I'll just leave this here.
torsdag 2. oktober 2008
mandag 22. september 2008
Wolverine and the X-men
What can I say... i decided to give it a shot.
First of all, Wolverine as the leader of anything but an assassin squad strikes me as weird at best. I mean... Cyclops is there and so's Emma Frost (although I suppose I would be against her leading an X-men group of her own as well. As far as I know, this is more or less the first time she's been animated as anything but a villainess.
But truth be told. I loved it. Loved it so much I'll probably buy the first season on dvd when the time comes. The setting is nice. It creates a need for wolverine to lead. Jean Grey is gone, leaving Cyclops devastated, Charles is gone too, and nobody else is the type to handle a situation. Not yet anyway. Storm and Nightcrawler are shown in the introduction, but is, like Colossus, not in the series as of yet. So... where was I... Ah, The setting is right. Everyone's on edge. Days of the future past seems to be just around the corner, with military taking in unregistered mutants, and magneto living in his fortress of solitude in Genosha. The brotherhood of mutants is once again at bay, this time without Mystique, though it seems Domino has taken her place. Both as leader of the group, and as Rogues mother figure.
There were tons of easter eggs among captured mutants and stuff. so yeah... I'm a fanboy.
onsdag 10. september 2008
tirsdag 9. september 2008
A new beginning.
The origin of this blog was originally to play as a humorous spin-off of a Dungeons and Dragons game me and some friends play. In this game, I played the part of Tindo Beren (insert half a dozen more names here) "Smartmouth", a gnomish bard. He earned the nickname "Smartmouth" for always coming up with clever, if not always polite, comments to every potentially tense situation. This was his forum, where he would recount the adventures of our little group, from our defeat by rats to our great victory over invading orcs. And every now and then, he'd come up with a tale from ages past, or childrens stories, or heroic tales. Well... that was the idea anyway.
Thing is, one of my friends moved away, so it's far between the times we get together, and thus this blog idea sort of fell to shreds. It's been sort of my dumping spot for stories, and might still be. I think. Anyways. Between any such stories that might or might not appear, I'll focus on life stuff and thought stuff. Mostly thought stuff, as that is what I tend to write about in my Norwegian (bokmål) blog. But every now and then, who knows.
I'll keep the name of the blog. Because whether I like it or not, the "clever" comment thing is something the little gnome picked up from me. Plus, I'll keep anything I've written here earlier. It's not like I can figure out how to delete it anyway, so I might as well have it here as a reminder to what this blog was originally ment to be.
PS. Thoughtstuff, in case you were wondering, includes my opinion on comic stuff, things that don't make sense, things I'm trying to make sense of, things that makes perfect sense until I strip it down to it's most basic components, and movie stuff.
søndag 25. mai 2008
Storytime pt. 2
(the last story was inspired by the potential of Christian's character in my wheel of time roleplaying game, a discontinued line of pen&paper RPG's from Wizards of the Coast, this one's inspired by a potential character by JeanDamme, or Jan Øyvind as he is known as for some. consider this chapter two of the prologue to a story I will tell to noone but those involved)
The night was cold, freezing in the way that it only does in the threefold land, what the wetlanders unwittingly calls "the waste". Aryn sat guard. It did not matter that she was the apprentice the wise ones had taught the longest, she always got stuck with doing the most. It didn't help that she had the spark either, she cursed the day they had found out. She hadn't known what had happened. A friend who got hurt suddenly became better, and the same night she had come down with a heavy fever. She had gotten attention then, now it was only hard work. Not like with her spearsisters. She shouldn't think these thoughts though, this was important for her sept, for her clan. She would become a wise one one day, and complaining about working hard now when in the future she would have to be working others the same way would only disgrace her. She would work with pride, no matter how tired, or hungry or thirsty she was. She turned as she heard a whimper from one of the tents.
Aryn, walking across the camp to investigate finally found where the disturbance came from. It was one of the bigger ones, the more important ones. The one of her mistresses, the wise ones. It was not her place to know what was going on in there, not yet. It had been spelled out clearly to her once in a similar situation, and she had no need to be punished with more assignments. She turned to return to her post right when a scream coming from the tent behing her woke up the entire camp.
The wise ones hade made it clear there was nothing to worry about, and that everyone should go back to sleep, or rather, seeing how much energy they had, they could all start the day. Aryn noticed the chief about to protest the latter choice, as he had barely gotten any sleep himself and they had a long trip ahead of them, but he was quickly silenced by a glare from the wise ones. It could have been anything, but from experience, whatever this was it was important for something.
