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Beware All Ye With A Fear Of Paint...
Jun. 21st, 2006 12:49 pm...for pain is the spawn of the dulux. It is coming to coat you.
This public service announcement brought to you by Surreal Industries, keeping pomegranites well-shaved since 2096.
Right, the weekend:
Saturday's freeform with White City was hot - and I mean really hot. It might have had something to do with the fact that I was in chainmail and furs, but it might have had something to do with the weather too.
For a brief period at the start, I played Marshfield - a vine-child who, in preparation for the contest-of-arms we were attending, had starved himself of human blood for forty days. Now, he was a little hungry. Unfortunately, he and the rest of his group ran into Inigo Montoya and got utterly waxed in the first bout, so there was very little feasting to be had.
Then it was on to Gullo, war-leader of the Hung Boar Tribe. He was a brash yet intelligent warrior, who was fiercely protective of his tribe and hated the bigger ones. He had planned to gain status by beating some of these White City types all over the arena, but saw the level of combat going on and decided he wasn't going to touch that with a forty-foot slave pole. Cue him spending the afternoon watching fights, sneaking off into dark corners with the winners and poisoning their minds against the Jaguar and Nge tribes. Then the fights finished, the blood that had been spilt in the arena coalesced into a big nasty Nge blood god, drowned Gullo, and left me with a wonderful feeling of having done something right today. Having managed to extend a diplomatic invitation to the White City delegation, the Hung Boar might now well be doing quite well for themselves out of the upcoming stomping on of the Nge tribe.
___________________
Sunday was my now customary relaxing day in front of EQ2, which once again made me consider whether the benefits of TL outweighed being able to relax for a day before I go back to work. Either way, I was able to nurse the chainmail-patterned sunburn across my shoulders and bring Aryelle up to a rank eighteen conjurer and rank ten scholar. Once I get all six characters to rank twenty class and rank ten profession, I'm going to be left with an embarassment of riches as to what to do next. The Thundering Steppes, Vermin's Snye and the darkest realms of Blackburrow all await the lone questor who is determined to do it for themselves.
___________________
Monday night's Warhammer saw Alaina and Pieter locking horns again, this time with both of them thinking they're in the right. Engaged to guard someone's house in the evening, Pieter went shopping and spent some of his newly-earned coin on some decent clothes, giving himself a personal wardrobe for the first time in his life. Walking round the well-to-do areas of Altdorf, clean, dressed as well as he was and being big, blond and beautiful turned plenty of heads, and he loved it. On his night off, he was heading out to a high-quality inn to spend an evening drinking like he thought a proper gentleman might, when Alaina and Mel asked if he wanted them to join him. His response, "Sorry girls, you'd cramp my style", obviously wasn't taken in the way it was intended.
So there he is, sitting in the inn, wholly enjoying the fact that he seems to have made it a couple of steps up the ladder from where he was when he started, when who should walk in and sit down beside him but Alaina and Mel, sporting many fake bruises. As far as he was concerned, this indicated they thought this was too good for a perennial thug like him, and wanted to put a stop to it by socially assasinating him as a woman beater (it should be noted that Pieter is very protective of women as a result of his original job). He stormed out, then collared Alaina later on and went off on one about how stupid she was to be looking in local thieves hideouts for our target item when it could get her killed and we hadn't even tried to get the city on our side. This was doubtless fuelled quite strongly by how much her and Mel's actions had hurt him earlier, but cut a little too deeply and now she won't talk to him either. Typical day in the party, really.
___________________
I've managed to shallow fry my right wrist on the wall of the oven, just in time for it to receive an unwitting knock at the Moot and burst everywhere. Lovely.
Tony Blair has done something really quite well. I tend to not be a great fan of him (not a vociferous hater, but I vote Tory), but I was forced to admit he did something genuinely good, as well as built up some political capital. Recently, a group of schoolchildren were duped into paying £410 per head for a trip to Germany to watch an England game, and were left waiting for tickets that never materialised. Tony decided that this was not on, had some of his people talk to some of FIFA's people, and secured them tickets for games later in the cup. Pause for applause.
