If you are going to write fan fiction at least write longer pages instead of making so many goddamn threads.

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Have you been following at all? This is a roleplaying game he has set up, not a usual fanfiction. And how does it bother you that he makes alot of threads? It's not like he's cluttering the forum or anything, the fanfiction sub forum is basically dead but for him.

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I guess I'll try writing an entry here then

As the six remaining Dwarves unpacked their supplies, Richard Chandler discovered that his attempt to smuggle Slowponichu up north was not as successful as he might have hoped. The simpleminded companion had not survived the trip, and his duffelbag now smelled of offal and rot.

Oh, well.

<Mammoths>
Dagnors scoffs.
<Sure, declare the guy without depth perception as the hunter. Brilliant>
He shields his eye from the blinding white no dwarfs land stretching out before him.
<Still better than dangling from a noose>
With a frown he looks over the equipment, glancing over to Volkrin who seems to be inspecting some arcane machinery toiling away in the frozen ground, and the guards who stand shivering in the cold.
He turns his gaze back to the gear and grabs the bladed shovel, turns it in his hands and gives it an approving look.
<Whatever a mammoth is, beating it over the head enough should do the trick.>
And off he goes.

Dagnor returns a few hours later, the armor roughed up and slightly bleeding from a few scratches on his hands, implying a hasty retreat involving falling and slipping. In his right hand, several bloody pulps dotted with patches of white fur, identifiable as rabbits only by the long ears.

Valabelle sighs disappointedly at Dagnor's meager haul. With a quick wave of her hand she sealed up his flesh wounds. But the real damage was no doubt to his ego, and she couldn't heal that even if she wanted to. She hefted her hammer over her shoulder and grunted. The paladin ventured out into the snow with a start.

"If ye want something done right..." Valabelle whispered to herself.

Paying close attention to detail, she noticed tracks through the snow. Cloven feet, likely a ram of some sort. Plant-life was sparse at these altitudes, affording Valabelle little cover from the weather. The pure white of the snow contrasted oddly with the ashen color of her skin. She heard a breathing sound and looked up to see the ram, which had found her before she had found it.

The beast charged rapidly, but Valabelle dispatched it with a heavy swing of her hammer. She dragged it behind her back to camp. The crushed skull of the ram left a trail of blood in the snow. The paladin knew too well to think that would be without consequence, but food was the priority. As she reached camp, she threw it down near the fire. She pointed her hammer at Revarist.

"Make yuirself useful, lassie."

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In these past two weeks Erthad's primary tasks have been standing guard over the camp while it was assembled, and scouting the nearby land for enemies and good mining sites.

Erthad wasn't sure which was worse. Watching over the camp was a dull job. It didn't involve much movement which caused the cold to be even more torturous. The cold was so bad that his helmet became frozen to his head, and icicles glued to his nose and beard. He thought that he was successfully able to hide these things from the others. The best thing about standing watch over the camp was that he could completely block out the winds with the use of his tower shield.

The camp itself was came along well. They used rock, snow, and lumber to create walls that protected the camp from the howling winds, and crafted a covered area to sleep at night. The latrine was built around 40 feet outside of the camp.

Scouting was not as boring or cold but it was certainly more dangerous. He would go 3 days without incedant but the next day the Vrykul, as they called themselves, would be waiting for him. The attacks were never very large but they were still annoying. He had also discovered an ice troll village, a giant's den, an Iron Dwarf lair, a bullman's camp, and an orcish fortress in the nearby valleys.

The most significant discovery that he made while scouting were two good cave complexes fairly close to their camp that they could begin expanding. The first was a small cave but it was closer, the second cave was larger but much further away.

Erthad favored starting with the smaller cave, but he wanted the group to decide which to begin mining on.

When Erthad returned he was glad to see that they would not be eating even more walrusmen.

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Quote:

Originally Posted by Fojar Leviathon you're seriously the worst mod.

Quote:

Originally Posted by Sarahmoo Go back to being the worst mod in the universe.

Quote:

Originally Posted by Anansi Scrolls of Lore Rule #61: Leviathon is the worst Mod.

After Canon Foddersson was slain, Mal took the iniative to retrieve the culinary tools since he knew that the group needed cook. What he was not expecting was that the role would be relegated to him.

Sighing, he removed his wizard's hat and donned his late companion's hat and apron. This is when things get bloody. Borrowing a knife, he proceeded to skin the ram. Next he butchered the carcass into several proportions so that there would be more area to add spice. Afterwards, he created a makeshift spit and secured the meat onto it, while putting the rest of the meat in the snow.

