ground floor in a legendary bread
fucked up if true
I love to piss and shit.
fucked up if true
an aide off-camera: "no sir!! remember your campaign promises!!!"
*blood vessel in my eye ruptures*
i don't remember your campaign promises
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The portreiture that was upon the wal
Withinne the temple of myghty Mars the rede?
Al peynted was the wal, in lengthe and brede,
Lyk to the estres of the grisly place
That highte the grete temple of Mars in Trace,
In thilke colde, frosty regioun
Ther as Mars hath his sovereyn mansioun.
First on the wal was peynted a forest,
In which ther dwelleth neither man ne best,
With knotty, knarry, bareyne trees olde,
Of stubbes sharpe and hidouse to biholde,
In which ther ran a rumbel in a swough,
As though a storm sholde bresten every bough.
And dounward from an hille, under a bente,
Ther stood the temple of Mars armypotente,
Wroght al of burned steel, of which the entree
Was long and streit, and gastly for to se.
And therout came a rage and swich a veze
That it made al the gate for to rese.
The northren lyght in at the dores shoon,
For wyndowe on the wal ne was ther noon,
Thurgh which men myghten any light discerne.
The dore was al of adamant eterne,
Yclenched overthwart and endelong
With iren tough; and for to make it strong,
Every pyler, the temple to sustene,
Was tonne-greet, of iren bright and shene.
Ther saugh I first the derke ymaginyng
Of Felonye, and al the compassyng;
The crueel Ire, reed as any gleede;
The pykepurs, and eek the pale Drede;
The smylere with the knyf under the cloke;
The shepne brennynge with the blake smoke;
The tresoun of the mordrynge in the bedde;
The open werre, with woundes al bibledde;
Contek, with blody knyf and sharp manace.
Al ful of chirkyng was that sory place.
The sleere of hymself yet saugh I ther --
His herte-blood hath bathed al his heer --
The nayl ydryven in the shode anyght;
The colde deeth, with mouth gapyng upright.
Amyddes of the temple sat Meschaunce,
With disconfort and sory contenaunce.
Yet saugh I Woodnesse, laughynge in his rage,
Armed Compleint, Outhees, and fiers Outrage;
The careyne in the busk, with throte ycorve;
A thousand slayn, and nat of qualm ystorve;
The tiraunt, with the pray by force yraft;
The toun destroyed, ther was no thyng laft.
Yet saugh I brent the shippes hoppesteres;
The hunte strangled with the wilde beres;
The sowe freten the child right in the cradel;
The cook yscalded, for al his longe ladel.
Noght was foryeten by the infortune of Marte.
The cartere overryden with his carte --
Under the wheel ful lowe he lay adoun.
Ther were also, of Martes divisioun,
The barbour, and the bocher, and the smyth,
That forgeth sharpe swerdes on his styth.
And al above, depeynted in a tour,
Saugh I Conquest, sittynge in greet honour,
With the sharpe swerd over his heed
Hangynge by a soutil twynes threed.
Posting ontogeny recapitulates Posting phylogeny... only true r H i z z o n E kids will get this one......
punch the keys for gods sake
I love to piss and shit.
While BioWare is well known for their strong role-playing games, it’s perplexing how they were able to reach this level of quality with Dragon Age: Inquisition. It’s one of the most overwhelming experiences on the market, containing not only the best character development found in any RPG, but an open world that’s actually polished. The artistic and visual fidelity help with the immersion, but it’s the branching, player driven storyline and exquisitely layered combat system that create something special. Even with the staggering amount of dialogue and lore, newcomers to the franchise will have no trouble hopping right in, while old school fans will undoubtedly grin at the various call backs to past events. There’s even an enjoyable small multiplayer mode to participate in that’s entirely separated from the main campaign. Like a good hundred hour long novel that never lets up, Dragon Age: Inquisition is so engrossing you won’t be able to put it down.
My favorite part of DAI was the ~complicated choice~ between siding with fascists or magic users
Lenin: A what? A mattress? What do we need a mattress for?
Trotsky: What do you mean, what do we need a mattress for? Why do you think we just spent all that money on a train? The whole purpose of buying the train in the first place was to get the ladies all nice and tipsy so we can take them to a nice comfortable sleeping car, nice and, you know, they can't refuse. Because of the implication.
Lenin: Oh, uh, OK. You had me going there for the first part. The second half kind of threw me.
Trotsky: Dude, dude, think about it. She's out in the middle of nowhere with some dude she barely knows, she looks around, what does she see, nothing but open steppes. (Imitating female voice) "Oh, there's nowhere for me to run. What am I going to do? Say no?"
Lenin: OK. That seems really dark.
Trotsky: Nah, it's not dark. You're misunderstanding, bro.
Lenin: I think I am.
Trotsky: Yeah, you are. Because if the girl said no, the answer, obviously, is no. But the thing is she's not gonna say no. She would never say no. Because of the implication.