Ravenstorture

[color=darkgreen][font=gothic]OOC: Oh dear, I've just found this. Sorry, I'm still ...half... keeping up with the story, and I should post soon. Thanks for keeping me with you, in some RPGs if you don't post for a while they just leave you there. [/font][/color]

[color=darkgreen][font=gothic]Yeah, I know. The even weirder thing is that I was the one who got him to download it! It didn't work when I was there, though. Glad you got it to work. Strange you're using it, though... [/font][/color]

[color=darkgreen][font=gothic]Even though I'm female, I know exactly what that's like. Man, that's good... is english not your first language? (luciana, hmm... for all of those who actually know me, keep your mouths shut.)[/font][/color]

[color=darkgreen][font=gothic]I don't think she minded the story, but she cerainly minded me after she read it. She not only minded me, but avoided me at all costs. That's not right, I like this story! It's called Chicane, by the way... "Come on, hurry up? the cops will be here soon." River fumbled with the revolver in her hands, the rain sliding off the slick, wet barrel and making the metal slippery and difficult to handle. "Hurry up!" Notch yelled again, turning back to her and gesturing a motion of exasperation. She screamed in frustration and stopped, starting again slowly. Gun in left hand, take right hand and place on safety catch, pull back, flick, fingers on trigger, hold on tight with other hand, lets go. River ran after Notch quietly, and they disappeared into the dark, wet depths of the city. Notch didn't know where he was going, or what they were going to do when they got there, but he knew that as long as he got away from that bloody parking lot they would be ok. And River was a good catch, too. Shapely. Not the point, he sternly reminded himself. Not the point. She was his alibi, his friend, and she seemed to know a lot about the pigs and the way they operate. They darted around countless corners for what seemed like hours, the rain sweeping low onto them and making the disgusting ground steam. Suddenly, a dead end reared it's ugly head and the only forward prospect was a thin, rusty fire escape, clinging desperately to the brick. "Well," Notch said after a few seconds of undecided silence, "forward or back?" River thought for a second and nodded at the ladder silently. Notch bounded forward onto it immediately and scaled the wall, not pausing to see whether or not River followed. She did, and reached the rooftop a few seconds after Notch did, to find him standing there, biting his nails. "Sorry for leaving you, you know how I hate heights?" Notch explained, looking slightly remorseful for his behaviour in the alleyway. River simply smiled and ran off across the rooftop, the rain streaming down around the pair now more fiercely than ever. Notch followed quickly. Their path carried them a long distance, but soon enough they had ended up where they began. Upon seeing the crime scene, the mangled, bullet-ridden corpse still lying drenched in the gutter, Notch swore loudly and turned away to leave again. They had gone ten paces before the blue and red flashes of police vehicles splashed against the walls, the white sharks of the law creeping silently around the corner ahead of them. At this, Notch froze but River remained calm. For the first time in a while she spoke, her soft voice travelling to him easily in the rain. "Come with me. Move slowly. We will walk this way." She said to him, and he looked at her, bewildered. "We will pretend to have nothing to do with it and walk on, pretend not to have seen it, anything, and they will not suspect us. Come," She said again, reaching out to the frozen teenager. "Trust me." Notch stared at her outstretched hand a moment before taking it and walking to her. She turned and began to walk slowly away from the corpse up the street, still holding Notch's hand tightly. He felt comforted and serene, and walked with River timidly in the heavy rain. "Hold it, you two - Hey, wait!" A voice sounded behind the pair. River felt the tension in Notch's hand and held it tightly to prevent any notions of fleeing. She turned, slowly, and smiled at the approaching officer. He was holding an umbrella above him and looked scared. "You kids shouldn't be out here. Did you see the corpse back there?" He asked the two. At this Notch stayed silent and tense, but River played the perfect part. She had to, she thought, she had a gun in the back of her jeans. "Oh my god, a corpse?" She gasped, clinging to Notch for effect. He turned to her, slowly, still not quite understanding the situation she had put him in. But not trusting her now would only lead to jail. The police officer explained the reason the cops had been called in and asked if they had seen anything suspicious. Notch still looked terrified, which was probably a good thing, so River again took the cue. "We were walking back from a friend's place, around the corner? we, um?. were a little distracted." River looked embarrassed and Notch, coming out of his languor, suddenly kissed River on the cheek, and held her closely. The policeman looked embarrassed, and began to glance back to the flashing scene behind him. "Well, could we give you a lift somewhere? I mean, he's still out there, you know?" he bumbled on, gesturing with his free hand. River shook her head. "We only live a few doors down, thanks." She said to him and, turning suddenly, walked off dragging Notch behind her. The policeman walked back to the scene and River pushed Notch away violently. They rounded another corner and suddenly, he stopped her and pushed her against the wall. She stared at him calmly. "What the **** was that?" He demanded. She blinked, the rain streaming down her face and into her clothing, distracting her. "You wanted to get away, I got you away. And don't look at me like I'm so naughty for risking your life, because you mugged, beat and shot an old man tonight for two hundred and thirty five dollars." "Well, it's a harsh, harsh world, ain't it." He spat at her. She reached behind her back, pulled the revolver out and shot Notch in the temple, not flinching as he slumped to the ground, lifeless, in front of him. "Yeah," she whispered, removing his wallet and pocketing it. "It is." [/font][/color]

