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 | Procyon Herald - Issue 65: The Final Chapter |  | |
Issue 65: The Final Chapter
07-02-2008 13:18
Welcome to this final installment of the Procyon Herald! Serving up the news with a healthy grain of salt, since Mank was a cadet! Where the beer is cold, the wings are hot, and the ladies are faster than a Xeno Patriot on afterburners.
We begin this installment with the sad news that our home and native galaxy, Procyon, will be closing for business this week. Yes folks, July fourth – Independence Day, for those of you who still follow the ways of the Old World – will see the closing of Procyon’s doors for the last time. After a long and valiant effort, management has concluded that the possibility of competing with such modded servers as FLU is nil. Clans have emigrated. Revenues have dried up, and the once-mighty server population is no more.
Faced with this news, Procyon’s 4 able server admins, Zephyr, Sion, Reaper and Zephon, held a bon voyage party at their luxury complex Playboy Mansion on Planet Manhattan, throwing open their doors for all the galaxy in one final, ultimate send off. Our intrepid reporter Ravenwood was on hand to witness events as they unfolded. The following is his report:
The first of the guests began to arrive shortly before 8 PM. The gates to the Admin Mansion parted to admit a super-stretched black hover-limo, which floated up the red carpet. Out stepped Omega Black – his beautiful red-headed assistant dutifully at his side. “Where is everyone?” he asked.
“You’re the first to arrive,” I replied.
“Mother-fu… I can’t be the first to arrive! I need to make an entrance!”
“But darling,” the assistant cooed, “you’re always telling me it’s okay if you come first.”
“That’s different, babe. Let’s get outta here.” And with that, the two got back into their hover-limo and floated away. They would return an hour later, by which point the party was in full swing.
Next on the scene came an assortment of Cobalts. “Ahoy Ravenwood!” bellowed the big, wooly Grizzly. “Long time, no see!”
“Grizzy, you old codder! How’ve you been? Hey, are those new uniforms?”
“Uh, yeah,” he replied, looking somewhat embarrassed. “We adopted them over on Star Wars Galaxies.”
“I like the leather pants. But they look a little tight, don’t they?”
Monkey answered: “Grizzly thought the ‘L’ on the label meant ‘large’. Turns out, it stood for ‘Ladies’. We’ve been trying to convince Cougar to shell out the cash for new pants ever since, but he’s off on assignment in Rhineland, and doesn’t want to go the expense.”
“Well, they’re very sexy ladies pants nonetheless,” I replied.
“Meh.”
No sooner did the Cobalts make their way inside than a new ship arrived on the landing pad. Covered in speed-metal band stickers, a great, green cloud of smoke belched forth upon the hatch being opened.
“OW! Jayzus, Cheech, watch where you’re stepping! That’s my hand, dawg!”
“Sorry Kief. I just smoked a bowl and I can’t feel my legs. Chong, pass me that bag of Doritos, will ya?”
“Word.”
The tottering trio emerged, bowls held at the ready. “I’m pretty sure they’ve got some Gamma Ganja inside, boys,” I greeted the Tokers.
“Nothing like the real deal, bro. This stuffs da bomb. Not recommended for noobs though. You seen November yet?”
“Nope. I’m sure he’ll be by though. Everyone got the invite.”
“Later dude.” And they went inside. A moment later, Kief popped out again. “Dude,” he said, “you can’t hear a word in there!”
“Can’t be that loud yet – hardly anyone’s arrived.”
“No – you can’t hear anything! Like, nothing at all, man! It’s not loud – it’s not…anything!”
“Sorry I’m late guys!” 473x exclaimed, hopping out of a rental Drom.
“Alex! Great to see you again! What’s with the ship?”
“Ah, that. I brought the Team Speak server with me. The damn thing is huge, so I needed the extra cargo space.”
And so it was that – finally – people at the party could hear each other speak.
The guests continued to file in throughout the course of the next hour. Old salts like Sparrow, Sgt. Wildman, GMTG, LFW, Paladin, and even Cobra, freshly back from his first tour of duty as a Delta Force Peacekeeping Power Ranger.
“Man, you look sexy in that uniform!” Digital greeted him. “Come over here and give me some good, sweet, man lovin’, you sexy beast!”
