Disco-neck Ted

Funny! Properly executed, too: "...your portrayal of me was very off mark..." followed by a wink indicating non-seriousness, then joke payload arrives on target. *throws water balloon at Degorram*

When you write your first book, let me know so I can buy it. In hardback.

Dear Pen Diary, (hello? hello? is this thing on?!?) Went to the hockey game Friday. Much yelling and drinking of beer. We won! The other team did not score once. Saturday, went to the opera. Don Giovanni is not a nice person. He scored repeatedly. Sunday, played Call of Chthulu. We did not even use a computer! Pencil, paper and those hard little RNGs that you roll on the table... dice! Monday: head exploded. To Do List 1. See another opera (next year maybe) 2. Be a contestant on The Price is Right 3. Get a new head.

Gregor stared out of the kitchen door at the wreckage strewn about the conservatory, a tray of candied man-eating Venus's-flytrap tonsils in his hands momentarily forgotten. Shadows stretched and swayed in time to Grimmael's oscillations on the chandelier. The changing light sounded like feet shuffling on carpet, felt like being slapped with a shaving brush. The smell of ogre stone soup was a faint orange haze in the air, making it hard to be certain, but... "The Akashans appear to have Kurt," Gregor murmured, averting his gaze from the chaos that was assaulting his senses. So much input was impossible to process all at once. Still, he perceived nothing of the sous-chef in the disarray. Gregor focused on the tray of delicacies before him, rows of tidbits arranged in a perfect, soothing grid. The smell of the candy glaze was warm against his skin. If he took one tonsil from each corner, he mused, the array would still be orderly. It was not as if guests would be after them, not now. Shifting his grip, the food-taster produced a silver case. The clasp pinged like the twinkle of the evening's first star and he hesitated over the array of toothpicks contained within. The baobab, he decided, thumbing out a dark sliver. Definitely the baobab. The exotic wood would be the perfect complement to both the sweet, tingling glaze and the musky, silken taste of flytrap flesh. Shards of broken glassware tinkled to the floor like sprinkles of cinnamon on Gregor's tongue, and an angel-wing shifted from beneath the rack of gorgon ribs. Gregor paused, savoring the moment even more than the thought of the treats in front of him. "The Akashans have Kurt," the food-taster repeated. He looked down at the adamantium-clad figure that was once again lying motionless under a mound of meat and shook his head. "They just don't know that they have him." * * * Jacobson Avalontenium stalked down the corridor of the Mighty Pen Keep, his dominions clanking along behind him in perfect unison. He glanced back at the two enormous winged figures, momentarily puzzled, but uncertain of the source. Finally, he shrugged and resumed striding toward the exit. A credit to dominion training, he thought, it sounded almost as if but a single armored figure kept pace with him.

Nice story. Enjoyed it quite a lot. A capsule of the whole +/- of having someone to spend time with/having to spend time with someone. Not wild about the very last sentence, though. Seems kind of stated and obvious. As for the sound... my lightbulb tells me it was a ring being tossed away?

Huge congrats on the writing stuff, oh fortunate stranger. That's pretty inspirational. As for the slowing of The Pen, I've been tempted to write a paper on the life cycle of internet forums (forums... fora... either is correct). Make a great cure for insomnia, that would. Maybe if it were rum-flavored it would be more popular? Silliness aside, along with the obvious contributing factors, such as people getting busy with life or wandering off to other places, I first stumbled upon this fine, fine place while googling a Bored of The Rings reference. Possibly as a direct result, I think the content of this site can no longer be web-searched, so there aren't a lot of walk-ons adding to the talent pool. Or maybe this is just a brief period of retrograde motion and the place will soon wheel through the sky at speeds faster than e'er before. One can hope.

