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The Council of Nine

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Scott of the Stapp: Book First [Jan. 24th, 2004|06:31 pm]
The Council of Nine

j9caf
I apologize for my failure to contribute to the sacred scriptures of the council as of late, for I have been wandering the wilderness of Tallahassee, Land of the Mystic. It serves as my stomping ground during the springtime, a haven where I may further my academic journey, and deflower many fair maidens in the process!
The Land of the Mystic was originally inhabited by Osceola, a red skinned alchemist who invented stinkweed, a foul smelling potion that would alter one's perception after being smoked in a pipe. It would also make them extremely hungry, resulting in many a romp in the gourmet chambers of our kitchen halls. The consumers of the narcotic would spend countless hours in there, anxiously searching the pantries for salted porcine skin, poached turkey, and drained onion skins known as Funions, a delicacy in the culinary world of stinkweed.
Osceola's potion drew many scholars, squires, maidens and knights from around the land to sample his new invention. These folk included the dark warriors of Timberland, and even the albinos who would often try and mimic them by wearing their tunics below their knees!
Having so many powerful brains under the charm of stinkweed, Tallahassee became an academic haven for thousands upon thousands of citizens all wishing to learn the ways of liberal arts. Among these citizens were a group of minstrels who collectively called themselves Creed. Their leader, the widely loathed Scott of the Stapp, was known for having a chest so hairy, that it rivaled those of the ogres of Greece.
Scott of the Stapp would often study Angelology and worship Jesus, a brown skinned steward of the South known for his skill when it came to tending the castle greens. However, Scott of the Stapp feared that worshipping a foreign gardener would make him appear less ferocious, so he denied his faith, even though it was quite apparent in his awful songs of blind men seeing and Sunday mornings. Therefore, he and his band of minstrels were banished from the land for Fradulent Faith.
Unfortunately, this was not the last we would see of Scott of the Stapp. A fortnight ago, he returned to Tallahassee with his minstrels, determined to perform once more in the Halls of Civic, our largest citadel. I was summoned forth to stop his madness. I bravely answered the request with my hammer and broadsword in hand, ready to take on whatever tomfoolery lay ahead of me. I made haste to the citadel and plunged my broadsword into Scott of the Stapp's leech infested chest. However, I was unable to reach the heart, due to his gargantuan, repugnant bushel of pectoral hair! I then knew that if I wanted to pierce his Jesus loving flesh, I would have to conquer the deciduous forest of percipitating hair that blocked it. In I went, unaware of the darkness that lay before me.....

The Hammer
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The Dark Knights of Timberland [Jan. 14th, 2004|10:06 pm]
The Council of Nine

sexydecoy
I fear that the Dark Knights of Timberland are in my presence. Weary as I am, I remain armed at all times, my fingers hastily trembling near my lance. These evil warriors are said to have souls so black that their shadows act as their own reflection! They carry large, circular objects with a firey orange tint, so as to burn the flesh of a righteous knight.Their language is cryptic and they tend to speak in limmerick often, exchanging anecdotes of merry engagements with their steeds, wenches and wines! Do not be fooled by their upwardly demeanor! These Dark Knights are dangerous and can leap higher than any sprite, fairy or toad this side of Tampa's Bay!

The leader of these Knights is a gentlemen who goes by the alias of "Fifty Shillings". He carries what he calls a magic stick, which seems to be the joy of his wench, Kimberly the Petite. Furthermore, the dark leader is a man of incredible knowledge, teaching courses on what he calls "stunting".

Perhaps I should take his course and beat him in his own game! I'm sure I know where I shall find him!

In the Pub!
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(no subject) [Jan. 1st, 2004|09:58 pm]
The Council of Nine

sexydecoy
A happened upon a lonely minstrel who bellowed a whaleous tune from his long fiddle. Its words happened upon my hears like a fairy sprinkling magic dust into a seashell of audial echoes and the breathtaking magic filled my soul with beautiful sprite ejaculate. These are the words the minstral sang:

I inquired as to if we should court this evening
She delightfully agreed - yet her words were cunningly decietful
Her treachery stung in my cranium like sour butter
I feel as though I equate to excrement
Dizziness ensues, and thus the floor, I hit
My distaste for isolation is rivaled only by my unhappiness in being
Meanwhile, before I perish, I will speak the unspeakable
Meanwhile,
S-e-l-f A-s-p-y-x-i-a-t-i-o-n


I seemed to have forgotten the lyrics that follow...perhaps another council member can refresh my memory...

