Kasmandre

The person above me has the most confusing name I've ever seen (not to mention the hardest to spell).

The person above me likes those darn color-changing cabbages a lot. I mean a LOT.

Kasmandre walks in, sees the grafitti, and shakes his head. "What's the world coming to these days? All hell's breaking loose. There's no order anymore." Kasmandre pulls out his shotgun with a gleam in his eye that's not quite, well, sane. "Looks like I'll have to make some order." He stalks off, searching for something to shoot. ooc: Nice. I really like the idea, something we can have fun with. I can't wait to see what you post next, Rune.

Life is like a burrito. I'm not sure exactly how, but it is. Chipotle wouldn't be able to make such delicious burritos if they weren't somehow related to the meaning of life. Crap. Now I'm hungry.

Zool, do your first and third lines have anything to do with one another?

Ah, I understand now. I think that I've got one: There is beer but no wine in the land of the doubles. There are wigglies abounding, but no place for my shotgun. But despite both of these, in this land there's no troubles. The walls are all gapped, but the walls have no holes. But this I won't find in the land of the doubles. There isn't any money and there always are tolls. Beginnings, no ends, in the land of the doubles. I'm a poet and I didn't even know it.

Congratulations on surviving your 'experiment'. I don't think I'd be brave enough to even try it.

Daryl's request was quickly answered, because, about two seconds later, a portly man in moderately fine clothes (less fine than they had been before the raid, owing to the fact that he and John shared a common reaction to the fight) came over with a small kitchen knife. "What in the gods' name is going on here?" he screached, then he saw the werefox and tigertaur and turned several shades paler. Daryl recognized him almost instantly. It was the merchant from the tavern two nights ago. Quickly, Daryl transformed back into human form. "You- you- you're-" the merchant gibbered. "Yes," Daryl answered, "I'm a werefox. And despite what you might think about my kind, I'm not going to kill you. After all, we just went through the trouble of saving your caravan. My friend and I were just searching for any remaining bandits. It would help if you could tell us what they might have been after and where we might find it." "You- you're... Magic!" the merchant spat that last word, as if it were a curse. "Get away from my wagons!! You'll have none of my goods. Get ye gone!!!!" Darly batted the guard aside and grabbed the merchant by his lapels. "We. don't. want. your. merchandice. We just want to know what those bandits were after." "Guards! Help me!!" the merchant shouted. In a quieter voice he whispered to Daryl, "You think you can intimidate me? We've got enough silver weapons to take care of your kind." Daryl threw him to the ground. "Fine. Have it your way. We should have just left your wagons burn to the ground. Come on Katzaniel." The pair started to walk out of the wagons. --Meanwhile-- Usagi and Sheemie had left to search the other side of the wagon circle, leaving Kasmandre and John alone with the package. John was waiting intently to see what was inside. "John, why don't you search the bodies? See if you can't find yourself a weapon." One of the last things Kasmandre wanted was to see John armed - he didn't trust the fool by a long shot, and not just because of what he thought he had seen on cloak that first night. He didn't want John armed, but he also didn't want John to see what the bandits had been after. Whatever John really was, he wasn't to be trusted. Kasmandre instinctively knew that, like a mouse knows a snake. Grudgingly, John went over to the nearest of the bodies and began searching. But as soon as Kasmandre went around the side of the side of the wagons, John stood back up and followed as quietly as possible. Carefully, he glanced around the side, hoping that Kasmandre wouldn't be looking. He wasn't. He was standing with his back mostly to John, but John could see around him just enough to see the package as Kasmandre opened it. Slowly, Kasmandre unwrapped it, revealing its contents. Inside the package was a small stack of leather bound books. John could see that something was stamped or burned on the cover of each one, but he couldn't tell what. Kasmandre whispered something then went over to his horse and hid the books in his saddlebags. Then he walked over to the nearest wagon and stuffed whatever matter of junk he could pull out into the package. He went back around the side of the wagon, sending John running for the nearest body. When Kasmandre reached him, he tossed the package down, saying, "It just looks like random junk to me, see if it means anything to you." Then Kasmandre left to find the others.

In this time of sadness, we must remember these recently passed as well as all those who go forth into the void of space in the constant ambition of discovery. Those that perish in this noble pursuit will truely never be forgotten as long as there are men who gaze into the stars and dream. My prayers go out to these brave souls who have passed as well as those who must bear the tragedy of their passing. May God be with us.

Kasmandre begins firing wildly at anyone and anything that he sees. :wigglycabbage: :wigglycabbage: "Yee-hah!!!"

Kasmandre sneaks in wearing safari gear. He whispers into the camera in a bad Austrailian accent. "Today on 'Wiggly Hunter', we're tracking the wily and elusive wiggly cabbage. Now, a wiggly cabbage is a very dangerous creature, easily the most venomous cabbage in the world." Kasmandre begins sneaking up on a wiggly cabbage. "Now, the wiggly cabbage is very easy to spot due to its, um, wiggliness, and its ranbow coloring. Ain't it a 'beaut! Now, I'm just going to sneak up behind this one and wrestle it to the ground." Kasmandre sneaks a little closer. Unfortunately, it's very hard to tell which end of a wiggly cabbage is the "behind." Kasmandre picked wrong. The wiggly cabbage leaps up onto Kasmandre and they begin to wrestle. Despite the size difference, the cabbage seems to be winning. Kasmandre begins screaming, the fake accent gone. "AHHHHHHH!!!! Get it off me get it off me get it off me get it off me get it off me get it off me get it off me get it off me get it off me get it off me get it off me get it off me get it off me get it off me get it off me get it off me get it off me get it off me get it off me!!!!! Bill, get my shotgun!!! Bill?" The camera falls over, giving us a view of Bill running away.