Five days passed. Though she heard the occational whisper between wise ones, no other sign that anything extraordinary had happened came, except for the occational heated discussion between the wise ones and the clan chief, which wasn't really unusual, just not as common as it was in this period. But on that fith day, Aryn was taken aside by the chief.
"over by the rocks over there, in their shadows, lies your old gear. You may not be able to use spears anymore, but your old friends made a wise one's knife out of the tip of yours. Everything else you'll need for the journey will be there as well." he said, leaving before the baffled Aryn could react. She had no time to shake the shock of and realize any meaning to wat had been said before Arinnya, the first among the clan's wise ones laid her hand on Aryn's shoulder. "You will have to leave, now. You will travel through the wetlands to a tavern in Caemlyn that bears the sign of a golden animal, a horse with horns. What you do there will be made clear when you get there, I cannot say more."
"This will be your test of strengh Aryn", she added. "May you always find water and shade as you journey". Aryn hesitated, before responding politely "may you always find water and shade, wise one". Still puzzled, trying to figure out why they would need to send her to Caemlyn for her test, she went for her gear. It was all there. Her mothers cloak, who had belonget to her mother, and her mother before that, and was thus torn to shreads at points that had brushed through rough terrain and sharp rocks. The old buckler her father had worn in his last battle, still looking like it had been harmed less than her father had been, though somebody had clearly made some dents and cuts in that as well. She made a smile, she had been honored by her parents, now it was her turn to bring honor to her name. If wise ones and the clan chief agreed something had to be done, even reluctantly agreeing, it would have to be done, no matter how little reason there seemed for doing so. So she started walking...
Thus begins the story of Aryn.
The night was cold, freezing in the way that it only does in the threefold land, what the wetlanders unwittingly calls "the waste". Aryn sat guard. It did not matter that she was the apprentice the wise ones had taught the longest, she always got stuck with doing the most. It didn't help that she had the spark either, she cursed the day they had found out. She hadn't known what had happened. A friend who got hurt suddenly became better, and the same night she had come down with a heavy fever. She had gotten attention then, now it was only hard work. Not like with her spearsisters. She shouldn't think these thoughts though, this was important for her sept, for her clan. She would become a wise one one day, and complaining about working hard now when in the future she would have to be working others the same way would only disgrace her. She would work with pride, no matter how tired, or hungry or thirsty she was. She turned as she heard a whimper from one of the tents.
Aryn, walking across the camp to investigate finally found where the disturbance came from. It was one of the bigger ones, the more important ones. The one of her mistresses, the wise ones. It was not her place to know what was going on in there, not yet. It had been spelled out clearly to her once in a similar situation, and she had no need to be punished with more assignments. She turned to return to her post right when a scream coming from the tent behing her woke up the entire camp.
The wise ones hade made it clear there was nothing to worry about, and that everyone should go back to sleep, or rather, seeing how much energy they had, they could all start the day. Aryn noticed the chief about to protest the latter choice, as he had barely gotten any sleep himself and they had a long trip ahead of them, but he was quickly silenced by a glare from the wise ones. It could have been anything, but from experience, whatever this was it was important for something.
Five days passed. Though she heard the occational whisper between wise ones, no other sign that anything extraordinary had happened came, except for the occational heated discussion between the wise ones and the clan chief, which wasn't really unusual, just not as common as it was in this period. But on that fith day, Aryn was taken aside by the chief.
"over by the rocks over there, in their shadows, lies your old gear. You may not be able to use spears anymore, but your old friends made a wise one's knife out of the tip of yours. Everything else you'll need for the journey will be there as well." he said, leaving before the baffled Aryn could react. She had no time to shake the shock of and realize any meaning to wat had been said before Arinnya, the first among the clan's wise ones laid her hand on Aryn's shoulder. "You will have to leave, now. You will travel through the wetlands to a tavern in Caemlyn that bears the sign of a golden animal, a horse with horns. What you do there will be made clear when you get there, I cannot say more."
