Post by Leseur Follet on Aug 26, 2009 18:55:55 GMT -5
The French man walked across the grounds toward the green house with a tall handsome figure following in toe. Through out the journey from the dungeons, Leseur's face showed clear annoyance that Wyndham had decided not to swallow his pride. In his mind je was trying to think of various potions that might pass as plant food. He knew that Wyndham might be able to tell if it wasn't, but Leseur wasn't about to give up yet.
A wave of humid air blasted into the herbology professor as he entered the green house where he he did his potion work. Leading Wyndham through the maze of tropical plants the white-haired French man settled in a large squared off area. The perimeter was made of potted bulbs which pulsed and changed colors absed on what magic they were absorbing. In the center of this square was an array of tables with various cauldrons, test tubes, and measuring implements.
"Well Arthear shall we begeen? I weel need to see thee bag of ingrediants beefore I start".
Post by Arthur Wyndham on Aug 26, 2009 19:29:29 GMT -5
Quite unwillingly, Wyndham followed Follet to the green houses. His pride had overtaken his reason, which it quite often did. As they walked he kept thinking of plausible excuses to leave, none of them very good. He had left a potion on the fire? No, Follet had just been in the dungeon with him and there hadn't been a bubbling cauldron in sight. Just as he had settled on faking an injury, they arrived at the greenhouse.
Scowling, Wyndham entered the humid building, patting down his hair as he did so. It was bad enough that he had to spend more time with this annoying man, but now his hair was going to get ruined with all the extra moisture in the air. And he didn't even have his wand to spell it right! He resolved to always carry a vial of hair potion with him at all times. He jerked out of his dire preoccupation when he heard his own name.
"Wyndham," he corrected automatically. He had always hated his first name. It was so dreadfully plain. Who was ever going to remember anybody named Arthur?
"Of course, your ingredients," he said the obviously fake smile back on his face as he put the bag down on one of the tables. It seemed that Follet was going to have his way after all. Wyndham had not succeeded in keeping the items away from him.
"I'm really looking forward to seeing how you use all of those intresting ingredients," he said pointedly. He didn't buy for a second that any of them actually went into plant food. If he couldn't stop Follet from being in posession of those ingredients, then he would make sure that they would get used up in whatever potion the man was going to make. Follet was going to be deprived of those items, one way or another.
Thanks Rez for the sig and Anil for overcoming my incompetance at putting it up! giving me the wrong link.
Post by Leseur Follet on Aug 27, 2009 3:57:13 GMT -5
To Leseurs delight Wyndham was obviously feeling defeated and holding a grudge toward the him. The French mans mood seemed to improve greatly as he darted around the green house colelcting the necessary herbs for the "plant food" he was about to make for Wyndham. He began cutting and mashing ingredients and tossed them into the potion. He swiftly snatched up the bag of ingredients and began to search through it. He added one ingredient from the bag. One that was quite unnecessary for anything else he had planned. Leseur quickly tucked the bag into his pants and began mixing the ingredients in the cauldron together with a stirrer. He smashed a few more ingredients and added a dash of soil from the ground.
Yes this potion was coming along quite nicely. It was a nice brownish yellow color, stunk of moss, and was quite thick, quite like plant food. Wyndham may have caught onto what the French man was making, but if he had no knowledge of herbology it's most likely he wouldn't know it was a sleeping potion which, if inhaled brought along a nice deep sleep. "So what do you theenk Arth- Weendam? Do you need to sneef eet to make sure eet eez plant food?"
Leseur eyed the annoying man with a smug grin. He knew check-mate was almost upon them in this little game, and all it would take is one whiff of that potion to send the man spiralling into a sleepy coma, and Leseur could engage in the next part of his plan. The French man awaited eagerly for Wyndhams response.
Post by Arthur Wyndham on Aug 27, 2009 20:00:26 GMT -5
It seemed as if Wyndham’s previous pointed comment had fallen on deaf ears, or in this case selectively deaf ears. He knew that Follet had heard him warn of using all the ingredients, but he guessed that the man simply chose to ignore him. So Wyndham could do nothing but watch with a slightly bored expression on his face as the man bustled about making the potion. When Follet placed the bad into his pocket, he knew that the other man had won. There was absolutely no way that Wyndham was going to fetch it now, especially without the aid of a wand.
