Vigil StarGazer

yah! Three cheers for Purple fuzzies!

Pretty good Imagery... it seems you almost are an elf in a forest *lol* and i liked this line: It's definately emotiona... but on a deeper level.. You are loving someone, but you are also alone.

Geld: Geld is the currency of the world of Terra where the epical battles of archmage takes place. A geld is a usually a gold coin with the containment of 99.99% gold. It weights 1 kartz. Many different places have different shape, size, stamping of geld from crudely bits and pieces of untampered rocks to elogant crafted circilar stampings with elogant design to little gold leaflets carved in the shape of leaves. It was noted however that there is constant inflation in the Terra despite the rarity of gold in the land of Terra. This is mostly blamed on the archmages due to their specific method of "gelding". See Gelding Gelding: a specific command of archmage to raise their geld revenue in a short period of time. While there is supposely a strict amount of geld in current circulation many mages have bypassed that to such an effect that inflation averages about 1791.35% per day, or an average of 13% per turn. Inflation has been caused by mages's bidding war for resources in the black market hense increases the prices of goods dramatically. The problem of inflation is that it caused an uneven distribution of wealth as archmags collect more geld, making price of good rises while the average peasant makes around the same amount of geld. This will cause a decrease in the peasant's purchasing power as their pay could buy less and less of the good in markets, where sellers continue to raise their price. The different methods of gelding: :wizzie: Usually mages collect only taxes on their peasant's income to substain their kingdom. However when presseed into raising their income, archmages resoure to the more evil practices of gelding. Perhaps the most basic yet mystical method of gelding is the Phantasmal mages's alchemy skills. Using their evil magic, diciples of the Phantasmal magic mell together useless scrap of metal, rearrange their atomic structures to compress into a tighter bond changing basic metallic into a more dense complex stucture... or gold. While the nether's mages method of gelding is less effective, it is notorius due to its brutality. Nether magic requires a lot of huamn sacrifice to substain its power, and while the nether's mage's troops cries "bring out yer dead" they also looted their possession as well. Like Mafia, underlings of the nether mages lend out their geld at a high interest rate, and then forcing the victim to pay up with interest. It is noted that even if the victim managed to paid up his wife and daughter will still end up being sold to the harem or become street prostitutes, his sons as slaves and himself as another zombie in their numberless legions of the undead. Eradication Mage's also employ the mafia's methods of geld making, but another one of their well known methods is to use of their magic to stur up the earth. As a result huge geographical disbalance arise in any land that happened to have an eradication mage in reign. The air is always fulled with sulphur and the earth is constantly covered with ashes. A volcano eruption often spill up enought gold substances to be refined later into geld or otherwise sought after minerals. Any debtor's happened to be in the path of the burning lava is counted as a plus. Finally the most ingenious and cruel method of gelding is from the hands of the acendancy mages: Unlike other archmages, the acendancy method of gelding is not magical at all. Acendancy mages often build up their image as a goodie goodie trustie guardian of the land and then establish for themselves a banking institute. Millions of the guileless pesants deposit their cash into supposely safe hands. Even at a plus, acendancy mages turn out and give their client interest on their deposits. However since not every peasant will withdraw all their geld at once, acendnacy mages often draw geld out of their bank and use it as their own. Worst, the acendancy mages turn around and lend to the same ppl at a higher interest, and the econoy turn around... the loaner purchase their good with their loan, and geez where do their sellers put their geld? right back into the bank for the acedancy mage to loan out again at an overchange interest rate. Geld seems to come out of nowhere in an acedancy mage's books, and acendnacy mages are opprobrious for their moral-less gelding method.

Hail brute, son of Satan the fallen angel of pride and the great adversary, and the vessle of the great beast call Babylon. Within him he shall cleanse(undo)/spawn all sins. The great devour of worlds beholds his name and Brute, the anti-christ shall release the demon/angel surpressed within himself to save/destroy the universe and all that is good within. The army of darkness shall follow him, the four bikers of the apoclypse kiss thy feet; every fallen angels rally to his name and every sins bow before their primogenitor. The great progeny of darkness, bringer of the eternal end, and the bearer of the final judgement. Halt thee unto. Beware the last of the seven waves... the end is near.

i like the duelism being represented within this poem, the contrast and parallel between its subjects are excellent. Ofcourse thou we all wear mask to protect ourselves in this uncertain world. We hide our true feelings like a deep treasure... fearing for disclosure... but long for re-discovery.

While the two dedicated members of the pen, Vincent Silver and Damon Inferal continued to chat, they did not realized that something was particular about the portrait of Zool in the background. (not that a portrait of Zool isn't any particular) In fact, if you look just closely enough, you'll see the two eyes of the portrait is particularly lively. So virbrant that it looks like real eyes... "Ah ha!" a dark shadowy figured closed the slot behind the wall as silently as he could as Peredhil and his wild gang approached. Elves have sharp eyes and he dared not risked being discovered, by an ancient at least. Yet he was glad to have many secret eye and ear hole made around the pen castle, and he was particularly pleased with himself for eardropping into vincent's own conversation. Every every adventure must have its own villian... the great lord mused... and slowly he retreated back into his secret hide out to prepare...

