Goodkind XXVI- Preferably Something Work-Safe in the Title

[word]

Some things should not be mentioned in front of the uninitiated.

Like nambles.

And objectivism.

I think before Angalin goes out and buys a Tairy book to better understand these threads that I should mention the "No Feeding the Yeard" rule. Books cannot be purchased from bookstores as this helps put money into Tairy's pocket. If you do decide to undertake the enormous and horrifying task of reading said books, you must get them from a library, or if you really wanted to (although I don't see why you would) you could buy them second hand at for instance a garage sale or off of ebay.

Ah, I didn't like that one much anyway.

You can go to hell the Keeper.

[WLU]

Replete? Not good enough - you, sir, lack that certain sententiousness, which a True Prophet of the Supreme Yeard should excel in.

I am the Omega Yeard. I am the last stop in all things yeardly. Worship my masterful erectness. *Puts on War Wizard hat (imagine a mitre that Elton John would wear to Liberace's wedding)*

Having to look up your immoderately abtruse word has stoked the fires of my rage. I am fuliginous with wrath.

Actually, Potsherds might just twist that butt-plug - for all we know, she might be a closet Mord-Sith trainee, keeping an eye on us lemmings

Ah, you know she is, the tart. There's a special place in my heart for that girl, and it's next to the cockles.

Some things should not be mentioned in front of the uninitiated.

Crap, I spilled the beans with my yeardly hat too.

You misjudge me, sweet, death-choosing WLU. I have no malicious bone in my body. Celerious, yes. Malicious? Pshaw.

Haha! One can not be celerious without being both malicious and asperious!

^{Wolf Maid called me sweet AND death choosing. My thing rises. And not the jaw-kicky thing, the nudge-nudge, wink-wink thing. Excellent...}

Okay, Stone of Tears is in my bag at the moment.

The moment has finally arrived.

*Checks on bucket and brain bleach*

*Starts reading*

Wasn't raw chicken involved at some point? Or was it that reading the Stone of Tears was akin to eating raw chicken? You will regret it. This leads me to my review of SoT:

There is little I can say that hasn't been said already. Inchoatus called it an empty book, entertaining but forgettable. Correct. Many have pointed out the absurd similarities to the Wheel of Time. Correct. It is the book with the namble-scene. Correct, and 'nuff said. OK, not quite - there are several situations where the act of stealing another's magic is accomplished through stabbing them with the dacra (a knife, but a very rare knife - special, like Richard himself). Why not here? Even within-universe, the namble is a completely unnecessary shock-porn addition. This is the beginning of 'Richard and Klan are always right - the scene where Klan uses her powers on the 'deserter' and shows that he was intending to betray them rather than simply return home. It's distasteful and irrational.

Also:

1) The scenes linger, lovingly and graphically, over moments of rape and sexual torture. It's unnecessary and disturbing.

2) There is a scene where Klan enters the Queen's bedroom and there's shit, literally everywhere (because the Keltans are EEEEEVIL!). I don't think Tairy thought through the planning it would take. They would have to shit first in the middle of the room, then work their way outwards in expanding concentric circles. For a bunch of vicious rapists, they are surprisingly thorough in their fecal revenge.

3) The sexual titilation is juvenile, paradoxical and inexplicable. Tairy treats breasts like they are holy artifacts, his uneven treatment of his protagonist's sexuality (prudish, yet willing to pay for teenage boys to go to hookers) is perplexing. Here is one part where I really 'don't get it'.

4) There's parts where the words used are just wrong. Shined instead of shone. Wielded instead of welded. Tairy needs a proofreader. He also takes an entire sentence to describe the hats worn by one of his jibber-jabber people, when he could have just said 'fez'.

5) The deus ex machina. Oh Lord above the deus ex machina. Oh! Zedd and Adie have a horrible magic disease! Oh, good thing Adie knows someone who can cure it! Oh, but they are far away! Oh, but Klan almost kills them along the way! Oh, but then she changes her mind. For no reason whatsoever. Fuck. I particularly love how the Keeper manages to convince Klan to irrationally attack the opposing army, using an apparently perfect battle plan. Douche.