"This will be your test of strengh Aryn", she added. "May you always find water and shade as you journey". Aryn hesitated, before responding politely "may you always find water and shade, wise one". Still puzzled, trying to figure out why they would need to send her to Caemlyn for her test, she went for her gear. It was all there. Her mothers cloak, who had belonget to her mother, and her mother before that, and was thus torn to shreads at points that had brushed through rough terrain and sharp rocks. The old buckler her father had worn in his last battle, still looking like it had been harmed less than her father had been, though somebody had clearly made some dents and cuts in that as well. She made a smile, she had been honored by her parents, now it was her turn to bring honor to her name. If wise ones and the clan chief agreed something had to be done, even reluctantly agreeing, it would have to be done, no matter how little reason there seemed for doing so. So she started walking...
Thus begins the story of Aryn.
onsdag 21. mai 2008
Storytime
(this is a fanfic, based around the wheel of time world by Robert Jordan, the role playing game based on the series, and a character not yet finished based in the role playing game based on the Wheel of Time by Robert Jordan. This is a Gamemasters arrogant imagination of the incomlete hero's origin story)
As the wheel of time turns ages come and pass, creating stories that turns to legends. Legends become myths and heve myth is long forgotten when the age that gave it's birth comes up once again. In one such age, by some called the third, a wind rose from the ruins of Shadar Logoth. The wind was not the beginning. There is no beginnings or endings in the wheel of time, but it was a beginning. The wind blew through the lands of Andor and Murandy, touching people and beast alike, souring relations between them, until it passed Illian and met it's match in the sea of storms. But not without serving it's purpose.
It had been a rotten fight, and he coudn't remember how it started. If it had happened anywhere else, it would surely have ended in bloodshed, but this was family. Close family. He had stormed out, trying for once to avoid conflict. He did not feel ready to take his fathers place as the lord of House Bekin just yet. "Fortune scorn me", he said quietly to himself "I don't wish no ill on my father at all". Kharis had often come to the garden to cool down, and even though he usually only needed to do so during daytime, this night wasn't cold enough to scare him back in. Not yet. Besides, He had his family's old cloak, a heirloom of sorts, with him. He had always felt safe wearing it when he was younger. His father had told him that the first born son in their family were to own it, that was tradition. It was a silly story though, cloaks didn't feel this good for very long, so it must have been of newer fabric than claimed. He tightened it around him, sitting down by one of the fruit trees, and suddenly feeling very tired...
He woke up to the clanking of metal on metal. Had House Bekin been bigger, or more important, he would have believed they were under siege. Quickly shaking the sleep out of his eyes he ran for the mansion, finding to his horror the blazing light of fire and smoke coming out of broken windows. Dashing for the back door, he heard screaming from Lady Trina, his mother's quarters. With his dagger in hand, he climbed the stairs, finding his mothers servants dead, thoats slitted. Tapping steps alerted him to the assailent fast enough to drive his dagger into the mans chest. There had been blood shed here tonight afterall. The heavy body leaning onto him, he was almost too busy to notice the dark shape on the floor in an evergrowing black pool of blood. His heart sunk, and his mind raged with thoughts on how this could be. His mother was dead, and he knew his father would have to be too, or else they wouldn't have come this far up. As if finally waking up from a trance, he noticed the flames. The fire had grown, the noise had died and been replaced by the crackeling of the flames. He had to act quick, get what was most important and get out of there. He had gear stcked around in his quarters somewhere. If that hadn't been stolen or destroyed, it would have to be there still, and it would be useful. He couldn't find much money though. What he had in his pockets would have to suffice. Continuing down to the mansions entrance he finally noticed it. His fathers body. He had died fighting, his rapier had rolled out of his hand and into the fire as he had been brutally slaughtered. Praying that the creator would see to his parents and the other people that had been in the house as this happened, he saved the sword from the flames. It's hilt were slightly burned, but the rest was only very very hot. Using the cloak as an insulator between his hand and the sword, he finally escaped to find neighbours waiting, helplessly watching the flames.
Without the mansion and the valuables that had been in it, he had now nothing to pay the family guardsmen with. The title of Lord Bekin was now his, though he had little use for it. His house, and not just the building, were in ruins. It would be up to him to restore it. But doing so required wealth, and before wealth came revenge. Whoever did this, whoever ordered this would pay, the light willing. Some of the closest neighbours had given pretty accurate descriptions on how the assailants looked like, except of course, the one he had taken care of himself. They had looked like mercenaries or cutthroats for hire, more like. Thugs with midlander features. Andoran, soe would say. Perhaps he could find more information there.