[color=darkgreen][font=gothic]I think the font is Alien from abstractfonts.com. Try it, and if not, check the darklinks site for font links. I'm putting it up now.[/color][/font]

[color=darkgreen][font=gothic]Yeah, well, I thought it would be more interesting than just pale text. But I know what you mean. You got to learn about Photoshop in your computer classes? You lucky cow! We just do stuff like... well, I don't take computer classes but I know you never do any photoshop. I taught myself how to use photoshop, entirely, I have done everything from scratch and I am damn proud of that fact. Anywy, here is another one. Hope you enjoy, although I know you won't. [/font][/color]

[color=darkgreen][font=gothic][i]Harlequin caught up to Spyder and tried to remember what was happening about a month ago, where the story left off. Hmmm.... Ahh yes.[/i] Spyder: Now, the headquaters will probably be in the middle of the city, so we should check the outskirts first, because they want us to think that it's in the center. So we should check the center, because they obviously want us to think it's in the center and then check the outskirts... Harlequin: My love, you obviously have no idea what you are doing. Spyder: Any better ideas? Harlequin: Say you had an entire city at your disposal. Where would you live? Spyder: As far away from the city as possible, probably in the jungle somewhere... Harlequin: Ok, say you were someone other than yourself. Where would you base yourself? Spyder: Well, I'm not someone else, am I?! So how can I possibly know! Harlequin: (sighs) Ok, I was trying to teach you something there but never mind. I think that the headquaters will be in the most expensive, secure, posh part of the city. Spyder: So it will obviously not be there, it will be somewhere the exact opposite to that. Exactly! You're amazing, my love! Harlequin: (sighing again, loudly) Right, never mind. Plan two. Do you remember when Cloricus was taken from us, in the heart of that building? You were retrieving your obsidian blade. Spyder: Oh yeah... [i]Spyder takes hold of the ornate staff she retrieved from the house where they had rested. Looking at it closely, she tried to spin it in her fingers, but dropped it, laughing. Harlequin laughed with her (with her, [b]not[/b] at her) and picked it up, spinning it artfully between his long, graceful fingers and creating a humming sound. The blue crystal at the end of the staff began to glow, and create a blue circle in the path of the ending. Soon the ceter of the circle was also alight, and Harlequin pulled the staff away, handing it to Spyder. The portal remained. Taking hold of each other's hands, Harlequin careful not to cut himself on her fingers, they stepped through the portal. [/i][/font][/color]

[color=darkgreen][font=gothic]Sorry to do this to you again, my love, but you always lead me to the best RPGs... Name: Alastuin Age: 302 Race: Vampyre Town: Ráspeth Weapons: kris knife Dark Gifts: Metamorphosis (like Gangrel clan lycanthropcism, into a black cat or a bat or the like), Night vision (as the name suggests), and Charm, (to get what I want, when I want it. Works only on humans.) Description: Tall, thin, pale, long black hair, numerous tattoos and piercings, wears black clothing and lipstick constantly. A cloaked figure. Bio: No memory of life before the embrace, hates people, loves cats. Feeds for it is my life, soul, purpose and most enjoyable pasttime. Blood is nectar, Vapyres are God's true childer, the human race is only there for my pleasure. But they are filth. [/font][/color]