Welcome home, Ricky looking fowared to more of your post

Probe Iehova... (Prequel to Peredhil's Iehova story) Conscious has left host. Psy-activity detected inside Probe Iehova’s cerebrum. Nutrition insertion initiated, all system normal. Iehova… online. Aysumi Utada activated her ‘eyes’ and saw her old self, floating in a pool of turquoise bile behind the bio-cell. Thousands of silicon wires wrapped around a perfectly shaped body, connected to her brain and drifting freely like hair, dangled on her wrist like a wound, and spawning out of her womb like an abomination. Thousands of those wires sucking herself out of the warm body into cold magnetic disks; Thousands of her veins gathering her thoughts, through super conductive liquid to form a metamorphosis parallel to that of a creator. Aysumi’s conscious slowly observed the dark atmosphere of the underwater research center through her camera eyes. Her organic body became foreign, the team of scientist that she had worked together for almost 3 years almost seems like another species to her. In a way, they are… for she was no longer human. She is no longer the Aysumi Utada, the first bio-mechanic engineer who discovered the secrets to the human soul and is rewarded as the first subject in the Salvation project. She is no longer the technocrats leader’s daughter who pushed at every turn to advocate the Salvation project. She is no longer the rebellious daughter who against her father’s will to become to first female Jesuit. She is Iehova, and soon all creations will spawn from within her mind. The Camera eye blink again at Aysumi Utada’s former body now lifelessly twirls in the bile as they forced a 80% system shutdown forcing Iehova’s cerebrum into sleep mode. A man Aysumi Utada remember as her husband slowly touched the physical structure of Aysumi, and then the power slowly dribbled out. She is Aysumi Utada, and million of years from now her name will elevate to Godhood. A sizzle of electricity runs through her connection… on three nano second Iehova is online. Iehova began auto-boot and system analysis. She cannot physically ‘see’ the other twenty probe’s presence on the lab’s network, but could sense them connected to the laboratory network. Her boot-up procedure did not call for an initiated network scan, and her scanning of other probes did not show up on log. What’s left of her humanity had asked, “I felt them because I have created them all?” For mouths after her transmutation she had worked hard at the amelioration of the other twenty probes. Integrity shields, stellar-guilding system, and other implication she had designed where in placed with the newer probes. She felt the conscious inside the other probes also detecting her presence in the network. Some are but a gentle breeze sweeping the surface of her system while other forced their probing as far as they could reach. Aysumi’s automated defence initialized a standard 666-variation firewall changing the information flow and randomizing passcode at every gateway. If she still have eyes she would glared, but instead she alert the network of this anomy. Her plea was override as outside information flooded into her mainstream. The feeling of a million bytes of knowledge swarming into her cerebrum were both disturbing and disorienting, but Aysumi concentrated and slowly process and drew information out of her Random Access Memory. “There can be no delay,” the information flow through Aysumi’s cerebrum as if it was on a screen. “In the outside world, President of the Atlantic alliance declared war on the Slavic Union over the violation of the Neo-Warsaw pact… The Republic of Asia protest against troop movement on the neutral Kamchatka Peninsula resulting in heavy troop movement builds up along the Amur River. Satellite scanned from all three systems doubled, fearing cross-continental missile armed with nuclear warheads being launched by the opposition… all calculations indicated a “window”, a tiny gap between satellites censors at the particular time of 4:16 GMT and it is most ideal for all probe to reach atmosphere at that time. All systems are on red alert to avoid any efforts of interception; SAMs batteries, Star-wars air interception, and all ships and avian teams are on standby… Aysumi knew her time on earth was about to end when the network info-stream feed her the coordination and the course of her destined system. NGC 3324, or The Key-hole located at RA:10:37… a nebula about 9000 light years from the solar system. By the time Iehova arrived it would be developed into a single star system with a yellow dwarf sun very similar to our own. The chances of finding a planet suitable for life are the highest amongst all of the chosen destinations. Finally with all the launch data and location set, the twenty-one probes were released from the ocean floor. Air bags appear from the side of the probe, propelling the probe to slowly floating upward from the dark waters into the light. From Aysumi camera lens she could see the primitive life of the ocean floor from the simple one celled amoeba to the simple flatworm. A few beckons of light appeared in the dark from a deep-sea angler. From the underwater cliff a few starfish hangs on the edges, passing by some octopus and giant squids. Then the probe rises out of the underwater rifts to the ocean vegetations levels, where a vast underwater forest of sea urchins and coral reefs proliferated. The water slowly becomes a gentle blue as it drifted closer to the surface. Giant Jelly Fish swam in the seemingly peaceful waters while schools of fish darted around in different direction, scattering as the probe passes by. One by one the probes surfaced out of the waters to meet the dawn. A flock of seagull circled around the probes and one landed on Iehova’s outer shell, they were scarred away as the probe extends its escape rocket and readying for launch. Radio signalled the last few adjustment for wind factor and the launch is ready to be commenced. At once twenty-one blast of water splashed a million droplets into the morning skies as the probe activated its first stage launch. The probe released the heavily compressed air from the airbags, boosting the probe out of the water surface. From about 12 ft into the air the probes activated the first stage of the escape rockets. Twenty-one trail of white smoke rigged the skies as the probes are propelled into space, breaking into the fresh morning air. Just as the probes depleted and dropped the first stage of the escape rockets, sensors picked up massive signals from the direction of Vladivstok, Panama, and the Port off neo-Tokyo. The three powers must have picked up the launch signal and are heading their way to intercept the probe. It is estimated that it would be 4 hours before the first group arrived to the launch site. All fighters have been launched in circular formation to guard the probe’s path. All personale are notify not to open fire unless under attack. In approximately 4 hours the probe will begin its third stage launch and once the probe reached 10,000 attitudes it would be safe from enemy fire. After a brief announcement from Admiral Himishia of the East Pacific fleet broadcast a demand to cancelling the unauthorized launch as per the Zodiac Treaty, the shutdown of all defence systems around the parameter, and the surrender of all military personale. After the silent non-compliance the battle begins. The first wave of attacks was long-range bombardment from enemy tie-fighters. The technocults launched a shower of chaffes and disruptive lasers to nullified all incoming missiles. Then the group of tie-fighters made it first past through the chaffed field and launched its stinger missile. The superior but outnumbered technocults were forced to break formation and return fire. The Asian Republic began launching its bombers when another un-identified fleet arrived. The Slavic Union fleet took the chance to attack the unprotected air carriers of the Asian Republic. Rather then recalling the tie-fighters, the Asian Republic fleet charged full steam into the chaffed field. While substaining some heavy damage on some of its cruisers along with the loss of a few bombers, the fleet is now relatively safe from aerial attacks. As the Mig-32 followed into the static field they realized they could no longer locked on target. The battleships returned fire with its 18-inch diameter guns along with the return swipe of the tie-fighters took down most of the cumbersome Mig fighters. More Mig-45s were launched from an undetected stealth carrier heading toward the probes. The technocult’s air force was not prepared for the brutal assault. Still they protected their objective and shielded the worst of the missile volley from the probes. Fighters from all three sides dropped like flies as the three-way battle continued. The probes themselved initiated their integrity shield if they have them and began evasive manoeuvres. Still Hermes, Odin, and Loki had sustained some heavy damage, while Shiva, Vishnu, and Osiris also took some glancing scratches on its surface from a stray missile. Then it happened, the missile had struck Probe Osiris was on its second stage fuel tank. At once the liquid nitrogen contacted the helium tank and begin a chain reaction that would cause a tremendous explosion. On the last second the conscious inside Osiris send a burst of electro-magnetic wave of goodbye toward the rest of the probe, then it reversed its compulsion toward a few incoming missiles. In one spectacular explosion the titanium shelled probe, along with the conscious and the unborn hopes of cultivating life on the Altair system were gone. Shiva was on the outskirt of the probes when a barrage of gunfire took her. She moved from position to position until a trail of white smoke leaked from her exterior. Eventually she went down like a fallen comet. The probe themselves had about 4,000 meter to climb when the fourth fleet arrived. The United Atlantic Alliance fired a rocket-class missile toward the mist of the dogfights. A huge mushroom cloud rose from the air taking out most of everything in the area. The cloud created a rush of air current directly below the probes, and Hermes were knocked off-course while the rest of the probes were all cringed. The Alliance launched their F-24 shadow-wraiths to mob up the job as the Slavic Union’s force retreated. 19 laser-guided patriot missile fired toward the probe’s direction, all missed by a feet as the probe entered the final stage of the launch and propelled itself out of earth’s atmosphere. The missile stalled, some exploded in mid air while others tracked the remaining target, Hermes. 9 missiles coming at different direction and at once the probe explored into a giant fireball...

*hands Loki Wyrd a cute lil fuzzy purple giraffe for the good work done*

fighting evil with evil... this reminds me of a quote "it's the big dog that beats down the small dog... and then the small dog's bro bring down the house with his doggie buddies and beat down on big dog.. and then it's the bruised big dog that's saying 'da sh!t world'.... anyways... i can't imagine Regel the eleven year old fat kid ... and i can't imagine regel standing up against a 16 year old kid... and then getting beat up... I mean... grab a stick, get a plastic bag.. sneak up behind the richard guy and put the huge garbage bag over him and then kick him down and knock him senseless.. and none would be the wiser.. but hey.. 11 year old kids can be dumb.. when i was 11 year old i was the joke of the school because I can't take care of business yo... so anyways... good story... childhood bring back lots of memories

*Hugs* Women can't let go of their loved ones... eventhought you don't love them anymore, you remember you loved them onces. For a man, a faded love is a thing of the past and moved on... for a women... the love is a cherished memory that becomes you. Love is a funny thing... you remeber loving them, and then one day you woke up and realized you don't love them anymore... maybe its because you went by without thinking about him for a long time and it suddenly hit you that you forgot all about him... maybe its when you stared at a necklace and wonder where it came from when you realized he gave it to you in a time you don't know when... you can feel love, you can feel the hurt and the pain.. but even when that's gone.. you know you don't love them anymore... I wanted to know where love came from and where did it go when it leaves. But each time it comes so suddenly.. you tried to grab it but it fades int the mist... and then it's gone.

