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Behind the Stacked Mugs
19 most recent entries

Date:2006-04-12 15:28

I love it when the design world turns its attentions onto social issues.

And here are some nice Design student Ads.

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Date:2006-03-15 10:40
Subject:Everybody! Move your Feets!

A great pixelated video from Junior Senior.

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Date:2006-02-27 10:02

You Passed 8th Grade Math

Congratulations, you got 10/10 correct!

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Date:2006-01-27 22:09
Subject:...I knew it.
Mood:indie rock

You're an Indie Pop Kid. You like songs about

relationships and the prettiness of nature.

You're sentimental, but not certainly not

emo. Oh, and if you aren't an English Major,

you should be.

You Know Yer Indie. Let's Sub-Categorize.
brought to you by Quizilla

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Date:2006-01-13 22:41

Haha! I love it!

Also, Batgirl rules.

Watched Pulp Fiction last night with Max and Ng. I'd forgotten how much that movie "changed everything." Well, by borrowing a whole bunch of french new-wave and 70s exploitation, but still... Awesome film.

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Date:2005-12-21 19:31
Subject:Movie Time!

Wocka wocka wocka wocka

Don't hit me! I'm full of chocolate!

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Date:2005-12-20 17:30
Subject:Top 20s

I was recently asked to list my top 20 movies, TV shows, books, comics and games. I don't have them in any particular order, and I'm sure I've missed some that I'll be headslapping about later, but I thought I'd share.

This was hard, because I've got a lot. I feel like this is a good smattering from all over the place of my cinematic enjoyment.
Read more...Collapse )

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Date:2005-09-29 11:23

Bold for true, italic for what-i-wish-was-true, add one thing at the end, tag five peeps

* I miss somebody right now.
* I don't watch much TV these days.
* I love olives.
* I own lots of books.
* I wear glasses or contact lenses.
* I love to play video games.
* I've tried marijuana.
* I've watched porn movies.
* I have been in a threesome.
Read more...Collapse )

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Date:2005-08-18 13:59

Wull, it's been entirely tae long since I updated th' ol' drink tab here... Sorry aboot thot.

I, er, went to hell an' back. The story is in the Feathermoon Library, but it's epic... So git tae readin'!

Unfortunately th' foller-up where I made it back is lost fer eternity. Thot's whot I git fer no' payin' attention.
I've been meanderin' around Teldrassil, helpin' th' elven druids whot helped me back ferm th' nether. They're all purty nice, 'cept fer thot Staghelm feller, 'e's go' an attitude problem. Sae it goes.


(( I re-rolled Scrollhaven as a priest, but I'm not playing as much as I used to, so I expect to level pretty slowly. Still, not that Morgrohk my shaman is out of the 21-30 Gulch bracket, I look forward to gettin' a little dwarven love involved in the Gulch with the Northern Army.

The Heroes of Azeroth still seems to be going strong, even though a lot of us have been rocking out Horde-side now; even Teldurn. You can see a lot of what I've been doing over there on the Sidewinder Band Website, which is a really cool guild webstie, courtesy of Rikaelus (Nylondru). ))

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Date:2005-05-28 02:27
Mood:In firm of Purpose

Scrollhaven blinked, and the blurry shapes started to coalesce into faces, backed by something large… and wooden.

His beautiful Svanhilde, and another pair of attractive women – an elf and a gnome, and a huge cask of ale. Several huge casks of ale.

“G’d Lords… It’s true. I’ve died an’ gone tae heaven.”

He heard a snort, and someone high-pitched let out a giggle. Svanhilde leaned over him, wiping a wet rag over his face, the smell of his own blood catching his senses.

“No,” Mahat smiled, shaking her head, “You’re in the basement of the Irregular. I’m not really allowed to have customers down here, but I figured we could make an exception.”
“Silly Paladin,” he heard the little gnome rogue say.

“What’s…what’s going on?” The dwarf said, struggling to sit up. The curses had faded, his strength was returning, but he still felt the burning lashes of the whip and the severe pummeling of the Voidwalker.