The potion thickly bubbled away as Wyndham edged closer to look inside the cauldron. He knew that he should’ve had an admiration for any potion, but ugly ones always seemed revolting to him. And this man wanted him to smell it? Where he should have been suspicious, he was only completely nauseated. A potion that looked this bad could hardly smell like ambrosia could it? Truthfully, Wyndham had absolutely no idea what this potion was. It could have even been plant food for all he knew.
“I hardly know what plant food smells like, maybe you should test it Leseur,” he said pointedly reverting to the man’s first name. “And if your Herbology and Potion Making abilities are as good as your abilities at secrecy, then I’m sure it’s a passable potion.”
“Perhaps you should feed it to a plant,” he continued breezily. “There are plenty here. How about this one?” He gestured towards a large palm tree-like plant which was blooming lethal looking spiked blue flowers. Wyndham knew that he had to get the upper hand somehow. He was in Follet’s territory without magic. In other words, he was screwed. If this man wanted him to smell a potion, then he wouldn’t, if only to be contrary. It was safe to say that Wyndham had settled on doing the exact opposite as asked by Follet. If the man wanted him to smell that potion, he would have to find an alternate way on getting Wyndham close enough to breathe it in.
Thanks Rez for the sig and Anil for overcoming my incompetance at putting it up! giving me the wrong link.
Post by Leseur Follet on Aug 27, 2009 20:15:38 GMT -5
As Wyndham had edged closer to the cauldron Leseurs body tensed and the Frenchman mirrored Arthurs moves. Leseur eyed the man as he looked into the cauldron with disdain. He knew Wyndham would not do what he asked at this. He was a prissy little man after all. So leseur would do the one thing he had intended on through the entirety of their journey. This would start what he needed to put into action all his planning and his hard work.
With great speed Leseur snatched Wyndhams arm and pulled the man in front of him, and his strong arms twisted the poor mans hand behing his back. He almost slammed Wyndhams face into the cauldron and he forcibly held his head right above it attempting to let the fumes do their work and put him to sleep. He also attempted to wrap his left leg around the other mans in an attempt to keep him from kicking or trying to run.
Post by Arthur Wyndham on Aug 27, 2009 22:54:04 GMT -5
Before he could make some more infuriatingly casual comments, he felt Follet wrench his arm behind his back. Wyndham couldn't understand it. He had intentionally kept a distance between the two, and the other man had crossed it with an inhuman speed. He was saved from even more thinking as he felt the herbology professor's grip tighten painfully as his head was pushed towards the open cauldron.
He held his breath as he fought in vain trying to twist his body out of Follet's grip. This was hardly his first fight, and only a little bit of Wyndham's pride got in the way when he said he had faired well in his other fights. He tried to move his legs, but even then they were blocked. Apparently the herbology professor's inhuman speed was matched by his inhuman strength. All were effects of a Strengthening Solution.
However, before Wyndham could start putting together the clues his lungs took an involuntary breath of what they hoped was clean oxygen. Unfortunately for him, it was not. As soon as the vapors entered his lungs, his eyes began to close and his body began to sag in Follet's grip. Quickly, he felt his conciousness slipping away from him.
"You son of a bitch," he managed to get out before slipping into a dead faint. Perhaps walking into enemy territory weaponless hadn't been a good idea after all.
Thanks Rez for the sig and Anil for overcoming my incompetance at putting it up! giving me the wrong link.
Post by Leseur Follet on Aug 28, 2009 7:57:19 GMT -5
"You son of a bitch,"
Leseur let a wicked smile cross his face as Arthurs body fell limp. A burlap sack which held an osmosis bulb about the size of a human if it were curled up, was brought out. He uncerimoniously tossed the heavy bulb into a pot and then put Wyndham in the bag. Then with great strength he cut right above where the trunk began and severed the body from the roots. Leseur secured the top portion of the tree into the bag. It now looked like a tree that Leseur was going to replant out near the woods. There was nothing unusual about that to the human eye. He quickly loaded the "tree" onto a cart and made his way to the forest.
Last Edit: Aug 28, 2009 8:00:39 GMT -5 by Leseur Follet
Fortunately for the Potions professor, the man charged with keeping danger in Firefox at bay wasn't exactly human; not anymore, at least. The transformation following his death over a year ago had turned him into something far greater - the embodiment of magic. An arcane elemental, if you will.
