Finnius

The Streets, A Bolt of Lightning I curve down from the charcoal sky to strike at who knows what. There is a tower, a tree, a flagpole. There is a man with red hair who asks a favor... There is a man with a knife and a woman with a jug of water. I wish to strike the woman, want desperately to destroy her, hate her like no other. But the man asks me to strike the knife-man. And so I do. His heart beats faster and faster, his lungs burn from the inside out. His eyes turn into bubbling pools of jelly, and I am satiated for the moment. I return to the the clouds and the charcoal sky, and await my next turn to strike. The Tavern, Darkness Outside, lightning flashes. Twin knives flash into the corner. The creature jumps, there is darkness. Sounds like scuffling, and scrapes of metal on stone resonate from the area where Finnius faced the creature. A warm liquid spreads across the floor, coating Shanna's feet. Lightning flashes again and throughs a black outline of Finnius hunched over the beast, sword raised above his head, one arm twisted behind him at an unnatural angle. Time seems to slow down for a moment, and then thunder crashes, and there is darkness again. Sounds can be heard again. Cracking bones, shifting flesh. A soft whimper, and another crack. "Everyone get down!" A hoarse voice tears through the dark room, moments before... Outside the Tavern, Where the Bolts have been leading... The lightning bolts have lead to a bar, and there they stop for just a moment. For just a moment, there is silence, perfect calm. The rain stops, there is a slight rumbling. And then, quicker than thought, a pure white bolt of lightning, distinct from its naturally purple siblings, spirals down from the dark sky, darts toward Tanaquil, comes close enough to barely scorch her eyebrows, then twists at a ninety degree angle to slam into the side of the bar. Glass shatters outward, spraying, but miraculously not cutting. As the bolt passes, a voice seems to whisper in Tanaquil's ear, "...next time, my love... next time... and I expect that wine..." Inside the Tavern The wall explodes outwards, admitting gray traces of light, slowly filtering through charcoal clouds which seem to be moving rapidly towards the open desert, trailing a few final bolts of purple death into Eelix. Glass sweeps outwards in the sudden gust of exhaling wind. Pinned to the leaning corner by two silvered knives is a dark red cloak, trimmed in black. The throat is clasped with a golden eagle clutching a lightning bolt in its claws, and in the side pocket is a folded piece of parchment, dry and untouched by the elements...

If I could have one more day, To tell you what I felt, To say the words that want to fall, From off my cracking lips, If I could have another week, Or just an hour of your time, Would it make a difference, Would you still be mine? Or would my heart be broken, Bleeding like it is, And cracked and shattered still, As hard as it once was, It will never be again. A part of me still wishes, That I had that one day back, Wants to trade in my tomorrows, Or just give up and leave. I want what I can't have, I have what I don't want, I live in desperation, Of one more passing day.

The Tavern As Shanna backs into the wall, and Xavier stumbles into an empty table, as glass crashes to the floor and wood splinters againts the wall; the desert nomad lifts himself from off the floor, where he was thrown in the confusion. Again, thunder crashes outside, chasing the flash of lightning which illuminates the scene of carnage in the tavern. Bodies lay twisted and broken, some crushed by flying tables, some impaled on chair legs, or peppered with shards of glass. Then darkness takes control for a moment. Another flash of lightning, another crash of thunder. The door is darkened by a vaguely human shape. There's just something wrong about the arms, the way they seem to stretch just past the norm, and the buckle of the knees, ready to pounce. There is a sound like sand flowing over steel as Finnius draws the sword from his back, slowly. Lightning flashes again, and the creature vaults, leaping easily over tables and bodies, arms outstretched, towards the form of Shanna. The desert nomad rolls over a still-upright table to place himself in front of the barmaid. Lightning flashes again, reflecting off the curved blade, and the deadly faceoff taking place in the remnants of the bar. Darkness falls once more... The streets of Eelix The rain flows in sheets over Alric, soaking through clothing and slicking his hair to his scalp. The storm rages overhead, growing in intensity by the minute. Bolts of energy race to the tops of buildings, but far too many seem to dart in between them, following unnatural paths to strike the streets. Three bolts in quick succession dart down in front of Alric, the first just a few feet in front of him, the next a bit to the right, then one to the left. A fourth and final bolt slams into the cobblestone with a sound like the roaring of a waterfall over jagged stones. The blackened char and torn stone forms a rough arrow, pointing Alric down the street. Further on, lightning crashes into an intersection... four bolts in the same pattern. The storm, it seems, is trying to lead Alric somewhere... The Tavern, once more "Aiden Serradin..." A low voice, rolling like the thunder from outside. Whispers form in Sliver's ear, promises of power and glory, wealth and fame. They speak of monuments to be built, kingdoms to rule. The whispering voices entreat for a favor, a token to show his devotion. Lightning flashes once more, outlining a small man with a curved sword, motionless in front of a hunched form, considering and waiting. The voices pull away, settle into the draped form of darkness that sits, unnoticed, in the one good chair left in this place, sits next to the door and watches...