“Slaughter, that’s vhat,” Svanhilde smiled, “Looks like I had tae rescue you vonce again, m’lord.”

“Yes,” Mahat sighed, “The coven of the Slaughtered Lamb has suffered a great loss this evening. But I fear retribution will be inevitable.”

“Woah, noo…” Scrollhaven grimaced, “I didnae want anyone else tae git involved in this. This wuz atween me and them, an’ noo I’m afear’d I’ve nae go’ th’ information I wuz seekin’. Damn an’ Blast, I’m nivver gonnae figger out whot’s got Andi all up an’ demonic… That dark lady. She said somethin’ about an’ evil Andi? Some aspect o’ her gone bad?”

Mahat shrugged. Svanhilde tsked concernedly.

Harlena looked at her nails. “Well,” she grinned, “I may had heard something. You know. While just hanging around in the shadows.”

“Och aye?” Scrollhaven turned to the little rogue, then winced in pain.

“Sure was! Several of those dark fiends in the shadows were talking about a succubus. Name of Kaltai. She was planning some sort of corruption, and your friend’s name was mentioned. Andi it was, right?”

“Aye, it was. Kaltai, hrm? I swears, thot name sounds fermiliar.” Scrollhaven groped around for his hat, but it was nowhere to be seen. “Damn. Wh’ar’s thot blasted – “ He grinned. Svanhilde had it, and she gently tugged it onto his head.

“Well, it’s a name. It’s a start. Th’ar’s a warlock oot th’ar wit’ a succubus, an’ I’ve go’ tae find ‘em. An’ I’ve go’ a suspicion as tae where tae start lookin’.”

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Date:2005-05-28 02:18
Subject:Svanhilde, my saviour.

This particular entry is written by the player who plays the dwarven asassin Svanhilde, reprinted with her presumed permission. You can read the original post in the entire Motions in Shadow thread (if it still exists), here.

((Backing up just a bit))

Scrollhaven waited impatiently for Svanhilde ta get ready. “Ach, lass! Wot’s tha holdup?”

“Qviet, ye! Ye cannot rush perfection. This blasted black leather be skin tight an don’t just slide on like yer baggy britches.” Actually her delays had nothing to do with the magical black leather armor Scrollhaven had gifted to her, and everything to do with the insane number of weapons she was trying to hide within it. Finally, she buckled the belt with its convenient pouch full of her latest potions and poisons and was ready to go.

“Ready, lad,” she said as she walked out of the bedroom. She sauntered over to Scrollhaven and gently closed his mouth and gave him a kiss. Laughing, “Glad you like tha armor on me, lad. Ve best be off.”

Outside she stopped at the post and saw there was a package for her. “Hey I gots some mail. Vhat a surprise. It be from tha Andi Lady believe it or not. Musta sent it afore she got inta vhatever mess she be in.” Svanhilde wondered what her new guildmate would bother to send to her since she had never even met the woman. Paranoid to a fault, she inspected the box carefully before slicing it open while Scrollhaven watched with stormy impatience.

Inside were the two most beautiful daggers Svan had ever seen, with shiny pearl handles and blades so sharp the edges were almost transparent. She picked one up and dropped it quickly, her fingers sizzling with fire and pain.

“Ach, lass. Careful there. Andi sent ya some fine weapons but ye clearly need ta do some trainin before they’ll let ya touch ‘em. Them magical blades be fickle like thot, ya know.”

Svanhilde’s eyes were wide as she looked at the daggers. They were so beautiful, it was painful to look at them and know she couldn’t use them. “Vell I vill not be trustin’ tha bank vith these.” She carefully tied the daggers in their jet black sheaths around her boots, safe and out of the way.

“Now, can we please be off?”

“Aye, Scrollhaven. Ta Stormvind vith us!” Svan was determined to help this Andi person, if only to thank her for the deadly gifts.

((Insert Scrollhaven’s post about entering the Slaughtered Lamb here.))

