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Messages - The 49th Ronin

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The Dark Forest / Moderators
« on: April 25, 2007, 09:57:40 PM »
You have to roxxor the soxxorz off.

They'd probably replace the Chamber of the Sacred Markers with something a little less time-consuming and more entertaining for the audience. I hope they'd keep the wall in front of the ladder that the Temple Guard pops from behind.

Also, I'd like to see them add the ladders back to the Jester's Court just to add some spice to the layout settings.

The Jesters' Court / The "Hate Nickelodeon" Topic
« on: April 19, 2007, 09:27:29 PM »
America's Funniest Home videos was an innovative show before the days of Youtube and digital video because it got people to buy camcorders progressing the popularity of home movie making. Plus it filled up an hour time-slot on weekends with low-budget material that didn't rely heavy on ratings.

Why the hell it's syndicated in the 21st century, I have no idea. It's just another bad idea from a corporation that seems to have an endless supply of them.

The Dark Forest / Roseanne: The Sitcom
« on: April 18, 2007, 08:13:49 PM »
Roseanne was always a guilty pleasure. There was just no cool way to tell people that you liked a show featuring a middle-aged homely woman.

Of course it was more than just that, but you just can't convince anyone regardless of how cool John Goodman and the rest of the supporting cast is.

The Jesters' Court / The "Hate Nickelodeon" Topic
« on: April 18, 2007, 08:10:54 PM »
I don't hate Nickelodeon. I have too many good memories for me to hate it.

I hate the bastards running it though. They inspire me to do many things with broken coke bottles.

The Treasure Room / The Saga of Carveyfan: An Epic in Twelve Parts
« on: April 05, 2007, 06:06:32 PM »
Part 4: The Jester's Court

I hoisted my backpack as I walked down the corridor of Heathrow airport. My financial situation kept me in the European area, and my most recent trip required me to be sandwiched between two border collies kept in the cargo hold. Nice dogs, but they sure were frisky for being kept in a cage. Regardless, I got a free trip and smelled only minorly like dog feces.

After my last leg resulted in a mad dash run-around suitable more for Finder's Keepers, I decided my next trek shoud be one free of obstructions. There were three instances where visitors to the temple met with no obstructing temple guards, two glorious wins and one which must not be named. True, while the Iron Nose Ring of Babe was of the same calibre as the Helmet of Sir Gawain, but Minnesota isn't exactly high on the adventure connotation list, so it was off to England.

I hitchhiked my way to the small township of Berkinshire, where Wikipedia assured me that a castle existed. The castle stood looming, and a tour group was departing in five minutes, but I was a traveled adventurer, and I didn't need no stinkin' group. Also, I spent the last of my money on a raver hat with the Union Jack on it. I still say it was a sound purchase.

Tying a rope around a piece of rebar I found along the side of the road, I hurled it upwards toward the ramparts. I climbed up the wall to the roof, but there, I was greeted by something so strikingly devious it burned my eyes, and forever tatooed itself into my nightmares.

The man in black didn't turn around, even though he was aware of my presence. He knew who I was, why I was there, and what I was doing. He just didn't care. He just walked; Step left, step right, repeat all the way to his waiting helicopter emblazoned with the Viacom logo. He didn't think of me as a threat, he didn't even worry about me being capable of stopping him. He just proceeded to his awaiting chopper with the knight's helmet in hand.

The suits were on to me. They knew my plan and they were stopping me before fruition. I would just have to try that much harder.

I saw the display case inside the castle. It read: "Here is the helmet of the Welsch knight Gwalchmei. Many historians believe he was the figure on which the fictional character of Sir Gawain is based. Some beleive this helmet had magical powers, coveted by soothsayers and necromancers. But now it stands here as a relic personifying the battles of the English under William the Conquerer."

A newly administered plaque was inside the otherwise empty display case. It read: "This artifact has been acquired by Sumner Redstone, and is being relocated."

I made my way around each corridor. Up the north annex, down the south annex, into the throne room, behind each tapestry, under the dining hall tables, in the throne cushions, all while expertly outmanuevering the tour groups making the same five Monty Python and the Holy Grail jokes over and over again. Something surely resided in this castle, and if I had to blast myself back in time to the medeival period to find it, I would do so.

