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N'wah ain't nothin but Fetchers and S'wits!
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Feb 10, 2014 01:04
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Yeeaaaarrrgghhh! Stoopid!
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Feb 10, 2014 01:04
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becrumbac posted:(the real climax is killing vivec, right?) FTFY
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Feb 10, 2014 02:09
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ARLOWE BANHAMMER
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Feb 10, 2014 02:14
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Kill all NPCs, pick all locks, take everything and sell it to Creeper. gently caress House Indoril, wear their armor.
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Feb 10, 2014 16:26
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Gobblecoque posted:yeah, bethesda spent pretty much all of their voiceactor budget on sean bean and patrick stewart so they had like two guys and a chick voice literally everyone else lol And the chick was lynda carter. Ha Ha
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Feb 13, 2014 00:08
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Crazy Ted posted:That's why it's hilarious - you get into the final room at Haemar's Shame and a loving dog is single-handedly beating the poo poo out of six vampires. to be fair, he's a literally unkillable Hell-dog, long enough timeline, etc.
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Feb 13, 2014 19:20
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Flesh Forge posted:Just that there's only one source of health damage output in Restoration (absorb health itself) while Destruction has several (fire, frost, shock, damage health) and you can stack four of them into a single spell. Also they have better damage/magicka efficiency, although that isn't a big factor. Keep in mind the Weakness to X effects (also in Destruction) and especially that Weakness to Magicka multiplies with itself infinitely :iamafag: Damage Health was always my favorite for spell casters. Any apprentice can make fire, any scrublord evoker can make a fireball, but it takes a loving Ace mage to literally rip the life right out of you. Plus, if you cheesed the game hard enough, you can make various flavors of Absorb health + Damage Health. personally I always went with 4 spells that did max effect. a single target touch range, a ranged single target in 5 ft for sniping, an AOE in like 15-20 feet for groups, and a 'gently caress it dude let's go bowling' Nuke that did max damage in max range for as many seconds as I could and still cast it. AKA the spell that ended Seyda-Neen, and Balmora, and most of Caldera, and cleared the ashlands, and inside the ghostgate. PROTIP: make sure to cheese some reflect magic enchantments up to 100% coverage, or the odd monster that reflects spells will ruin your whole day.
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Feb 13, 2014 23:20
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I think I love C0da. this poo poo is insane. MK is insane, and he's soon to disappear up his own rear end, so enjoy the ride folks.
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Feb 15, 2014 18:07
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STEED MOTHERBITCHES!
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Feb 16, 2014 04:37
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the night dad posted:
There must be some context I'm missing, cuz if my name was Astrid, I'd have thought getting that was fuckin rad.
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Feb 17, 2014 07:07
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Winter Fresh posted:people still play this poo poo game lmao May you walk on warm sands. 
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Feb 17, 2014 21:41
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Morrowind is the best, but Skyrim's pretty fun too, guys.
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Feb 18, 2014 10:12
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Red Mundus posted:I believe that's a hist tree. You can find one in Skyrim and Oblivion too. There's one in Skyrim?
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Feb 20, 2014 02:34
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Red Mundus posted:Yeah, a big blue glowy tree near a giants camp near Whiterun. However looks like it might be a reference to a book or something. well drat, I've been there a hundred times, or been past there, the name was instantly familiar, but I never saw the tree (or the quest for it) *boots up Skyrim*
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Feb 20, 2014 02:58
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PhantomBowie posted:Speaking of in game books, is there some sort of way to read them without playing? Did someone retype them, maybe their format isn't too far off from text file, etc? It's online Or for your phone. (if you have Android like I do) efb, but I also included the phone app. 
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Feb 20, 2014 07:23
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Disco Infiva posted:With enchanting you can enchant various items with magical properties (with soulgems), enchanted items need less charges to be used and you can recharge them more efficiently (with soulgems). Or you could...y'know CHIM yourself some fat stacks of "Soulgem_Grand_Goldensaint" or however it's listed. Tear your reality a new sleep hole, motherfucker.
