The Snow Arena

[Lisnpuppy]

And in a single post Wolfe once again proves what a HUGE pain in the arse he really can be.

 

 

Thankfully the Goddess was used to such juvenille tactics and merely smiled, did a little dance, shook her grove thing and expelled said item right into the snowy Oblivion where it belonged.

 

She and her new fur coat then went back to her interesting activities among friends on the paper moon. At this time completely ignoring a small and insignificant wolfe.

 

It was at this point that Nosisab and the still anxious but bemused Squirrel decided once again to attempt something other than short, sound-bite sentences.....

[nosisab]

Step 1

Grow back fur coat

Step 2

Whip out RPG

Step 3

Fire it right up that snooty goddess's ass

Once you threatened me with a childish menace of reporting my double posts. Meanwhile you did nothing more than try trolling the thread. I really think this wasn't your purpose and is just you don't know yet how to interact with others.

Try to play the game, there is no fun at just "I press the red button and you all are doomed, and me too by the way". For sure at some point you will get myself and others here, and I will be laughing with you if or when this happens. For this is a game and creativity is welcomed.

 

But you are going beyond the acceptable, your post is a clear attack directed to another user. And you are being completely vulgar, unacceptable way to treat a woman that behaved so nice until now.

 

You can try and play, even being insane if you prefer this way. But this time is me to advise you to mend your ways or will be I that will report you.

[Chesto]

'WHOAAA', chattered the Old One, (at least he thought he was the Old One, or , at least, one of the Old Ones,) with great difficulty due to the fact that part of his reprehensiprehensile tongue still remained stuck to the remnant of the old paper moon after he had been yanked by the Goddess to the new one.

 

And he said 'WHOAAA' aloud, even though he knew that he was having great difficulty controlling his spells and curses. But the circumstances seemed to require it.

 

'Now look here, peeps, one and most!', chortled the Shameleon who, to mark the occasion- that being one of enforcing the more pacific aspects of the Snow Arena- had taken on a nice, thoroughly Magnolia hue, guaranteed to slow down the pulse rate of anyone from Mountain Mamas, through Canadian Super heroes, to Brazillian Mages, old or otherwise.

 

'Now look here! We're all here to have some good bad fun. Murder and Mayhem may rule as may Picnics. Much speech may be given, or very little. It matters not. It matters not', he repeated, repeatedly, just to make sure that his message was being regarbled as required. Amen.

 

'There is room for all the mad sanity that each of us wishes to bring, or even, impose on the rest of the foregathered assembly of saints and saintlesses. There is no need for the use of the RED BUTTON, let alone the threat of similar contingent appliances of a deeply unworthy stoppage of the funsters of the wierdness that is the very essence of the Snow Arena, Anarchy Rools Zone, no harm, no harm, no alarm, no sparm! CLEAR!?!?!?!

 

SuperCanuckWolfBoy must get on with his visceral means of destructo-all.

Evil must get on with rotting his teeth and nasal passages with his fizzy powders.

Newt must get on with constructing even better barriers against [[[{{{((( Bob )))]]]}}}.

Nosisab must get on with stunning us all with his marvelllous philosophical syntacticals.

The Goddess mush geh ong....'

 

It was at this point that the Shameleon's slightly truncated, though still obscenely long, reprehensiprehensile tongue glued itself, yet again, to the paper surface of the new moon. Eyes rotating rapidly in opposite directions, the Old One fought to bring some discipline to his mind, tormented by the vision of the Goddess which would not release him from its spell.

 

Margaret Thatcher. Margaret Thatcher. Margaret Thatcher... ran the only mantra he could remember which, he knew, might free him from the Goddess' lure. And any other lure that might involve an element of sensual reverberance. Or buzz.

 

The only other thing available to him at such a time of trial would be to start humming the Osmond's back catalogue. But it wasn't yet time for the nuclear option.