Fate is a cruel puppeteer The strings are always tangled here is a handsome little boy who's too idealistic about love and there's the pretty girl who dreams about sweet romance but their paths diverge from there. The boy stood here waiting cultivating himself, watching he becomes dense and deep working his way to the world hoping to be the perfect man The girl samples life like a dish jumping from one man to the next lures them into her arms, sucking them high and dry She likes them fresh and fun. Until she met the perfect match the player, slick as a slug ruthless as a bully or street punk pretending to be all that just like her. All this happen, while the boy gazed and seeks, becoming geek no chances anywhere, "he was so lame," they said. girls don't play for keeps The player and the silly girl, have the love of their life emotional screams, passionate, beastal make-ups steamy action until she's used and sore. They eventually broke up and now the girl's turning 30 that special age of bridal needs and that's when fate interwined suddenly all eyes turned to homeboy the boy got a steady job, and he looks the steady type. quiet and shy, can't talk or lie the type you can bring home and trust him to just stay there. boy meet girl again, but boy's no tool. where's he when they had all the fun? now as they begin to drown old and saggy, they swim toward him grabbing him like a life-saving charm. and what the boy learned, being single from all these years. 'Solitude can no longer hurt you,' he said. But the idea of a 30 year old women, screwed by the whole town, and now drooling over your savings account. Now that certainly can kill you.'

On top of the balcony in the courtyard by the little bush where Inspector Clueless always seems to hide, a dark humanoid-like stature cast his looming shadows by the moonlight. The mild night wind fluttered his cloak gently as a white subtle hand held on to the trim of the cloth. Only a pair of sharp wintry eyes revealed itself in the mask of obscurity. Words were drifting into his well-trained ears, and the lord could almost risk a chuckle. The Great Lord had a pint of remorse for not been paying too close attention to the happenings of the pen. The Lord should have caught wind on This Scantavia brothers incident earlier, not that he’s really ga…homose…of unusual sexual preference, but this is pretty opportunity for the lord to fill up espies on the members of the pen. Moreover, there could be a remote slim chance to stir up a war between the male and females of the pen, surreptitiously fuel by one mysterious figure. “Women…” the dark mysterious gave a whispering sighed to the nothingness before him, his thoughts drowned in some painful memories. His thoughts drifted from a nameless familiar face to the more recent faces of the pen. An icy savouring of fear overcame him as the image of Tzimfemme sprang into his mind; that Tzimfemme gave him the shivers. If Canid was here perhaps he could invoke payback her for all the time she chased him until he was breathless and then bite him with her sharp fangs… and he certainly have plans for Tralla. At least he got a list of usual suspects in mind. The dark mysterious figure closed his eyes once again to concentrate on the verbal exchanges from below, trying to find out Wyvern’s brilliant doomed-to-fail-failing scheme. Even as the Lord listen he thought of his own adaptation to the overgrown lizard’s plan, and it involved something in between dangling the Scantavian Brother by the toes by a chain made out of tampons onto a pool of acidic nail-polish removers to a bunch of female penners shrieking in dismay. The notorious lord will most assuredly spend some time to ponder, ponder yes indeed.

