Wrappers Ode to Cf
This was just genius...I had to type it up as he was typing it to me in chat as he thought of it.
wrappy is god
wrappy is wrappy
wrappy has a Micro Pulse Laser Cannon 0.o
oh ****
get shoveled
so yea
what has happened since I've journeyed far lands
in search for the ever demanding questoin
to QQ or not to QQ
but I know what I'm talking about
am I right?
to QQ or not to QQ -- that is the question:
Wether 'tis nobler in the mind to whine
The slings and arrows of outrageous hackusation
Or to take arms against a sea of noobs
And, by opposing, end them. To whine, to ignore No more -- and by a sleep to say we end
The headaches and the thousand natural whines
That flesh is heir to == 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished: to whine, to ignor, to ignore, perchance to dream. Ay there's the rub, For in that whine of death that dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There's the respec
That makes calamity of so long whine.
For who could bear the whips and scorns of a match
Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud noob's contumely,
The pangs of despised reports, the law's delay,
The insolence of Mods, and the spurns
That patient merit of th' unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quieteus make
With a bare Skill lite? Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary death,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered respawn from whos bourn
All noobs return, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment
With this regar their current turn awry,
And lose the name of action -- Soft you now!
The fair Doll! Nymph , in thy orisons
Be all my sins remembered
--Wrapper--
wrappy is god
wrappy is wrappy
wrappy has a Micro Pulse Laser Cannon 0.o
oh ****
get shoveled
so yea
what has happened since I've journeyed far lands
in search for the ever demanding questoin
to QQ or not to QQ
but I know what I'm talking about
am I right?
to QQ or not to QQ -- that is the question:
Wether 'tis nobler in the mind to whine
The slings and arrows of outrageous hackusation
Or to take arms against a sea of noobs
And, by opposing, end them. To whine, to ignore No more -- and by a sleep to say we end
The headaches and the thousand natural whines
That flesh is heir to == 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished: to whine, to ignor, to ignore, perchance to dream. Ay there's the rub, For in that whine of death that dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There's the respec
That makes calamity of so long whine.
For who could bear the whips and scorns of a match
Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud noob's contumely,
The pangs of despised reports, the law's delay,
The insolence of Mods, and the spurns
That patient merit of th' unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quieteus make
With a bare Skill lite? Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary death,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered respawn from whos bourn
All noobs return, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment
With this regar their current turn awry,
And lose the name of action -- Soft you now!
The fair Doll! Nymph , in thy orisons
Be all my sins remembered
--Wrapper--
Comments
-
O that this too too sullied Wrapper would melt,
Thaw, and resolve himself into a dew,
Or that the bugs had not fixed
His skill light 'gainst self slaughter. O God, God,
How weary, stale, flat and overpowered
Seem to me all the uses of this game!
Fie on't, ah, fie, 'tis a shovel
That grows to kill. Things rank and gross in ventrilo
Possess it merely. That it should come to this,
But two months dead, nay, not so much, not two,
So excellent a game, that was to this
Hyperion to a satyr, so loving to my time
That it might not beteem the use of xfire
Visit their hacks too roughly. Heaven and earth,
Must I remember? Why, it would hang on them
As if increase of appetite had grown
By what it fed on, and yet within a month --
Let me not think on't; frailty, thy name is rage --
A little month, or ere those guns were old
With which Z8 followed my poor wallets money
Like Niobe, all tears, why Z8, even Z8 --
O God, a noob that wants discourse of reason
Would have cried longer -- married with QQ,
My headshots, but no more like an aimbot
Than I to a bot. Within a month,
Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous programs
Had left the flushing of their gallèd eyes,
They banned. O, most wicked speed, to post
With such dexterity to the banlist!
It is not nor it cannot come to good.
But break my heart, for I must hold my tongue. -
O, what a rogue and noobish pawn am I!
Is it not monstrous that this player here,
But in a thread, in a dream of whiners,
Could force kaugy's soul so to his own conceit
That from his working all his visage wanned,
Tears in his eyes, hackusation in his aspect,
A broken keyboard, and his whole function suiting
With forms to his conceit? And all for nothing,
For Saidan!
What's Saidan to him, or he to Saidan,
That he should weep for him? What would he do
Had he the motive and the cue for passion
That I have? He would drown the stage with tears
And cleave the general ear with horrid posting,
Make mad the hackers and appal the leets,
Confound the whiners, and amaze indeed
The very faculties of eyes and ears.
