Falcon2001

Yeah, been there, done that...good poem, though. *sighs* I need a freaking bagel.

William Azunost - Green card, Gaea's Blessing. Falcon2001 - Green card, Fugitive Druid CiodenDarkeye - Green card - Wall of Vines wow, I didn't realize they were all green until now

This was the most singularly disturbing thing I've ever read. Period.

Woo hoo! It's a BigPointyBirthday!

Crap typo oh well, better than Gryfalcon. Or Flakon2k1, that was a good one.

-William Azunost- -Cioden Darkeye- Falcon2001 I made them all last night in photoshop, going to set them up as my signature randomly as soon as I get around to it YAYYYYY!!!! Btw, if you can guess what Magic cards were used for which pictures, you get kudos-points.

Falcon sat on a stump, trying really hard to meditate. When he had asked, William had told him 'Think about forests and stuff.' So there he was, concentrating more on the stuff than the forests. William Azunost had shoved Falcon down the path of druidism as soon as he had found out that most druids either took a vow of silence or lived a life of solace among the trees. William has unearthed a pile of old tomes from the library that were written about Druidism and had started up a plan for Falcon, regaling him with tales of wolfbrothers and the mighty druids that lived exciting, if simple, lives. So far, it was boring. Falcon felt his attention wavering and forced it back into place. He really wanted to be a druid - they were all cool and magicky, and he had always loved magic. It was so bright and shiny and - dangit, focus on the trees. Falcon. How did he get that name? Falcon often wondered why his parents named him after a bird, even though it WAS a nice name and all- Falcon! Falcon stood upright, listening intently. Now that he had something to look for, focusing was easy and suddenly he was filled with the loamy knowledge of the forest. He felt it speak to him, and he grew afraid. Falcon, I am the spirit of the Lenswood Forest. Do you understand me? the voice echoed through his mind, bouncing endlessly. Falcon tried thinking back at it - Not really - what's the Lenswood Forest? Falcon didn't remember any such forest anywhere around here. The Lenswood forest is all around you - I am the remnant of the protector of the forest - the stump you are sitting on is all that is left of me, who used to be the mightiest tree in this forest. Falcon looked down at the stump underneath him, gulped, and leapt off it, backing away a bit. What do you want with me?, he asked frightfully. The forest is dying. Lenswood groves exist in multiple times at once. They draw off of the collective good to fuel the times when the lifewater dries up and the sun beats down unmercifully. In the future, however, there is a time of such desolation that none of the trees survive, and slowly this forest will die through the ages. One man is trying to use the grove's energy to timetravel back here, but his magic is weakened and he is under attack by strange creatures - we need your magical energy. Falcon was frightened, but knew when someone needed help he was supposed to help them. What do I have to do? Reach out to the stump - we will draw energy from you, but you will be re-energized with the energy of Gaea. Who's that? Nevermind, just touch the stump. Falcon shrugged and reached out, placing his palm directly on the stump. There was a whoosh, and it felt like he deflated for a second before energy surged into him, filling him with a momentary feeling of leaves, dirt, and soil. He fell backwards, watching the air above the stump twitch and distort, creating a tunnel that defied the eyes. One second there was nothing but air, the next second there was a deafening metallic screech and a pile of blankets appeared on the stump. Falcon sat up - that's it? A pile of black blankets? He walked over and gingerly touched them, and they moved. Falcon ran. "Who are you?" the blankets croaked with an oddly familiar voice. "I'm err - umm...Falcon - who are you?" Falcon said, gingerly edging nearer. The blankets started making a horrid, rasping noise, and for a second Falcon thought they were going to die on him until he realized that it was laughter. "You died three years ago - either I've gone mad or this worked." Falcon poked himself. "I don't feel dead - but I still might be. William always said that I might die one day and be so busy talking that I'd miss my own funeral, which I don't think makes much sense because -" the pile of blankets rearranged themselves, propping themselves up to a sitting position, still laughing. "Yes, it definately worked, though I don't know how on earth it did. Falcon, you know me. Look closer, and you will remember." Falcon walked closer, studying the blankets fixedly. They were worn beyond recognition, but a patch of silver - a silver eye - stood brazenly out against the worn and wretched robes. Falcon felt the black eyes staring fixedly out of the cowl of the robes, and with a chill he recognized the traveler's identity. "Cioden? But you're back in the main hall - what on earth happened to you?" "Not what on earth, Falcon, but when. I will explain more later. For now, time is of the essence, in more ways than one." Falcon leapt up. "I'll go get Gyr and William, Cioden - stay right here. Should I get you -err...the other you?" "The mere fact that I am here represents an unknown anomaly in the space-time continuum, so it no longer matters if I meet myself. Bring him here, that I might save me from myself." The dry chuckle occured again. "Do you want some water?" Falcon asked, and Cioden paused for a second. "Water...oh dear gods, this is before the tainting - you have fresh water!" Cioden exclaimed, almost rising to his feet. "Bring me some, any! Quickly!" He sat back down, and shuddered, drawing his robes close to him as Falcon ran off. The image of the Mighty Pen Keep ruined, with monsters unknown crawling all throughout it still echoed in Cioden's mind. He patted the tree trunk absentmindedly. Thank you, Old friend.