The day pressed on for hours. I was tired and losing daylight. I pulled a bottle of water from my backpack and took a drink while leaning against a wall. The water was warm, but I was hot and thirsty, and it felt good. Just like the breeze.

I had figured a several-hundred year old castle would be drafty, but this was like staring into an oscillating fan. There was wind coming from a small passage between the wall and ceiling, covered by a tapestry, and by no coincidence, this was surely where I was headed.

I made a stack of furniture, and removed the tapestry. The passage was only two feet by three feet, so I really had to cram my way in there. I squirmed up, taking a face full of cobwebs and dust, but after twenty minutes of squirming and three spider bites to the face, I found my way up.

It was a bedroom with a lone window and no door. The frame where the door remained had been filled with mortar and rock, blending seamlessly with the wall. The sheets on the canopied bed fluttered as the wind came through the window. A beautiful princess sat on the bed, waiting for her hero to come and rescue her, promising a lifetime of happiness and wealth after marriage.

... Yeah right. How cool would it be if that actually happened though?

Seriously, the skeleton of a dwarfed man sat arms folded on the bed. Based on his garish attire, and weird hat thing with the bells on the end he was obviously the king's jester. But why was he here, encased in this makeshift tomb?

The answered was scrawled on the closet door: "Here is the final resting place of Percival, loyal servant to the king and entertainer to all members of the court. He was encased in this room for disobedience to the magistrate after being caught with the youngest princess whilst under the cloak of a royal knight. Perhaps it was my lack of swordsmanship, my tomfoolery at the royal assembly, or the fact that I reach but the navel of a normal man, but my disguise was uncovered. As punishment, I have been imprisoned in my quarters, scratching the details of my final days into the closet door with a rock. Continued on other side."

I opened the closet and was greeted with an avalanche of mismatched, rusty and tarnished metals. Pushing them aside and hoping that I had enough white blood cells to stave off tetanus, I continued reading: "Continued from front. I have been doomed to be removed from history for sullying the royal bloodline. In the unlikely event that anyone reads these, my final words, take the armour which I wore. It was the last thing my true love touched before my encasement, and I believe it will bring true fortune to anyone who bears it. Yours in spirit, Percival."

Percival's a stupid name, but if this little man ensured me good fortune with an antiquated chestplate, I wasn't going to argue. It didn't fit me, but at least it wasn't as heavy as the stupid rock I've been carrying around. I only hope the rumors of Sir Gawain's helmet were truly fictional.

Continued in Part 5.

The Treasure Room / The Saga of Carveyfan: An Epic in Twelve Parts
« on: March 20, 2007, 09:19:39 AM »
Part Three: The Harmonic Convergence

It was weird finding a flute in the cave, of all things, but that's what was there, and that was what was going to help me find the temple. After a thorough cleaning with many different abrasive cleaners, the taste of bat guano was reduced to a tolerable level. I played the flute. Nothing happened. Square one.

As some visitors to the temple learned the hard way, when you reach a dead end, the only way to go is back. Twice had this happened in the temple. Once for Leonardo Da Vinci, and once for Leif Erikson. But because there already exists a globetrotting mystery involving ancient secrets and hidden clues wrapped in a modern conspiracy involving Da Vinci, and because I'm deathly afraid of infringement lawsuits, the clues clearly pointed to Erikson.

Iceland was cold this time of year. It was windy, and wet, and I was miserable. It's no wonder vikings were such savages. I was lucky in Africa; the clue essentially found me. Iceland was much different. It was modern, and even though the legacy of Leif made him a legend of the country, any secrets he once held were hidden under centuries of progress.

I recounted Olmec's legend to myself in hope that I missed an obvious clue. No luck. I navigated across Iceland, looking at statues, museums, and memorials to no avail. I traveled to Greenland, Newfoundland, and Scandanavia hoping he left clues there, but my efforts were fruitless.

Silent meditation revealed many secrets to members of many religions. Too bad I wasn't one of them. I was on the plane back to Newfoundland for the second time when I put my iPod on. I listened to some of the greatest musical artists ever, hoping they would inspire me. The Eagles, The Who, Led Zepplin, The Police, U2, The Sex Pistols, The Rolling Stones...


I slammed my head into my fold down tray table. My density was outweighed only by air travel bill. Leif left behind a stone marker. Find the stone; find the clue.