OOC: Gaaack! I'm soooo behind! BIC: The small blue man wanders along the side of the mountain in search of his waylaid burden, stumbles around cliffs, trudges through gulleys. It can't have gotten far, thinks Finnius, it hasn't got any legs... I hope... His mind drifts back over the last week... so far this thing had escaped two times, and both times it had found someone to take it up. It had a mind of it's own, and was an excellent liar. Twice already it had taken innocent lives, and had slain the guilty more times than the little blue mage cared to count. He had to find it soon... Consumed in his thoughts and lost in hunger, Finnius fails to realize that he is rounding a cliff again. His footing fails him, and the little blue man slides off the edge, tumbles down loose rocks, rolls over and over, cutting tender flesh and bruising bones. He finally comes to rest in a patch of blue tufted grass, face half-cocked to one side. As he passes out again, Finnius half-imagines that he sees a figure with wings descending... and then decides that he must be dreaming. The little blue man fades into unconsciousness once more, never noticing the hard leather swordcase just beyond his outstretched hand...

So April's here, and guess that means, That Mr. Bunny's time is here, Cause Easter's just the time, it seems, For loving rodents with long ears. Stick's on edge, and Wyvern's huntin', For some chocolate dips, Mr. Bunny's running cutely, With a quivering bottom lip. Will Wyvie catch our tiny hero? Will Stick race to the day? Will Mr. Bunny end up in, A rabbit-sweet parfait? Well I don't know, but this I've heard, That Deggy loves his peeps, And all that sugar seems to do, Is deprive him of his sleep! But back to Mr. Bunny's plight; And here I think I'll end; If Wyvie catches him or not, I leave to you my friends! OOC: Yaaargh! Again! Please delete this one? Pretty Pweeeeease?

Inside the Tavern The desert nomad identified as Finnius looks the barmaid up and down.He considers her posture, her face, her innocent eyes. He glances across at Sliver. A slow smile spreads across his face. "Yes. Yes, I think you'll do fine. Now back about your business. We leave after I eat," the smile becomes a wolfish grin. "If that's all right." On the streets, where people scream and panic, and where stormclouds are gathering in the skies One of the burly men strides out of the partially destroyed Wall of Thorns, towards the glaring form of Alric, long knife held underhand, ready to slash upwards or flip into a throw. The other circles around to the now-dead woman and retrieves his knife. Then, slinging her body up onto his shoulder, he darts into an alley. A flash of light and smoke trails after him... Xavier... A voice in the back of his head, like sandstone grinding against granite. Images; hundreds of sun-dark people tethered to a giant block, dragging it across the desert floor. A lash rises and falls, red welts form on sandy skin. Two figures cloaked in shadows, light streaming from behind them. One resolves into a tall man wrapped in green, with flaming red hair, the other is a short woman with a water jug on her head. The blackness overtakes them, then resolves into a small red stone, flashing and spinning, emitting heat and drawing light into itself. Thunder cracks overhead and Xavier feels the fat wet raindrops drowning out the visions. He hears them splatting against the streets and the canvas awnings of buildings and merchants. The noise of wings and the cawing of ravens can be heard in the distance... Back in the Tavern "...so I said that if he wanted to dance, he'd have to get a prettier dress. And then he stabbed me!" The nomad sighs and scrapes his seat back across the stone floor. "Ah, I feel mch better. Shall we?" As he turns from the table, the door crashes open, admitting blinding rain and howling wind. Unattended tables flip over, unused chairs are slung through the air, smacking into walls, and sometimes people. Glass shatters, and lighting races downward, shattering cobblestone outside...