Kasmandre screamed from under a pile of burning wiggly cabbages. "No!! No more burning!! No more cabbage!!! Someone get me a shotgun!! Hanna, get me a shotgun smiley!! Please, someone, HELP!!!"

I do most of my RPing here, although, I've recently discovered computer RPGs (unfortunately, I also have discovered homework, so I can't afford to get into any for a while, ugh). I was never any good at Risk. Whenever I played with my family, everyone decided that I was the biggest threat and needed to be crushed. Now I play Diplomacy. No dice, just conquer Europe using limited resources. You have to work together with other nations. Unfortunately, I'm worse at that than I was at Risk. People just like to pound on me.

Very nice. An entertaining and uplifting piece for the holiday season.

I write to get the stories out of my head. As long as I can remember, I've had different narratives running through my head. Writing is basically my way of cleaning house, moving the old aside to make way for the new. And every once in a while, there's a story that's just burning to get out or an image that needs to be scribbled down, and I can't think properly about anything else until I commit it to paper (or a hard drive). As for why I'm here...I tried to leave once and I kinda ground to a halt. I think that whatever muscle that you use for writing needs to be exercised, needs to be used in different ways to prevent it from getting lax. The Pen (especially the RPs) help me to do this. This place is my muse.

While Vincent was recovering from his *injuries*, Sardin was trying to catch his breath after almost being crushed. Forcing air into his body, Sardin slowly stood. He unsheathed his remaining sword (the other having been lost to Vincent's hand), and took a wavering defensive stace. The cut down the center of his chest had almost completely stopped bleeding, simply oozing a little around the wound. Smiling grimly, Sardin called some of the sand up to his chest and used it to form a kind of paste with his blood, creating a rather long scab. It stopped the bleeding, but it did little for the shock of pain that came each time Sardin forced air into his lungs. Fortunately, the pain was of a low enough level that Sardin could ignore it almost entirely. ooc: looks like we both took a turn to recover, although, I wonder who's injury was the worse of the pair...

Hey, guess what? This story's going to be published in NU's literary magazine. I submitted it way back in November, but, when I didn't get any responce for about a month, I posted it here to get some feedback. Well, about two days ago, I got an e-mail saying that it was accepted! Kinda surprising. It isn't a huge deal, it's just this little mag that gets sent out to the students and stuff, but, hey, it seems pretty cool to me.

Well, most of my horror-type writing carries a strong influence from Stephen King, seeing as I've read far too much of his stuff for anyone's good . Occasionally, I write some bizarre satire (none of which I've posted here yet), that seems to me to be a little like Kurt Vonnegut (but that's just my ego talking). Most of my rping here and Kasmandre's backstory carries some elements of Robert Jordan (not nearly as complex, though).

Kasmandre rode up next to Griever. "Thanks for the assist, but in the future, consider not torching a forest we have to ride through." With this said, Kasmandre reached out a hand and the fires began to die down. He looked around at the other members of the party. No one appeared to be seriously injured, and the bandits appeared to have all been slain or fled (the former being much more likely). But something wasn't right. Katzaniel caught on first as she changed into tigertaur form. "Where's John?" she asked. Meanwhile, inside the wagon circle, John was slowly emerging from underneath one of the wagons. Then he saw one of the "dead" bandits moving and he quickly retreated back into his hiding spot. The bandit was bleeding from several places and he had no use of his right leg, which was mangled to a severe degree. But this wasn't stopping him from reaching his goal, which apparently was the very wagon John was hiding under. With a supreme effort, the bandit managed to climb up onto the wagon and began sorting through the goods there, looking for something. After a minute, John heard a small sound of triumph and the bandit started moving toward one of the abandoned horses, a small bundle in his arms.

His breath being squeezed out of his body by Vincent's massive hands, Sardin does the only thing he can: He kicks Vincent in the balls. Over and over and over again. ooc: Normally, my posts would be longer because I'd be including the thoughts of the character and some dialogue, but Sardin really doesn't talk much and he acts more on instinct than actual thought.

No, I'm sorry, but quitting isn't allowed. Get yer a$$ back in here.

Sardin dodged out of the way of the charging berkster. As Vincent passed him, Sardin swung his sword downward in a two-handed grip in an attempt to ham-string his opponent.

Noting Vincent's reach advantage with the spear, Sardin sheathed his left sword and took a stace with his remaining sword parallel to the ground and his left hand in the small of his back. He then brought his sword up and down, sending it toward Vincent's head, hoping to draw his attention upward, while he unsheathed a heavy dagger and threw it at Vincent's right leg.

Kasmandre was the name I used the first time I played Archmage. After a few days of getting my ass handed to me, I found the Conservatory and started a story based on my mage. As for how I came up with the name in the first place, I just kinda thought up something random and it stuck.