“AAAARRRRRRGG! What be this shin-dig I see before my last remaining eye? A more motley assortment of weevil-willy scallywags, I ne’er did see afore! Where be the rum punch?” The Brigantines Capt. made his way to the bar. With a quick jerk of his wrist, he eviscerated the unfortunate bartender and kicked the corpse out of his way. He then proceeded to empty two 26ers of Captain Morgan white rum into a blender, followed by a few cubes of ice. He hit the ‘on’ switch, then remembered to put the lid on. Wiping his rum-soaked beard with his sleeve, he tried the blender again.
“Hell and damnation!” he cried. “This blender be jammed!” Reaching in with his hook-hand, he scraped away at the blades, trying to dislodge whatever it was that was causing the jam. Sacrilege, seeing an opportunity for mischief, flipped the blender’s ‘on’ switch.
“Gaaahahaha!” the Captain shrieked, his last-remaining eye wide at the sight of his hook spinning round and round. “The pain! I’ve dislocated my wrist! My elbow! My shoulder! Aye, and even my groin! Arrgh! I’ve dislocated my groin!”
“Don’t be an idiot,” Sacrilege chided. “You can’t dislocate your groin.”
“Argh, but I have, ye saucy wench. Come over here and rub it down for me!”
“I’d just a soon kiss a wookie.”
“I can arrange for that.”
“Cougar! You made it!”
“Thanks to the timely assistance of the WR(\TH Squardon, I was able to hitch a ride in from Rhineland.” Cougar turned to introduce his friends. Conner, Furby, Carburetor and Jade – resplendent in their WR(\TH uniforms – all bowed in greeting.
BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! The party scattered in every which direction as a hail of blaster fire pelted the gathering. Several of the guests were instantly vaporized. Yalkara had arrived.
“There’s always someone who can’t hold their alcohol,” Conner sighed. “Okay WR(\THs. Time to go to work!”
As the vigilantes began their duel with the marauding Yalkara, across the room, a lone voice emerged. “Who here thinks I used to post too many polls on the forum? ‘Yes’, ‘No’, or ‘Indifferent’?”
Standing nearby munching on hors d’oeuvres, Cresens was quick to answer. “If you post one more poll, Bane, I’m gonna gouge out your eyes and use them for erasers.”
“Shazam! I foresee a very, very bad ending for this party!”
“Shut it, Bane. Nobody cares about your stupid polls, or your shazams.” 33 declared, stepping into the conversation. “The only real question that matters is, did people think I had too many characters?”
“33comander?”
“Jango?”
“Thrawn?”
“Thrawn of the Myrmidons?”
“No – Thrawn was never a Myrmidon.”
“Wasn’t he? I could never keep up.”
“That was Sith Lord 2000.”
“No it wasn’t! Sith Lord was a Rouge Elite! Wait – wasn’t he?”
Speculation over the number and merit of all 33’s many characters created quite a buzz among the guests, until all were suddenly overwhelmed by an over-powering, all-pervasive stench. “Good God, what is that smell?”
“AllZzz must dieeeee…..” Silhouetted in the doorway was the rotting, maggot-infested corpse of Rob Zombie. “Got brainZzz?”
“We thought you might put in an appearance,” replied Sion. “There are brains on the buffet along the far wall. Imported from Crete.”
“Goodzz. I likeZz ‘em spicy…”
Elsewhere in the room, a man wearing a purple smoking jacket stood, twirling a glass of claret and puffing at a torpedo-shaped cigar – quite the feat, considering his head was completely enclosed in a plasteel, chrome-plated helmet.
“What do you think, Reverend?” asked Broll who was standing at his side. “Can we kill them? Can we? Can we?”
The Reverend considered. “It would be poor form to murder the Administrators’ guests in cold blood,” he observed. “But I suppose a little pick-pocketing would not be remiss. Indeed, we could hardly consider ourselves worthy of the name ‘Rogues’, were we to come away from this evening’s festivities empty handed.”
“GGRRRAAAAAAAARRR!!”
“Well if it isn’t the Beast of Cortez?”
“Yeah,” Sion said. “We figured he might show too. Beast, we have a cage of Xenos for you in the corner. Please limit yourself to them, and try not to eat the guests.”
“GRRRRRAAAARR!.....Oh, all right.”
“Ahem.”