6) The constant beating over the head with the second rule. It's annoying and subtle as a brick.

7) The subtlety. There is none.

8) The irrational interplay between armies. The D'Haran army lives to fight, yet their sentries do not challenge people entering their camp. Their incredible discipline, but only in battle. I'll also point out that Klan accuses their general of having the sole purpose of murdering people. This is true. Of all armies. Including hers. I mean, it's not like they spent 700 pages handing out pamphlets and roses to the D'Haran army. I'll point out as well that Klan in WFR illustrated how a Confessor can be incredibly useful for infiltrating an army or kingdom. It's strange she didn't do so in this book. One would think that rather than risking death by entering a hostile armed force unarmed, she might 'confess' one of the enemy combatants. Pick one of the Keltans, we know they are evil already, right? And even if you picked one out at random, there is a 100% probability that they would be a serial killer, rapists, puppy-eating communist because a) apparently that's the norm in Tairyland and Klan is always right. I mean, seriously, our parodies are a pale imitation of reality, no matter how absurd we stretch.

9) Any and all combat between the D'Haran armies and Klan's. I'm sorry, but 5 000 unsupported novices can not survive in the middle of winter and fight a running battle with 50 000 trained vetrans. Smart tactics (which aren't used here) won't let you beat an army 10 times you size. The naked fighting? Their feet would have frozen off. And it's just FUCKING STUPID. It doesn't matter how drunk the enemy is, weight of numbers will take you down. And the whole 'they're afraid of spirits' would last right up until someone decided to stab them, and found out you bleed red. Further, even things we fear, we may run away from, but we also throw things. And all the white paint in the world isn't going to make you intangible.

10) The D'Harans apparently fear spirits, which is why they drag their dead away from battle. The dead are then dumped into a massive pit. Um...

11) Anyone who appears to be evil or bad, isn't really evil. They're just misunderstood. The Baka Ban Mana are the primary example of this.

12) Richard actually says "I don't kill people unless I'm forced to." He actually says this. Yet much like the contrived nudity and almost-rape (I think three times in this book alone?) he is 'somehow' placed in situations almost constantly where he is 'forced' to kill.

13) We can add to the powers of the Sword of Truth 'speaker and amplifier'. While in Majendie-land, he speaks in a fierce whisper yet (like Rand in the Shadow Rising at Al'cair Dal), 'the wrath of the magic carried the words to the farthest corner of the square.' Stupid And again, what's with the 'red hot shards' shit? Why does the Sword of Truth superheat everything it shatters? And at the end of the book, Richard fights with a sword that is the match of the Sword of Truth, and can't be blown to flaming splinters like the rest. He wins the fight, and it is never mentioned again. Stupid.

I'm on page 454 out of 700, and I've got more to go, but I'm choosing life upping my post count leaving for work and will continue this later.

Just stupid.

[Higravity]

"Philosophy is the goal toward which religion was only a helplessly blind groping. The grandeur, the reverence, the exalted purity, the austere dedication to the pursuit of truth, which are commonly associated with religion, should properly belong to the field of philosophy."

["The Chickens' Homecoming," Return of the Primitive: The Anti-Industrial Revolution, 46.]

Apparently AynRand started the Chicken idea or maybe she left the egg that would become the chicken that is not a chicken. Also it seems these chickens migrate as they have a homecoming. If only we could find out where this homecoming is we could use the chicken to destroy our enemies and crossbred them with lemmings. Our chicken lemming hybrid would have a sword hot glued to its wing/tail and a voice so loud the cackel will ring like steel on thunder.

Why do I let you people lead when all I do is lurk. Must not post, must not follow, must resist. . .

[Angalin]

Of course Myshkin is a god; just look at his avatar.

With regards to buying a Goodkind book: I would never spend money on this tosh. What amazes me, after reading WLU's post, is that anybody does. Is there a redeeming quality to his work other than the laugh and mockery factors?

