What If.... (dreaming...)

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VaporizeX

Senior Member

07-16-2012

The day was foggy the mist of the baylife air was cold the wind howled like dying wilder beast in the dead of winter, the Golden Gate bridge covered by fog like most days in San Fransisco people sat inside playing a video game. To be warm in the middle of summer they huddled around a glowing box of enjoyment named a computer.

The game they played was called League of Legends. They love this game. Too much, it made them angry, filled with rage. They took it upon themselves to right the world to bring justice where no justice could be found. They fought hard.

One day suddenly they found that the essence of their life the account they worked so hard for, an account they lovingly pumped every fast-food chain paycheck into for a skin they loved or hope to have some day, it was suddenly gone.

Why they asked why me?
Where is the justice?
Where is the humanity in this world?
Of all the trolls I was the one that got perma-banned?

Oh baby Jesus 8 pounds 3 ounces, don't know a word of English but still omnipotent, why have your forsaken me?

Please give me one more chance!

PLEASE......

Baby Jesus heard all of you...

All perma-banned accounts are now available to be used again.

All your stuff is YOURS AGAIN!

Your elo rating is reset, your account is flagged to only allow you will only play other people that were perma banned. You might wait an hour or 2 for a game for the first 6 months you will only get to play other perma banned players.

If you prove that you are worthy you are returned to the fold of all Summoners in this glorious community with a special icon that only perma banned players who have returned from the abyss can claim, a golden shoe.

You read it right, a magical golden shoe with white wings.

With these wings your heart could fly again!

You could be a human again!

You could be allowed to love, and share that love with other summoners that need love.

The world is filled with this love and we have no more trolls in this world.

only a dream...


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theshim

Senior Member

07-16-2012

Short form: you want to combine Prisoner's Island and the Level 20 Challenge, both of which have been debated and rejected by Lyte after the data showed they were bad ideas.

No thanks.


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VaporizeX

Senior Member

07-16-2012

Quote:
Originally Posted by theshim View Post
Short form: you want to combine Prisoner's Island and the Level 20 Challenge, both of which have been debated and rejected by Lyte after the data showed they were bad ideas.

No thanks.
Nah really I was bored and wanted to write a story.

I know the Level 20 system isn't good, and eventually their would be enough people that wanted the magical icon that the que time would be right on par with normal que's, and you could create a motivation for people to troll to get put on the redemption wagon of freedom.

I don't think any account should be perma banned with a monetary value attached to it except for two reasons, racism and real world threats, the rest of the reasons should be temp bans.

edit: Who is Lyte?


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Ulanopo

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Senior Member

07-16-2012

Most days you could taste the sky or, more accurately, the choking dust that made each dusk and dawn an ember glow of ruddy red, like blood gone stale. Moog had learned, though. Before the elders had cast him out, he had heard the tales the scavengers told. He too had been brave enough to head down into the ruins to hunt for scraps of cloth and bits of metal. If he had been able to read, he would have known that his makeshift mask read "juicy."

Moog was proud of his knife too, though he could not understand why the ancients would make such a beautiful blade, yet leave the edge dull. One of the hunters had told him that the flower carved into the hilt was a rose, though she had been old and gap-toothed, so what could she know? He did not think a rose would be good to eat and Moog did not have time for much besides seeking food.

Moog shook his head. Thinking about food was bad. Food was why Moog was alone. Anger roiled alongside hunger in his belly. If only they had let him have the food. But, no, the elders got to decide who got what and when. It was so unfair! Moog was strong, a hunter of the people. Who were they to tell him that he deserved no more than anyone else? Were they as quick with the blade? Were they as still on the hunt?

Moog still chafed at how the elder had spoken to him. "We are one people" the greyhair had intoned, as if he were good for anything but sitting around the fire and telling stories about the old days. "Life is hard and we must work together if we are to survive."

Moog had yelled at the elder, because the old man was clearly too weak to know the truth. Everything belongs to the strong. If the planters and weavers get anything, it is only because the hunters choose to be generous with those who serve. "I can do whatever I want!" Moog had yelled. Then he raised his fist to teach the elder a lesson.

The next thing Moog knew, he was on his back with the elder on top of him, a blade far sharper than his own pressed to his throat. Moog froze, but the elder was beyond reasoning. The elder brought his knee up sharply into Moog's groin, once, twice, then a third time. The elder stood and spat in Moog's face as he lay there gasping.

That night, the elders gathered for their vote. It was unanimous. The elder he had attacked pronounced the doom. "Moog, if you cannot live by our rules, you cannot live with us. Go, and trouble us no longer."

Moog shook his head a second time. He had no time for memories, not with the night closing in around him. He picked up his things and started walking toward the sunset. He had heard that there was a tribe of hunters across the river, perhaps they would take him in.


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VaporizeX

Senior Member

07-16-2012

Quote:
Originally Posted by Ulanopo View Post
Most days you could taste the sky or, more accurately, the choking dust that made each dusk and dawn an ember glow of ruddy red, like blood gone stale. Moog had learned, though. Before the elders had cast him out, he had heard the tales the scavengers told. He too had been brave enough to head down into the ruins to hunt for scraps of cloth and bits of metal. If he had been able to read, he would have known that his makeshift mask read "juicy."

Moog was proud of his knife too, though he could not understand why the ancients would make such a beautiful blade, yet leave the edge dull. One of the hunters had told him that the flower carved into the hilt was a rose, though she had been old and gap-toothed, so what could she know? He did not think a rose would be good to eat and Moog did not have time for much besides seeking food.

Moog shook his head. Thinking about food was bad. Food was why Moog was alone. Anger roiled alongside hunger in his belly. If only they had let him have the food. But, no, the elders got to decide who got what and when. It was so unfair! Moog was strong, a hunter of the people. Who were they to tell him that he deserved no more than anyone else? Were they as quick with the blade? Were they as still on the hunt?

Moog still chafed at how the elder had spoken to him. "We are one people" the greyhair had intoned, as if he were good for anything but sitting around the fire and telling stories about the old days. "Life is hard and we must work together if we are to survive."

Moog had yelled at the elder, because the old man was clearly too weak to know the truth. Everything belongs to the strong. If the planters and weavers get anything, it is only because the hunters choose to be generous with those who serve. "I can do whatever I want!" Moog had yelled. Then he raised his fist to teach the elder a lesson.

The next thing Moog knew, he was on his back with the elder on top of him, a blade far sharper than his own pressed to his throat. Moog froze, but the elder was beyond reasoning. The elder brought his knee up sharply into Moog's groin, once, twice, then a third time. The elder stood and spat in Moog's face as he lay there gasping.

That night, the elders gathered for their vote. It was unanimous. The elder he had attacked pronounced the doom. "Moog, if you cannot live by our rules, you cannot live with us. Go, and trouble us no longer."

Moog shook his head a second time. He had no time for memories, not with the night closing in around him. He picked up his things and started walking toward the sunset. He had heard that there was a tribe of hunters across the river, perhaps they would take him in.
This is awesome! Did I inspire that? You are much better writer then I will ever be. :-)


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Ulanopo

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Senior Member

07-16-2012

Quote:
Originally Posted by Vexara2 View Post
This is awesome! Did I inspire that? You are much better writer then I will ever be. :-)
Thank you for the compliment, but it's really just a riff on some of the older apocalyptica.