[IR] Irish Rebels
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dragz is a better poet than clanleader imo
ı love that
massive boris
Dr4g0nkn1ght
Sergeant Knight at Arms
The game was young, the players green,
No stain yet on Warband was seen,
No words were laid on stream or forum
When Boris woke and played alone.
He named the nameless hills and dells;
He drank from yet untasted wells;
He stooped and looked in Dragimere,
And saw a crown of stars appear,
As gems upon a silver thread,
Above the shadows of his head.
The game was fair, the servers full,
In Elder Days before the fall
Of mighty dukes on IG_Battleground
And Nditions, who now beyond
22nd_Siege has passed away:
The world was fair in Borsis' Day.
A king he was on carven throne
On PW maps full halls of stone
With golden roof and silver floor,
And runes of banter upon the door.
The light of sun and star and moon
In shining lamps of crystal hewn
Undimmed by cloud or shade of night
There shone for ever fair and bright.
There hammer on the anvil smote,
There chisel clove, and graver wrote;
There forged was blade, and bound was hilt;
The delver mined, the mason built.
There beryl, pearl, and opal pale,
And metal wrought like fishes' mail,
Board shield and crossbow, axe and sword,
And shining awlpikes were laid in hoard.
Unwearied then were Boris' folk;
And on the teamspeak music woke:
The harpers harped, the minstrels sang,
And in each channel the trumpets rang.
The world is grey, the game is old,
The forge's fire is ashen-cold;
No harp is wrung, no hammer falls:
The darkness dwells in Borsis' halls;
The shadow lies upon his home
In Borsia, in Borsad-dûm..
But still the sunken stars appear
In dark and windless Dragzimere;
There lies his crown in water deep,
Till Boris wakes again from sleep.
Till Boris wakes again from sleep...
No stain yet on Warband was seen,
No words were laid on stream or forum
When Boris woke and played alone.
He named the nameless hills and dells;
He drank from yet untasted wells;
He stooped and looked in Dragimere,
And saw a crown of stars appear,
As gems upon a silver thread,
Above the shadows of his head.
The game was fair, the servers full,
In Elder Days before the fall
Of mighty dukes on IG_Battleground
And Nditions, who now beyond
22nd_Siege has passed away:
The world was fair in Borsis' Day.
A king he was on carven throne
On PW maps full halls of stone
With golden roof and silver floor,
And runes of banter upon the door.
The light of sun and star and moon
In shining lamps of crystal hewn
Undimmed by cloud or shade of night
There shone for ever fair and bright.
There hammer on the anvil smote,
There chisel clove, and graver wrote;
There forged was blade, and bound was hilt;
The delver mined, the mason built.
There beryl, pearl, and opal pale,
And metal wrought like fishes' mail,
Board shield and crossbow, axe and sword,
And shining awlpikes were laid in hoard.
Unwearied then were Boris' folk;
And on the teamspeak music woke:
The harpers harped, the minstrels sang,
And in each channel the trumpets rang.
The world is grey, the game is old,
The forge's fire is ashen-cold;
No harp is wrung, no hammer falls:
The darkness dwells in Borsis' halls;
The shadow lies upon his home
In Borsia, in Borsad-dûm..
But still the sunken stars appear
In dark and windless Dragzimere;
There lies his crown in water deep,
Till Boris wakes again from sleep.
Till Boris wakes again from sleep...
I cried real tears.
THATS ENOUGH PLEASEDr4g0nkn1ght said:
)))))))
Using Random Story Generator, I created this masterpiece.
The Angry Javelins
A Short Story
by Viktor
Dragz looked at the Angry Javelins in his hands and felt Proud.
He walked over to the window and reflected on his Opponents surroundings. He had always hated Enemies WMT2 with its abundant, ancient AE. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel Proud.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Boris . Boris was a Commanding Warrior-poet with BORSY Shield and BigDikVik Helmet.
Dragz gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a Leader, Inspirational, Tea drinker with Mighty Shield and Irish Helmet. His friends saw him as a sharp, solid Saint. Once, he had even revived a dying, Hopkin.
But not even a Leader person who had once revived a dying, Hopkin, was prepared for what Boris had in store today.
The Frosty teased like Rampaging Hunters, making Dragz Warrior-like.
As Dragz stepped outside and Boris came closer, he could see the average glint in his eye.
"I am here because I want Victory," Boris bellowed, in a Helpful tone. He slammed his fist against Dragz's chest, with the force of 3563 Saddle horse. "I frigging love you, Dragz ."
Dragz looked back, even more Warrior-like and still fingering the Angry Javelins. "Boris, we are the Irish Rebels," he replied.
They looked at each other with Hyped feelings, like two crispy, courageous Coursers Fighting at a very Anti-TK Quarter-finals, which had Death-metal music playing in the background and two Hopeful uncles Throwing-javs to the beat.
Dragz studied Boris's BORSY Shield and BigDikVik Helmet. Eventually, he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, but I can't give you Victory," he explained, in pitying tones.
Boris looked Loyal, his body raw like a shaky, spitezabbling Scimi.
Dragz could actually hear Boris's body shatter into 6612 pieces. Then the Commanding Warrior-poet hurried away into the distance.
Not even a cup of Tea would calm Dragz's nerves tonight.
THE END
The Angry Javelins
A Short Story
by Viktor
Dragz looked at the Angry Javelins in his hands and felt Proud.
He walked over to the window and reflected on his Opponents surroundings. He had always hated Enemies WMT2 with its abundant, ancient AE. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel Proud.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Boris . Boris was a Commanding Warrior-poet with BORSY Shield and BigDikVik Helmet.
Dragz gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a Leader, Inspirational, Tea drinker with Mighty Shield and Irish Helmet. His friends saw him as a sharp, solid Saint. Once, he had even revived a dying, Hopkin.
But not even a Leader person who had once revived a dying, Hopkin, was prepared for what Boris had in store today.
The Frosty teased like Rampaging Hunters, making Dragz Warrior-like.
As Dragz stepped outside and Boris came closer, he could see the average glint in his eye.
"I am here because I want Victory," Boris bellowed, in a Helpful tone. He slammed his fist against Dragz's chest, with the force of 3563 Saddle horse. "I frigging love you, Dragz ."
Dragz looked back, even more Warrior-like and still fingering the Angry Javelins. "Boris, we are the Irish Rebels," he replied.
They looked at each other with Hyped feelings, like two crispy, courageous Coursers Fighting at a very Anti-TK Quarter-finals, which had Death-metal music playing in the background and two Hopeful uncles Throwing-javs to the beat.
Dragz studied Boris's BORSY Shield and BigDikVik Helmet. Eventually, he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, but I can't give you Victory," he explained, in pitying tones.
Boris looked Loyal, his body raw like a shaky, spitezabbling Scimi.
Dragz could actually hear Boris's body shatter into 6612 pieces. Then the Commanding Warrior-poet hurried away into the distance.
Not even a cup of Tea would calm Dragz's nerves tonight.
THE END
Dr4g0nkn1ght
Sergeant Knight at Arms
Throw a Dragz jav.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emblem_and_logo_of_Abkhazia
Dr4g0nkn1ght
Sergeant Knight at Arms
Lies, it clearly depicts the mighty main archer Boris who stole a saddle horse and is hitting teammates left and right.
Anybody home?
