an incident that I could tell the internet about as it became a situation of life and death. I was gasping for air in the hot Australian desert and it kept fogging up my coke bottle glasses.
When reaching my house I noticed that my moms car was there, I had forgotten it was my birthday again. I had more important things to do like taking a shit and I busted down the front door that knocked my mom in her face and she was out cold on the floor. I could anticipate the relief I was about to experience once I reached my destination in time. I run over to my blazing fast computer and quickly log into RPGcodex as Darkunderlord then I turn around and don't even bother taking off my pants. I unleashed a massive fart that ripped my pants off and then ensued a blast of shit all over my computer and keyboard while I couldn't stop laughing at what I was doing. After I was done I took a look at my glorious work and hit enter and my post count increased by one.</span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By DefJam101</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">Daring
Angry cunt
Russell Crowe
Knower of alts
Usurper of the Kodex throne
Nigger-hating
Dispenser of tags
Extreme
Recursive
Leader of FMF
Original gangster
Russell Crowe!!
...Dark</span>
<span class="name"><a name="869626">[/url]<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By JarlFrank[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody"><span style="font-size: 18px; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Wrath of the Underlord, or: the tale of Zerotol[/quote]
I have not much time left. As I'm writing this, I know that he found me. I know that he's after me. He knows my diguise, and he's hell-bent on destroying me. He had successfully banished me from his realm five times. He threw me out because I insulted him, a crime worth capital punishment under his harsh law. I came back. I was disguised, I hoped he would not know who I am - but he found out. He noticed from the patterns of my actions, the way I spoke. He recognized me. And when I did something only slightly wrong, he banished me again. Yet he could not defeat me. I returned. This time, with a more clever diguise. He did not notice me. But I made a mistake. When people talked about my first banishment, I told them that I came back. I thought the Dark Underlord would let me stay this time - in my new disguise, I hadn't done anything wrong. But yet again, he banished me, and I did not know why. And the people of his realm approved of it.
They hated me. I do not know what it was that made them dislike me so much. Was it the way I talked? The way I behaved? Were it my opinions? It did not matter. The people in this realm hated me. And the Dark Underlord warned me that this would be the last time I could get away with a simple banishment. If I returned again, and if anybody managed to see through my disguise, he would annihilate me. He would send me to a dimension of pain and agony, with no hope of return. I came back. And now I feel they're at me. They're hunting me. They are suspicious - I think they already know who I am.
They know that I am Zerotol the Proud, and they want me gone. They think that I bring bad things to them, things they call "decline". But I never did anything bad. Or, at least, nothing that I thought was bad. Maybe they had other standards than I. Maybe they... but it doesn't matter, I can feel the Dark Underlord is at me. The cruel leader of Codexia who banishes and kills people just for fun, who makes them wear ridiculous hats just because he thinks it would be funny. And now, now he will.... FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU
"Guys, I've finally IP-banned zerotol. Everyone who told me not to ban him will gain a Dumbfuck!! tag." ~DarkUnderlord</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<span class="name"><a name="870569">[/url]<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By Silellak[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody"><span style="font-weight: bold;">DarkUnderlord: The Last Stand of the Codex</span>, as referenced in <span style="font-style: italic;">Eurogamer's Retrospective on Age of Decadence Online</span>
<span style="font-style: italic;">Thursday, August 18th, 2011</span>.
The group all knelt side-by-side, crossbows, rifles, and whatever else they could scrounge up pointing towards the west, as they sun came to the end of its daily routine.
"They are coming."
Vault Dweller and Edward glanced at each other, then at DarkUnderlord. VD's eyes were cold and hard - he always knew this day would come. Edward's reflected fear, which wasn't uncommon for a Thursday night, but <span style="font-style: italic;">was</span> uncommon for a Thursday night that wasn't DU's bi-weekly "Sponge Bath and Anal Gland Massage Night".
"I knew you'd all be here with me, at the end."
"You locked us in the building," replied Edward.
"Choices and Consequences, my friend. We made our Choice to critize the Witcher, and now the Consequence is the small Polish army coming for our server farm."
"First off, we are not friends. Friends don't ask of one another the things...the terrible, disgusting things...you ask of me. Second, <span style="font-style: italic;">we</span> did not make the choice. <span style="font-style: italic;">You</span> made the choice. You should have shut the servers down when the Polish government demanded it."
"The Codex bows before no government! We are bigger than that! We are about the freedom to critize any game, any developer, without fear of being silenced, be it through banning, stabbing, or shooting."
"Being banned from an internet forum can't really be mentioned in the same breath as 'stabbing or shooting'. It's not the same. Like, at all. Has anyone ever actually been killed from posting their opinion about an RPG?"
"Have you forgotten the Andyman?"
"That doesn't count. He stopped work on his LP of Final Fantasy VII, knowing the Consequences of that Choice."
"You burned him alive and fucked his wife, all while forcing what little <span style="font-style: italic;">remained</span> of his family to watch."
"It was a really good LP!"
Silence, except for the occasional screaming in the distance, brought to them by gusts of wind. VD toyed with the remote, carefully avoiding the big red button in the center.
DU turned to VD. "Are Volourn and Skyway ready to do their parts?"
"They are ready. Though, I have to ask one final time, did we need to tie the explosives <span style="font-style: italic;">to</span> them?"
"I don't understand the question."
"Couldn't we have just hidden piles of explosives out there and have them serve the same purpose?"
"I don't follow."
"Won't their screaming tip off the approaching army to avoid those areas?"
DU stared at him as a caveman would stare at a lecturer describing the intricacies of quantum mechanics. Or, really, like <span style="font-style: italic;">he</span> would stare at a lecturer describing the intricacies of quantum mechanics.
"...nevermind."
Their eyes met.
"Look, Darkie..."
"Incoming!" The cry from the look-out ended the conversation before it could begin. DU nodded to VD, perhaps because he understood what VD had wanted to say, but mostly because he wanted VD to press the big red button and make the bad people go boom.
The sound of the explosions needed no wind to be carried to them.</span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By <span class="name"><a name="876641">[/url]drunkpriest[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">Darkunderlord pulled harder on the stretched foreskin and frowned. He watched as the polish witcher fan, turned codex, licked his tongue along his penis. This isn’t going to work thought Darkunderlord as he pushed aside the fanboy and cooled himself off in from of the air conditioner. Darkie, as his polish witcher trumpeters called him, strode to his pc and planned a new elaborate plan to pligh on his famous and prestigious website, one of many, RPGcodex. He was writing a code to, well it was a good code, a well designed code, he thought, shit it was extremely funny. It will show how I am still, and before his next breath Mama's Gang was there. The needle in his neck was none other than PooperScooper, but that wasn’t the worst.The worst was when they immediately turned him over for the anal sex. I do say it’s not right for film. The rape and torture that continued for days it’s not right to speak about, but to suffice to say Darkunderlord lived. Oh yes he lived. And Mamas Gang will always forget that one mistake. Forever.</span>
<span class="name"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">
[/quote]
<h1>5. Attack of the 50-foot Multi-Headed Dick.</h1>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By Shannow</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">Titanic struggle between two titans
“Gwaargh,“ he said knowingly. “Gwaargh !” I replied visualising the firmest stare I could imagine on the firmest staring face of a master firm-starer and applying it to my own face. He was obviously in awe of my mastery in facial communication and so both of us waited for the next move. Finally he decided it was his turn and hit me on the head with a stick. I was relieved to have an excuse for dropping the stare, reaching to my pocket and hitting him hard with my multiheaded dick while he was still waiting for what I’d produce from the inside of my jacket. “Gwaargh,“ he cried. “Gwaargh !“ I triumphed. </span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><span class="name">By The Vanished One[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Attack Of The 15.24 m Multi Headed Dick</span>
<span style="font-style: italic;">As written by someone whose first language is not English</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">It came at dusk. You'd think we should have seen it, more than a dozen meters high, trudging through the barren wasteland. But it was fast. A desperate cry from the scouts over the radio, then the sudden alert of the panicking lookouts, and by the time I had rushed out of the command post the monster stood there, its five horrendous, throbbing, hellish appendages erected above an enormous flaccid bag of flesh, trampling over my helpless men, uncaring for the bullets coming from all directions, spraying a white, opaque fluid that dissolved anything it landed on.
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">I can't remember exactly when I realized that the outpost was lost, it took probably less than a minute. Not enough time to pick up a radio. I fled to the nearest vehicle, and drove like mad after leaving my men behind. I just hoped I could alert the City in time.
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">The night was pitch black when I ran out of fuel. I hadn't extra cans. I took a rifle and a flashlight from the trunk and started walking. Soon I heard a noise behind me. It was similar to a hand pump, but more intense, ominous, angry and... sticky. I ran, but the noise came closer and closer. I turned back and emptied the clip in the cold night. The noise only kept approaching. I stumbled back, tripped somewhere, fell into an even darker place, and lost consciousness.
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">I woke up sometime in the morning and found myself in a deep hole. I hurt everywhere and it took two hours before I was able to climb out. I started walking to the City, and arrived to see smoke floating over it. Exhausted, I reached a large breach in the outer barriers. The concrete was molten. The bodies of hundreds lay on the ground, blood stained every surface. To my horror, I saw many torn in half, the lower part of their bodies apparently disintegrated. Survivors were picking up the pieces and recovering the corpses. Nobody cared for me, but at least they weren't fleeing the City: somewhere inside, the beast had been defeated.
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">I followed the trail of death and destruction until I could find one of my superiors. He told me it had been a disaster. They had to use heavy weapons against the monster, in the middle of civilians. In the end, the population was decimated, one fourth of the City destroyed.
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">Nobody was interested in my report. They let me eat some food pills, then sent me to help. I was to look for survivors under the rubble, so I reached the carcass of the monster, already rotting and smelling like hell itself, and joined the search.
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">I found a man under sheets of plywood. The lower half of his body was missing, but he was still breathing somehow. He stared at me with an insane smile. "Oh god", he said as he died, "it's heav..."
<span class="name"><a name="865909">[/url]<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By RK47[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody"><span style="font-weight: bold;">I, The Multi Headed Dick by RK47</span>
A feminine voice chattering on her phone. The anticipation growing. I can feel every cell capable of anticipation in my body bursting with excitement. I can feel my eyes homing wildly towards the source of the noise wanting to reconfirm what I heard.
I crept closer; the increasing volume of her voice is like juice oozing from freshly seared tenderloin, overflowing my senses. Finally, I spotted another color within the black of her skirt as I moved directly below her. White.
I opened my mouth to scream in ecstasy but found no voice escape it. It surprised me, but not as much as to what happened next.
I felt the lust, rage mixed together and finally pouring forth into one, desperate spot in my body. I could feel it growing larger, tighter, the pain overwhelming, threatening to tear me apart.
I heard the sickening sound of muscles tearing apart, and to my horror, I wasn’t the only one who did. The woman looked down at me, and shrieked in horror. She saw me!
Don’t run. I desperately tried to tell her. But run she did. And that was it. The pavement surface cracked as a series of tendril-like muscles burst forth from underground. A great feeling of ecstasy and pain overwhelmed me. And then it stopped. Every tendril, with its slightly wet, leathery surface is under my control and what it sees, is fed to my consciousness. I cannot move, yet my victim’s mobility is meaningless if my reach is limitless. Like fingers, I manipulated my multi-headed dick to pounce on her. I laughed maniacally as multi-headed dick soared like dragons through the moonlit sky.
I grabbed both of her legs with one tendril each. My third and fourth tendrils took hold of her arms. The fifth and the sixth made short work of her clothing, and suckle on her exposed teats. Every touch, every suckle is ecstasy making every tendril HARDER and LONGER. She screamed, and I silenced her with the seventh tendril. That’s it, she is helpless. I could feel that I am losing it. Not yet. The eighth tore away the remnants of her panties and penetrated her anally. I giggled as she shook her head. The ninth was oozing liquid from its tip as I coiled around her leg before plunging into her neatly trimmed bush, penetrating her final orifice.
The tenth coiled round and round her body, and grew larger as the ecstasy grew and grew. I couldn’t hold it any longer.
It floated upwards and pointed at her face, twitching wildly, like it was trying to say something to her. Her eyes grew wide. I know exactly what it wanted to say.
<span style="font-size: 24px; line-height: normal;">Oh god, it’s Heaven!</span>
And say it, it did. It came first, followed with the others simultaneously ejaculating onto every surface of her body. All of them twitching like an age of dragons, each unleashing sweet liquid oblivion and spreading sexual fallout.</span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><span class="name">By Reject_666_6[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">She finally awoke amidst the dilapidated ruins of what she once called her hometown. Confused as to where she was, she rubbed the grit out of her eyes and looked around. The sight of the vibrant metropolis that she grew up in was replaced by a dull, gray and brown panorama. In the distance some buildings still remained erect, so like any curious woman she walked towards them for some answers.
As she reached one of the surviving houses, a small Pakistani fellow was clearing the rubble from the street in front of him. As she approached, she saw that he was unaware of her and seemed focused on mumbling something. Upon hearing her voice, the man seemed startled:
“-…grrrrmmm…discuss…grrrmmm…
-Heeeey, mister!
-A-whaaaaa? What are you doing here? How did you survive?
-I just woke up somewhere around that rubble over there, see? What happened to this place?
-You mean you don’t know?!? What’s your name, girl?
-Annabelle Karloff-Sonya, but people have called me Annie ever since that time I flashed them my melons unprovoked.
-THE Annie??” The man’s gaze dropped for a few moments as thoughts of obsidian zombies riding two bears occurred to him for some reason. He felt the urge to share his thoughts with the world, but the girl interrupted him with her questions.
“-Look, just tell me what happened here before I use my Clint Eastwood moves on you!
-It just appeared yesterday plowing through the city, hitting ass and leg and knocking down at least three buildings every time it thrust by them. Every channel’s broadcast was replaced by news reports of the destruction this creature caused. It said that all of Australia and Europe was decimated by its insidious heads. I don’t know what became of it after it left the city, but soon after it was out of sight I saw some kind of herculean super-human running towards it, yelling, “Itz coming for you, you banal, circumcised, mongoloid, unter-appendage!” At the time, I had no idea which was better and why, but I had a feeling the man knew his shit.
Annie, unimpressed with his boring story, stepped inside his house and turned on the TV to get more insight on the events that took place the other day.
“-...i-headed dick! Some eye-witnesses described it as almost 50-foot tall. Authorities are still stunned at the heroic display of the overman who brought it down single-handedly. The man was quoted as saying "I do at least one dick every day single-handedly; how could this inferior, almost dark-skinned, specimen pose any challenge. It’s like that thing I was talking about..." Sources claim that the monster was a result of a transvestite having his dick-removal surgery in the middle of a nuclear meltdown somewhere in Eastern Europe. One of the workers responsible for the meltdown, upon seeing the mutation take place, reportedly interjected "PULA CU MAI MULTE CAPETE, O DOAMNE E RAI!!!"
Then he died due to the fallout. Bla bla bla bla 500 words.”</span>
<span class="name"><a name="867383">[/url]<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By Data4[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
The village didn't call to mind anything familiar, beyond the typical seaside hamlet seen dotted all along the New England coastline. The requisite quaint marina reaching out into the shallow waters of the small harbor, adorned with it's gigs and dinghys greeted us as our motorboat glided in alongside the weather and seaworn pilings that supported it. A sign, faded and cracked, barely read "Arpygee Codessia".
"That's an unusual name," I casually offered to the pilot as he shut down the boat's engine. "It calls to mind Latin, but with a vernacular twist."
The pilot, a gruff-looking man of about 50, wearing a peacoat with a permanent ash stain from the permanent cigarette he seemed to have dangling from his lips, fixed upon me with his steel grey eyes and scoffed, "Don't letchyer learnin' hang out like that, doc. The locals ain't impressed by no degree."
I was taken aback by the apparent accusation, but I stifled any outward appearance by the casual afterthought. "It was just an observation."
I helped the man secure the mooring line, and grabbing my leather attache, followed him along the uneven surface of the dock to terra firma, some 20 yards ahead. Behind me, I could feel the chill on the back of my neck as the wind came inland, and with it, the damp fog which hitherto clung to the water further off shore. I reached up and tried in vain to turn my collar up, but the moisture in the air had taken its toll, insistently weighing the fabric down.
It was 4:20, according to the clock in the dockhouse, though its accuracy was questionable. My pocketwatch had uncerimoniously refused to work about 2 hours out of Boston, and with the fog and overcast conditions, reckoning the time was nigh impossible. 4:20 seemed as reasonable a time as any. </span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">The pilot, whose name was Peters, conversed quietly with the dockmaster, a stout man of about the same age as Peters, and who spoke with the accent of a born and bred Newfoundlander. Most likely, it was of docking fees and trivial talk of the weather, but I couldn't help but note a sense of familiarity between the two. Peters made a living ferrying passengers and mail from port to port along the New England seaboard, so it was perfectly reasonable that they knew eachother.
The inquisitive mind of a scientist is a hard one to quiet, so rather than turn off my curiosity, I redirected it through the grimy windows of the dockhouse to the few denizens of the village who were out and about. I noticed that there was virtually no interaction between them. My experiences with small towns has, up to this point, indicated a strong sense of community, where two people meeting from opposite directions usually resulted in a lazy half hour's worth of superficial conversation. By contrast, it appeared that these individuals were islands unto themselves, paying no heed to those who passed by. This was of anthropological significance, and prompted questions I would be sure to ask Dr. Scobee in our meeting the next morning.
"'Ey, ya. Mainlander!" I turned to see the dockmaster beckoning me over. "Peters 'ere, 'e says yer lookin' ta hear aboot ta local legends an' tings like tat."
"Well," I said, a bit unprepared,"I had heard some pretty fascinating stories coming from this area... but... if you'll pardon me," I hurriedly opened my attache and retrieved a notebook, pen, and bottle of ink. "I'd like to take some notes."
"Oh sure, ya writin' it down, but yer not takin' my name. Tese stories is jus' wat te fishers tell over a brew, but tey stick aroond, and stuff like that."
I nodded and paid close attention to the man's tale, as he meandered about, giving details about locals in a familiar tone, as if I knew "Miss Mary Belle, ya know, over by teh stands and such". As best as I could decipher, the subject of the story was a man by the name of Richard Volourn, who was a dabbler in the occult arts that lived in the vicinity of Arpygee Codessia some 200 years ago. It would seem that he and a few of his fellows worked in league with Esquimaux cultists. I had read the reports of Professor William Webb in my studies at Princeton, and my curiosity was immediately piqued. This tied directly into my reason for being here, and made my anticipation of the appointment with Dr. Scobee the next morning that much greater.
"An' so," finished the dockmaster, "Tis became teh legend'er ol Multiheaded Dick." </span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">The storm was fierce as our little boat tumbled across the violently undulating sea. The sky rippled with evil clouds, low and dark, expelling torrential rain and belching loud and resonant thunder that vibrated me to the bone. Peters' arm was broken, but he braced against the wheel with his good arm like a man fighting for his mortal soul.
"THE SUMP!" he bellowed at me, as I scrambled to secure the boxes of artifacts on deck. "Check the sump! Bail it with your hands if you have to!" I could barely hear him over the din, but I understood. The boat was rapidly taking on water, and if the pumps couldn't do their work, we were as good as dead. I went below to the pump closet and felt my heart sink. Various debris had collected around the intake valve, and there was a high likelihood that small pieces of flotsam had made their way inside the pipe. Without tools of any sort, I was left only to do what the pilot had ordered as a cynical afterthought to his command. A bucket was among the debris, and while better than my own hands, the picture of my heaving bucketfuls of water on deck in this veritable maelstrom was one of comic futility.
My concentration was broken by the sound of Peters screaming in unadulterated terror from on deck, and I scrambled up the ladder--bucket still in hand-- in time to see a tentacle-like arm flail upon the deck from beneath the surface of the water. Only... it wasn't so much the tentacle of an octopus, and it was surely larger than one ever seen by the eyes of men. It was long and slender, but smooth all around, lacking the sucker-like nodes prevalent on the octopus. The end of the appendage was bulbous in nature, and lent the whole thing a phallic appearance. It lashed at Peters, swiping him across the buttocks and legs, as the pilot supplicated to his maker. "Oh God!" he screamed, the pain clear in his voice.
"Peters!" I screamed, cursing my lack of a weapon of any kind. Without any further thought, I threw the bucket at the appendage, hoping to distract it in some way, when another of its type burst through the surface of the water, flailing at my legs. I fell forward as it came down, hitting my back, buttocks and legs, as I, too, called out in desperation, "Oh God... Oh God!" My vision blacked out, or rather, redded out as blood vessels burst in my eyes. All at once, there was silence and stillness. Before me, a glass-like path leading to a bright light. "Oh God," I whispered, "It's... heaven?"
I awoke with a start to a silent bedroom, save the the ever so slight ticking coming from the wall clock. It read 6:15. AM, no doubt. I was soaked in sweat, and the bedcloths were crumpled in a heap on the floor. My breathing, still heavy, started to ease, and I could feel and hear the pounding of my heart begin to subside. "A dream", I whispered aloud. It seems the Legend of Multiheaded Dick had invaded my sleep. I chuckled uneasily, recalling the wild-eyed look on the dockmaster's face as he told the tale the day before. I'd read the notes several times over before going to sleep last night. No doubt, it provided fuel to the fires of the sandman. I would be meeting Dr. Scobee in just under two hours, and hopefully gain some answers to my many questions. </span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody"> (to be continued)</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><span class="postbody">By </span><span class="name"><a name="867565">[/url]Tuonela[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">The dark sky of Cirus-9 was exploding with colour. Red, blue and green shapes ripped the smoky clouds apart. It was the memorial day of the Cirian annexation. On one side alley a neon sign was flickering franticly in the rain, as if trying compete with the blaze above. It signified the alley's only place of note, a run-down bar. Most of the clientele were hunched over their drinks lost in times past. The only entertainment for the evening consisted of a scratchy sounding old soundcube and a boy, who was quaffing shots and shouting idiotic phrases like "To the glory of the Empire!". Sitting next to him at the counter was an old man. He had been eyeing his drink for a while now, but finally decided to drink it all at once. He coughed a bit as the liquid burned his throat and motioned the bartender for another. "There's nothing glorious about this day.", he said and glared at the boy. The boy blinked for a while and looked around, his eyes finally focusing on the man next to him, "What do you know old ma...". "Shut up and listen boy, you might learn something for once in your life.", the old man bellowed and grabbed his new drink. The boy looked a bit stunned and sat silent. The old man took sip, "And don't you fucking dare to interrupt me.", then started his tale.
