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THE RETURN OF THE SCRIPTURE OF HEXIANITY

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This topic contains 7 replies, has 5 voices, and was last updated by  Mjolnir 4 years, 4 months ago.

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  • #38480

    Hammer781227
    Participant

    My fellow Hexians! I was away for far too long. I have left my people to fend for themselves in finding the Great Hex, while I was discovering some scripture that the Fishwatcher Gouleh had left me. In my discoveries, I have missed out on much of the Nerdy Show crew, and have discovered the scripture has disappeared. This shall be rectified by myself, and the new scripture will be shared. Praise be Hex!

    High Priest and Pope of Hexianity. Praise be to Hex, and may Mike always bring us Courage.

    #38481

    Hammer781227
    Participant

    AND SO IT WAS THAT HEX SPOKE. AND THE VOID OF THE BEFORE WAS FILLED WITH HIS GREAT… GREATNESS. AND FROM HIS PEPSI CAN POURED THE STREAM OF FATE, WHICH ALSO CONTAINED PEBBLES. Hex then willed into being two opposing forces, which would then rule the nothingness which pervade the space not occupied by Hex, granted there was not much of it. Those forces would be Blue Shirt Guy and Purple Shirt Guy. And so Hex was angered at Blue Shirt Guy, therefore willing into being the archangel Glitch, who smote Blue Shirt Guy with the Holy Fish of Glitch. When it was needed the most, however, the Fish proved to be moist, slipping off Glitch’s hands and falling into the Stream of Fate. At the end of the Stream lies the Water Thing, which is the wellspring of life, secreted away in the forbidden heights of Up There. It is said that when the Fish of Glitch reaches the Water Thing, it will herald the coming of all from nothing. In the meanwhile, however, Hex got bored of waiting, and created everything else. However, a great darkness followed in his wake, a great void of being which was defined by its hatred of Donkey Kong, Hex’s favored creation. His darkness grew, and threatened the Fish of Glitch, for his plan was to seize the Fish and strike at Hex himself with its powers. And so, Hex accidentally showed his mighty form to his mortal creations, igniting a wave of fervor which swept through the land. And so, Hexianity was created, led by High Priest Hammer, who led his faithful in worship of the one true Hex, who rewarded them with a place by his side. This place was literally called Iceland. Such a place was populated by beerbears, from which bearbeer was made via wrestling. All who accepted Hex into their hearts and pants were welcomed into it, except for Lavalle, the one who would be exiled until the end times. Dazed by the light of the holy Hexcrotch, noble Kahalis then realized that such a wondrous sight should be protected, and so the High Priest appointed him as the Bishop of Hexcrotch, supreme authority in all matters concerning the great one’s nether regions. On the other end of the spectrum, Lavalle’s darkness grew thicker every day, threatening the Fish of Glitch, and all hexians everywhere. And so, Arkais rose to defend Hexianity from the pervasive hatred of Donkey Kong. The High Priest thus appointed him Watcher in the Dark. The Fish of Glitch moved ever onwards through the Stream of Fate and pebbles, and so Gouleh stepped in to mark its progress and protect it for its destiny as herald of beginning and end. The High Priest appointed him the Fishwatcher. Finally, High Priest Hammer placed the weight of history over the shoulders of Sage0 forever changing him into Parappa, Keeper of the Archives of Hexianity. And so concludes the opening chapter of the history of Hexianity. Praise be Hex!

    The Commandments of Hex of the Holy Church of Hexianity-
    1. Don’t hate on Donkey Kong Country, or you are a heathen
    2. Do not speak on behalf of Hex
    3. Write this shit down
    4. Don’t hate, unless it’s on the DC reboot
    5. Don’t ask for commandments
    6. Hex hates you all
    7. Hex literally is Iceland
    8. Worship the Fish of Glitch
    9. Go home internet!
    10. Make fun of all people that are religious, especially Hexians
    11. Always use comfortable chairs

    6. Cap = Carl Sagan reborn
    Positions in Hexianity-
    Glitch is Archangel
    Non-Epic Beard man is Minister
    Hammer781227 is High Priest
    Kahalis is the Bishop of Hexcrotch
    Arkais is the Watcher in the Dark
    Gouleh is the Fishwatcher

    Hex can turn nothing into fish
    John Lavalle has been exiled from Iceland and is spurned. He hates Donkey Kong Country, and taunts our holy one.
    Cap will become MC Crazy Cap for our sins.
    Nerdapalooza and Hexmas are the same, for it is when Hex gives excellent nerd music to the good boys and girls, while the bad ones are cast out to fry in the hot anti-Icelandic sun.