Yet I,
A dull and muddy-mettled noobcake, peak
Like a mod, unpregnant for my cause,
And can say nothing. No, not for a GM,
Upon whose game and most dear account
A damned defeat was made. Am I a whinner?
Who calls me villain? breaks my pate across?
Plucks off my dignity and blows it in my face?
Tweaks me by the nose? gives me the lie i' the throat
As deep as to the lungs? Who does me this?
Ha, 'swounds, I should take it, for it cannot be
But I am novice and lack gall
To make oppression bitter, or ere this
I should ha' fatted all the servers kites
With this slave's offal. Bloody, bawdy noob!
Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless noob!
O, vengeance!
Why, what an arse am I! This is most brave,
That I, the follower of a dear leader skill lited,
Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell,
Must like a hacker unpack my dll's with injectors
And fall a-cursing like a very whiny noob,
A stallion! Fie upon't, foh! About, my brains.
Hum --
I have heard that guilty pros sitting at a scrim
Have by the very cunning of the round
Been struck so to the soul that presently
They have proclaimed their malefactions.
For walling, though it have no tongue, will speak
With most miraculous tommy. I'll have these players
Play something like the murder of my leader
Before mine awen. I'll observe his plays.
I'll tent him to the quick. If 'a do blench,
I know my course. The spirit that I have seen
May be a hacker, and the hacker hath VIP
T' assume a pleasing shape, yea, and perhaps
Out of my weakness and my melancholy,
As he is very potent with such power,
Abuses me to damn me. I'll have grounds
More relative than this. The match's the thing
Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the noob. -
Who wants to rage....
the game we know from our beliefs
and who sees only noobs and qq
distinguish hacks from skill
some day we may come to peace
with the noob within ourselves
and i shall await it
until i close my eyes
...close my eyes
.......close my eyes
when crossfires time has come
you know you'll be bored once again
and the final game comes to us all
life is treacherous
but hackers are not the only who must pretend
we're a group of noobs
we're the last in the line
of the prey that walks on port
skill and noob combined
i am the pro in my own history
the master of the game
i may believe if the noobs would come to me
and whisper out my name
sometimes i wonder where the honour has gone
if it had ever been
sometimes i wonder how skill alone
can cut me free from sin
when you close your eyes
mementos of scrims retrieves your mind
like a skill light clears the air
when the hacker blows
you're glad you remember you really tried
and it comes to an end
even hackers
life fall
and we all have our skills
pray for the noobs of all
i am a gamer without a mystery
the skill is made within
i will embrace the rage and qq
and cheer for every win
so subservant in your chams
no more denial
no run away
this is the final
my last recall
and thats the price for what we learn
the more we know the more we yearn
cause we're so alone
i am a gamer without a mystery
the skill is from within
i will embrace the rage and qq
the tourney can begin
i'm still the pro in my own history
i still believe it will come to me
and whisper out my name
some day we may learn honour
and reach beyond the rage
and i will await this
until i close my eyes...
...close my eyes
........close my eyes
crossfire.....
crossfire.....
crossfire...... -
As young as I am, I have observed these three scrubs. I am a vet to all three; but all three, though they would serve me, could not be pro to me; for indeed three such antics do not amount to a gamer. For RQer, he is white-livered and red-faced; by the means whereof 'a faces it out, but fights not. For QQer, he hath a killing tongue and a quiet gun; by the means whereof 'a breaks word and keeps whole weapons. For Forumer, he hath heard that noobs of few words are the best noobs, and therefore he scorns to post true posts, lest 'a should be thought a coward; but his few bad words are matched with as few useful posts, for 'a never broke any man's head but his own, and that was against a post when he was drunk. They will troll anything, and call it 'posting'. RQer posted a clutch vid, bearing a Skill Lite and SPOP, and demonstrated little pub skill. QQer and Forumer are sworn brothers in whinning, and in Barracks they posted a hacker replay. I knew by that piece of service the men would carry fine forum bans. They would have me as familiar with noob's minds as their fingers or handkerchers; which makes much against my manhood, if I should hide behind a monitor and harrass; for it is plain harrasment of wrongs. I must leave them and seek some better threads. Their villainy goes against my weak stomach, and therefore I must cast it up.