I returned to Newfoundland, navigating the shores. In the off-chance the marker was still here, that no one took it, that it wasn't washed away by the tides, that it hadn't been eroded beyond recognition, that it hadn't been buried or broken, I would find it. It wasn't lookign good, but if anyone would find it would be...

No one. Newfoundland is huge, to say nothing of the beaches. The beaches reach almost a half-mile inland, and are covered in rocks. If I spent my entire life searching, I would barely make a dent in a venture that was most likely pointless.

It started to rain. It was cold, and stung my face, I hid under the nearby bluffs, waiting for the storm to pass. I'd cut my adventure short, return to America, and announce defeat. I found a small nook in the rock face and placed my satchel so it wouldn't collect water or mud. The nook seemed odd, almost out of place. It was as if someone long ago took an axe to its face with the intent of mining the rock. I removed my satchel, realizing a little water and mud wasn't anything compared to fulfilling destiny.

I made an etching of the runic translations inscribed inside the notch. With the aid of the local Canadian library, I translated it as a message greeting the adventurers who dare to follow in the norseman's footsteps, and that this rock slab was the very same that Leif made his stone carving from before placing it on the shores. I was also given the instructions to take any basalt rock between one and one-quarter stone (3.5-15 pounds), flatten it on both sides, and carry it with me for luck.

Where's a mason when you need one?

Continued in Part 4

The Dark Forest / The Loot
« on: March 13, 2007, 10:17:36 PM »
Look what I just recovered from the Network Crooks. I didn'r have the warrant, but I don't think anyone cares.

The Treasure Room / The Saga of Carveyfan: An Epic in Twelve Parts
« on: March 09, 2007, 07:51:49 PM »
Part Two: The Wall Climb

Where does one begin searching for an object lost to the sands of time?

120 Recorded adventures to the temple. 240 adventurers given the chance to enter the temple. Did each of them have an equal story to tell? Does each contribute equally to the string of hints Olmec left behind? Perhaps, but time was sparce. The Neo-Nickelodeon had recently decreed that all virtual evidence of the temple be banished, and any remaining copies of these materials be made illegal to distribute in any form. Only those who had been particularly favored by the temple would be the key to the temple's whereabouts.

Bobby had been chosen to retrieve a war mask of a tribal king. This leader of an otherwise obsolete empire united African tribes, and revolted against European colonists and opressors. But when Bobby's lackadasial speed otherwise proved to be his undoing, the temple opened a passage otherwise intended to be closed, ensuring his victory.

The hunt was to begin in South Africa.

Sandwiched between the Phongolo and Mzimkhulu rivers, the lush African plains were painted a beautiful green hue, painted in all the right places with streaks of brown, accenting the beauty of the untarnished wild under a clear blue sky. Far in the distance, and elephant's cry rang out. A flock of birds flew from a nearby tree, darting off towards the horizon. From nowhere the bushmen came.

As if time had never pressed forwards, the natives stood clad in war paint and loin cloths. Spears and shields brandished in their hands, while ugly carved and painted faces greeted me from the false faces they wore to protect their identities. There intentions were unclear as they spoke in their native tongues. Whether they greeted me, feared me, or intended to harm me was unimportant. I knew not their tongue, and they knew not mine. I stared long towards them, and they remained motionless as I stared.

The sun set. No one dared move. The sky became black, dotted with stars eerily bright enough to see by. The moon was huge. A torch appeared on the horizon. Then a second. More and more torches showed, moving towards me and my strangers. If my journey ended here, no one would know.

Notes rang out as an unknown source played a horn. Drums began to fill the silence. Voices called out, chanting in a manner to express both life and celebration. An english voice, drowned in an accent richer than the most expensive cuisine greeted me.

I was prophecized. My coming was foretold, but never expected. When I arrived on the sacred land, it was such an unexpected event, the tribesmen were positive I was an imposter, they sent out their finest warriors to best me. I could only be the chosen one if I could best them in battle. If I attacked melee, their spears would defeat me. For ranged attacks, their spears would be lances of death. If I ran, they could run faster. They knew only retalliation. By my taking no offensive, they could not respond, ending the battle before it began.