    High Priest and Pope of Hexianity. Praise be to Hex, and may Mike always bring us Courage.

    #38482

    Hammer781227
    Participant

    The Scripture of Hexmas is a part of the Nex Testament, which defers from the first Holy Scriptures in that it was written by the faithful, rather than based of the Great One’s actions in the beginning of time.

    Hexmas is a time of joy. The higher mysteries of Hexianity are, in the end, mysterious. Transcendental concepts such as the Great One’s Great Great-y Greatness, the light of Hexcrotch, the promised icy land of Iceland, are too abstract for our puny minds to comprehend. For all we know, the Fish of Glitch may be a two-headed locomotive of butter. Hexmas, however, can be enjoyed by everyone. It is a celebration of everything Hexy about the daily lives of the ones that have accepted Hex into their hearts and pants. Hexianity, unlike other religions, is not concerned with commercial goods or hard currency, rather we are concerned with spiritual and musical goods of the faithful. As such, we will not discuss anything that involves money. There are few aspects to Hexmas, firstly: Hexmas is about asteroids. The lives of men are ruled by artificial concepts which help regulate their lives such as money, which only rarely is used to purchase space rocks flying at ludicrous speeds. Hexmas aims to change that by taking the money and putting it towards a more productive cause: Nerdapalooza. Every dollar donated towards Nerdapalooza is a dollar that theoretically could go towards the cause of increasing the amount of asteroids owned by men. Second, Hexmas is about family. Not the family that is defined by the sexy time in jeans, but the family within. For the nerd family is scattered all around the globe, although a physical gathering would absurdly inconvenient and probably smell bad. Nay, our family unites in spirit, for Nerdapalooza doesn’t just happen in Orlando, no! It happens inside us. And through it, we commune with each other, no matter the distance or tongue, for nerdcore is universal, and fun. Through Nerdapalooza we gain some idea of what the Great One’s plan is for Life, the Universe, and Everything Else, and dolphins. Thirdly, Hexmas is about generosity. About sharing. It’s a time to part Doritos with your fellow man. Any Doritos will do, but the stranger the flavor the better. For Doritos is a favored food of Vimak, the avatar of Hex’s aspects of Greatness and picking people up. And a time to drink bearbeer with your friends, but as a measure of selflessness, the bearbeer must be acquired through the traditional means of wrestling beerbears into submission. Finally, sharing means of playing Donkey Kong Country, for it is the only concrete proof of Hex’s love we have. Many are the celebrations of Hexmas. The entire world converges onto the same ideal Hexmas specials, while often confusing a not canon representation of the spirit of joy of the faithful. Among mortals, only High Priest Hammer has the authority to declare which Hexmas specials are canon, and which are arm-canon, the highest expression of truth. In the end, however, we each celebrate Hexmas in our own way, literally in our own dream of promised Iceland. Praise be Hex!

    High Priest and Pope of Hexianity. Praise be to Hex, and may Mike always bring us Courage.

    #38484

    Hammer781227
    Participant

    And finally, the as-of-yet unfinished tale of the adventures of the courageous one in Lavalle’s realm.

