Fix this up and continueth the tale

[kazan]

the horde surronded the wench and had their way with her for several days.
9 months later she had a son who would later join an online gaming forum under the name of rhand altor.

'round the world a knell of souls did cry to themselves, "Woe betide thee," for the rapebaby cometh forth.

 

[Dweasel]

That's not old english, that's early modern. Old English is basically fucked up German.

Whan that aprill with his shoures soote
The droghte of march hath perced to the roote,
And bathed every veyne in swich licour
Of which vertu engendred is the flour;
Whan zephirus eek with his sweete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
Tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the ram his halve cours yronne,
And smale foweles maken melodye,
That slepen al the nyght with open ye
(so priketh hem nature in hir corages);
Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages,
And palmeres for to seken straunge strondes,
To ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry londes;
And specially from every shires ende
Of engelond to caunterbury they wende,
The hooly blisful martir for to seke,
That hem hath holpen whan that they were seeke.
Bifil that in that seson on a day,
In southwerk at the tabard as I lay
Redy to wenden on my pilgrymage
To caunterbury with ful devout corage,
At nyght was come into that hostelrye
Wel nyne and twenty in a compaignye,
Of sondry folk, by aventure yfalle
In felaweshipe, and pilgrimes were they alle,
That toward caunterbury wolden ryde.
The chambres and the stables weren wyde,
And wel we weren esed atte beste.
And shortly, whan the sonne was to reste,
So hadde I spoken with hem everichon
That I was of hir felaweshipe anon,
And made forward erly for to ryse,
To take oure wey ther as I yow devyse.

This useless knowledge made possible by this worthless English Lit course I took freshman year.

True that.

I used to be quite proficient in both, back in my 20's

Especially that of Chaucer's time period.
It was fun.

Dats whye eye ootileyez eubonics bery EZlee.

 

[Dweasel]

Kyre HAVAX less sleep da dawgs ob Whore!

 

[Rhand Altor]

It's true that Rhand Altor is a rape baby and his mother was ravaged, but in the end I think he's a pretty cool Eastern European dude. The fact that he's hung around this long after all the shit we've given him collectively says at the very least he's passionate about something. Not really sure what, but he's passionate.

Rhand if you need help with English and need something reworked/gone over, l'll help you out man.

I'll PM you a reworked Ye Olde English paragraph of crap either tonight or tomorrow. But just tell me why you wrote it.

I saw Vanster writing in that old English and in the old Bible lettertype as well so I did my own thing for the heck of it. You might post it up here get the lads to see something from the past.

 

[Wowbagger]

That's not old english, that's early modern. Old English is basically fucked up German.

Whan that aprill with his shoures soote
The droghte of march hath perced to the roote,
And bathed every veyne in swich licour
Of which vertu engendred is the flour;
Whan zephirus eek with his sweete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
Tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the ram his halve cours yronne,
And smale foweles maken melodye,
That slepen al the nyght with open ye
(so priketh hem nature in hir corages);
Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages,
And palmeres for to seken straunge strondes,
To ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry londes;
And specially from every shires ende
Of engelond to caunterbury they wende,
The hooly blisful martir for to seke,
That hem hath holpen whan that they were seeke.
Bifil that in that seson on a day,
In southwerk at the tabard as I lay
Redy to wenden on my pilgrymage
To caunterbury with ful devout corage,
At nyght was come into that hostelrye
Wel nyne and twenty in a compaignye,
Of sondry folk, by aventure yfalle
In felaweshipe, and pilgrimes were they alle,
That toward caunterbury wolden ryde.
The chambres and the stables weren wyde,
And wel we weren esed atte beste.
And shortly, whan the sonne was to reste,
So hadde I spoken with hem everichon
That I was of hir felaweshipe anon,
And made forward erly for to ryse,
To take oure wey ther as I yow devyse.

This useless knowledge made possible by this worthless English Lit course I took freshman year.

That's middle English.

This is old English:

Hwæt! wē Gār-Dena in ġeār-dagum,
þēod-cyninga, þrym ġefrūnon,
hū ðā æþelingas ellen fremedon.
Oft Scyld Scēfing sceaþena þrēatum,
monegum mǣġþum, meodosetla oftēah,
egsode eorlas. Syððan ǣrest wearð
fēasceaft funden, hē þæs frōfre ġebād,
wēox under wolcnum, weorðmyndum þāh,
oðþæt him ǣġhwylc þāra ymbsittendra
ofer hronrāde hȳran scolde,
gomban gyldan. Þæt wæs gōd cyning!