Silent night Holy night Snowfall on this Christmas sight Love all around As we sing our Christmas cheer Sit around the tree Hands held high As the wind whispers a gentle Christmas sigh Gentle twinkling scattered about it¡¯s branches Snow gently falls We lift our faces to the sky Faces shine in a rosy glow Around and around we go Spinning twirling swirling in the snow The world is at peace tonight As love glows in a romantic¡¯s eye Have yourself a merry little Christmas Let your heart be light Forget all the world Be at peace tonight Let the warmth of the time fill you Snow fall covers all Have a happy Christmas all
Sam and Becky are celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary. Sam says to Becky, "Becky, I was wondering - have you ever cheated on me?"
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"Well, Sam, remember a few years ago, when you really wanted to be president of the golf club and you were 17 votes short..?" wow Power Leveling wow Power Leveling
Forty-three years seems like a long time to remember the name of a mere acquaintance. I have duly forgotten the name of an old lady who was a customer on my paper route when I was a twelve-year-old boy in Marinette, Wisconsin back in 1954. wow power leveling Yet it seems like just yesterday that she taught me a lesson in forgiveness that I can only hope to pass on to someone else someday.
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I found myself a perfectly smooth rock and sent it for a ride. The stone was too smooth, however, so it slipped from my hand as I let it go and headed straight for a small window on the old lady¡¯s back porch. At the sound of fractured glass,wow power leveling we took off from the old lady¡¯s yard faster than any of our missiles flew off her roof.
I was too scared about getting caught that first night to be concerned about the old lady with the broken porch window. However, a few days later, when I was sure that I hadn¡¯t been discovered, I started to feel guilty for her misfortune. She still greeted me with a smile each day when I gave her the paper, but I was no longer able to act comfortable in her presence.
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I waited until it was dark, snuck up to the old lady¡¯s house, and put the envelope of retribution through the letter slot in her door. My soul felt redeemed and I couldn¡¯t wait for the freedom of, once again, looking straight into the old lady¡¯s eyes.
The next day, wow gold I handed the old lady her paper and was able to return the warm smile that I was receiving from her. She thanked me for the paper and said, ¡°Here, I have something for you.¡± It was a bag of cookies. I thanked her and proceeded to eat the cookies as I continued my route.
After several cookies,wow gold I felt an envelope and pulled it out of the bag. When I opened the envelope, I was stunned. Inside was the seven dollars and a short note that said, ¡°I¡¯m proud of you.¡±
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¡¡¡¡My dad assurances seemed to help parents with their grieving. One of his kids was a girl who had been admitted with a rare disease that paralyzed her from the neck down. I don¡®t know the name of the disease or what the prognosis usually is, but I do know that it was very sad for a girl around eight or nine years old. She couldn¡®t do anything, and she was very depressed. My dad decided to try to help her. buy wow gold,wow gold,Cheap WoW Gold,Cheap WoW Gold,WoW Gold,world of warcraft gold,wow gold,Cheap WoW Gold,Cheap WoW Gold,nfl jerseys,ffxi gil,ffxi gil,ffxi gil,ffxi gil,final fantasy xi gil,final fantasy xi gil,final fantasy xi gil,He started visiting her in her room, bringing paints, brushes and paper. He stood the paper up against a backing, put the paintbrush in his mouth and began to paint. He didn¡®t use his hands at all. Only his head would move. He would visit her whenever he could and paint for her. All the while he would tell her, see, you can do anything you set your mind to.
Re: ++Dark Imperium++ « Result #8 on Dec 21, 2007, 9:41pm »
During the load up into the three transports that’d haul the squad and their new attachments up to the awaiting vessel, Lieutenant Karshavi’s high pitched voice cracks out across the roar of the blizzard, which had only worsened since they had been inside. Despite the screaming and tongue lashing from their officer, the troops seemed to be in good spirits, only slightly edgy with the thought they would be grounded before they could lift off. Ground crews work furiously with their hand held flamers to insure that the snow drifts don’t just roll over the top of the vehicles while the troops are quickly broken up and sent to the ships. “Brother Faunus…” the whip-cord voice, the wail of an enraged banshee, doesn’t diminish when addressing the Marine “you’ll be ridding with us.” Commissar Bolshavek’s keen eyes were scanning the troops, gauging their reactions to the marines as they boarded, though he doesn’t so much as look at Faunus until after they are strapped into the seats aboard the Arvis class transports. Blowing a few strands of dark hair out of her view, Karshavi is the last pair of boots to board, just as it should be. Before sitting to strap into the launch seat, recently bolted into the transport that was usually designated for cargo usage, she adjusts the polar cat cloak that is now tied and folded around her hips. Each of the troops had done the same, the garb was designed to give the legs a second covering for warmth and to provide a set of deep pockets when its folded as it is, the head of the great animals hanging down over their groin with the vaguely kilt-like assemblage longer in the back than in the front, though that’s taken up by the metal shin-guards that extend from the front of their boots. Running a hand down across the thick fur of the animal’s skull she murmurs a mantra to the Emperor while strapping herself in, glacial eyes fixed upon the hulk of the space marine across from her…she hadn’t wanted her men to be sitting