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Originally written by Ephesos:

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Troll Master runs around crazily as Terror's Martyr continues to talk. After hearing the words "postmodernism" and "McGuffin" both used for no reason at all in the same sentence, Troll Master suddenly spontaneously combusts.

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I love this...

So the Avernum Trilogy's next? Cue the Xian skull...

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Originally written by Importance of Being Alorael:

I mixed up my antecedents there. Zxquez created me so he wouldn't just have himself to talk to. Aran spontaneously appeared out of the digital primordial ooze.

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Originally written by Spring:

Aran was a bot. :P

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Originally written by Lenar Labs:

Believe it or not, Ben isn't the only Bot on these forums.

Aran's magnum opus is a bot that we call Alorael, who's ever-changing moniker was actually an early attempt to hide its identity.
This failed, which forced Aran to create the signature signature with which we are all familiar.

:D

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The Silent Assassin is now under the delusion that he is a subject in a medical laboratory, and that this universe was created to decieve and test him.

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Originally written by the benalizer:

I'm still at a loss as to how to open and get data from outside files using PHP. How do you, Aran?

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Originally written by Andrea's Salmon:

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Originally written by We are the music-makers:

Difference of opinion is treated with pretended respect only when subtle.

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FYT :P

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Originally written by Dikiyoba:

1. No comment.

2. (Respectful silence.)

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Originally written by Drakefyre:

2) No comment.

3) (Respectful silence)

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Originally written by Andrea's Salmon:

As a point of order, who exactly are the captives of the turtle pits? The denizens are fuzzy turtles, they are fed unused sanity, and that's it. Where do captives enter into this picture?

Oh, and I saw the rankings before Aran killed them. He had 812 posts last month. Now, why again did the rankings get pulled?

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NEMESIS
by [[come on, guess. hint: "fhtag'n!"]]

Through the ghoul-guarded gateways of slumber,
Past the wan-mooned abysses of night,
I have lived o'er my lives without number,
I have sounded all things with my sight;
And I struggle and shriek ere the daybreak, being
driven to madness with fright.

I have whirled with the earth at the dawning,
When the sky was a vaporous flame;
I have seen the dark universe yawning
Where the black planets roll without aim,
Where they roll in their horror unheeded, without
knowledge or lustre or name.

I had drifted o'er seas without ending,
Under sinister grey-clouded skies
That the many-forked lightning is rending,
That resound with hysterical cries;
With the moans of invisible daemons that out
of the green waters rise.

I have plunged like a deer through the arches
Of the hoary primordial grove,
Where the oaks feel the presense that marches
And stalks on where no spirit dares rove,
And I flee from a thing that surrounds me, and leers
through dead branches above.

I have stumbled by cave-riddled mountains
That rise barren and bleak from the plain,
I have drunk of the frog-foetid fountains
That ooze down to the marsh and the main;
And in hot cursed tarns I have seen things I care not
to gaze on again.

I have scanned the vast ivy-clad palace,
I have trod its untenanted hall,
Where the moon rising up from the valleys
Shows the tapestried things on the walls;
Strange figures dischordantly woven, that I cannot
endure to recall.

I have peered from the casements in wonder
At the mouldering meadows around,
At the many-roofed village laid under
The curse of a grave-girdled ground;
And from rows of white urn-carven marble I listen
intently for sound.

I have haunted the tombs of the ages,
I have flown on the pinions of fear
Where the smoke-belching Erebus rages;
Where the jokulls look snow-clad and drear:
And in realms where the sun of the desert consumes
what it never can cheer.

I was old when the pharoahs first mounted
The jewel-decked throne by the Nile;
I was old in those epochs uncounted
When I, and I only, was vile;
And Man, yet untainted and happy, dwelt in bliss on
the far Arctic isle.

Oh, great was the sin of my spirit,
And great is the reach of its doom;
Not the pity of Heaven can cheer it,
Nor can respite be found in the tomb:
Down the infinite aeons come beating the wings of
unmerciful gloom.

