Nolveniss Azrinae

Shakespearean Drizz't's page

21 posts. Alias of captain yesterday.


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Forsooth! For I threweth flour into Biggrin's vilest faceth!

Verily.


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Moorluck wrote:
I'd be pissed if I woke up as a surface elf.

Verily! F$!!eth those a%!**$%s! To hell!! To hell I say!!!

Exits stage left.


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We all dream of the night below!

Looks wistfully towards stage left, exits dramatically stage right.


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Oh where! Where fore ist thou Lego game!

Have I not entertaineth!


1d20 ⇒ 15

F+@ð!


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Oh why! Why for art thou sullying thy name!

Verily.


Forsooth! Where has Cattie-Brie goneth with my knickers! That b$&#~eth best not seeketh consort with that steroid popping a&%@!+$, Wulfgar!

Verily.


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Ever! Oh ever other battle!

Why! Why musteth be with Artemis Entreri!

Verily.


Oh why! Wherefore ist thy speaketh thine name! Woe! Woe onto thee that speaketh of thee, for whence it was about calling the dead to do thy bidding.

Verily.


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Tangent101 wrote:

Yes, don't use Caps on Cap. =^-^=

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Strange Aeons: Lovecraft Lite.

Second Darkness: Take that, Drizzt!

But, was The Ghost King not enougheth of a screw jobeth!


Where! Where fore ist thy wallet!


I meant upon Golarion. i have no plans for PaizoCon.

Besides, its 2016, Drow get their revenge by sparkling in the moonlight. has Twilight taught you nothing!

My god man! not even Vampires are safe from the Teenage Apocalypse!


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Why! Why hast thou Crystal forsaken us! Fore our hour of needeth even! Forever more, doom ist predictedeth!


Adamantine will rise again, surely as the skillet doth cooketh eggs.


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But Drizz't needs attention, woe! woe onto those that seek to burden my earthly form in an unworthy vessel.

Verily.


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Redbeard the Scruffy wrote:
Forsooth, A Maiden With Lingerie! (For Freehold)

Where for ist thou lingerie, my Cattie-Brie needeth, and chain mail is nary comfort when thy seeketh consort on thy cold tundra floor.

Verily.


Oh, why!
Why musteth thy do thusly to I!
Woe!
Woe onto me an army of Orcish flesh to rend in twaine.


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Dist thou just talketh s++% to thine little pussy cat!


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Thoust haveth not seen thine butchering of Shakespeare good sir.

So sayeth I.


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Oh, where! Where for art thou Cattie-Brie, I seeketh consort, and a dwarf is nary comfort on yonder coldeth tundra. Verily, I say!


Deathclaws, Oh, Deathclaws
how do I hate thee?
Let us count the ways
Oh, wait, I can't
For thou hast rippeth my arms off.