[Monboddo]

Reading a book by a tediously megalomaniacal 2nd-rate writer is always redeeming, Angalin.

[PhelanArcetus]

Horror of horrors, there are people who buy into the pseudo philosophy underlying the books. That philosophy being "rise up and live your life, don't let anyone control you, don't ever help someone else because you'd be wasting your efforts and teaching them to rely on you instead of themself, and if anyone gets in your way or disagrees with you, feel free to rip their spine out."

I have heard Hey There Delilah. My roommate made it the song for her and her boyfriend. Or... now they're unofficial again. She's pretty crazy, and I don't want her reading SoT because she might agree with some bits of it. She could easily buy into the "if you don't agree with me you're wrong, and also consciously choosing to oppose me, because the rightness of my opinion is self-evident" sort of attitude. And she clearly has great moral celery, since she's easily a DD cup and a slut.

[WLU]

Of course Myshkin is a god; just look at his avatar.

Technically David Bowie isn't a god, he's an avatar of coolness. In the Hindu sense, not teh intarnet sense.

With regards to buying a Goodkind book: I would never spend money on this tosh. What amazes me, after reading WLU's post, is that anybody does. Is there a redeeming quality to his work other than the laugh and mockery factors?

No. There's not even laughter and mockery. For the person reading the books, it's not funny at all, it's painful and drawn out, like waxing your genitals veeeerrrrryyy slllllooooowwwwlllllyyy. It's only funny for the people reading the reports of how bad the books are.

Reading a book by a tediously megalomaniacal 2nd-rate writer is always redeeming, Angalin.

Dude. Try it. Seriously. I DOUBLE-DOG dare you.

Horror of horrors, there are people who buy into the pseudo philosophy underlying the books. That philosophy being "rise up and live your life, don't let anyone control you, don't ever help someone else because you'd be wasting your efforts and teaching them to rely on you instead of themself, and if anyone gets in your way or disagrees with you, feel free to rip their spine out."

I'm currently arguing with some Objectivists on wikipedia. I get responses to my arguments like 'that's just stupid' and 'that can't go on the page because eventually someone might take it down'. I cite policy. It is ignored. For a philosophy that purports to be based on rational thought and the power of the human intellect, it's adherents are pretty irrational.

...I don't want her reading SoT because she might agree with some bits of it. She could easily buy into the "if you don't agree with me you're wrong, and also consciously choosing to oppose me, because the rightness of my opinion is self-evident" sort of attitude. And she clearly has great moral celery, since she's easily a DD cup and a slut.

Never start a fight with a double-D opponent. You can't win against that much celery.

[word]

I'm currently arguing with some Objectivists on wikipedia. I get responses to my arguments like 'that's just stupid' and 'that can't go on the page because eventually someone might take it down'. I cite policy. It is ignored. For a philosophy that purports to be based on rational thought and the power of the human intellect, it's adherents are pretty irrational.

Link please, for reading purposes. If you would rather PM it to me so that you don't get yelled at for trying to bring other people into it that works too. I don't even have a wikipedia account anyway.

Dude. Try it. Seriously. I DOUBLE-DOG dare you.

It was the mother of all dares: the Double-Dog Dare.

-A Christmas Story

I have heard Hey There Delilah.

What I linked was a parody of Hey There Delilah, not the real song. Here is an sample from it:

Hey there, Delilah, what's it like to have big titties?

Everytime I fuck your asshole, I imagine Conway Twitty, yes I do.

I fantasize that you're a dude...

One who's tattooed.

And yes, it is rather vulgar.

[The Pita]

Ahh, the Double-Dog Dare.

Never had that happen to me.

I'm just wondering when beastiality will come into the series.

You know, Richard and a Noble Goat? A Chicken that is not a Chicken and a Namble? Something like that.

Namble-sex was close but not 100%.

We need that 100% all-out insanity.

And we're going to need the Yeard to explain it in a way that makes it holy.