Through the ghoul-guarded gateways of slumber,
Past the wan-mooned abysses of night,
I have lived o'er my lives without number,
I have sounded all things with my sight;
And I struggle and shriek ere the daybreak, being
driven to madness with fright.

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Originally written by Euphemism Wrapped in an Innuendo:

Dream quest to the Mountains of Madness, Aran?

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They say that there are places deep in the foundations of the world, where nameless things gnaw the roots of time. Madness takes those that come upon them.
...
"Two score years I wandered the world. Where the boldest humans never trod, I have made my path. Caverns thought to be part of legend I have passed through. Primal forests, and ancient ruins in them, I have explored. I have mapped foul Ilyat in the blighted swamps, I have beheld the iron pillars of Gen in the eternal ice, and in the great plains of Shanaar, where the air shivers in the heat and shows strange visions to the lost traveler, I have walked through long-forgotten Khom and entered the Golden Temple."

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Lorca's "Romance Sonámbulo" goes here.

—Alorael, whose poetic talents start and end at the limerick. He once wrote a ballad, and it proved his point.

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Romance Sonambulo

Green, how I want you green.
Green wind. Green branches.
The ship out on the sea
and the horse on the mountain.
With the shade around her waist
she dreams on her balcony,
green flesh, her hair green,
with eyes of cold silver.
Green, how I want you green.
Under the gypsy moon,
all things are watching her
and she cannot see them.

Green, how I want you green.
Big hoarfrost stars
come with the fish of shadow
that opens the road of dawn.
The fig tree rubs its wind
with the sandpaper of its branches,
and the forest, cunning cat,
bristles its brittle fibers.
But who will come? And from where?
She is still on her balcony
green flesh, her hair green,
dreaming in the bitter sea.

--My friend, I want to trade
my horse for her house,
my saddle for her mirror,
my knife for her blanket.
My friend, I come bleeding
from the gates of Cabra.
--If it were possible, my boy,
I'd help you fix that trade.
But now I am not I,
nor is my house now my house.
--My friend, I want to die
decently in my bed.
Of iron, if that's possible,
with blankets of fine chambray.
Don't you see the wound I have
from my chest up to my throat?
--Your white shirt has grown
thirsty dark brown roses.
Your blood oozes and flees
around the corners of your sash.
But now I am not I,
nor is my house now my house.
--Let me climb up, at least,
up to the high balconies;
Let me climb up! Let me,
up to the green balconies.
Railings of the moon
through which the water rumbles.

Now the two friends climb up,
up to the high balconies.
Leaving a trail of blood.
Leaving a trail of teardrops.
Tin bell vines
were trembling on the roofs.
A thousand crystal tambourines
struck at the dawn light.

Green, how I want you green,
green wind, green branches.
The two friends climbed up.
The stiff wind left
in their mouths, a strange taste
of bile, of mint, and of basil
My friend, where is she--tell me--
where is your bitter girl?
How many times she waited for you!
How many times would she wait for you,
cool face, black hair,
on this green balcony!
Over the mouth of the cistern
the gypsy girl was swinging,
green flesh, her hair green,
with eyes of cold silver.
An icicle of moon
holds her up above the water.
The night became intimate
like a little plaza.
Drunken "Guardias Civiles"
were pounding on the door.
Green, how I want you green.
Green wind. Green branches.
The ship out on the sea.
And the horse on the mountain.

-- Federico Garcia Lorca

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Originally written by The Stew Boy:

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Originally written by Dikiyoba:

I'm not too bothered by the position of my posts. I have had a topic locked while I was creating a post. I wasn't happy with that at all.

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What error message did you get? :P

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Originally written by Spidweb:

One of the reasons the vahnatai are so cool are that they are alien, the other.

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There should be an option for vahnatai player characters.

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