"You can have whatever you keep your hands on. The only thing I require is a small red stone." The dusty nomad accepts a glass of wine and removes the black winding of cloth from his head. This exposes several pieces of information to Sliver, the first one being that the traveler's skin is a sun-dark shade of tan, almost matching the leather in which he is clad. Almost a sure sign of desert upbringing. The next is that this traveler's eyes are a deep shade of blue, like the open sky or the shining midnight sea. His hair is dark, almost as dark as the black cloth which was previously wound around his head. He appears to be grinning as he drinks. He appears to be between sixteen and twenty years old. His voice when it comes out, though, rasps dryly. "And thank you for the drink. Might I inquire after your name? Mine is Finnius, and if we're going to be working together, it might as well be on friendly terms." The desert wanderer swings his chair over to Sliver's table and motions for food. "Haven't eaten in two days..." Outside the Tavern, on the streets where a woman is being attacked Xavier's mind races out across neural pathways busier than any city street, only to be tugged and tugged, slowed to a near crawl. It feels like trying to run in waist-high water. As he gets into the woman's eyes, he sees the two men, sees the blank expression on their faces. He sees a gleaming knife, point-first, as it enters the eye... The desert surrounding Eelix, the sky above Tanaquil It had been harder to find a caravan than it should have been... almost like the desert itself was working against her. But find one, she did, and from there it was a short trip to Eelix. Or it should have been. Three times the sun had gone up and down, three times had the caravan's master promised that the town would appear the next morning. The sun was becoming intolerable, hotter and hotter as the days went by. At least there was a steady supply of water in these wagons. For now. The third day brought with it three surprises: First, at mid-day, the town did, indeed, appear. It looked dusty and only half-way finished, but there it was, ringed by thick adobe walls. Second, while she couldn't be sure, it seemed that something had flashed overhead shortly after the town had appeared. Third, when the caravan had come up closer to the walls, a strong wind had kicked up, and heavy clouds, thick with water, had appeared on the horizon...

S-Cry-Ed- Slick, cool, superheroesque action with surprisingly deep characterisation. Just don't expect the manga to be anything like the anime. Completely different. Both of them good, though. Noir- Very deep, very slow-paced, very goooood. If you don't mind sitting still and paying attention, and you can get into a good spyish cat and mouse kind of series, this is excellent. Samurai Deeper Kyo- Guilty pleasure series. Lots of humor, action, drama, and more flat-out badassness than should be possible in one series. Some of the best anime outakes ever. Last Exile- With only two DVDs out, I can't express how good this is. Most of the voice acting is quite good, with only a few horrible exceptions. Excellent pacing, and an engrossing story.

The mountain hummed with ill-intent. It almost felt like the cliffs and sheer stone faces were scowling disapprovingly at the little blue fellow with the curved bundle on his back. As for his part, Finnius continued the journey uphill hungrily and thirstily. The sun begins to beat down, and the semi-mage lowers his head to keep the sun out of his eyes. The wind in the trees sounds like laughter. ***Four hours later*** The bundle is heavy. It is eerily warm, and occasionally wiggles as if it is alive. Ten minutes ago, Finnius could have sworn it talked. Then again, that might have just been heat stroke, hunger, and dehydration talking. Either way, the little blue man was beginning to hear voices. Never a good sign. ***Two more hous later*** Finnius collapses in a heat haze. Dreams come quickly and unbidden. Dreams of fire and doom. Blazing heat licks his face, blood trickles down his forehead. The bundle begins to writhe on his back and unwrap itself. ***Sometime after sunset*** Finnius awakens with a start, much less tired, and much more worried. The bundle on his back is open. The contents are gone. He dusts himself off and stands up, then begins walking again, in search of death walking.