Presenting the King of Illian with his leave of abscence, and his reasons for it, the king granted him transport to Caemlyn, a letter to a tavernmaster on the outskirts of the city and a leather armor with the Bull of House Berkin engraved together with the Nine Golden Bees of Illian. "This I believe was the armor of a former King of Illian, the founder of House Berkin. He came into this world with nothing, but died bringing honor to both this kingdom and the house he created. Your house is nothing again, it is time you follow in his footsteps. Make your ancestors and the kingdom proud, and may fortune treat you well, young lord."
And thus begins his story.
As the wheel of time turns ages come and pass, creating stories that turns to legends. Legends become myths and heve myth is long forgotten when the age that gave it's birth comes up once again. In one such age, by some called the third, a wind rose from the ruins of Shadar Logoth. The wind was not the beginning. There is no beginnings or endings in the wheel of time, but it was a beginning. The wind blew through the lands of Andor and Murandy, touching people and beast alike, souring relations between them, until it passed Illian and met it's match in the sea of storms. But not without serving it's purpose.
It had been a rotten fight, and he coudn't remember how it started. If it had happened anywhere else, it would surely have ended in bloodshed, but this was family. Close family. He had stormed out, trying for once to avoid conflict. He did not feel ready to take his fathers place as the lord of House Bekin just yet. "Fortune scorn me", he said quietly to himself "I don't wish no ill on my father at all". Kharis had often come to the garden to cool down, and even though he usually only needed to do so during daytime, this night wasn't cold enough to scare him back in. Not yet. Besides, He had his family's old cloak, a heirloom of sorts, with him. He had always felt safe wearing it when he was younger. His father had told him that the first born son in their family were to own it, that was tradition. It was a silly story though, cloaks didn't feel this good for very long, so it must have been of newer fabric than claimed. He tightened it around him, sitting down by one of the fruit trees, and suddenly feeling very tired...
He woke up to the clanking of metal on metal. Had House Bekin been bigger, or more important, he would have believed they were under siege. Quickly shaking the sleep out of his eyes he ran for the mansion, finding to his horror the blazing light of fire and smoke coming out of broken windows. Dashing for the back door, he heard screaming from Lady Trina, his mother's quarters. With his dagger in hand, he climbed the stairs, finding his mothers servants dead, thoats slitted. Tapping steps alerted him to the assailent fast enough to drive his dagger into the mans chest. There had been blood shed here tonight afterall. The heavy body leaning onto him, he was almost too busy to notice the dark shape on the floor in an evergrowing black pool of blood. His heart sunk, and his mind raged with thoughts on how this could be. His mother was dead, and he knew his father would have to be too, or else they wouldn't have come this far up. As if finally waking up from a trance, he noticed the flames. The fire had grown, the noise had died and been replaced by the crackeling of the flames. He had to act quick, get what was most important and get out of there. He had gear stcked around in his quarters somewhere. If that hadn't been stolen or destroyed, it would have to be there still, and it would be useful. He couldn't find much money though. What he had in his pockets would have to suffice. Continuing down to the mansions entrance he finally noticed it. His fathers body. He had died fighting, his rapier had rolled out of his hand and into the fire as he had been brutally slaughtered. Praying that the creator would see to his parents and the other people that had been in the house as this happened, he saved the sword from the flames. It's hilt were slightly burned, but the rest was only very very hot. Using the cloak as an insulator between his hand and the sword, he finally escaped to find neighbours waiting, helplessly watching the flames.
Without the mansion and the valuables that had been in it, he had now nothing to pay the family guardsmen with. The title of Lord Bekin was now his, though he had little use for it. His house, and not just the building, were in ruins. It would be up to him to restore it. But doing so required wealth, and before wealth came revenge. Whoever did this, whoever ordered this would pay, the light willing. Some of the closest neighbours had given pretty accurate descriptions on how the assailants looked like, except of course, the one he had taken care of himself. They had looked like mercenaries or cutthroats for hire, more like. Thugs with midlander features. Andoran, soe would say. Perhaps he could find more information there.
Presenting the King of Illian with his leave of abscence, and his reasons for it, the king granted him transport to Caemlyn, a letter to a tavernmaster on the outskirts of the city and a leather armor with the Bull of House Berkin engraved together with the Nine Golden Bees of Illian. "This I believe was the armor of a former King of Illian, the founder of House Berkin. He came into this world with nothing, but died bringing honor to both this kingdom and the house he created. Your house is nothing again, it is time you follow in his footsteps. Make your ancestors and the kingdom proud, and may fortune treat you well, young lord."
