The Cardiff Dead

This is my first foray into film-making. Last week saw Cardiff attempt a Guinness world record for the largest number of zombies in one area. They failed by a fairly large margin but set a Welsh record of 258.
With two Nokia N95 camera phones on loan from the journalism department of my University we went out and took advantage of the situation, resulting in this film, which we have submitted for competition to Nokia Trends Labs. Enjoy.

The greatest headline of all time.

That is all.

Madness

Can't we all...

...just...

...get along? x

Excelsior!

I have made it my mission, nay my (epic) quest to get in touch with this guy. The grimace says he's hungry for basilisk blood. The shoulders are tense, the stance ready to go mace-to-face with any level 12 umberhulks that could tear through his fetching velour curtains at any moment.

And that face! The sunken eyes tell stories of distant lands and forgotten realms, a time where monsters roamed the fields and women actually liked getting rescued by musclebound suitors.

For the purpose of the blog, he must be named. I have no right to impose a name on a person I have never met, but I have no such qualms about applying one to his alter ego, the green-skinned Defender of Realms, who shall be known henceforth as:

His anger seems indicative of our sad time where the electronic wizardry of World of Warcraft et al has stolen the thunder from the humble d6, and Gary Gygax's mythos is reserved for the basement dwellers of this world.

The die-hard, labelled throughout their adolescence as outcasts, queers, geeks, Poindexters, nerds, loners and weirdos will surface at the time of reckoning to slay the dragon, and they will be led tusk-first by this man.

He will raise his chromatic mace on high to shine a beacon of light for the faithful, strong in their conviction to the cause that they dreamed one day might come.

Or alternatively, the day will not come. The world will stay intact for a little while longer and Nazgor!!! will continue to dream.

He will dream in the office, he will dream in the home and he will dream during the car ride 'twixt the two (where his Daihatsu is a dragon).

The mousey girl at work will wonder why he ignores her, and his friends will wonder why he hasn't got rid of his Boris Vallejo calendar from San Diego Comicon 1997. The below image, from April of said year, holds particularly fond memories for him as it is when he received his first kiss from a drunk girl named Shah'tek at a Klingon-themed house party when he was at University:

Nazgor!!!'s friends fail to understand that the painting is obviously Vallejo's metaphor for the struggle of the proletariat against the Shining Path in the artist's native home of Peru (the serpent represents the guerrila MRTA, see?)

His idiotic friends also struggle with the concept that the calendar is clearly a collector's item, and they won't be smirking so much when he sells it for a Merc in ten years time. If only people could be less ignorant and more like me, he mutters (in Old Orcish, so no-one can debate him).

One day, Nazgor!!! Swing your mace on high, and live the dream for the rest of us too awkward, scared or heavily steeped in the age of irony (instead of the Iron Age) to appreciate you for who you really are.