 

ADD EDIT: from the Old One's boss. Some of us like to indulge in huge, rambling bouts of verbal, or at least, scritpted diahroea... diarh...die... RUNS. Some of us like to indulge in short , sharp shocks. This place, believe it or not, is a delicate construct. It exists solely due to the input of everyone who contributes. Each contribution acts as the grit in the oyster that may, or may not, produce a pearl of entertainment. Remove, or censor any part of the construct and the whole thing could collapse. This is a brainstorming session, folks. Everything goes. Or we all go. Which would piss me off. If that matters to any of my friends here.

[nosisab]

'WHOAAA', chattered the Old One, (at least he thought he was the Old One, or , at least, one of the Old Ones,) with great difficulty due to the fact that part of his reprehensiprehensile tongue still remained stuck to the remnant of the old paper moon after he had been yanked by the Goddess to the new one.

 

And he said 'WHOAAA' aloud, even though he knew that he was having great difficulty controlling his spells and curses. But the circumstances seemed to require it.

 

'Now look here, peeps, one and most!', chortled the Shameleon who, to mark the occasion- that being one of enforcing the more pacific aspects of the Snow Arena- had taken on a nice, thoroughly Magnolia hue, guaranteed to slow down the pulse rate of anyone from Mountain Mamas, through Canadian Super heroes, to Brazillian Mages, old or otherwise.

 

'Now look here! We're all here to have some good bad fun. Murder and Mayhem may rule as may Picnics. Much speech may be given, or very little. It matters not. It matters not', he repeated, repeatedly, just to make sure that his message was being regarbled as required. Amen.

 

'There is room for all the mad sanity that each of us wishes to bring, or even, impose on the rest of the foregathered assembly of saints and saintlesses. There is no need for the use of the RED BUTTON, let alone the threat of similar contingent appliances of a deeply unworthy stoppage of the funsters of the wierdness that is the very essence of the Snow Arena, Anarchy Rools Zone, no harm, no harm, no alarm, no sparm! CLEAR!?!?!?!

 

SuperCanuckWolfBoy must get on with his visceral means of destructo-all.

Evil must get on with rotting his teeth and nasal passages with his fizzy powders.

Newt must get on with constructing even better barriers against [[[{{{((( Bob )))]]]}}}.

Nosisab must get on with stunning us all with his marvelllous philosophical syntacticals.

The Goddess mush geh ong....'

 

It was at this point that the Shameleon's slightly truncated, though still obscenely long, reprehensiprehensile tongue glued itself, yet again, to the paper surface of the new moon. Eyes rotating rapidly in opposite directions, the Old One fought to bring some discipline to his mind, tormented by the vision of the Goddess which would not release him from its spell.

 

Margaret Thatcher. Margaret Thatcher. Margaret Thatcher... ran the only mantra he could remember which, he knew, might free him from the Goddess' lure. And any other lure that might involve an element of sensual reverberance. Or buzz.

 

The only other thing available to him at such a time of trial would be to start humming the Osmond's back catalogue. But it wasn't yet time for the nuclear option.

 

ADD EDIT: from the Old One's boss. Some of us like to indulge in huge, rambling bouts of verbal, or at least, scritpted diahroea... diarh...die... RUNS. Some of us like to indulge in short , sharp shocks. This place, believe it or not, is a delicate construct. It exists solely due to the input of everyone who contributes. Each contribution acts as the grit in the oyster that may, or may not, produce a pearl of entertainment. Remove, or censor any part of the construct and the whole thing could collapse. This is a brainstorming session, folks. Everything goes. Or we all go. Which would piss me off. If that matters to any of my friends here.

Nosisab bows to the wise words from the old one. We are here to have fun, and if to one fun means beheading all surroundings, fine. The worse will be have the own 'strength' turned against himself, aikido style.

 

But even if consistently and lethally attacking a player character is already disgusting, one mustn't resort to personal (the own user) attacks, actually we mustn't tolerate this behavior.