[Jaxom 1974]

...I don't want her reading SoT because she might agree with some bits of it. She could easily buy into the "if you don't agree with me you're wrong, and also consciously choosing to oppose me, because the rightness of my opinion is self-evident" sort of attitude. And she clearly has great moral celery, since she's easily a DD cup and a slut.

Oh really? How's she doin'?

[word]

And she clearly has great moral celery, since she's easily a DD cup and a slut.

So ahem...where are you from?

[WLU]

Link please, for reading purposes. If you would rather PM it to me so that you don't get yelled at for trying to bring other people into it that works too. I don't even have a wikipedia account anyway.

You're going to be bored, my days of arguing from the hip are now finished and I now argue from policy using consensus. I'm such a commie.

From here, down.

They say those who like sausage and the law should not watch either being made. The same goes for wikipedia, it's an ugly process.

Man, I love sausage.

I'm just wondering when beastiality will come into the series.

You know, Richard and a Noble Goat? A Chicken that is not a Chicken and a Namble? Something like that.

Namble-sex was close but not 100%.

We need that 100% all-out insanity.

So... you are saying .... that the namble-cock scene ... was too tame? Not extreme enough? Dude, you've already got 100% all-out insanity, check the loose nut behind the spacebar.

Oh really? How's she doin'?

Have you seen the size of her tits Jax? She's too celerious for anyone who posts on this board.

That goes triple for you, word. Triple D that is - zing!

[Angalin]

Reading a book by a tediously megalomaniacal 2nd-rate writer is always redeeming, Angalin.

Mon cardinal, I bow to your superior knowledge of these things. A Goodkind thread must gain greater status because of your presence in it, but on current showing, reading the threads is more entertaining and less life-threatening than reading the actual books.

[word]

You're going to be bored, my days of arguing from the hip are now finished and I now argue from policy using consensus. I'm such a commie.

From here, down.

They say those who like sausage and the law should not watch either being made. The same goes for wikipedia, it's an ugly process.

Trying to include comments made by a Satanist that his ideas are greatly influenced by Objectivism on the Objectivism wikipedia page = WIN. That's seriously awesome. :bow:

[PhelanArcetus]

Oh really? How's she doin'?

So ahem...where are you from?

She's definitely taken, sorry guys. But, as I think I mentioned a few threads back, NYC.

She's famous in my mind at least for "I don't want to do X, so nobody should want to" sort of statements. Much more charismatic than Dick, though; she is able to make herself the center through something other than authorial fiat.

And no, you can't have her. She's got too much celery to have an interest in any lemmings, plus she has someone to control with her Confessor-like powers of sex.

[word]

She's definitely taken, sorry guys.

On the contrary:

My roommate made it the song for her and her boyfriend. Or... now they're unofficial again.

Now you are putting the lie to HER existence. For shame!

[Muttering Bill]

In a desperate attempt to contribute something other than horribly failed attempts to outwit WLU, I have completed my debut Tairy parody (pairody?).

The humor is a little suble. If you can't appreciate it, then you're obviously not mature enough to be reading it in the first place.

With my most sincere appologies to Mr. Rothfuss.

For your critical approval....

[Muttering Bill]

The Name of the Truth

My name is Richard, pronounced nearly the same as “Dick.†I have had more names than any man has a right to.

My mother used to call me her Special Little Trouper. It made me feel warm inside. My father often referred to me as Mistake. Honestly, I’m not really sure what that one meant. I have been called The Dragon Reborn Richard the Great, TRichard the Terrible, Richard the Cruel, Mein Fuhrer, Eater of Cats, and Bringer of Death. I have earned those names.

I have been called many other things. Most of them, however, were slanderous lies. I have rescued a princess Confessor from being almost-raped by a Namble, decapitated kings, appropriated an empire, and learned magic without any formal training.

You may have heard of me.