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Feb 21, 2014 03:14
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i hate everything posted:I trapped Almalexia's soul in Azura's star. Does this make me cool? CHIM
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Feb 21, 2014 03:27
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Blindingly luminous, the Window glares the memory of a perfect sky over rolling hills Reflected in miniature on pilgrim's eyes as hands maneuver. Doubled, they move like this The Eye and the Tower. Firmament makes clear the sign Stitching and patching I weave unwords of creation through the warp and weft of the stronger-weak magnetic forces Yes and No echoes into infinity in nameless patterns to outnumber the stars in the sky, Yes and No And the ending of the words is EXE.
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Feb 23, 2014 04:40
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Panzeh posted:bring back the brown, poo poo-covered aesthetic, i agree most wholeheartedly As long as the interesting setting, cool design, and funny, exciting, and/or cool exploration bits can come too, I'm ok with that aesthetic. Edit: gently caress, I'll settle for "not another lord of the rings/game of thrones knock off". I'm not THAT picky.
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Feb 23, 2014 18:26
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Prism Mirror Lens posted:wankery over it is simply nerd pride - no no, this isn't just about video games, it's sooo much deeper and you're just a shallow dimwit if you think it is Yup, it's basically The Matrix movies, Donnie Darko, and Tool all over again.
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Feb 24, 2014 22:11
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And the ending of the words is 
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Feb 25, 2014 22:27
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omg chael crash posted:OP, am I a n'wah ur more of a Fetcher tbh
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Feb 26, 2014 07:03
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Broken Box posted:n'wah's ain't poo poo but fetchers and s'wits Oh hey that looks familiar... Error 404 posted:N'wah ain't nothin but Fetchers and S'wits!  I like yours better though.
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Feb 26, 2014 07:14
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I just wanna bang on a drum all day!
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Feb 26, 2014 07:41
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SunAndSpring posted:Sounds like Mephala, to be honest. Pit up one group of her assassins against another for shits and giggles. She/he's the god of pointless strife and deception, after all. Not being  or anything here, but I always thought this was obvious?Sithis is nothing, says nothing, thinks nothing. So it makes very little sense for anyone to worship it because it never amounts to jack or poo poo (in a world where godlike beings definitely exist and do stuff for worshippers) I just always assumed the Night Mother was some aspect of Mephala manipulating some crazier than average Tong into being her personal murder cult in her image blah blah daedra of betrayal, strife, and deception blah blah.
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Feb 26, 2014 23:14
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Cantorsdust posted:Dwemer: so smug that they were atheist in a world where gods actively talk to you Also enslaved, experimented on, and mutated the Snow Elves into the Falmer.
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Feb 27, 2014 05:12
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They could also reuse all the snow texture and particle effects from skyrim (lol Bethsoft reusing assets) and recolor them to be sand colored. BAM instant desert in Hammerfell.
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Feb 27, 2014 06:40
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Captain Blaargh posted:We had two bags of moon sugar, seventy-five pellets of sload soap, five sheets of high-powered ectoplasm, a saltshaker half-full of greenmote, and a whole galaxy of multi-colored fire salts, frost salts, void salts, ash salts... Also, a quart of ancient Dagoth brandy, a quart of sujamma, a case of greef, a pint of sleeping tree sap, and two dozen bottles of skooma. Not that we needed all that for the trip to Vvaardenfell, but once you get into locked a serious drug collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can. Beautiful. 