The Inside of the Tavern The serving maid brings bread, cheese, and some sort of thick brown stew-like substance. The odor, while foul, does little to ruin the excellent taste of the mish-mash. There is a stage opposite the door, in one corner, and many small round tables are spread out across the main floor. All in all, it is a comfortable atmosphere, welcoming to strangers. The rest of the city, on the other hand... Eelix is a middling town, half-way between prosperous and poor. It rests on the edge of a desert to the west, and a somewhat overgrown forest. Eelix is the last bastion of civilization, or the first, depending on which direction one is travelling. In any case, it is a town that is not well suited to its present position. The people of Eelix founded the town long ago in order to drive visitors away, not draw them in. The forest had other plans. It expanded to the border of the tiny desert town, and with it came travelers. With the travelers, came trade, and Eelix grew. Now it is a loose conglomeration of ethnic and social backgrounds, held together only by the disinterest of its people and the sometimes stifling heat which wafts off the desert. A nice place to visit. Meanwhile, on the streets leading up to the tavern... Xavier's walk is suddenly interupted by a flash of pain. Half a block over, an old woman is being slowly cornered into an alley. Her pursuers are two large young men... with no minds. It feels as if these two are puppets, being controlled from somewhere in the town. The threads that draw these two towards the woman are stretched tight, coiled around their brainstems like adders. It also feels like the blind old man was not just allowed, but willed, to feel her pain, and theirs... Back in the Tavern A short man wrapped head to toe in dusty brown leather enters the bar. He wears a curved sword on his back, and a long black duster. His face is covered from the bridge of the nose down, and from the eyebrows up, by a tightly wrapped black cloth. What skin is visible is covered in a thick layer of trail-dust, giving him the appearance of a desert nomad. The man quickly scans the room, and takes a seat at the table just next to Sliver. The two are sitting at opposite tables, halfway facing each other. The man glances down at the pack sitting next to Sliver's chair. "You appear to be a fellow traveler," he begins in a low rasp. "Would you be interested in some work?"

Life is funny. Most times it drags ever on, day by day, only slightly variating to give the illusion of the passage of time. Time is a lie. Every day is the same day, endlessly repeating. People grow bigger, their bodies expanding with useless, meaningless tissue, but they don't get older. The sun rises and falls over town and village, city and sea, but it's just a ball of fire and heat. This was the world I was born into. A world of dry heat and dead cold. My life was begun on this day, and will end on this day. I am a warrior by trade, a mercenary whose only concern is whether or not I will eat and survive the night. Life is funny. Sometimes it throws curves at you, like when a new day actually dawns, when the world decides it's time to move on, and for you to move with it. This was such a day. My morning had started early, and a new job with it; I was to obtain a trinket, some jewel or other, from a wealthy and supposedly powerful merchant. I would need help... Taking my sword and meager belongings, as well as a healthy sack of gold which was my payment, I headed off into the town of Eelix to see about hiring some help. -Finnius Mustardio, year 1 OOC: All right, anyone who wants to enter is welcome! Start yourself where ever you feel comfortable; setting-wise, I'm using the old AMUBB stuff and a good but of Mighty Pen. Not that that matters, or anything. Have fun, I'll check back in a while and update in a day or two.