across from this marine, she felt he was trigger happy even without a gun in his hands, those claws would suffice, as she’d seen time and again. Claws without power fields did enough damage, as every single Winter Born knew from their experience with the polar cats, and this squad knew it from experience with the very foe the Inquisitor was throwing them at again. This time they would make damn sure the body count was in their favor. Two different symbols are emblazed upon the helms and chest armor of the troops that march onto the Arvis with the macabre Castor, a Sniper First Class whose cold eyes and demeanor do nothing to diminish her eerie beauty, her face showing the fine lines more akin to an Elder than to the humans around her, much like the Field Medico whose rounded face may have been pretty had half of it not been a mass of burn tissue with a glittering red bionic implanted into the mangled eye-socket. The last of the specialists was marked not by symbols, but by the thickness of his torso armor, grasped between his hands, especially along his back where most of the vox’s parts were stored, though the part one speaks through to broadcast is in the top of the front plate, tilted up at an angle to point at the wearer’s mouth. All three are silent, even the communications expert whose youthful face looks all the more young for the short beard and mustache that give him the appearance of a child trying to look more like a man. Halen’s silence wasn’t due to the all too familiar appearance of the marines armor, it was because he was busy going over the com system, it was difficult to effect any last minute repairs if the damn thing was strapped to his body, but then the configuration made it easier for him to move and fight with the lasgun slung over his shoulder, or even more likely given their foe he’d be using the power sword at his hip. While sure fingers, scarred from the burns that made them sure around electrical components, move rapidly across the surface of the armor he glances at the skull incrusted marine, studying the armor for the weakness’s that he knew were there, mentally picturing where he’d put the single thrust he might get if the others acted at the same time to destroy the marine, not that they ever would, so far as they could tell the marine was completely loyal and that made him their ally in this fight. Out of the edges of his vision he could see Vladika pointedly ignoring the marine by starring at her hands, those hands that were forever stained red in the woman’s mind, and Erikson who hadn’t stopped staring at the marine since they boarded…he couldn’t decide if pity or envy would have been more appropriate in the lesser man who’d of felt either. Sicarius gets lumped in with two of the troopers who hadn’t stopped cracking jokes since they got back out into the storm, at least while the Lieutenant wasn’t paying them their lashing, along with a grizzled, thick-bodied man who seemed older than all the others. These were the three men that had been leveling the deadly meltaguns at the Inquisitor’s party a paltry ten minutes before, weapons quite capable of turning the admantium armor around an entry point into slag while vaporizing whatever was directly hit along with the body inside. At a quip about one of the young women that had been out on this cold deck waiting for her soldier to march or be carried home, the gray beard puts a metal shod boot squarely between the male jokers buttocks sending Krashwits, or so his helmet was stenciled with, tumbling into the Arvis’s ramp. The woman, the gray Irien stenciled onto her helmet fading but the kill marks quite well tended, steps on Krashwits’s back as she climbs up inside, with a “now who said manners were dead in the Guard…what with Sergeant Jarlsbrak here throwing a bit of red carpet down for a lady and all.” Krashwits sputters and quickly gets up before the Sergeant could kick him again. Jarlsbrak was grinning behind the mask of his icy face before his boot connected, it became a toothy physical thing after Krashwits hit the deck, the fact he was carrying high powered weaponry never entering the sergeant’s mind. What did enter his mind after they had all strapped in, was the same thing that the other troops were wondering about “Brother Sicarius, what do they mean?” Gesturing with a gloved finger at the man’s face, clearly he spoke of the tattoos, and the other guardsmen relax ever so slightly now that the question had been voiced but not by them…they didn’t know how the marine would react, and despite the weapons being on hand they had no desire to be involved in a scuffle with a space marine. They needed something other than the violence in front of them to think about, soon it would be time to do the duty they had been born into, soon it would be time to shed blood.
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Re: ++Dark Imperium++ « Result #9 on Dec 10, 2007, 6:16pm »
The Inquisitor and his escort of four space marines made their way towards the command post of the space port, just a long walk through the knee high snow they treaded. Sicarius look to his right, eyeballing one of the guardsmen. Sicarius's skin was dark and scars ran across his face in every which direction. On the right side of his head a tribal tattoo of some sort spun around the temple of his head and arched down to his neck. His head shaved clean, on the top of his head ran more tribal tattoos, in words unknown to anyknow but him.
Brother Sergeant Hexile walked infront and to the left of the Inquisitor. His motions were strong and walked with a purpose, though it didn't match his armor, worn and beated the paint chipping and the symbols of his chapter nearly scratched off but a faint reminder of what was left. His left eye was replaced with a bionic augmentation. His hair, high and tight and black made him nearly look just like any "normal" space marine, or at least the ones the people thought of in the stories and myths. A broken blade hung on the right side of his hip, next to his pistol holster.
