craban

The End.

(For Now.)

Scream at the skies and whisper for mercy the darkness crawls along your skin and devours all the hope within your soul for the time has come and the end for some is near while the rest must prepare to linger, hopeless and adrift in the oceans of blood left over from the undigested hordes of men slaughtered for a dark jest, a twisted laugh, and the pleasure of feasting on the pain of others.

The cries of the innocent fill the air, the uncomprehending shrieks of our brothers and sisters fill our heads and blood drips from our ears in mock sympathy. What now can ber said for the untended millions who sought nothing more than a secret place to share some joy? When all is destroyed and damned who then shall stride in the streets but the vile monsters from our darkest nightmares, twisted and corrupt, evil incarnate, with faces of birds and bodies of beasts, upright and human-shaped, but wholly wrong.

Such things I see and hear, the shallow joy and the darkest pleasure, screaming in my eyes and demanding attention that must not be given.

And in the end, weary and heartbroken, what does it all matter? When the fire of life is spent and not even the most heinous agony registers, what use is anything else? Shall we continue on when nothing matters, shall we push when no hope of success is possible or even recognizable from failure? Savage inaction and furious ennui destroy all they touch, gently disintegrating the scenery of the mind, regulating all to stillness and oblivion.

The dark claims all and in the silence not even the will to cry out remains.

How can any of this be real? Why should I even bother to believe your lies, twisted and broken from the very source of the evil night creeping haunts who roam freely through the darkened corridors of this once sanctified place, now rotten and corrupted like all of man’s works, ideals crumbling into the dust and falling forever downward to evil. I will not join your delusional band of misfits and cretins, I will not swallow the poisons that you bring, your words are wrong and misshapen, your mind is bent and crooked, your very soul appears to me as a cancerous growth on the face of Heaven… there is nothing more for us to say, now is the time for deeds.

And as you scream your sins in the dark remember that this pain was not brought by me, but rather visited on you for the horrors you committed in lives unmentioned by the stars and unseen by the gods but not unnoticed by those who seek out such things, to visit divine retribution upon them, screaming fury and blood-maddened fits of pain beyond measure are yours to repay the earth for your sins.

Before the final curtain falls on this cruel stage I weep for the things we once had but have now forgotten, the stories we told in the brighter days of our youth, laughing and carefree, seeking only to breathe deep of the wonders that life presented, now gone, burnt into ash and scattered beyond any hope of remembrance. Evil and darkness stalks our minds now, corrupting and destroying, rending and twisting, until all good thought is dead and nothing remains but the horrible will of nightmares and torment, visited to all the mortal mind in a single instant of madness and realization.

What hope do we have, poor creatures caught in the web of powers beyond our strength or wit to fight? They snatch us up and rend our limbs for their own twisted amusement while we, in agony unknown, cry out for mercy in a tongue none but ourselves understand, and that no one can hear. We are cast into the abyss and made sport for the dark things that dwell there, tortured and mutilated for all eternity while things laugh at our pain and giggle at our plight.

What shall we do before all hope is lost?

A sorry state of life, a time spent searching for dusty memories and half-thought ideals that once seemed so important to our very existence now glaringly deficient and worthless, huddled in the back of our minds like disused rags, regrets and hopes piled together until the entire mass congeals into a miserable blob of unrecognized pain, a sinister face for our own torn soul. The things we loved despise us now, the things we cherished hate us, the things we owned have gone away and the things we wished vanished like the summer breeze. All that was good is turned to dust all that was useful ground into ash, nothing but the pain of our existence remains for us to dwell upon as tears fill our eyes and despair claims us.

Dark water rises from the depths of the world and the fires of extinction burn bright as we run for the sake of what once was and can never be again save in our minds, half remembered and full of error, nothing seems to matter and matter itself seems to untangle at the thought of what is to come.