I was there that day, at the final battle. Oh, it was bloody glorious alright. I had just been commissioned to a new ship in the Cirian navy. Our ships floated in battle formation near our capital. We had just gotten a new dick on our ship, that being a dual intruding combat kraken. Just like it's mythical namesake, it can track down a ship and crush it apart. I was stationed at the dickdeck being the first dickery sergeant. Soon the Empire's fleet started to arrive through the tunnelgate. The intel told us that they had bigger dicks than us, but we seemed to have the numbers. You don't need a big dick if you can use it properly. Soon the battle drew our forces away from the capital planet. Everything seemed to be going well until we felt a huge wave of energy ripple through our hull. There was a gargantuan shape looming behind us, somehow it had formed a tunnelportal on its own. The ship's 50-foot multi-headed dick gleamed in starlight - then it started to pound our rear, just ripping us to shreds. After that the enemy came over us in waves. It was the day we lost our innocence. I'm lucky to be alive.
The empty glass signalled the ending of the story. The young boy looked frustrated, "So what? We won, you lost. Don't be so butthurt over it." The veteran grabbed a bottle over the counter and grinned, "There's still the big finish left. You might want to turn around. I'm going to smash this bottle and return the favour." Only moments passed before the bar's door was already swinging and one could hear the footsteps down the alley. After a moment of silence the whole bar burst out in laughter. The Bartender refilled the veteran's glass, "Frank, do you have to be such a bastard? He was paying good money you know." The old man grabbed the drink and smiled, "Sorry, couldn't help it. That attack of the 50-foot multi-headed dick still hurts on days like this." </span>
<span class="name"><a name="867873">[/url]<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By fabrulana[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">The people of the small Swedish village knew it would come, it has done so every year. This year they wanted try once again and prevent the spawning of more little dicks as their women got pregnant all over the village.
It started with a light tremor and they realized he would soon be there. Ferdinand was the first to behold the sight ... The first knob slowly rose and dipped between the two large hills in the furthest valley followed by another knob and then another by the first one's side. Bouncing on the two balls beneath them the purple crowns swung into each other to and fro. 50-foot tall it made for an amazing sight. When a downhill was available the motion was smoothed out as the dickheads clung to the top off their balls while rolling downwards. It was stunning to behold such a pro-creation; and it would have delighted most of the towns people except for they knew what was soon to follow. Previously they tried to appease it by giving it a hand and stroking it. Once they tried to suck it in a large vacuum but that only excited it more. This time however the mayor, Derriere, have came up with a cunning plan, a scheming plan so devious and diabolical it just blew everybody's mind.
The Multi-headed dick stopped suddenly as it came down the hill and almost fell off it's balls. Before it lay a big man made dam. The dicks on the outside swayed to the side in it's confusion - looking for away around the dam. Whereas the dick in the middle dipped it's head into the water trying to determine the depth, it came out a bit shrivelled. After a while it determined that the only way forward was through the dam. It limped into the water, as the water was very cold all the dicks shrivelled - containing themselves to the warmth of the balls beneath them.
The town held their breath - would it make it through ? A few minutes later, to their dismay the three knobs prodded their heads out of the water, clinging to their balls. The dicks looked pale and was shrunk to only 20 feet high. It then started bouncing on the left ball as water spurted first from the left dick and then it did the same for the right. It bounced on both and the middle one also pissed out some more water. Slowly the dickheads started rising to their former glory, 25 feet, 30 feet, 40 feet, 50 feet, no even higher than that ... 60 feet and finally slowed down at 70 feet. They stood up so stiff and straight that they even bended backwards, the balls beneath them started turning dark blue. Mayor Derriere gloated at the spectacle and nudged Roderick next to him in the ribs with his elbow. They have spent a whole year making all the Viagra they put into the water. "It's so big! " exclaimed one of the village people named Debbie.
"Now !" screamed the Mayor at the top of his voice. On the tall slopes above the Multi-Headed Dick the cranes quickly lowered the large condoms on to each of the overbloated stiff dicks. The multiheaded dick groaned and moaned as the protective sheeting was rolled tightly across the stiff members.
"Reeeelease the posters !" The mayor screamed once again. Slowly on each of the hills surrounding the Multi-Headed Dick the blown up Playboy posters was unrolled. After the last poster stopped rolling with a papery rustling sound, a calm quiet descended for a moment. Then the rumbling began. It started as a low gutteral sound, that the village knew all too well from previous years. They looked at each other smiling. The rumbling got louder and louder.
With a sudden thundering "Aaaaahhh !" sound the Multi-Headed Dick unloaded itself into the protective layer around it. "Oh my god !" Debbie exclaimed as the spectacle took her breath away. Afterwards the Multi-Headed Dick slowly realized what happened. It felt used, but could do nothing as weariness overcame it. The heads slumped over the emptied balls as it turned around and floundered back to where it came from.
The towns people was gay and started to prepare for the big feast that evening. No more will they have to swallow the crap that spewed forth from the Multi-Headed Dick.</span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><span class="name">By Stephenie Meyer[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">Holllllaaaa girl!
i hav this craaaaazzzii story n ima tell u but u haf 2 keep it a bff pinky promise secret 4 eva! did u c the newz last week? crazy i know! but the truth iz crazier! heres what reaaaallly happend for serious.
u know how my dad iz like a total dork? he works in this science lab, itz liek the biggest thing in this town and EVERYONE works there. so over summer he'z like "u wanna job?" n i'm like "duh" coz he knows i'm saving for europe next year (euro guyz r so hott lol). so i start this job n itz really ezy, i just answer phonez and play freecell lol.
sumtimez i drop off the mail, n therez this 1 guy whoze this total creep n he'z not at hiz desk so i knock on hiz lab door but while i'm knocking he comez up behind me! n he'z all like "get away, you cant go in there!" and totally losez his shit! so i'm like woteva and walk away but i c hiz pin number to unlock the door! sif ne1 can keep me out lol!
1 day after he'd gone home, i snuck in there. therez stairz down 2 the basement n i totally swear this next bit is true. therez cagez down there, but with glass like the penguinz @ the zoo. so scary lol but their all empty cept the last one. n OMFG i get close n itz like "wot iz that?" therez all these big fleshy thingz that look like giant c*ckz!!!! i know, lol! n i mean massive! like some are as big as my leg, but some are fatter than Simones fat azz lol
their all like moving and rubbing against the glass and squeaking! i should of run, but i get right down next to the glass n follow a c*ck with my i's to c what itz connected 2! n guess wot? their like the legs of this totally hott guy! like soooooo hott and totally ripped! my <3 jumped when i saw him looking str8 @ me!
i know this soudnz sooo crazy, but we started talking and he'z like sooo sweet and so sad. hiz dad (creepy lab guy!) turned him into a freaky c*cktopus to c wot would happen n keepz him locked up.
but i'd sneak down evry day and talk to him! <3
but then i got sick and couldn't come to work n i couldn't txt him coz he haz no phone.
then i'm in bed at home and i hear sirenz and choperz flying around n had such a bad feeling! so i got in my car n followed the noize n therez edward tearing the town apart and smashing cars with hiz flailing c*ckz n the copz r shooting him!
so i ran to him n made the copz stop shooting but it wuz 2 l8. he looked up at me and was like "i thought u didnt want 2 c me nemore" n i was like "no edward i <3 u" but he didnt reply cuz hiz body had turned to diamonds
</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<span class="name"><a name="870235">[/url]<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By Mikayel[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">Grim Memoirs of the attack of the 50 foot...
[It's been fifty years since the Great Fall, and society is struggling to stand back up. Already pocket groups of people have banded together to try to resurrect former cities into viable living space. Old power plants are being rebuilt, some cars are already functioning, and farming has taken a surprisingly strong jump, in part due to the earth having absorbed a lot of nourishing protein during the Great Fall.]
[You were born 20 years ago, and much like many of the survivors, are not very well versed in the history of it all. Not many in your settlement are old enough to remember the horrors of those days, but you have always been very eager to learn what you can about the past. About the Great Fall, and what caused it.]
[During a routine scavenge hunt for usable technology and tools, you and your group of seekers come across a particularly devastated area. The ground is very well nourished in relation to how destroyed the nearby buildings and trees are. You go into the last standing building, where inside your senses are attacked by a strong odor that's not very present, but still powerful.]
[You and your group reach for your UV lights and look around, and to your astonishment, you find a skeleton in the corner having decayed and crumbled mostly. One of its arms is still pointing at the wall, as if it was poking it. When you focus on the wall in question, the UV light begins to show much more than you thought... You begin to read the writings of what you assume is the corpse before you.]
</span>
<table style="padding-left: 30px; width: 90%;" border="0" cellspacing="1" cellpadding="3" align="center">
<tbody>
<tr>
<td><span class="genmed">Glow-in-the-dark-writings on the wall wrote:</span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="quote">I'm just waiting for it to all come crashing down in one big showery spray of fucking failure, wasted time and effort, and that ever echoing cacophony, HAHA! It was a fucking joke! Some stupid shit you'd joke about while hanging out with your equally cuntbaggish friends, talking about some kind of interdimensional cock that devours worlds.
Well reality is sometimes way more fucked up and retarded than fiction. One day we just woke up... looked around and saw half the city was coated in some disgusting goo that smelled worse than corpse-rot. Then came the crashing and the falling. I think I was in the bathroom, trying to get rid of the morning wood with a little ease here and there, and I quickly stopped. At first I thought my transgression to do away with the wood had angered some kind of fel-diety of the phallus. As I started to wake up from the adrenaline rush I realized that, despite how much I wished I was still shrooming the damage being brought down by this bi-cranial harbinger of destruction was very real.
I ran, I didn't look for my room mates, I didn't grab anything, I just ran. I ran and I ran but it didn't matter. A chunk of debris took out my right ankle, and so I crawled. I crawled until I came across a flowing river of the goo, I couldn't cross it. Not only was it too sticky but I'd suffocate from its very smell. So I walked into the nearest building and... well...</td>
</tr>
</tbody>
</table>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
[You are amazed that the man was capable of writing so much about this tyrannical Cloverfieldian beast that apparently spat poison, had two heads, and was as mighty as a god unto the flesh.]
[You have 5 neo-shekels.]</span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><span class="name">By Occasionally Fatal[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">"It's a trap bro."
"Fuck if it isn't." I dug around in my pocket for a cigar.
My partner and I stood in the smog-filled silence beneath the local freeway. It was getting oppressive, and I still couldn't find my cigar. The lamp buzzing irritatingly above us switched frantically back and forth between frequencies. If your eyes were fast enough, it felt like it was constantly blinking and as soon as you got halfway used to it the thing would switch again. It was god damn seizure inducing and pretty much topped the whole sorry ass scene off. The girl was just sitting, torso propped up by the burned out ’94 Highway Man. She sat there Zen-like on the sand, lidless, rolled back eyes opening up to the mild acid that passes for rain in a shit hole like this. In front of her gaped two divots in the sand, forming a slightly larger, irregular circle.
I couldn’t find a fucking cigar and it was pissing me off. The girl wasn’t bothered by the light anymore, and my partner was starting to grin vacantly. There isn’t anything he won’t face without at least a smirk. I guess it’s his way of dealing with all the shit we put up with down here. I wonder what my mechanism is. Maybe I’m just fucked, waiting for this shit to relentlessly chip away at me until there’s nothing left. Fishing around in my coat, I felt the cold frame of my hand gun. Inspired, I pulled it out, and in one smooth motion put a round in the chamber, cocked it, and fired upwards, arm straight up. The lamp screeched one last time as the bulb exploded into a thousand razor sharp, white hot fragments, leaving us in guilty darkness. My partner chuckled, and I didn’t have to see him to know he was grinning morbidly.
“Your cigs are in the car, Hector,” he said mockingly.
“Fuck you, tell me that thing wasn’t pissing you off too.” I careless shoved the weapon back into my coat with a show of angst.
“I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t.”
I laughed. “Since when does lying bother you?”
I heard his coat twist and bunch as he shrugged easily. Probably smirking, too, the bastard. I inhaled deeply in an effort to clear my head. That’s when I noticed the smell. I closed my eyes to remove the feeble glow surrounding us and breathed in again.
“What the bloody hell are you doing over there?” my partner demanded.
“You smell that, man?”
“Smell what? It smells like shit, just like everything down here.”
“Well, yeah, but it smells really musky over by the girl… kind of like sex.”
He snorted skeptically, but took a step closer to the girl and inhaled a couple times.
“Alright, it smells like sex. So fucking what? What’s your theory? That she was touching herself? Why would she do that? Women can’t orgasm, everyone knows that,” he wisecracked.
I chuckled, “Please don’t make generalities based only on your own experience.”
“Yeah, cause yours is soooo much better, hotshot.”
Our banter died, as both of us fell deep in thought. Something was going on here right now, just beneath the surface. My eyes were beginning to adjust to our immediate surroundings, and I now found it easier to see what was further around us. An errant broiling of smog brought tears to my eyes, and the distance crystallized into focus. Beyond the girl and crushed vehicle there appeared to be a trail of foamy white substance leading out. The trail was of varying width, but seemed generally straight, ending in a small pool. Looking closer, it seemed like there were several trails running alongside one another. My partner saw it too.
He glanced over at me and thumbed towards the trailing pool, asking “Check it out?” I stuck my tongue out at him in a grimace and walked around the car. He slid around the other side and joined me walking across the sand. That’s when we saw it. The new angle revealed a bunch of spidery lines running across the sand, forming a vaguely oval shape. There were a lot more, too. I stopped and squatted next to one, cocking an eyebrow at my partner. He leaned over and took a sniff. “Yep, these are balls,” he said confidently. I nodded and carefully pulled out my hand gun again as I straightened and resumed walking. He slid a shotgun around his back and pumped a shell into the chamber with a reassuring chk-chack.
It was so obvious now when I looked back towards the burned out Highway Man. The girl had been fucked to death by a cock. The hole and divots must have been the result of its need for leverage during its attack. The car was fucked too, probably. Collateral damage, unless this dick had a car fetish. Wasn't totally uncommon. Pretty intense load it was carrying. It must have been a hell of a cock to produce all those trails in front of us. It would have needed to jizz several times. We would normally expect to see that amount of jizz from an attack with more than one participant. This time there was clearly only the one set of balls though. We walked forward on the balls of our feet, ready for anything, or so we thought . . .
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<span class="name"><a name="876423">[/url]<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By Heraclitus[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">Alister waited in the grass. Yellow. Hot. African heat. He slapped his neck. Tsetse fly. The rifle heavy in his hands. Calloused. Of course. Three weeks out here. Rampant, blood-stained negroes, machetes in hand, screaming, crying for more, more blood. The sweat beaded on his brow. He worked the bolt. The golden gleam of the .375 nestled in the chamber. Ready. Power, at his finger. The sun-dried grass tickling his neck.
Movement. He raised the 'noculars. Lumbering mutated kangarooes. No sustenance. He closed the bolt. Fuck. Another hour in the heat.
A ghetto of cybernegroes breakdanced past. He squinted at them. Amber glow of his scope. Praying they didn't catch its reflection. No. Too many watermelons on the horizon. Good.
Slap, another wet mess on his neck. Fucking flies.
Another slap.
Not him.
He twisted his neck, looked behind the high burnt grass.
Nothing.
He cleared his throat. Rearranged the butt of the rifle against his shoulder. Hard comfort.
There. Again. What the fuck? He pu his hand against the grip of his revolver.
Slap.
He twisted, slowly, grass against his lower back. He wanted to scratch it. No time.
Shadow.
What? Nothing.
He panted. Breath comes hard. Nothing. Shallow lungs.
The grass moves. Cybernegroes?
No.
He pops the cylinder on the Python. Five rounds, .357. Magnum. Supercharged. Able to take down a diversity enricher, no matter how high, at up to twenty meters. Placed the cylinder back.
That fucking noise. Where?
Oh Christ.
Oh Christ! There!
It comes.
In more ways than one, across the yellowing grass.
Ask not for whom the multi-headed dick slaps:
It slaps for thee.</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By <span class="name">Reject_666_6[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody"><span style="font-size: 18px; line-height: normal;">Let’s play:</span>
<span style="font-size: 24px; line-height: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Attack of the 50-foot Multi-Headed Dick RPG[/quote]
“You’re in the library, hopefully safe from the horrors the outside world holds for now. A dick with multiple heads had decided to attack, however you are not yet prepared to deal with this menace. Your last hope lies in finding a way to defeat this monster using any means at your disposal in this library. You will find that the choices you make can have devastating consequences on the world around you and how you can advance in solving the quest.”
Sounds like a piece of shit. Just the kind of thing I’d play for all you degenerate degenerates! This will be a blind playthrough, so no ironman for me, even though I heard the game’s shit easy even on “Dick Enforcer” difficulty. Ok, bitches, let’s roll a character!
Wow, only 6 stats and nothing else but perks. Wtf is this dumbed down console shit for the masses? Since this thing seems to be dialogue-based, I picked a sort of smart, charismatic fellow, with a bit of skill in negotiation. The Smoking perk is supposed to give you a pack of cigarettes as a starting item and extra dialogue lines with some peeps. Ladies’ Man boosts your CHA and NEG when talking to women. Even though Fluent in Latin is probably for fags and should cancel out Ladies’ Man, the game thinks I can have it anyway. It lets you read Latin and helps in deciphering other Romance languages. Lolgay.
Ok, let’s start this banal bore-fest. The italics are what I choose for each situation.
“You finally make it to the library and put a chair up to block the door behind you shut. The place seems still – only a few whispers can be heard coming from the Comedy section. To your left seems to be a bathroom. Down the aisle to your right and all the way across is the check-out desk.
1. <span style="font-style: italic;">Walk to the Comedy section.</span>
2. Walk to the bathroom.
3. Walk to the check-out desk.
Two guys and a woman are sitting down and speaking amongst themselves. Seeing you approach, they get up and one of the guys walks over to greet you.
<span style="font-weight: bold;">-Hello, friend. Have you come seeking the light?</span>
1. What do you mean seeking the light?
2. <span style="font-style: italic;">You’re some kind of weirdo, ain’t you?</span>
3. I got yer light right ‘ere, padre!
4. [Latin/Lie] Christi crux est mea lux, pater.
<span style="font-weight: bold;">-Why, no, I’m Father Jacob. I’m just a priest, taking refuge here in these dark times. I tell you, son, the day of judgement has slowly crept closer and I fear that it may dawn upon us soon. This penis-creature must have been God’s way of culling the herd before Jesus’ second coming.
</span>
1. Since you’re a man of the cloth, do you know of any prophecies that foretell of this thing? Maybe there’s some way of destroying it in the Bible.
2. Look, old man, I ain’t got no time for your sort of religious mumbo-jumbo, aiight? You can shove that Bible of yours up your ass!
3. <span style="font-style: italic;">Whatever you say. Who are your friends over there?</span>
<span style="font-weight: bold;">-That’s Jasmine, the lovely young lady over there, and that’s Paul, the uneasy lad over there. I don’t know what’s wrong with him, but he doesn’t want to talk about it. I think the dicks got to him somehow.”</span>
I’m ditching this Oblivion rip-off guy for now. Let’s see what that WWI-looking guy has to say.
“<span style="font-weight: bold;">-You Paul?
-Yeah, now leave me alone!</span>
1. [Reputation] Do you know who I am? Watch how you address me, you cock-smoker.
2. What’s wrong?
3. Jacob over there told me you were feeling a bit weird.
4. <span style="font-style: italic;">[Smoking] Shit, you look like ass. Need a smoke?</span>
<span style="font-weight: bold;">-That’s exactly what I was looking for! Thanks a lot, guapo! I’m Paul, the pornstar. You?</span>
1. My name isn’t important. I thought you could help me in getting rid of that monster outside. You’re a pornstar, so you must know what’s really bad for dicks.
<span style="font-style: italic;">2. Pornstar? Hmm, how long have you been in the business?</span>
3. You sicken me. Sorry for giving you the smoke. Adios.
4. I’ll tell you later. Bye!
<span style="font-weight: bold;">-I’ve been on and off for about 6 years. I started off when I turned 18; worked my way up from tranny porn to horse sodomy to midget porn and about a year ago I finally got promoted to normal gay porn.</span>
1. <span style="font-style: italic;">Gay porn is normal to you?</span>
2. Fascinating. I’ve always wanted to get into the porn business, but my mum said my penis was too small to be successful.
3. Sorry, I only watch hentai. Bye!
<span style="font-weight: bold;">-Well, in today’s society it’s not really considered as taboo or fetishist as other pornographic genres are. Blame the decline of Western civilisation or what-have-you, but there are a lot of homosexuals in today’s world, and they need porn too. They won’t be getting it from me anymore, though. I’m thinking of quitting the biz cause of the way I’ve been feeling for the last couple of months.</span>
1.<span style="font-style: italic;"> [Intelligence] Hmm. Homogay... pornstar... feeling pretty bad... You most likely have the AIDS, if you haven’t already figured it out by now. However, this discovery could prove useful in defeating that multi-headed-dick out there. I just need some kind of syringe to take some of your blood.</span>
2. This decadence is one of the reasons the whole civilisation will see itself wiped out in the near future. It happened before in the Roman Empire, it’ll happen again to America. Whatever disease you have, probably AIDS, it’ll kill you off before the decline reaches its critical mass, so in a way you’re very lucky.
3. God hates fags!
4. So have you got any info to help me defeat the dick outside? If not, I’ll be on my way.
<span style="font-weight: bold;">-Good luck finding one in this place, though.”</span>
Ok, so this seems to be the way to go in this. I just need a goddamn syringe, or something. There’s a broken bottle down here. I’ll use this to bleed this guy to get what I want.
<span style="font-weight: bold;">“Shit man, I said a syringe, not a goddamn nigger knife!”</span>
Now how do I collect the blood?
...
Ok, I’ve tried everything, and the answer was to use my pack of cigs on the dripping blood. The guy used the plastic film covering the cardboard as a makeshift bag. The devs were high when they made this.
<span style="font-weight: bold;">“Fuck, hombre, the bleeding won’t stop! Do something!!”</span>
The dumbfuck has haemophilia. I’ll use my lit cigarette to cauterise his shit.
<span style="font-weight: bold;">“You won 500XP for stopping the bleeding. LEVEL UP! CHOOSE A NEW PERK!”</span>
Because of my high INT and CHA, I chose Rat Diplomacy.
Ok, now let’s deal with that multi-headed dick!
“You step back outside the door you came from, and see the monster a bloc away, hitting some buildings. You get an uneasy feeling, as if your next move will be decisive in whether you succeed or fail. The creature seems distracted, so sneaking up close to it seems like an option at this point.
1. Get close and hit it with your fists.
2. <span style="font-style: italic;">Cut its scrotum with the knife and splash the wound with Paul’s infected blood.</span>
3. [Rat Diplomacy] Talk to the creature.
4. Run out of town, away from the beast.
5. Re-enter the library.
Sneaking up close, you slash the dick’s skin and empty the contents of the cigar plastic inside its ball-sack. The creature surely got infected now, however it feels the sting of you slashing it and turns around in anger. Before you get a chance to run away, its throbbing appendages corner you and swallow you in their foreskin. You slowly get digested for a few days.