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Feb 28, 2014 02:40
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Mortimer posted:Is it post your favorite one-off story time? Here's my favorite 'person uses magic, magic ruins their poo poo' story. Palla vol.1&2 Volume 1 Palla. Pal La. I remember when I first heard that name, not long ago at all. It was at a Tales and Tallows ball at a very fine estate west of Mir Corrup, to which I and my fellow Mages Guild initiates had found ourselves unexpectedly invited. Truth be told, we needn't have been too surprised. There were very few other noble families in Mir Corrup -- the region had its halcyon days as a resort for the wealthy far back in the 2nd era -- and on reflection, it was only appropriate to have sorcerers and wizards present at a supernatural holiday. Not that we were anything more exotic than students at a small, nonexclusive charterhouse of the Guild, but like I said, there was a paucity of other choices available. For close to a year, the only home I had known was the rather ramshackle if sprawling grounds of the Mir Corrup Mages Guild. My only companions were my fellow initiates, most of which only tolerated me, and the masters, whose bitterness at being at a backwater Guild prompted never-ending abuse. Immediately the School of Illusion had attracted me. The Magister who taught us recognized me as an apt pupil who loved not only the spells of the science but their philosophical underpinnings. There was something about the idea of warping the imperceptible energies of light, sound, and mind that appealed to my nature. Not for me the flashy schools of destruction and alteration, the holy schools of restoration and conjuration, the practical schools of alchemy and enchantment, or the chaotic school of mysticism. No, I was never so pleased as to take an ordinary object and by a little magic make it seem something other than what it was. It would have taken more imagination than I had to apply that philosophy to my monotonous life. After the morning's lessons, we were assigned tasks before our evening classes. Mine had been to clean out the study of a recently deceased resident of the Guild, and categorize his clutter of spellbooks, charms, and incunabula. It was a lonely and tedious appointment. Magister Tendixus was an inveterate collector of worthless junk, but I was reprimanded any time I threw something away of the least possible value. Gradually I learned enough to deliver each of his belongings to the appropriate department: potions of healing to the Magisters of Restoration, books on physical phenomena to the Magisters of Alteration, herbs and minerals to the Alchemists, and soulgems and bound items to the Enchanters. After one delivery to the Enchanters, I was leaving with my customary lack of appreciation, when Magister Ilther called me back. "Boy," said the portly old man, handing me back one item. "Destroy this." It was a small black disc covered with runes with a ring of red-orange gems like bones circling its periphery. "I'm sorry, Magister," I stammered. "I thought it was something you'd be interested in." "Take it to the great flame and destroy it," he barked, turning his back on me. "You never brought it here." My interest was piqued, because I knew the only thing that would make him react in such a way. Necromancy. I went back to Magister Tendixus's chamber and poured through his notes, looking for any reference to the disc. Unfortunately, most of the notes had been written in a strange code that I was powerless to decipher. I was so fascinated by the mystery that I nearly arrived late for my evening class in Enchantment, taught by Magister Ilther himself. For the next several weeks, I divided my time categorizing the general debris and making my deliveries, and researching the disc. I came to understand that my instinct was correct: the disc was a genuine necromantic artifact. Though I couldn't understand most of the Magister's notes, I determined that he thought it to be a means of resurrecting a loved one from the grave. Sadly, the time came when the chamber had been categorized and cleared, and I was given another assignment, assisting in the stables of the Guild's menagerie. At least finally I was working with some of my fellow initiates and had the opportunity of meeting the common folk and nobles who came to the Guild on various errands. Thus was I employed when we were all invited to the Tales and Tallows ball. If the expected glamour of the evening were not enough, our hostess was reputed to be young, rich, unmarried orphan from Hammerfell. Only a month or two before had she moved to our desolate, wooded corner of the Imperial Province to reclaim an old family manorhouse and grounds. The initiates at the Guild gossiped like old women about the mysterious young lady's past, what had happened to her parents, why she had left or been driven from her homeland. Her name was Betaniqi, and that was all we knew. We wore our robes of initiation with pride as we