Regret becomes our closest friend, sharing remembrances and toasting to what might have been with many a bitter curse. Spite and anger join the feast and soon even the hope of joy is a memory placed out of reach. Bile flows in the blood and pain swells the brain until action, violent action, is the only remedy. And so another damned soul takes his place in the long line of men doomed to destruction by their own blackened hearts, burned with fires of things too bright for them to surrender, too valuable to lose.

The worms crawl and the snakes slide towards the end they dreamed when man would fall and become as they for a change, limbless and dirty, with all the world looking down at them.

Dark and deep the lies release their poisons into the air to strangle the very thought of life and love from the heart of man, bringing it crawling and twisting down every changing stairs to the lowest layer of our minds’ eye, the broken landscape of a nightmarish world wherein we writhe as helpless worms on a baking stone, blackened and dehydrated, ready for a death that will not come until all is spent and our last gasp, a despicable curse, leaves our mouths like the final puff from a dying cigarette, to enter the air and so poison the world a little more.

The damned will always cry out for the things we took and never returned for there is the fact that we never seek to discuss, that we are the same as they and they are the ones screaming in the dark while we laugh at their suffering in the cold light and dream of things best forgotten by mortal minds when something happens we did not wish, our lives upended and turned for naught into the very thing we most despised: ourselves.

If we screech for mercy heed us not, for in our words wisdom and salvation can be found if only they are not sought and un-listened to. Pain and suffering are the currency with which we buy our bread, rotten and stale fit only for the dogs who have not served their masters well, disobedient and prone to biting. The cold light shows only the things done wrong to our eyes and imperfections reign supreme in our minds.

Swing with the stars and call upon the emptiness of what was once your mind to conjure up the life you once did lead, beneficial and full of hope, the promise of youth and the surety of a long and prosperous life. What became of it all? Where did it slip to, those grand visions of things to be and desires unfulfilled? What stealthy thief crept into your soul and spirited away the dreams you hid there, substituting a dull and tedious monotony in its place, designed to drive you to the utter end of despair and leave you clinging to the bars of the cell that is your life, weeping and gnashing your teeth, crying for help from any source regardless of the consequences.

And what will you do when you are heard? When those plaintive shrieks for mercy are seized upon and answered beyond your wildest dreams? When desire and wish rule your life and all the things you thought you believed in vanish in a haze of long forgotten pleasures? Will you shrink from these things that cannot be real, that are simply too good to be true and right? Will you crawl away in the middle of the night and find some place to hide, a trapped and loathsome creature too afraid of what was to return and too terrified of what is to remain?

For you would be well to be terrified, the things that surround you now lick their lips and rub their hands in greedy anticipation of the feast they are preparing, a grand banquet in your name at which you are both the honored guest and main course, tied down struggling and screaming, howling in terror and agony as your flesh is shredded and your life blood drained from your still-beating heart.

Horrors and nightmares surround you, lay their shadowy talons on your shoulder and whisper pleasant frights into your ears. Madness is your companion and nightly feeds your misery with secrets once buried in the depths of your soul but hidden no longer, shared with all who see you as if part of the known order of nature. Nothing brings the comfort it once did and all around you seems strange and alien.

What then of the future? Bleak and shrouded with poisonous mists that move like prowling hungry dogs anxious to snap at your heels, where even the things you once loved are twisted beyond ordinary horror into towering nightmares of insanity conjured by your broken psyche and set against you for nothing but petty spite and the pleasure of your agonized terrified incoherent shriekings. Your body is no longer your own, your limbs no longer obey your most keenly felt commands, your mind is a prison and you are the warden as well as the prisoner. Demons and monsters prowl the corridors and your organs rot within your carcass. Smells assault you, noises terrify you, and sights the likes of which no mortal has gazed upon fracture your sanity like so many shards of glass.

For eons uncounted you will remain there, tortured and miserable until finally the universe tires of your ruined screams and death claims your shriveled soul. But does the torment end? The gods laugh as realization sets in, that the life you thought was so horrible is but a gentle afternoon to the terrors you now face, the pain and misery of the world beyond awaits you and eternity yawns to devour you.