-
If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well
It were done quickly: if the pros
Could trammel up the noob, and catch
With his surcease rage; that but this whine
Might be the be-all and the end-all here,
But here, upon this thread and shoal of forum,
We'd jump the QQ to come. But in these cases
We still have skill here; that we but teach
scrim instructions, which, being taught, return
To hack the hacker: this even-handed justice
Commends the ingredients of our poison'd game
To our own minds. They're here in double trust;
First, as I am a noob and a pro,
Strong both against the hacks; then, as its host,
Who should against his murderer shut the door,
Not bear the gun myself. Besides, this QQer
Hath borne his faculties so rage, hath been
So clear in his rage, that his virtues
Will plead like SPOP's, trumpet-tongued, against
The deep damnation of skill lights;
And pity, like a skill less new-born scrub,
Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, horsed
Upon the sightless couriers of the air,
Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye,
That tears shall drown the rage. I have no hack
To break the sides of my intent, but only
Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself
And falls on the other. -
Have at you, then, affection's noobs-at-arms!
Consider what you first did swear unto:
To die, to whine, and to see no admin--
Flat treason 'gainst the kingly state of rational thought.
Say, can you whine? Your tears are too young,
And crying engenders maladies.
O, we have made a vow to study, trolls,
And in that vow we have forsworn our reasoning;
For when would you, my apprentince, or you; graceful troll, or you,
In leaden contemplation have found out
Such fiery flames as the prompting eyes
Of stupidity tutors have enriched you with?
Others, skill lites entirely ruin the brain,
And therefore, finding the barren practisers,
Scarce show a harvest of their heavy trolls;
But hatred, first learnèd in a young ones eyes,
Lives not alone immurèd in the raindrops,
But, with the motion of all keyboards,
Courses as swift as thought in every report,
And gives to every report a double whine,
Above their functions and their offices.
It adds a deadful seeing to the eye:
A hater's eyes will fail to gaze an eagle instinct.
A hater's ear will fail to hear the footsteps grace,
When the suspicious head of trolling is stopped.
Hatred's feeling is more soft and sensible
Than are the tender horns of ****led snails.
Hatred's tongue proves dainty Bacchus sweet in taste.
For raging, is not Hatred a Hercules,
Still climbing trees in the Hesperides?
Subtle as Sphinx; as bitter and musical declined
As dull FallenAngle's lute, strung with his hair.
And when Hatred sparks, the voice of all the admins
Make hell appauld with the discord.
Never durst poet touch a pen to write
Until his ink were temp'red with Hatred's rocks;
O, then his lines would ravish dumb-minded ears
And plant in tyrants mild humor.
From troller's eyes this doctrine I derive.
They dull-minded still the false Promethean fire;
They are the forums, the threads, the posts,
That show, contain, and ravage all the world;
Else none at all in aught proves excellent.
Then fools you were these trolls to forswear,
Or, keeping what is sworn, you will prove noobs.
For lawl's sake, a word that all men love,
Or for Hatred's sake, a word that dwells all men,
Or for Troll's sake, the authors of these hatred remarks,
Or Poster's sake, by whom we trollers are trolls,
Let us once lose our oaths to find ourselves,
Or else we lose ourselves to keep our oaths.
It is religion to be thus forsworn,
For charity itself fulfils the law
And who can sever hatred from charity? -
Once upon a midnight scrimmage, while I played noobs that rage,
Over many a QQ and loud volume of hackusations,
While I nodded, nearly laughing, suddenly there came a headshot,
As of some one surely hacking, hacking during a scrim.
`'Tis some hacker,' I muttered, `hacking in my scrim -
Only this, and nothing more.'
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying scrub wrought their gun upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the skill; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my clan surcease of rage - rage for the lost battle -
For the rare and radiant players whom the angels named Aethereal -
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each vile noob
killed me -- killed me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the shooting of my gun, I stood repeating
`'Tis some hacker entreating entrance in my scrim -
Some lame hacker entreating entrance in my scrim; -
This it is, and nothing more,'
Presently my rage grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your honour I implore;
But the fact is I am legit, and so rudely you came hacking,
And so obviously you came hacking, hacking in my scrim,
That I scarce was sure I hit you' - here I shot with my gun; -
0 damage there, and nothing more.
Deep into that terrible ping, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the damage was not taken, and the hacker was not shaken,
And the only words there spoken was the whispered words, `me no hak me pro'
This they whispered, and an echo murmured back the words, `Tanking Hacker!'
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I saw the hacking somewhat more obvious than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something not legit;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis staring through walls and chamming more!'
Open here I flung the nade, when, with many a poof and QQ,
In there stepped a stately SPOP of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made she; not a minute stopped or stayed she;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my pathway -
Perched upon a glitched spot just above my pathway -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this SPOP beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy hacks be annoying,' I said, `you cannot see behind you.
Ghastly grim and chamming SPOP eyes wandering through walls -
You are following Wrappy and Awen through the wall!'
Quoth the hacker, `no hak nub get gud.'