Behind Hexile walked the marine from the Mortifactors, Castor. His hair black and long, matted and messy. His eyes gleamed in a bloody red tint, his face was clean and free from scars, besides his neck where it looked as if it had been purposly cut. His armor was a worn black and bone color, skulls adorned his thick armor plated shoulder pads, and similar skulls hung on chains from his belt.
Walking next to Castor, Brother Faunus of the Blood Ravens strode with his pair of lighting claws still alive with power. His dark red armor had seen better days. His head shaved but his eyes were the more striking feature on him. They seemed to glow with a light blue, which contrasted the rest of him.
As the group of the Inquisitor's and the guardsmen made their way into the command post of the space port the Inquisitor walked forward in the middle of the entrence hall. The ceiling arched in long pilars to the very top. The floor was a old worn marble tiles. In the very center was what looked to be their unit symbol for the regiment. Paintings and statue busts were displayed around showing famous ship captains and pilots from the planet. None of which the Inquisitor knew, but to these people they were something. At least the Inquisitor knew they kept ties with the ones sent to war, which bothered him about the rest of the Imperium. The beast on the Inquisitor's shoulder climbed off and glared at the female Leutenant and hissed. Aratus quick said something, a word that was bearly repeatable, but the animal halted.
Sicarius looked down at the reptile near his foot and gave a slight grin. His yellow eyes watched it and then looked back up and glared back around at the inside of the command post. This is where the naval fleet based at this planet was command at. Inquisitor Aratus would need both the support of the navy here and the Imperial Guard to sustain his opperations needed. Just at least a few ships he could use, he only had came here with one cruiser.
"Ma'am, I have some options for you and your men. If you would care to listen carefully to what I have to offer, maybe soon could be on our way." Aratus noted to her, turning in her direction, pulling down his hood, revealing his long hair that dropped just below his ears, blonde and his eyes a dark blue. His face was clean much unlike most of the other Inquisitors of the Imperium, most likely because he was new to the rank. But an Inquisitor none the less.
Hard eyes keep a careful watch on her own men, while their energy from the blizzard may have appeared to be gone, locked away behind stone-like faces, she knew the battle passion was stirring in them. Even inside her voice was a snarling, angry thing "options Inquisitor?" The man's pretty face didn't so much as register, it was the face of an Inquisitor and there for above any earthy values.
"Of course...Your people will waste no supplies on an operation that I wish to wage." He said to her, his voice offering and much unlike any Inquisitor before. "I will grant your men new weapons, gear and food. What ever you wish to have, I can aquire. But I need to know soon. Also...Do you wish to know what you would be fighting?" He added.
Re: ++Dark Imperium++ « Result #10 on Dec 10, 2007, 4:34pm »
Turning to the Inquisitor, her head bows a short mantra lost to the gale that she seems oblivious to. "We don’t have to travel at all unless you require rest Inquisitor” her voice remains a banshee’s harsh scream or something just lower in volume than that, though perhaps it was muffled by the blizzard. Raising her left fist into the air, the others lower their weapons, standing as still as statues there in the harsh weather. Each of the visible troopers had the same combat uniforms, save for small differences like insignia upon their chest-plates. Metal plates press down over thick fur coats, fringes of which make a collar around their heads, with accessory plates at the elbows, flanges hanging down in front of the groin and rear, and both shin and thigh guards pressing around the thick thermal pants. The pants blouse into fur rimmed combat boots, while the ice cat’s hide billows like a massive cloak behind them, clasped at their throats by the cat’s fore claws, its saber toothed head resting over their bare heads, some of which are shaved clean, others letting their hair grow down to frame their faces. All of them have strong features, hard carved lines that are only slightly finer in the women’s faces than in the men’s, enough that the gender difference is evident, especially in the lips and curve of the chin.
The Lieutenant crouches to pull a helmet, a bit thinner looking than standard helmets, from the snow, pressing the face-mask to her lips. A moment later, at a distance scarcely visible through the blizzard, a seventh guard stands, the long barreled rifle in her hands lowering from where it had been aimed at Faunus’s unprotected head. “Winter Born, your Emperor is calling you back to war!” Lieutenant Karshavi, her name scrawled in the local tongue upon her helmet (opposite the side of the helmet that holds the old markings for Lieutenant instead of the common Imperial Guard one that rests over her chest), raises her voice even higher to say this, raising by an octave to crack across the field.
The response is immediate, from every throat save the Commissar’s, a single word roars “HAGEL!” chanted into the night sky, the word ripping from throats intentionally discordant, in tones designed to shake apart a man’s skull.
Commissar Bolschavek takes a single step forward, flinty gaze unwavering despite the presence of the Marines “there never truly was a question of whether or not they would do their duty.” The tone was suggestive, suggesting that the Inquisitor had better have understood that, and perhaps that the man thought he had…otherwise there may well have been a bloodbath here today that would be frozen and melted time and again before traces of its happening disappeared.
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