After a feast of what I could only hope was parasite free food, I was given a location decreed in the prophecy. A cave habitated by hundreds of thousands of bats could be visited only in the twlight hours. If visited in the wrong time, the native mammals became territorual, attacking anything that dared enter. Twenty steps in, the remaining skeletons of animals and human confirmed this.

I had thirty minutes to scale the ivory wall at the far end of the cave. A dimly lit torch and the ubiquitous guano made the cave seem like a reservoir of foul-smelling death, pureed in a viscous form. I found a small opening in the wall. The caked in bat remains from an era older than I could probably imagine made this no pleasant task. Twenty-minutes remained.

Up. Up. Higher and higher. Hand. Foot. Hand. Foot. Guano. Hand. Foot. Up. After climbing the defecated climb for what seemed like eons, I reached the top. Nothing. I removed the torch clenched from my teeth and waved it around with one free hand. Then, from the corner of my eye, I noticed a small glimmer. A brief flash of reflection, roughly twelve feet away.

This must have been it. I traversed across the wall, but tragedy struck. The holes continued for only six feet. The glimmer was a small cylinder, silver in color, and just out of reach. I hoped to nudge it from it's perch with the torch but to no avail. In a last ditch effort, I threw the torch at the object. The torch fell down, down, down to the floor below. I had two minutes left until the bats returned, ensuring my demise.

Desperately, I threw all caution to the wind, and leaped onto the perch. Barley grabbing the edge, my fingers strained for friction against the slippery rock surface. I exerted all effort to keep myself alive. I reached for the object, hoping that anything would happen. I gripped the cool metal shaft as I plummeted down into the cave. The torch extinguished when it hit the floor. I couldn't tell when the floor would approach, how fast it was coming, or just what degree of sharp rockes would end my life. But there it was, my fate, sealed.


Puh? Puh is how I died? That couldn't be right. That's not the sound of landing on sharp jagged rocks. The guano had cushioned the blow. A thick layer of perma-dung saved my life. With mixed gratefulness, I rolled over and stumbled out of the cave just as the bats returned.

Continued in part 3.

The Treasure Room / The Saga of Carveyfan: An Epic in Twelve Parts
« on: March 07, 2007, 02:11:23 PM »
Part 1: The Crypt

The Hidden Temple had been just that. Hidden. Since 1995, no one had entered past the gate. No one descended the steps of knowledge. No one crossed the moat. Not out of lack of interest, but because no one knew where the temple was hiding.

No one knew where to look. A temple just can't up and disappear, or so they would have you believe. Certain artifacts traced the original location somewhere in mid-land florida. Once home to the proud Calusa tribe just north of the everglades, Europeans settled the area. Spanish Conquistadors came searching for the Fountain of Youth, never imagining they would in turn be responsible for its creation.

430 years later, give or take a decade, a group known as the Nickelodeon moved onto the sacred grounds, promising a haven for all who visited. The Nickelodeon tribe was known it's for its adoration of a green slime, first appearing when a group of Canadian visitors uttered forbidden words of ignorance. Proving its versatility, the Nickelodeon began worshipping it, infusing it into as many aspects of life as possible, going so far as to erect a geyser to spew it near the entrance of the grounds.

The grounds were magical. Not only did they attract kids, they attracted adults searching to feel the magics of youth, even if only temporarily. These were magic times. The Nickelodeon reached its peak in the construction of a temple, peaking at three stories high, and six rooms wide. This temple would forever be protected by three vigilant temple guards, a native Nickelodeon who would often speak in tongues during moments of excitement, and a spirit infused head similar to those of the ancient Olmec tribe. This temple would pay homage to the legends of the world, be they real or fictional.

the Nickelodeon decided that two visitors would often earn the right to enter the temple if they proved themselves mentally and physically worthy. The temple guards forbade this. Any admission to the temple would cheapen the name of both the temple and the legends thereof. Olmec and his native guide, Kirks With Fog, disagreed. Admission to the temple would be the ultimate goal for children everywhere. Not only would the visitors symbolize everything good the Nickelodeon stood for, it gave the kids spirit and hope that one day, they could be equals with the legends themselves.