Prequel “Move it, quickly!” The ominous voice spoke with a desperate edge from inside the green hood. The tension was slightly increased, if there wasn’t enough tension for one day already, but Santarel could not help but continue to trample across the knee deep snow, pushing ahead with all their strength and then some, moving silently away from their pursuer hoping their will escape. But they all knew it was no use, as the dwarven crafter Thargar said, “blind human could follow their tracks!” and their pursuer are not blind, and they are definitely not human. A shoveling noise in the snow is behind Santarel and a hand grabbed him. He turned around; ready to draw his sword when he realized it was one of his companions. “Santarel, I can’t go on. Just go… without me.” It was Tartri, dressed in his thin white robes. His face has also become as white as his robes and the snow on the ground. “Leave him.” Uttered a dark cloaked figure as he looks down at the young robed man. ”Or else well all perish.” “Solacruise,” Santarel set his luminous green eyes on the black cloaked figure. “We are not leaving anyone behind.” Santarel though he caught a smile behind the man’s dark hood. “Then I guess we better help him.” Slowly the two of them place Tartri’s arms on their shoulder as they supported the fragile young man up his feet and half-carry, half-dragged his body through the snow. “Hush…” Thargar whispered as he suddenly stop in front of them. Tartri placed his arms and lean on the shorter dwarf. This annoyed the dwarf, but he was too nervous to care. “I don’t see…” Solacruise said and then grew speechless. Five of ‘them’ was just about to ambush them. Seeing their prey not falling for their trap they rushed them instead. Two of them going headfirst, two coming out from the side, and one tried to circle from the back. “What are these things?!?” Shouted Solacriuse. Santarel has seen them burned down and raided their village, massacring their friends and neighbor in the night. He woke his remaining friends before the band of pillager reached their homes. He saw only their blur images in the night and now he saw then clearly in the dawning daylight. They have humanoid shapes, but they stood seven and a half feet tall with sickly yellow skins. That alone was horrible enough, but the true horror was on their face. It was twisted, as if they tear off their face with their own claws. Santarel could hear Solacruise muttered continuously like a broken record, saying “tell me this is just a bad dream, tell me this is just a bad dream…” [SIZE=7]Chapter 1[/size] Magic, Elven Blood, and a bloody Map “Ack-Aumn-Elissim-CigaM.” A familiar muttering of arcanic words came out of Tartri’s mouth as he pointed his finger toward the on-charging brute. Three missiles dart toward one of them. Smoke and yellow ooze drips from its wounds as the yellow giant fell soundlessly to the snow. The rest of attackers seem shocked, as they growl in unintelligent language and fearing the white robbed figure. Santarel was shocked as well as he looked at the maggots coming out from its wounds, devouring the body. In no time covering every inch of that yellow flesh. “Santarel, look out!” Solacriuse’s voice wakens him from his horror as another one of them attacks him from the side. A heavy fist sank into his guts painfully. Another punch could have landed on Santarel and snapping his spine if not for Thargar’s timely swing of his war-hammer, hitting the attacker squarely on its face. Solacruise is battling with another, trying to avoid its heavy blows. The flesh colossus has knocked down few trees, and might have knocked down Solacruise too, if not for the young man’s guileful evasive skills and a bit of luck. A few of Solacruise’s daggers stick uselessly on to the yellow tinted skin like bee stings on a bear. Santarel jabs his sword instinctively as he saw a flash of yellow. The sword penetrated the unnatural skin easily, but as he pulled out his sword he realized that the yellow ooze begins to corrode his sword. Thargar’s hammer fell another as Solacruise circled the big humanoid and stabbed its exposing spine. The dagger’s blade vanished immediately, dissolved by the yellow ooze, but the giant felt nevertheless by the stunning blow. Maggots came out of the back of its neck and begin to cover the body like a black funeral sheet. Quickly Santarel wiped his sword with the snow, hoping to stop the acidic corrosion, and the sheathed his sword. “Come,” he said to his shocked friends. “We must get out of here before more of them start coming after us.” They marched on the whole day without another incident. For two days they traveled on quietly, marching into towns and villages, finding nothing by burnt houses and dead bodies instead. From the ruins they could find little food and even less solace. Tartri noticed a half-naked female corpse. He averted his eyes; grabbing a nearby cloth from a ruined house he covered the body and closed her eyes. “Santarel! Come here.” In response he dashed toward the voice, as did the others. In a caved in house he found Thargar with another body. However this one appears to be alive still, to his dismay. One of his hands was torn off from his body, literally. Ligaments are still attacked to the joints, which is made visible by the wound. The rest of his body lay trapped under a pile of rubble. It was a surprise how he lived that long. The man’s eyes grew wide but gives off a dying light. Both Tartri and Solacruise were more then shocked. They have seen the dead, the wounds were gruesome, but the origin of their surprise came not from the wounds by the face itself: Soft cheekbones pointed ears, luminous emerald eyes. It was the face of an elf. “Help… me.” “We will,” Santarel tried to comfort the man. The injured elf raised his eyes with his last effort, and then his eyes widen in recognition to Santarel. “A fellow kin! What is our elven blood in this part of the world?” “Long story.” Santarel replied shortly, blushing because his heritage is revealed to his companions and at the same time brushing away old memories. There is no time for embarrassment or old torments Santarel though. The man got moments to live. “Well, my elven friend.” The dying man’s spoke softly in elven as he handed Santarel a crunched up piece of paper. “Take this to ‘The Warmth Tavern’ a warrior and a cleric will pass by on the seventh day. Take them out of that place and away from danger!” “Take them where?” Santarel retorted in elven, a language he was forever banned from speaking. For a moment his felt the old pain returning to him. Why this? Why now? He put aside his thoughts and looking for a reply from his kin. None came. The man was dead. They all fell speechless, and begin to seek shelter to rest of the night. Solacruise announced that he found the cellar of what used to be the inn, with kegs of wine and beer. Thargar muttered something about “dead man’s beer” and refused to even have a drop of it. Solacruise drank some and salute it to the dead. Santarel pour some of the stronger alcohol on the dismembered dead bodies and light them up with fire. As he watched the bodies being disposed of he observed Tartri. The white robed young man found a place under a burnt wall and begins to read from his spellbook. Tartri is a magic user, an apprentice of the strange arcane arts, but Santarel also know Tartri studies magic as a scholar studies history. Tartri had never used his magic to kill, until yesterday. That must have frightened the wits out of him. Slowly Santarel edged toward the mage, hoping not to disturb him. To Santarel’ surprise Tartri turned as if he was expecting his already. Closing his spellbook he was cursed to study from everyday he looked upon the elf, waiting for him to speak. “They seem to fear your magic.” Santarel patted the young man on his shoulder, and then started to feel the pain in his ribs after that heavy blow from two days ago. Tartri smile in an odd amusement and then shook his head. “No, they do not fear. Not in that way.” Tartri paused, and then continue. “They fear it as if it was something they never seen before. Like natives seeing guns firing at them back before the sundering.” “Sundering, old myths.” Santarel smiled, and then seeing the seriousness in the mage’s eyes he swallowed and continued. “At least they….” Santarel begins speaking again, but the mage cuts him off. “No, they will not for long. Have you pondered how we could have killed those things easily? They knocked down trees with bare fists. They could have easily strangled the air out of us like those corpses that laid there.” Tartri pointed to the burning pile of corpses that Santarel is burning to preventing it from being eaten by the birds. The flame flickers softly in the cold winter night. “Do you mean they have never really fought before? That they are mindless?” “Yes, They particularly ran into your sword and just striking witlessly. Though I doubt that will last for long. They will begin to learn and assimilate what they learn, I fear.” “And you have made your first kill.” Santarel said appreciatively, but then he detected a fear in the mage’s eyes and a slight trembling of Tartri’s hands. “I do not know, Santarel. I study magic with no ambition at heart. Do you know I could barely remember the spell at that moment? I was trembling, panicking, almost fainting…” “And?” “Something inside me spoke the word, and the next thing I know was that he laid there dead.” The mage felt silent. Santarel begins to ponder, and then wanting to ask the mage some questions. What are these things they are fighting against? What is the incident with the dying man all about? He was hoping for an answer that the young man could not possibly give. He was willing to ask anyways, but when he turned back to Tartri, the mage had already departed. Waking up gloomily just before sunrise, Santarel sat beside a burned post that used to support a house and begin to ponder. I could never though he could get into this mess. What could one crunched piece of paper have any relationship with the sudden appears of these seven feet tall yellow skinned pillaging giants? Ever since he left the Aspen woods he had tried to live a normal life. Well, things haven’t been exactly been normal with Thargar, Tartri, and Solacruise. However, this was catastrophic! To think that suddenly one day you have your home burned down to the ground and the whole world seems to be in aches next. Angrily he hurled a stone into the lake. It chipped across the half-frozen water twice, and then sank into the oblivion. “So,” said Solacruise suddenly appears out of nowhere. “What is in that piece of paper?” Santarel hand it to Solacruise to satisfy his curiosity. Solacruise twiddle his thumbs and smiles happily at first, but then his grin turned to a disappointed frown. “It is just a bunch of scribbles!” he exclaimed. “Is this a bad joke?” “Trust me,” replied the elf. “A dying elf never lies, or in this case ‘makes bad jokes’.” Remember about the dying elf’s last word Solacruise spoke. “The Warm Tavern is in Trestle. I know a quick route there.” Offered Solacruise as he handed back that piece of paper back to Santarel. He would have kept it if it was some royal letter or a treasure map, and since it was neither it holds no value to him. Solacruise also tries to remember about his trip to Trestle and how it ended up. He seemed to forget that on his last visit he was chased out of town by Trestle’s guards when he was caught robbing the mayor’s house and seducing his daughter at the same time. “I guess we should be headed there at once. Seven days are just about enough time to get there.” “And with all that yellow giants along the road, we would be luck if we arrived in one piece!” Thargar roared. “Think, Santarel. How are we going to get pass them?” “Do not worry about that, my dwarven friend. I have my ways.” Solacruise grin mischievously. Santarel looks toward Tartri, who listens to this conversation silently while drinking the icy cold water. Tartri looks back and apparently shrugged. Santarel sighs, slowly