"... Gwydion stares back with all the fervor and ferocity that a dragon her size can muster; which turns out to be enough. The man lowers his weapon, then sheathes it and addresses the young dragoness. 'I mean you no harm, noble creature. These men and their belongings are yours for the taking.' The man then turns and exits the clearing with long, graceful... and notably quick strides. That afternoon, after having stashed the booty; which turned out to be quite a bit, Gwydion returned to the glen where she had witnessed the battle. Whoever that man had been, he was long gone. Once again, curiosity got the better of young Gwydion, and coiling her hind legs, she launched herself from the ground. Having seen him exit to the east, the dragoness flew in that direction, towards the edge of her forest. She flies for more miles than she thought possible, eventually touching down and walking, then giving in to sleep. In the morning, when she awakens, Gwydion notices a plume of smoke on the horizon. It is thick and black, and even from this distance, the young dragon can smell its acrid stench. Certainly the sword-man wasn't headed in that direction... Was he? Giving in once again to her curiosity, Gwydion begins toward the smoke. As she comes closer, the dragon begins to notice people. Hundreds of them, flocking towards the smoke-pillar, some with heavy sacks on their shoulders, others with horse-drawn carts, still others with just the clothes on their backs. She hears the sounds of drums in the distance, and hears metal scraping against metal. The sour smoke-smell clogs her draconic nostrils until she lets out a half-hearted sneeze. But nothing prepares her mind for the horrible sight that awaits over the horizon, when the pillar's source becomes apparent. A spire of granite juts into the air, lashes of twisted metal streaming from it to the ground. The ground beneath is concaved inward, forming a shallow bowl, made of great stone slabs. Stairs descend below the slabs, and the people flocking inwards are drawn towards these. The sound of great metal cogs can be heard from beneath the slabs, and sickly reddish light can be seen in the cracks and at the tops of the stairs. And there, on top of the granite spire, stands the man with the sword, his head thrown back and arms outstretched, as if to catch the very wind itself." (To Be Continued due to Sleepiness)

The inside of the Mighty Pen's tavern is unusually busy this night. Drinks flow freely, food is abundant, the air is buzzed with rumor. Tonight, the rumors say, one of the great bards of Terra will be making a public appearance. Tonight, the bard will spin his stories. The crowd waits with baited breath, growing ever more excited by the moment; names begin flying. Will it be the great Orlan, whisper the skullery maids? Maybe it will be Wyvern or Salinye, with tales of adventure and great glittering treasures. The truly hopeful and optimistic even hint that it could be Ozymandius himself, or Zool pulled down off his wall. Therefore, no one is greatly troubled when a short man with an oddly hued complection takes the stage and begins adjusting the footlights. The patrons assume it is a stageman, readying the scene for a great performer. They begin looking around the room for the main attraction. The little blue man begins fiddling around with the stool laid out on the hardwood stage. The crowd begins to look worried. He sits on the stool and clears his throat. People begin leaving. "Wait! Wait, really, I'm a great storyteller!" The patrons pause and look sceptically back towards the stage, as if to say, Ok, but you better be reeeeeaally good. The little blue storyteller clears his throat once again and continues. "This first story takes place a long time ago, back during the early days of Terra Lost, when the world was still new and green, and the first archmages were beginning to reincarnate. It begins with a young dragon named Gwydion. Gwydion was young, about four hundred or so, and small for her age; only twenty five feet long. Her scales were a dusty reddish, instead of the bright ruby sheen that most of her people had. One day, while Gywdion was out hunting for her breakfast, she spied something a touch unusual. A section of her forest had gone silent. Not a bird sang, no wolf howled, nor did any wind rustle the smallest leaf on any tree. Being naturally curious, as all young dragons are, she decided to head down and check it out. Gwydion gracefully glided into the treeline and crept closer to the disturbance..." The crowd begins to look disinterested, and some begin checking their timepieces. The little blue man wipes the sweat off his brow and continues. "In any case, as the young dragoness comes closer she begins to hear sounds with which she is unfamiliar. She hears the clashing of steel, the twanging of bows, and the wailing of dying men. As she creeps even closer, she can smell the blood on the ground and the stench of bile. The young dragon inches closer and closer until she can see the glint of the sun reflecting off plate mail. Gwydion slinks nearly to the treeline and stops dead as she sees a ring of dead men, some clutching bows, others impaled on their own pikes; circling a single man. The man is armed only with a long curved blade, and is wearing no visible armor. He raises his head and looks straight into the dragon's eyes..." (To Be Continued due to Children and Visitors)