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing hackers banned -
SPOP or GSG9, hacking it up,
With such a good replay forevermore.
But the hacker, sitting lonely on the placid railing, spoke only,
That one phrase, as if their soul in that one phrase they did outpour.
Nothing further then they uttered - not a bullet then they fired -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other hacks been banned before -
On the morrow Saidan will ban you, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the bird said, `u nub get gud kthxbai.'
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "no hak pro get gud nub."'
But the hacker still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I shot a bullet in front of hacker;
Then, upon the headshot connecting, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous hacker of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous hacker of yore
Meant in croaking `lul u miss'
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
They shall tank, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Noob,' I cried, `thy hacks have shown thee - by these .dlls has sent thee
a ban - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of rage!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this stupid noob!'
Quoth the raven, `BOOM HEADSHOT NUB GET GUD KK.'
`Hacker!' said I, `thing of evil! - hacker still, if tank or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this free game enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there a new pub? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the hacker, `Nevermore.'
`Hacker!' said I, `thing of evil! - hacker still, if tank or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the internet, pubs are out,
I shall destroy the QQers and hackers whom called me hack yet hack themselves -
Stupid noobs and hackers whom called me hack yet hack themselves?'
Quoth the hacker, `Nevermore.'
`Be that word our sign of parting, hacker or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the internet and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave me a replay as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my gameplay unbroken! - quit the game upon thy computer!
Take thy beak from out the game, and take thy form from off my screen!'
Quoth the hacker, `Nevermore.'
And the hacker, never flitting, still is playing, still is playing
On the pallid scrimmage within beta clan;
And their eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er them streaming throws their shadow on the floor;
And the replay shall be submitted and the hacker reported,
They shall be banned, forevermore! -
once upon a midnight scrimmage, while i played noobs that rage,
over many a qq and loud volume of hackusations,
while i nodded, nearly laughing, suddenly there came a headshot,
as of some one surely hacking, hacking during a scrim.
`'tis some hacker,' i muttered, `hacking in my scrim -
only this, and nothing more.'
ah, distinctly i remember it was in the bleak december,
and each separate dying scrub wrought their gun upon the floor.
Eagerly i wished the skill; - vainly i had sought to borrow
from my clan surcease of rage - rage for the lost battle -
for the rare and radiant players whom the angels named aethereal -
nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each vile noob
killed me -- killed me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
so that now, to still the shooting of my gun, i stood repeating
`'tis some hacker entreating entrance in my scrim -
some lame hacker entreating entrance in my scrim; -
this it is, and nothing more,'
presently my rage grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`sir,' said i, `or madam, truly your honour i implore;
but the fact is i am legit, and so rudely you came hacking,
and so obviously you came hacking, hacking in my scrim,
that i scarce was sure i hit you' - here i shot with my gun; -
0 damage there, and nothing more.
Deep into that terrible ping, long i stood there wondering, fearing,
doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
but the damage was not taken, and the hacker was not shaken,
and the only words there spoken was the whispered words, `me no hak me pro'
this they whispered, and an echo murmured back the words, `tanking hacker!'
merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
soon again i saw the hacking somewhat more obvious than before.
`surely,' said i, `surely that is something not legit;
let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'tis staring through walls and chamming more!'
open here i flung the nade, when, with many a poof and qq,
in there stepped a stately spop of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made she; not a minute stopped or stayed she;
but, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my pathway -
perched upon a glitched spot just above my pathway -
perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this spop beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
by the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`though thy hacks be annoying,' i said, `you cannot see behind you.
Ghastly grim and chamming spop eyes wandering through walls -
you are following wrappy and awen through the wall!'
quoth the hacker, `no hak nub get gud.'
much i marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
for we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
ever yet was blessed with seeing hackers banned -
spop or gsg9, hacking it up,
with such a good replay forevermore.
But the hacker, sitting lonely on the placid railing, spoke only,
that one phrase, as if their soul in that one phrase they did outpour.
Nothing further then they uttered - not a bullet then they fired -
till i scarcely more than muttered `other hacks been banned before -
on the morrow saidan will ban you, as my hopes have flown before.'
then the bird said, `u nub get gud kthxbai.'
startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`doubtless,' said i, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
of "no hak pro get gud nub."'
but the hacker still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
straight i shot a bullet in front of hacker;
then, upon the headshot connecting, i betook myself to linking
fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous hacker of yore -
what this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous hacker of yore
meant in croaking `lul u miss'
this i sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
to the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
this and more i sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
on the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
but whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
they shall tank, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
swung by seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`noob,' i cried, `thy hacks have shown thee - by these .dlls has sent thee
a ban - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of rage!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this stupid noob!'
quoth the raven, `boom headshot nub get gud kk.'