However, suffering from the AIDS you infected it with, the dick collapses dead in a week. The world is saved and everything soon goes back to the initial, decadent normality of western civilisation. The world remembers you as the hero you dies as, and lucky for you you’re dead, so ITZ won’t get a chance to kill you when it happens.”
This ending sucks. The gray area of dying a hero instead of a slave in the Apocalypse it cool and everything, but it’s been done before a million times, especially in the Age of Decadence trilogy. Grimoire implemented it well, too. Let’s see if I can reload and get something better.
“You step back outside the door you came from, and see the monster a bloc away, hitting some buildings. You get an uneasy feeling, as if your next move will be decisive in whether you succeed or fail. The creature seems distracted, so sneaking up close to it seems like an option at this point.
1. Get close and hit it with your fists.
2. Cut its scrotum with the knife and splash the wound with Paul’s infected blood.
3. <span style="font-style: italic;">[Rat Diplomacy] Talk to the creature.</span>
4. Run out of town, away from the beast.
5. Re-enter the library.
<span style="font-weight: bold;">-Why do you choose to destroy the city, friend 50-foot dick?
-I do not choose to do this, for I am a savage abomination who has no other purpose in life but to give in to my most primal desires.
-So you do this out of a sense of anger for being what you are?
-In a way, yes, it is what drives me to this devastation.
-What if I could persuade you to cease this madness?
-I’m listening...
-Well it occurs to me that your mindset conforms to that of a fatalist, in that what you are and what you are destined to do are immovably tied together, so you believe therefore that whatever your thoughts on the subject are, you still have no say in what your actions inadvertently will be. You must destroy everything, for nature has programmed you in such a way that choice is a non-issue. Is that correct?
-That is the gist of it, yes.
-Then you have a flawed understanding of what your lack of free will implies. You may think that since you are a destroyer, then anything other than destruction is not an option for yourself, however your cognitive prowess implies that stopping and overcoming your animal instincts is not only possible, it’s what you’re doing right now by talking to me.
-Indeed, I have never had the pleasure of experiencing intelligent discourse with another such as yourself, however what you say raises the question of my role in this world. If I am not predetermined to cause wanton destruction until the day I die, then what other occupation can I dedicate my life to? I’m a 50-foot tall, multi-headed penis as you can plainly see.
-Yes, your nature is at odds with any roles society requires. Nothing of your doing can contribute to achieving order: you bring chaos to the universe by acting out your primal instincts, or you do nothing at all, in which case your mere existence has no meaning. Both paths ultimately lead to yourself living a static life of finality.
-So I must die now.
-Correct.</span>
*The monster kills itself through orgasmic climax*
COGRATULATION, YOU HAVE WON THE GAME!”
C&C my ass! Shit, banal boring.</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><span class="postbody">By Carceri[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">"Damn Codex!"
That was all I managed to spit. How pathetic. I was wrong, there is something at the other end of the wire after all and the one million dollars secret is: it's not human. I feel like laughing, a nervous laugh burst, but the muscles of my face can only display a twitching mask of horror. I can't see myself, of course, but I feel it. It hurts. It's stupid. Warm bodily fluids are streaming down my legs. I just stand there, rigid. The room is getting darker and darker. It is Friday. 23:17 AM
Wednesday
Bitter taste in my mouth. The coffee tastes like shit this morning. No. The brown filthy liquid that passes as coffee and which I have been drinking for the past who-knows-how-many years tastes like shit this morning. The process of waking up is painful. My body rejects it. I have to keep drinking coffee, I also have to buy some more. Mornings taste like shit. Oh well, the grind starts...
A couple of hours later the blank paper stares at me with a...guess what? Blank arrogance.
I always wanted to become a writer. A-L-W-A-Y-S. The idea just grew naturally inside me in the exactly same manner and the same time my body developed from the moment of my birth following the common path of nature. It is flowing inside my veins, it's in my blood. Yet these last damned years have been so awfully unproductive for my career. I can't write the greatest work of my life without experiencing the actual stream of emotions, feelings, sensations and the multitude of small details my characters would possess. I have to live that somehow. I have to live the lives of the characters. The hours spent on that net just doesn't cut it. I browsed hundreds and hundreds of forums, chat channels and other peculiar social websites. I found nothing. I need the real deal, the real experience. It seems I cannot rely on my psychological skills and intuition. That's a fact.
Thursday
I drifted for hours today, on the streets of the city. It's useless. What a complete waste of my time. I can barely acknowledge the presence of other human beings. There is no real contact, not even accidentally. On a crowded sub no one touches no one. Walking clothes everywhere. On the bus, the same story: people on their seats frozen in uncomfortable positions fearing their knees might touch, everybody is looking in all possible directions but there is no eye contact. Glass people. Wordless people. There are no words either, only an incomprehensible whispers. It's like everybody on the street is pretending. There is no real dialogue and I can't catch even a single identifiable word. I bumped into a suit "accidentally" and I shouted: "I'm sorry!" He didn't even looked at me, he just picked his suitcase up while emitting a whispering noise and continued walking. "I'm sorry you fuckin' pathetic excuse of a creature!" I should have knocked him down. "Say something! Does that hurt, you fucking cocksucker?!"
I almost miss the robotic monotone voice of the cashier telling me the useless chemical junk I bought costs me 34,25 dollars. The funny part is that I haven't even looked at her face so it just as well might not have been her voice at all. I probably got infected with the same thing and I'm becoming one of them. I have to get out. I have to go home. I have to talk to a friend.
The witty usernames that pass everyday as my friends provide the mental comfort I need with their whiny stories and unchiseled jokes. I smile. I can hear the noise of the city reverberating inside my room. It's dark but in the light of the computer's display I catch the sight of a cum stained t-shirt I left near the bed. I push it disgusted under the bed with my toes, like a murderer getting rid of a corpse. Perhaps, the city is truly empty and all that noise coming through the windows is made by the buildings. Somehow the city itself is imitating the noise made by its past inhabitants. Perhaps at the other end of the usernames I see on the screen there is nothing. Tons of wires. Empty wires that lead to no one. For whom do I want to write my book? Ok, I am loosing it, I admit. Does that makes me a sane person? Enough! I have to live. I need to have sex once and for all in order to finish that diabolical book.
Friday
I am nervous. She should be here any minute now.
I found a hooker in no time on the net. A couple of years ago I frequented an online dating forum named Codex, but with no real success. The community seemed so harsh, I eventually left. The word is that it was initially supposed to be about gaming or some non-sense like this. Anyway, a friend told me that the website is all about elite escort services now and as long as you're the owner of a fat credit card you won't have trouble getting yourself a top notch dame. The idea of living meat at the other end of the wire is making me horny already. I've seen her pictures, she's stunning. I'm afraid she's going to walk into my room and the cashier's robotic monotone voice from the market across the street will be heard from the prostitute's mouth.
Two hours later the smell of sweat and cigarette smoke fills the air. She didn't speak at all, just smiled. Hallelujah! I really like the sounds of her moans while I touch her carelessly. For all I know she's faking it but, fuck if I care, I feel good. Warm meat on my filthy sheets. Empty city. I try not to look her in the eyes. I wonder if she has a sister.
Moments later she's lying down her back with a foot stuck up in the air while I push two fingers up her...what the...it can't be! I jump out of the bed shaking in terror.
Something pushed back.
In seconds darkness fills the room. I can't see a damned thing but I hear the noise of something gigantic expanding from the place where the prostitute was on my bed, all around me. It's expanding! At the same time a voice erupted like the the tolling of some great bell: "What's the matter honey? I'm gonna kick some ass and leeeeeeeeeeeeeee..." Above me the roof cracks. My moist covered fingers are numb now and dripping on the floor.
"Damn Codex!"
That was all I managed to spit. How pathetic. I was wrong, there is something at the other end of the wire after all and the one million dollars secret is: it's not human. I feel like laughing, a nervous laugh burst, but the muscles of my face can only display a twitching mask of horror. I can't see myself, of course, but I feel it. It hurts. It's stupid. Warm bodily fluids are streaming down my legs. I just stand there, rigid. The room is getting darker and darker. It is Friday. 23:17 AM
I die.</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><span class="gensmall">By Gragt[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">One morning, when Gregor Samsa woke from troubled dreams, he found himself transformed in his bed into a multi-headed dick. This was quite different from the other mornings where he usualy found that his poisonous insect had grown into a vermin of monstrous proportions, and only the release of his <span style="font-style: italic;">ante meridiem</span> venom could coax it to shrink back to a more inconspicuous size. As he laid there on his back, still drowsy, he had some time to wonder about his new state. The overnight disapearance of his arms was quite a deranging change but the sensation of having more than one head, each a soaring and proud glans ready to reach for new heights, gave him a kind of comfort he never felt. After he noticed that his legs were now turned into two hairy wobbly testicles — the thought of how he could still see while being deprived of eyes or any similar sensory organs did not yet reach the surface of his brain — he tried to get out of his bed and stand up. This proved to be surprisingly much easier than he anticipated. He instinctively knew how to balance himself, and in less than ten seconds he was out of his bed, pondering what to do next.
And ponder for long he did not, because soon the door opened and a black man with a nylon stocking on his head entered, ready to assassinate Gregor and then plunder his appartment, according to the customary ways of their race. But this time it would be no easy prey. "Muthafucka, what sheet is dis?" said the Nubian when he laid eyes on the glory of the white man <span style="font-style: italic;">cum</span> multi-headed dick. With some sort of familiarity he never thought he had in himself, Gregor took advantage of the surprise to jump on the frozen nigger and attack him, critting his ass and leg and killing him in the process. As he fell to the ground, the words "Oh gawd, it's heavan" could almost be heard carried out of his mouth by his last breath, but Gregor reasoned that it was probably wishful thinking on his part. The short but passionate encounter had aroused him enough that he now felt the fire of life burn inside the marble balls that were now his feet, and the smoke of virility was now rising along the chimney of his manhood, and he released it all over the black man from each of his penile extremities in a glorious symphony of masculine vigour.
Something stirred inside of Gregor Samsa. Maybe it was the exhilaration of having killed a nigger in such a dishonourable way, or maybe it was the shameful remorse of agreeing to be part of such a horrible display of plagiarism. But the sensation that he felt inside wouldn't go away, and before he knew it, he grew in size so much that he broke the roof of his modest appartment. When he finally reached the height 50-foot, the sudden growth stopped, and the world of the ant-like humans was now offering itself to his ravenous sexual rage. Already they noticed him and a few could be seen running away while the rest wondered how they could ever defeat such an ignominious creature. Years of debates about the defense of the homosexuals rights and the evilness of the death penalty had made them weak and unprepared to such an attack. They were soft but Gregor was hard, and if he still had a mouth he would have been grinning while he fully embraced his new nature. Not even children were safe from his wickedness.</span>
<span class="postbody"> </span>
<span class="postbody">Would you like to win a game of your choice from anything in the Good Old Games catalogue? Then enter the Codex Good Old Games Short Story Competition. Here are teh rulez: </span>
- Your story <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">must</span> will preferably be 500 words or less and must be on one of the following topics:
- Speculative fiction set in a future society based around the teachings of Volourn.
- Why/How Age of Decadence should be made into an MMORPG. Entrants are encouraged to include hypothetical gameplay examples and prototype screenshots.
- Developing Grimoire: A Day in the Life.
- DarkUnderlord.
- Attack of the 50-foot Multi-Headed Dick.
- We have #10 games to give away so the "best" two stories from each of the topics above will win a prize.
- Contestants are allowed to enter a story for all topics as well as make multiple entries within a topic.
- You can only be the winner of one free game. So even if you have the "best" story in multiple topics, you'll only be winning one free game. Share the love and all, yo?
- Winners will be able to choose the game they want from anything in GOG's catalogue.
- You don't have to be a member of the Codex to enter, as we are accepting entries from anyone. RPGCodex staff members are the only people excluded from entering.
- Be sure to include the topic you're story is about in your entry.
- Judges decisions are final and no correspondence shall be entered into, though bribes may be accepted. Preferably by buying Codex T-shirts and / or Mugs
- Via e-mail to: darkunderlord at WHAT IS THE NAME OF THIS WEBSITE AGAIN LULZ dot net (replace the ALLCAPS part with rpgcodex).
- Through the RPGCodex contact form.
- By replying with your short story in the comments of this news topic.
- Private Messaging DarkUnderlord.
Below are the entrants we have received for each category.
<h1>The winners of our GOG competition
</h1>
- Speculative fiction set in a future society based around the teachings of Volourn.
- Darth Roxor. For a r00falicious Volournian poem.
- Quilty. While the judges weren't entirely certain of it's relevance to the topic, the visual imagery was hard to pass up.
- Why/How Age of Decadence should be made into an MMORPG. Entrants are encouraged to include hypothetical gameplay examples and prototype screenshots.
- Silellak. How could we pass up the MMOARPG or screenshots accurately typifying the average MMO experience?
- Annie Carlson. Someone else's breadcrumb trail came close but Annie's revolutionary click combat "where whichever opponent is able to click their mouse button the most times is declared the winner" won the day.
- Developing Grimoire: A Day in the Life.
- Elite. A clear judges favourite for conveying Cleve's endless suffering as an intellectually talented developer.
- Seymour. This was difficult as the judges were going for Darth Roxor but his Volournian poem took the prize, leaving Seymour to collect on his entry here.
- DarkUnderlord
- POOPERSCOOPER. Truly, a visual masterpiece.
- Shannow. Ultimately for mentioning Fez, just pipping spacemoose to the prize
- Attack of the 50-foot Multi-Headed Dick.
- Data4. A clear winner in this category for his lovecraftian epic. Though the judges insist he complete his masterwork before collecting his prize...
- Occasionally Fatal. A struggle in this category with many winners considered but OF coming through in the end, possibly because of cigars.
<h1>1. Speculative fiction set in a future society based around the teachings of Volourn.
</h1>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By <span class="name">Lonely Vazdru[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">"...and this, good citizens, concludes our daily analysis of the teachings of Volourn. Honoured be his blade. Tomorrow, we’ll study the fine art of never backing one’s claims.”
- Sir, I mean, your Biowareness, can I speak to you for a moment ?
- Sure my son what is it ?
- It’s our last child, Vince, we’re having a hard time with this one.
- Ah, young Vince, how old is he now ?
- Just turned 15 your Biowareness.
- Boys are sometimes restless when so young, what seems to be the problem ?
- Actually, quite the opposite of restlessness, your Certitude, we caught him hacking into the main distraction program.
- Hacking “Alwayssummer Days” ? He must be a moron. Why would he ever do that ?
- Well, to make it turn based.
- Then he is a moron. Period.
- Curse of Troika ! I was afraid you might say that. Is there nothing we can do ?
- That depends. How good is he at r00fling ?
- Not that good, your Condescendancy. His moves are OK, but his timing is way off. He sometimes r00fles at the dinner table. Which is very improper, I know.
- We will not make a diplomat out of this one, that’s for sure. Does he at least spam correctly ?
- No, your Self-righteousness, he is sort of locked in an iron tower. Refusing to communicate in a constructive fashion. He sometimes drops a one liner here and there, but not even close to what a true Volournian would consider fitting.
- Then he is truly lost. Get rid of him.
- You mean, kill our own son ?
- Of course not.
- Then what do you mean ?
- Do your research already. Do I have to explain it everytime ?
- No, your Certitude, you don’t. It’s just that since he can’t be a r00fler or a spammer, and since there are no other employments, we thought maybe the clergy...
- No. Just no.
- So ? To retardo ?
- Yes. And spare me the whinning.
- Well, thanks, I guess, your Biowareness.
- Don’t you forget something citizen ?
- SOZ is shit !
- SOZ is shit, to you too.
- So honey ? How did it go ?
- Not too well, I’m afraid. The kid’s bound to retardo.
- Good riddance I say. Do you know what ? Just ten minutes ago, I was in the midst of an intense Alwayssummer Days’ fight. I had been staring at my character fighting all by himself on the screen for what ? Not even three minutes... when the little brat flat out r00fled at me. We’ll be better off without him.
- Sure Hon’. Whatever you say.
Upstairs, in his room, little Vince is busy scheming. He’ll make good his escape from the unmoderated lands of retardo. And he’ll be back. With a game. A game so slow, he’ll even implement recoil animations, and misses, and different options to choose from. Ha ha ! That’ll show them.
r00fles.</span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><span class="name">By Darth Roxor[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Volournia - the r00floic epic</span>
Uncounted years have passed since the day
Our master Volourn, brave, mighty and gay
Fled the place which knows no glee
That was the Codex of Are-pee-gee.
The high priests claim that the honourblade
Had received a drastic vision and 'farewell' bade
For the phantasm claimed that beyond the heights
Of the mountains of internet and torrents of bytes
Laid a wonderland for him to create
And us, his worshippers, to anticipate.
After showing these riches and beauty forlorn
The shade muttered 'it's time for r00fles, Volourn!'
And r00fles he did.
Following the prophecy's call and instructions
He hadn't thought twice about his actions
After crossing the deadly mountains of gray
He soon found the land in which we live today.
The first settlement and capital was built in a matter of hours
As everyone recognized in him the messiah's powers.
His influence spread quickly across the whole plain
And adopting the title of Pretty Princess, he began his reign.
Upon an oaken throne, bound by the prophecy's bond
In the city of Bioware, capital of Canada the Second.
The year is Anno Volourni 1800 and prosperity is still here.
His grand Advisor, Gaider, holds us all very dear
And told The Princess that seeking an alliance might be splendid
For us, the people, would profit from such a deed.
His eyes turned to the people of Electrarts, a megalopolis
Which has a grim reputation of acting with malice.
Volourn might not see the dark and gritty future ahead
For His wisdom with age has deteriorated.
The master taught us to respect the will of Bioware...
But why does E and A fill me with care?
The slaves that are forced to mine Obsidian are sozzy at best
But what if in our vanity we'll become like them and the rest?
A puppet... nothing more than a doll
That starts dancing when it takes its toll...
A vision is upon me, my senses dull
I see ruin, forgotten is the spawn of Bhaal
False maturity is hailed as 'the new excrement'
And a horrible bard's music empowers the bereavement
No r00fles is sung, men turn to trolls
The darkness dwells in Volourn's halls</span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By <span class="name">Stereotypical Villain[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">May - 2233
Bishop Bioharia sat in his room, preparing for his daily sermon to the people of Volournia... He looked down at the sacred book of Bioware, which had been passed down to him when the bishop befored him had his last reload and decided to quit this game and move on to the next title. He fingered the texts and remembered a passage from the book which described the origin of this utopia...
"And so it was that the fiend known only as Beth had claimed the innovative titles of this world when Volourn picked up arms to fight. He amassed an army using his god-like charisma and 22 skill points of diplomacy and lead them to the very home of the great evil... The epic, dark, and mature conflict which followed set the world ablaze for an undetermined amount of time but our saviour had accounted for this by casting an epic level spell, transporting his army to the boundries of our reality and back, thus avoiding the purge sparked by Bethsidian hands... Sadly the great evil had survived, taking shelter in huge underground vaults, and the saviour had expended all his spells for that day and needed to rest until he had the strength to face the evil once again... This is where we built our city, and this is what we guard. May our saviour roll a natural 20 and awaken soon, lest we are once again threatened by the evil which sleeps under the ground..."
The bishop now knew what the people needed to hear... They needed a promise of six different starting points, origins if you will, and a return to "old school" roleplay, only different... Yes, the great Volourn and the great Bioware had blessed him this day...
October - 2233
Loyal citizen Biogiri sat down in his stuffed chair, eager to see what the neural interface community had to say about "the new grit", as the sermon produced by the bishop had been called. Shock awaited him, for there was somebody on the network who had the audacity to call this brilliant sermon "banal" and "shit"... As he prepared to type in a reply to this insult to all he held dear he was shocked, once again, to see somebody reply to this message with the word... "R00fles"... This sacred word had been forbidden since the dawn of time, and he, as well as everybody else knew that this could only mean that the saviour was nearing that perfect 20... Soon they would pick up arms and wipe out the evil once and for all... </span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By Sillelak</span>
<span class="postbody">
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By <span class="name"><a name="866392">[/url]Jaesun[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">“This is SHIT!” exclaimed SkywayMetalcraze.
“Patience, young one.”
The old man comforted the young and brash SkywayMetalcraze. All too often, these new recruits were quick to judge and lost site of the enormous task at hand.
“The Age of Decadence MMOG is indeed shit, as you might say, but lets us not forget, we follow the Biowarian ways.”
“r00fless.” muttered SkywayMetalcraze, under his breath.
After the incredible and destructive RPG wars that ensued in 2012, SkywayMetalcraze found himself alone, and without focus for his hatred of RPG’s. Bioware, Iron Tower Studios and Cleve, lead a terrible war, and marketing campaigns that left the entire state of the RPG gaming community into splinter cells of hatred. EMP suicide bombers would approach each companies fortresses, in an attempt to destroy the companies within their selective targets.
“Master Geralt… fuck I hate your name. And I just fucking HATED that game, but anyways, what the fuck are we going to do NOW!” as he slammed his fists onto the desk in front of him.
“We have them all, EXACTLY where we need them to be my young friend.” Said Master Geralt, with just a twinkle in his eye.
SkywayMetalcraze gave Master Geralt a sudden but puzzled look at him. “Saint has been eating nothing but Taco Bell and has been repeatedly shitting down the exhaust vent of Cleve’s vault and we cannot break his defenses! EMP’s are useless! And Vince still has not produced the combat demo of Age of Decadence and he now is stating they will release an Age of Decadence MMOG! This is madness! Even when Annie has an entire p0rn site dedicated to her tits, with proceeds going to Iron Tower Studios, the fucking retards of the community still support Vince! Fuck! How can Bioware possibly survive with all this fail?”
“Mature gaming” remarked Master Geralt. “And pics of ScottishMartialArts….”
SkywayMetalcraze’s jaw dropped. Master Geralt grinned and gave SkywayMetalcraze a wink. “I… see my master. Bioware is wise, more wise than I could have anticipated…. I am speechless.” “It is ok my friend, we who follow the way of Volourn always have a special are you fucking dumb card up our sleeve.”
“So the Desire Demon in Dragon Age 3 is…” “Yes, my young friend… yes” Master Geralt eyes beamed to SkywayMetalcraze.
“r00fles” said SkywayMetalcraze.</span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By <span class="name"><a name="866758">[/url]Mikayel[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">I present a short story about a young group of master actors attempting to enact the greatest epic ever written to the acceptance of Her Majesty the Grand Dragoness, Volourn.
-------
The manager came into the room in a hurry while mumbling obscenities to himself. More changes to the script, no doubt.
"Yes Mr. Guyder, what are we changing this time? Has the dragon prince become a princess of the neighboring kingdom to whom a Lich was promised her hand? Or perhaps our plucky hero of chosen god blood isn't modest and humble enough and we shall strip him of his tattered rags for a rag? What could we possibly change this time, a-hmm?"
Mr. Guyder the manager stood rather unstill in his shaking bout.
