Why did the Woodchuck bother when he could of called a professional for christ sakes?

4 cyclists of the Apocalypse guide to IRC

By Matthew Garratt. Slightly tarted up and edited by PAndroid.

(Before we go on, the Four Cyclists for anyone who dosn't know (which includes me) is something that Amiga Power used to feature. Since this is about the digi IRC channel, it's a little bit of magazine cross-breeding, don't you think? - Ed)

The blasted heath was silent. Untouched by any living animals, the only movement was that of a desolate tree sharply silhouetted against the fire-red sky. But suddenly, a noise came. Four dots appeared on the horizon, slowly moving closer. After a short period of time, it was possible to distinguish four dark shapes on what appeared to be mountain bikes. A few minutes later, they had arrived. The Four Cyclists of the Apocalypse stepped from their mounts, and looked around.

"You know, something funny seems to happen most Saturday nights at 8pm." said the first. "For no real reason whatsoever, a group of people spurns the traditional weekend pleasures and turns to their computer instead. These people congregate in #digi-98 , where they fail to discuss Digitiser with amazing ability. Why, only last week the conversation rapidly turned to female Star Trek characters. Something has to be done to save the world from this peril. Please. We need help."

Nodding sagely, the second stepped forward.

"Should you wish to participate in an attempt to restore some form of relevance to IRC, you are partaking in a most noble cause. Truly, this will be something to tell your grandchildren of. But first, there are some things that you must know."

There was a moment of silence. The second cyclist looked at the third, who appeared to be reading a comic.

"I said, THERE ARE SOME THINGS THAT YOU MUST KNOW."

The third suddenly jumped, attempting to hide the comic beneath his cloak.

"Oh, yes. Right. Things you should know. Of course."

The second cyclist looked at the first, and shook his head. The third failed to notice this, and continued.

"The IRC network on which Digitiser is discussed is known as Dalnet. You should fear this name, for it is the name of an awful beast. Without warning, Dalnet will change your name, isolate you from your companions or simply kill you. But, thankfully, there are a few ways to pacify this tyrant."

"Firstly, you must approach the cave of Dalnet. The easiest address to use is irc.dal.net, although some may prefer spider.dal.net. Once you have connected, the channel which you must join is known as #digi-98. Once you are here, you must ensure that your "Nick" is not one belonging to someone else. This task is an easy one, for Dalnet (in a rare moment of helpfulness) will tell you if it is. If you have inadvertantly chosen the name of another, change it. Pick one name that satisfies you, and then stick with it."

"To ensure that a foul and evil blackguard does not disguise himself under your own fair name, it must be registered. This involves bowing to one of Dalnet's demonic spawn, Nickserv. The following incantation must be entered in order to do this. Type it as it is written, for Nickserve is a fickle beast at best."

/msg nickserv register mypassword

"Obviously, you should replace "mypassword" with a password of your own choosing. One this act has been performed, you should cast two further incantations to protect yourself further."

/msg nickserv set kill on

/msg nickserv set enforce on

"Should you leave and return later, you may find that Nickserv has forgotten who you are. Rather than kill it (as it surely deserves), invoke the following spell."

/msg nickserv identify mypassword

"As before, replace "mypassword" with your password. Obviously."

The third cyclist stood back and looked at the first, who nodded.

"Right, that sounds about it. Come along, should you wish. Enjoy yourself. But be warned. Fools will not be suffered gladly."

The cyclists mounted their cycles once more, and prepared to leave.

Suddenly, the fourth spoke up.

"Well, I'm really jolly annoyed that I didn't get a proper part in this one. And Saturday evening is a stupid time, anyway. People go out then. Honestly. What are you all, stupid or something? Why can't we have Sunday instead?"

There was silence. For once, a question had arisen that even the FourCyclists of the Apocalypse could not answer. Cowed, they left to strike fear into the hearts of the unworthy once more.

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