I am a Warrior Poet. The Arena is my domain. In life or in death, there I am free. This may be our last march There is everything to gain. Let them come, let them come to me. We rage. They feel our wrath. They scatter, they die. They fall. Their yells, their cries ring out loud. We reign supreme. The sweet scent of victory for us all. We leave the arena, head high, proud. Svolítið dramatískt kannski en mér finnst þetta ekki slæmt hjá mér. Þegar þetta er skrifað er klukkan 2:08 aðfaranótt...

Ok, vegna sýnilegs áhuga hjá sumun aetla ég ad gefa mér leyfi til ad fara adeins í hvernig Askur Yggdrasils er, thó ég hafi ekki spilad í taept ár (ég er sko í útlöndum). Askur er prósentukerfi. Thad eru fimm adal kynthaettir (fyrir utan thá sem madur hefur búid til), vanir, skógarálfar, jardálfar, dvergar og menn. Hver persóna hefur níu grunneiginleika: STÆ(staerd) AFL(afl) HRE(hreysti) ÞOK(thokki) FIM (fimi) SNE(snerpa) GRE(greind) ÁRA(ára) VIL(vilji) Madur á svo víst ad kasta uppá hvort...

> A young man is wandering, lost in a forest when he comes upon a small house. > Knocking on the door he is greeted by an ancient Chinese man with a long gray > beard. > “I'm lost,” said the man. “Can you put me up for the night?” > “Certainly,” the Chinese man said, “but on one condition.” “If you so much as > lay a finger on my daughter I will inflict upon you the three worst Chinese > tortures known to man'”. > “OK” said the man, and entered the house. > Over dinner, the daughter came...