 

Those summoned creatures were indeed a bounty. One that know the old school (says pre-FPS all for weapons games) would make real fun for it. As one take down a nameless NPC we can make the others close to massacre, but if the 'player' is at risk of an unfair death, this old D&D GM would care to make the attackers mess the things, if need even fighting among then selves for the honor of the kill. "This is funny", sometimes can render hilarious situations to everyone.

 

The real point here is recalling the very start of this arena. Who didn't got a clue yet can read the firsts pages. Anyway it can be summarized as: if attacking a player character one don't says: - I took the chainsaw from my pocket and tore playerX into strips

instead he must says: - I took the chainsaw from my pocket and headed toward the helpless playerX already seeing his body tored in strips. Subtle difference, but one that will enhance the fun for everyone and avoid bitter feelings among the players (playerX maybe is not so helpless, anyway :) )

 

PS: Confucious says - We mustn't kill anyone, mainly if someone is prone to kill himself, but we can place a snowball directly at his chest and laugh a lot (at least I hope he said this, hehe)

 

Have anyone question himself why this is called She Snow Arena?

[Marcus Wolfe]

Meh.

 

Marcus began terrorizing the local Taliban, who also wanted his luxurious fur coat. They had guns. He had a big hatchet. HE won.

[Chesto]

The Old One would have bowed, in return, to Nosisab had it not been for the fact that he, the Shameleon , was clutching to the remains of the daffodil stalk in order to avoid being entangled in his own preternaturally sticky tongue.

'Margaret Thatcher....' just wasn't having the desired effect . It might just be time for the Osmonds. Though what he really wanted to indulge in was a few choruses of ' Chantilly lace, and a pretty face, a pony tail, a hangin down....'.

 

Nosisad was, truely, a fundamentalist. A pure believer in the Old Ways and a worshipper of the one true Goddess ( no offence Picnic Goddess ... ), the Goddess of Wit and Continuity.

However... the Old One knew that this was the dream rarely found in the reality of the Snow Arena. Treasured when it was, for its gift was ... the sublime laugh.

 

But for now...'a wiggle when she walks, and a giggle when she talks, maaakes the world go round....'.

 

Which might have filled the multitudes with joy but for the fact the Old One was growling it, in the voice of Tiny Tim, to the tune from the 'Anvil Chorus', last heard in one those German or Italian shriekfests.

EDIT: Though to be fair, and why should we, the Old One's throat fixture had been constricted in trying to determine, yet again, how Marcus had suddenly appeared above him in the postal order, UK Currency only, and the meaning, yet again, of the subtle expression, ' Meh'.

 

EDIT EDIT: like a frog with a first diminutized name fixation- liked the toon, wolfie, immenselysely.

[nosisab]

Meh.

 

Marcus began terrorizing the local Taliban, who also wanted his luxurious fur coat. They had guns. He had a big hatchet. HE won.

Hey, this is the spirit!! you must actually turns your fur coat not easy turning up anyone other coat :)

 

but we all will get more if you show how you will win. For now you will need to do this later, since you are a lot busy with 3 enhanced primeval trolls, a myriad of tinny bug like critters, 12 Betelgeuse robotized life form (and born to war), and NewtC and Bob, while having the same problem will not lose opportunity to try making some holes to the next year goddess coat.

 

Repeating, don't waste then all at once, they are a lot hard to summon.

 

While we are at the paper moon having a party and cheering then. hehe

[Marcus Wolfe]

?

 

Step1

Cast 'Convert to ICBM launcher' X2 and 'Convert to ICBM' X2

Step2

Target Moon

Step3

Fire ICBM X2

[Chesto]

...ahhh, thunk the Old One. He is a Step n wolf.

 

EDITEDITEDIT: bloody frog- INCOMING!

[Lisnpuppy]

The Goddess, while staring in facination at the Old One's tongue, set up a frozen Mega-shield completely enclosing the paper moon. This shield deflected all incoming projectiles leaving the enclosed creatures safe for more ramblings.

 

The Goddess then informed the Old One that tongues could be used for better things than being stuck to paper moons and was immediately amused by the multitude of colors into which the Old Shameleon turned....