And thus begins his story.
mandag 1. oktober 2007
That holy place thingy the dwarves have... deep underground.
(this is from the log of Tindo Beren Smartmouth that he secretly writes on his travels)
Yup, we had just saved the two dwarves that was left in the dwarven city, or... there might have been more, but we couldn't see any. Anyway, they asked us to go save a holy place the orcs, bugbears and goblins had occupied. And so we set out. Now, goblins we could handle, orcs are stronger, but thankfully easier to kill then your average housecat, so unless you lett them hit you, youll be fine even if your only weapon is a rapier and that lousy excuse they call daggers in these parts of the known world. Unfortunatly, there seems to be other creatures then those around as well. I don't know if the dwarves knew of them, or whether they just didn't care to tell us about them. I suspect the latter, but I'll hold an apparence of not believing it to be so, so as to not alarm the others. There were larva-like huge thingies blocking the way. The first one proved hard to kill, but then again, he didn't really do any damage, so it didn't really matter much. The other one however was not as easy. No matter how hard i cut, or how deep, his wounds always seemed to heal right after. That is, until that woolhead of a monk finally landed one of his bare handed strikes. He may not be much in the area of conversation, but he can come in handy now and then... The thing, that by the way had four more tentacles than most larvas I've ever seen, escaped. Kind of sad seeing as how I'd like to study it and find more weaknesses, so I could destroy more of its kind.
Well, seeing as how the thing escaped and we were free to go further in, we did. And it just so happened that we stumbled over a more or less fortified and guarded bridge. As I've said, goblins aren't really much of a threat, until they get together and bond. Still, the orcs were the first to actually charge. Hamato went straight at one of them, and I took on another. Didn't really see much of Hamatos battle, and the two other were behind me somewhere, but mine? I dodged as hard as I could, keeping just out of reach for the heavy battleax swinging towards me from up front. I had my rapier in hand, and were about to throw a strike with my dagger as well when suddenly everything got light. Bright light. In front of me stood now a pile of burning flesh and bones that might have been the orc charging towards me merely six seconds earlier. And behind Aliela was hard in concentration. striking goblin after goblin down with a lightning fury that I couldn't even summon an illusion of, no more duplicate. I'm honestly scared of that gal now. I'm gonna be miles away at first sign of her monthly.
Yup, we had just saved the two dwarves that was left in the dwarven city, or... there might have been more, but we couldn't see any. Anyway, they asked us to go save a holy place the orcs, bugbears and goblins had occupied. And so we set out. Now, goblins we could handle, orcs are stronger, but thankfully easier to kill then your average housecat, so unless you lett them hit you, youll be fine even if your only weapon is a rapier and that lousy excuse they call daggers in these parts of the known world. Unfortunatly, there seems to be other creatures then those around as well. I don't know if the dwarves knew of them, or whether they just didn't care to tell us about them. I suspect the latter, but I'll hold an apparence of not believing it to be so, so as to not alarm the others. There were larva-like huge thingies blocking the way. The first one proved hard to kill, but then again, he didn't really do any damage, so it didn't really matter much. The other one however was not as easy. No matter how hard i cut, or how deep, his wounds always seemed to heal right after. That is, until that woolhead of a monk finally landed one of his bare handed strikes. He may not be much in the area of conversation, but he can come in handy now and then... The thing, that by the way had four more tentacles than most larvas I've ever seen, escaped. Kind of sad seeing as how I'd like to study it and find more weaknesses, so I could destroy more of its kind.
Well, seeing as how the thing escaped and we were free to go further in, we did. And it just so happened that we stumbled over a more or less fortified and guarded bridge. As I've said, goblins aren't really much of a threat, until they get together and bond. Still, the orcs were the first to actually charge. Hamato went straight at one of them, and I took on another. Didn't really see much of Hamatos battle, and the two other were behind me somewhere, but mine? I dodged as hard as I could, keeping just out of reach for the heavy battleax swinging towards me from up front. I had my rapier in hand, and were about to throw a strike with my dagger as well when suddenly everything got light. Bright light. In front of me stood now a pile of burning flesh and bones that might have been the orc charging towards me merely six seconds earlier. And behind Aliela was hard in concentration. striking goblin after goblin down with a lightning fury that I couldn't even summon an illusion of, no more duplicate. I'm honestly scared of that gal now. I'm gonna be miles away at first sign of her monthly.
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