"I'm so sorry my dear young artists to force this upon you! You know I would not if I didn't have to! All these changes, they require so much... <span style="font-style: italic;">effort!</span> Tis her Grand Dragonessship the lady Volourn! She demands more, much much more! She says this current play is so sozzy that she, in her holy righteousness, “could not sozz out of it if she was made of sozz itself!” And to be quite frank, my dear young masters, I've no idea what in the blasted hells a sozz is!”
I must admit, I did feel for the man. He had slaved much in helping to create the greatest epic of our time but her Ladyship, the Grand Duchess of Rooflia, was most displeased with our stories in any shape we had presented it. We had gone from a simple tale of a philosopher teaching his young student the meaning of perspective with minor social commentary to an adventurous tale of a philosopher's escape from being condemned to death to a story about a man who rescues a philosopher from a tyrant king to a dragon wielding dragon princess who destroys a world devouring dragon and marries its daughter to become grand dragon of a dra-OH BLAST IT ALL TO HELL THIS IS PURE DRIVEL!
“Mr. Guyder I can take NO more of this! Her Draconic Excellence shall have to deal with the script as is, we are on in 5 minutes and there is no possible way to convey any changes to the crew and stage hands at this point! We simply can't make with another idiotic change!”
Mr Guyder wasn't sure of what to say next...
“Young sir you know that her Majestic Majesty of Ma... the Queen hasn't been most understanding of not having her way, not since her great metamorphosis into her true female form. I do so shudder to think what she'll say...But alas I do so understands, I do! I shall simply make with hiding and allow the show to be as it is...
-At the end of the finale of the play-
Lead Actor: “Well, the audience seems rather unresponsive...”
Supporting Actor: “What did you expect? With all these changes the story had gone from pretty good to some banal boring piece of shitty shit.”
Lead Actor: “Well I thought it was alright...”
Supporting Actor: "Plebe."</span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By <span class="name"><a name="869945">[/url]RottingNaziSurfer[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">A Farewell to Volourn
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">21:17 November 4, 2109-
Oh God. I can't find out what is happening outside this exploding building I am holed up in. I keep thinking to myself I am the only Volourn Statue Sculptor Technician left in the Grand New V City. I am the ony one to etch the sixty-nine teachings of Volourn into each of those future artifice free statues that will stand on every corner. But this can't be true. I don't even know what is going on outside this room that I have taken cover in. Explosions are continuous above me, on the upper floors. The Forlorn Machines must be using their plasma grenades.
They came out of nowhere. The Forlorn Machines seemed to materialize out of the steel structures of our Grand V City. They are against the teachings of Volourn. "Anti-V's" we call them.
21:37
Any minute I know these Machines will come through the door. I'm laying in steel rubble. Must have been from a plasma cannon that blew half the neighboring wall away. Maybe the hole in the wall will be better cover. No. Better not move. I grip the cold steel of my particle beam shotgun just a bit tighter.
21:40
I can hear the Forlorn Machines at the door, grinding and whirling to get in. It sounds louder in the darkness. I have to be ready. There is nothing to bar the door with. I wish I could somehow attach my flashlight to my shotgun. And then, suddenly I remember Volourn's 1st teaching:
"Never forget the duct tape."
<span class="name"><a name="870243">[/url]<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By Quilty[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
I don't know if it's day or night. There are no windows here in the basement. I've lost count of how many days it has been. A month? I can hear him moving upstairs, humming to himself. His voice frightens me. His eyes are kind, and when he comes down to feed me, I look into them and almost pity him. But when he speaks I can't stop myself from shivering. He feeds me cornflakes in cold milk. I try to swallow it down but sometimes I shake so bad some of it falls on my chin. Those are horrible moments. He puts down the bowl and spoon and takes my face in his large, hairy hands. He cleans my chin, his face so close to mine I can smell alcohol on his breath. He tells me of all the things he loves, but I never listen. I think of my family.
***
Yesterday he said he would let me go if I did something for him. I accepted at once. I don't care what it is. He can do whatever he wants to me. He seemed satisfied and left early. He always leaves the light on, and for that much I'm thankful. Even if the mattress is filthy and I haven't bathed in days. Light is all I have now. I tried to write as soon as he left, but I was so happy I couldn't hold the pen. I had stopped caring if he found these notes, but now I'm almost free I'll have to hide them better. I mustn't anger him now.
***
It's over. He left an hour ago. He was so mad. Oh god. Oh god. He'll never let me go.
He came down in the morning, and I was so happy. Yesterday I didn't care what he wanted me to do. But as soon as I saw him today I wasn't so sure any more. He wore a blonde wig and a long robe. He had make-up on his face. It looked awful. He sat down next to me and told me how unhappy he was. How none of this makes any sense. How life has no meaning any more and nothing brings him joy.
Then he said "Do you think I'm pretty?" It was the same thing he asked me the night when I was coming home from school, a moment after he grabbed me from behind and put a damp cloth on my mouth.
"Yes." I managed. "I do."
I hoped that would be all. But then he stood up and said "I was in a cage for so long, and look what they did to me." He turned his back to me and let his robe fall around his ankles. He was naked underneath. But his back, god his back...
"I'll never fly again" he said. It was still raw and fresh and there was blood everywhere and when he asked me that question again, I screamed. I screamed and tried to run away.
He is mad, so mad right now. I know he is. It's over. He'll never let me go.</span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By <span class="name"><a name="870693">[/url]Talonfire[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Volourn Age: Codex Effect</span>
It was the year 2100, over seventy years before there was an ancient evil that toppled the very foundations of the world. An ancient evil that rose up from the ashes and spread a great plague that wiped out nearly all of humanity; the people would have lost hope if not for the greatest savior the world had ever known... Volourn.
Volourn had rallied nearly every RPG Community in the world and succeeded in stopping the vile plague by locating the legendary "Tears of Gaider", and brought about a new age of prosperity, shallowness, and pretty princesses. The former RPG developer, now mega corporation known as BioWare became a new global government under the leadership of Volourn who decreed that BioWare would be the only corporation allowed to develop RPGs, and the people had to obey as Volourn's word was law. What most of the people of the world did not realize was that Volourn was the ancient evil that brought about the plague, and on that fateful night those who knew the truth would finish the fight.
"This story is shit!" Screamed an angry Skyway as he slammed the wall while the Volourn Express elevator traveled upwards to the lion's den, the BioWare headquarters penthouse.
"Like, shut the hell up Skyway, all you fucking do is whine." Said an annoyed Mary Sue.
"Fuck off, you may be the Champion of the Codex spoken of in the prophecy but I don't fucking trust you! I've been disappointed too many fucking times."
"What-EVER!" Mary Sue responded as she took out a pocket mirror and fixed her hair.
"Mary Sue is right Skyway, you're as bad as Carth Onassi from that old BioWare Star Wars game." Said a calm and gloomy looking DarkUnderlord.
Before Skyway could respond to such an insult the elevator doors opened; the Codex's chosen champions entered the home of their most hated enemy. Much to the horror of the trio, everything in the room was a sinister looking bright pink.
"Gag me with a spoon," said Mary Sue as she stuck a finger in her mouth, "like, what terrible fashion sense!"
"Indeed, Volourn's presence is overwhelming." Said DarkUnderlord in his usual calm tone.
As the trio looked over the office an evil laughter filled the room. "Muahahahahaha!" A fat clown dressed in bright pink laughed as he stepped out of the shadows.
"This villain is cliche shit!" Shouted Skyway as he shook his fist at Volourn.
"So the last of the Codex stands before me adamant on restoring depth and originality in RPGs. Morons." Volourn said in a high pitched, nasally voice.
"Like, we're so going to take you down you fat, ugly transvestite. We've so gathered all of the 'Fragments of the Codex'" Mary Sue said as she started brandishing her magical powers.
"It's about fucking time, this story has too much shitty dialogue. Too bad the combat system is shit too." Said Skyway.
"Ah battle, excellent! Remember you two, all we have to do is spam Power Attack." DarkUnderlord added as he took out a fruity looking futuristic laser rifle.
An epic battle that lasts two minutes ensued. To the party's great surprise Volourn began to shapeshift as hesheit became weaker. The hideous clown became a hideous fifty foot dick wearing a top hat and a monocle.
"Volourn is really a fifty foot dick? This will be a battle worthy of remembrance should be perish." DarkUnderlord said as he looked upon the towering monster.
"Like, Volourn is a fifty foot dick? That explains a lot." Mary Sue replied.
"This plot twist is shit!" Skyway exclaimed.
Another epic two minute battle ensued until the fifty foot dick finally collapsed. Cut to ending ceremony.
"Like, we so totally saved the world!" Mary Sue proudly said.
"Yes, now we must rebuild RPGs from the ground up. It will be a long and difficult challenge, but with Volourn gone and BioWare's collapse we will prevail." DarkUnderlord stated.
"This ending is abrupt shit!" Shouted Skyway as the tale ended. </span>
<span class="postbody">
</span>
<h1>2. Why/How Age of Decadence should be made into an MMORPG. Entrants are encouraged to include hypothetical gameplay examples and prototype screenshots.</h1>
<span class="name"><a name="865910">[/url]<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By Silellak[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody"><span style="font-style: italic;">Eurogamer's Retrospective on <span style="font-weight: bold;">Age of Decadence Online[/quote]. Post date: August 11, 2012.
As most gamers know, tomorrow marks the 2nd anniversary of Age of Decadence Online, as well as the Wii release date. It is perhaps best known as "the game that dethroned World of Wacraft", and though WoW fanboys may claim they still have the advantage in subscription numbers (both games are estimated at somewhere around 10 million subscribers), even they cannot deny the success of this phenomenon. Though tomorrow officially marks the beginning of our AODO Extravaganza, with everything from developer interviews to tips from so-called "professional players", today we want to spend a few minutes reflecting on AODO's humble beginnings as a single player turn-based RPG into the worldwide phenomena we know and love today.
In previous interviews, lead designer Vince has gone into detail regarding this significant change of direction for the game. "It was ironically the RPG Codex that guided us to this point." The RPG Codex, formerly a bastion of old-school gamers known for their abrasive attitudes towards developers, was shut down in 2011 by the Polish government due to several lawsuits revolving around the Codex's coverage of the latest CDP release, <span style="font-style: italic;">The Director's Perfected Cut of The Witcher: Limited Collector's Ultimate Edition</span>.
"At one point in mid-2009, there was a thread where AoD's graphics were being critized by the Codex. It really hit home for us, because we were already starting to question if AoD could sell as a single player game to anyone but a few hundred people. By this time, we had already secretly begun the conversion of AoD into an ARPG, but they showed us it wouldn't be enough to win over the mainstream. We needed something more. And we thought - in what genre can we get away with sub-par graphics? And so, on that day, AODO was born."
"Our biggest concern was working around the hard-coded elements in our engine. This is how our most innovative, and universally praised, system - the AAP, or Awesome Action Points - was born. Rather than determining how much you could do in a single turn, the AAP system would serve the same purpose the XP system in other games did. Essentially, the more Awesome your Action is, the more AAP received and the faster your character develops."
It has been said, by both detractors and fans, that AODO "out Blizzard-ed Blizzard" - not only was the game even more casual friendly than WoW, but it was the first true MMOARPG, becoming the "Diablo Online" that people had long-expected Blizzard to release. This impression led Iron Tower studios to jokingly add a raid boss by the name of "Big D" into the game - which was followed quickly be a lawsuit from Blizzard. In the end, Iron Tower was protected by parody laws.
The future looks bright for ITS. Since release, they've gone from around 5 employees to around 500. Their next planned release is Zombie RPG Online from Double Bear Productions.</span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><span class="postbody">By </span><span class="name">Someone else[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">*NOTE: this interview takes place in an alternative universe where Lionhead Studios bought ITS.
<span style="font-weight: bold;">Interview with Peter Molyneaux and Vince, from Liontower Studios.</span>
<span style="font-weight: bold;">Hi Peter. Hi Vince. Could you talk us about the new merger between Lionhead and ITS?</span>
<span style="font-weight: bold;">Peter</span>: Oh, well. Two months ago I was surfing the Net when I saw a little indie game: Age of Decadence. The first thing I thought was: "This is what I want Fable Online to be". I immediately phoned Vince to tell him my idea. He was really excited about it. And so, we joined together to make a new fabolous game: Fable Online: Age of Decadence.
<span style="font-weight: bold;">Vince</span>: Yeah, master Peter is right.
<span style="font-weight: bold;">You, Peter, are well known for being a creative mind. How did you managed to mix the elements of a classical and conservative RPG like Age of Decadence with the revolutionary and fresh elements of Fable 2?</span>
<span style="font-weight: bold;">Peter:</span> It wasn't too hard. First of all, we completely changed the dialog system. Age of Decadence was too hard for new players, and, as you know, I think that games must be for everyone. So, we replaced the old dialogs of AoD with the Fabolous Fable Emotive System.
<span style="font-weight: bold;">Vince:</span> OOOH, I love you Petey.
<span style="font-weight: bold;">What about the other Fable innovations, like the dog and the breadcrumb trail?</span>
<span style="font-weight: bold;">Peter:</span> Oh, they fit veeeery well our new game. Every new player will have his own dog. As usual, it will become dark and gritty if you are evil or sweet and pink if you're a good person. There's the breadcrumb trail too. We think that player is stupid, so, a breadcrumb trail will help him during his quests.
<span style="font-weight: bold;">Vince:</span> HEYAAAAA!!! STUPID PLAYER! HIHIHIHI
<span style="font-weight: bold;">Let's talk about MMORPG elements in the game.</span>
<span style="font-weight: bold;">Peter:</span> Yeah. The game features over 100 game modes: Player vs player, dog vs dog, player vs dog, dog vs player, fart vs fart, burp vs burp and more.
<span style="font-weight: bold;">Vince:</span> Woohoooo... this game rocks!!!
<span style="font-weight: bold;">It does indeed. Thank you for your patience.[/quote]
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By Annie Carlson</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Excerpts from the <span style="font-style: italic;">Game Informer </span>5th anniversary feature on <span style="font-style: italic;">AoD Online</span>:</span>
“As I approached the marble steps leading up to the massive edifice that was DoubleBear Productions, I couldn’t help but feel deeply awed, admiration stirring in my gut and making this feeble reporter’s knees tremble. To approach the very temple where <span style="font-style: italic;">Age of Decadence Online</span> was made – such a rare honor that I hardly need to explain to you readers!”
“. . . Meeting Annie Carlson in person is so different than the pictures convey. The golden crown, the purple tunic of royalty, the genetically engineered mini-doublebear obediently padding along at her heels – it’s not hard to see how well she’s taken on the persona of the epic conqueror she emulates. Portraits of her gaze down imperiously from the walls, reminding the viewer of her own takeover and absorption of Iron Tower Studio and all its properties a little over six years ago.”
". . . She chuckled when I asked her why it took such a short time to take <span style="font-style: italic;">Age of Decadence</span> from a small indie game to a massive online phenomenon, grinding foes like <span style="font-style: italic;">World of Warcraft</span> into the dirt within a bare year of its release. ‘Why lie?’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘The game had the flexibility to run on almost any system, that was one plus. But combat being turn-based? And so strategic! Well, that had to go. So I made it a system people wanted – one they always longed for but were afraid to request directly.’ She refers, of course, to the revolutionary ‘click combat,’ where whichever opponent is able to click their mouse button the most times is declared the winner . . . she waved off any suggestions that funding coming from mouse manufacturers (and Apple itself, for the iPhone version of <span style="font-style: italic;">AoDO</span>) is a result of this fast-paced, frantic system leading to users breaking their hardware, and as a good reporter I knew not to bring it up ever again.”
“. . .But what of Vince D. Weller, the former owner of Iron Tower Studio, said to have taken to carrying around a sign saying THE END OF GAMING IS NEAR and marching around the DoubleBear premises? What of his disappearance nearly four years ago? ‘I wish I knew,’ Carlson said with grave sincerity, sighing and letting her sweater kittens bounce just a little bit. ‘B.Mitsoda was the last one to talk to him, and he said he was getting out of the business – that’s all.’
“I looked up to B.Mitsoda himself for answers, but he stared down at me with no expression, his vast blue tallness and empty eyes without sympathy. ‘You should go now,’ he said, and I found myself outside the gates of DoubleBear Productions again, bewildered and amazed.” </span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
By JarlFrank (who can't enter 'cause he's Codex staff but he wrote this anyway)
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="name"><a name="883941">[/url]</span><span class="postbody"><span style="font-size: 18px; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Age Of Decadence Online</span>, or: how an indie game turned into a cash cow</span>
<span style="font-style: italic;">This is a review filled with developer quotes by the very popular gaming magaine Gamefaps, followed by an interview about the original, offline version of Age of Decadence which will, even though Iron Tower focused on creating an immersive MMO, be released as a special edition.</span>
Age of Decadence. Does this name ring a bell? Yes, it's the wonderful little game that turned from turd to blockbuster. At first, it was supposed to be some turnbased harcore RPG with shitty graphics, based on some great RPG hits of the 90's or something, like Fallout. But yeah, everyone knows Fallout was made by Bethesda in 2008 so it was just a load of bullshit. But it got better. They updated the graphics engine and decided to go online, and from the remains of a shitty retro-crap game grew a massive multiplayer online hit that could throw WoW off the genre throne.
But while the focus of the game turned from singleplayer to multiplayer, the developer team still tried to keep some of the core mechanics, wanting to please both the fans of the original concept and the fans of the new, more modern concept.
"The combat system of Age of Decadence Online is one of our greatest achievements.", says Vince D. Weller, lead designer of AoD Online. "While we wanted to keep the turn-based nature of the game, we couldn't do a direct turn-based mode in an online game. This is why we decided to merge turn-based with real-time to create a very innovative and intuitive combat system that will please fans of turn-based tactical combat as well as people who like more action."
And indeed, their combat system is fresh, unique and simply amazing. Just like in turn-based RPGs your character has a couple of action points, and "there are still turns going on in the background", says Mr Weller. "You see, the system isn't completely real time: there are turns, but everyone is taking his or her turn at the same time, without having to wait for the enemy to finish theirs."
The system Mr Weller describes there basically works like real time - you click the left mouse button, and your character attacks. You click the right mouse button, and he blocks. It's quite similar to games like Dark Messiah of Might and Magic, with the only difference that every action you take will consume action points. Once you've run out of action points, a new turn will start and you will regain all your action points. This is what makes this system so unique - it plays like real time, but everyone is actually taking turns, with all turns taking place at the same time. You can spend a whole hour in one single turn of combat, if you don't click the attack button very often. But while you stay in your first turn of combat, the enemy might already be spending his 6th turn frantically hacking his sword at you. It's this seamless integration of turn-based mechanics into real time action which makes this game so mindblowingly awesome.
<span style="font-style: italic;">As this screenshot shows, some of the game's features have been problematic, but they were all fixed to the satisfaction of the players</span>
The game still had some problems in its beta-phase, though. Many beta testers complained about one very innovative, but arguably also very annoying, feature: fake magic items. Items which are sold to the player by NPCs for a lot of money - which aren't really magical. Some NPCs in the game will try to sell you fake items, but if your character believes that the item is magical, it will appear as a normal magical item, except that it will do nothing if you equip it. This led to people buying expensive magical rings which promised increased stats, but when they equipped the rings, nothing changed. Some people believed it to be a bug, so Iron Tower Studio found a very clever way to make the feature less annoying: "Because some people complained about it, we devised a very interesting workaround based on the motto 'faith can move mountains'. As long as your character believes that the item is magical, you will still recieve the stat bonus, even if the item is fake. This way we can keep our very innovative feature without making it tedious for the player.", says Vince.
With all these really innovative never-seen-before features, Age of Decadence Online is promising to become a massive blockbuster, maybe even able to outsell World of Warcraft. "The development of the game was very difficult since we always tried to keep the hardcore RPG crowd in mind, whom we originally planned to make the game for. When we decided to make an MMORPG, many people were disappointed, but as you can see we never forgot about them. We implemented all the hardcore features they wanted and slightly modified them in order to make them more accessible, without losing any of their hardcoreness.", says Mr Weller about the game. And indeed, while the game feels very modern and innovative, people who like turn-based combat and complex game mechanics will feel right at home because of the great combat mode.
While AoD Online is a title we're really looking forward to, there's also another game by Iron Tower Studios that is soon going to be released. It's the original singleplayer Age of Decadence, which plays exactly as AoD Online except that it's single player and has a story. Now we're going to have a little interview with Vince D. Weller about the game and how the vision of it changed during its development.
Gamefaps: Mr Weller, the single player version of AoD Online is going to be released soon. As I have read, it is going to be like the original hardcore RPG version, complete with fully turnbased combat and extensive dialogue, but there have been some changes to it. Could you explain the changes made to the game since the original idea?
Vince: Of course. You see, while the game had almost everything hardcore RPG fans could desire, it was not enough for us. We wanted it to have literally everything. This is why we decided to add some more features to the game and release it as Age of Decadence: EXTREME Edition.
While it had a lot of choices before, we thought something was lacking. There weren't enough opportunities for collar-grabbing and being a total badass, so we added more EXTREME dialogue options. Now you can grab every NPC by the collar, or, in case the NPC isn't wearing a shirt (as is the case with many of the naked women in the game), directly by the throat. One great example is when you're having a conversation with Claudius and have to decide if you want to fight for or against him:
EXTREME OPTION 1: Fuck you, motherfucker, I'm going to fucking kill you!
EXTREME OPTION 2: Fuck them, motherfucker, I'm going to help you kill your fucking enemies, fuck yeah!
As you can see, this example perfectly illustrates the improvements we made in the EXTREME Edition. The game is a lot darker, grittier and more mature now.
Gamefaps: You also radically changed the equipment system to make the game a lot more dark, gritty and mature. Could you explain the changes?
Vince: Well, generally, we improved the armor of the female characters to be more realistic. We replaced full plate mail with chainmail bikinis, boots with armored toe rings, chest armor with steel nipple guards, greaves with studded leather g-strings and helmets with armored tiaras. This gives the female characters a whole new outfit, which is a lot more realistic and mature than it was before.
Gamefaps: How did you get the idea to create an RPG set in a post-apocalyptic Roman-inspired world, anways?
Vince: Well, to us, roleplaying is running around in Legionary Armor, killing things.
Gamefaps: Some people accused you of dumbing down the game, making it more accessible to the masses and abandoning your hardcore fans for the money. Is there any truth to that?
Vince: No, we did not dumb the game down at all. And we didn't do anything for the money. We decided to make an MMORPG because we believe that this is the genre of the future, where the profits... I mean, the best gameplay lies. We decided to release a single player version for our hardcore fans because we like them, not because we want to make more money from the additional sales. We also decided to add DLC not because of the money, but because we want to give the best upgrades to our fans for little money.
We also listened to our fans whenever they had any complaints. We had a lot of people saying that our game needs more bloom, and we included more bloom. Everything for the fans!
Gamefaps: Speaking of DLC, how will it work?