arrived for the ball. At the enormous marble foyer, a servant announced each of our names as if we were royalty, and we strutted into the midst of the revelers with great puffery. Of course, we were then promptly ignored by one and all. In essence, we were unimportant figures to lend some thickness to the ball. Background characters. The important people pushed through us with perfect politeness. There was old Lady Schaudirra discussing diplomatic appointments to Balmora with the Duke of Rimfarlin. An orc warlord entertained a giggling princess with tales of rape and pillage. Three of the Guild Magisters worried with three painfully thin noble spinsters about the haunting of Daggerfall. Intrigues at the Imperial and various royal courts were analyzed, gently mocked, fretted over, toasted, dismissed, evaluated, mitigated, admonished, subverted. No one looked our way even when we were right next to them. It was as if my skill at illusion had somehow rendered us all invisible. I took my flagon out to the terrace. The moons were doubled, equally luminous in the sky and in the enormous reflecting pool that stretched out into the garden. The white marble statuary lining the sides of the pool caught the fiery glow and seemed to burn like torches in the night. The sight was so otherworldly that I was mesmerized by it, and the strange Redguard figures immortalized in stone. Our hostess had made her home there so recently that some of the sculptures were still wrapped in sheets that billowed and swayed in the gentle breeze. I don't know how long I stared before I realized I wasn't alone. She was so small and so dark, not only in her skin but in her clothing, that I nearly took her for a shadow. When she turned to me, I saw that she was very beautiful and young, not more than seventeen. "Are you our hostess?" I finally asked. "Yes," she smiled, blushing. "But I'm ashamed to admit that I'm very bad at it. I should be inside with my new neighbors, but I think we have very little in common." "It's been made abundantly clear that they hope I have nothing in common with them either," I laughed. "When I'm a little higher than an initiate in the Mages Guild, they might see me as more of an equal." "I don't understand the concept of equality in Cyrodiil yet," she frowned. "In my culture, you proved your worth, not just expected it. My parents both were great warriors, as I hope to be." Her eyes went out to the lawn, to the statues. "Do the sculptures represent your parents?" "That's my father Pariom there," she said gesturing to a life-sized representation of a massively built man, unashamedly naked, gripping another warrior by the throat and preparing to decapitate him with an outstretched blade. It was clearly a realistic depiction. Pariom's face was plain, even slightly ugly with a low forehead, a mass of tangled hair, stubble on his cheeks. Even a slight gap in his teeth, which no sculptor would surely have invented except to do justice to his model's true idiosyncrasies. "And your mother?" I asked, pointing to a nearby statue of a proud, rather squat warrior woman in a mantilla and scarf, holding a child. "Oh no," she laughed. "That was my uncle's old nurse. Mother's statue still has a sheet over it." I don't know what prompted me to insist that we unveil the statue that she pointed to. In all likelihood, it was nothing but fate, and a selfish desire to continue the conversation. I was afraid that if I did not give her a project, she would feel the need to return to the party, and I would be alone again. At first she was reluctant. She had not yet made up her mind whether the statues would suffer in the wet, sometimes cold Cyrodilic climate. Perhaps all should be covered, she reasoned. It may be that she was merely making conversation, and was reluctant as I was to end the stand-off and be that much closer to having to return to the party. In a few minutes time, we tore the tarp from the statue of Betaniqi's mother. That is when my life changed forevermore. She was an untamed spirit of nature, screaming in a struggle with a misshapen monstrous figure in black marble. Her gorgeous, long fingers were raking across the creature's face. The monster's talons gripped her right breast in a sort of caress that prefaces a mortal wound. Its legs and hers wound around one another in a battle that was a dance. I felt annihilated. This lithe but formidable woman was beautiful beyond all superficial standards. Whoever had sculpted it had somehow captured not only a face and figure of a goddess, but her power and will. She was both tragic and triumphant. I fell instantly and fatally in love with her. I had not even noticed when Gelyn, one of my fellow initiates who was leaving the party, came up behind us. Apparently I had whispered the word "magnificent," because I heard Betaniqi reply as if miles away, "Yes, it is magnificent. That's why I was afraid of exposing it to the elements." Then I heard, clearly, like a stone breaking water, Gelyn: "Mara preserve me. That must be