-The Storyteller
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Darksend the Heathen [Dec. 25th, 2003|12:06 am]
The Council of Nine

j9caf
The wretched creature was a dark brown, the same shade of the sludge that leaked from his anal orifice. I have seen many an orifice in my day, but none as hairy or as foul smelling as this one.
The creature curled his slobbering lips back into a snarl and flicked a forked tongue at the other council members and I. We drew our weapons, poised to attack the furry mahogany humanoid, when I noticed his gold rimmed glasses. They were the same shimmering color that belonged to Darksend the Heathen, friend and fellow council member, an angel who was once held POW in Satan's war camp for seven days. During this treacherous period, he received bamboo whippings from John Ritter, Rerun the Jester from What's Happening, and former lead minstrel of Drowning Pool, all while the music of Brian Setzer, Maestro of Faggotry echoed in the background, according to the Storyteller.
This severe beating darkened his spirit, but not his valiant heart, thus transforming into an archangel of death. He managed to escape by putting on the new Puddle of Mudd record, the minstrels that happen to be arch rivals of the clan known as Drowning Pool. The music was too much for the deceased singer to take. While the lead minstrel received a rectal dosage of healing potion from Rerun, Darksend escaped back to Heaven in his new form.
Little did we know that he had transformed in other ways as well. None of the council members were aware of these strange anal sludge powers bestowed upon Darksend.
Until now that is....................
I shall pass the torch on to yet another council member. Read on, weary traveler!

-The Hammer
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Exodus to Antartica [Dec. 23rd, 2003|12:15 am]
The Council of Nine

sexydecoy
It 'twas a festive yet trecherous night for the councilmen indeed! Upon our initial meeting, it was decreed that we make an exodus to the uncharted plains of Antartica, a cold, barren wasteland, where we would not only hone our fencing techniques, but rid the area of any unwelcome beasts which may lurk in the night's shadows.

After dismounting from our steeds, inspection of this land gave evidence that it had once been inhabited by giants! The Mage-Slayer happened upon a particularly large lance, one whose volume was surely greater than the rod of reproduction of Blargnov, the mighty! Methinks this could have been a deadly weapon belonging to an ancestor of Gimlor, the wretched.

To be sure that this land was pure, we cast magic ice spells on unspecified areas to rid them of lurking beasts of burden. We then plummaged through a nearby fortress in hopes to attain a few extra rupees. Just then, we took notice to a strange creature mounted on a stump, blasting poison sludge from his anal cavity. We drew our swords, only to find out that this was a fellow councilmen...

I shall let the others finish this tale.

Until then...

-The Storyteller
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The Tale of the Hammer [Dec. 21st, 2003|01:44 am]
The Council of Nine

j9caf
I am known simply as The Hammer. I possess the hulking strength and body of a Noorish God, accompanied by the carnal intellect of a tawny stable girl who sells the benefits of her sweet scented fleshpurse to weary travelers such as yourself.

This hybrid personality of mine can be attributed to the fact that my father was a direct descendent of Odin the Mighty and my mother was a direct descendant of Helga the Whorish. While my father was the last in a line of regal Thunrder Gods, my mother was the last in a line of Gash Witches who would taint their fleshpurses with poison extracted from Bullfrog glands in order to slay promiscuous knights, squires, and horses alike. My mother once slaughtered St. Harold the Horsehung, his squire Forktongue, and their horse, Stiffsteed, all in a fortnight of orgies at the infamous Chotchdragon Inn.

Her murderous will spread throughout the land like the Herpes of Yore, prompting a heroic court Wizard, Prymus, to summon my father from his mighty throne of clouds, for his cosmic fallic appendage was the only member in the land strong enough to withbear the venomous assult of my mother's acidic Venus flytrap.