_________

You have to understand, I grew up Enema Rahl. If you’re not familiar, the Enema Rahl are troupes that travel town to town preaching the virtues of objectivism to the simple backwater fools who lack the refinement of the morally enlightened. Charged by out patron, Lord Tori Greatfellow, we roamed the countryside, educating the ignorant. Giving them the knowledge necessary to choose how to live a proper way of life. Our way of life.

My parents were both Enema Rahl. Because of this, the only schooling I had received, was those same teachings that was our mission to spread. All a man needs really. It was an average childhood, and I was an average boy.

I did have other teachers. Those with proper moral clarity often traveled with the troupe, it being safer than on taking to the road alone. Strangely most of them seemed not to like me, and quickly left our company, opting instead to travel with ignorant savages spouting their heretical jibber-jabber.

One summer we had a Boundary Warden rogue wanderer named Chase travel with our troupe. To occupy idle hours he would teach me basic woodscraft. The first week of his stay was focused on foraging skills. We would walk through the forest nights after the troupe had set up camp, and he’d point out which plants were safe for consumption and which were not. After having poisoned my self near enough fifty times, we came to the conclusion that foraging just wasn’t my forte. The next week he began to teach me to set snares to catch rabbits instead. Encouraged that I had managed to poison myself only four times in that next week, we made this the primary focus of my study.

He taught me other things out in the forests too. Chase was a gentle man, for the most part at least. But his hand were heavily calloused, which sometimes made his touch abbraisive to my pale, tender skin.

By the end of the summer, when Chase left our company, I had decent grasp on snare making. I could set traps with moderate success. To say things like “decent grasp†and “moderate success,†I mean that of every ten traps that I would set, one or two might actually work as intended. What more could any one expect more? But despite my superior skill, I couldn’t help but to think of all those traps that weren’t successful.

I could just imagine all those rabbits… Springing my traps, then easily slipping out of the rope. I could hear their quiet condescending bunny laughter as they sprinted away to safety. It made me angry. Not just your average sort of angry. An intense frothing rage would well up inside of me searching for escape. At first, I would have no release but to cry. I often wept long hours in the woods alone.

Admittedly, not all of it was over the escaped rabbits. I missed Chase fiercly. The remembrance of his rough hands. The soft breeze of his breath brushing against my ear along with the sound of his grunts of pleasure. I’ve never known another man like him. None with his… prowess.

I didn’t take long for me to find a proper outlet for my wrath. If the fugitive rabbits were mocking at me, then I’d have to make the ones that didn’t get away pay that much more for their cousin’s ridicule. I never did anything too elaborate. I wasn’t being cruel or torturing them for the just fun of it. This was justice. My methods were simple and basic. Mostly, I’d burn of a few patches of fur to warm up. Then I’d cut of their hind legs and watch them try futilely to crawl away. All the while I’d be standing over them, the mighty hand of righteousness come to cleanse them of their sins. When I’d tired of it, I’d generally eat them. The feel of their little bodies squirming as the power of my jaws crushed the last traces of life. The warmth of their blood dribbling down my chin… Fond memories all. Of course, there were times when, while in an especially dark mood, I might have been a little more elaborate with their punishments. But that is not really the point.

It wasn’t always rabbits either. Occasionally, I might catch a squirrel or a chipmunk. It didn’t matter. Their being a different breed didn’t make them any less guilty. But, again, this is beside the point.

When the troupe was not on the road, when we were visiting a village, hunting got somewhat sparse. To make up for the lack of rabbits, I found that the town’s resident alley cats served equally well. By and large, they were even much easier prey. All I ever had to do was hold out a hand filled with a little meat, and they come scampering right up to me. They were fools.

Perhaps that’s how I came by the name Eater of Cats. I might have been called Eater of Rabbits, but that there were seldom any other people on the roads to witness my dominion.

___________

I spotted my father, George, who was also the leader of our troupe, in conversation with the town’s mayor. My father was a tall man. He was taller than most men, but not as tall as some. He was taller than the mayor with whom he was speaking. As he spoke with the mayor, the rest of the troupe was busy setting up for the upcoming reprogramming seminars.

