Ce am fost sfatuit de Cristi Marin sa mai fac e sa tai marginile vaii, sa dea senzatia de continuitate a raului, asta dupa ce o sa mai bag vreo 3-4 straturi de apa.
Statistics: Posted by Olaf The Viking — Tue May 21, 2013 8:41 am
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De fapt bucatile ramasesera de la un workshop pe care l-am tinut cu . Si atunci economia a dictat dimensiunea.
Statistics: Posted by Olaf The Viking — Mon May 20, 2013 5:42 pm
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Felicitari! Terenul a iesit foarte bine!
Am o intrebare: Cand ai conceput diorama, pe ce criterii ai stabilit dimensiunea ei?
Statistics: Posted by Zeno — Mon May 20, 2013 4:25 pm
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"Standing astride the bridge was one man. A giant Norse berserker silently surveyed the Saxon army, firmly clutching a massive double-bladed Greataxe in his weathered, calloused hands. A lone Viking hero granted permission by his King to die honorably in combat, tasked with defending the narrow bridge and buying time for his brethren to reorganize. His face was concealed by an imposing horned helm - metal plates reinforcing a mask constructed from the bleached bone remains of a fearsome animal skull, his wild eyes peering through the darkness like searing orbs of white-hot flame. A living demon, sent forth from the darkest recesses of Hell itself to exact brutal vengeance on any mortal brave or foolish enough to cross him, defying anyone with more balls than sense to test his wrath.
The full might of the Anglo-Saxon army charged the bridge, determined to extricate this colossal beast from his post through the sheer weight of their numbers, but the narrow walkway above the raging waters of the River Derwent was only wide enough for four men to stand abreast, and its guardian was unwavering in his resolve. The first rank of fighting men crashed full-speed into the Norseman like a school bus full of insolent teenagers being hurled face-first into a wall of unflinching spikes.
The war chants of ancient heroes sung in the fearless Viking's ears, as though an invisible primitive iPod were blasting the song "Freya" by The Sword at maximum volume as he wrought terrible havoc upon the apprehensive and overmatched Saxon footmen. His savage strikes felled even the bravest warriors in a single blow, cutting down mighty champions with the same effortless ease as Martha Stewart carving up slices of a warm pumpkin pie, while any attacks that penetrated his agile defenses failed to significantly wound him or even penetrate his battle-hardened hide. Swords shattered on impact with his chain mail, terrible blows rained upon his chest and arms failed to elicit even the slightest wince of pain, and this ferocious barbarian cut a swath of destruction in his wake, wading through these experienced, professional warriors like a Japanese movie monster plowing through a swimming pool full of strawberry Jell-O.
Dismembered appendages and decapitated corpses littered the battlefield, the river itself ran red with the blood of fallen men, and the bridge soon appeared as though a schlocky Halloween prop store had just exploded upon it. His features were alive with the blood-lusted determination of a true Viking berserker, his clenched teeth were bared like the fangs of a rabid wolf, his Advanced Battle Rage boosting his STR and CON scores to inhuman levels... one man fearlessly battling five thousand, holding the bridge until death.
For almost an hour this resolute 20th Level Fighter single-handedly tore through the English like a chainsaw-wielding space marine with the God Mode cheat activated, shaking off even the most horrific wounds as if they were gunshot wounds from a laser tag weapon and slaughtering more soldiers than a bad Sci-Fi Channel Original movie. After watching this man unleash mayhem so brutal that it would make even the most hardcore MMA enthusiasts nauseous, one clever Saxon warrior wised up and decided not to try and test this barbarian's might. He floated a barrel in the river, hopped in, drifted underneath the bridge, and jammed his spear up through the planks, striking the Viking in his only weak point - the ball sack.
The Swift-Footed Achilles had his infamous heel, Smaug the Magnificent had a weak point covering his heart, and the Giant Enemy Crab could be exposed for massive damage - but for this invincible Viking warrior, a spear wound in the junk was the one thing that could slow him down. As he fell to his knees, lamenting his unfortunate situation, the Saxons poured over the bridge and into the now-organized Norse camp. The berserker was dealt one final death blow and began his spiritual journey across the Rainbow Bridge to Valhalla, where he would spend the afterlife chilling out drinking forties of malt liquor with Odin and waiting around for his opportunity to carve his enemies to pieces once again at Ragnarok. With their champion finally slain, the Viking lines eventually collapsed as the vengeful Saxons fell on them like a face-melting Hydrochloric acid rain made out of pointy spears and broadswords. During the battle, King Harald Hardrada of Norway was shot in the damn throat with an arrow, and the influence of the Vikings over the British crown was forever broken.
History never recorded the name of the insane, balls-out warrior who fought so ferociously on this day, but the songs of Viking skalds and the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles do remember his deeds. When he finally succumbed to his numerous wounds and crashed to the earth, over forty Saxon soldiers lay dead at his feet, and dozens of wounded men were left helplessly crawling through the thick grass on the river bank, crippled by the savage onslaught of this crazy axe-swinging motherfucker. The full might of the English army had been completely halted by the strength of one man - the nameless Viking at Stamford Bridge.
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Statistics: Posted by Olaf The Viking — Tue May 07, 2013 7:26 pm
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"An Englishman shot with an arrow but to no avail, and another went under the bridge and stabbed him through under the coat of mail. Then Harold, king of the English, crossed the bridge and his levies went forward with him; and there made great slaughter of both Norwegians and Flemings: and Harold let the king’s son, who was called Mundus, return to Norway with all the ships."
Anglo-Saxon Chronicle
Statistics: Posted by Olaf The Viking — Tue May 07, 2013 7:02 pm
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Statistics: Posted by Olaf The Viking — Fri May 03, 2013 11:54 pm
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Statistics: Posted by Olaf The Viking — Thu Apr 25, 2013 9:17 am
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Singura solutie iarba pusa cu pistolul de iarba pe palcuri mai mari doar asta intrevad acum. Alte idei sunt binevenite dar repede:
Terenul intentionez sa il mai patez cu prafuri de diverse culori.
Statistics: Posted by Olaf The Viking — Thu Apr 18, 2013 1:12 am
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Statistics: Posted by Olaf The Viking — Mon Apr 15, 2013 3:58 pm
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Statistics: Posted by Olaf The Viking — Sun Apr 14, 2013 12:58 pm
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