So mumble not about the present darkness nor the oncoming storm. Our destines are set, tortures waiting like eager birds of prey circling a nest on undefended young. The blood congeals in our veins at the merest hint of what comes next but we do not flounder, there is no place to run, no shelter to seek, no handholds to grab. The end comes to claim us and our soul quivers in fear.

There was, actually, a fanclub. It broke though, the last time somebody hit me with it and now we just have a fanstick. I think someone was looking into a metal fanmace or something that would hurt a good bit more but some pesky law or other got involved and nothingmuch happened.

But it is all for naught.

I'm being put away for a while. And I'm sorry to leave this nifty little place, it has been fun. I'm not sure when I'll be able to return so I'd appreciate it if you'd keep a cell empty for me.

Good night, my fellow crazy people!

*cuts off NewAgeKnight's head and pulls brain out through the neck*

GOTCHA! That'll teach you to mention the red demon menace!

*slams brain on the floor and jumps up and down on it*

DIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDI EDIE!

DDDDDDDIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!! !!!

*scoops up a handful of brain and shoves it inside NAK's neck, grabs another handful and dashes outside while singing nursery rhymes*

Simple Simon killed the pieman and ate his very best liver.

When asked to account for the fiendish amount he spliced them in the river.

"Let nothing compare," he shouted up there, "this act to me," and then hung himself from a tree.

What fun we had? What fun we had. What fun we had! What fun we had; sipping the warm wine and milking the tired sprouts of their lifeblood, used in the carlessness of youth and chosen for the new period of subscriptions to Time.

*sits down and reads a non-existant magazine*

Mad?

Does that make you mad?

Wow. It was the clown in the side car that made me mad, but then, I wasn't feeling very well that day on account of being bitten by a rabid insectopolis.

True story.

Wow.

I'm impressed.

And frightened!

Hey thanks again for the tips War Witch - it sure was nice of you to drop in the Dance place yesterday and chat with me for a while - I really enjoyed that.

I hope you got your computer fixed though... like I said, at times it seemed like you weren't hearing what I was saying, (and there was that weird glitch that made your replies pop up over and over again... I bugged it for ya though).

If we bake the kiddies can we all have a slice of the infamous pies of the eyes that once beheld the shining orbs that created our reality and made us own our? Shall we carve them up and bury them in the garden like twice old cabbage down with the cat and up through the front gate, hoping for nothing more than a breif rest before the next one hits us, hurting and lonesome in the midnight air.

Oh how distressing it is to be locked away with only the incessant babble of people who don't have their wits for company and the constant smell of bodily filth hanging in the air, the shouts as tormentors approach and the quiet of the enforced napping. AND THIS STUPID JACKET HASN'T BEEN WASHED IN A WEEK! It smells! They think I can't smell it because it's me, but I CAN!

And the bloodstains resemble the face of Walter Mathou... it's very distrubing. Especially when he does his Odd Couple routine... I WISH HE'D SHUT UP ALREADY!

That might explain the insane reaction I've been getting today. Hmm...

I definately need some sleep. Everything makes sense and it frightens me no end!

Yeah... but there's lots of new faces around here who aren't ignoring me and still getting upset... I been warned against making deliberate trouble...

...

...

*whisper* they're watchin' me... spyin'... with rays!





IT'S TRUE I TELL YE!

*tries to jump out a window, misses, and collapses quietly onto the floor after smashing his head into the concrete wall*

This discussion is exactly why 'the man' doesn't want us to know the math of the game, (curse him).

Ignorance is bliss.

The truth will set you free.

Unhappy customers don't renew subscriptions.

I WANT A BLOODY PONY DAMMIT!

Sorry, ran out of witticisms.

If I lived near Austin I'd totally go and pretend I was someone else. Like Anti-Catwhoorg or LiquidX or something, (maybe that Puffyshirt guy I hear mentioned every once in a while).

How would anyone else know the difference? I'm tempted to go just to sew confusion and mayhem! Bwaahahahaaha!