Take the knife to the flesh Near the neck, the base of the skull Slide it in, Oh so thin, Underneath the rot. I slice away the horror And the anger And the past. Patches of hate Mingle with friends and family. All the memories of my life Flushed away down the drain I bleed softly in the night In front of the mirror of justice An even-handed god, that. Exacting Perfect Pure. I cut away the love, the hate, the greed The feelings that I had for you. All the life that is behind me. I emerge anew - revived, refreshed. I'll shed my skin To remedy my past Underneath that itchy layer Lies a pair of glossy wings Spread them wide and catch the wind Drying off the memories. I soar above, leaving myself behind The reset button has been pressed I am nothing but the new The past is left behind. Alone and unarmored, I fight my way Back to the top. Clawing with softened hands Breathing with weakened lungs Pumping with a broken heart To reach my goal. Everything for nothing, the blind woman says. The scales of justice must be sated As I fly away.

Caryon strode in, his bronze complexion vaguely out of place in the marble halls of the Mighty Pen. He strode towards Madame Quixotic's living spaces, so that he might file for a reading. Seeing nobody around, he left a tiny machine sitting there, that would repeat "Caryon Artificer, Emissary of Yawgmoth, requests a fortune reading." over and over again until it eventually ran down and died.

==The Shrub and The Question== =======A True Story======= Click, click. The choke on the damned weedeater was sticky, as usual. Also per the usual, it refused to start even with my best efforts. Click, click. Wait. Pull...click. The bushes need trimming, and I was the man to do it. Armed with clippers I had surveyed the hedge and then fell back to rejoin the battle with superior forces. Trudging back to the house, I mentally went over our arsenal of landscaping, and then settled upon the Beast as the only possible solution. The lock to the shed shuddered once as I twisted the key, as if momentarily considering fighting, then gave. I shoved open the shed, and surveyed the sharpened glistening tools of warfare settled before me, then pushed my way to the back where the Beast hung. A two-handled monster of a weedeater, this gas-guzzling monster was an absolute terror to handle, but it got the job done. I hefted it down from wall, grabbed the can of gas and the spool and slung the monster over my shoulder and headed for the tractor. Throwing it all in the back, I hopped on and sped slowly off towards my target. I could hear the Beast growling in the back as we rumbled along the gravel driveway. I reached the hedge and ground to a halt, slamming on the brakes. The bushes seemed more prolific than before, as if growing to prevent the damage that they could feel approaching. I took my time winding the wire for the weedeater, letting the bush drink in the fear. When I finally clicked the bolt into place, I let the smile creep across my face. So there I was, starting it. Or attempting to, at the very least. Finally I gave a mighty pull on the cord, accompanied by the magic word (hint, it's four letters long and isn't allowed in polite company), and the engine roared hungrily to life - it wanted to feed on the sap of the living, and I was to give it the means to do so. I revved the engine a few more times, then settled my goggles down in front of my face - better to keep the plant detrius from injuring me in a lastditch attempt to disable me. The goggles set, I slammed the trigger down and waded in for the kill. Plant particles flew everywhere as I ruthlessly razored away branches and shrubs alike. Bits and parts of vegetation stuck to my clothing as I gleefully shredded away at the hedge. The plant clung to it's existence, though, and it was a hard battle. The conflict lasted all of 10 minutes, with the eventual outcome of me standing back to admire my handiwork. Where once had stood a mighty shrub was now nothing more than debris. As I stood there, battleworn and weary, a little girl walked up to me. "Hey Mister, why did you have to kill that bush? It was pretty." she said, starting up at me with big brown eyes. I looked back at her, covered in the cool sap of the bush - and I had no answer. Why did I kill the bush? It certainly hadn't done anything to me - I was just following orders. A nazi stormtrooper breaks down the the door to a jewish house, shooting all the inhabitants in the name of Fascism. As he's leaving a little girl walks up to him and asks him "Why did you have to kill those people? They were nice." The soldier can't think of a reply. He was just following orders. I turned around, trudged back to the house with a heavy heart, and hung up the weedeater, then sat and thought for quite a while on relative evil.

The story behidn this is that I am currently 7 classes behind what I need to graduate, and that's if I pass all the normal school classes. My only hope to graduate on time with my class is to give up my friends, and my family and move an hour away so that I can go to school at a different school district and use a program they have that will let me pass. If I don't do it, there really isn't a second chance, this is my only chance to make up for screwing up for so long.