He looked down on the mayor and said, “We’re Enema Rahl, and we demand the use of the town hall to preach the ways of objectivism to all of the heathens that live in this town. It is mandatory that ever one attend our seminars.â€

The mayor, groveling, agreed to his demands. He was a smart man. He could have refused us. Or course, he knew that doing so would be choosing death. And that his death would be served forthwith.

“We are honored to finally have your divine guidance. This town has been left to its own devices for too long. It’s about time someone came to mend their evil ways. You are most welcome. Anything that you may require is my pleasure to attend†the mayor finished, looking nervously at my father.

My father laughed. I laughed. The mayor laughed. Everybody laughed.

After we had finished laughing, I went to explore the town. Maybe I would chance upon a cat for some fun. It was at point that I hear a commotion in a nearby courtyard. Wandering over to investigate, I hid behind a building to see what the disturbance was all about. There was the mayor again. This time he was talking with a bent, white haired old man wearing long flowing robes.

“… we are god-fearing folks in this town. We don’t need your kind around here meddling with dark forces better left alone.†I heard, coming late to the conversation.

“Bags!†uttered the old man. “I have a right to sell my wares, and there’s nothing you can do about it.†He gave the mayor a stern look. “Bags!†he said again for good measure.

The mayor reached out toward the old man. At that moment, with a small gesture, the lamps on the old man’s wagons started to glow. A simple trick, but the mayor couldn’t have known that. He backed away slowly, properly intimidated. That seemed to be the end of it.

I positioned myself for a better look. I could then make out the writings on the side of his wagon.

Zabbenthy: Magicker Extraordinary

Horoscopes, Prophesies, Fortunes Told

Hexes, Curses, People Turned Into Toads

Love potions, Handcuffs, “Marital Aidesâ€

Just then, a mob of villagers stormed into the courtyard, led by the mayor. Armed only with their immoral hatred for moral clarity, they assailed the old man, Zabbenthy. It was a frightening scene to behold.

“We don’t appreciate your kind around here!†the mayor screamed. The crowd behind him grumbled their assent.

“And what kind is that exactly?†Zabbenthy answered.

The entire company exploded at once into erratic chants. Shouting “Witch!†and “Dark powers better left alone.â€

A nervous sweat trickled down my back. The old man was in a seriously volatile situation. I worried for his safety. Not because I had any particular attachment to him, or any sympathy for his position. It seemed to me that I could make some use out of him before the villagers tied him to a steak to burn.

Zabbenthy puffed himself up indignantly. “A witch? Bags!†He paused a moment in thought, then continued. “I don’t understand. Are you trying to get rid of me because I meddle with dark powers better left alone, or do you only want to insult me by calling me a girl?â€

“What?†was all the mayor could say. He stared at Zabbenthy with confusion writ on his face.

“Well, bags! Witches are girls. Boys are wizards. So what it is? Am I a girl or am I a wizard?â€

A moment of hesitation, then the villagers exploded with a roar of, “Wizard!â€

At that, Zabbenthy solemnly raised his hands, and in an almost song-like voice, “For your insolence, I shall steal all of your penises. I will take them, and sell them for pennies in other towns. If they are big enough even for beggars to interested in.â€

Zabbenthy muttered one last word under his breath, so low as to be inaudible even to my highly tuned ears. At that, the villagers’ all grasps their crotches in a panic. Whatever Zabbenthy had said, put the truth to his words. Their penises were gone. Suddenly I realized he had spoken the name of the truth.

This was magic. Real magic. It wasn’t the type of magic that some inept writer might use in a fantasy novel. Not the type of magic that ham-fisted authors use as a crutch because they lack the ability to explore important human themes. Such books are used only to entertain children and some intellectually immature adults. This isn’t one of those stories. I was witnessing real, honest magic.

I stood dumbstruck as the villagers dispersed, desperate to flee the mad wizard, the man meddling with dark powers better left alone, who had taken their manhood.