Palla." "Then you heard of my mother?" asked Betaniqi, turning his way. "I hail from Wayrest, practically on the border to Hammerfell. I don't think there's anyone who hasn't heard of your mother and her great heroism, ridding the land of that abominable beast. She died in that struggle, didn't she?" "Yes," said the girl sadly. "But so too did the creature." For a moment, we were all silent. I don't remember anything more of that night. Somehow I knew I was invited to dine the next evening, but my mind and heart had been entirely and forever more arrested by the statue. I returned back to the Guild, but my dreams were fevered and brought me no rest. Everything seemed diffused by white light, except for one beautiful, fearsome woman. Palla. Volume 2 Palla. Pal La. The name burned in my heart. I found myself whispering it in my studies even when I tried to concentrate on something the Magister was saying. My lips would silently purse to voice the "Pal," and tongue lightly flick to form the "La" as if I were kissing her spirit before me. It was madness in every way except that I knew that it was madness. I knew I was in love. I knew she was a noble Redguard woman, a fierce warrior more beautiful than the stars. I knew her young daughter Betaniqi had taken possession of a manorhouse near the Guild, and that she liked me, perhaps was even infatuated. I knew Palla had fought a terrible beast and killed it. I knew Palla was dead. As I say, I knew it was madness, and by that, I knew I could not be mad. But I also knew that I must return to Betaniqi's palace to see her statue of my beloved Palla engaged in that final, horrible, fatal battle with the monster. Return I did, over and over again. Had Betaniqi been a different sort of noblewoman, more comfortable with her peers, I would not have had so many opportunities. In her innocence, unaware of my sick obsession, she welcomed my company. We would talk for hours, laughing, and every time we would take a walk to the reflecting pond where I would always stop breathless before the sculpture of her mother. "It's a marvelous tradition you have, preserving these figures of your ancestors at their finest moments," I said, feeling her curious eyes on me. "And the craftsmanship is without parallel." "You wouldn't believe me," laughed the girl. "But it was a bit of scandal when my great grandfather began the custom. We Redguards hold a great reverence for our families, but we are warriors, not artists. He hired an traveling artist to create the first statues, and everyone admired them until it was revealed that the artist was an elf. An Altmer from the Summerset Isle." "Scandal!" "It was, absolutely," Betaniqi nodded seriously. "The idea that a pompous, wicked elf's hands had formed these figures of noble Redguard warriors was unthinkable, profane, irreverent, everything bad you can imagine. But my great grandfather's heart was in the beauty of it, and his philosophy of using the best to honor the best passed down to us all. I would not have even considered having a lesser artist create the statues of my parents, even if it would have been more allegiant to my culture." "They're all exquisite," I said. "But you like the one of my mother most of all," she smiled. "I see you look at it even when you seem to be looking at the others. It's my favorite also." "Would you tell me more about her?" I asked, trying to keep my voice light and conversational. "Oh, she would have said she was nothing extraordinary, but she was," the girl said, picking a flower from the garden. "My father died when I was quite young, and she had so many roles to fill, but she did them all effortlessly. We have a great many business interests and she was brilliant at managing everything. Certainly better than I am now. All it took was her smile and everyone obeyed, and those that didn't paid dearly. She was very witty and charming, but a formidable force when the need arose for her to fight. Hundreds of battles, but I can never remember a moment of feeling neglected or unloved. I literally thought she was too strong for death. Stupid, I know, but when she went to battle that -- that horrible creature, that freak from a mad wizard's laboratory, I never even thought she would not return. She was kind to her friends and ruthless to her enemies. What more can one say about a woman than that?" Poor Betaniqi's eyes teared up with remembrance. What sort of villain was I to goad her so, in order to satisfy my perverted longings? Sheogorath could never have conflicted a mortal man more than me. I found myself both weeping and filled with desire. Palla not only looked like a goddess, but from her daughter's story, she was one. That night while undressing for bed, I rediscovered the black disc I had stolen from Magister Tendixus's office weeks before. I had half-forgotten about its existence, that mysterious necromantic artifact which the mage believed could resurrect a dead love. Almost by pure instinct, I found myself placing the disc on my heart and whispering, "Palla." A