picking up his packs and followed Solacruise into the darkness. Chapter 2 “The Seven days of nightmare” Thargar refers to Solacruise’s secret path as “The Six days of nightmare” although they could only remember a few details during that trip. Solacruise led them right into the middle of a bayou and after a day of restless travelling. Tartri remembered Thargar cursing that they are running to nowhere, walking around in circles. They could never sleep in the night as they heard large fearful shadows swooped pass their camp and strange sounds emitting in the depth of the never-ending darkness. Thargar accidentally sank into one of the swamps on the second day and they pulled the dwarf just quickly enough before a dark tentacle made a lung for its would-be dinner. Santarel though he saw a mouth with jagged teeth appears on the surface of the water, and quickly hurried the companions on their way. On the fourth day thronged vines tangled Tartri’s foot and pulled the young man straight up into the air, leaving him hanging him upside down. The vine begins to suck the blood out of Tartri’s foot, drinking the blood and feeding on its warmth. Santarel had to cut Tartri down. The vine was coated with a hallucinating poison that left Tartri feebleminded for the rest of the trip. They all remembered walking passed a field lay with white, membranous spheres on the fifth day. “What are these things?” Solacruise asked as he gave one of those spheres a poke. It was surprisingly soft and slimy. “Don’t you know?” the dwarf retorted. “You said you’ve been here!” “Not in this time of the year,” Solacruise jabbed back. “It must be a seasonal pheromone.” “It’s the eggs of an eleven-feet tall armored worm.” Tartri replied softly. “A eleven-feet what?” Solacruise asked sarcastically. “How do you know?” Thargar turned to the mage. Tartri smiles childishly and points to a dark shadow in fount of them. An eleven-foot tall armored worm stared back toward them with its many eyes. Santarel never saw such dark horrors in his life. The Worm has red glowing eyes on it’s entire shelled body, in its fount is a month wide open with long cilia slowly growing out from the worm’s dark hole, grabbing everything, including themselves in. Santarel cut one off as it came reaching toward him. It wiggles and then lay dismembered on the ground as dark maggots quickly surrounds the dead meat. “Everyone get out of here!” Santarel yelled, and ran as fast as possible. The rest of them didn’t wait for that command to know what to do. They are already running. Just when they are reaching out of the pool of eggs they heard the sounds of something squishy, like the sound of someone splitting an orange. Then they could see little three feet long worm-lings spawning out from the eggs, their little cilia breaking the membrane holding them and start wiggling in the air hunting for food. Tartri locked his eyes with the worm-ling. The worm-ling slowly wiggled its cilia toward Tartri thinking it was food. The mage steps closer, lured by the worm’s rounded, innocent-like eyes, begins to inspect this strange species, and would probably be nothing but dinner if not the dwarf grabbed him away. “I do appreciate your dedication for intellectual studies, but this is neither the time and place for it!” “I do appreciate your sarcastic wisdom,” Solacruise mimicry turns to a shout. “But I afraid we are all going to die!” Already a few of these worm-ling made their way out of their shell, and the mother worm is closing in. “Leap over them!” shouted Santarel. He was already killing a few of these worm-lings and eggs, newborns or not. He doesn’t believe babies are that entirely innocent, not anymore. Suddenly a loud buzzing noise filled the air. The worm-lings, with their in-born instincts, all quickly scurried to the ground as the mother-worm stood still, waiting to protect her young. “Don’t tell me this time.” Solacruise shouted before Tartri could intercede. “It’s a Six-winged blood-sucking gigantic fruit-flies with all the other horrors that will make me drop dead.” “No,” Tartri smiled gleefully, still affected by the hallucinating poison. “Many.” Solacruise looked up, and then he fainted. Santarel had to carry Solacruise out of the niche in total darkness and dragged the witless Tartri along with him. The ‘giant fruit-flies’ as Tartri termed them had blocked off all sunlight, which easily covered their escape in this natural chaos. From a-far Santarel observed the mother worm trying to covered as much worm-ling as she possibly can while the fruit-flies placing their straw-like mouth into the ground, sucking wormlings out of the nest, and battling the worm at the same time. They left without looking back to see who won. “First I almost drown in mud, and then there are blood-sucking plants, and yesterday we rang into gargantuan bugs!” The dwarf’s roar could be heard all over the bayou. “What are we going to meet today, eh? The Grim Reaper himself? ” “The right path, at last!” exclaimed Solacruise. He appears out of the woods with a few scraps on his cloak. He began to lead the rest of his friends away, making a path across the frozen ground. The rest of them were too tired or too feebleminded to complain. As they continue to follow Solacruise’s path they noticed that the ground gets firmer and firmer, and the dark forest gets thinner and thinner until they stood on a gray clear path. The bayou is nothing but distances away. “Look,” the dwarf inspected the ground, commenting. “The ground is made out of gray flat rocks!” “And with no joints.” Santarel added, and then he inspected a crack on the edge of the ground. The layer of the joint-less, smooth rocks was only an inch thick. Santarel turned and looked at Tartri. The feeble mind poison seem to worn off and he was thinking more clearly today, although he just stared at the place bewildered. “I’ve told you there is a secret path!” Solacruise announced proudly. “And no head-bashing mutants.” “I would probably choose the normal route instead! At least I won’t be eaten alive by plants and insects.” Thargar snapped. “You never knew if those yellow monsters didn’t eat people.” Solacruise retorted. “How did you made it alive passing through here last time?” Santarel cold voice was followed by a moment of silent. “Oh,” Solacruise replied. “It was a long story, you see…” Everyone’s eyes were on Solacruise. “You see. I was wrong about the secret path.” Solacruise stated innocently. “This smooth path to which you were standing on extend all the way back to our old village. It’s just that I miscalculated by about a few hundred miles and have to make a little trample over the woods instead.” Santarel’s eyes widen, but Thargar had already gone passed that. Already he was on top of Solacruise, battering the man down with his bare fist. “You what??? Are you telling me that we could have avoided all those horrors if not for your stupid error?” The dwarf’s anger was beyond words. Santarel had to pull Thargar away before he pummeled Solacruise to a bloody pulp, “Sorry.” Solacruise said with an apologetic tone of voice and a more apologetic face. The seasoned dwarf’s blows are punishing, but where it hurts was the pride. Solacruise spat out blood and muttered remorsefully. “It’s not like I wanted everyone to die.” “It’s alright, Solacruise would never have known.” Santarel patted on Solacruise’s shoulder and slowly calmed the angry dwarf. Then Santarel send Thargar away to get some fresh water. When the dwarf’s shadow disappears he turned to Solacruise. “So, how far are we now from Trestle?” “One day of climbing,” Solacruise replied surprising that no blame was laid on him. “We have to climb up the hill up there and scale down to the other side. Then we will find ourselves on the outskirts of Trestle.” Santarel nodded. His mind was never on the six days of horror at all. His thought was on the paper. Perhaps something has happened in the Aspen Woods? What if those yellow monsters are attacking his beloved homeland? He shivered at that though, and focus on what he could do. Tomorrow he will find out about the strange paper, which he kept in his hidden pocket, and hopefully get to the bottom of this. Remembering one more thing he turned toward Solacruise. “Do you know what made this path? And how?” “I guess you’ve better ask the mage, but I think the poison is still getting him.” Santarel looks as Tartri was talking to his shadows, and giggling at the same time. Santarel sighed; at least they are still alive, for now. The companions rested for the rest of the day, and decided to make their climb by night. Tartri has awakened from his bewilderment with the help of some cold water splashed on his face. When Santarel told Tartri about the joint-less paved path he looks to the ground. “Asphalt.“ “What?” Smiling, Tartri began to explain. “It’s the alchemy of the ancient world. A technique that could melt rocks and shape them to their desire.” He gave the pavement a little tap with his food, and then nodded to himself. “We have stumbled on the lost highway.” “But I though the sundering is untrue. Surely they don’t have death-wands that could kill people by pointing it at them, tall houses that reached the heavens, horseless carriages, or lamp without fire.” Santarel exclaimed. “And some say elves are nothing by mystical creatures.” Tartri retorted coolly. “Strange, you never told us you are an elf before, and I thought I had never seen one until today.” Santarel turned speechless. He chewed his bread silently, took a gulp of water, and begins to march toward the hills. They scaled the hill easily under the huge, full moon and its reddish light. While they took time to rest they stared at the valley down below. Strange reddish sparkles mixed in with the blue dancing flames. While it looks beautiful from afar, they all know the horror that makes those reddish sparkles. As for the blue dancing flame, they dared not imagine its source. Solacruise reached the top first followed by Thargar and then the tired Tartri. He commented that they should just left him muddled from the drug, since he has a fear of heights. As the reached the top Santarel look down on the other side. He begins to realize why no humans in the last four hundred years could have discovered the lost valley and its highway. The valley itself was a huge unreachable plateau that the people thought was a huge mountain instead. He could see miles and miles away at a distant. He saw the huge waterfalls pouring down to the Great Lake and across it, sitting on the bridge like a jewel on a scepter was the city Trestle. At a distance from Trestle He saw reddish sparkles again and for a sick moment he though that is was another deranged forest waiting for them, but as he looks closer they are campfire, and surrounded it are camps and camps of yellow mutants. Santarel felt more sick then ever. Chapter 3 Inns and Strange dreams After a tiring climb down the cliff and a long grudging march down the snow-covered plain they arrived at the city of Trestle. They have no trouble finding The Warmth Tavern, since everything is on one street. In fact, the whole city of Trestle has only one street. Trestle is founded on a bridge, a mammoth construction that extended itself hundred of miles from one side of the sea of blood to the other, and is perhaps the only technological wonder left from the previous ages. The bridge is the only gateway to Arcadia. The east is blocked by the raging river leading to the ocean and the south by the inhospitable rock desert. The city develops from the bridge’s two ends working itself toward the middle. Santarel and his companions made its entrance at the northern part of Trestle, trying to strain their last energy to look for an inn. Santarel felt a tug on his sleeve. “Someone is spying on us.” It was Tartri. He was barely standing and is leaning on his staff for support. Santarel looked around, noticed a few pedestrians walking around the streets at night, going on their business. Frankly, Santarel does not care. He was too tired to even think, lest worry about stalking