A blizzard of thoughts raged through Svanhilde as she watched her love beaten and bespelled by the assembled warlocks. She liked warlocks. Hells bells, she worshipped them. They were always understanding to her and mostly helpful. And those imps were *so* cute! But watching the voidwalker claw at Scrollhaven’s handsome face and seeing his silver beard covered in blood sent explosions of rage through her, shattering what little was left of her sanity. She did not care if she died, if everyone in the world died, but not Scrollhaven, not the one person who had ever made her feel worth more than the slime on a slug. No. Not him.

As she watched Scrollhaven fall, she prayed, already on her knees at the warlocks feet, like some groveling pet dog. “Dark lord, vonce ye took me soul an’ promised me vengeance ‘gainst tha hated dvarves o’ Ironforge. I vish ta trade tha’ dream in. Fer me soul, I vant me beautiful lad’s precious life… tha power ta save ‘im from these, me own dark friends. I am yer servant an’ I beseech ye ta hear me now. An’ if ye don’t, ta hell vith ye.” And as the prayer ended, Svan saw what must be done.

“Oh please, mistress, dinnae hurt me. Dinnae send me ta the Dark Mistress.” Svan groveled at Miss Cloyce’s feet, ignoring the arrogant cackle of the succubus. “ I vill do anythin’, anythin’! Ye cen have me soul if’n ye vish. I vill pledge me bein’ ta ye forever if ye vould only promise not ta send me avay.” Had she always been such a subservient peon? Svanhilde’s storming insanity whipped higher as a wave of self loathing hit her, but a groan from Scrolly was enough to renew her focus.

“Oh, ye be such a good doggy, Svanhilde. I don’t know why Mel ever let you slip away. Maybe I’ll allow you to fetch my mail for me sometimes, eh? Now let’s see this soul of yours, shall we?” Drawing out a purple crystal from her elegant crimson gown, Miss Cloyce bagan the ritual Svan had witnessed so many times before, the purple energy leaping out to hit her chest and begin pulling out her soul…. if she had one.

Surprise lit the woman’s face almost immediately. “Wha…?”

And then a sizzling, low voice reverberated through tha room. “How dare you try to take something that belongs to me!”

“No, master I did not mean to.” Suddenly it was Miss Cloyce who was on her knees, begging. “It was a mistake. How was I to know this she-dog was bound to you so closely? Please forgive me I beg you.”

The voice boomed over her and shadows crept up the walls. “Do you *know* the price for trying to steal from me? Do you?” The other warlocks around the bar cackled and sat up in eager anticipation, while Cloyce’s students came forward, demons at their sides to intercede.

The purple beam reversed it’s flow and struck Cloyce in the chest, her face lighting with horror as she realized what was happening. “You are mine now, warlock, for all eternity,” said the Dark Lord.

“Here, allow me ta speed ye on yer vay!” Svan cried out as she drew a dagger and buried it in the warlock’s throat. Blood and purple energy exploded from the wound, dousing Svan in gore as she ripped the dagger free and struck with her other hand, slicing open the woman’s gut in a rush of slick blood and slimy entrails. Miss Cloyce slumped to the floor and the purple gem, now glowing with the woman’s soul, splashed to the ground in the growing pool of blood.

The succubus arched one delicate, slanted brow, giving Svan an appraising look. Then she cackled, cracked her whip and was gone in a puff of smoke.

Svan turned to face Cloyce’s students and their minions, rushing her to avenge their fallen mentor. All her hidden weapons left their scabbards in a flurry as knives flew around the room and Svan whirled away from the voidwalkers fiersome claws. Warlock after warlock fell in lifeless heaps around the room as Svanhilde, filled with the demon’s blessing of vengeance, unleashed her fury on the hapless summoners.

Finally, surrounded by glaring warlocks and preparing for her final stand, Svan realized that none of the imps were attacking her, or else their fireballs would surely have burnt her to a crisp. But there was no time to wonder why. Grabbing a handful of potions she downed them all at once, knowing that the sudden rush of magic would either kill her, which was about to happen in any case, or give her the boost she needed.

Her left eye twitched as it always did when she lived like a rat in the sewers as the potions took effect. Troll’s blood, Swiftthistle, healing, protection and strength mingled and sent a rush of energy through her.