Undeath removed the longing for sleep, and the constant surge of power in a magic-rich region made him restless; he was the perfect candidate for his job, one he had been given back in his human days. The Justiciar of Firefox University patrolled the school endlessly, roaming the grounds like a haunting shadow (Shadow).
It was, therefore, only a matter of time before he came to sense the disturbance in the greenhouses. Two men he recognized as professors seemed to be locked in an argument; while squabbling between lesser mortals was not something he the time or desire to care for, Muryllis knew such quarrels were bound to turn ugly.
This one did. The Herbology professor, unscathed during the whole ordeal (over which he had an unnerving amount of control), had his incapacitated, bagged quarry loaded into a cart. The Justiciar was aware that he was going somewhere - however much he wanted to know where exactly this was, he had a more immediate job to do.
At any rate, a thorough questioning would just as easily reveal Leseur's destination.
"A curious plant you have there, professor," came a voice from somewhere in the greenhouse. The Frenchman had not managed to leave yet, as he would have bumped into Muryllis. The Justiciar stood in the doorway leading out onto the grounds. His arms were crossed; he leaned on the door frame and had an interested look about him.
He was not armed.
"I have never really been too fascinated with herblore, to be perfectly honest; while my grades were well above passing, my passion lay with the more showy forms of magic. What exactly is that odd specimen you have there?"
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Unfortunately for the justiciar he was not the only one to witness the altercation between the two professors. Cerise colored eyes narrowed on the scene, staring intently through the glass as Rayne took in the scene.
As much as she'd rather not get involved, she was going to have to do something. Even if she didn't know or trust the other lycan, he was technically her pack mate, she couldn't just leave him to fend for himself. Besides at this rate he'd end up blowing his cover and having to reveal his lycan status, which would definitely piss off their alpha. She was not going to be at fault for bringing out the alpha's ire.
"Damn puppies!." she hissed through pursed lips, trying to think of what she could do. Deciding to go for a many-times tested maneuver she yanked off the rather cumbersome cloak that hid her features from view, revealing plain jeans and a simple black blouse. The lycaness forcibly relaxed her muscles and tense jaw, attempting to appear as any other passing student as she quickly made her way toward the greenhouse entrance. With a whispered prayer that this would work, she sped up just a slight amount and barreled into the body blocking the doorway, knocking them both to the ground rather painfully.
"Oww," she mumbled, contorting her features into an apologetic half smile, eyes widening in a 'cute, innocent puppy' fashion. Raising herself until she was straddling the man she did her best to remain as non-threatening as possible, even while pushing all her weight and force again the body under her. Go. Her mind whispered to her fellow lycan, even as she said aloud, "I'm so sorry, I wasn't watching where I was going! Oh my goddess, are you okay? I didn't hurt you did I? I'm such a klutz!"
The lycaness wanted to sneer at her behavior, internally cringing at the rather bimbo-like attitude she was affecting. She could feel her face warming up from the shame, thankful that at the very least it would add to her look of embarrassed innocence- that pup had better appreciate her efforts.
Post by Leseur Follet on Aug 28, 2009 20:56:11 GMT -5
A figure appeared in the doorway right as Leseur was about to leave and take his victim back to the forest. His eyes narrowed at the man-shade. He knew who it was and what he was doing. His question hid no suspicions from the white haired French man. He would have to fight or hope to escape in some other fashion. He'd been caught red handed bagging the professor up in his efforts to conceal his identity as, what could be called, a spy
Leseur stood square from the other side of the cart stone faced as he eyed the man in annoyance as his mind sorted through what he could do. Suddenly a familiar scent entered his nose and he knew what was about to happen. He dashed around the cart and swiftly picked up the "tree" and continued forward looking like he was about to charge the justicar just as the Rayne plowed into him. It looked so good it may have looked planned. That's how it was when you worked with family.
go
Leseur, however, was already out the door and sprinting toward the forest breathing and huffing under the weight of the tree. Sending a few quick glances back to see if he was being follwoed. The justicar had been unarmed hadn't he? otherwise he would have been firing spells at him. Almost seeming to start to leap and bound as the weight of the tree became familiar with him. He continued darting across the lawn toward the forest keeping his head on a swivel for anyone who might get in his way.
Leseur ducked and plowed his way through bushes and dodged branches as he reached the edge of the forest.
The problem with facing a practitioner of advanced magic was that they did not necessarily adhere to standards or tactics used by the more conventional styles of wizardry. Particularly in the case of minimalistic arcanism, there was always something better than hurling spells at your opponent - especially when you did not suffer the weakness of having a physical body.