For something slightly different yet still fantasy, try the Amber series by Roger Zelazny. The first five books are very good and the next five are pretty decent. Nine Princes in Amber is fabulous. Dave Duncan has loads of good stuff. The Man of His Word tetrology is excellent, although the follow-up quad (A Handful of Men) was not as enjoyable. The Seventh Sword Trilogy and Dodec Duology are solid, and some of the King's Blades series are excellent (notably The Gilded Chain which is where you'd want to start with them anyway). Glen Cook has two fine series I'm familiar with. The Black Company tales are mighty fine. He also writes of Garrett, essentially a hard-boiled private eye in a fantasy setting. Fun stuff. He has penned a half-dozen in the Dread Empire series but I haven't read any of them. Steven Brust is extremely good. The stories of Vlad Taltos (Jhereg, Yendi, Issola, Orca etc., ten or so in all) should keep you well entertained for a long time. Brust started out as a member of a Minnesota-based (?) writing group called The Scribblies and most of the other authors in that group have also published good stuff, if not in the same quantities. Look for Emma Bull, Will Shetterly, Teri Windling and a few others, notably tales written of The Borderlands. Finder and Elsewhere are both excellent modern fantasies. The Lions of Al Rassan is one of my favorite books. Guy Gavriel Kay can really put words together. His other books are quite good: The Fionavar Tapestry trilogy, Tigana, others. Barbara Hambly has written many fine novels. While the acclaimed Darwath stories didn't do much for me, the tales of Antryg Windrose and the stories of Sunwolf were pretty good. She has a ton of other stuff I'm less familiar with but she knows how to tell a story, so fingers crossed they are decent. Some of these authors also have extensive representation in science fiction if you ever swing that way. Summing up, almost anything fantasy by the following authors should be good: Roger Zelazny Steven Brust Guy Gavriel Kay Dave Duncan Glen Cook Barbara Hambly And if you like modern fantasy, whatever you can find by Teri Windling, Will Shetterly, Emma Bull and Nina Kiriki Hoffman (not previously mentioned but very gifted). Have fun reading some of these. I sure did. Edit: removed excessive use of the word "also".

The prayer-stone had felt cool and smooth under the travelling tips of his fingers, but now a faint dampness from Lorias' palms made the jade sticky and warm. Unpleasant. Trust, the ranger had said, and offered the woman gold. But trust ran both ways. Could you pay a thief not to steal? He might have enjoyed letting that question have its way with his thoughts for a time if not for the Knight pledging his honor (in the name of the king!) into the bargain. Something important remained unsaid when an officer of the crown forwent his duty to arrest a criminal and instead offered his aegis. One explanation presented itself, but Lorias suppressed the thought. Now was neither the time nor the place for such questions. He shifted the staff from the crook of his left arm to his right shoulder and rubbed the bit of jade on his robe with both hands, drying them in the process. "Of course the skills of the rangers are known, Sliver. I meant no disrespect. And no doubt your horse is also talented at hiding its trail. Mine..." Lorias faltered. "She has no such skill, I'm afraid. And rumor has it that Huntsmen, and worse, run with the main force of the bandits." The monk gestured at the pack animals and mounts, the steeds taken from Drouk and his thugs. A double handful in all. Behind them stretched an avenue of hoofprints, broken or nibbled plants, and more than one mound of fresh droppings; a glaring trail leading straight from Kiart. He looked from the ranger to the thief and back. "Guide us in this matter as you see best." ((OOC: Darwin is the Ashter I was referring to, not Kaito. The snake man surprises and interests Lorias as much as the Ancient does. As for Sliver, I was only suggesting that he finds the winged woman fascinating, which can happen even to smitten people. His profile says he "goes absolutely crazy around females", and crazier still around Roxxia (as opposed to being singlemindedly oblivious), so merely staring seems quite subdued, methinks, and was in no way intended as a breach of faith between him and his besottedness beloved. ))

