Well on long tours of duty, things happen.
Looks rough down there.
Where's this restaurant then?
Art //
Great. So what was meant to be a thing with me and Outlaw, now has a C'tan.
Last edited by Sister Aquilina; June 27, 2010 at 02:08 PM.
Art //
Well you might aswell be, Outlaw has deserted me on this desert land.
Art //
Last edited by Edelward; June 27, 2010 at 02:25 PM.
Fitz Salnarville, Duke William's favourite knyghte,
To noble Edelwarde his life dyd yielde;
Withe hys tylte launce hee stroke with thilk a myghte,
The Norman's bowels steemde upon the feeld.
Old Salnarville beheld hys son lie ded, 235
Against Erie Edelward his bowe-strynge drewe;
But Harold at one blowe made tweine his head;
He dy'd before the poignant arrowe flew.
So was the hope of all the issue gone,
And in one battle fell the sire and son.
Don't you try to kill her................
Art //
Oh-ho but then me and the boys teleport in from my flagship to have a nice squig dinner.
I check into small hotel a few kilometers from Kiev. It is late. I am tired. I tell woman at desk I want a room. She tells me room number and give key. "But one more thing comrade; there is one room without number and always lock. Don't even peek in there." I take key and go to room to sleep. Night comes and I hear trickling of water. It comes from the room across. I cannot sleep so I open door. It is coming from room with no number. I pound on door. No response. I look in keyhole. I see nothing except red. Water still trickling. I go down to front desk to complain. "By the way who is in that room?" She look at me and begin to tell story. There was woman in there. Murdered by her husband. Skin all white, except her eyes, which were red. I tell her I don't give a . Stop the water trickling or give me refund. She gave me 100 ruble credit and free breakfast. Such is life in Moscow
Fitz Salnarville, Duke William's favourite knyghte,
To noble Edelwarde his life dyd yielde;
Withe hys tylte launce hee stroke with thilk a myghte,
The Norman's bowels steemde upon the feeld.
Old Salnarville beheld hys son lie ded, 235
Against Erie Edelward his bowe-strynge drewe;
But Harold at one blowe made tweine his head;
He dy'd before the poignant arrowe flew.
So was the hope of all the issue gone,
And in one battle fell the sire and son.
Oh for Emperor's sake the whole damn forum is now here.
I check into small hotel a few kilometers from Kiev. It is late. I am tired. I tell woman at desk I want a room. She tells me room number and give key. "But one more thing comrade; there is one room without number and always lock. Don't even peek in there." I take key and go to room to sleep. Night comes and I hear trickling of water. It comes from the room across. I cannot sleep so I open door. It is coming from room with no number. I pound on door. No response. I look in keyhole. I see nothing except red. Water still trickling. I go down to front desk to complain. "By the way who is in that room?" She look at me and begin to tell story. There was woman in there. Murdered by her husband. Skin all white, except her eyes, which were red. I tell her I don't give a . Stop the water trickling or give me refund. She gave me 100 ruble credit and free breakfast. Such is life in Moscow
Art //