Svanhilde drew her only remaining weapons, the daggers that Andi had made for her. Just for her. A gift beyond any Svan had hoped for or anticipated. Her hands sizzled and began to smoke as she held them, but she did not care. The blades glowed with power and she grinned evilly in their green glow.

Unseen and unheard, a night elf rogue slipped into the front door to see the carnage all over the bar, almost losing her grip on the shadows in her shock.

A warlock coughed. Another slipped on the blood drenched wood and cried out in horror as he landed in Cloyce’s steaming entrails. A whisper. A nod. And then they charged....

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Date:2005-05-12 11:28
Subject:Motions in Shadow, continued...

The Mage district, Stormwind

"Cor... Nivver realized th'ar wuz a neighborhood like this in th' mage district."

Scrollhaven looked around the through the doorway of the Slaughtered Lamb, drawing many counter-stares. Robes were adjusted, cowls were drawn forward, and dark and demonic eyes glowered and glittered from the shadowy corners. "'Ere!" cried the dwarf, "Whot're ye lookin' at, mate?"

"A horrible specimen of a drunken dwarf." came a muttered reply, as a completely shaven and sinister-eyed man in blood-purple robes slipped around him and out into the evening.

Svanhilde was engaged in a muttered dialogue with the bartender, when a new flood of darkness seemed to flow into the tavern from the back of the room. Blue-ish candles flickered, and Scrollhaven swore he could hear the chitter of bats or worse from somewhere.

"Mistress Cloyce!" Svanhilde gasped, and before the paladin could blink, the dwarven lass had dropped to her knees, cowering and groveling before a sinister lady in red and black, greenish flames seeming to slowly burn off her shoulders.

A low growl began to emanate through Scrollhaven's beard, and his large fist clenched around the haft of his curve-bladed ripper. His eyes darted about, but then stretched up as he stared at the hulking form of the largest Voidwalker he'd seen in a long time. The creatures glowing malevolent gaze made his face burn, and it's large, gauntleted claws began to slowly flex and unflex.
I could take 'im, Scrollhaven thought to himself, but it'd take me a hell of a long time tae wear 'im down, an' it would shore hurt in th' process.

"Klauzok!" Miss Cloyce reprimanded, snapping her fingers. The voidwalker seemed to shiver, briefly, then floated to the side, back into shadows. The Warlock gestured a little. "Come inside, lightwalker, perhaps we of the shadow can aid you." She was taking obvious delight in the paladin's discomfiture.

"So, Svanhilde, you lovely wretch," the mistress continued, purring, "looking for more work? There are always... undesirables, those distrustful of our ways..." at this she took a long and slow gaze up and down Scrollhaven's stout, muscled form, "...those whom we would love to see...eliminated."

Svanhilde cowered some more, and her eyes flickered hotly. "Mistress, please. Ve seek only information. Knowledge of the dark." She refused to turn around and meet Scrollhaven's furrowed gaze.

"Ha! You cannot do much good in this world, if you have not tasted the cruel knowledge it can offer, can you, paladin?" She laughed, a light and hearty laugh that may have been pretty once, but had long grown bitter. "There will be a price... there always is."

The paladin muttered as he fished through his coin purse. "Wull. May've I've go' a gold piece er two..."

"Oh no." The warlock replied, "We have little need for gold here, silly dwarf, not when there are prettier things you harbor." From the backs of the tavern could be heard some chortling and whispering, and the occasional crack of a whip. "But first, let us see what it knowledge it is you need."

"I've a friend," Scrollhaven muttered, suddenly concerned about the direction his investigation was going. "She's in trouble. I think she's attracted something sinister. Mayhap somethin' tae do wit' ye folk, more'n likely." He cast accusing glares around the room. "An' I'll take each an' every one o' ye tae hell tae help her, mark me words!"

He heard Svanhilde let out a quick gasp, and stifle it with a gulp. The tavern had grown silent once again, with the occasional hiss.

"And your friend, who is she?" Miss Demisette Cloyce whispered malevolently, clutching at her staff tightly.