Vince: Well, generally the DLCs will be adding new content to Age of Decadence EXTREME Edition. We did not have enough time to finish the game because we focused on developing the MMO, so you will have to download the ending by DLC. In the original, you will be able to progress up to the last dungeon, where you will stand in front of a locked door. Downloading the DLC will allow you to open it, fight the final boss and see the ending.
Furthermore, we will release many useful tweaks like "Stop making the game crash every 5 fucking minutes", "Improve the horribly broken combat balance" and "Make those buggy quests actually completable" for as low a pice as 10$.
If you buy the Collector's Edition of the game, which is about 30 dollars more expensive than the regular version, you will recieve a special coupon that gives you a discount of 1% to every DLC you download, making those useful DLCs even cheaper than they already are!
Gamefaps: Now, one last question: why did you decide to make the game into a more modern, streamlined RPG instead of the oldschool title you originally had in mind?
Vince: Well, as we saw how popular games like Oblivion, Mass Effect and Fallout 3 are, and especially how much copies they sell, we decided that there is a lot more fame and profit to be had in creating such a game. Of course, we didn't do any of it for the money, but for the fans, who will truly be grateful that we decided to make a modern RPG with up-to-date gameplay mechanics.
Gamefaps: What did you tell to the people who were disappointed that you changed your original vision?
Vince: Well, basically, this isn't your grandpa's RPG anymore. This is the future, and it is good. At first I was against progress, too, and wanted to make games in the style of the 90's, but then I saw how much more profi... fun there is to be had with modern games, so I changed my mind and really hope that I could also change the minds of all the other people who think that RPGs aren't as good as they used to be anymore.
Gamefaps: Well, thanks for the interview, Mr Weller! We'll all be looking forward to your awesome gritty dark mature extreme collargrabbing action multiplayer online RPG!
Iron Tower Studio; Putting the RAPE back into RPG.</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
</span>
<h1>3. Developing Grimoire: A Day in the Life.</h1>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By Elite</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">Developing Grimoire: A Day in the Life - By Cleveland Mark Blakemore (IQ 297)
As Cleveland Mark Blakemore neared the 17th straight hour of coding his fingers hastened into a blazing frenzy. Scarcely a minute later they stopped. He had not tired, he had not relented – he had finished. This was Grimoire. His life’s work, his dream. It was perfect, sublime. Not so much evolutionary as revolutionary. It wouldn’t set a new benchmark for RPGs, it would change the way society perceived games. It would usher in a new era of enlightenment - the digital renaissance, the elevation of mankind out of the gutter.
Blakemore was not an emotional man by any means, but the beauty of his own magnum opus brought a smile to his face. Those with keen eyes and a surplus of attention might’ve noticed a single tear roll down his face, but the chances of anybody infiltrating Blakemore’s super-bunker were very close to nil. Perhaps it is true that no man is an island, but if so then Blakemore must’ve been an exceptionally narrow peninsula. People were a distraction, one that his glorified basement provided shelter from.
Blakemore had seen the face of power. Power is passion and apathy intertwined. It is unwavering devotion to a cause, at the expense of all other things. Blakemore had no life and his profit on that was greatness. His loathing of social interaction enabled him to be the best. He could burn brighter than the sun, he could soar higher than an eagle. His general indifference granted him exceptional focus on the scant few things that he cared about. Like nipple piercings, Grimoire and the world record for Cheetos consumption.
Blakemore lived for this moment of triumph. Proving his worth, demonstrating his brilliance. All those who had doubted him would be silenced, all those who mocked him would be ridiculed and at long last he would get the praise he so rightfully deserved. But did the world deserve him? The world had thrown fire and scorn at him, but he had survived. He had endured and drawn strength from enduring. The hardships he faced yesterday were responsible for his glory today. In truth he should thank his enemies, as they forged him into the Übermensch he was. But there was bitterness in Blakemore’s heart. He wanted to strike back at the world for its cruelty and his masterpiece afforded him that opportunity.
Why should he care what fools thought? An artist who burns his work to spite his audience is no less an artist. What if people didn’t understand what made it so special? The world didn’t share Blakemore’s IQ of 297 (verified by three separate online tests), they did not see the truth as he did. A thousand niggling doubts leant weight to Blakemore’s maliciousness and he let out a heavy sigh. He hit Ctrl+A followed by Del. The whole process would start again tomorrow. The cycle would continue, always and forever.</span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By Seymour</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">In the dark recesses of his australian bunker, Cleveland Mark Blakemore grew impatient. Hordes of savage cybernegroes and gay chinese jews howled their hatred of the white race as they broke like the waves against his Thinkboy defense system, the searing heat of its near-endless napalm supply creating a dense fog amidst the ice that almost covered the growing mountain of untermenschen corpses. Cleve paid them little heed, however, for his inestimable IQ had already predicted their attack and its inevitable failure in 374.298 different scenarios; in a few moments, all that would be left was food for the cheetahs. No, what was in his mind was far less pedestrian than the post-apocalyptic world banging in his unwielding reinforced doors: Grimoire.
Fifteen years had passed since he first announced his magnum opus to a now deceased world. All his predictions had inexorably come true one after the other: the collapse of Amerikwa due to the influx of lower races enforced by socialist multikult media, the coming of the ice age, the nuclear missiles flying like a swarm of locusts while the horde of manboons drooled over Oprah in the televitz, never knowing what they didn’t know that they didn’t know until it hit them.
Now here he was, and still the only thing he could not foresee were the random surges of unparalleled creativity and brilliance in his Asperger’s gifted mind. Trying in vain to distract himself from the memory of his one failure and boredom, Cleve checked the computer system’s status and the number of food rations left in the silos and its estimate duration at this rate of consumption, but the numbers would pop up in his head before they could ever appear onscreen. He tried estimating the market price of baby meat, the current Dow Jones index and the probable date for the establishment of a utopian society comprised of his Aryan offspring with titanium bones, all of which consumed the better part of a minute.
Suddenly, his mind wandered. “What was it that I used to do to pass the time and escape Grimoire before the meltdown of civilization?” A semblance of a smile formed in his lips as he searched the shambles of what was once known as “the internets” cached in a small partition of his HD. A strange advertisement for internet poker hailed him to RPGCodex, where the last headline read “THIS IS LIKE THAT THING CLEVE WAS TALKING ABOUT”. Its forums, as usual, were filled with cynicism and disbelief. While some hailed ITZ as a refreshing return to the old-school days when life was hardcore and ironman, most pronounced it boring, banal, overhyped shit or, worse still, Fallout 3. Cleve lost track of the time laughing at those long gone angry cunts and their stubbornness in being wrong about everything, and next he knew it was late in the evening already.
“Oh well”, he thought, “I’ll finish Grimoire tomorrow”.</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<span class="postbody"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">By John</span>
</span>
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 30px;">Day 15: Work on Grimoire is coming along nicely. In other news, Mr. Osenstein's been trimming his hedges all morning. I think he's just using that as an excuse to eavesdrop on me.
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 30px;">Day 36: Still going smooth with Grimoire. At this rate it will be released by the end of the year. I caught that money-grubbing Osenstein gazing at my souped up Prius. He'd better not lay a dirty finger on it.
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 30px;">Day 188: Grimoire is on hold. The Osenstein menace was a bigger threat than I'd anticipated. Work on my underground bunker will commence shortly.
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 30px;">Day 478: The bunker is complete! Yes! Free from the Jews! Grimoire should be finished in a month. Things are going great!
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 30px;">Day 1843: GODDAMN FILTHY FUCKING JEWFUCKS Also, Grimoire will be entering beta in a week.
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 30px;">Day 4960: So I'm totally finished with Grimoire. I have, like, some dialog to finish, a bug or two to squash. Look for it next week.
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 30px;">Day 10539: THE JEWACOLYPSE IS COMING, BITCHES!!!
</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
</span>
By [subject name here]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">Grimoire: Future
Cleveland reclined back into his office chair. Hands behind his head, he closed his eyes and let out a sigh of relief. Grimoire, his life’s work, what he will be remembered by when he passes, is finally complete. He leaned forward, put his shaking hands back onto the sweat-coated desk. He opened up his internet browser, eager to tell his brethren at the codex that his work had finally been finished.
Cleveland’s fingers majestically flowed across the keyboard, creating a beautiful, masterfully crafted forum post that would inform the masses of his success. He attached his favorite screenshots of the game to the post to prove that this was for real, and not some kind of sick joke.
Cleveland pressed his left mouse button triumphantly, sending the post to the series of tubes that is the internet. He could only imagine the joy in everyone’s hearts that this news would cause. He could see the reviews now, all of them overwhelmingly positive.
Even the codex's review.
As he impatiently mashed the F5 key, he felt some doubt that his game wouldn't be as well-received that he hoped it would. What if they hated it? What if no one cared anymore?
All of his questions were answered when the first wave of comments appeared. “Graphics suck,” said FlameThrower, formerly known as MetalCraze. Then came slenkar, saying, “Demo or it didn’t happen.” Others called him a liar. Most expressed their anger at the grotesquely long development cycle of the game.
Cleveland felt crushed. All of these years working on the game, for nothing. Nothing but complaining and moaning. Maybe Grimoire wasn't ready for this world, he thought. Or maybe, the world wasn't ready for Grimoire.
Whatever the reason for their dismay, Cleveland felt that he needed to delay the game some more. It just needs another month or two in development, that’s all! He quickly typed in his announcement that Grimoire would not be coming out yet after all. “Polish issues,” he said. To which Volourn said, “r00fles!”
Everyone else just cursed.
But this did not deter Cleveland, not at all. He knew that if he just took a little more time making the game better looking, it would be better received. Grimoire would see the light of day, and when it did, it would no doubt be dubbed the greatest game ever made by the folks of RPG Codex.</span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By Spacemoose</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">Once upon a time there was a young boy named Cleve. Cleve was 49 years old and lived in GD, Codexia. While walking home from school one day, a fat Kingcomrade jumped out from behind a a gaping anus and tackled Cleve to the ground. But just when he was about to let out a scream for help, Cleve realized that the fat Kingcomrade was only licking his face, not trying to bite it off. At that moment, Cleve decided to keep the fat Kingcomrade as a pet. And on the way home he decided to name his pet fat Kingcomrade ''Butthurt Detected.''
When Cleve and his new pet finally got home, guess who was standing on the front porch? That's right, it was Cleve's mother, Jews. And boy was she surprised to see a fat Kingcomrade following Cleve into the yard! ''What in world is that?'' shouted Jews. ''It's a fat Kingcomrade,'' answered Cleve. ''Dah, I can see that, Cleve, but what on earth is it doing here?'' said Jews. ''It's my new pet!'' answered Cleve. ''Oh you think so do you?'' remarked Jews. ''I wouldn't get your hopes up. You know how your father hates fat Kingcomrades. But, well, I suppose you can keep him until your father comes home.'' And with that Cleve grabbed Butthurt Detected by the scruff of the neck and led his new pet into the house--even though he knew his father was probably going to dissaprove.
Once in the house, Cleve and Butthurt Detected played and played, that is until Cleve's favorite television show, ''No Jews, Just Right,'' started. At that point Cleve forgot all about Butthurt Detected having an unsupervised run of the house. That is until half way through ''No Jews, Just Right,'' when Cleve was brought back to reality when he heard his father shout, ''heil hitler!! Cleve! Get your supple ass in the raperoom...NOW!!'' With that Cleve rushed into the raperoom to see what all the fuss was about. When he entered the raperoom, there stood his father, Elder George, pointing toward the grimoire. ''Will someone please explain that?'' asked his father. Then, as Cleve followed his father's finger to where it was pointing, he instantly knew what his father was so upset about. There, smack dab in the middle of the grimoire, was the biggest pile of Kingcomrade doo-doo he had ever seen!
''I don't EVEN want to know how that got there,'' said Elder George. ''But you had better get it cleaned up now! And you had better get rid of whatever it is that could have done such a thing!'' Well, knowing his father as well as he did, Cleve knew there was no sense even asking his father if he could keep Butthurt Detected for a pet. So without hesitation, Cleve set out to find where Butthurt Detected was hiding. After a few minutes of looking, Cleve discovered Butthurt Detected crouched beneath the table that Cleve did his cocksucking on. ''Come on, Butthurt Detected, it's time to find you a new home. And hey, don't look at me that way, I'm not the one who did the dirty deed on the grimoire!'' scolded Cleve. ''Thanks to you I'll never get to have my own pet Kingcomrade!!
And with that Cleve led Butthurt Detected out of the house and down to the local gaybar in the bunker. They had a pet section and Cleve knew the owner would find Butthurt Detected a good home. So after saying good-bye to Butthurt Detected, and thanking the owner of gaybar in the bunker, Cleve walked backed home and attempted to dround his sorrows by slamming down a half dozen mannschafts. But Cleve's pitty party came to an abrupt end when his father reminded him about the mess he had neglected to clean up. And low and behold, midway through the clean-up, Cleve suddenly became thankful that someone else was going to have to do it from now on. The End.</span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By Zuluf</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">The Day Before Grimoire
(a fictitious narrative through the eyes of genius Cleve Blakemore, circa 2015.)
The large victorian clock rang twenty to midnight. I hulked through the vast apartments, opening double doors and riding down staircases in the 28-room mansion, clapping to turn digital chandeliers on and off with childish routine. There was something relaxing in being obnoxiously rich. It all started when I sold the publishing rights to Grimoire to Zenimax, wholesaling t-shirts, posters and McDonald’s Action Figures to kids all over the globe.
I remember this one Zenimax suit telling me once: “You know, at this rate you don’t even have to finish the game.” I smirked, he couldn’t understand. None of them could.
The aching enormity that was my head shook with disapproval. How can they possibly understand? These intellectual dwarfs, these blockheaded mongrels spilling the maelstrom of our gene pool with common filth, how can they ever understand the Grand Scheme of the Grimoire?
They could not, naturally. As I watched the four swimming pools outside the mansion shimmer with the sharp fall of summer rain, I felt alienated from the rest of the human race. My mother once told me: “You’ll do something grand one day. Something to make me and your father very, very proud.”
So I strived, the whole shebang – locker doors in my face, jocks staring me down, the humility of not connecting with your average homo sapiens, always thinking in the back of my head, always reminding myself that the ubermensch living inside me will once burst like a xenomorph out of someone’s ribcage, gnawing away at the simplicity and naivitee of every “normal” bloke out there.
I had promised my mother, on her dying bed, that I will hold the world in my palm one day and that the magnitude of my actions will make the gods tremble.
A thunder, striking a pillar with all the writings snapped me back to the present. The intercom beeped briefly and the Zenimax CEO demanded that I upload Grimoire.ISO to the designated ftp server. After all, the pre-orders will get their download link at midnight. Or so they thought.
It would be somewhat cliche to cackle like an evil mastermind at this point. Or sneer, or rub my hands in malicious accomplishment. It would be redundant. There are eight billion people who have preordered my latest creation, and they will all scream in agony at the news of having lost 49,99$ each, but this gives me no pleasure, no satisfaction.
I walk to my laboratory, a hall of marble with slithering cables stretched between tens of LCD screens. Only one of them is turned on – flashing a confirmation window for the deletion of my masterpiece. Grimoire. ISO. I press yes and watch the fruit of twenty years’ labor fade away like stardust.
By the time they find out, it will all be too late. I pull the red curtains in my bedroom and see an angel – she says her name is Blair. The lace around her thigh unwinds and she reveals the wonders of the woman. They will never understand why I spent the intellectual effort equivalent of a Supernova and destroyed it in the blink of an eye. I prowl and descend upon her white, pale flesh and let out an evil laughter that shakes the halls as my virginity expires.</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><span class="postbody">By Trash[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="name"><a name="871166">[/url]</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">So close.
The sun slowly rises above the windblasted outback while a small group of skeletal figures in rags quietly assembles beside the broken tarmac of what once used to be a road. They huddle together for some protection against the searing winds and settle down to wait. After what seem like ages a rumbling can be heard in the distance. It slowly comes closer untill a number of apc's with desert camouflage and trucks carrying heavy equipment can be seen.
The vehicles come to stop near the group of people and from the first apc a figure in a hazmat suit exits and approaches them. He eyes them for a moment and before speaking in impeccable english.
The glorious revolutionary people's army of the People's Republic of China greets you and is proud to see the triumph and strenghtening of cooperation between our two countries. You reported an underground facility housing a number of contra-revolutionaire reactionairies?
One of the ragged people slowly nods and points towards a number of small mounds and heaps amidst the rubble of what once seems to have been an house. From between a few remaining black teeth he croaks, 'The bastard's holed up down there. Mind you, he killed a number of us who came and asked for help. He got the place surrounded with barb wire, mines and traps. Sits there being as happy as a tick and lets us rot here topside.' With that he spits on the ground and steps back.
The man in the suit retreats back into his apc. After a short while a swarm of figures in hazmat suits exit the vehicles and start unloading the heavy equipment. Once this is done they get to work. For hours the perimeter is cleared of traps and obstacles untill the machines are able to reach their destination. While the ragged group watches on the digging starts. Soon the dirt stops flying and the machines retreat. One of the apc's approaches the hole and spews out a small group of heavily armed men who descend into it.
A number of explosions ensue, followed by intense gunfire. Thick black smoke billowes from the hole while the sounds of a furious battle below continue. After a few minutes the gunfire ceases and everyhting goes silent untill there are some more muffled explosions. After that, nothing.
The officer from the first apc has climbed out from it and walks up to the group of ragged people. He removes his mask and lights a cigarette while eyeing the hole. A small smile appears on his face when a fat bleeding man is dragged topside by the commando's. Screaming and shouting about finally nearly finishing his masterpiece the man is kicked and punched towards one of the apc's. Next one up is a sobbing woman who desperately tries to get close to the two crying children that get pushed out of the hole. One of the soldiers beats her to the ground with the butt of his rifle and then drags her to another one of the apc's. The ground shakes as a deep concussion behind them spews out a large plume of smoke from the collapsing hole.
The officer is about to walk away when the man that pointed the bunker out turns to him. 'What now?', he asks. The officer seems about to ignore him, then shrugs and turns to him. The man will be interrogated and then brought before a revolutionary court to be judged. The woman shall have the honor of serving our troops needs in our comfort camp. A fitting end to class traitors. The ragged man hesitates for a moment before he speaks up. 'I didn't really mean that. There were promises of food if we cooperated.'
The Chinese officer looks at the group of starving survivors and smiles. He points at the children and walks away.</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><span class="name">By Darth Roxor[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody"><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Milestone</span>
"Updating my holojournal. Again. The day is 23rd December, 2019, exactly ten years after the bombs fell. My clocks say that the hour is 16:37 and 23 seconds, although one shows 16:37 and 24 seconds. I do not know which I should trust anymore.
But where was I... Ahhh, yes, time to sit down and work on my masterpiece, that will revolutionize gaming forever. Today, I'll address the subject of -HOLY SHIT, the surface cameras have picked up movement! Oh my... is that you, Trash?" *series of maniacal laughter* "Look at you manboon! Pathetic creature of no IQ, sweating and panting as you run through the wasteland. How can you challenge a perfect, global apocalypse? But don't worry, think Calvinist - everything that happens is because God hates you! At least you have no control of it.
Hrrhrrhrr, yes... oh, but I need to go back to my work of art. These petty distractions are decreasing my efficiency. Something needs to be done about them... maybe shutting off the cameras? Yes, yes, that would be a start.
Starting the toolkit. Commencing divine creation. Yes, divine. Putting in all the lines of code that shape lives of every digital person, environments of the digital world, structure of the digital planet makes me feel like a forgemaster, like... <span style="font-style: italic;">God</span>... and my computer, the eternal forge, Eden, the place where all beings come to life, where PERFECTION can finally thrive, after being created in my image, because what else could serve as a model for the ultimate excellence, if not me? Cleveland Mark Blakemore: genius, prophet and the immortal with an adamantine endoskeleton. The real world may be destroyed, the 'people' who laughed at me before are now nearly extinct. It is my goal to repopulate the wasteland, but I shall create something TRANSCENDENT! Instead of leaving my bunker to the vast wastes that was once Melbourne, Australia, I shall create a <span style="font-style: italic;">new</span> world. Yes, Grimoire is no more just a game... it's a project. The AI I've been coding will ensure that the gameworld evolves by itself, and my shelter can generate all the needed power to sustain The New World indefinitely! Can you imagine? Finally, a perfect world, free of idiocracy and manboons, and I, the one and only, shall make it come to life! No longer will filthy jews and niggers DEFILE God's creation with their vile presence.
Today has been a fruitful day. I've been working nearly all the time, approximately 21 hours, 42 minutes and 50 seconds, but IT IS DONE! Yes, this sets another MILESTONE in the history of my grand design. The success I've achieved cannot be expressed in mere words, therefore I'm signing off to ponder the essence of my excellence."
The letter 'A' in the font Grimoire would use was finally <span style="font-style: italic;">done</span>.</span>
<span class="postbody">
</span>
<h1>4. DarkUnderlord.</h1>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By Shannow</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">Fez
Fez was my friend. He had always been into space travel and rockets and shuttles. All his life. As a kid he joined a club where they built rockets to scale and then shot them some hundred feet into the air just for the fun of it. After school he went on to become an engineer with an aeronautics company. We stayed in contact. When we met, he always told me about the newest satellite, spaceshuttle or rocket parts they were bulding for the NASA. One day when I picked him up for a class reunion I was a little early. While I waited for him to get dressed, I saw his own plans for a manned rocket hastily stuffed under a pile of newspapers. He had tried to hide them, but it was pretty obvious what he was doing there. I didn’t ask, though. We were friends after all and if he wanted to, he’d find the time and place. </span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
One day on my way to my lousy job in a lousy cubicle I drove down Main Street and saw a newsstand from the corner of my eye. I hit the brakes and nearly caused a major accident. There was a huge picture of Fez in the news. In every newspaper to be precise. I bought them all. And they all wrote the same. Fez had really done it. He built his own rocket called "Darkunderlord" and shot himself into space. The newspapers were calling him ‘local lunatic’, because after ten minutes in space on re-entry his rocket burnt up in the upper layers of the atmosphere an he himself perished. But I knew he'd never have made such a grave mistake. </span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
Some days after the rocket incident I received a letter. It was from Fez. It wasn’t very long or elaborate. He just thanked me for my friendship and said, that all his life he had looked for the right time, place and method to end his existence. I was startled, because I always thought, that I knew him. But I didn’t. Apparently nobody did. Everything he ever did was just a preparation for this moment. He probably even just made friends with me, because my father worked for a company supplying mechanical parts. Fez always knew, my dad would get me a place in the company, though I used to dream about becoming a park ranger in one of the national parks. I sat down and thought about both our lives. Mine was a circle, or rather a downward spiral, while his was a straight line. I must have been sitting there for two hours, when my wife returned from shopping. I looked at her. I really looked at her for the first time in my life. I hugged and kissed her and then I told her, we’d move. The next day I quit my boring job and moved west. </span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
As lousy stories go, I didn’t become a park ranger, after all. Instead I opened a bait shop for tourists. My wife left me some months after that, because she ‘didn’t recognise me anymore’ and I’m glad she did. The day she left, I looked up to the sky and thought of Fez. I opened a nice bottle of beer, sat down on my front porch and drank to all those who chose the manner of their death. Cheers, you lunatics.</span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><span class="genmed">By Nalanod[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody"><span style="font-style: italic;">(Disclaimer: I know nothing about DarkUnderlord except what his profile and the "Staff" link of the site had to say.)