thieves or general snoopers. “Lets just go find an inn to rest.” He thought he muttered, and are not sure of his friends even did replied. Solacruise pointed to a distant house on the only avenue, and the rest of them mindlessly carried their bodies in the door. “Santarel,” he heard of voice calling him in the darkness, not even his elf sight could bring him to see in this obscurity. Santarel found himself in familiar ground, but he could not place a name on it. Huge mist gathers around him, surrounds him, and engulfs him. In this strange mist he finds himself falling, descending into an eternal dark void. Waving his arms frantically he grabbed something: vines. The vines are traced with sparkles of small silver thorns, elven vines that bore silvery grapes, which refined into the rich bitter-sweet elven wines, vines that can be found nowhere else in this world. He hangs from the fragile vine dangling helplessly as the maelstrom below, but slowly his hands slips, burning his palm as he descends further into nothingness. The void below turned to a glowing purple that matches Santarel’s iris. “Let it go,” a voice within his own mind boomed. “Can you not see that it is hurting you?” Santarel felt something warm flowing in his hands. Blisters from his hand starts to bleed, the vines accepted it, sucking it away greedily as it turns to a darker red like the ones found in the deranged forest. He gasp as the horror, and for a moment it seems that he will give up, letting himself fall. But then he percepts a great sense of fear below. A fear he does not understand but feels nevertheless: a darkness darker then anything Santarel has ever encountered. The voice within his head continues to indulge the elf’s mind, pleading for him to let go, as his hand keeps on slipping from the blood-soaked vine. At the desperate hour he made his last stand: With a last effort he gave out a loud cry. “Never!” Shadows and voids fled from his mind, and then Santarel begins to fall … and landed face down onto the floor. Santarel found himself in the most awkward position. He was on the flood with sheets entangling him whole body. In another second Thargar falls right on his back, caused by Solacruise’s reflexive stretching of his legs. Santarel bore the dwarf’s falling weight on his back, and just as he was about to get up from this rabble. Solacruise gave a loud laugh at this, the vengeful dwarf responded by pulling the rest of the sheets from the bed, causing the sly young man to fall right onto his two friends. They all tried to scramble as the servant girl enters into the room. “I think I should not interrupted your business.” A flush of red appears on the girl’s face as she quickly slams the door shut and fled downstairs. Tartri, who slept on a corner of the room, could not stop his laughing. The three of them gave each other a look as only one thought passed into their minds. With singular minds they grabbed the sheets and sacked the mage with it, and then start giving him beats. “Alright, Alright!” shouted the still giggling mage as he escaped from the blank whiteness of the sheets. “Aren’t we suppose to meet someone today?” All sense comes back to the four of them, and merriment was washed out of their minds by anticipation. What is this piece of paper all about? Who are the cleric and the warrior? And in Thargar’s and Solacruise’s head were treasures beyond imagination for either their reward or from the information it holds. For Tartri, he hoped it to be a spell of awesome power, although he doubts it likely to be. Santarel only thought the paper is important enough to have an elf shed his blood on, so it must be dire if not aiding to his elven kinsmen. Following a bath, washing their travel-worn clothes, shaving (except the dwarf who don’t shave at all), and begin to breakfast. Solacruise volunteered to gather information and restock provision for upcoming travels, and the first piece of information Santarel find out from Solacruise is that they are in the Warmth Tavern itself! The second piece of information Santarel finds is that one shall never let Solacruise wanders out of sight, for he never showed up until the evening, and when he did he smells like a drunken sailor. Both provisions and the money for it came back with Solacruise, which left the elf pondering with concerns. “Miss me?” Solacruise made his timely appearance behind Thargar. With a sweep of his legs he caused the dwarf’s stool to tumble, leaving the dwarf on the ground muttering “no” for an answer. “Where have you been all day long?” Santarel started his interrogation on the drunken young man but he seems not to catch the elf’s serious overtone. “You sounded like my father!” Solacruise retorted caustically and then gave a loud burp. “I bet your brain is as fossilized as his.” Santarel just sneered, for Solacruise did not understand the truism in his words. Elves lives on for a few hundred years. He could possibly watched all his friends wither and die while he is still in his youth. He has also known and ventured with Solacruise’s father, one of the first few humans he as ever met. A man Santarel has never regret knowing. Looking at Solacruise, he knew that his and his father are different as day to night, but somehow he still sense his father’s character in this teen, behind his irritating manners and beguiling eyes. “So,” Solacruise attempted a switch of topic. “Meet the warrior and cleric pair yet?” “We have been sitting here all day while waiting for you, and have not seen someone as such.” Tartri remarked. Solacruise shook his head in disbelieve. Clearing his mind from the ale he observe his surroundings. Most are citizen and neighbors coming in for a drink and something to eat, some are merchants with their bodyguards. One table sat a group of soldiers relaxing after patrols, and two women sat at the table near the fireplace, chatting over town gossips. “No warriors and clerics here.” Muttered Solacruise. “The only two person I see are the two women. I think this is all a ruse.” Santarel could only gaze sharply at Solacruise’s reply. Tartri offered something logical. “Perhaps they traveled in groups with escorts, to cover their guises.” Thargar nodded at that, but he still displays worries in his eyes. Slowly the conversation drifts to their past adventure in the dark twisted woods. “Have to climb a cliff, both up and down. I should have made you carry me, young man.” “No, because you are too heavy and we will end up tumbling down back on the hillside.” “Those yellow half-humans,” suddenly Tartri’s voice lifts up in a sagacious tone. “what shall we call them?” “Half-humans?” Solacruise replied. “They don’t even look half-humans to me!” “They got the brains of one! At least to some humans.” Reprised the dwarf. Before Solacruise could say anything, Santarel tranquilized the conversation with his sentimentality. “The statues of their body reminds me of the strong aspen trees in our homeland; their yellow skin reminds me of the leaves in our autumn forest.” “Six words: There skin reminds me of piss.” Solacruise coolly responded. “I think we shall just call them The Autumn Piss.” Tartri spoke, and then the rest of them just laughs. “Autumn Piss. That’s a good one.” Roared the dwarf. “To the Autumn piss.” Solacruise announced as he raise his beer mug for a cheer, and both the dwarf and human swallowed their drinks, and then another. “Let’s just call them the yellow mutants.” Tartri tried to withdraw his suggestion, but Solacruise just holds the young mage as Thargar pours beer into his mouth. “Help!” Tartri tried to reach for help as he gulped down another mug of beer. He tugged Santarel’s shirt, but the elf was not responding. The elf looms with a bored expression on his face. He enjoys the company of his friends, but something else draws his attention away. It was his talk of the woods and his leaves, the songs of the grass as it cuts its blade through the winds. Slowly the image of the inn and the customers melted. The wood beams become living trees, once again he was back in the Aspen Woods, the warm sunlight shines on his face, as he was a child again, running wild in a game of demon slaying. Elven child battling against dark demons that only exist in legends. Child dressed up as warriors wielding wooden swords to drive off the army of darkness while druid summon the magic of the forest to aid in battle and occasionally bring a demon down with the powerful swing of his staff, while the girl-elves sits on the other side of the grove, playing with their dolls, pretend to have tea, or giggles at a few of the handsomer elves. “You are not like them. You are not with them.” A voice echoes in his dream. Santarel looked around for the voice, but he found himself instead. An image of his childhood flashes before his eyes. He was behind a shadowed tree, for the other children did not wanted him in their play. Suddenly the battle stops. A young elf, still a child but a head taller then the rest of them halt from their last charge. He was their leader, Polonaise. All the elven children accepted him as their leader, and more then a few girls giggles behind his back. With ease Polonaise marched toward young Santarel behind the tree, the tall elf extended his hand. “Want to come out and play?” Santarel’s face turn pale white. No. Santarel mouthed, but no words came from his lips. The young image of Santarel accepted the invitation eagerly. A few of the other elves look frustrated, but they dared not say a word. Then suddenly one brave boy spoke. “Which wing will he be placed under?” “Neither.” Polonaise answered sharply. “For he will be the demon!” The children all roared, and all at once raised their swords at Santarel. Santarel tried to run, but he found himself encircled. Polonaise’s wooden broadsword landed on his chest. He was beaten under, with wooden swords all over him, jabbing into the child’s fragile body. Santarel said nothing. He could feel the pain of each slash, even now. He will then be rescued by the coming of the few elders that day. And from that day on after he will be their “demonic refugees” after as the elven children hunt him down and gave him beatings afterwards. But then there is suddenly a change of fate. Slowly the imaginary demons become real fading in from the background, with their dark shadows becoming the yellow mutants, slaying the now grown elven kin. Santarel now watched in horror as the yellow mutants came to their “rescue”, slaying the other elves and watching them suffer mortal wounds and then death. He heard, for once, the screams of a real battle. The clashing of weapon, the gushing sounds of blood, the agony of death… “Santarel!” the sound of battle still ring in his elven ears. He shook in disbelieve, but the sounds are as real as himself or Thargar’s grip on his forearm. Turning, he looked at the dwarf. His battle-hammer ready. Outside, the citizens are running, while the siege bell is ringing. “What is going on?” Santarel asked. “Blasted! They’ve broken through the gates!” Solacruise yelled as he climbed down from the roof. A flash of realization comes to Santarel’s head. The Mutants! He saw them at the top of the cliff, thousands of them gathering!!! He should have know about the invasion! He would have warned the town about the invasion! “What was I doing for the last five minutes?” Santarel shouted at his friends. “Why didn’t someone try to wake me up?” Slowly Tartri looked up at the angry elf. “We are all trying to.” He said apologetically. ”You were just crying and sobbing the last few minutes and we shouldn’t shake you awake.” “Now what are we going to do?” Solacruise asked, and the answer just came busting through the door. “Piss face!” Thargar howl at the first yellow mutant charging through the door, with accurate timing the hammer impacted the mutant’s brain, splattering green blood and brains onto the floor. At once the blood foams and maggots grew out from it, but there is more then just that Thargar have to worry about. His swing has caused the dwarf to be out of position for the on-coming mutant…

