Posts from History

What sailor? They all scattered.
What unreliable information!

Having gorged himself on crab soup, the sailor said (!)...
(go to hell)

..."what was inside this crab..." and ran away to take care of his business...

...and found out that this crab contained...

there was a KamAZ truck with some guys, but what were they doing there?

He stood there. Let's start over, shall we? O_O

On that warm June evening, Arandor couldn't sleep for some reason. He got up from the makeshift pit in the couch and walked to the window. Behind it, the...

Lizard, the ice made it impossible for him to walk properly. He walked, slipped, and fell, then walked again and fell again, repeating this several times. Arandor decided to ask Lizard what he was doing outside his window and why he kept falling, and why there was ice in June? O_o. Arandor opened the door, went outside...

and he couldn't believe his eyes – everything was covered in snow, and little figures were running and falling all around, shouting, "We're all going to die!!!1." Arandor had already decided to head towards them to ask what was going on, but then someone whistled at him from behind and called out:
- Hey, listen up! Come over here!
Turning around, he saw Neira Drake sitting on a bench with a mug of beer...

Arandor approached her and asked what she needed.
Neyra stood up from the bench, and suddenly a sword flashed in her hands.
- You must die, messenger of light!
Arandor instinctively jumped back, and Neyra raised her sword to strike.
Suddenly, a bright light blinded them both, and a furious cry rang out:
- BLDZHAAAAD, in the name of Emperor! The Black Order of Beer Drinkers will not pass!!!
With one large leap, Loken covered a considerable distance and stood between Arandor and Neyra. A huge sword flashed in his hand.
- Back, you vile creature! - Loken roared.
Neyra jumped back, knelt down, staring at the ground, and whispered a prayer.
After a few seconds, a crowd of zombies in leather jackets and ripped jeans appeared from the ground behind her, reeking of sour, stale beer. Their movements were clumsy, and their skin was peeling and blackened in places.
-Arey... arey... arey... arey... mmmm... arey... - the terrifying army muttered.
Suddenly, an army general appeared out of nowhere.
His black leather cloak was worn and torn, his ripped jeans were patched up dozens of times, his boots were torn and held together with some kind of industrial staples, he had waist-length hair, and an uneven beard. He held two rusty swords in his hands.
- Vissi-shmissi! You still won't win! - Loken roared.
- Lokki-shmokki, we'll see about that now!

The rusty blades, leaving a trail of rust behind, clashed with the edge of the two-handed sword. For a while, the opponents exchanged blows until the gleaming sword managed to graze the monster's torso. Pus mixed with stale beer gushed from the cut. "What will you do when you face a severe beer deficiency, Vissy?" Lokken croaked, twitching his eye. "I'll unleash one of my insignificant minions," replied the hairy one, grabbing the nearest creature, tearing off its head, and drenching himself in beer directly from the half-decayed esophagus. Arandor finally snapped out of his stupor and decided it was time to act. But what should he do? Meanwhile, more and more undead were emerging from the ground. Turning around, Arandor rushed towards the meditating Neyra. The trance was broken, and with kicks, curses, and screams, they grappled in a struggling heap. Lokken noticed that the zombies had stopped, shuffling uncertainly in place, and this moment of confusion was enough for the main creature to deliver its underhanded blow. The blow landed on the forearm, piercing a centimeter of armor. Lokken cried out, parried the blade, and stumbled back a couple of steps. His face paled, a few hairs fell out, and his eyes turned red. "Not feeling too well, are you?" Vissy mumbled. "This wonderful weapon is steeped in the oldest beer, which causes great suffering to the victim when it enters the bloodstream, leading to an imminent fatal outcome." "Too... much... talking for an undead," the knight muttered, feeling his vision blur and waves of pain wash over his body. "Undead..." Vissy's eyes momentarily took on a more meaningful expression. Looking at his own hair in surprise, he shook off the enchantment. Shuffling towards the warrior, who had fallen to one knee, he raised the dirty, gnarled, rusty sword for the final blow.

If that were the case, I would rather join Niera and stand against both of you :P
P.S. Yes, I am a commentator.

It should be noted that this happened with the accompaniment of the crackling sound coming from the speakers of the Lizards' phone during the Epidemic:cool:

- You must die, messenger of light!

Hey!) That's me, the messenger of Light :D
And I wouldn't attack Ara; I'd offer him a beer, and we'd all rob old ladies together :smile04:
P.S.: This is a comment, not a response to the topic.

and we would join you in taking money from the grandmothers

If only you and Aro had the strength to stand against the grandmothers...)

we have enough strength, don't doubt it) we know special techniques.