"Er... I've a picture, here." Scrollhaven fished about, and finally produced a gnomish snapshot of him and Andi and Rane, laughing around several tankards of ale at an outdoors party. He stared at it for a few moments, unable to hand it over, then reluctantly showed it to the warlock mistress. "It's, er... th' redheaded lass th'ar. Wit' th' armor."

The Warlock stared at it for a few moments. Her brow twitched, and the corner of her mouth flickered into a malevolent smile.
"Yes indeed, I have seen her." She looked up at Scrollhaven, who raises his eyebrows. "Almost... just like her. Only in robes, without the armor. And certainly not looking happy like this. She seemed to be harboring... many secrets, I think."

Scrollhaven pursed his lips and snatched the picture back. "Andi, a warlock? Yer out o' yer skull, woman. I'd b'lieve a charitable goblin afore I'd b'lieve somethin' like thot." He caught a glimpse of Svanhilde wincing.

"Oh but there's more..." the Warlock smiled, seemingly unconcerned about the paladin's slight. "I know where she is. But again, for a price."

"Whot's that, witch?" The dwarf frowned.

"A piece of your soul, perhaps. Or hers," she looked down at the skulking rogue, "wretched though it may be."

"Wretched? Like hells!" The sharp sound of the Curve-bladed Ripper as it slid across his shield snaked across the tavern interior. Scrollhaven yanked Svanhilde behind him and waved the axe around the room. His glare caught Demisotte's for a brief second, and they matched wills before a loud snap was heard and Scrollhaven felt a bracing pain as his arm was yanked, the axe flinging across the room and burying itself into the wall next to a hapless gnome spellcaster, who found himself coughing and spitting out his wine.

The dwarf stared down the length of his arm and the whip that had ensnared it, and at the taunting, flagrant swagger of a succubus.
"Ooh!" taunted the demon, drawing her tongue over her lips. "Whatever will we do with the swaggering dwarf? Can I play?"

Scrollhaven heard several malevolent whispers in the darkness, and suddenly felt a curse weakening his strength. A large, blue blur suddenly blocked his vision, and he cried out as the voidwalker's claws slashed across his head, sending his hat flying. Blood seemed to cloud his vision, and he felt the numbing pain of agony as shadow magic worked insidious spells on him.

"Take them down to the crypts," he heard Coyle's voice, slowly fading with his consciousness. "There are things down there... that need feeding." Other voices cut in, as he felt himself being dragged across the floor.

"What of his dwarven cur, this asassin?"

"She has proven useful, in the past."

"Maybe we should let her go?"

"Someone find Melicity, perhaps she would like her back. To play with, perhaps?"

Darkness fell.

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Date:2005-05-12 11:26
Subject:Motions in Shadow, continued...
Mood: satisfied

The bedroom of a home in the Mystic Ward, Ironforge

"Cor! Good grief, lass!"

Scrollhaven blinked. The bed had cracked in twain a couple of hours ago, rock dust scattered across the floor, several bookshelves had been broken and books lay spread about the room. Down feathers drifted through the room like snow, and when he staggered up, the dwarf accidently put his foot into the mouth of the mounted Crag Boar's head that had been knocked off the wall.

"Gaah!" He cried, staggering about madly, hopping up and down as he tried to shake off the trophy while single-handedly disentangling himself from the sheets. He stumbled and fell, sliding into the corner and cracking his head.

"Oh fer-" He started to yell, still struggling with the sheets, when he suddenly realized he was face to face with the skull.

"Doom?" It said.

Scrollhaven blinked a couple of times. Something was... there was something... Oh! He bolted up.


"Who?" asked Svanhilde suspiciously, as she languidly sat up from the bed, stretching herself. "Vhat're you talking about, m'lord?" The name sounded familiar.

"Andi! Me friend Andi, ye know... one o' th' top swordmaidens o' our clan?" He looked at her as she sat in the bed, rolling a lock of her delicious black hair around her finger. She glanced over at the tapestry on the wall bearing the sigil of the Heroes of Azeroth. Faint, bored recognition seemed to stir in her face, but then she looked back at him and it was quickly replaced by renewed desire.

"Come back to bed, lord, von't you?" She stretched again, but this time for his benefit more than hers.