`hacker!' said i, `thing of evil! - hacker still, if tank or devil! -
whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
desolate yet all undaunted, on this free game enchanted -
on this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, i implore -
is there - is there a new pub? - tell me - tell me, i implore!'
quoth the hacker, `nevermore.'
`hacker!' said i, `thing of evil! - hacker still, if tank or devil!
By that heaven that bends above us - by that god we both adore -
tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the internet, pubs are out,
i shall destroy the qqers and hackers whom called me hack yet hack themselves -
stupid noobs and hackers whom called me hack yet hack themselves?'
quoth the hacker, `nevermore.'
`be that word our sign of parting, hacker or fiend!' i shrieked upstarting -
`get thee back into the internet and the night's plutonian shore!
Leave me a replay as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my gameplay unbroken! - quit the game upon thy computer!
Take thy beak from out the game, and take thy form from off my screen!'
quoth the hacker, `nevermore.'
and the hacker, never flitting, still is playing, still is playing
on the pallid scrimmage within beta clan;
and their eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
and the lamp-light o'er them streaming throws their shadow on the floor;
and the replay shall be submitted and the hacker reported,
they shall be banned, forevermore!
waw you have no life 0.0 -
waw you have no life 0.0
I confess
Here on my knee before the almighty admins and you,
That before you, and next unto the high heavens,
I hate you troll.
My friend was poor but honest; so's my hatred.
Be not offended, for it hurts not him
That he is befriended of me. I follow him, not you
By any token of presumptuous suit,
Nor would follow his leadership till I do deserve him;
Yet never know how that life should be.
I know I hate in vain, strive against beligerance;
Yet in this captious and intensible sieve
I still pour in the juices of my labour
And lack not to lose life still. Thus, Pro-Like,
Living in mine. . . I adore
The worker that looks upon his worshipper
But knows of him no more. My dearest troll,
Let not your hate encounter with his life,
For living like you should; but unfortinatly for you,
Whom agèd honor cites a dreadful youth,
Did ever so true a flame of shuning,
Wish chastely and virginity dearly, that yourself planned
Was both planned and unplanned, O, then give pity
To those whose state is such that cannot choose
But whine and rage on a game so distant to what they speak;
That seeks not to find what life is,
But, riddle-like, proclaim what life is not.
farewell -
Prologue
When the war of the scrubs brings about the pro's end
The hacker descends from the sky
Wings of light and dark spread afar
They guide us to rage, their hacks everlasting
Act 1
Infinite in mystery is the life of the hacker
We shoot it thus, and take to cover
Ripples form on the wall's surface
The wandering bullets know no rest.
Act 2
There is no skill, only hacks
For you are beloved by the hacker
Hero of the noob's, Healer of pros
Dreams of the patch hath the shattered player
Pride is lost
Wings stripped away, the end is nigh
Act 3
My friend, do you rage away now?
To a game that abhors you and I?
All that awaits you is a somber morrow
No matter where the winds may blow
My friend, your desire
Is the bringer of skill, the gift of the game
Even if the morrow is barren of pro's
Nothing shall forestall my return
Act 4
My friend, the hackers are cruel
There are no legit's, no honor remains
The shot has left the gun of the hacker
My soul, corrupted by vengeance
Hath endured torment, to find the end of the hacks
In my own salvation
And your eternal slumber
Legend shall speak
Of sacrifice at CF's end
The patch sails over the hack's surface
Quietly, but surely
Act 5
Even if the morrow is barren of pro's
Nothing shall forestall my return
To become the skill that quenches the game
To spare the noobs, the scrubs, the baddies
I offer thee this silent sacrifice
Categories
- All Categories
- Z8Games
- Off-Topic - Go To Game OT Forums
- 1 Z8 Forum Discussion & Suggestions
- 16 Z8Games Announcements
- Rules & Conduct
- 5.2K CrossFire
- 954 CrossFire Announcements
- 945 Previous Announcements
- 2 Previous Patch Notes
- 1.4K Community
- 122 Modes
- 601 Suggestions
- 85 Clan Discussion and Recruitment
- 274 CF Competitive Forum
- 19 CFCL
- 26 Looking for a Team?
- 705 CrossFire Support
- 52 Suggestion
- 116 Bugs
- 29 CrossFire Guides
- 166 Technical Issues
- 47 CrossFire Off Topic