[color=darkgreen][font=gothic][i] Csi, Danna and Jen had been travelling for three days straight now on a horse swapped from the last camp they encountered. They would have taken two when the camp was raided and they fled, but food was hard to find as it was, and it was better with only four moths to feed. Csi was contemplating this and regretting the option taken when she heard a noise that stirred distant memories of a normal life. It was the sound of a baby crying. Danna heard it too, and so must have jen because he immediately turned towards the sound and ran. Ducking out of our sight behing a juniper bush, he reappeared holding a baby swathed in rough, blue material. I groaned, contemplating bashing the darn thing's head in with a rock and feeding it to the river, but Jen, surprisingly, looked quite attached to it, and was making me feel guilty of such barbarious thoughts, simply with his actions. But the world had hardened me. [/i] Jen: Boo. Danna: What? Jen: I'm calling it Boo, after a charecter in a book that we were reading at school before all this happened. Csi: We can't keep him - her - it... we don't have enough food, and I am not producing milk. Jen: We'll get by somehow... [i]He seemed so happy about it, it was a contrast to his gloomy self. Csi blinked hard and forgot about Boo. Boo was female, and fitted nicely into a harness that Csi taught Jen how to contruct, simply consisting of a length of material wound around Jen's back and shoulders. They continued onwards, eight pounds heavier.[/i] [/font][/color]

[color=darkgreen][font=gothic]Name: Alastuin Hero / Villian: villain to rummi and wareot, has been scarred by both. Age: 497 Race: centaur/pegasus (winged centaur) Weapon: dagger Top 3 spells: deathscent, miasma, black cloud Description: human section: long black hair, green eyes and numerous runic tatoos, equine section: black, fully grown mare Bio: Feared and loathed by all she has met, Alastuin retreated to the forest at the age of thirty five and hunted for a living, growing steadily more and more deranged and hostile through loneliness and isolation. Her racial tribe of the area was hunted to extinction, she has not seen one of her kind since she left them. She hates the wareot for what they have done to the land. [/color][/font]

[color=darkgreen][font=gothic]Anyway, getting back to the [i]artwork[/i] before this thread is closed... Harlequin, send me another font and I will redo the banner in that. The one you used for Jesus Chicken's banner was nice... hang on, no - wait! I'm not doing anything I don't want to do just so you will shut up about how pathetic I am. I get that sh*t all the time, and so do you two. So cut it out. I like the font, and it's MY BANNER!!!![/font][/color]

[color=darkgreen][font=gothic]I fear monday. You should, too, Cloricus, because when he says "you the pick time and place" it [i]really[/i] means "next time I see you I will lynch you". I have nearly been on the wrong side of that a number of times... No, I did not get 10/10 pcm groupings at fifty meters, but I did get 6/6 3.9cm groupings at 200 meters with a steyer so HAHAHHHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAA!!!!! Oh, you mean .22s? You call them [i]weapons?[/i] Try 10/10 6cm groupings within the first three bands. The best way to use a point 22, as we all know, it to beat someone over the head with it. And I know where you live. I can't help it if the person who starrs in the show that features the font that I used JUST HAPPENS to also be a complete idiot with a few makeup ads under her belt. It's a brilliant font, and I am [i]obviously[/i] the only one here with enough acumen to see that. [/font][/color]

[color=darkgreen][font=gothic]Dammit, sorry about that. Oh well. [i] Csi fell quiet as the crunching sound came into her awareness. Danna still sobbed heavily, unaware. Before Csi had a plan of action, a second pair of arms encircled her and she turned to see Jen's dirty, tear-streaked face peering at her own. She gasped and hugged Jen tightly, nearly dropping Danna. After three days searching the ruins, they had uncovered countless dead bodies, many of which were friends and family, and no more survivors. Danna had uncovered their mother's body, Jen had found a finger neatly severed beneath an ornate, silver ring. He gave it to Csi, it was her boyfriend's. The ring was an engagement ring. They had gathered all they could carry and set off, southward, in search of survivors. They had found many, in camps, alone, some hostile, some welcoming and friendly, some hysterical and deranged. Often they camped alone or with strangers for up to three months, but they had been travelling steadily southward for thirteen years now, and were unaware of what they were searching for. So far, all that had been uncovered was apocalyptic residue and extreme sadness.[/i][/font][/color]

[color=darkgreen][font=gothic]My first RPG in what has to be about a month now... excuse me if I totally ruin this. And sorry for butting in like this, but I was invited, after all... [i] Csi awoke with a pounding headache to the sound of her name being called. She sat up quickly, looked around, and then vomited as a result of the spinning ruins around her. When she had emptied her stomach and cleared her head, she opened her eyes once more and looked about her. The ground was strewn with rubble, dead bodies and twisted wrecks of vehicles and buildings. A boeing 767 lay ploughed into the soil beside her, she wondered how she had slept through that one. Once her surroundings had been revealed to her sore eyes, she inspected herself revealing many bruises and cuts, but no serious damage, and got up. Thinking back to where she had been last, she remembered playing croquet with her brothers and sisters in her back yard. Her boyfriend, Miak, was sitting under the shade of a jacaranda tree, painting the scene with watercolours... and that was it. Heat, light, darkness, cold. Silence. "Csi, Csi... Where are you? Yonna? Mum!" A voice sounded from close by. Csi stood and peered around her in the bright light. A person wandered the wreckage fifty metres to her left. She ran towards it as fast as she could without spraining her ankles, stumbling in the mountains of crushed cement and twisted steel. As the figure came into focus, she recognised it as her little sister Danna, and she swept her up into her arms. Danna screamed and then gasped as she realised who it was, hugging Csi tightly and sobbing desperately. Csi sat in the ruins, still holding Danna, and cried with her. Footsteps crunched towards the pair, unheard by the sisters.[/i][/font][/color]