"Och! Er... wull... I s'pose we c'd..." He cast about. "Whot time is it anywho?"

He peeked his head out of the door and glanced at the great gears of the massive forge far down the grand hallway, which, if one kept track of, could give a reasonable approximation of the time of day outside the mountain.

"Great thundering axes! We've been at it..." he checked again. "...two days? Ha! Goes tae show, whotivver ye say aboot dwarves, they shore kin... er..."

"Look!" he charged back in, doing his best to ignore Svanhilde's plaintive pout. "We've go' business tae deal wit'. Yer Varlo...er...Warlock friends? Where are they, Stormwind?" She shrugged, then gave a faint nod. He started scrubbing his face and hair over the waterbowl, and looked in the mirror. His room had been torn apart. He had no idea when he was going to get a chance to straighten it up anytime soon.

"O-oh." Svanhilde sighed. She exhaled upwards, blowing the hair from off her forehead. Surely this fuss was over nothing, wasn't it? Curse that skull! And who was Andi to get so upset over, really? Who cares, when there was so much fun to be had inside, just to themselves? She plucked another one of her knives off the cupboard and flicked at the blade. Maybe if she just killed this Andi, then they'd have more peace and time to... Maybe that's the ticket.

Scrollhaven finished scrubbing himself and was slowly strapping on his armor, cursing to himself. Svanhilde sighed again. No, that would just upset her sweet knight, now wouldn't it... She'd better not. Unless she could make it look like an accident? Ooh! She shook herself. No! Stupid Svanhilde! What to do, what to do? Oh, the torments of lust, and perhaps love. Who's to say? Curse his honor, curse his friends, and curse his stupid skull!

Smacking a little and rubbing her eyes, she cracked her neck, and finally looked over at the blackened Defias leggings and gloves he'd worked so hard to find her. Oh well. To work.

"Git dressed, lassie! We're goin' tae Stormwind!"

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Date:2005-05-09 12:28
Subject:Childhood Memories

Scrollhaven stood waist-deep in the snow. The chain jherkin he'd gotten for his eleventh birthday was too loose, and hung off his shoulders like a poncho. He stood there, watching his breath condense in the cold but clear air of Dun Morogh.

"Righ', Laddie, this be th' flintlock, aye? After ye put in yer musketball, you pull th' catch back like this, an' then yer locked and loaded." The gruff but cheerful voice of his father pulled him out of his reverie, and he smiled up at him as he was handed the loaded blunderbuss.

His father pointed at the target, a barrel of wine that had gone bad placed on the stone wall not 200 feet away.

Scrollhaven held up the unweildy rifle, and attempted to cock it against his shoulder. It was large and uncomfortable. His nerves were steady, but he had trouble holding it still as he sighted down the length. The barrel waved back and forth in his vision. His finger brushed the trigger.

Thunder rolled across the hills. A large group of snow geese hurtled into the sky, honking angrily. Scrollhaven dug himself out of the snow drift, and walked over to where the smoking blunderbuss lay. He looked up at his father.

"Did I hit it, da?"

His father squinted at the pine to the left that had completely been stripped of needles.

"Nae, 'fraid no', lad."

The noises of the mountain began to return as they reloaded the gun. Off in the distance they could hear the drunken singing of the mortar team, and the sloshing as Ulga Bearcurler washing the day's laundry. Between the two of them, they got the stock brushed and the gunpowder poured. Scrollhaven took careful aim at the barrel.

The loud shot echoed across the hills. Ulga looked down at her washing bucket as the soapy water dribbled out into the snow from a dozen holes. Scrollhaven looked at his gun. His father grinned weakly.

"Let's try thot one more time, laddie."

( nivver could git th' hang o' shootin' things.)

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Date:2005-05-07 21:14
Subject:Bells a-ringin'!

Wull! S'been a busy day er two. Last night a few folk an' I met some friendly hordies over on a hill in th' barrens an' engaged in sports an' other games! Quite ennertainin', an' everyone seemed tae have fun. Afterwards I helped me council-mate Miss Zharia kill herself some Ogres in Alterac, which jest happens tae be a favorite hobby o' mine, o' course.