momentary chill filled my chamber. My breath hung in the air in a mist before dissipating. Frightened I dropped the disc. It took a moment before my reason returned, and with it the inescapable conclusion: the artifact could fulfill my desire. Until the early morning hours, I tried to raise my mistress from the chains of Oblivion, but it was no use. I was no necromancer. I entertained thoughts of how to ask one of the Magisters to help me, but I remembered how Magister Ilther had bid me to destroy it. They would expel me from the Guild if I went to them and destroy the disc themselves. And with it, my only key to bringing my love to me. I was in my usual semi-torpid condition the next day in classes. Magister Ilther himself was lecturing on his specialty, the School of Enchantment. He was a dull speaker with a monotone voice, but suddenly I felt as if every shadow had left the room and I was in a palace of light. "When most persons think of my particular science, they think of the process of invention. The infusing of charms and spells into objects. The creation of a magickal blade, perhaps, or a ring. But the skilled enchanter is also a catalyst. The same mind that can create something new can also provoke greater power from something old. A ring that can generate warmth for a novice, on the hand of such a talent can bake a forest black." The fat man chuckled: "Not that I'm advocating that. Leave that for the School of Destruction." That week all the initiates were asked to choose a field of specialization. All were surprised when I turned my back on my old darling, the School of Illusion. It seemed ridiculous to me that I had ever entertained an affection for such superficial charms. All my intellect was now focused on the School of Enchantment, the means by which I could free the power of the disc. For months thereafter, I barely slept. A few hours a week, I'd spend with Betaniqi and my statue to give myself strength and inspiration. All the rest of my time was spent with Magister Ilther or his assistants, learning everything I could about enchantment. They taught me how to taste the deepest levels of magicka within a stored object. "A simple spell cast once, no matter how skillfully and no matter how spectacularly, is ephemeral, of the present, what it is and no more," sighed Magister Ilther. "But placed in a home, it develops into an almost living energy, maturing and ripening so only its surface is touched when an unskilled hand wields it. You must consider yourself a miner, digging deeper to pull forth the very heart of gold." Every night when the laboratory closed, I practiced what I had learned. I could feel my power grow and with it, the power of the disc. Whispering "Palla," I delved into the artifact, feeling every slight nick that marked the runes and every facet of the gemstones. At times I was so close to her, I felt hands touching mine. But something dark and bestial, the reality of death I suppose, would always break across the dawning of my dream. With it came an overwhelming rotting odor, which the initiates in the chambers next to mine began to complain about. "Something must have crawled into the floorboards and died," I offered lamely. Magister Ilther praised my scholarship, and allowed me the use of his laboratory after hours to further my studies. Yet no matter what I learned, Palla seemed scarcely closer. One night, it all ended. I was swaying in a deep ecstasy, moaning her name, the disc bruising my chest, when a sudden lightning flash through the window broke my concentration. A tempest of furious rain roared over Mir Corrup. I went to close the shutters, and when I returned to my table, I found that the disc had shattered. I broke into hysterical sobs and then laughter. It was too much for my fragile mind to bear such a loss after so much time and study. The next day and the day after, I spent in my bed, burning with a fever. Had I not been a [sic] Mages Guild with so many healers, I likely would have died. As it was, I provided an excellent study for the budding young scholars. When at last I was well enough to walk, I went to visit Betaniqi. She was charming as always, never once commenting on my appearance, which must have been ghastly. Finally I gave her reason to worry when I politely but firmly declined to walk with her along the reflecting pool. "But you love looking at the statuary," she exclaimed. I felt that I owed her the truth and much more. "Dear lady, I love more than the statuary. I love your mother. She is all I've been able to think about for months now, ever since you and I first removed the tarp from that blessed sculpture. I don't know what you think of me now, but I have been obsessed with learning how to bring her back from the dead." Betaniqi stared at me, eyes wide. Finally she spoke: "I think you need to leave now. I don't know if this is a terrible jest --" "Believe me, I wish it were. You see, I failed. I don't know why. It could not have been that my love wasn't strong enough, because