[color=darkgreen][font=gothic]Well, here goes... (finally) Character 01 Name: Csi (pron. tsi) West Race: Human Location: Unknown as yet Equipment: none Bio: Normal young woman, was attending university until world exploded suddenly. Biggest sister to 12 other siblings. Long, black hair, numerous peircings, rather tall for her gender. Character 02 Name: Danna West Race: Human Equipment: Bio: younger sister to Csi, ten years old. Honey blond hair, played violin. Six fingers on each hand. Loves animals. Character 03 Name: Jen West Race: Human Equipment: pocket knife, playboy mag Bio: Younger brother to Csi, fifteen years old. Interest in the military. Shaved head, sergeant's rank tattooed on left arm. Character 04 Name: Boo Race: looks human Equipment: map Bio: baby of four months. [/font][/color]

[color=darkgreen][font=gothic]Bastard! Bastard!!! Don't throw that back at me! How dare you win in an argument against ME, the amazing-all knowing-incandescent something of somewhere. It's not fair, you always win... [/font][/color]

[color=darkgreen][font=gothic]Well, well, well. 1) Cloricus - I hate your first banner, you do NOT own me and even saying so is a crime in my large and leatherbound book. 2) Harlequin - I love you and you are incredible but I do not like that banner you made for me. The only things I like about it is the font and the fact that it moves. I do not like what you have done with the font, nor the way it moves, or the background, the concept or the style (basically exactly the same as all your other banners). But I am touched that you sacrificed a good seventy seconds of your time to make me something. 3) Cloricus - your second banner is lovely. Simplicity dominated a whole arts movement and you have captured the concept in one move. 4) Harlequin - your obsession with the lense flare, solarise thing - in fact your literacy in Adobe language all together - is a little worrying. You should spend less time on the computer and more time on the [i]phone[/i]... 5) Cloricus - happy birthday, please remove your head from your *** before you can speak nothing BUT my least favorite dialect int he whole entire universe. 6) Harlequin - quit nitpicking, don't sulk. 7) Cloricus - don't make me laugh. I can't even TOUCH Harlequin when he doesn't want me to, and out of anyone on the planet, I would definately be the only person who can get that close to him without being in acute pain afterwards. (Well, sometimes... ahem.) So sure, go ahead, beat the **** out of him by all means, just don't come crying to me afterwards. 8) Harlequin - don't you dare touch cloricus or I'll give him a taste of what I give to you. Promise. Stop argueing, someone say something about my banner. [/font][/color]

[color=darkgreen][font=gothic]Well, you know that I can easily fill in those cold, windy, adobe-photoshopless crevasses in you life. Just email me the pix you want, the font you want, the words you want and I will bevel and emboss to your little incapable heart's content. Harlequin could probably do a better job, but he wouldn't. So anyway... speaking of bevel and embossment, here is my new (and slightly worse) banner. [/font][/color]