The temple guards were hesitant, but approved on several conditions. First, only those deemed worthy by the Olmec could enter, and then, only one at a time. Second, those entering must not disturb the guards. If their paths ever crossed, the guards reserved the right to immedeatly expel them from the temple unless they bartered with the guards native currency: Fulpindents Soflief. Third, the rooms would be in constant flux until the guards agreed the temple was a satisfactory representation of Nickelodeon glory. It took over two years for the guards to perfect it, changing everything but the Shrine to the Silver Monkey, revered almost as much as the green slime. Finally, if they were deemed worthy, the visitors were allowed to retrieve and handle the legendary artifact in three lunar minutes. In this rare occurance, the temple guards will respect the visitor, who was truly the worthiest of worthy, and aid them in every way as they leave the temple, be it encouragement if paths crossed or by opening every door simultaneously.

But as with every great civilization, great power leads to a great demise. The grand chief who supervised the rise of the great empire stepped down after he felt he could no longer serve the people any better than he had done. He decided to let others attempt to perfect on perfection. But his successors were not of noble blood. They cared not for the children, nor those wishing to learn the secrets of the Nickelodeons. Caring only for personal wealth and power, they ended the glorious geyser of slime. They abandoned the people who made the Nickelodeon tribe so powerful, favoring instead facsimilies of the children they wished to attract, but under scenarios and with voices so obnoxious they scared off all but the slow, weak, and stupid. Finally, weak from abandonment and sacrelige, the now decrepit remaining Nickelodeons fled the once thriving Floridian land, relocating to Korea where slaves could be forced to shell out the very products that led to its demise.

It is rumored that the land is becoming fertile once again after the toxic creatures who lived there had fled. The land is polluted however, as the only creatures seen habitating the area are devoid of hair, completely mute, blue in color, and only able to communicate through primitive percussion instruments.

120 documented adventures to the temple were taped for posterity. However, the last vestiges of Nickelodeon has gone out of their way to ensure that as few of these recordings reach public eye as possible. Obviously, there is a deeper force at work here, which the corrupt chiefs are desperate to hide.

The temple guide, Kirks With Fog, has moved on, recounting the stories of the legendary temple of Nickelodeon. The temple guards have remained in hiding, in hope that the brave souls they once tried to have banished would one day return. As for the Olmec, his whereabouts remain unknown. According to ancient manuscripts, he and his temple have relocated to the most desolate area on the planet. A place so remote, that only one in 3 billion people could ever be expected to make the journey, survive, and navigate the temple.

A few dedicated archaeoligists have attempted to flush Olmec's location out. Perhaps if reminded of the legendary stories he once endorsed, he would reveal his location. In July 2006, these historical buffs began recounting legend after legend, hoping each one would bring them one step closer to Olmec's temple, but to no avail.

In autumn 2006, another attempt was made. More seekers of the temple attempted to find Olmec, but disaster struck. Temples began appearing, but not Olmec's. False legends began to arise, recounting insignificant sagas of lava lamps and board games. False archaeoligsts joined the ranks promising cheap medication and smut videos. Something rotten was happening.

One noble archaeologist dubbed simply "Carveyfan" knew what had to be done. He disappeared from the ranks of his ilk, and began traversing the world, seeking out the location of Olmec. Only then would the temple begin inspiring the children of the world again. Only then would the glorious Nickelodeon tribe become the phenomenon it once was. And only then would the evil plot of the modern Nickelodeons be revealed.

Continued in Part 2.

The Temple Games / You Can't Beat Me
« on: December 31, 2006, 06:03:26 PM »

"That was bad I.N.T.E.L.L.I.G.E.N.C.E."
"I'm sorry"

The Dark Forest / Apocalypto
« on: December 16, 2006, 10:06:50 PM »
I just the film Apocalypto. Let me tell you, if the Mysterious Mayan Temple Guards acted anything like the Mayans from that film, the contestants would need way more than a Pendant, or else they'd be completely boned.

The Dark Forest / Wii, 360, or PS3?
« on: December 04, 2006, 02:33:43 PM »
360 or Wii. I want both.

The Temple Games / You Can't Beat Me
« on: December 02, 2006, 09:36:48 PM »
Not if the government has anything to do with it.

The Heart Room / Which would You Take?
« on: December 02, 2006, 08:52:49 PM »
I'd take Kirk's pendant bag, the head of the Silver Monkey, and the Lightning Ball.

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