    The dark realm of Lavalle was a dismal place. At first glance, one could perceive it as a city in ruins, but not a single stone had tumbled from its place since the dawn of time. Every block, every cornerstone and slab had been meticulously placed, throughout the ages, by the Endermen, agents of the Dark One, who intended to dismantle the world, a block at a time, reshaping it in his unholy image. The sky itself was the color of charcoal. Great spires of obsidian seemed to sustain it, as if the very tainted heavens threatened to wash over the land and leave nothing whole. There were consoles scattered about, each and every one loaded with a Donkey Kong cartridge. But there were no controllers. There was naught but the hum of starting screens that would never, ever spill their banana-flavored goodness.
    Sitting in a throne made of pure nothing, the Dark One, John Lavalle, brooded over his twisted husk of a world. The problem with being the manifestation of all that is dark and forbidden was that his place was pretty dark. I mean, literally. The only light came from the flickering television sets hooked to the kidnapped consoles. So in reality, the Dark One couldn’t really see anything from his seat of power. Which was a bummer, since it was really hard to get stuff done in your kingdom of darkness when you can’t really see it.
    And so, in his unholy boredom, trapped between staying awake and taking a quick nap after a particularly heavy lunch, he started to reminisce about a particular time in his long, long history…
    He didn’t remember exactly when (perhaps because flimsy notions such as “time” meant nothing for a being such as him, or perhaps because his watch was out of batteries for the backlight, and so he didn’t really know what time it was or how long had it been since then), but for a brief amount of time, he was imprisoned in the greatest of bastions of his rival’s followers, the great Cathedral of Iceland. He had underestimated the slobbering hounds that served Hex, and he had paid the price for it in the form of a brief stay in the very heart of his enemy’s faith. There was, however, one event which took place in that day that had puzzled him ever since…
    The Cathedral of Iceland was truly a thing of beauty. All craftsmanship was of the highest quality. It was studded with nacho cheese Doritos. It menaced with spikes made of objects. In short, it was a great work of architecture — because of reasons.
    None of that interested Lavalle in the least, however. To him, all of it – all of it! Reeked of hypocrisy and fanaticism. Already had Hex’s pitiful lackeys tried to convert him. Fools. They didn’t know anything, and would get nothing from him! Bound as he was by diamond chains, he couldn’t even move. He would escape, though. As soon as his guards slacked in their vigilance, he would find a way out of this despicable place and once again wreak havoc in this pathetic world.
    Then one day, he woke up to find the Cathedral completely empty. There was no one. His guards, the priests, the acolytes, the pilgrims, even that foolish High Priest wasn’t preaching at the altar shaped like what they called “The Hexcrotch”. He couldn’t even feel the presence of the Watcher in the Dark, the one called Arkais, who was supposed to watch him even as he went to the bathroom (which made for enough awkward situations to last a lifetime). It all seemed more than a bit suspicious, but he would seize this opportunity all the same. Focusing his dark energy, he began to chip at the very core of the diamonds that composed his bindings. He couldn’t have done so under watch, and the fact that already the stubborn crystals cracked beneath his will was proof positive that he was truly alone. Now all he had to do was-

    “Sup.” Said a voice.
    Lavalle turned as much as his chains allowed.
    Standing at the entrance archway stood a spry young man with spiky brown hair. He was wearing a red shirt, a red cap, a backpack… And nothing else. Really, thought Lavalle, were there any normal people in Iceland? Like, at all?
    “Who are you?” Asked the Dark One, trying to buy time so he could try and erode his bindings as much as possible before he was stopped. Clearly this was some sort of trick.
    The lad, however, didn’t seem to be listening, or even looking at him anymore. He seemed more interested in looking around the interior of the Cathedral.
    “Cool.” He said casually as he walked past Lavalle.
    “I said, who are you? Are you one of the Bishop’s inquisitors? One of Kahalis’ watchdogs?” Spat Lavalle.
    “Nah man.” Came the answer from somewhere behind him.
    “Who are you, then?”
    “Mike.”
    “Mike who?”
    “Mike of the Three Triangles.”
    Three Triangles? The Dark One had heard of this strange philosophy before. Unlike hated Hexianity, it didn’t seem to be a religion, but rather a path to personal enlightenment independent of spiritual beliefs. He didn’t know much more than that, however.
    “Well… Mike of the Three Tria-”
    “Just call me Mike, bro.”
    “I am not your ‘bro!’ And now–” Said Lavalle triumphantly as the chains that bound his right arm snapped beneath his power “now I will be free, and you cannot stop me!”
    “Okay.”
    “What you mean, ‘okay’!? Once I am free, I will rein destruction upon this land once again!”
    “Whatever floats your boat.”
    The Dark One bared his teeth in anger. Who did he think he was? He wasn’t even wearing pants! He turned, locking his baleful gaze on Mike, who seemed to be poking at an altar.
    “This looks like a set of balls!” He said with apparent glee.
    “Aren’t you even afraid?” Asked Lavalle. “Where are the Hexians?”
    “Don’t know. Just wandered in here off the street. Didn’t see anyone else.”
    Lavalle seethed. The way this brat spoke, and his stride — it was as if the Dark One wasn’t here at all! All the Hexians, from the lowliest acolyte to the Archangel Glitch quaked with fear before him, but this… This kid…
    “Do you know who I am?” He asked, putting up his best imperious attitude as the last of the chains finally clattered to the floor, corrupted and eroded to their core.
    “You’re that guy who doesn’t like Donkey Kong.” Answered the follower of the Three Triangles.
    “That… Is close enough, I suppose. Then you know that I shall exact my revenge upon the entire world now that I am freed!”
    “Why?” Asked Mike.
    “What? Why what?”
    “Why do you have to be a dick to everyone just because you don’t like Donkey Kong?”
    “Why, you..!” Was he flushing? No! Such was not possible for a heart as black as his! He regained his composure. “Know that I did not start this dispute. It was Hex who cast me out of his precious little creation in the first place. I am in the right!”
    “Even if you’re in the right, you’ll still be a dick. And that sucks.” Mike remarked.
    Enough was enough! With this motherhugging naked guy in this motherhugging cathedral! Lavalle pointed his dark finger at Mike’s face, ghostly fire burning behind his eyes in anger.
    “What would YOU know! You do not know what it’s like. To be hated by all. To receive only pain, give it in return!”
    The follower of the Three Triangles just frowned, put his hand over Lavalle’s and lowered his accusing finger. (Impossible! He should have been burned by my very touch!)
    “Settle down, grandpa. Here. Let me tell you a story over lunch.”
    Mike took off his backpack and settled it over the altar of the Hexcrotch. He opened it. Lavalle’s chin dropped slightly in disbelief. His backpack was filled to the brim with… Spaghetti?
    “So.” Said the young man as me munched on a handful of spaghetti with meatballs. “This is story of a bunch of people who went and did some stuff…”