</span>
The Big DarkUnderlord
Eight o'clock in the morning, mid August, the weather reports show a dense, low fog over most of Tennessee and off of the coast of California. I was wearing my Cybernegro Command Unit suit, a bulky powder-blue and yellow monstrosity that hid my disheveled and dirty appearance. The suit was too heavy for a foggy summer morning. Good that I wasn't in Tennessee or California.
It didn't matter that I was unshaven and still drunk from the night before. I was as ready for my appointment as any Web site forum administrator ought to be. It was time to talk about serious business.
The entrance to the Web site was dark. The white text on a background of blues and grays were a throwback to simpler times. Along the left were items of importance: a map, a key, a plan. A way through the darkness. But what lingered on the right, despite its dexterous placement, was entirely sinister.
I had read somewhere that the brain, like the Web site, was divided into two parts. The left was analytical. It was logical and literal, centered on facts and quantifiable information. Everything else belonged to the right.
I entered through the right. I am DarkUnderlord. I will make sure these forums hold up under the weight of so much idiocy. Bethesda threads are heavier than broken hearts.</span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By Wyrmlord</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">When I came to the House of the Howling Abyss, it was already dark. They made me eagerly welcome. And I, in spite of the deed, was glad of shelter from that ominous wood. I saw at once that there had been a deed; although a cloak did it may do to conceal it. The mere uneasiness of the welcome made me suspect that cloak.
The Dark Underlord was moody and silent. I had not come to pry into the secrets of Eternity or to investigate His private life, so had little to say, few questions to ask; but to whatever I did say he remained morosely indifferent. It was clear he suspected me of being in search of secrets of his gods, of being boldly inquisitive about his traffic with Time, or else he was darkly absorbed with brooding upon the deed.
I saw soon enough that there was another than me to welcome; I saw it from the hurried way that they glanced from the door to the deed and back. And it was clear that the welcome was a bolted door. Rust, decay, and fungus had been there; it was not a barrier any longer than would keep out even a wolf. And it seemed to be something worse than a wolf that they feared.
A little later on I gathered from what they said that some imperious ghastly thing was looking for the Underlord, that something that had happened had made its arrival certain. The wind soughed, the great tapers flared, their obvious fear and the silence of the Underlord grew more than ever a part of the atmosphere.
Then a few things screamed far off, then a little nearer, coming towards us, laughing hideously. I had not leisure to observe their fright; I thought of the back-door, for the forest was better than this; the Underlord was calm, his prophecy was made, he seemed to have seen his doom.
No new thing could perturb him.
But by rungs of ladders as old as Man, by slippery edges of the dreaded abyss, with ominous dizziness about my heart, a feeling of horror in the soles of my feet, I clambered from tower to tower till I found the door that I sought; it opened on to one of the upper branches of a huge and somber pine, down which I climbed on to the forest. And I was glad to be back in the forest from which I had fled.
And the Dark Underlord in his menaced house--I know not how he fared--whether he gazes forever, disconsolate, at the deed, remembering only in his smitten mind, at which the little boys now leer, that he once knew well those things at which man stands aghast; or whether in the end he crept away, clambering horribly from abyss to abyss, came at last to higher things, and is wise and eternal still. For who knows of madness whether it be divine or of the pit?</span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By Spacemoose</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
<span class="name"><a name="866337">[/url]<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By Pseudofool[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
ADVENTURES IN SOLIPSISM
Deep within the kingdom of Solipsism, there was a Princess who had no business doing what she was doing just then, but, as per the Epic Guidelines that Ruled the Land, there was no one to stop her. The Princess, though betrothed to Lord Setaside, sought to blemish her chastity, not in some small, forgivable way, but in such a manner that, indeed, brought down the Epic Guidelines that Ruled the Land. Having had most commoners, layabouts, and hoodlums through one way or another, she had grown distraught, as her wedding was looming in the Not-Too-Distant-But-Not-Quite-Here-Yet-Future, and she still had not dissuaded Lord Setaside from their engagement, nor had she brought down Epic Guidelines that Ruled the Land, which, of course, bound them together. </span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
So just then, the Princess had set out, alone, down one of the many roads that led out Solipsism. It wasn’t that the people of Solipsism were insular or xenophobic or afraid; rather they were simply too lazy to bother traveling, or trading, or even keeping records or telling stories about the people who came to visit them. So the Princess just picked any old road, as each would have as much intrigue, mystery, and hopefully, debauchery, as any other.
She was dressed quite appropriately in hiking boots, denim shorts, and a white blouse with the Official Insignia of Solipsism, which was, a rather discrete, blank box. It was now morning—for she had left at night—and the animal life and country side was already beginning to alter ever so slightly from lush pastures and sing-song birds to rocky hillsides and animals who made a good deal of noise but would not show themselves. </span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
The Princess had foolishly neglected to pack a lunch, and so she was forced to roam around the rocky hillside, looking for some vegetation or, perhaps, a picnic basket that someone thoughtfully left behind. It was not long before she came upon one particular hillside, with one particular rock, where there was one particular sleeping creature. This was not an animal, she thought. For the creature, although sleeping, firmly grasped a large carafe with one of its green paws. She studied the creature’s features and eventually decided that it must be a goblin, though, of course, given the lack of storytelling, she had no basis for the claim—it just seemed to sound right, or look right, or something. </span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
Suddenly, the creature woke with a furious hiccup that knocked the Princess directly on her rear. She landed quite awkwardly on a crag of rock, and yelped herself, which in turn, startled the once sleeping creature. </span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
Then, to much dismay, the creature spoke, “Now look what you’ve made me do. Spilled my pious spirits, I have.” </span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
The Princess quite startled by the whole incident, collected herself, stood up, smoothed her shorts, and very appropriately announced, “What ghastly world we live in that goblins are allowed to talk?” </span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
“Pshaw, I am no…” the creature stopped, and held up a one finger, as if asking for a moment, and then preceded to belch. “What was I saying? Oh yes, I am not a goblin. I am an elf. An elf of quite high stature if I might say so myself.” Burp. </span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
“An orc, then, you are. Have it your way. But these orcs must be lowly creatures indeed to have someone, nay, something, like you held in high stature. Hmmpf.”
</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">“I’m an ELF, not an orc, an E-L-F, elf.” </span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
But it was at this moment that a very lewd, yet a very effective thought came into her mind. “Goblin, return with me to my land, and I shall make it worth your while.” </span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
“But why should I do that?” He covered his mouth, and burped into his hand. </span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
The Princess then proceeded to tell the elf of her predicament, though, of course, she was not very eloquent at telling her story, having been at a loss for hearing them. </span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
The elf took a great deal of time after her tale to respond, he walked between the crags of rock, lapped up his spilled spirits, burped thoughtfully, and finally, he spoke, “I’m sorry, madam, but I shan’t go with you. But I know of one who might be able to yet bring down these Epic Guidelines that Ruled the Land.” </span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
Princess was quite disappointed, as she had never been refused before, much less by any such creature as a goblin, “Well my orcish friend, what say you?” </span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
“I know of man, a princely man, at that, who might muddy your, um, sanctity, in the way you seek.” So the elf told the Princess of one of Dark Underlord, who had lived in seclusion not far from where they were now.</span><span class="gensmall">
</span>
<span class="name"><a name="866570">[/url]<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By PlanHex[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">Title:</span>
<span style="font-weight: bold;">A day in the life of developing Grimoire and AoD Online in Volurntopia starring DarkUnderlord as the 50ft Multi-Headed Dick</span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">Basic outline:</span>
VD and Cleve are developing their respective games down in Cleve's bunker <span style="font-style: italic;">{royal game-making place}</span> when Queen Volurn <span style="font-style: italic;">{Volurntopia allows princesses to inherit the throne}</span> stops by and tells them to combine their efforts
They unify their games/code+art into a single mind-blowing game and make DarkUnderlord test it
DU "accidentally" spills a cup of semen <span style="font-style: italic;">{that he made from wanking to The Witcher sex cards while no one was looking}</span> on the keyboard while testing the game, gets zapped, and transforms into a 50ft Multi-Headed-Dick
The giant DU multi-headed dick monster starts smashing up the place and fights aliens and Mothra and stuff
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">Epic conclusion leading in to the inevitable sequel:</span>
Our heroes stand in awe as the giant multi-headed dick strolls down the streets of Volurntopia towards the Statue of Romance Options <span style="font-style: italic;">{giant David Gaider statue}</span>
Multi-headed dick hits David Gaider statue in ass and legs
Volurn: "MULTIHEADED DICK HITTING ASS AND LEGS OH GOD ITS HEAVAN"
Cleve: "This is just like that thing I was talking about. Let's go back to my bunker until this blows over"
Volurn: "We can't! We must avenge DGaider!" [SHOW EAGLE CRYING]
Cleve: "I say hiding in a bunker is better. What say you, VD?"
[CAMERA ZOOMS IN ON VD] VD: "I vote kingcomrade" [VD COCKS HIS SHOTGUN]</span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By <span class="name">Annie Carlson[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
The entrance is exactly where your contact said it would be: carefully concealed, a nondescript building housing an average door that looked like it ran to elevator maintenance, an equipment locker that opened into a dank hallway that led further and deeper than the one lone bulb at the entrance could illuminate. You hesitated for a moment, not sure you wanted to venture on… but curiosity and resolve grip you and you head forward into the passageway.
Ten minutes later you feel the passage open up, smooth concrete vanishing from underneath your left hand, the surprise of it nearly sending you pitching into the darkness. You curse yourself for forgetting a flashlight, then remembering what your contact said about the denizens not liking the brightness. And – ah, there’s a dim light in the distance, a huddled mass being one-by-one ushered through a thick, barred door into the room beyond.
You breathe a sigh of relief as the voice behind the door accepts the password – again you mentally thank your contact – and you, too, are motioned in as the portal creaks open. Behind you, you see a man: older, bearded, bespectacled, round-faced. You think you know him, and when he sees you looking he quickly hides his face. It must have – must’ve been your imagination. You head inside.
The room is dark, full of lurking faces, indistinct in the gloom and the muted light. There is a slight murmur in the air: tense, withholding excitement like a dog at a chain, hungry for blood. At the center, under the lone lightbulb, stands a man with a malevolent gleam in his eye, his mouth twisted into a smirk as his gaze crawls over the assembled. You know this must be the man your contact spoke of – the only Dark Underlord. Your breath catches in your throat as he speaks, killing at once all other conversation in the room.
“Ladies and gentlemen – you all know why you’re here, don’t you?” A hoarse, vicious cry of glee rang shakes the walls, and the man holds up a hand for silence. “Of <span style="font-style: italic;">course</span> you do. Let’s introduce our contenders, then…”
“To my left – the Princess of Pretty, the Sultan of SHIT – you know him as… <span style="font-style: italic;">VOLURN!</span>” Boos and jeers erupt from the assembled as a creature slinks out of the shadows, hissing <span style="font-style: italic;">ssssssssozzy</span> through broken teeth.
“And to my right – the Lord of LPs, the Mullah of Majestic – <span style="font-style: italic;">Andyman Messiah!</span>” Cries and cheers spring out as a proud horse prances into view, a war-horn affixed upon his head.
“Now, I hate to say it,” the Underlord said with mock apology, “but it is <span style="font-style: italic;">impossible</span> to totally avoid combat on the Codex. But… that’s sort of the point, now isn’t it?”
“FIGHT!” he bellows, and the world dissolves into blood and noise.</span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By POOPERSCOOPER</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">I could feel it coming like a thousand pounds of draino but I just needed to go outside and try to change my life. I've been walking closer and closer each day to the nearest town to see what people have been up to. I stood on top of the hill looking down at the people going on about their superficial lives.
The gurgle became a bit louder and I knew something was wrong, I tried releasing a gentle pressure fart but ended up spraying the back of my pants with butt juice. I bit my upper lip with my lower teeth and contemplated what to do next.
I started running as fast as I could to my house. Sweat was pouring down my face and my face was getting more and more red, my 300 pounds of man was killing my knees but I kept running because I could feel the beast wanting to come out like a hundred pound baby out of a 90 pound woman. It was no longer an incident that I could tell the internet about as it became a situation of life and death. I was gasping for air in the hot Australian desert and it kept fogging up my coke bottle glasses.
When reaching my house I noticed that my moms car was there, I had forgotten it was my birthday again. I had more important things to do like taking a shit and I busted down the front door that knocked my mom in her face and she was out cold on the floor. I could anticipate the relief I was about to experience once I reached my destination in time. I run over to my blazing fast computer and quickly log into RPGcodex as Darkunderlord then I turn around and don't even bother taking off my pants. I unleashed a massive fart that ripped my pants off and then ensued a blast of shit all over my computer and keyboard while I couldn't stop laughing at what I was doing. After I was done I took a look at my glorious work and hit enter and my post count increased by one.</span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By DefJam101</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">Daring
Angry cunt
Russell Crowe
Knower of alts
Usurper of the Kodex throne
Nigger-hating
Dispenser of tags
Extreme
Recursive
Leader of FMF
Original gangster
Russell Crowe!!
...Dark</span>
<span class="name"><a name="869626">[/url]<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By JarlFrank[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody"><span style="font-size: 18px; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Wrath of the Underlord, or: the tale of Zerotol[/quote]
I have not much time left. As I'm writing this, I know that he found me. I know that he's after me. He knows my diguise, and he's hell-bent on destroying me. He had successfully banished me from his realm five times. He threw me out because I insulted him, a crime worth capital punishment under his harsh law. I came back. I was disguised, I hoped he would not know who I am - but he found out. He noticed from the patterns of my actions, the way I spoke. He recognized me. And when I did something only slightly wrong, he banished me again. Yet he could not defeat me. I returned. This time, with a more clever diguise. He did not notice me. But I made a mistake. When people talked about my first banishment, I told them that I came back. I thought the Dark Underlord would let me stay this time - in my new disguise, I hadn't done anything wrong. But yet again, he banished me, and I did not know why. And the people of his realm approved of it.
They hated me. I do not know what it was that made them dislike me so much. Was it the way I talked? The way I behaved? Were it my opinions? It did not matter. The people in this realm hated me. And the Dark Underlord warned me that this would be the last time I could get away with a simple banishment. If I returned again, and if anybody managed to see through my disguise, he would annihilate me. He would send me to a dimension of pain and agony, with no hope of return. I came back. And now I feel they're at me. They're hunting me. They are suspicious - I think they already know who I am.
They know that I am Zerotol the Proud, and they want me gone. They think that I bring bad things to them, things they call "decline". But I never did anything bad. Or, at least, nothing that I thought was bad. Maybe they had other standards than I. Maybe they... but it doesn't matter, I can feel the Dark Underlord is at me. The cruel leader of Codexia who banishes and kills people just for fun, who makes them wear ridiculous hats just because he thinks it would be funny. And now, now he will.... FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU
"Guys, I've finally IP-banned zerotol. Everyone who told me not to ban him will gain a Dumbfuck!! tag." ~DarkUnderlord</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<span class="name"><a name="870569">[/url]<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By Silellak[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody"><span style="font-weight: bold;">DarkUnderlord: The Last Stand of the Codex</span>, as referenced in <span style="font-style: italic;">Eurogamer's Retrospective on Age of Decadence Online</span>
<span style="font-style: italic;">Thursday, August 18th, 2011</span>.
The group all knelt side-by-side, crossbows, rifles, and whatever else they could scrounge up pointing towards the west, as they sun came to the end of its daily routine.
"They are coming."
Vault Dweller and Edward glanced at each other, then at DarkUnderlord. VD's eyes were cold and hard - he always knew this day would come. Edward's reflected fear, which wasn't uncommon for a Thursday night, but <span style="font-style: italic;">was</span> uncommon for a Thursday night that wasn't DU's bi-weekly "Sponge Bath and Anal Gland Massage Night".
"I knew you'd all be here with me, at the end."
"You locked us in the building," replied Edward.
"Choices and Consequences, my friend. We made our Choice to critize the Witcher, and now the Consequence is the small Polish army coming for our server farm."
"First off, we are not friends. Friends don't ask of one another the things...the terrible, disgusting things...you ask of me. Second, <span style="font-style: italic;">we</span> did not make the choice. <span style="font-style: italic;">You</span> made the choice. You should have shut the servers down when the Polish government demanded it."
"The Codex bows before no government! We are bigger than that! We are about the freedom to critize any game, any developer, without fear of being silenced, be it through banning, stabbing, or shooting."
"Being banned from an internet forum can't really be mentioned in the same breath as 'stabbing or shooting'. It's not the same. Like, at all. Has anyone ever actually been killed from posting their opinion about an RPG?"
"Have you forgotten the Andyman?"
"That doesn't count. He stopped work on his LP of Final Fantasy VII, knowing the Consequences of that Choice."
"You burned him alive and fucked his wife, all while forcing what little <span style="font-style: italic;">remained</span> of his family to watch."
"It was a really good LP!"
Silence, except for the occasional screaming in the distance, brought to them by gusts of wind. VD toyed with the remote, carefully avoiding the big red button in the center.
DU turned to VD. "Are Volourn and Skyway ready to do their parts?"
"They are ready. Though, I have to ask one final time, did we need to tie the explosives <span style="font-style: italic;">to</span> them?"
"I don't understand the question."
"Couldn't we have just hidden piles of explosives out there and have them serve the same purpose?"
"I don't follow."
"Won't their screaming tip off the approaching army to avoid those areas?"
DU stared at him as a caveman would stare at a lecturer describing the intricacies of quantum mechanics. Or, really, like <span style="font-style: italic;">he</span> would stare at a lecturer describing the intricacies of quantum mechanics.
"...nevermind."
Their eyes met.
"Look, Darkie..."
"Incoming!" The cry from the look-out ended the conversation before it could begin. DU nodded to VD, perhaps because he understood what VD had wanted to say, but mostly because he wanted VD to press the big red button and make the bad people go boom.
The sound of the explosions needed no wind to be carried to them.</span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By <span class="name"><a name="876641">[/url]drunkpriest[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">Darkunderlord pulled harder on the stretched foreskin and frowned. He watched as the polish witcher fan, turned codex, licked his tongue along his penis. This isn’t going to work thought Darkunderlord as he pushed aside the fanboy and cooled himself off in from of the air conditioner. Darkie, as his polish witcher trumpeters called him, strode to his pc and planned a new elaborate plan to pligh on his famous and prestigious website, one of many, RPGcodex. He was writing a code to, well it was a good code, a well designed code, he thought, shit it was extremely funny. It will show how I am still, and before his next breath Mama's Gang was there. The needle in his neck was none other than PooperScooper, but that wasn’t the worst.The worst was when they immediately turned him over for the anal sex. I do say it’s not right for film. The rape and torture that continued for days it’s not right to speak about, but to suffice to say Darkunderlord lived. Oh yes he lived. And Mamas Gang will always forget that one mistake. Forever.</span>
<span class="name"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">
[/quote]
<h1>5. Attack of the 50-foot Multi-Headed Dick.</h1>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By Shannow</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">Titanic struggle between two titans
“Gwaargh,“ he said knowingly. “Gwaargh !” I replied visualising the firmest stare I could imagine on the firmest staring face of a master firm-starer and applying it to my own face. He was obviously in awe of my mastery in facial communication and so both of us waited for the next move. Finally he decided it was his turn and hit me on the head with a stick. I was relieved to have an excuse for dropping the stare, reaching to my pocket and hitting him hard with my multiheaded dick while he was still waiting for what I’d produce from the inside of my jacket. “Gwaargh,“ he cried. “Gwaargh !“ I triumphed. </span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><span class="name">By The Vanished One[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Attack Of The 15.24 m Multi Headed Dick</span>
<span style="font-style: italic;">As written by someone whose first language is not English</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">It came at dusk. You'd think we should have seen it, more than a dozen meters high, trudging through the barren wasteland. But it was fast. A desperate cry from the scouts over the radio, then the sudden alert of the panicking lookouts, and by the time I had rushed out of the command post the monster stood there, its five horrendous, throbbing, hellish appendages erected above an enormous flaccid bag of flesh, trampling over my helpless men, uncaring for the bullets coming from all directions, spraying a white, opaque fluid that dissolved anything it landed on.
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">I can't remember exactly when I realized that the outpost was lost, it took probably less than a minute. Not enough time to pick up a radio. I fled to the nearest vehicle, and drove like mad after leaving my men behind. I just hoped I could alert the City in time.
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">The night was pitch black when I ran out of fuel. I hadn't extra cans. I took a rifle and a flashlight from the trunk and started walking. Soon I heard a noise behind me. It was similar to a hand pump, but more intense, ominous, angry and... sticky. I ran, but the noise came closer and closer. I turned back and emptied the clip in the cold night. The noise only kept approaching. I stumbled back, tripped somewhere, fell into an even darker place, and lost consciousness.
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">I woke up sometime in the morning and found myself in a deep hole. I hurt everywhere and it took two hours before I was able to climb out. I started walking to the City, and arrived to see smoke floating over it. Exhausted, I reached a large breach in the outer barriers. The concrete was molten. The bodies of hundreds lay on the ground, blood stained every surface. To my horror, I saw many torn in half, the lower part of their bodies apparently disintegrated. Survivors were picking up the pieces and recovering the corpses. Nobody cared for me, but at least they weren't fleeing the City: somewhere inside, the beast had been defeated.
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">I followed the trail of death and destruction until I could find one of my superiors. He told me it had been a disaster. They had to use heavy weapons against the monster, in the middle of civilians. In the end, the population was decimated, one fourth of the City destroyed.
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">Nobody was interested in my report. They let me eat some food pills, then sent me to help. I was to look for survivors under the rubble, so I reached the carcass of the monster, already rotting and smelling like hell itself, and joined the search.
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">I found a man under sheets of plywood. The lower half of his body was missing, but he was still breathing somehow. He stared at me with an insane smile. "Oh god", he said as he died, "it's heav..."
<span class="name"><a name="865909">[/url]<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By RK47[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody"><span style="font-weight: bold;">I, The Multi Headed Dick by RK47</span>
A feminine voice chattering on her phone. The anticipation growing. I can feel every cell capable of anticipation in my body bursting with excitement. I can feel my eyes homing wildly towards the source of the noise wanting to reconfirm what I heard.
I crept closer; the increasing volume of her voice is like juice oozing from freshly seared tenderloin, overflowing my senses. Finally, I spotted another color within the black of her skirt as I moved directly below her. White.
I opened my mouth to scream in ecstasy but found no voice escape it. It surprised me, but not as much as to what happened next.