[color=darkgreen][font=gothic]I've heard of them. Isn't it such a horrible feeling when a week or two old post has had - oh look, - no replies? None at all? Oh dear! That's terrible! If you were here, you might just feel REALLY bad about that. But you're not here, and that's the sole reason why I am paying you out about it. I have no other reasons why. Nightwish aren't bad, I don't think. That's my opinion on them. But Jesus Chicken's opinion of them might be somewhat different... In fact, I would go as far as to say that on the "liking music that nobody else would even touch" front, you've hit another all time whatever. Not your fault, my love. Maybe all those people who DIDN'T reply to this thread avoided doing so smiply [i]because[/i] they had heard of Nightwish - and regretted the experience. Go on, Raven, you're saying, spit it out and stop wasting our time. Everybody Hates Nightwish. So prove me wrong! I dare you to. But I like Nightwish, and so do you, my love, in fact you like them so much as to publicly admit that you like them. Big step. Not for you though, oh no, because you are a god and you wouldn't think twice about publicly humiliating yourself in front of potentially millions of people. One of the reasons I love you. But back to the topic... I think that the reason only a small select group of people like nightwish because they incorporate two or three very diverse, non-related genres of music and people who like one or the other usually aren't ready to mix tastes. So feel special, and revel in keeping this musical gemstone to ourselves. I love you. [/font][/color]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by The Elite DBZ [/i] [B][b]I slept through the hurricane that struck England in the late '80s! Of course, I was only 1 or 2 years old at the time but it was a pretty big storm, lol. [/b] [/B][/QUOTE] [color=darkgreen][font=gothic]Was that the one in 1987? Because I was there for that one, I'm not sure if it was a hurricane but it sure as hell took half our house down and washed it down the river. We moved after that. I was two or three at the time... but I remember it well, because I was in the half of the house that got washed away. Man, that was fun.[/font][/color]

[color=darkgreen][font=gothic]Well, there is a street in my town called Schoefield Street. It is about one hundred, two hundered meters long... and [i]apparently[/i] it has the highest crime rate in Australia! As if! Says something about Toowoomba Journalism, eh? Melbourne, however, has been dubbed by Time magazine as the Murder Capital of the World. I heard on Triple J that one guy from the station was staying there with some friends, and they were reading the paper about some crime investigation receiving new info. The crime was something like this guy's backyard had been excavated and twenty seven baby corpses and three child corpses had been found. Anyway, his friend was reading this story and she looked up from it and said to the other friend, "I don't remember this one, do you?" SHE DOESN'T REMEMBER IT? Not something I'd pass off as an everyday occurance, but then again I don't live in Melbourne. [/font][/color]

[color=darkgreen][font=gothic]The only quotes I have ever made up are: "Don't worry, human flesh is an aquired taste. Unfortunately for you, I have aquired it." And... "The anticipation of pain is worse than the actuality." And I might have got that one from somewhere. My favorite quotes would have to be... Life is a tragedy to those who feel, a comedy to those who think. Where are we going? Why am I in this hand basket? I'm just here for moral support. Ignore the gun. This is more fun than premeditated hit and run with locomotives. And the one that I live by every day... It is not necessary to understand things in order to argue about them. PM me for more, I have a huge archive of quotes, sayings and philosophies. [/color][/font]

[color=darkgreen][font=gothic]Not much to do with criticism, but I really love it when my english teachers read my drafts while we are all doing other stuff, and they laugh out loud in spite of themselves. It's a great feeling. Good to know that they actually enjoy the story, and are not just marking it like every other damn piece of paper they've ever ramndomly glanced at in their however-long-teaching-hell. In fact, I like it whenever people smile or laugh or gasp when they read my stuff. It is probably the best feedback you can get. Like when I wrote a story and gave it to Jesus Chicken, and a few days ago he said he had read it again and wanted to know if I'd written any more of it, it made me feel really good. [/font][/color]

[color=darkgreen][font=gothic]I save up all my money and go out to Wyreema and buy little baby piglets and take them home and paint them fluro green and then teach them how to play the violin and then sell them on the Yorkshire market for thousands of dollars each (little green violin playing pigs are in high demand these days) and then with that money I go and take skydiving lessons and teach my pigs how to skydive and play the violin at the same time and then with all the money I get from selling [i]those[/i] pigs I buy lengths of black velvet and give it to Harlequin and he looks at me as if to say, "why the hell do you insist on giving me all these pieces of black velvet? What do you expeact me to do with it all? Are you insane!??!!?" and I look at him as if to say, "Yes, I am. And you know that, and you have always known that. And you also know that I keep giving you black velvet because I don't want you to feel bad about having a girlfriend who raises green pigs for a living..." Anyway so he takes the black velvet and drapes it over his father which annoys him greatly because he is often trying to drive the car or mow the lawn when Harlequin comes up behind his father and covers his head with black velvet... I'm getting off the point. My hobby is writing really weird pieces of literature, often including Harlequin, myself and lengths of black velvet. Not so much green skydiving violin playing $4000 pigs though....[/font][/color]

[color=darkgreen][font=gothic]Where do I begin... 1) Chocolate 2) Harlequin 3) Thailand 4) Bush, Fear Factory, Nightwish, The Tea Party, Filter, Nirvana, Hunters and Collectors, Static X, 17 strategically placed speakers.... 5) Chocolate 6) Black velvet 7) Chocolate 8) Chocolate 9) thunderstorm 10) Harlequin. [/font][/color]