    Vimak lay stretched on a traditional Khavaki beach rug. Why would his tribe sink much in the way of time and resources on objects made to be used in environments where no goliaths lived, he would never know, but he had to admit, this rug made him feel like he owned this beach.
    A rather twisted turn of events had gotten them stranded once again in No, Men Die. Christopher had some urgent things to take care of, so he said that he’d only be able to pick them all up in a day or so, and that they shouldn’t wander off or he’d lose them. Barty had jokingly suggested that they should take a day off, and was much surprised when their leader shrugged and said that that was probably the best course of action.
    The war between orcs and elves still raged just beyond these lands, but the conflict had driven all orcs off No, Men Die. So they had the beach all for themselves. Not that it didn’t present its own challenges. The terrain was littered with debris, bodies and junk. The weather was stormy, and the waters raged against the rocky cliffs that flanked the shoreline.
    That, however, could be easily solved. Vimak didn’t know if he and his friends were actually supposed to destroy the world, but when he really thought about it, it wouldn’t be such a difficult task if they really wanted to do it. His power over the winds instantly calmed the storm. Jen’Ifer insisted in tossing eldritch blasts at the water until it died, and… It seemed to work. Finally, Jamella condensed all her frustration at her own occasional incompetence, at Chair’s fate, at Lefty’s kidnapping and Jen’Ifer’s betrayal of her feelings into a fiery orb of sunlight (the tiefling quickly put on his sunglasses at the sight of the miniature sun she now held) and hurled it into the clouds, burning them away in a spectacular lightshow and creating an enormous area a of blue skies and sunlight around the beach.
    All throughout, Barty stared rather impotently at one of his throwing daggers. He was saved, however, by a swig of that horrid orcish brew, plunging him into a limbo between alcoholic coma and spiritual nirvana.
    He threw himself back, expecting to land his backside on Chair, who, they had brought along. Instead, he sunk his rear into the sand, his limbs and head sticking out in a rather awkward fashion.
    Part of his brain wondered where Chair had gone. Perhaps even how he could not be there, especially now that he couldn’t move anymore. That part was strapped to a slab and repeatedly slapped in the face and force-fed alcohol by the part of his brain more interested in the buzz caused by the orc beverage.
    “I musst say, Vimak, this is a great idea. It hass been too long since we could ssit back and relax for a bit. Not ssince the Isle of Magess, I believe.” Hissed Jamella, who was rubbing lotion all over her breastless chest. She caught sight of Jen’ifer with the corner of her eye and promptly stuck out his tongue at him, her accusatory eyes all but saying ‘look at what you’ve given up!’
    To his credit, the tiefling wasn’t even looking at her, keeping himself busy with poking a dead fish’s eye with a stick.
    “Da.” Said Vimak, sighing deeply. “And I was never comfortable in there. But here, this… Is nice, is what it is. A day off might be just what we need.”
    “Nothing but a beautiful day… A lesss than beautiful beach, but closse enough, I guess. Just me, and you, and” she paused and added a note of contempt “Jen’ifer and Barty and Chair… What is Barty up to anyway?”
    The dragonborn looked back, perhaps hoping to see the gleeman in his peculiar bathing suit, but instead found him partially sunk in the sand. Her eyes widened immediately.
    “Barty…” She said “Where is Chair?”
    “Hey! Jamella! Hello!” answered Barty, stabbing at the air with his rapier and swinging the empty bottle of foul alcohol in the other. There was no sign of Chair.
    “VIMAAAAK!” Screeched Jamella.
    Ten minutes and one very bruised Barty later, the four of them were following a trail through the sand, presumably left by someone dragging a rather heavy piece of furniture.
    Vimak wanted to pick Barty up by the collar and punt him over the horizon, but he knew that any punishment would fall on deaf ears as long as the gleeman remained completely hammered, stumbling behind the group as he was.
    They eventually arrived at what seemed to be a crude wooden shack. The tracks seemed to lead into it. Stepping in, spear raised, Vimak almost lunged when he spotted an orc inside, but stopped himself at the last second.
    The orc was old. Very, very old. His once-green skin now was gray and wrinkled. His white eyebrows and beard were ridiculously thick. He was sitting on a chair… One of dozens upon dozens of chairs, wood and stone, old and new, piled all the way to the ceiling. The old humanoid squinted his milky eyes at Vimak.
    “Mmmmmhm, did you bring any more chairs?” He asked in a husky voice.
    “Give Chair back you sscoundrel!” Squeaked Jamella as she threw herself at the orc. Vimak grabbed her midair.
    “Jamella, no!” His voice boomed. “This is day off. We solve this without killing. You will behave?” he asked. Jamella nodded reluctantly, and he put her back on the ground.
    “Now listen here, old man. Someone took our chair to this place. Is very important chair and is ours. We want it back.” He demanded.
    “Mmmmmhnmn. Well, there is just one problem with his.” droned the old orc “You see, there is a powerful spell tha-”
    The orc barely noticed the few feet of metal sticking out of his chest, and then slumped to the floor, dying before he hit the ground.
    “BARTY!” Yelled Vimak as the human pulled his rapier from the corpse.”
    “What? He was an orc! I could’ve stuck him! So I stuck him!” He replied drunkenly before his body decided that his legs couldn’t support his weight anymore, making him collapse in a nearby chair.
    Vimak sighed. “This was supposed to be day off. Now we have this. Okay, everyone, we have to find Chair in the midst of these chairs. Be careful, these are quite old and frag-” His head half-instinctively snapped to the side where Jen’ifer was absentmindedly dousing a chair with fire that erupted from his index finger.
    “JEN’IFER!” Yelled Vimak.

