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Post by probablyamage on Aug 5, 2012 12:17:58 GMT -5
Enough Thief. I have had ENOUGH. This has to end. I have had enough of sorcerers thinking that simply because they're pretty, and inherently magical they get to consider themselves the equal of wizards. Let it be known that I challenge the sorcerer Shamoke to a duel.......and let it be to the DEATH!!! Now granted, the death doesn't have to be his, and I certainly don't intend it to be mine. Anything could die and I would be satisfied, really. I could purchase a cow, then we could duel in it's general vicinity until it was dead and flame broiled to perfection....or as close to perfection as you can get with huge, incendiary spells. We could actively attempt to kill our livers in a drinking duel. We could even capture some wild, naturally occurring Banites and release them into the wild, to be hunted down. It would have to be an odd number of course, in order to prevent a tie.
Considering my grudge is against sorcerers, you might be thinking...”Lustig, you magnificent specimen of manly virtues, aren't you sleeping with at least one sorceress?” Why yes! Yes I am. Just one at the moment, I haven't got the cloning magic or that whole “permission” thing down as of yet. It's bad policy to duel the woman you're sleeping with. That, and not at all the fact that she typically wins our duels is the reason that I chose Shamoke for this challenge. He deserves to be knocked down a peg anyway. I mean look at him....he's got to have three, even four pegs already. His Elf to peg ratio is too high for him to be humble. I shall rectify that!
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Shamoke
Old School
The beard will consume you!
Posts: 295
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Post by Shamoke on Aug 28, 2012 22:39:22 GMT -5
*penned gracefully*
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Iffin' ye be knockin' 'em down a peg, Lad, ye can take dat peg n' shove it oop ye arse! DA ELFBEARD WILL CONSUME YE!
I say, Phillip, I do believe those chaps are going at it rather harshly. Indeed, we might be lucky enough to bear witness to a strapping match of fisticuffs!
Boys, boys! There's no need to fight over me! There's plenty of me to go around!
Shut ye' mouth ye' 'arlot!
Now that's no way to talk to a lady, mate!
Shut up!
You shut up!
Who are you even talking to?
You're the one who is talking to me!
Shhh! Someone's coming!
Is it Menelwen? I hope it's Mene. She loves us all equally.
Aye, Lad. Dat she does.
It's not Mene! Run!
Fleeeeeeeee!!!
Tactical retreat Gentlemen!
Stop writing!
Why did you write that? And that? And that too?
I don't know how to make it stop!
Let me try!
You wrote that. But I wrote that. And that. And that. And that, but also this. The last sentence I write will be one word, and it is the word below.
Phew.
What was the point in that?
No idea.
What is the point in this then?
To tell Lustig that Shamoke accepted his challenge for fisticuffs.
Oh right. Any rules?
Three rules!
No 'ittin' in da face.
Aye mate. And no 'itting a man in the bollocks.
What's a bollocks?
No idea. It sounds like something Fynn would say.
It's probably one's unmentionables, or something equally as filthy.
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Right! So the third rule?
Do not, under any circumstances, mock your opponent's wardrobe! That is just not classy at all!
Aye Lad.
Chip chip.
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The writing trails off the end of the page, with a tiny sketch of a shooting star in the corner.
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