This is just too interesting to pass up! I'll take the mountain and the cursed weapon. ------------- The trail twisted ever upward, tree-lined and rocky. It was hot, and the sound of water could be heard faintly in the distance. The road up Sleeping Mountain, so named for the wheezing gusts of wind which constantly whistled through its many small gulleys and crevices, was pleasant, though solitary save for one little blue man with a bundle wrapped in a brown leather quilt on his back. It jutted out past each shoulder, about three and a half feet long and slightly curved. He'd been travelling for very close to three days now, without sight nor sound of any other sentient person, and it was just as well. After a few minutes, the trail split into two parts, one going further up the mountain, the other leading off to a pool and a waterfall. The little blue man was thirsty, yes. He considered the pool for a moment, then readjusted his burden and continued up the path to the top of Sleeping Mountain. There would be no rest for Finnius until this package was disposed of. It had done enough harm already. *** (To be Continued on account of Writer's Block)

Breath like fire, Arms entwining, Whispered softness, Bright eyes shining; Thought and darkness, Flashing lightning. Is my life then, Mine no longer? Happiness when, Then I'm stronger, Flashing lightning, Falling songs. OOC: Yeah, I'm all in love and stuff. Woo Hoo!

Part 10: Cerulean's Masquerade 'A wolf dressed as a dwarf, a polymorphed half-elf-wyvern, a rastafarian treeman, and several mobsters,' I thought. 'If this ain't the place...' By the time I arrived, the party was in full swing. Booze flowed freely; (Or was it flew? At times both, I think.) it didn't take me long to help myself to a stiff scotch in preperation of what I was soon to do. I only hoped that Cerulean would accept the 'gift' I was going to give her. ------------ But I'm getting ahead of myself, aren't I? Y'see, several days had passed since I spied Cery at the dances and word had gotten around that there was to be a party thrown for her. An unbirthday, or something to the effect. In any case, it was a gift-giving occasion. Peanut had come up with the idea, and Pekkle, although a bit morose, agreed to give it a try. As for myself, I'd never felt lower. Add in the fact that Peanut wouldn't be attending due to a business meeting, and I was set up for disaster. Madame O'Harpy had assured me, however, that I would not be without assistance. One of her cousins was to be attending. I believe her name was Scarlett... It was to be a costume party, with the attending mages dressed as other prominent mages. I chose to go as Canid, and glued faux-fur to strategic points on my person. It looked horrible, but that's not the point. In any case, by the time Cerulean actually arrived, I had loosened up considerably, and was seated in a circle with Gyrfalcon (Dressed as Wyvern.) and Tyrion (Who was actually Mindspawn in disguise.) --------- Cerulean stands at the top of the staircase frozen mid-step. The thunderous throb of bass resonates through the hall. She sees a stage at the furthest end of the room outlined in cobalt blue neon. To the left, a rotating Casino spins and clacks with the whirr of roulette tables and eagerly slung poker chips. Tearing her gaze right, she sees a corridor leading off to a swimming pool of booze complete with white-knuckle rides. Multi-coloured strobes dance and flash lending a staccato surreality to the movements of the guests below. The lumbering approach of an ogre does little to reassure her - and as he leans in menacingly asking to see her 'gift' - Cerulean's mouth, highlighted momentarily by the dazzling lights, defines a perfectly shaped O. I sat stunned for a few moments as Wyvern (Masquerading as Brute.) and Peredhil (Dressed as Kendricke.) greeted the lady of honor. I then attempted to do the same. Alas, I was... well a little bit tipsy. It went something like this: A slightly inebriated blue wolf (That being me.) rushed up to Cerulean and half-led, half-pulled her over to a large box sitting in possibly the only unoccupied corner. He jumped up on two legs and grabbed a wine glass, which he began beating mercilessly with a spoon. Once he had gotten the attention of the greater part of the assembled partygoers, he yelled this: "Look evr'body, i's Cerulle... Cerulll... i's HER!! Le's sing happi unbirt'ay!!" The resulting cacophony should never be put into words, but let it suffice to say it sounded nothing like "Happy Unbirthday," and ended with the words "Monkey-like lizard." At this point, Finnid opened the large box and hopped in. After several seconds, he came back out with a beautiful and completely tasteful necklace. It was a thin silver chain wth a gold-inlaid heart set into a saphire pendant. "Curlleena, would you put th't on, pleesh?" Cerulean, being the center of attention, really has no choice but to oblige. As she does, what appears to be a ten-year old girl in a red-trimmed grey kimono jumps out of the box and gives her a large hug. "Hi," she says, "I'm Pekkle, and I'm your birthday present. Oh, it's not your birthday? OK, unbirthday present then." The blue wolf mage is grinning like a madman, and "aawwww..." can be heard from just about everyone. Cerulean is turning a lovely shade of crimson, and Finnius is beginning to wonder if he forgot to say something important about Pekkle. The rest of the night blurred by for me. There was more drinking, and games with cards, there were locusts and fire, and even a wedding. But my night, and a small part of my life had ended when that box opened. So that's my story, short though it may be. I can speak no more for my actions than what I already have. Pekkle, at the end of the night had accepted Cerulean, and went home with her. I heard no more of the little demoness, although I do miss her from time to time. ----------------- The End OOC: So there it is, finished at last. I would like to give credit where it is due in this last installment. The second post in italics was origionally written by one Cerulean all those (Two.) years ago. In any case, I hope you enjoyed this. -