According to the infinite knowledge of The Storyteller, who you encountered in the most recent recording of this epic chronicle, my father bludgeoned my mother's snapdragon with such furious gusto and flare, that he climaxed lightning bolts when it was all through, unleashing the relentless spears of electricity onto her pubic pelt of Spanish Moss. The dry fur quickly caught fire, leaving her notorious fleshpurse in a chaotic flurry of cinders and brimstone.

And it was I who arose from the smoldering ashes of that orgasmic mess, quickly falling under the tutelage of my father. After years of discipline, combat, and chivalrous masturbation, I am an indestructible warrior of primal force and sexual intellect, a perfect addition to the Council of Nine. Welcome again to our Tome of Knowledge. Read on, weary traveler. Rest your careworn feet. Let yourself be showered with exhalted tales of honor, knowledge and begrudgery, for the adventure has only begun!

-The Hammer
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The Story of the Swordmaster [Dec. 18th, 2003|04:47 pm]
The Council of Nine

sexydecoy
Ah alas! It seems as if my trusty steed, the SWORDMASTER, as she is known, is healing from wounds suffered at the hands of Gimlor, the beast. Gimlor disguised itself cleverly as a road sign and my faithful horse ran itself right into his evil trap. Needless to say, I dismounted from my own beast to fight the other, ejaculating blows left and right to the demonic foe, besting his wits and physical prowess to win the battle. Local lawkeepers came about in their wagons, protesting that I had brutally defaced a public sign, yet I informed them of the evil ways of Gimlor and showed them the damage it had done to the SWORDMASTER. The lawkeepers then inquired as to whether or not I had imbibed any Ale in the previous hours!

"Why yes, good men! Drink Ale and be merry, for tommorow we shall die!"

The lawkeepers were not amused by my advice, so I quickly drew my lance and proclaimed that I was the head chair of the COUNCIL OF NINE! I was unable to make a quick escape at the moment, for I was fresh out of MP, though I knew that this was not the time to take the cowards way out.

"Stand clear, fellow subjects. For I shall cut ye at the sound of a toe tapping or a foot fromping!"

These men were masters of psychology. They suggested, ironically, that my lance was merely an instrument used to open mail.

"This sword can cut the strongest of chain mail! Indeed!"

The lawkeepers soon came to realize that they were not dealing with a regular sword nor swordsman. To compensate for the damages done to my steed, the lawkeepers offered me a ride on the back of their horse, to help them keep the peace. I agreed, under the conditions that we stop off to Gulf's View so that I may purchase a new tonic from the shopkeeper. The lawkeepers chuckled as we rode away.

-The Storyteller
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Once Upon a Time... [Dec. 16th, 2003|10:54 pm]
The Council of Nine

sexydecoy
Hear Ye! Hear Ye! Welcome to the Tome of Knowledge, the official written word of the Council of Nine! I am your storyteller and the head chair of the council of nine, the greastest collection of wise men to have ever existed! Our rich history spans generations, existing before the written word had been created. The Council has been History's governing force in balancing out all earthly and otherwise non-earthly realms. The facets of knowledge of which the council has available to us are infinite and unworldly. Eight other men sit in council chairs, making us a complete nonagon of wisdom, knowledge, truth, justice and redundancy.

Beware the evil wizards and dragons! The Council consists of accomplished swordsmen, sheildsmen and hammermen. When rough play and tomfoolery begin, ye must have faith that the Council will unleash a hammering time for one and all. The council has been a force to be reckoned with for ages. When Charlamange wanted to write the Magna Carta, he came to the Council of Nine to decide whether or not to use Arial or Helvetica font. When King Arthur had the gout, the Council of Nine assisted England's ruler with embezzeling funds from Merlin. When Skeletor's wife had an abortion, it was the Coucil that alerted this news to He-Man, who himself slain the unborn creation with his mighty lance, assisted by the gynecological wizard, Orko.

This shall be the Council's first open documentation of our odyssesies. With an axe in one hand, and handling the keys of this magoc board with another, I bid ye knights and whores farewell until our next adventure.

-The Storyteller
Council of Nine
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