Right, finish work in time to go and watch a friend of mine perform in London. Not that there's much to do save write up work while I'm waiting for things to arrive...
This public service announcement brought to you by Surreal Industries, keeping pomegranites well-shaved since 2096.
Right, the weekend:
Saturday's freeform with White City was hot - and I mean really hot. It might have had something to do with the fact that I was in chainmail and furs, but it might have had something to do with the weather too.
For a brief period at the start, I played Marshfield - a vine-child who, in preparation for the contest-of-arms we were attending, had starved himself of human blood for forty days. Now, he was a little hungry. Unfortunately, he and the rest of his group ran into Inigo Montoya and got utterly waxed in the first bout, so there was very little feasting to be had.
Then it was on to Gullo, war-leader of the Hung Boar Tribe. He was a brash yet intelligent warrior, who was fiercely protective of his tribe and hated the bigger ones. He had planned to gain status by beating some of these White City types all over the arena, but saw the level of combat going on and decided he wasn't going to touch that with a forty-foot slave pole. Cue him spending the afternoon watching fights, sneaking off into dark corners with the winners and poisoning their minds against the Jaguar and Nge tribes. Then the fights finished, the blood that had been spilt in the arena coalesced into a big nasty Nge blood god, drowned Gullo, and left me with a wonderful feeling of having done something right today. Having managed to extend a diplomatic invitation to the White City delegation, the Hung Boar might now well be doing quite well for themselves out of the upcoming stomping on of the Nge tribe.
___________________
Sunday was my now customary relaxing day in front of EQ2, which once again made me consider whether the benefits of TL outweighed being able to relax for a day before I go back to work. Either way, I was able to nurse the chainmail-patterned sunburn across my shoulders and bring Aryelle up to a rank eighteen conjurer and rank ten scholar. Once I get all six characters to rank twenty class and rank ten profession, I'm going to be left with an embarassment of riches as to what to do next. The Thundering Steppes, Vermin's Snye and the darkest realms of Blackburrow all await the lone questor who is determined to do it for themselves.
___________________
Monday night's Warhammer saw Alaina and Pieter locking horns again, this time with both of them thinking they're in the right. Engaged to guard someone's house in the evening, Pieter went shopping and spent some of his newly-earned coin on some decent clothes, giving himself a personal wardrobe for the first time in his life. Walking round the well-to-do areas of Altdorf, clean, dressed as well as he was and being big, blond and beautiful turned plenty of heads, and he loved it. On his night off, he was heading out to a high-quality inn to spend an evening drinking like he thought a proper gentleman might, when Alaina and Mel asked if he wanted them to join him. His response, "Sorry girls, you'd cramp my style", obviously wasn't taken in the way it was intended.
So there he is, sitting in the inn, wholly enjoying the fact that he seems to have made it a couple of steps up the ladder from where he was when he started, when who should walk in and sit down beside him but Alaina and Mel, sporting many fake bruises. As far as he was concerned, this indicated they thought this was too good for a perennial thug like him, and wanted to put a stop to it by socially assasinating him as a woman beater (it should be noted that Pieter is very protective of women as a result of his original job). He stormed out, then collared Alaina later on and went off on one about how stupid she was to be looking in local thieves hideouts for our target item when it could get her killed and we hadn't even tried to get the city on our side. This was doubtless fuelled quite strongly by how much her and Mel's actions had hurt him earlier, but cut a little too deeply and now she won't talk to him either. Typical day in the party, really.
___________________
I've managed to shallow fry my right wrist on the wall of the oven, just in time for it to receive an unwitting knock at the Moot and burst everywhere. Lovely.
Tony Blair has done something really quite well. I tend to not be a great fan of him (not a vociferous hater, but I vote Tory), but I was forced to admit he did something genuinely good, as well as built up some political capital. Recently, a group of schoolchildren were duped into paying £410 per head for a trip to Germany to watch an England game, and were left waiting for tickets that never materialised. Tony decided that this was not on, had some of his people talk to some of FIFA's people, and secured them tickets for games later in the cup. Pause for applause.
Right, finish work in time to go and watch a friend of mine perform in London. Not that there's much to do save write up work while I'm waiting for things to arrive...