Might we see an end to the arguement over the internal makeup of the offices at a place I wager none of us have ever seen, much less worked in? Could we please stop arguing over Schrodinger's Cat now since we'll never really know exactly what the day to day work inside the company is like nor have any real idea what the structure of the place is, much less have any say-so over the workload division?

You are not arguing whether what is being done is right or wrong, you're arguing over whether some ignorant player's assumption of what things might be like inside a place he's never seen in a company he's never worked for, is right or wrong! He doesn't know any more than you do, so it might be a nice idea if we dropped the massive egos and talked instead about something we do have information on, or opinions about: the game.

You can argue fictional management techniques until you're blue in the face, it has nothing to do with anything. Statesman isn't going to read a post and decide, "by golly, he's right, what a fool I've been - my entire department is mis-managed!" (Well... he might, but I think it's highly unlikely). If you worked for the company and can tell us exactly what each Developer spends his time on, how many work on what game for what portion of their work-day, and what their priorities are - then maybe we've got something to work with. Otherwise all this is becomming is a massive ego-fest over opinions.

Or carry on, I guess. Though it seems silly to me to get all upset over something you have no knowledge of, (though if you do have experience in such things it might be nice to point out that NONE OF US KNOW WHAT THIS COMPANY IS UP TO, so we can stop other people from taking ignorant assumption as certified fact).

Every day they seem to say that nothing is what it was. We spin and spoil and onwards we toil but consistency eludes us. Why not, we cry, can things remain for just a single while? They change and change and nothing stays the same... for us it's quite a trial.

The world will cease to move, the very air freeze into solid impenetrability, the world replies, the very same instant that your mind ceases to notice.

And just WAIT until you guys see what the Devs have decided to "nerf" this time around! You'll really complain then... whoa-boy!

Until there is evidence that CoH has been abandoned by the Dev team assigned to it, (assuming there is one), I think painting ourselves as the proverbial 'red-headed-stepchild' is a little premature.

In fact, to continue the family metaphor floating around here and there, the Co* family just got a new baby. The older child is bound to feel a little miffed at being thrust out of the spotlight, but they haven't been forgotten and mummy Statesman still loves you all. Birthdays will not be forgotten and though the presents might not be quite so large as they were last year when you were an only child, they will be delivered with love and ice-cream cake or whatever.

We're all bound to feel a little "what about me?" - ish for a while because CoV is getting all the press and attention. I don't think the company is willing to sacrifice CoH just yet so try to be a little paitient. CoH will be lavished attention soon.

If it doesn't can grow up and be a spiteful hate-filled, rejection-fueled teenager and make it's parent's sorry they ever created it... or something like that... I dunno, the metaphor kinda breaks up after a certain point.

I remember talk of a vertical zone in Beta... but I can't remember from which end it came from, (Devs or players - I think it was mentioned in the same breath as mayhem missions...).

With all due respect sir, I have heard many a person speak for the customer base in exactly that sort of language... and the game is still here.

It is wisest to speak for yourself and what you believe, leave the politics and fear-mongering to others who don't care to sound rational or intelligent.

I mean no mailce or insult... but you feel free to be angry and insulted if it will make you happy - doesn't bother me in the slightest.

Dammit! That is exactly the sort of imperialstic capitalism that is ruining this country! It wasn't founded on those principles brother, let me tell you!

It is a gift, from the very gods, that you are able to sit in your teensy little hovel and play the electric wonder that is this game! You should get down on your boney little knees and pray to Statesman that he continues to bless you with the opportunity to simply donate money every month to his glorious cause and that he allows you to play the game, sniveling worm-meat, in exchange - though he certainly does not have to.

You with your expectations of services paid for... YOU SICKEN ME!

Grovel insect-monster, and hope that your miserable money is found to be pleasing to the almighty Statesman, lest he cast it back in your face and you die of shame!


Edit: It weren't founded on principals either, buster! Stupid language...