Quite a large ram, Mal thought while cooking it. By the time Erthad returned from scouting, Mal was done.

"Hope you like it and if you don't, feel free to take a shot at it."

After two weeks, a small rectangular hall has been dug out of the mountain. The bedrolls have been placed there with the cooking equipment. Outside, there are a few workshops, shielded by Tuskarr-skin tents from the elements. There is a butcher's shop, a stonemason's shop, a carpentry shop, a small forge, a bonfire and the beginning of a monument to the majesty of the Ashidur. A low wooden fence protects the boundary of the encampment.

The Rockfucker's third phlange rotor starts to spin uncontrollably as the incircular thim plates heat to dangerous levels.

One of the savage Tuskarr approaches from the South. He leads a bound Bullman, presumably an offering of peace.

A wild blizzard appears!

My next one:

What had he done?! How could this happen! Slowponichu, his most loyal friend and obedient sex slave was now dead, all because of him!

He coiled up into a fetal position, cradling the dead companion in his arms. Manly tears of remorse ran in a slow stream down his face, freezing on his cheeks giving him an icy look. Slowponichu looked so peaceful. So happy. Richard slowly bent over the tiny frame, putting his lips to it's mouth and kissing it.

He sat like that for a couple of minutes, feeling out Slowponichu's tongue with his own. Such a passionate lover he was. Slowponichu's ass cheeks made a flopping sound as he did his business. He finished up quickly and left the tent. He needed a new soul - some fresh 'meat'.

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The angry ghost of Canon Foddersson appears!

Quick, knee him in the groin!

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Killchrono uses Knee to the Groin!

It's not very effective...

Canon Foddersson's Angry Ghost uses Tear Off Arm!

It's super effective!!

Killchrono begins to bleed profusely from where his arm used to be...

Canon Foddersson's Angry Ghost disappears!

Use time abilities to either go back in time and prevent yourself from doing the same mistake or go forward in time where they've come up with some sort of magical arm replacements.

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*time-lapse

Freeze the spirit. Then berate him for dying so fast.

Killchrono's attempts to travel through time come to a tragic end when he accidentally forgets to take into account the rotation of Azeroth, and emerges from the time stream only to find himself trapped inside a mountain.

Where he suffocates.

And dies.

His body is found several centuries later by a rather more competent band of Dwarven Archaeologists. They don't consider him interesting enough to study, so they smash his petrified skeleton and continue digging.

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Mal manages to subdue the ghost by trapping it in a magical prison. He then berates the angry dead for being a flimsy little pansy girl in life. Canon Foddersson manages to express through a ceaseless stream of rants and threats that he is pissed off because his body hasn't been given a proper burial.

Valabelle raises her eyebrow.

"Mal, who did ye have take care of Canon's body?"

"I think the warlock was taking care of it?"

"Ye idget," Valabelle covered her face with her palm. "I've got to do everything around here..."

Valabelle found Canon's corpse and set the others to work on digging a deep grave. They buried the body and Valabelle said a Lightist prayer for the dead over the burial site.

"'bout time," Canon's ghost whispered as he began to fade away...

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I hate the forced character minimum

Just as things were settling down, a band of large, blue Dwarf-like creatures arrived from the North.

They waved and the largest among them called out something in a strange tongue. If any of the Expedition Dwarves had been a linguist, they might have recognized it as a variation on an ancient Dwarven dialect. As it is, they heard only rumbly, grumbly noise.

Valabelle notices Volkrin feebly waving back to the blue dwarves and heals his hand.

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The Blue Dwarves approach.

Greet them with universal hand gestures because no one here is a linguist. Also bring the Tuskarr along incase there is a need to bail.

Hey! I'm your tuskarr guide! Pleased to help you!

Now we're going to move towards that hole and jump inside. Everything will be fine.

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Metzen: They are one of the ancient races of Northrend that we haven't spoken of before... because we hadn't made them up before. (laughter)

~Main: Expansion theorycrafting, Expansions list, The Age of Nightmare, Empire of the Tides (coming soon)~
~Fan ficton: Anachronos Journey: The Timeless Heir~ ~Geography of continents series: Old Kalimdor (original), Pandaria~
~Locations as zones series: Azjol-Nerub, Barrow Deeps, Zul'Aman, Demon Hunter zone, Caverns of Time~