I've been most worried about me friend Andi, a fellow hero o' Azeroth. She's been distant fer a while, an' seems strangely distracted.

(( Went to the deadmines this afternoon in an attempt to acquire the entire blackened defias set for Svanhilde. No such luck. Van Cleef dropped some cloak instead of the armor. I may have to go back with her. Stupid Bind-on-Pickup.

http://wow.allakhazam.com/db/itemset.html?setid=161 ))

This afternoon, me old adventurin' friend Miss Calliope got married tae her Night Elf beau, a big burly feller by th' name o' Reprah. Alas! I wuz sae busy wrappin' their presents I missed th' blasted ceremony! Fortunately I made it tae th' reception tae greet folks an' present them wit' their gifts. They seemed very excited - sae excited thot they an' their friends all decided tae join me guild. Huzzah!

Then I got drunk an' passed out under a table somewhere upstairs.

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Date:2005-05-07 21:00
Subject:Motions in Shadow
Mood: distressed

(( Copied from the Feathermoon forums, the RP thread "Motions in Shadow".

http://forums.worldofwarcraft.com/thread.aspx?FN=wow-realm-feathermoon&T=38633&P=1 ))


A lone light flickered in the upstairs window of Bruuk's Corner in Ironforge. Stacks of parchment lay scattered about, covered with ink and bear stains.

"Och," Scrollhaven groaned, pulling at his beard. "Whot'm I doin'? I'm nae guild-leader! This's rerdickulous!"

He tossed back the remainder of his mug and carelessly placed it on top of the dozen other empty steins.

Nonetheless, the tired dwarf's efforts seemed to be paying off. The remaining Heroes seemed commited to the family, and there was indeed the sense of renewed purpose. But the nagging sensation of great doom was constantly upon him.

"Och, o' course. It's YOU agin." He pulled out the skull, and stared at it. It seemed to chortle.

"DooooOOOoOM!" The skull whispered.

"Shut it." Scrollhaven growled.

"DDOOOOOM!" The skull taunted. The half-drunk dwarf pulled out an old worn-out boot and started pounding the arrogant relic with it. It sputtered a few times, and grew quiet. The dwarf grinned. That always worked.

Suddenly, a flash of pure blackness sparked out of the disembodied head. Scrollhaven and his chair were flung back against the wall, as papers and quills hurtled around the room. The Skull rose up from the table, emitting malevolent glowing smoke, as ectoplasm dripped from its gaping maw. One eye glowed a fierce purple, as demonic fangs and horns seemed to grow out of it. For a brief second, he could have sworn he saw Andi's face super-imposed over the bony visage, but it was not quite her... Something about her expression froze his heart with fear.

Scrollhaven staggered back up the wall, desperately trying to pull his hat from off over his eyes. The Skull began to emit a fierce and resonant cackle, as the room shook. Dark flashes sputtered about. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the glowing eye, sunken deep into the socket, drawing his gaze with malevolent energy from the nether.

"Shee issss coming." The skull hissed. More glowing ectoplasm dripped from it, spitting as it hit the table it landed on. "The summoner arisesss. Yessss. Your friends are doomed."

This was not the apocalyptic taunting he was used to hearing from the thing. This was sheer and utter prophecy. Something was channeling through the relic.

"Who is comin'? Aye? WHO th' HELLS are ye talkin' aboot, ye daft neckless piece o' rubbish?" Scrollhaven stretched his fingers to reach his greataxe BoneBiter from where it leaned against the wall.

As abruptly as it started, the maelstrom stopped. There was a loud thunk as the skull hit the table, a rustle as parchment drifted to the ground. The room was once again silent, lit only by candleglow. The faint rumble of night-time Ironforge percolated from the window, clinking and laughter from the tavern below.

Scrollhaven blinked, and his hand closed around BoneBiter. He stared at the Skull on the table.

"Doom?" it whispered, almost sheepishly.

The dwarf let out a long, sighing breath.

"Mother o' Earthborn." he rumbled.