no man had a stronger love. Perhaps my skills as an enchanter are not masterful, but it wasn't from lack of study!" I could feel my voice rise and knew I was beginning to rant, but I could not hold back. "Perhaps the fault lay in that your mother never met me, but I think that only the caster's love is taken into account in the necromantic spell. I don't know what it was! Maybe that horrible creature, the monster that killed her, cast some sort of curse on her with its dying breath! I failed! And I don't know why!" With a surprising burst of speed and strength for so small a lady, Betaniqi shoved herself against me. She screamed, “Get out!” and I fled out the door. Before she slammed the door shut, I offered my pathetic apologies: "I'm so sorry, Betaniqi, but consider that I wanted to bring your mother back to you. It's madness, I know, but there is only one thing that's certain in my life and that's that I love Palla." The door was nearly shut, but the girl opened it crack to ask tremulously: "You love whom?" "Palla!" I cried to the Gods. "My mother," she whispered angrily. "Was named Xarlys. Palla was the monster." I stared at the closed door for Mara knows how much time, and then began the long walk back to the Mages Guild. My memory searched through the minutiae to the Tales and Tallows night so long ago when I first beheld the statue, and first heard the name of my love. That Breton initiate, Gelyn had spoken. He was behind me. Was he recognizing the beast and not the lady? I turned the lonely bend that intersected with the outskirts of Mir Corrup, and a large shadow rose from the ground where it had been sitting, waiting for me. "Palla," I groaned. "Pal La." "Kiss me," it howled. And that brings my story up to the present moment. Love is red, like blood.
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Mar 1, 2014 03:12
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Cantorsdust posted:True gently caress you Bretons 4 lyfe
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Mar 1, 2014 06:04
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Minarchist posted:The Dance in Fire skillbooks are awesome as well, and the ending of part 7 is the most Bosmer own. Bosmer and Breton 4 Lyfe.
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Mar 1, 2014 07:41
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Minarchist posted:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JK2dyztcYXI Fuckin 
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Mar 4, 2014 06:11
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Too hot for GBS! Girl I'm Gna CHIM u so hrd
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Mar 5, 2014 18:32
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Minarchist posted:This was posted...elsewhere. But liesmith's evil genius cannot be contained: Oh man, haven't seen him around in awhile.
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Mar 5, 2014 18:56
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01011001 posted:let me tell you a story about NWAH and SWIT This on the knuckles, and CHIM across the forehead.
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Mar 7, 2014 19:15
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cthulhoo posted:die fetcher on a tramp stamp Nah, that's where ALMSIVI goes.
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Mar 7, 2014 19:17
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garth ferengi posted:I need a lifelong smoker who can growl "muthsera....." in my life I've been told I can do a drat good Dunmer voice. "We're watching you, scum."
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Mar 9, 2014 06:26
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garth ferengi posted:I need a lifelong smoker who can growl "muthsera....." in my life  Muthsera Minarchist posted:Record "short trip, long trip, you decide." please Short trip, Long trip, you decide. BONUS: We're watching you...scum. Ahaha, you can hear my kid in the background at the start of this one. All were recorded on a lovely netbook webcam mic, and maybe I don't sound exactly the same, but I think I got close. EDIT:changed links to the mp3 versions. Error 404 fucked around with this message at 03:15 on Mar 10, 2014 |
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Mar 10, 2014 02:28
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| # ¿ May 21, 2024 13:23 |
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An Angry Bug posted:Getting some sort of weird corrupted text when I try to get to the sound files there. Weird, they're wma files, and I downloaded them and tried them in Windows Media Player on a totally different computer and they worked ok. (I am not good with computers oh god how did this get here) Edit: I'll stop being lazy and just convert them to mp3 and reupload. 
Error 404 fucked around with this message at 03:00 on Mar 10, 2014 |
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Mar 10, 2014 02:55
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