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MrWhereItsAt
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New Year's Resolution: 2005 is the year of Where It's At - come get some.
Nov 2001
time: 17:31
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Apologies for inflicting this on people. I had hoped to do a poem like UnO's beautiful first post, or Darekill's fine effort, but it IS 3am, and I really wanted to post something a little cheery. So here, you go, read on at your own peril.
Take THIS PtWDG forum! 
There once was a mighty quest,
To see MrWIA dead UnOrthOdOx would not rest,
He traveled along with his slave,
Needing badly a shave,
To which even a bear would attest
Into battles galore he would ride,
Whilst slashing down Spaniards with pride,
Searching in vain,
All through the plain,
"Where the f*** are you?" he cried.
A perplexed WIA was on the run
He couldn't understand this foul-fanged hun
Said to himself one day
"Why would he come all this way?"
"I wonder if it was 'cos I killed his son?' 
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Darekill
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Zweibrücken
Oct 2002
time: 06:31
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I like that.
Thanks for this. It truely adds to the game I think. Much more than any Flamewars....
And just a bit of Prosa..
A Heroes Tale.
He was a hero they said. The youngsters from the Glory of War told him that. The brave old men from the BASF told him too. He was a hero indeed.
His father used to tell him not to enter the frontranks in a battle. "It's not the first row to celebrate the victory" he used to say "but those who mob up the rests." An old mans advise, he thought. What does he know. He never sat in a saddle. He never felt the nervous power of a proud mare that is dancing and prancing in anticipation of a forthcomming charge. He knew. He was a BASF! One of the best Ansar that Neu Demogyptica had. At least that was it what his intructors told him back home in Stonedina. He remembered the day they rode out of the town.
Mayor Stonewall Jackson himself stood in front of the hundred young men on their horses. He did not say much, Stonie as they used to call him was never a man of many words. He was just standing there looking with a determined expression in his eyes and said one word only. "Go!" And they did go. They started riding out of the city with a song on their lipps like all of the BASF do when they charge or ride along. Singing and fighting is one. It sometimes chilled the bones of the enemy to hear the sound alone and that was something that made this unit unique.
They arrived just in time for the attack. The battle was close at hand and not all of them felt realy like singing. The tension in the air was so high, that one could hear the sound of a falling leave when it gently touched the ground.
Then their leader began to sing. "We rode in the morning..."
A thousend voices joined in "Arnablanca to the West!..."
They started to charge right away sining "From the Dreizack mountain foothills leading down to old Leon..".
He couldn't fall back! No way he could hold his horse back. He had to be one of the first to encounter the enemy and he was. He fought and it was a great fight. He was stinging and slabing and thrusting and slashing and hiting and killing all the way through the enemys ranks. He was the one to encourage those which had almost lost all their heart as they saw how strong the opposing knights were armored.
Then it was over.
His friend, had to tell him that he should consult a healer. He had not noticed the wound that was there on his side. Had not seen that some of the blood around him was his own. He did not care that there were a certain pain which craweld up from his haunches up to his chest. Suddendly he was tired. very tired indeed and he was falling. Down. Closer to the mother earth. The very ground which was the reason for the fighting. The soil which was the future for his land, his sons and daughters to be. He never realised that he reached it. He lost his consciousness.
The next he remebered was a young lass that bend over him.
"Ah he's awake." she said with the voice of an angel. "How will he take the news?".
The doctor came and talked to him. It was clear that something had happened to him. He had to realise that he was missing his left leg.
It took him weeks but he gained back his strength and they gave him a wooden leg but he'd never ride again. They send him back to Stonedina and told him that he was a true Hero.
Now he is on his way again. A hero, a beggar, a cripple. some people show pitty to him and give him food and drinks. Sometimes he even gets some coins when he tells his story but not many because there were a lot of heroes around these days. Far to many...
Edit: removed some typos and changed it a bit...
Last edited by Darekill on 12-12-2003 at 11:49
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07-12-2003 04:39
He is a "bed liner" 
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