Wonderful, as always! Especially the 'blibble' in line 4. Blibble!

Part 9: The Party of a Lifetime I remember that it was winter. I had been living in the Conservatory for several months now, and had generally gotten used to the strange style of existence that this place afforded. Pekkle ran around the town and played. I had gotten a job as a scribe for one of the local magelords, of which there were many. Occasionally we got together and had a meal, or played jacks, (Pekkle always won.) and I gathered that the kid was finally making some friends. We were still staying in the O'Harpy family manor, although I had enough geld to support a small apartment. The trouble was, Pekkle had bonded to Peanut and I was loathe to separate them as long as Peanut was okay with the situation. Which is how I came to be talking to the merchant queen herself, over a steaming cup of cocoa, nonetheless. We sipped our drinks for a while and made small talk, and eventually I came around to the 'Question.' "Peanut, you've been great about this whole living situation. I just... I don't know, I hate to take advantage. I think it might be time that I left." "Finn, you know that I don't mind, but if that's the way you feel, I won't stop you...," she stared into her cup for a while, then looked up at me. "What are you going to do about Pekkle? I think she's gotten used to the place, she was talking about inviting one of her little friends over... think it was Mendi or Mmixa or..." "Minta?" "That's it. See, you can't just uproot the girl, she's got a guest! Point settled, you're staying." "Not necessarilly... what if... you..." "What if you kept her? Is that what you're trying to say?" "How did you... am I talking in my sleep?" "Not exactly. I hired a mage to read your thoughts, make sure you were safe to keep around the manor. Standard proceedure." "You hired a mage... to spy on my brain?" "Something like that. And she told me some very interesting things... like about a certain trip a certain someone paid to a certain Soothsayer..." "So you know about that." "I'm sorry for you Finnius... but I'm not the one you're looking for. And besides, how do you even know she was right? Pekkle's a bit precocious, but I'd hardly call her a handful, let alone a demon." "She was right... I can tell it whenever I talk to her. Pekkle's been... changing, ever since we left her Village. She's becoming less human, and more... something else. Not a demon, definitely, but something powerful. God help me if she ever throws a tantrum..." We sat there in silence, the only sound the sloshing of now lukewarm cocoa. Peanut once again broke the silence. "Well, brooding isn't going to solve anything. I think it's time we took you out on the town. Meet me outside at the gates, just after sundown. And wear something nice." That night, Peanut took Pekkle and myself to one of the Conservatory's many ballrooms. Pekkle made quite the pretty picture in some kind of wrap which Peanut insisted on calling a 'kimono,' while I was in my dress blacks. Peanut had chosen a sparkly green something-or-other and looked stunning as always. We twirled around the room a time or two, until the doors opened to admit quite possibly the most stunning woman I had ever seen. She was wrapped in dark blue velvet, with black elbow length gloves worked sparsely in diamonds. Her skin was sun-dark and she moved with an elegance that seemed to insinuate that she could tapdance on a sand dune. A large fellow escorted her in, but my eyes were firmly trapped by this vision. "If you must stare, at least close your mouth," Peanut murmered into my neck. "I don't think Cerulean's noticed, but everyone else in the room certainly has." I knew she was right, and I closed my slack jaw, but my eyes... my traitorous eyes... Cerulean... blue. Just like me. And as I tore my eyes away to check on Pekkle, I realized what I had to do.

