[b]The Icecream Serenade[/b] Boys and Girls, tomorrow we march into the depths of Hell. A wallowing pit of despair crawling with annoying furries and shitty godmodders. A dead, rotting racehorse which writhes in a shallow grave, only alive by parasitic heartworms that coil around its intensities. Maggots flock to the horse, beat to death and squeezed for all its mileage, earning meager sustenance off the undead corpse. In its prime, this racehorse was strong. Fast. It ran to the top of the forum boards, and while not being filled with the greatest role players ever, it would foster them to make legendary characters and weave awe striking tales. Now, the very existence of this horse today defiles it's very legacy. We must storm through the pound and put a cap in its head. This horse is crudely branded as [b]The Dojo.[/b] We do not do this in spite, but to preserve what The Dojo once was, not destroying its integrity any further. Some of us are warped and sick, dead, spindly willow trees with dying roots of malice. Some are bright envoys of roleplay's future, brilliant as the sun. Some are grizzled, older members. Clamoring for something new and exciting. In the retching heat of battle, our personality does not matter. Our race, creed, culture, RP style, quality? All irrelevant. In war, we are all equals under the long arm of death. Tomorrow, we end a legendary thread and be revered as legends. Tales of our battles relished among reveling patrons of a hearth-lit bar, horrible tales told to the disobedient children of our mortal enemies. We will be gods! So, let us set aside our differences, raise our Mozambiques into the air and fight! Fight for a better future of RP!