To those who were aware of the magical side of the world, some of the stranger situations they could find themselves in might not cause as great a shock as if they had no idea men with wands and pointy hats were real. Even then, there had to be some threshold - some line that could be crossed for the victim to be presented with a completely unnerving sequence of events.
Perhaps such an example of magical extremes would be what Rayne, presently straddling and desperately apologizing to one of the less pleasant individuals at Firefox, had the misfortune of experiencing. For, just as her face began turning bright red and she launched into a string of self-insults, the man she had knocked over was gone. Vanished. Completely disappeared.
Replaced by a particularly swift set of magical bindings that snaked around the girl's legs and arms.
Furthermore, her sensitive Lycan ear drums would be numb for hours as the equivalent of a gunshot rang across the grounds; a glimmering blue gemstone, the Shade's star sapphire phylactery, blasted out of the greenhouse at phenomenal speed and came to a halt before the Frenchman.
It is worth taking this moment to discuss the particularities of Lichborne Shades' psychology - in this case, the display of emotions. You see, the act of having one's consciousness blown to proportions well outside the reach of even the most experienced Buddhist monks and acid users has a curious effect on their perception of the world. In the case of the Shade being discussed, for example, this may mean unparalleled mental agility and and comprehension. Emotional dominance is replaced with enhanced reason and logic; the ability to make rational decisions is, after all, the Weaver's second most important skill.
The first, of course, is his ability to manipulate raw magic and bend it - completely - to his will.
Now, there is, of course, the philosophy of hardwired emotion; in the absence of a physical body and its associated neural pathways, one must consider that the concept of emotions is not entirely lost. Rather, it is worn away until only the rawest forms are left. What this means is that the Shade is not bothered with emotions until the situation reaches a particular extreme.
In this case, Muryllis was bordering rage.
Standing before Leseur, with a great distance still left until the relative safety - safety? - of Fenrir's Wood, was a fairly menacing being. It was one thing to see a Lycan transform and take on their wolfish shape, even just to see a vampire bare his deadly fangs. Seeing a Shade, a rarity in itself, settle into his true form was another prospect entirely.
The only thing the Justiciar shared between the illusion of his human body - Muryllis - and the flowing, billowing waves of magic that made up his settled form were his eyes. The same cold, blue, piercing orbs that had replaced his once-soft, brown eyes were all the more unsettling when they adorned the blue mass of the Shade. Magical energy rolled off his arms and torso in sheets, like vapors off a pool of super-cooled chemical.
Leseur's chances at escape dropped as quickly as the magical cords that would bind him in place like Rayne snaked up his legs, torso, and arms. The bag he held dropped onto a patch of grass, enchanted to be as soft as a cushion; it unravelled, presenting a slumbering Potions professor curled atop a soft mound of burlap.
The flowering section of the osmosis bulb which had disguised Arthur tumbled away, rolling to a stop at the bottom of a small hill.
The Justiciar's emotionless blue eyes locked with Leseur's as the being drew nearer, his 'face' - lacking a mouth or nose or any other features aside from those hellish blue eyes - mere inches from the professor's. He did not have a breath or any scent, though there was reportedly a variety of odd sensations associated with inhaling magic.
"I await your explanations," Muryllis said, his voice penetrating the minds of the Frenchman and the girl - who had floated over to stand neatly beside Leseur - with the ease of a skilled mentalist.
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Post by Arthur Wyndham on Aug 29, 2009 0:40:00 GMT -5
To say that Wyndham had a pounding headache would be an understatement. To say that he felt as if a thousand nails had been hammered into his head after it had been smashed with a vice and subsequently felt like exploding would be closer to the truth, but not by much. As quickly as his consciousness had left him, it was beginning to return that much slowly. For instance, he could neither move nor even feel his arms and legs, and yet his head continued to wrack him with pain.
As he lay there trying to open his eyes, he knew a few things. First, he was in the middle of a very bad situation. He contributed this to the fact that he had just been unconscious, never a good symptom. Second, he was lying on something extremely soft. How one led to the other, he didn’t know and frankly he couldn’t concentrate on one thing long enough to figure it out. As if he was lifting a thousand pounds, he finally managed to lift his eyelids.