I've messed up again, over all these years Through trouble and through pain I've let things slide and then been left behind Because of my lack to forsee my fate But now I see what I'll have to do Give it my all, forever. If I don't do what I say I'll do now I might as well throw it all away I won't go gently into that dark night I won't let my life be in vain I'll fight and toil just to reclaim my spot At the head of the fastest lane I slacked off in school, let my grades go to seed And in the end, it strangled me I let things go, didn't look ahead And I took my lessons in bravery And now I'm taking my lessons and putting them to work They'll only really work for me My time has come, to take a stand Against cycles and destiny No, I won't go gently into that dark night I won't let it all go down the drain I'll scratch my way back to sunny days And a life more free of pain No I'll never go gently into that dark night Where the path is certain and tame I'll hack my way to a new destiny I'll weather the storm and the rain

Woohoo! Someone wrote something - very good poem, Sorciere.

Hmm, here's another interesting little idea of mine, in celebration of the return of Archmage. Here's how it goes, in a very M:tGish kind of way, pick a color and write using that color. Here's the twist tho, look at the color wheel. White-Green-Red-Black-Blue-White 'Friendly' colors are the ones directly next to your chosen color in the color wheel. IE: White is your chosen color - Green and Blue are your friendly colors. Black is your chosen color - Blue and Red are your friendly colors. 'Enemy' colors are the two directly across from you on the color wheel, or the ones that are 2 or 3 spots away in either direction. Basically the colors that aren't adjacent to yours. IE: Blue is your chosen color, Red and Green are your Enemy colors. Green is chosen - Black and Blue are your enemy colors. In your poem, write making your friendly colors seem good and the enemy colors seem horrid - symbolism is important as always. Legions of the undead can represent black, Angels can represent white, etc etc, or you can use actual colors, just let your imagination run with it! This is actually more Magic-the-gathering-oriented than I wanted, but use your imagination, just keep in mind the different colors and you'll do find. Have fun!

Hmm...1/1 penguins...bah too much Magic: The Gathering! happy birthday Tas!

*turns the nearest firehose on Wyvern* Happy birthday, Nyyark.

Love is a hole in your defenses, where great pain can leap through.

Hmm...I wonder what'll take for me to reach Bard - that's as high as I'm aiming, really.

Happy birthday, Z-Man!

Well this poem certainly is strange, written in AAAB format and all except for the first and last stanzas. Also, written about the end of the school year Almsot finished - our school year ran late this year. Teacher strike last summer. It's the end of the year And everyone's full of fear 'Cause it's finally here The end of the year I'm starting to sweat Falling deeper in debt And I'm full of regret As I shed a tear A tender bite on the ear While I'm holding my dear As our souls grow near Near the end of the year I'm working the soundboard A treasured sound-hoard My fingers fly over the keyboard As I help usher in cheers It's the end of the year And everybody's sere And the sky is so clear It's the end...of the year.

Err - wow. I didn't know it was your birthday ;; I feel so stoopid. Anyway, congratulations, Elder - and have a wonderful life

Caryon is kind of like Urza - The funny thing is the day AFTER I created Caryon's character, I read the Invasion M:tG book, giving me my first look at Urza - so in fact I didn't copy him ;; even though it does seem like I did, which disappoints me. >_> Caryon isn't a machine himself - otherwise he wouldn't be able to have the Artificer's Touch - he needs to be alive for that. Also, I don't remember Urza creating a songbird, but it wouldn't surprise me - though I do hate to seem like I'm copying him Caryon is a very different character from my norm. I specifically didn't describe him a lot, which is my normal writing style, but it detracts from the story. Lassinger is actually more of my normal character - thin, pale and evil. Caryon is fairly well-built and tan, kind of a strange look for one of my characters, and I've always pictured him wearing a vest and some leather pants (his climate is very warm, no shirt under the vest) with a shock of black or brown hair and some goggles riding on his head. Strange to write without Falcon, Cioden or William, but it's probably a good thing.

This is so great! It's like a Hitch-hiker's Guide To The Galaxy thing! This is so cool!

I write because I have to. I remember when I started reading one day - It was magic to me. I knew then that I had to write - I told my mom that I wanted to be a writer, and I have just gotten better. The Artificer's Touch - My latest work, and one that I'm fairly proud of. I don't believe that everyone can write - if nothing else, it helps fuel my elitist egotist inside and makes me feel special I've learned to communicate with people - to learn what drives people, to learn when to be stern and when to pour my soul into a conversation. I can be as cold as a stone or burn with a fiery that inflames others and drives to a goal. But if you're not willing to put enough effort into it it's not going to work. So that's how it goes for me.

I would appreciate any writing response I could get on it