From where I was standing, I could see the Great Serpent Guilder Ring glistening on his finger that proved him a graduate of the University of Prophets. I briefly considered asking him to teach me magic. Of course, that would have been a foolish request. I didn’t need anybody to teach me magic. If you can perform magic, then you will inherently know how. Real magic doesn’t require instruction, only ability.

Standing there, considering my position, I watched as Zabbenthy walked around to the goats tied to pull his wagon. “Bags!†he complained. Pulling a handful of oats from a sack, he fed the goats. Then proceeded to produce a veritable feast for him self. It was enough food to satisfy my entire troupe. He devoured it all, barely taking the time to chew. The food was gone in the little time it took me to cross the courtyard. “Bags and double bags!†he grumbled again.

Searching for something appropriate to say, I approached his wagon. “Can you sell me something?†I asked lamely.

“Bags! What would you like to buy?†was his response.

“I don’t know… I don’t actually have any money.â€

“Hmmm… let me see what I have then…†He rummaged through his wagon for a few minutes. Eventually he returned carrying a long slender wrapped bundle. As he stripped away the blankets that were being used to protect it, slowly I realized what he was holding.

“A sword!†I shouted in wonder.

“Well, aren’t you the clever lad. Yes, a sword.†He said. “Bags! But not just any old sword.†He chose his words carefully. “This is a magic sword. And not some silly storybook magic that you might find in fantasy tales. This is a real magic sword, without a hint of being some cheap contrived plot device.†He, at last, finished.

I could tell that he had spoken in earnest as clearly as I could read the word “TRUTH†that was wound in copper and lead wire across the hilt. Zabbenthy tried to pass it off as gold and silver, but I wasn’t fooled. Even still, it was a generous gift.

“But giving me this would be an act of charity.†I complained. “We are Enema Rahl, and as such, categorically opposed to any unearned considerations.â€

“Bags!†he replied. “But you have earned it. This is your due reward for helping me stave off those ignorant bumpkins just now.â€

He was right. I had been a great help. Without my assistance he might not have been able to overcome them.

As I took the sword, Zabenthy ominously intoned, “I hereby pronounce you Speaker of Truth.†He then finished off with a right and proper, “Bags!â€

I drew the sword. For miles around, everyone could hear the distinctive whine it made leaving the scabbard. My thing rose, and I instantly felt a flood of anger welling up inside of me. It was a fury so powerful that it filled every inch of my body. This was a pure rage, the likes of which I have never before experienced. This newfound power ached for release. I surveyed the area for someone to dispense my fury upon. All of the villagers had fled. There was no one nearby.

Needing to unleash this destructive force somehow, I walked up to the nearest tree. With a powerful swing, my muscles corded with the energy of justice, I clove the tree clean in half. It fell limply to the ground, defeated. Evil murderous trees always infuriated me.

This small act wasn’t enough to satisfy me for long, so I swiftly returned the sword to it sheathe, quenching the pulse of righteousness.

Walking back to the Enema Rahl encampment, I thought to myself: This day marks the beginning of my destiny. It was at that moment that I named myself Bringer of Death.

[WLU]

Trying to include comments made by a Satanist that his ideas are greatly influenced by Objectivism on the Objectivism wikipedia page = WIN. That's seriously awesome. :bow:

Much as your praise is giving me a RRRRRRAGING hard-on, I'm including it because I think it is notable, not to give Objectivism a bad name. Since the Mystar/Arbitration debacle, I'm sticking to policy as much as possible. Plus, the editors I'm working with aren't douchebags.

Also, I'm not actually saying that Objectivism inspired Satanism. I'm just pulling for the page to point out that LaVey, founder of Satanism, already has.

But yes, I do win at life. You are all welcome.

Also, Monboddo doesn't have have a title, but if he wanted, he could indeed be Cardinal of Lemmingcliff if he wanted. He deserves it.

[theMountainGoat]

Thats the best thing I've read on the Goodkind thread in months Muttering Bill - good work