His eyes were attacked by a bright blue light, swirling and changing above him. Wyndham may have chalked it up to hallucination, an entirely logical step considering the situation, but he was still terrified out of his mind. If he didn’t know any better, he would have guessed that the light seemed angry. Every fiber of his being told him to get the hell out of there, but the rest of his body still stubbornly refused to move.
Then two bodies floated into his view. One he had never seen before and didn’t care about, but the other he just wanted to strangle. Yes, he had never liked Follet, but he had always thought of the man as that colleague. Every workplace had one. You didn’t want to put up with his stupidity, but of course you had to. But now he just wanted to march up to the white-haired bastard and kick the shit out of him. Judging by their previous scuffle, physical violence wasn’t his strength.
The pain, which had only occupied his head, was now inconsiderate enough to spread to the rest of his body. However, this meant that he could feel his limbs. Slowly he flexed his fingers, the feeling starting to return. While his rush of anger had momentarily eclipsed his terror, his fear started to return as he noticed how expansive the blue light had gotten. Wyndham couldn’t explain it, but fury was palpable in the air and he had no idea what he could’ve done to be in the midst of this. He didn’t have much experience with hallucinations, but he just hoped that this one didn’t kill him before he got a chance to run away.
Thanks Rez for the sig and Anil for overcoming my incompetance at putting it up! giving me the wrong link.
Post by Leseur Follet on Aug 29, 2009 7:52:13 GMT -5
Leseur was caught, his plot had unravelled into a neat ball of yarn before him and it was all thanks to this bothersome shade. It was over, he'd have to come clean about the whole ordeal and explain explain every action he'd taken, every word he'd spoken. It would have to all be thrown out in the open.
Leseur's blue eyes locked onto the shade and he did not speak for many moments while he stewed in his failure. he was locked in place. He had no where to turn. No where to retreat to. Leseur was glad Rayne had no idea what he had actually planned which meant hopefully she would go with what he was saying and not blow his cover.
"Fine, I weell explain." Leseur said his voice clearly displaying his defeat, "I wanted to get Arthear Weendam fired for standing een thee way of true love!" His eyes burned with a passionate emotional flame. "Thee day I first met Arthear I was helpeeng Rezna Lardale aftear she'd slipped in thee mud. Howevear, that omewreckear decided to try and shamelesslee take Rezna for eez own!" Leseur eyed Windham hatred flaring in his eyes. He suddenly let out a scream "She and Talon belong togethear you feelthy, deestastefull, classless beest! I do not want Talon to become a drunkard like that man een the bar who attacked you! You WEEL NOT eentearfere een true love! I weel not allow it! Not for aneetheeng een the world!"
The only thing preventing Leseur from gouging the man he had attempted to kidnap were the restraints that the shade had conjured. He struggled against the restraints before taking a few deep breaths and calmed down. "I wanted to make eet look like ee was eenvolved weeth the vampires and ee was their eenside eenformant. Thee eengrediants I tried to get were goeeng toward making a posheen weech would make eet seem like Weendam ad been dreenking thee vampire blood as what are commonly refearred to as ghouls: humans who are addicted to vampire blood and they think they are blessed weeth supear natural abilities wheech they get from thee blood"
Leseur gazed at the shade pleadingly, "I was doeeng eet for Talon and Rezna's sake"
Last Edit: Aug 29, 2009 9:25:16 GMT -5 by Leseur Follet
Magic. She'd forgotten how much she hated it, hated the enormous power given to otherwise weak individuals. The world weary lycan wanted to snarl in fury as she felt the magical binds wrapping around her locking her in place, completely defenseless. A hiss escaped her lips as the rather obnoxiously loud noise went off causing her ears to ring and her head to throb painfully, she could already feel the headache beginning to form.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck." Rayne muttered as she felt herself lift in the air to float toward the other lycan, disgust causing goosebumps to erupt along her skin as the magic washed over her. She had no idea how she was going to get herself out of this mess, hopefully Leseur would have some kind of backup plan. Her mind was running a mile a minute trying to come up with some way to fix this situation, to get them both out alive, if not unscathed. But then Leseur opened his mouth and went on a tirade about... a home wrecker?
I should just save myself.. She thought dismally, feeling the urge to slap her palm against her forehead, thankfully for her forehead she still couldn't move. She doubted the magical entity would believe the male lycan's story, take that bone to another dog because this one wasn't going to chew it. Maybe she could pull the innocent card? After all there was no proof of her association with the Herbology professor, no proof she was anything but an innocent bystander who happened to stumble into the wrong situation at the wrong moment.