As the outskirts of Kiart fell away behind them, Lorias walked with reins in one hand and a staff in the other. Ahead, the knight sat an enormous piebald charger and led a roan packhorse. Beside him, the ranger rode a spirited dun gelding that kicked up dust as it pranced and snorted, clearly ready to run. The two conversed in low tones or pointed to the occasional landmark. Leading his buttermilk-colored mare, the monk brooded openly. A bad habit to get into, showing emotion, yet he knew the pinch of his brow gave him a meditative look that others could mistake for serenity. If only his thoughts were as calm as his face. An Ashter. He had supposed that race had vanished into myth, yet one travelled with them now. And that was not the biggest surprise. The winged one had watched events unfold from above the stable, yet he had not been aware of her presence until... Until she had worked some kind of magic. From beneath his hood, Lorias moved his eyes slightly at the flash of silver hair as Kaito took a short flight past the riders ahead. He wondered if the village crone was less the charlatan than she had appeared. He might not have been the only one to note the quick ripple of forces. It was well done that Iverron had taken charge and then gotten them quickly away. The iron-clad warrior had restored the smith's coins and horse and paid for the burials with the bandits' own funds. The rest of their goods he had confiscated in the name of the church to be redistributed to their former owners where possible, or to feed the poor when not. Lorias grinned despite himself, remembering the look on the knight's face when the mayor, who doubled as the undertaker in Kiart, had asked how many days of mourning were to be paid for. The memory lightened his mood. Rousing himself, he called out to the riders ahead. "Good knight," he said, "there is a low meadow to the West, ringed round with brush and bush. Not so favorable a place as the one our archer friend has mentioned, but safer." The riders reined in their horses. Lorias moved forward and then paused for Karinne and Darwin to catch up. The Ashter had volunteered to lead Gil's horse with the bandit slung across the saddle, still unconscious. The ranger looked as if he were about to say something, then thought better of it. Both riders had waited until all were in easy speaking range. Good. "According to Sliver, the North holds high ground with good visibility," the knight said. He adjusted the scarf at his neck, then looked down and brushed absently at his belt. "Defensible," he continued. "To the South I know of a roofless stone cottage with a clear well. Also defensible. What leads you to favor the West?" Sliver's eyes twinkled. "Our holy companion fears something. Perhaps an attack from the townspeople? They heard your declaration for the South and mine to the counter, so perhaps West is the wisest course of action if we wish to remain hidden." Lorias nodded solemnly. "It is even so. Many heard our travel plans. And I believe a large contingent of raiders may be in the area." "Sssurely they would not tell?" Darwin looked from one face to another. "The smith? The child? Do they not know gratitude for your ressscue?" Kaita was looking into the distance in the direction of vanished Kiart. A half-smile played on her face. "Not willingly," she said. "But they would tell." Odd, Lorias thought. Her features were almost human, but struck in fine lines and angles that marked her with an alien beauty. She had seemed almost happy at the idea that the townsfolk could be coerced. Or else she paid attention to something none of the others could see. Sliver also looked at the winged one. If he had shown uncertainty anywhere, it would be in his dealings with Kaita, but she had accepted his offer to carry her bag with his own gear. Not your average tavern girl, Lorias thought, but a cat may look on a queen, so may a ranger dream. "Hide?" Iverron pierced Lorias with his gaze. He snorted. "Not if they have trackers of any worth. Better to know they are coming and meet them with steel in hand than to be ridden down in our bedrolls. Kaita seemed oblivious to the ranger's stare, yet her chin dropped a fraction when he broke off his attention and spoke to the monk. "Indeed," he said, "it would be difficult to disguise our passage." "I think..." Lorias trailed off, looking at his hands. He rubbed a jade prayer-stone between his fingers and studied the men without appearing to do so. Iverron travelled in light armor and his saddle was chased with silver. Blue and gold ribbons had been twined in the charger's mane and tale. The ranger sat plain leather tack and wore a brown cloak over green tunic with faun-colored breeks. It was to him that Lorias finally looked when he continued. "Perhaps one who leaves no footprints could successfully confuse our back-trail?" All eyes turned to the winged woman, even Karinne's. The ranger nodded thoughtfully. "That could work. To the West!" ((OOC: Woo-hoo! We've made it out of Kiart alive! If I've mishandled anyone's character, say something.))