He swept the skull into his sack and smashed his hat onto his head. Glancing about, he hoisted his armor on and stalked out of the room, into the grand hallways of the city. He was going to need help to figure out what was going on. Help he didn't like asking for.

He stomped back to his quarters in the Mystic Ward, feeling a little bit ashamed at how long it had been since he'd been home. Too many late nights, as always. Too much drinking and nights spent passed out under tables or falling asleep on faraway tavern beds.

"Lassie?" He asked, peeking through his doorway, "Ye home?"

There was a muffled sigh from the bed. A curvaceous form rustled about under the sheets in the dark room. A soft invitational whisper.

Scrollhaven gulped, and slowly began to take off his armor.

He sat on the edge of the bed.

"Girl, I hate tae ask this... But I need some help. I need some advice. Er... ferm some o' yer old friends."

He ran a hand over his face, and took another deep breath.

"Ye still know some o' those demon-traffickers?"


(( The fact of the matter is, I can't stop RPing with my Skull of Foreboding Doom! It looks so cool when I offhand it, and it keeps saying, "Dooooom!"


It wins the "most crappy item evar" award on the Allakhazam message boards but I think it's the greatest thing in the world! First, you look really funny when you're running around using it (It really looks like your feet is outrunning your body) and second, well... it's a Skull of Foreboding DOOM, for pete's sake.

Scrollhaven's started having quite the relationship with it.

As far as Scrolly's mysterious lover is concerned, well, we'll just have to see... ))

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Date:2005-05-05 01:53
Subject:Da truth.

(( Gnomies are still my fuckin' homies. ))

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Date:2005-05-03 18:58
Subject:Tuesdays in th' Barrens

Wull, I've jest been real busy lately! Me mum's infirm an' needs takin' care of, and she's movin' ferm Ironforge tae Thelsamar, so thot leaves me tae do all th' packin' an' arrangin'. Sometimes she falls an' cannae git up agin, so I'm thinkin' o' cobblin' taegether a walker fer her. Me mate Reynaldo who's a purty cocky mage chap said maybe he could 'chant up a stone er somethin' so she could call folks when she falls. He's also tryin' tae attach soulstones tae devices so thot they kin work when ye claps. Funny idears out o' thot feller.

Saw a warlock taeday in th' tram wearin' one o' them cowls they's givin' tae folk whot kills a lot o' horde. Great big scary collar'd thing, whot hides yer face an' makes yer eye glow. Ooooh, creepy!

I went tae th' barrens this afternoon tae poke around fer a good spot fer th' tourney on Friday. Th' hill up by th' crossroads seems nice, s'close tae th' graveyard they've go' th'ar, but I'm worried aboot battle sae close tae th' town. Wouldnae wanna upset folk.

After thot, I poked aboot in ashenvale an' headed over tae Fellfire hill. Thot's th' place where Grom killed th' demon Manneroth. No' sure whot took me th'ar, partly curiosity an' partly... somethin' else.

Th' demons th'ar are worshippin' Mannoroth's great big sundered two-headed spear. Awful sinister-lookin'. Somethin' should be done aboot them. I might raise it up a' th' nixt Explorer's League meetin'.

Wull, time tae go git drunk! Toodles.

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Date:2005-05-02 05:58
Subject:A humble journal...
Mood: hopeful

Wull, here it is. Me first entry.

Lemme innerduce meself. Me name's Scrollhaven T. Holderhek, knighted paladin. What's a bloated arrogant stout li'l basterd like me doin' bein' a servant o' th' light? Wull, don't take me wrong, I dae take me duties seriously, an' I travel across th' world o' Azeroth lookin' tae right whot wrongs I kin find.

I currently wear th' tabard o' th' Heroes of Azeroth, a noble clan of folk who hae esteemed themselves all in one way er another. I've go' a mess o' friends in an' around th' world, includin' a number o' stalwart drinkin' buddies over on th' horde side o' things.

I dae tend tae git intae all sorts o' trouble, so I'll try an' keep track o' these things in this h'ar journal, along wit' a mem'ry er two as I come up wit' them.

Sae th'ar it is. I'll be talkin' tae ye anon, folks.

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my journal