Warthog - running

[Fantomen]

Pud Coughed in the smoke. Dizzy from the heavy fumes and struggling to think straight. The cavern was huge, and looked eerie with the slowly moving smoke trails clouding but every detail. When he moved his gestures caused the smoke to spin and flow into dreamy figures that lingered and danced like ghostly jesters, so he tried not to move.

In the middle of the cavern stood the enormous hookah, 18 feet high and richly decorated. And somewhere behind it in the fog, barely visible, lay the god Pothead, The patient one, on a huge divan.

It was always a test in itself to take orders directly from The patient one. The divine weed wasn't meant for ordinary men, and the fumes themselves brought Pug into a world unknown to him, where he couldn't tell what was real or not, and what words had been spoken and which were his own hallucinations. You never got a quick answer from Pothead, and when it came it was never short.

Pothead finally spoke:

- EH, DUDE...YOU THAT PUG PERSON? EH...
- Yes my grace.
- I...EH...YOU KNOW...I HAD THIS IDEA...WHAT WAS IT?...AHEHEH...

[ghoul31]

Where can I download the mod?

[BvG]

"What do you mean 'not dead'?'" The thunderous voice of their God echoed in the gigantic hall, even tho the roof had collapsed eons ago. It made the Acolytes shiver in fear, their bones rattling below their dried husks. Dusk elder Okedur grinned. It was the only facial expression he was able to perform.

He tried to explain "We are few and in great Peril, oh deadly one, ..." but the lord of exosceletal flies interrupted him: "Deadly is not the issue at hand!" - "Yes sire, but you see, the prophecy..." Okedur gestured vaguely to the grim looking altar on the west side of the Ruin. "The prophecy was not clear on..."

But the living are not as patient as the dead, especially when their godly blood is steaming in anger: "We WROTE the damned thing, and We remember specifically to only be called when everyone is dead." The god was now pacing fore and back. All that quick striding was unnerving the dusk elder, looking left and right all the time was bad for his dried neck. "Dead shall everything be, and the One shall arrive and be dead too" His angriness recited, "and Us too!" He underlined with dangerously lowered voice. "But here We are, fully alive ourself. How could that have happened?" His furrored browdom stared at the messenger of the inappropriately vivid news. "Begone foul Soul!" The god screamed at the dusk elder. His deadliness shortly stared at the small pile of dust that used to be the most powerful mage of Ermor.

"We will shape the world until it becomes as we want it." The god declared, pointing at one of the Lictors. "You! Go and kill some people, and don't stop until We are pleased." The lictor thus appointed to these new honours bowed. Then he turned around, looked at his small flock of followers, and grinned dispiritedly.