"This is a mistake," shrilled professor Wagner as the headsman walked him towards the chopping block. "Neither lewd nor lascivious, I was simply studying your culture." "Quite the pocket feudality," the executioner agreed, showing unexpected eruditeness. He rubbed his grubby upper lip and wiped fingers on a black cloth tucked into his studded leather belt. "Nearly unchanged since the Medieval days. The astute anthropologist will note the zealous adherence to strict chastity laws." Wagner stumbled at this and nearly fell, weak with dysentary, but the iron grip on his upper arm kept him upright. More, it kept him moving forward. Straining against his bonds, the academic turned and stared at the balding giant at his side. "Isolated incidences of cross-cultural contamination have occurred," the other continued. "For example, in the charge against you the word 'lecher' has been combined with the Spanish word for milk, leading to amusing, and in your case dire, anatomical associations that extend beyond the mere act of, hrm, observing as it were." He clucked. "At least you kept it above the waist this time. Punishment for cultural studies of a more in-depth nature is much starker here than what you encountered amongst the Tak Islanders." Wagner continued to peer at the other. "Costers?" He hissed. "Is that you? Dammit!" The last was a curse as the hard wood of the block banged his knee. The pain was blinding and his other leg gave way in sympathy, leaving him kneeling with his chin resting in a shallow groove running the width of the block. Several deep cuts furrowed the grain. They were black with old blood, and the professor quickly looked up and forward at the crowd. Serfs in crudespun, brightly-robed merchants, and the occasional armored knight or bejewelled noble had all gathered. Jeers arose amidst laughs and crude pantomimes. The friendliest expression he could see was boredom. A scene he had illiminated in many a paper, it was gratifying to note the myriad details he had gotten right. With a start, he recalled that they were not here out of academic interest. "Costers," he said, speaking quickly, "Everyone thought you had died. You disappeared and none of your crew returned. We came to find you. We're here to help!" The headsman stepped into the professor's line of sight. A black hood now obscured his face, but the sneer was obvious in his voice. "Help?" He nodded. Forearms bulged and relaxed as he worked snug leather gloves onto his fingers. "Yes, you must have shooed the little co-eds off your lap and hastened to help just as soon as you could have me legally declared dead and transfer my grants into your name." The axe was a piece of timber with a slab of iron for a blade. Costers hoisted it like a baton and moved to one side. Wagner's eyes followed until the executioner was a blur in his peripheral vision. My God, he thought, the man has put on forty pounds here and most of that is muscle! He tried to speak, to argue, to break his bonds and fly away. But the other's realness held him still. "You never were much of a field man," Costers said. "Not much of an explorer. But think of this as a research fellowship. Think of it as your chance to go beyond what you could learn merely from being alive. " It remains uncertain whether Wagner's mind benefited when the axe swung, but his body was enlightened by a good ten pounds. Sting Hard Acorn Rune

Most pennites are probably unaffected, but this seemed worth mentioning: Mars bars get veggie status back Mars has abandoned plans to use animal products in its chocolate, and has apologised to "upset" vegetarians. The firm had said it would change the whey used in some of its products from a vegetarian source to one with traces of the animal enzyme, rennet. The Vegetarian Society organised a campaign against the move, asking members to voice their concerns to parent company Masterfoods. Mars said it became "very clear, very quickly" that it had made a mistake. In just one week, more than 6,000 people bombarded the company, which produces the Mars, Snickers, Maltesers and Galaxy brands, with phone and e-mail complaints. Forty MPs also signed a petition to voice their opposition. Fiona Dawson, managing director of Mars UK, said the company had listened to customers and decided to reverse its decision. Full article here: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/6673549.stm

That was mighty fine! The type of poem that sweeps you along with it and takes you exciting places. As Parmenion noted, 'whispers' does trip one up and stop the eye from wandering the page. I also found the third stanza to be very 'they' heavy. The repetition of 'They know...' is good and strong, but my feeling is that if you could remove the usage in lines one and two, perhaps by substituting 'and', then the last two lines of the stanza would have even more impact. But really, the whole thing is so cool that is seems like ingratitude to nitpick. Thanks for the nice read... nice ride? Either way, I'm still smacking my lips after that poetic goodness.