Everyone stopped and turned to face the speaker who stood at the podium, clad in military attire – naval regulation, to be exact. It was the Admiral.
“I do believe what this party needs is an Alliance,” he said.
(Collective groan)
“A consortium,” he continued, “nay – a fellowship of like-minded brothers who can band together to fight tyranny and oppression! A collective greater than the sum of its parts! A body politic with which to fight – ”
“SHUT UP MANK!!”
Taken aback, the Admiral stepped back from the podium, but his foot slipped in a slick of Vaseline which had spilled onto the stage. He came crashing down into a heap.
“Sorry – my bad!” confessed November. “That Vaseline is always getting away from me! How’s your head, Mank?”
“Oooh….It hurts.”
“Hmm. Good.”
Just then, the doors to the mansion were blown in by heavy explosives. The guards who’d been posted outside were lying dead on the floor, and sparks showered down among the remaining guests as hoarse, Chiyo-chan, Orlyon, Fgt and Apotheosis came rushing in, guns a-blazing. Behind them came the sinister Colonel himself: Arch-villain, and scourge of Procyon, Col._Conseco.
“I told you this party would end badly.”
“Shut up, Bane.”
“Well, we’re here to kill you all,” the Colonel said, matter of fact.
“Wait!” Mank groaned. “You can’t do this! We can’t let him do this!”
The Colonel rolled his eyes. “Can’t we though?”
“NO! Come on guys! If we all band together, we can take them!”
A few of the revelers did band together to show some resistance, but the ensuing battle was short lived. Indeed, pretty much everyone died. Except for the Rogues, who knew when to cut bait, and had slipped out the back door.
For the others, though, it was a case of respawning by necessity. Some respawned far, far away – for they hadn’t thought to dock anywhere closer.
In the end, however, all remember the party fondly, and for this, they thank the Admins, who played such great hosts while it lasted.
For the Herald, this is Ravenwood, signing off for the last time.
----------------------------------------------------
I met a girl who sang the blues
And I asked her for some happy news,
But she just smiled and turned away.
I went down to the sacred store
Where I’d heard the music years before,
But the man there said the music wouldn’t play.
And in the streets: the children screamed,
The lovers cried, and the poets dreamed.
But not a word was spoken;
The church bells all were broken.
And the three men I admire most:
The father, son, and the holy ghost,
They caught the last train for the coast
The day the music died.
- Don McLean, ‘American Pie’
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| Jade on 07-02-2008 14:56:58 | | |
Bravo Ravenwood! A pity there won't be any more mentally stimulating Heralds. :) Once again, thank you for all your excellent work and for providing this server with something more than just regular FL! | | | | |
| JohnConner on 07-02-2008 15:20:08 | | |
Thank you, too, Ravenwood, for making Procyon a better place. I will miss you all.
Of course, with practice my aim should improve...
Remember Procyon, always. | | | | |
| Kief on 07-02-2008 20:08:01 | | |
Well, I knew it couldn't last forever... doesn't make it suck any less, though. Another excellent story, R. See y'all.
K | | | | |
| Carburetor on 07-02-2008 22:46:42 | | |
Thanks so much for an encore issue Ravenwood! Awesome as usual. Brings back a lot of good memories. I'll miss this place ;_( | | | | |
| Sacrilege on 07-02-2008 23:35:57 | | |
*lifts glass to toast* | | | | |
| =ESF=CMDR*Battlespud on 07-05-2008 00:52:09 | | |
Ill miss this place, ifonly they made a better instant flmm....
Ravenwood, if you give up writing ill kill you, then dock rape you for 11 hours straight. And when ileave ill gorrilla glue the dock shut. | | | | |
| on 07-06-2008 23:38:30 | | |
Do take note, Battlespud, that the server is still up. ;) | | | | |
| =AnthraxZombie=[X] on 07-08-2008 07:45:53 | | |
...gRoAnZoRz.....VaSeLiNe.....i PrEfEr ReNDeReD FaT NoW......LoTsA FaT in.....bBrRaAiNnZz.... | | | | |
| Cobalt_Grizzly on 07-13-2008 10:07:58 | | |
Those are NOT ladies pants! They have L in the tag, dammit! Can I help it if I fill them out rather...uh...fully? :P
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| Firtor on 09-17-2009 03:05:35 | | |
This is a great story! | | | | |
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