I felt the lust, rage mixed together and finally pouring forth into one, desperate spot in my body. I could feel it growing larger, tighter, the pain overwhelming, threatening to tear me apart.
I heard the sickening sound of muscles tearing apart, and to my horror, I wasn’t the only one who did. The woman looked down at me, and shrieked in horror. She saw me!
Don’t run. I desperately tried to tell her. But run she did. And that was it. The pavement surface cracked as a series of tendril-like muscles burst forth from underground. A great feeling of ecstasy and pain overwhelmed me. And then it stopped. Every tendril, with its slightly wet, leathery surface is under my control and what it sees, is fed to my consciousness. I cannot move, yet my victim’s mobility is meaningless if my reach is limitless. Like fingers, I manipulated my multi-headed dick to pounce on her. I laughed maniacally as multi-headed dick soared like dragons through the moonlit sky.
I grabbed both of her legs with one tendril each. My third and fourth tendrils took hold of her arms. The fifth and the sixth made short work of her clothing, and suckle on her exposed teats. Every touch, every suckle is ecstasy making every tendril HARDER and LONGER. She screamed, and I silenced her with the seventh tendril. That’s it, she is helpless. I could feel that I am losing it. Not yet. The eighth tore away the remnants of her panties and penetrated her anally. I giggled as she shook her head. The ninth was oozing liquid from its tip as I coiled around her leg before plunging into her neatly trimmed bush, penetrating her final orifice.
The tenth coiled round and round her body, and grew larger as the ecstasy grew and grew. I couldn’t hold it any longer.
It floated upwards and pointed at her face, twitching wildly, like it was trying to say something to her. Her eyes grew wide. I know exactly what it wanted to say.
<span style="font-size: 24px; line-height: normal;">Oh god, it’s Heaven!</span>
And say it, it did. It came first, followed with the others simultaneously ejaculating onto every surface of her body. All of them twitching like an age of dragons, each unleashing sweet liquid oblivion and spreading sexual fallout.</span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><span class="name">By Reject_666_6[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">She finally awoke amidst the dilapidated ruins of what she once called her hometown. Confused as to where she was, she rubbed the grit out of her eyes and looked around. The sight of the vibrant metropolis that she grew up in was replaced by a dull, gray and brown panorama. In the distance some buildings still remained erect, so like any curious woman she walked towards them for some answers.
As she reached one of the surviving houses, a small Pakistani fellow was clearing the rubble from the street in front of him. As she approached, she saw that he was unaware of her and seemed focused on mumbling something. Upon hearing her voice, the man seemed startled:
“-…grrrrmmm…discuss…grrrmmm…
-Heeeey, mister!
-A-whaaaaa? What are you doing here? How did you survive?
-I just woke up somewhere around that rubble over there, see? What happened to this place?
-You mean you don’t know?!? What’s your name, girl?
-Annabelle Karloff-Sonya, but people have called me Annie ever since that time I flashed them my melons unprovoked.
-THE Annie??” The man’s gaze dropped for a few moments as thoughts of obsidian zombies riding two bears occurred to him for some reason. He felt the urge to share his thoughts with the world, but the girl interrupted him with her questions.
“-Look, just tell me what happened here before I use my Clint Eastwood moves on you!
-It just appeared yesterday plowing through the city, hitting ass and leg and knocking down at least three buildings every time it thrust by them. Every channel’s broadcast was replaced by news reports of the destruction this creature caused. It said that all of Australia and Europe was decimated by its insidious heads. I don’t know what became of it after it left the city, but soon after it was out of sight I saw some kind of herculean super-human running towards it, yelling, “Itz coming for you, you banal, circumcised, mongoloid, unter-appendage!” At the time, I had no idea which was better and why, but I had a feeling the man knew his shit.
Annie, unimpressed with his boring story, stepped inside his house and turned on the TV to get more insight on the events that took place the other day.
“-...i-headed dick! Some eye-witnesses described it as almost 50-foot tall. Authorities are still stunned at the heroic display of the overman who brought it down single-handedly. The man was quoted as saying "I do at least one dick every day single-handedly; how could this inferior, almost dark-skinned, specimen pose any challenge. It’s like that thing I was talking about..." Sources claim that the monster was a result of a transvestite having his dick-removal surgery in the middle of a nuclear meltdown somewhere in Eastern Europe. One of the workers responsible for the meltdown, upon seeing the mutation take place, reportedly interjected "PULA CU MAI MULTE CAPETE, O DOAMNE E RAI!!!"
Then he died due to the fallout. Bla bla bla bla 500 words.”</span>
<span class="name"><a name="867383">[/url]<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By Data4[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
The village didn't call to mind anything familiar, beyond the typical seaside hamlet seen dotted all along the New England coastline. The requisite quaint marina reaching out into the shallow waters of the small harbor, adorned with it's gigs and dinghys greeted us as our motorboat glided in alongside the weather and seaworn pilings that supported it. A sign, faded and cracked, barely read "Arpygee Codessia".
"That's an unusual name," I casually offered to the pilot as he shut down the boat's engine. "It calls to mind Latin, but with a vernacular twist."
The pilot, a gruff-looking man of about 50, wearing a peacoat with a permanent ash stain from the permanent cigarette he seemed to have dangling from his lips, fixed upon me with his steel grey eyes and scoffed, "Don't letchyer learnin' hang out like that, doc. The locals ain't impressed by no degree."
I was taken aback by the apparent accusation, but I stifled any outward appearance by the casual afterthought. "It was just an observation."
I helped the man secure the mooring line, and grabbing my leather attache, followed him along the uneven surface of the dock to terra firma, some 20 yards ahead. Behind me, I could feel the chill on the back of my neck as the wind came inland, and with it, the damp fog which hitherto clung to the water further off shore. I reached up and tried in vain to turn my collar up, but the moisture in the air had taken its toll, insistently weighing the fabric down.
It was 4:20, according to the clock in the dockhouse, though its accuracy was questionable. My pocketwatch had uncerimoniously refused to work about 2 hours out of Boston, and with the fog and overcast conditions, reckoning the time was nigh impossible. 4:20 seemed as reasonable a time as any. </span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">The pilot, whose name was Peters, conversed quietly with the dockmaster, a stout man of about the same age as Peters, and who spoke with the accent of a born and bred Newfoundlander. Most likely, it was of docking fees and trivial talk of the weather, but I couldn't help but note a sense of familiarity between the two. Peters made a living ferrying passengers and mail from port to port along the New England seaboard, so it was perfectly reasonable that they knew eachother.
The inquisitive mind of a scientist is a hard one to quiet, so rather than turn off my curiosity, I redirected it through the grimy windows of the dockhouse to the few denizens of the village who were out and about. I noticed that there was virtually no interaction between them. My experiences with small towns has, up to this point, indicated a strong sense of community, where two people meeting from opposite directions usually resulted in a lazy half hour's worth of superficial conversation. By contrast, it appeared that these individuals were islands unto themselves, paying no heed to those who passed by. This was of anthropological significance, and prompted questions I would be sure to ask Dr. Scobee in our meeting the next morning.
"'Ey, ya. Mainlander!" I turned to see the dockmaster beckoning me over. "Peters 'ere, 'e says yer lookin' ta hear aboot ta local legends an' tings like tat."
"Well," I said, a bit unprepared,"I had heard some pretty fascinating stories coming from this area... but... if you'll pardon me," I hurriedly opened my attache and retrieved a notebook, pen, and bottle of ink. "I'd like to take some notes."
"Oh sure, ya writin' it down, but yer not takin' my name. Tese stories is jus' wat te fishers tell over a brew, but tey stick aroond, and stuff like that."
I nodded and paid close attention to the man's tale, as he meandered about, giving details about locals in a familiar tone, as if I knew "Miss Mary Belle, ya know, over by teh stands and such". As best as I could decipher, the subject of the story was a man by the name of Richard Volourn, who was a dabbler in the occult arts that lived in the vicinity of Arpygee Codessia some 200 years ago. It would seem that he and a few of his fellows worked in league with Esquimaux cultists. I had read the reports of Professor William Webb in my studies at Princeton, and my curiosity was immediately piqued. This tied directly into my reason for being here, and made my anticipation of the appointment with Dr. Scobee the next morning that much greater.
"An' so," finished the dockmaster, "Tis became teh legend'er ol Multiheaded Dick." </span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">The storm was fierce as our little boat tumbled across the violently undulating sea. The sky rippled with evil clouds, low and dark, expelling torrential rain and belching loud and resonant thunder that vibrated me to the bone. Peters' arm was broken, but he braced against the wheel with his good arm like a man fighting for his mortal soul.
"THE SUMP!" he bellowed at me, as I scrambled to secure the boxes of artifacts on deck. "Check the sump! Bail it with your hands if you have to!" I could barely hear him over the din, but I understood. The boat was rapidly taking on water, and if the pumps couldn't do their work, we were as good as dead. I went below to the pump closet and felt my heart sink. Various debris had collected around the intake valve, and there was a high likelihood that small pieces of flotsam had made their way inside the pipe. Without tools of any sort, I was left only to do what the pilot had ordered as a cynical afterthought to his command. A bucket was among the debris, and while better than my own hands, the picture of my heaving bucketfuls of water on deck in this veritable maelstrom was one of comic futility.
My concentration was broken by the sound of Peters screaming in unadulterated terror from on deck, and I scrambled up the ladder--bucket still in hand-- in time to see a tentacle-like arm flail upon the deck from beneath the surface of the water. Only... it wasn't so much the tentacle of an octopus, and it was surely larger than one ever seen by the eyes of men. It was long and slender, but smooth all around, lacking the sucker-like nodes prevalent on the octopus. The end of the appendage was bulbous in nature, and lent the whole thing a phallic appearance. It lashed at Peters, swiping him across the buttocks and legs, as the pilot supplicated to his maker. "Oh God!" he screamed, the pain clear in his voice.
"Peters!" I screamed, cursing my lack of a weapon of any kind. Without any further thought, I threw the bucket at the appendage, hoping to distract it in some way, when another of its type burst through the surface of the water, flailing at my legs. I fell forward as it came down, hitting my back, buttocks and legs, as I, too, called out in desperation, "Oh God... Oh God!" My vision blacked out, or rather, redded out as blood vessels burst in my eyes. All at once, there was silence and stillness. Before me, a glass-like path leading to a bright light. "Oh God," I whispered, "It's... heaven?"
I awoke with a start to a silent bedroom, save the the ever so slight ticking coming from the wall clock. It read 6:15. AM, no doubt. I was soaked in sweat, and the bedcloths were crumpled in a heap on the floor. My breathing, still heavy, started to ease, and I could feel and hear the pounding of my heart begin to subside. "A dream", I whispered aloud. It seems the Legend of Multiheaded Dick had invaded my sleep. I chuckled uneasily, recalling the wild-eyed look on the dockmaster's face as he told the tale the day before. I'd read the notes several times over before going to sleep last night. No doubt, it provided fuel to the fires of the sandman. I would be meeting Dr. Scobee in just under two hours, and hopefully gain some answers to my many questions. </span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody"> (to be continued)</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><span class="postbody">By </span><span class="name"><a name="867565">[/url]Tuonela[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">The dark sky of Cirus-9 was exploding with colour. Red, blue and green shapes ripped the smoky clouds apart. It was the memorial day of the Cirian annexation. On one side alley a neon sign was flickering franticly in the rain, as if trying compete with the blaze above. It signified the alley's only place of note, a run-down bar. Most of the clientele were hunched over their drinks lost in times past. The only entertainment for the evening consisted of a scratchy sounding old soundcube and a boy, who was quaffing shots and shouting idiotic phrases like "To the glory of the Empire!". Sitting next to him at the counter was an old man. He had been eyeing his drink for a while now, but finally decided to drink it all at once. He coughed a bit as the liquid burned his throat and motioned the bartender for another. "There's nothing glorious about this day.", he said and glared at the boy. The boy blinked for a while and looked around, his eyes finally focusing on the man next to him, "What do you know old ma...". "Shut up and listen boy, you might learn something for once in your life.", the old man bellowed and grabbed his new drink. The boy looked a bit stunned and sat silent. The old man took sip, "And don't you fucking dare to interrupt me.", then started his tale.
I was there that day, at the final battle. Oh, it was bloody glorious alright. I had just been commissioned to a new ship in the Cirian navy. Our ships floated in battle formation near our capital. We had just gotten a new dick on our ship, that being a dual intruding combat kraken. Just like it's mythical namesake, it can track down a ship and crush it apart. I was stationed at the dickdeck being the first dickery sergeant. Soon the Empire's fleet started to arrive through the tunnelgate. The intel told us that they had bigger dicks than us, but we seemed to have the numbers. You don't need a big dick if you can use it properly. Soon the battle drew our forces away from the capital planet. Everything seemed to be going well until we felt a huge wave of energy ripple through our hull. There was a gargantuan shape looming behind us, somehow it had formed a tunnelportal on its own. The ship's 50-foot multi-headed dick gleamed in starlight - then it started to pound our rear, just ripping us to shreds. After that the enemy came over us in waves. It was the day we lost our innocence. I'm lucky to be alive.
The empty glass signalled the ending of the story. The young boy looked frustrated, "So what? We won, you lost. Don't be so butthurt over it." The veteran grabbed a bottle over the counter and grinned, "There's still the big finish left. You might want to turn around. I'm going to smash this bottle and return the favour." Only moments passed before the bar's door was already swinging and one could hear the footsteps down the alley. After a moment of silence the whole bar burst out in laughter. The Bartender refilled the veteran's glass, "Frank, do you have to be such a bastard? He was paying good money you know." The old man grabbed the drink and smiled, "Sorry, couldn't help it. That attack of the 50-foot multi-headed dick still hurts on days like this." </span>
<span class="name"><a name="867873">[/url]<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By fabrulana[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">The people of the small Swedish village knew it would come, it has done so every year. This year they wanted try once again and prevent the spawning of more little dicks as their women got pregnant all over the village.
It started with a light tremor and they realized he would soon be there. Ferdinand was the first to behold the sight ... The first knob slowly rose and dipped between the two large hills in the furthest valley followed by another knob and then another by the first one's side. Bouncing on the two balls beneath them the purple crowns swung into each other to and fro. 50-foot tall it made for an amazing sight. When a downhill was available the motion was smoothed out as the dickheads clung to the top off their balls while rolling downwards. It was stunning to behold such a pro-creation; and it would have delighted most of the towns people except for they knew what was soon to follow. Previously they tried to appease it by giving it a hand and stroking it. Once they tried to suck it in a large vacuum but that only excited it more. This time however the mayor, Derriere, have came up with a cunning plan, a scheming plan so devious and diabolical it just blew everybody's mind.
The Multi-headed dick stopped suddenly as it came down the hill and almost fell off it's balls. Before it lay a big man made dam. The dicks on the outside swayed to the side in it's confusion - looking for away around the dam. Whereas the dick in the middle dipped it's head into the water trying to determine the depth, it came out a bit shrivelled. After a while it determined that the only way forward was through the dam. It limped into the water, as the water was very cold all the dicks shrivelled - containing themselves to the warmth of the balls beneath them.
The town held their breath - would it make it through ? A few minutes later, to their dismay the three knobs prodded their heads out of the water, clinging to their balls. The dicks looked pale and was shrunk to only 20 feet high. It then started bouncing on the left ball as water spurted first from the left dick and then it did the same for the right. It bounced on both and the middle one also pissed out some more water. Slowly the dickheads started rising to their former glory, 25 feet, 30 feet, 40 feet, 50 feet, no even higher than that ... 60 feet and finally slowed down at 70 feet. They stood up so stiff and straight that they even bended backwards, the balls beneath them started turning dark blue. Mayor Derriere gloated at the spectacle and nudged Roderick next to him in the ribs with his elbow. They have spent a whole year making all the Viagra they put into the water. "It's so big! " exclaimed one of the village people named Debbie.
"Now !" screamed the Mayor at the top of his voice. On the tall slopes above the Multi-Headed Dick the cranes quickly lowered the large condoms on to each of the overbloated stiff dicks. The multiheaded dick groaned and moaned as the protective sheeting was rolled tightly across the stiff members.
"Reeeelease the posters !" The mayor screamed once again. Slowly on each of the hills surrounding the Multi-Headed Dick the blown up Playboy posters was unrolled. After the last poster stopped rolling with a papery rustling sound, a calm quiet descended for a moment. Then the rumbling began. It started as a low gutteral sound, that the village knew all too well from previous years. They looked at each other smiling. The rumbling got louder and louder.
With a sudden thundering "Aaaaahhh !" sound the Multi-Headed Dick unloaded itself into the protective layer around it. "Oh my god !" Debbie exclaimed as the spectacle took her breath away. Afterwards the Multi-Headed Dick slowly realized what happened. It felt used, but could do nothing as weariness overcame it. The heads slumped over the emptied balls as it turned around and floundered back to where it came from.
The towns people was gay and started to prepare for the big feast that evening. No more will they have to swallow the crap that spewed forth from the Multi-Headed Dick.</span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><span class="name">By Stephenie Meyer[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">Holllllaaaa girl!
i hav this craaaaazzzii story n ima tell u but u haf 2 keep it a bff pinky promise secret 4 eva! did u c the newz last week? crazy i know! but the truth iz crazier! heres what reaaaallly happend for serious.
u know how my dad iz like a total dork? he works in this science lab, itz liek the biggest thing in this town and EVERYONE works there. so over summer he'z like "u wanna job?" n i'm like "duh" coz he knows i'm saving for europe next year (euro guyz r so hott lol). so i start this job n itz really ezy, i just answer phonez and play freecell lol.
sumtimez i drop off the mail, n therez this 1 guy whoze this total creep n he'z not at hiz desk so i knock on hiz lab door but while i'm knocking he comez up behind me! n he'z all like "get away, you cant go in there!" and totally losez his shit! so i'm like woteva and walk away but i c hiz pin number to unlock the door! sif ne1 can keep me out lol!
1 day after he'd gone home, i snuck in there. therez stairz down 2 the basement n i totally swear this next bit is true. therez cagez down there, but with glass like the penguinz @ the zoo. so scary lol but their all empty cept the last one. n OMFG i get close n itz like "wot iz that?" therez all these big fleshy thingz that look like giant c*ckz!!!! i know, lol! n i mean massive! like some are as big as my leg, but some are fatter than Simones fat azz lol
their all like moving and rubbing against the glass and squeaking! i should of run, but i get right down next to the glass n follow a c*ck with my i's to c what itz connected 2! n guess wot? their like the legs of this totally hott guy! like soooooo hott and totally ripped! my <3 jumped when i saw him looking str8 @ me!
i know this soudnz sooo crazy, but we started talking and he'z like sooo sweet and so sad. hiz dad (creepy lab guy!) turned him into a freaky c*cktopus to c wot would happen n keepz him locked up.
but then i got sick and couldn't come to work n i couldn't txt him coz he haz no phone.
so i ran to him n made the copz stop shooting but it wuz 2 l8. he looked up at me and was like "i thought u didnt want 2 c me nemore" n i was like "no edward i <3 u" but he didnt reply cuz hiz body had turned to diamonds
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<span class="name"><a name="870235">[/url]<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By Mikayel[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">Grim Memoirs of the attack of the 50 foot...
[It's been fifty years since the Great Fall, and society is struggling to stand back up. Already pocket groups of people have banded together to try to resurrect former cities into viable living space. Old power plants are being rebuilt, some cars are already functioning, and farming has taken a surprisingly strong jump, in part due to the earth having absorbed a lot of nourishing protein during the Great Fall.]
[You were born 20 years ago, and much like many of the survivors, are not very well versed in the history of it all. Not many in your settlement are old enough to remember the horrors of those days, but you have always been very eager to learn what you can about the past. About the Great Fall, and what caused it.]
[During a routine scavenge hunt for usable technology and tools, you and your group of seekers come across a particularly devastated area. The ground is very well nourished in relation to how destroyed the nearby buildings and trees are. You go into the last standing building, where inside your senses are attacked by a strong odor that's not very present, but still powerful.]
[You and your group reach for your UV lights and look around, and to your astonishment, you find a skeleton in the corner having decayed and crumbled mostly. One of its arms is still pointing at the wall, as if it was poking it. When you focus on the wall in question, the UV light begins to show much more than you thought... You begin to read the writings of what you assume is the corpse before you.]
</span>
<table style="padding-left: 30px; width: 90%;" border="0" cellspacing="1" cellpadding="3" align="center">
<tbody>
<tr>
<td><span class="genmed">Glow-in-the-dark-writings on the wall wrote:</span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="quote">I'm just waiting for it to all come crashing down in one big showery spray of fucking failure, wasted time and effort, and that ever echoing cacophony, HAHA! It was a fucking joke! Some stupid shit you'd joke about while hanging out with your equally cuntbaggish friends, talking about some kind of interdimensional cock that devours worlds.
Well reality is sometimes way more fucked up and retarded than fiction. One day we just woke up... looked around and saw half the city was coated in some disgusting goo that smelled worse than corpse-rot. Then came the crashing and the falling. I think I was in the bathroom, trying to get rid of the morning wood with a little ease here and there, and I quickly stopped. At first I thought my transgression to do away with the wood had angered some kind of fel-diety of the phallus. As I started to wake up from the adrenaline rush I realized that, despite how much I wished I was still shrooming the damage being brought down by this bi-cranial harbinger of destruction was very real.
I ran, I didn't look for my room mates, I didn't grab anything, I just ran. I ran and I ran but it didn't matter. A chunk of debris took out my right ankle, and so I crawled. I crawled until I came across a flowing river of the goo, I couldn't cross it. Not only was it too sticky but I'd suffocate from its very smell. So I walked into the nearest building and... well...</td>
</tr>
</tbody>
</table>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">
[You are amazed that the man was capable of writing so much about this tyrannical Cloverfieldian beast that apparently spat poison, had two heads, and was as mighty as a god unto the flesh.]
[You have 5 neo-shekels.]</span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><span class="name">By Occasionally Fatal[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">"It's a trap bro."
"Fuck if it isn't." I dug around in my pocket for a cigar.
My partner and I stood in the smog-filled silence beneath the local freeway. It was getting oppressive, and I still couldn't find my cigar. The lamp buzzing irritatingly above us switched frantically back and forth between frequencies. If your eyes were fast enough, it felt like it was constantly blinking and as soon as you got halfway used to it the thing would switch again. It was god damn seizure inducing and pretty much topped the whole sorry ass scene off. The girl was just sitting, torso propped up by the burned out ’94 Highway Man. She sat there Zen-like on the sand, lidless, rolled back eyes opening up to the mild acid that passes for rain in a shit hole like this. In front of her gaped two divots in the sand, forming a slightly larger, irregular circle.