It would be an awful thing to do, not exactly loyal to her pack mate, and utterly humiliating for herself. But at this rate they'd both be stuck in a hole too deep for them to climb out of, and both of them being captured wouldn't help their dwindling pack in the slightest. Rayne let her gaze fall upon the now conscious human before moving to stare at the ball of magical light, she made her decision and prayed to whatever Gods there were that it would work out.
"W-what's go-going on? What... What a-are you?" she cried out, eyes widening in fright. She was doing her best to channel those people who had turned on her, taking on the same shrill tone drenched in palpable fear, eyes glazing over in a tell tale sign of tears. Her breathing began getting rapid, her breaths were quick and short, taking on the rapid manner of one who was hyperventilating. Her skin quickly lost the color of her earlier embarrassment, becoming pallid and a tad sickly looking. Within seconds her entire body relaxed, going completely limp as her eyelids fell shut over dull eyes, at this point the only thing keeping her upright was the magic still binding her in place. It was quite obvious by the complete lack of movement, of conscious life, that Rayne had swooned.
Post by Thomas Lucre on Aug 29, 2009 17:35:03 GMT -5
The school greenhouse, located so close to the forest. It made sense, it was a perfect chance for students to explore the varieties of greenhouse flora and fauna which were largely native to these very woods. It also housed a variety of rarer and more elusive plants, but it appeared that the very purpose of this greenhouse was for students to study these plants without risking the peril of the forest.
Thomas Lucre found himself regreting that he hadn't studied these mysterious plants in his life. With skin more fair than porcelain, the youth was well dressed in a muggle suit, his appearance almost similar to that of a teacher. He found it interesting that just by walking through the greenhouse, he encountered so many plants that physically reacted to him on an almost sentient level. Granted, most of them tried to eat him, but he saw no reason to get bent out of shape about it. These natural traps were easy enough to elude.
His blonde mane swished a bit at the sound of some disturbance, sounding out from the entrance of the greenhouse. It was a rather loud sound, like a combustion of sorts, and all he saw in its wake was a girl struggling with some magical binds before she was swiftly wisked off into the night air. Fortunately, she wasn't aparated, so it was easy enough for Lucre to trail the party to the woods.
Watching the scene unfold further with crossed arms, it appeared the white-haired French man had an axe to grind with a man who was infact stuffed into the burlap casing of that tree, whom supposedly was interfering with the headmaster's love interests. And he was apparently explaining himself to that shade Lucre witnessed the birth of, the one whom embodied the former Justiciar, if memory served. Well, this was definitely an interesting night to be out, though the blonde wasn't sure it was going to end well. The pretty whom was being towed along had a panic attack, likely from seeing Antonius' true form, and passed out in mid air. Lucre could hardly blame her. Of course, her little 'act' had at least fooled the vampire, though he did always have a soft spot for bringing gentle comfort to female drama. He decided to step forth, his footsteps almost muffled in the tall grass.
"Excuse me," he began, his face being brought to light in the swirling, etheral glow the Shade's body gave off. He stopped next to the lycaness, but he kept his gaze on the Shade.
"Are you the one I saw in the dungeons that night? What happened?" He then glanced over to the girl, unconscious, and brushed a lock of hair from the front of her face.
"Could you let her down? From the drop in her body heat, I can tell she's not playing possum. And if need be, I'll restrain her, myself. It's the right thing for a passerby to do, am I right?" he asked, keeping a fairly calm expression despite being faced with such a nightmarish being. He was no longer paralyzed by his initial shock and awe, and he genuinely was curious about the being he supposedly had a hand in.....birthing, if that was the appropriate word. All he did was throw a strange cube in a room, but it was apparently something That Man couldn't do on his own.
Teagan Offline: This board is full of nostalgia.
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Missing the old MH: gotta say missing when MH and all that was around.
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Willow_lazy: why tf are there 400 posts about adidas
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Azrael: I'm not hard to find, since I'm the only one there who goes by "Azzy", I'm pretty sure. XD
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Azrael: Dunno if anyone still pops by here from time to time, but if any of you mofos do and still feel like gettin' yo nerd on, I've been hanging around this here place a bunch recently: www.roleplayerguild.com/
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Azrael: hold onto your pantaloons
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