    The tiefling frowned, but didn’t stop. “Eh… Sorry. Premature incineration. I swear this never happened before.”
    Before Vimak could be angry at him, the flames started spreading from one chair to the other, and the small fire was soon turning into an all-consuming blaze. Burning pieces of wood from the ceiling started to fall as the flames spread to the structure around them.
    His hands snapped open. “Errr… WRATH OF WINTER!”
    Cold, freezing air blasted from his hands, trying to put out the flames. If Chair was in the middle of all those chairs, they had to–
    A wooden plank erupted from the mound of burning chairs and slammed on Vimak’s face with great force. He staggered, his spell dissipating.
    “Vimak! Behind you!” Yelped Jamella.
    The goliath turned, looking at a very surprised couple of Jamella and Jen’ifer, who were looking at him. At first he didn’t understand, but when he looked down he saw a chair, not their Chair, but a half-blackened and still on fire chair that was trying it’s best to kick at his ankles with its feeble wooden legs.
    “PROTECT THE PROGENITOR!” A disembodied voice echoed off the walls as chairs started to come to life around them. Jamella raised her hands, which glowed, charging a blast of sunlight.
    “Jamella, no! We might damage Chair by accident! No explosions!” Bellowed Vimak, instantly snapping his arm to the side and backhanding Jen’ifer on the face before he could come up with an excuse to continue burning everything.

    High Priest and Pope of Hexianity. Praise be to Hex, and may Mike always bring us Courage.

    #38485

    Kahalis Djnn
    Participant

    Wow, I must have been literally in Iceland, because I totally forgot about this.

    Praise Hexcrotch, the one true Idol

    Now where did I put that invisible tower again?

    #38491

    Cap
    Keymaster

    @hammer781227 The prophet has returned! Praise be to the one true @hex!

    #38496

    PRAISE BE THE HEXCROTCH AND ALL ITS GLORY

    For the Commonwealth!

    #39791

    Mjolnir
    Participant

    Praise be to Hexcrotch!

    MjollnirMK86 on the Server of Awesome. Formerly Polysics.

    "I'm just breaking the laws of physics. It's no big deal."

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