I couldn’t find a fucking cigar and it was pissing me off. The girl wasn’t bothered by the light anymore, and my partner was starting to grin vacantly. There isn’t anything he won’t face without at least a smirk. I guess it’s his way of dealing with all the shit we put up with down here. I wonder what my mechanism is. Maybe I’m just fucked, waiting for this shit to relentlessly chip away at me until there’s nothing left. Fishing around in my coat, I felt the cold frame of my hand gun. Inspired, I pulled it out, and in one smooth motion put a round in the chamber, cocked it, and fired upwards, arm straight up. The lamp screeched one last time as the bulb exploded into a thousand razor sharp, white hot fragments, leaving us in guilty darkness. My partner chuckled, and I didn’t have to see him to know he was grinning morbidly.
“Your cigs are in the car, Hector,” he said mockingly.
“Fuck you, tell me that thing wasn’t pissing you off too.” I careless shoved the weapon back into my coat with a show of angst.
“I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t.”
I laughed. “Since when does lying bother you?”
I heard his coat twist and bunch as he shrugged easily. Probably smirking, too, the bastard. I inhaled deeply in an effort to clear my head. That’s when I noticed the smell. I closed my eyes to remove the feeble glow surrounding us and breathed in again.
“What the bloody hell are you doing over there?” my partner demanded.
“You smell that, man?”
“Smell what? It smells like shit, just like everything down here.”
“Well, yeah, but it smells really musky over by the girl… kind of like sex.”
He snorted skeptically, but took a step closer to the girl and inhaled a couple times.
“Alright, it smells like sex. So fucking what? What’s your theory? That she was touching herself? Why would she do that? Women can’t orgasm, everyone knows that,” he wisecracked.
I chuckled, “Please don’t make generalities based only on your own experience.”
“Yeah, cause yours is soooo much better, hotshot.”
Our banter died, as both of us fell deep in thought. Something was going on here right now, just beneath the surface. My eyes were beginning to adjust to our immediate surroundings, and I now found it easier to see what was further around us. An errant broiling of smog brought tears to my eyes, and the distance crystallized into focus. Beyond the girl and crushed vehicle there appeared to be a trail of foamy white substance leading out. The trail was of varying width, but seemed generally straight, ending in a small pool. Looking closer, it seemed like there were several trails running alongside one another. My partner saw it too.
He glanced over at me and thumbed towards the trailing pool, asking “Check it out?” I stuck my tongue out at him in a grimace and walked around the car. He slid around the other side and joined me walking across the sand. That’s when we saw it. The new angle revealed a bunch of spidery lines running across the sand, forming a vaguely oval shape. There were a lot more, too. I stopped and squatted next to one, cocking an eyebrow at my partner. He leaned over and took a sniff. “Yep, these are balls,” he said confidently. I nodded and carefully pulled out my hand gun again as I straightened and resumed walking. He slid a shotgun around his back and pumped a shell into the chamber with a reassuring chk-chack.
It was so obvious now when I looked back towards the burned out Highway Man. The girl had been fucked to death by a cock. The hole and divots must have been the result of its need for leverage during its attack. The car was fucked too, probably. Collateral damage, unless this dick had a car fetish. Wasn't totally uncommon. Pretty intense load it was carrying. It must have been a hell of a cock to produce all those trails in front of us. It would have needed to jizz several times. We would normally expect to see that amount of jizz from an attack with more than one participant. This time there was clearly only the one set of balls though. We walked forward on the balls of our feet, ready for anything, or so we thought . . .
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<span class="name"><a name="876423">[/url]<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By Heraclitus[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">Alister waited in the grass. Yellow. Hot. African heat. He slapped his neck. Tsetse fly. The rifle heavy in his hands. Calloused. Of course. Three weeks out here. Rampant, blood-stained negroes, machetes in hand, screaming, crying for more, more blood. The sweat beaded on his brow. He worked the bolt. The golden gleam of the .375 nestled in the chamber. Ready. Power, at his finger. The sun-dried grass tickling his neck.
Movement. He raised the 'noculars. Lumbering mutated kangarooes. No sustenance. He closed the bolt. Fuck. Another hour in the heat.
A ghetto of cybernegroes breakdanced past. He squinted at them. Amber glow of his scope. Praying they didn't catch its reflection. No. Too many watermelons on the horizon. Good.
Slap, another wet mess on his neck. Fucking flies.
Another slap.
Not him.
He twisted his neck, looked behind the high burnt grass.
Nothing.
He cleared his throat. Rearranged the butt of the rifle against his shoulder. Hard comfort.
There. Again. What the fuck? He pu his hand against the grip of his revolver.
Slap.
He twisted, slowly, grass against his lower back. He wanted to scratch it. No time.
Shadow.
What? Nothing.
He panted. Breath comes hard. Nothing. Shallow lungs.
The grass moves. Cybernegroes?
No.
He pops the cylinder on the Python. Five rounds, .357. Magnum. Supercharged. Able to take down a diversity enricher, no matter how high, at up to twenty meters. Placed the cylinder back.
That fucking noise. Where?
Oh Christ.
Oh Christ! There!
It comes.
In more ways than one, across the yellowing grass.
Ask not for whom the multi-headed dick slaps:
It slaps for thee.</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">By <span class="name">Reject_666_6[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody"><span style="font-size: 18px; line-height: normal;">Let’s play:</span>
<span style="font-size: 24px; line-height: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Attack of the 50-foot Multi-Headed Dick RPG[/quote]
“You’re in the library, hopefully safe from the horrors the outside world holds for now. A dick with multiple heads had decided to attack, however you are not yet prepared to deal with this menace. Your last hope lies in finding a way to defeat this monster using any means at your disposal in this library. You will find that the choices you make can have devastating consequences on the world around you and how you can advance in solving the quest.”
Sounds like a piece of shit. Just the kind of thing I’d play for all you degenerate degenerates! This will be a blind playthrough, so no ironman for me, even though I heard the game’s shit easy even on “Dick Enforcer” difficulty. Ok, bitches, let’s roll a character!
Wow, only 6 stats and nothing else but perks. Wtf is this dumbed down console shit for the masses? Since this thing seems to be dialogue-based, I picked a sort of smart, charismatic fellow, with a bit of skill in negotiation. The Smoking perk is supposed to give you a pack of cigarettes as a starting item and extra dialogue lines with some peeps. Ladies’ Man boosts your CHA and NEG when talking to women. Even though Fluent in Latin is probably for fags and should cancel out Ladies’ Man, the game thinks I can have it anyway. It lets you read Latin and helps in deciphering other Romance languages. Lolgay.
Ok, let’s start this banal bore-fest. The italics are what I choose for each situation.
“You finally make it to the library and put a chair up to block the door behind you shut. The place seems still – only a few whispers can be heard coming from the Comedy section. To your left seems to be a bathroom. Down the aisle to your right and all the way across is the check-out desk.
1. <span style="font-style: italic;">Walk to the Comedy section.</span>
2. Walk to the bathroom.
3. Walk to the check-out desk.
Two guys and a woman are sitting down and speaking amongst themselves. Seeing you approach, they get up and one of the guys walks over to greet you.
<span style="font-weight: bold;">-Hello, friend. Have you come seeking the light?</span>
1. What do you mean seeking the light?
2. <span style="font-style: italic;">You’re some kind of weirdo, ain’t you?</span>
3. I got yer light right ‘ere, padre!
4. [Latin/Lie] Christi crux est mea lux, pater.
<span style="font-weight: bold;">-Why, no, I’m Father Jacob. I’m just a priest, taking refuge here in these dark times. I tell you, son, the day of judgement has slowly crept closer and I fear that it may dawn upon us soon. This penis-creature must have been God’s way of culling the herd before Jesus’ second coming.
</span>
1. Since you’re a man of the cloth, do you know of any prophecies that foretell of this thing? Maybe there’s some way of destroying it in the Bible.
2. Look, old man, I ain’t got no time for your sort of religious mumbo-jumbo, aiight? You can shove that Bible of yours up your ass!
3. <span style="font-style: italic;">Whatever you say. Who are your friends over there?</span>
<span style="font-weight: bold;">-That’s Jasmine, the lovely young lady over there, and that’s Paul, the uneasy lad over there. I don’t know what’s wrong with him, but he doesn’t want to talk about it. I think the dicks got to him somehow.”</span>
I’m ditching this Oblivion rip-off guy for now. Let’s see what that WWI-looking guy has to say.
“<span style="font-weight: bold;">-You Paul?
-Yeah, now leave me alone!</span>
1. [Reputation] Do you know who I am? Watch how you address me, you cock-smoker.
2. What’s wrong?
3. Jacob over there told me you were feeling a bit weird.
4. <span style="font-style: italic;">[Smoking] Shit, you look like ass. Need a smoke?</span>
<span style="font-weight: bold;">-That’s exactly what I was looking for! Thanks a lot, guapo! I’m Paul, the pornstar. You?</span>
1. My name isn’t important. I thought you could help me in getting rid of that monster outside. You’re a pornstar, so you must know what’s really bad for dicks.
<span style="font-style: italic;">2. Pornstar? Hmm, how long have you been in the business?</span>
3. You sicken me. Sorry for giving you the smoke. Adios.
4. I’ll tell you later. Bye!
<span style="font-weight: bold;">-I’ve been on and off for about 6 years. I started off when I turned 18; worked my way up from tranny porn to horse sodomy to midget porn and about a year ago I finally got promoted to normal gay porn.</span>
1. <span style="font-style: italic;">Gay porn is normal to you?</span>
2. Fascinating. I’ve always wanted to get into the porn business, but my mum said my penis was too small to be successful.
3. Sorry, I only watch hentai. Bye!
<span style="font-weight: bold;">-Well, in today’s society it’s not really considered as taboo or fetishist as other pornographic genres are. Blame the decline of Western civilisation or what-have-you, but there are a lot of homosexuals in today’s world, and they need porn too. They won’t be getting it from me anymore, though. I’m thinking of quitting the biz cause of the way I’ve been feeling for the last couple of months.</span>
1.<span style="font-style: italic;"> [Intelligence] Hmm. Homogay... pornstar... feeling pretty bad... You most likely have the AIDS, if you haven’t already figured it out by now. However, this discovery could prove useful in defeating that multi-headed-dick out there. I just need some kind of syringe to take some of your blood.</span>
2. This decadence is one of the reasons the whole civilisation will see itself wiped out in the near future. It happened before in the Roman Empire, it’ll happen again to America. Whatever disease you have, probably AIDS, it’ll kill you off before the decline reaches its critical mass, so in a way you’re very lucky.
3. God hates fags!
4. So have you got any info to help me defeat the dick outside? If not, I’ll be on my way.
<span style="font-weight: bold;">-Good luck finding one in this place, though.”</span>
Ok, so this seems to be the way to go in this. I just need a goddamn syringe, or something. There’s a broken bottle down here. I’ll use this to bleed this guy to get what I want.
<span style="font-weight: bold;">“Shit man, I said a syringe, not a goddamn nigger knife!”</span>
Now how do I collect the blood?
...
Ok, I’ve tried everything, and the answer was to use my pack of cigs on the dripping blood. The guy used the plastic film covering the cardboard as a makeshift bag. The devs were high when they made this.
<span style="font-weight: bold;">“Fuck, hombre, the bleeding won’t stop! Do something!!”</span>
The dumbfuck has haemophilia. I’ll use my lit cigarette to cauterise his shit.
<span style="font-weight: bold;">“You won 500XP for stopping the bleeding. LEVEL UP! CHOOSE A NEW PERK!”</span>
Because of my high INT and CHA, I chose Rat Diplomacy.
Ok, now let’s deal with that multi-headed dick!
“You step back outside the door you came from, and see the monster a bloc away, hitting some buildings. You get an uneasy feeling, as if your next move will be decisive in whether you succeed or fail. The creature seems distracted, so sneaking up close to it seems like an option at this point.
1. Get close and hit it with your fists.
2. <span style="font-style: italic;">Cut its scrotum with the knife and splash the wound with Paul’s infected blood.</span>
3. [Rat Diplomacy] Talk to the creature.
4. Run out of town, away from the beast.
5. Re-enter the library.
Sneaking up close, you slash the dick’s skin and empty the contents of the cigar plastic inside its ball-sack. The creature surely got infected now, however it feels the sting of you slashing it and turns around in anger. Before you get a chance to run away, its throbbing appendages corner you and swallow you in their foreskin. You slowly get digested for a few days.
However, suffering from the AIDS you infected it with, the dick collapses dead in a week. The world is saved and everything soon goes back to the initial, decadent normality of western civilisation. The world remembers you as the hero you dies as, and lucky for you you’re dead, so ITZ won’t get a chance to kill you when it happens.”
This ending sucks. The gray area of dying a hero instead of a slave in the Apocalypse it cool and everything, but it’s been done before a million times, especially in the Age of Decadence trilogy. Grimoire implemented it well, too. Let’s see if I can reload and get something better.
“You step back outside the door you came from, and see the monster a bloc away, hitting some buildings. You get an uneasy feeling, as if your next move will be decisive in whether you succeed or fail. The creature seems distracted, so sneaking up close to it seems like an option at this point.
1. Get close and hit it with your fists.
2. Cut its scrotum with the knife and splash the wound with Paul’s infected blood.
3. <span style="font-style: italic;">[Rat Diplomacy] Talk to the creature.</span>
4. Run out of town, away from the beast.
5. Re-enter the library.
<span style="font-weight: bold;">-Why do you choose to destroy the city, friend 50-foot dick?
-I do not choose to do this, for I am a savage abomination who has no other purpose in life but to give in to my most primal desires.
-So you do this out of a sense of anger for being what you are?
-In a way, yes, it is what drives me to this devastation.
-What if I could persuade you to cease this madness?
-I’m listening...
-Well it occurs to me that your mindset conforms to that of a fatalist, in that what you are and what you are destined to do are immovably tied together, so you believe therefore that whatever your thoughts on the subject are, you still have no say in what your actions inadvertently will be. You must destroy everything, for nature has programmed you in such a way that choice is a non-issue. Is that correct?
-That is the gist of it, yes.
-Then you have a flawed understanding of what your lack of free will implies. You may think that since you are a destroyer, then anything other than destruction is not an option for yourself, however your cognitive prowess implies that stopping and overcoming your animal instincts is not only possible, it’s what you’re doing right now by talking to me.
-Indeed, I have never had the pleasure of experiencing intelligent discourse with another such as yourself, however what you say raises the question of my role in this world. If I am not predetermined to cause wanton destruction until the day I die, then what other occupation can I dedicate my life to? I’m a 50-foot tall, multi-headed penis as you can plainly see.
-Yes, your nature is at odds with any roles society requires. Nothing of your doing can contribute to achieving order: you bring chaos to the universe by acting out your primal instincts, or you do nothing at all, in which case your mere existence has no meaning. Both paths ultimately lead to yourself living a static life of finality.
-So I must die now.
-Correct.</span>
*The monster kills itself through orgasmic climax*
COGRATULATION, YOU HAVE WON THE GAME!”
C&C my ass! Shit, banal boring.</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><span class="postbody">By Carceri[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">"Damn Codex!"
That was all I managed to spit. How pathetic. I was wrong, there is something at the other end of the wire after all and the one million dollars secret is: it's not human. I feel like laughing, a nervous laugh burst, but the muscles of my face can only display a twitching mask of horror. I can't see myself, of course, but I feel it. It hurts. It's stupid. Warm bodily fluids are streaming down my legs. I just stand there, rigid. The room is getting darker and darker. It is Friday. 23:17 AM
Wednesday
Bitter taste in my mouth. The coffee tastes like shit this morning. No. The brown filthy liquid that passes as coffee and which I have been drinking for the past who-knows-how-many years tastes like shit this morning. The process of waking up is painful. My body rejects it. I have to keep drinking coffee, I also have to buy some more. Mornings taste like shit. Oh well, the grind starts...
A couple of hours later the blank paper stares at me with a...guess what? Blank arrogance.
I always wanted to become a writer. A-L-W-A-Y-S. The idea just grew naturally inside me in the exactly same manner and the same time my body developed from the moment of my birth following the common path of nature. It is flowing inside my veins, it's in my blood. Yet these last damned years have been so awfully unproductive for my career. I can't write the greatest work of my life without experiencing the actual stream of emotions, feelings, sensations and the multitude of small details my characters would possess. I have to live that somehow. I have to live the lives of the characters. The hours spent on that net just doesn't cut it. I browsed hundreds and hundreds of forums, chat channels and other peculiar social websites. I found nothing. I need the real deal, the real experience. It seems I cannot rely on my psychological skills and intuition. That's a fact.
Thursday
I drifted for hours today, on the streets of the city. It's useless. What a complete waste of my time. I can barely acknowledge the presence of other human beings. There is no real contact, not even accidentally. On a crowded sub no one touches no one. Walking clothes everywhere. On the bus, the same story: people on their seats frozen in uncomfortable positions fearing their knees might touch, everybody is looking in all possible directions but there is no eye contact. Glass people. Wordless people. There are no words either, only an incomprehensible whispers. It's like everybody on the street is pretending. There is no real dialogue and I can't catch even a single identifiable word. I bumped into a suit "accidentally" and I shouted: "I'm sorry!" He didn't even looked at me, he just picked his suitcase up while emitting a whispering noise and continued walking. "I'm sorry you fuckin' pathetic excuse of a creature!" I should have knocked him down. "Say something! Does that hurt, you fucking cocksucker?!"
I almost miss the robotic monotone voice of the cashier telling me the useless chemical junk I bought costs me 34,25 dollars. The funny part is that I haven't even looked at her face so it just as well might not have been her voice at all. I probably got infected with the same thing and I'm becoming one of them. I have to get out. I have to go home. I have to talk to a friend.
The witty usernames that pass everyday as my friends provide the mental comfort I need with their whiny stories and unchiseled jokes. I smile. I can hear the noise of the city reverberating inside my room. It's dark but in the light of the computer's display I catch the sight of a cum stained t-shirt I left near the bed. I push it disgusted under the bed with my toes, like a murderer getting rid of a corpse. Perhaps, the city is truly empty and all that noise coming through the windows is made by the buildings. Somehow the city itself is imitating the noise made by its past inhabitants. Perhaps at the other end of the usernames I see on the screen there is nothing. Tons of wires. Empty wires that lead to no one. For whom do I want to write my book? Ok, I am loosing it, I admit. Does that makes me a sane person? Enough! I have to live. I need to have sex once and for all in order to finish that diabolical book.
Friday
I am nervous. She should be here any minute now.
I found a hooker in no time on the net. A couple of years ago I frequented an online dating forum named Codex, but with no real success. The community seemed so harsh, I eventually left. The word is that it was initially supposed to be about gaming or some non-sense like this. Anyway, a friend told me that the website is all about elite escort services now and as long as you're the owner of a fat credit card you won't have trouble getting yourself a top notch dame. The idea of living meat at the other end of the wire is making me horny already. I've seen her pictures, she's stunning. I'm afraid she's going to walk into my room and the cashier's robotic monotone voice from the market across the street will be heard from the prostitute's mouth.
Two hours later the smell of sweat and cigarette smoke fills the air. She didn't speak at all, just smiled. Hallelujah! I really like the sounds of her moans while I touch her carelessly. For all I know she's faking it but, fuck if I care, I feel good. Warm meat on my filthy sheets. Empty city. I try not to look her in the eyes. I wonder if she has a sister.
Moments later she's lying down her back with a foot stuck up in the air while I push two fingers up her...what the...it can't be! I jump out of the bed shaking in terror.
Something pushed back.
In seconds darkness fills the room. I can't see a damned thing but I hear the noise of something gigantic expanding from the place where the prostitute was on my bed, all around me. It's expanding! At the same time a voice erupted like the the tolling of some great bell: "What's the matter honey? I'm gonna kick some ass and leeeeeeeeeeeeeee..." Above me the roof cracks. My moist covered fingers are numb now and dripping on the floor.
"Damn Codex!"
That was all I managed to spit. How pathetic. I was wrong, there is something at the other end of the wire after all and the one million dollars secret is: it's not human. I feel like laughing, a nervous laugh burst, but the muscles of my face can only display a twitching mask of horror. I can't see myself, of course, but I feel it. It hurts. It's stupid. Warm bodily fluids are streaming down my legs. I just stand there, rigid. The room is getting darker and darker. It is Friday. 23:17 AM
I die.</span>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">
<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><span class="gensmall">By Gragt[/quote]
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span class="postbody">One morning, when Gregor Samsa woke from troubled dreams, he found himself transformed in his bed into a multi-headed dick. This was quite different from the other mornings where he usualy found that his poisonous insect had grown into a vermin of monstrous proportions, and only the release of his <span style="font-style: italic;">ante meridiem</span> venom could coax it to shrink back to a more inconspicuous size. As he laid there on his back, still drowsy, he had some time to wonder about his new state. The overnight disapearance of his arms was quite a deranging change but the sensation of having more than one head, each a soaring and proud glans ready to reach for new heights, gave him a kind of comfort he never felt. After he noticed that his legs were now turned into two hairy wobbly testicles — the thought of how he could still see while being deprived of eyes or any similar sensory organs did not yet reach the surface of his brain — he tried to get out of his bed and stand up. This proved to be surprisingly much easier than he anticipated. He instinctively knew how to balance himself, and in less than ten seconds he was out of his bed, pondering what to do next.
And ponder for long he did not, because soon the door opened and a black man with a nylon stocking on his head entered, ready to assassinate Gregor and then plunder his appartment, according to the customary ways of their race. But this time it would be no easy prey. "Muthafucka, what sheet is dis?" said the Nubian when he laid eyes on the glory of the white man <span style="font-style: italic;">cum</span> multi-headed dick. With some sort of familiarity he never thought he had in himself, Gregor took advantage of the surprise to jump on the frozen nigger and attack him, critting his ass and leg and killing him in the process. As he fell to the ground, the words "Oh gawd, it's heavan" could almost be heard carried out of his mouth by his last breath, but Gregor reasoned that it was probably wishful thinking on his part. The short but passionate encounter had aroused him enough that he now felt the fire of life burn inside the marble balls that were now his feet, and the smoke of virility was now rising along the chimney of his manhood, and he released it all over the black man from each of his penile extremities in a glorious symphony of masculine vigour.
Something stirred inside of Gregor Samsa. Maybe it was the exhilaration of having killed a nigger in such a dishonourable way, or maybe it was the shameful remorse of agreeing to be part of such a horrible display of plagiarism. But the sensation that he felt inside wouldn't go away, and before he knew it, he grew in size so much that he broke the roof of his modest appartment. When he finally reached the height 50-foot, the sudden growth stopped, and the world of the ant-like humans was now offering itself to his ravenous sexual rage. Already they noticed him and a few could be seen running away while the rest wondered how they could ever defeat such an ignominious creature. Years of debates about the defense of the homosexuals rights and the evilness of the death penalty had made them weak and unprepared to such an attack. They were soft but Gregor was hard, and if he still had a mouth he would have been grinning while he fully embraced his new nature. Not even children were safe from his wickedness.</span>
<span class="postbody"> </span>
There are 0 comments on Codex Good Old Games Short Story Competition