Things like Snit are nice, Ayshela makes me happy, Confused and sad, too. Whizzing through the air, By the power of pulleys. Aardvark's catapult. Wiggly Cabbages, Humor, spiced and serious, Gwaihir delights me.

Soft, fluffy comfort, Protection from the ninjas, Appy's warm blanky. Alaeha is nice, Defines haiku: I need not, Huggles in shoutbox. Orlan gets the girls, By the power of his looks, Sexy, sexy man. Soft, fluffy comfort, Protection from the ninjas, Canid's pointy teeth.

Well, obviously, I like blue, but greens, dark reds, and silver are also good choices for me. And black. Grrr..... Can't... choose... color! (Immediately runs over to Aardvark, explains that he can't pick a color or give a reason. Then climbs into the catapult and puts on aviator goggles.)

Part 8: Life in the Conservatory Several weeks went by, and I learned the little ins and outs of this strange new city. It seemed that the Conservatory was the main cultural hub of this area, as well as a center of commerce... everything got traded here, but mainly information. I began making aquaintances, and playing the little word-games which were the local pass-time. One, in particular, caught my attention. There was an entire section of town, cleary marked, where one could not do business unless one were to speak in verse. I remember the first time Peanut showed me around Poets' Quarter clearly. "A lesson for you, my little friend, In the way things work around here, Three geld in coins, to you I'll lend, To buy two rings for my ears." It took me a moment to realize that Peanut was going to give me three geld, and wanted me to buy a pair of earrings for her. Obviously, I'm not that quick a learner. After looking around for a bit, I found a jeweler's shop, and went in. Right there in the front display was the perfect pair. Two medium-sized rubies set in silver stared up at me. I addressed the portly dwarf behind the counter. "Hey, how much for the ruby earrings?" He ignored me. "Err... sir?" "What's at, my lad? That wasn't too bad." "Yeah, how much for the ruby set, there?" Nothing. It is at this point that you, kind reader, have obviously caught on. I, however, am not so mentally spry as most. Think I'm kidding? Read on... "I would like to know, How much those ruby earrings, Are selling for now..." "Hey, good for you! That's a nice haiku! As for the price, Does three geld sound nice?" "Err... yes... I guess..." Whereon he handed them over and I exited the strange little man's shop. I met Peanut out on the street a moment later, and as we walked back to the manor, she asked me how the trip was. "Well, it was all right, but the deaf dwarf apparently thought I'd made some kind of political overthrow at great elevation." "What?" "I'm not sure, but he said something about a 'high coup,' whatever that means." Peanut giggled all the way back to the manor.

And now for a change, The next few haikus will be, Written by Gollum. Predictions of doom, Shiny crystal balls and such, We likes Madame Q. Although they are green, Canid gives us Oreos, And we eats them all. Name is one full line, Degenero Angelus, It confuses us. Salinye has it... We knows she has the precious! Gives it back to us! Finnius giggles, Puts Gollum back in his box, Hits it with a stick. ;p

Once upon a time, There was a Scaley Wyvern, Cared only for Geld. And also was Gyr, Whose name was incoherent, We all mispronounced. Then there was Pered, Polite Ancient of the Pen, And dastardly Smith. More haiku's to come, Based on members of the Pen, I need Oreos.

Vlad, you magnificent bastard! *Beats self in face for not noticing this thread sooner. Immediately goes to begin writing haikus in the Banquet Room.