Yes Pekkle the Village people there's the Police Pekkle, the Firemen Pekkle, the Farmer Pekkle, and then Postmen Pekkle.. and they all started doing the Y-M-C-A!!! and you know it when i say Y-M-C-A! anyways enought with that lame joke.. when can we see Stripper Pekkle (why stripe when everyone looks excately like each other), or Bandit Pekkle (It wasn't me.. it's the other Pekkle I swear! We all look alike!)

wow it flows like a rap... wyvern would have loved this one. the harsh tone makes the poem sounds cool and stern and one could almost feel the roughness standing there in a heroic pose with wind blowing on its back. definately a poem worthwhile to read.

wait until you'll have to leave your dorm room... it's parting good memories ... all the nights of passing out after a night of partying, all the nights where you didn't sleep on that bed and instead are on the table cramming for exams... and ofcourse.. all the time sharing... your bed with other females to whom you forgot half of their names heehee

Sherrys are Red, curacao are Blue Glasses of red and white I see savouring flavours, all for me to drown in sweet reverie being semi-conscious I held my senses numbing, so I felt. Looking down a cliff, just right on the edge and standing there, between life and death the dark aromtic pain beckons my mind pounded by the light, weakens Slowly from the hazzle I was torn incoming warmth, I felt reborn and woke up again in the morn

Darkness… the swirling mist… intertwined in the squall of dust. The Dark Mysterious had entered the ancient room once again. His skeletal armies had done much in these past months in renovating the halls of the ancient. The entrance has been sealed and the hallow ground could only be reached by magical means. The rubbles blocking the east and north wing is cleared and opened its ways into an ancient library. It was unfortunate that most of the manuscript has decayed and fell apart even as the Lord held them. On the whole, the hidden sanctuary had been restored to much of its former beauty. White Marble tiles once again covered the hall so the click of the heels echoed once again in the hall to anyone who walked by. Cement mended the cracked and the fallen facades of the wall and once again classical fresco of the founding of the Mighty Pen donned the halls. The Atrium of the hall had once been filled with water gathered from the leaking walls, and the lord had the place form a pool. Now multi-colored lights danced in the swirling waters and streams of water shoots in a magical display along with whatever music the lord had put on at the time. The chapel on the northern end has been all but decimated and the Dark Mysterious figure had to improvise. Romanesque columns now lined the northern end and redecorated with statues of the founders of the pen in various stylish pose. The Statue of Ozymandias the Eldest of Elders stood in the middle, his hand scratching his head, while wearing an expression of one looking rather lost. Jechum’s monument was actually an animation of a ghost floating around dancing to some silent musical beat. A stone statue of Racouol was placed on the side as he banged his mug demanding for more beer. The carver then depicted Arawn in the classic “The Thinker” position, his expression was that of one caught in some trouble. Then there’s the sculpture of lumpenproletariat to his side, sitting on the couch like a lumpy couch potato. Zool looked like he was caught in doing something he shouldn’t and the expression on his stone-carven face was once of a surprised panic. Then there’s Peredhil, his spectacle hang low on his nose as he reads closely to something like an old grandfather. Yes… it seemed to The Dark Mysterious Figure that he knew the place at every inch. Except for two places he dared not touch. The crypt beneath the fountain he dared not enter and disturb the sanctity of the sacred resting place for the elders. The other place the Lord is trending upon now… the hidden forbidden room on the second floor. The Victorian glass windows surprisingly still held the water at bay, as the lake-water filtered sunray illuminated this room with an eerie turquoise light. The skeleton sitting on the varnish velvet chair grinned at the figure even as he entered. On the floor lay scattered pages and books all in disarray. “Let’s hope Madame Quixotic is right.” The Lord uttered under his breath. He magically conjured a cup of pina colatta as he grabbed another chair and began to read and sort the tattered pages in some order, smiling or grieving or both as he read them… forty minutes later… the pina colatta is still untouched. A month later, the yawning Peredhil still in his elven lacy pyjamas opened the door to retrieve his newspaper, but found instead a pile of pages bound and enveloped which had appeared in front of his room. He moved the fuzz ball dangling on his nightcap out of his sight and began to inspect what he had found… Wyvern Vs the Ol’ particular http://ubb.magewar.com/AMubbUS/Forum36/HTM...TML/000173.html St. Zool On Trial http://ubb.magewar.com/AMubbUS/Forum36/HTM...TML/000227.html Concert for the Conservatory http://ubb.magewar.com/AMubbUS/Forum36/HTM...TML/000273.html Registration for Mr. Bunny Fan Club http://ubb.magewar.com/AMubbUS/Forum36/HTM...TML/000217.html Almost a Dragon, A Musical http://ubb.magewar.com/AMubbUS/Forum36/HTM...TML/000282.html The Making of Pen’s Quill http://ubb.magewar.com/AMubbUS/Forum36/HTM...TML/000450.html Good Morning Conversatory http://ubb.magewar.com/AMubbUS/Forum36/HTM...TML/000398.html

A Dark Mysterious Figure creeps into the caravan in the middle of the night... slow bypassing the strange array of multi-colored tents and other strange assortments. Do not mind the figure really, for lurking in the dark is just a force of habit and really means no harm. It is such a wonderful night for an evening stroll too. Ofcourse now finding the right tent would cause a problem in the lack of any lights, but on that matter the Dark figure relied on Madame Quixotic. After all she "is" a gifted fortune teller so she should be able to read her own. Her foresight should have told her that A strange fella would sneak into tonight and pay her a visit... she would place her tent where it would have been easily stumbled onto those who seek her... and that a strange person would ask for a reading into his own future and would prompt him to come back again at 3:00 am tomorrow night where it would be the only available time he have in the near future. ... and indeed it has all came to past. the siloette of a figure walked right into a tent and came face to face with a rather short old women holding a crystal ball in one hand. "..Yeh you scamp!" she yelled with her hoase voice. "If ye knows everything then why do bother coming to me?" She threw the crystal ball at the dark mysterious figure and threatening him to leave. "Come back tomorror for your forsaken appointment you freak, or I'll place the jinx on ye!" and quickly the dark shadows fled out of the encampment... yet within the dark hood a smile appear on his pale face. Yes... indeed we shall away tomorror. He wouldn't miss this for anything else in the world. Something tells him that this appointment would be.... amusing. He doesn't need any glimsing into the future to see that.

geez... is that what you do to your bf? kinda scary... I hope the man of your dreams carry some antidotes around... Heart is a hard word to rythem with.. but ... "Or else we will be forever part" sounds better...

There is not regret toward the past, only the future held within your graps. Determination and will to do your task and then you will succee at last. As long as you are determined to gradurate, and have that thought in your mind for just every minute in that single year i'm sure you'll gradurate. Put your heart into it and make sure to do everything you can do including letting down your pride and ask, letting down your slack and study, and letting down your ignorance and learn. Best of luck, and now every time you come on Irc i'm gonna bug you about homework

An interesting poem with a lot of hidden meaning. I cannot say i Comprehend every thought include in this piece but I have to say that I'm touched by the words and moved by the thoughts. Thanks

Unfamiliar skies was part of Talen’s life, from the eternal emerald skies of the elven land, to the scarlet skies in which the desert bears its name. Talen remembered again traveling across the Kylandor coast where one could not distinguish where the skies end and the sea begins. The human land was a blur inside Talen’s memories, mixed with the same kind of people behaving differently. Only the night skies stuck in his mind, where cities lid up like a billion stars across the tranquil landscape. Each household, whether rich or poor, holds the flicker of a candle flame out on the window. A million candle-like souls struggled against the darkness until each is blown out and succumbed to the darkness of the night. And now Talen woke up to find himself staring in another unfamiliar skies. His eyes opened to an endless void of white without depth and height, while puffs of whiteness falls out of the unreachable heavens and dissolved on his skin. He lay there imagining if he was dead as memories that seem like another lifetime rushed back into his head. All strength left him, and he was motionless until at last Angelica came to check on his fragile body. Her face blocked the glaring sun as a pair of warm mitten hands held his own. “Good work, Talen. Good job last night.” The wizardess pulled him up from the snow-covered ground and began to offer him warm tea and food, but Talen’s eyes continued to stare at nothingness. Flicker of images continued to flutter inside his mind as memories seeps back to haunt him in his mind. … Three horn blows signal the attack of the elves. By the light of the pale moon, long shadows stride across the empty plain flashing their elegant crescent swords. The slid down the snow-covered hill like shooting stars, leaving sprinkles of ice behind their trail. The humans were ever on them even as they descend, but the surprise still belonged to the elves. Wounds and cuts appeared onto soldiers’ flesh and their corpse decays even before it hits the ground. Blood swirled in the air as nothingness cuts through the human forces until enough blood revealed the invisible stalker. The crimson red figure dances away as a knot of swordsmen finally could see their target. Shouting an elven curse, the blood-soaked female elf appeared from view and tried to wipe the blood off her face. She smiled even as she licked the blood from her obsidian blade, for the damage has already been done. The humans were scattered by the unseen attacker and with the line broken the few elves poured in through the gap, slaughtering humans as they passed by. Just when Manter and his squad of paladins rallied enough soldiers to reform the line another wave of elves appeared from the northwest. Leading them was an elf with a double-bladed sword. The blades glowed with a twisted red. The few wounded humans that had escaped from the carnage met up with the flaming sword that melted through armor like hot knife through butter. Victims screamed as their own armor burns their own skin. Few of the ‘human torches’ attempted to roll on the ground, but the attempts to put out the magical fire were futile. The elves merely snickered at the human ‘fire-dance’ to their deaths. In this fray Talen stood at a distance. The blood of the battle blinded his vision, the screams of the battle paralyzed his mind, and the fear of the battle sank into his heart. At awe of the massacre his feet felt like lead and he could not move. He imagined he saw those tribesmen that mocked him during practiced dying under elven blades, systemically chopped to pieces and left to be devoured by winter worgs. Yet when he cleared his eyes what he saw was the same tribesmen dying, but those were the tribesmen that pulled him out when Manter kicked him into the cold freezing water, those tribesmen that somehow found warm water enough to give him that bath and provide him with food and clothing afterwards. It was not just them, but manter’s men who sat with him by the fire sharing stories, to the refugees of Begynne who was his very own neighbors up to a few days ago. They were all poorly armed, but stood their ground to fight for their lives. “Wretched human!” the familiar whisper of a dark shadow snuck up on Talen and raised a elegant blade toward him. The emerald eyes, pale skin, pointy ears, and fair hair. A part of Talen’s blood willed to rush toward him and called him friend, but his instincts pulled him back to a safe distance as the blade swings toward him. “I’m an elf too!” Talen wanted to cry in elven, but from the reflection in that elf’s eyes he looked pathetically human. In another instant a streak of pain bloom in his mind as the blade notched his shoulders. The crocked blade, “Wind’s Nocturn”, shook inside the sheath. Yet Talen’s body was still, his eyes as calm as the death that was about to take him. Yet the blade did not strike home, for behind him a mage chanted a shocking grip spell. A feminine but strong hand found its grip on the elf’s slender throat. The magical shock combined with the chocking killed the elf. Yet only when the dying elf’s throat produced infamous ‘squeal’ did the hand let go. Talen recognized the human, the wizardress Angelica. Yet he struggled to put distance between them as if it means his death. The expression she wore was the one of an impatient mother. Her hand grabbed his and dragged himself back on his feet. Even then her talon-like gripped held onto his shoulders. She held onto him desperately as if he was lost and was almost forever gone. Her thumb pressing deep into his wound, but neither of them noticed the pain or the blood oozing out of the wound. “What are you doing here? We were all looking for you? Where’s the sword? Let’s get out of here.” She spammed out all at one, pausing just to see the sword hanging behind Talen’s back, and then dragged the child away without waiting for him to answer. Even as they ran away from the battle another familiar faced went to meet them. Akira stood in front of the two, blocking the path with her spear. Behind her, a score of tribesmen stood battle-worn and weapons drawn. “Little wizardress,” The rage of the battle pales compared to the anger behind female barbarian’s voice. “Where do you think you are taking that boy?” “To somewhere safe!” Angelica was caught like a girl doing a dirty deed, but it only took her a while to re-compose herself. “The child and the sword were too valuable to be lost. If those people on duty would do their job right we won’t have to flee to begin with.” The tribesmen behind Akira looked as if they wanted to rip Angelica’s head off. One tribesmen yelled in common: “We stood here and fight for you so you would fight by our side, not run away like cowards while we shed our blood and die!” Other tribesmen continued with their own protest and swearing. Angelica retaliated with another line, but what the rest of the conversation became nothing more then background fillers inside the half-elf’s mind. Why do we fight? He always thought about it, and now he is out of time to think. The people that died from the war are still people. They have parents, spouse, and might even have children. Killing people on either side is the gravest of all sins. The war has been going on for generations, too far to trace the right from wrong for humans, the wound too fresh to be forgotten by elves. Then why do we fight? A blood human hand grabbed his feet even as life began to leave him. A figure had just blocked a lethal blow aiming for Talen, and now the decapitated head rolling in the crimson snow. The elf with the obsidian saber appeared out of nowhere, but Sepher sacrificed his life to save him. Finally the human part of him awaken to answer the question of his own. Talen pulled out ‘Wind’s Nocturn’ and held it up against the winds. Trails of blue sparks danced on the blade even as he screamed the lightning rage. The rest was thunder and the winds. A slender elf washed her body on the creek; but the maiden refused to show her face. Tears fallen for hateful elation; she spash the water to break her reflection. "You'll pay for this!" Alakgristiel screamed with agony, swearing vengance to the wielder of the strange electric blade. For the tears had trailed down the hidious scar, from her otherwise perfect face.

reminds me of that song "Another one bites the dust"