Lorias was cautiously pleased with his luck so far. Chance had placed him in Kiart, where he had found a bed free of insects at an otherwise unremarkable inn. That alone was cause for thanks after a fortnight of wandering, and he had said his morning prayer with enthusiasm. The day had continued to grow brighter when the innkeeper's wife had placed a sticky-roll the size of his head in front of him at the breakfast table. He had not had the opportunity to taste her cooking the night before, but it was bound to be good: the host-wife was near as wide as she was tall, and judging from the way her dress was straining, the roll was not the only thing the size of his head. Casting his eyes towards the heavens and safely away from her bosom, Lorias murmured a blessing in the old tongue, beseeching a bounty from merciful gods on the lady's behalf. Words often had two meanings, and if the quickly-contrived chant also translated to ample fortune for an ample woman, could Lorias be blamed? As if she knew what he was saying, the goodwife blushed and returned to the kitchen. Lorias watched her go. He would rather eat toadstools than sup at an inn with a skinny hostess, he thought, then turned his full attention to his breakfast. The roll was nearly gone when he heard raised voices from outside. "...your king shall hear of this, and you'll hang!" "Ayldon isn't my king..." Licking the stickiness from his fingers, Lorias stepped out in time to see four men face a challenge from a knight in full armor. The bow in the man's hands stayed level as he manoeuvered the horse with his knees. His opponents were obviously bandits, wearing what looked to be good but mismatched bits of armor, rich cloaks and more jewelry than men of their station should be able to afford. This could be a good contest, Lorias thought. There would be a song here whether the knight lived or died. Somewhere deep in his mind, words and tunes began to fit themselves together but he shook off the nascent ballad and focused on the scene at hand. Too bad it couldn't be allowed to happen like that. "Drouk," the biggest of the bandits said. He nudged the leader and pointed behind them. Even as Lorias was considing what to do, another man appeared, also with a bow. Despite being on foot, he was well positioned and would be hard for the others to ride down before he could do a great deal of damage. And there was another... Lorias held himself still as the presence he had sensed stepped out from the shadows and added a long sword of foreign design to the forces marshalled against the robbers. Oh, dear. In a minute, the whole town would be in arms and there would be blood. Dead bandits, certainly, and how many others, tripping over themselves in hopes of striking a blow? That boy would be ridden over and his parents were already in range of a naked sword. This must end before it went any further. A shame, really, that he needed at least one of the bandits alive. His gaze travelled over the four, men with faces marked by the brutality of their lives. The leader, the giant of a man behind him, and a third, reaching cautiously for a dagger, they were beasts on two legs. The small one, though, there was something different about him. His armor was plain, yet the vest matched the bracers and his cloak was a serviceable brown. A gold ring on one hand and a bright scarf around his bicep were the only bits of color, the only trophies from his rides. The bandit's attention shifted here, then there, assessing the opposition, noting that he and his fellows were, in essence, surrounded. Even as Lorias marked this one for saving, the man's eyes rolled up in his head and he fell from his horse. One of the robbers barked a laugh that sounded like a grunt of pain. "Damn that faintheart! Three against three, then." "Damn Gil faintheart indeed," said a voice. The man had moved so quickly that none could have prevented it. The fall from the horse had become a roll and now he stood with his knife to the boy's throat. "We'll be going now. If you follow, we'll leave a trail of fingers to mark our path." The bandit leader howled with laughter. "He means it," Drouk cried. "He gutted that little girl outside of Meren town because she touched his horse." Lorias could hear the lie in that. The leader wasn't certain what the other might do and was covering with bravado. But even Gil didn't seem sure of what he would do next, and the boy's father was working himself into a rage even as his wife sagged against his shoulder. The time for waiting was over. "You'll be dropping those weapons now," Drouk said, smirking. His own sword was still out and the other bandits filled their hands as well. Lorias moved into the street, pulling a length of wood from beneath his robe. He twisted the mouthpiece on his flute sharply to the right, then raised it to his lips, pointing straight out in front of him. Covering all the holes, he blew a sharp blast. All heads turned in his direction. "The boy is innocent," he began, "and protected by the gods. You hold no advantage here. Surrender to these men or it will go hard for you." Drouk gaped in astonishment. Then he laughed. "Bring your gods then, monk, and I will fight them as well." He surveyed the scene. The knight and the ranger had lowered their bows but had not dropped them. More people were coming out of their homes or peering from the common room of the inn. He spat. "Are you as sick of this place as I am, Illim? Yarl, take the whelp. Your horse won't notice the extra weight. Gil, mount up--" He turned to the smaller bandit. Gil's face was pale and he was staring at his arm as if it no longer belonged to him. The dagger dropped from his hand. For the second time that day, Gil's eyes rolled back in his head, but this was no mummery. Free of the bandit's grasp, the boy stared at the fallen knife for a moment, then ran to his parents. "You hold no advantage here," Lorias repeated. He paused. The couple had fled to the safety of the smithy with their child and the remaining townsfolk were well clear. This Drouk had denied the king in the presence of an ordained knight. A careful choice of words now, Lorias thought. "I implore you, drop your weapons. Blood need not be shed this day. Throw yourselves on the mercy of the crown." That should do it. Steel glinted in sunlight and a horse screamed. The world was all shadows and motion, dust, the smell of blood and cries of rage and pain. Lorias drifted through it all like a spirit, unheeding, untouched. He made his way to where Gil lay and began a prayer over the fallen raider. His hands moved ritualistically over the outstretched form, the wide sleeve of his robe concealing nimble fingers as they retrieved a tiny dart from the man's arm. Gil would live, Lorias would see to that. As for the others... He watched the battle until it was done. There would be no song. Not today.

Whoops... I would have SWORN that someone had posted their four-word story in verse, but obviously not. Apologies for the gaffe. Trying this again with mirror, rejection, ricochet and disconnected. Danny drew a wide swath in the shaving cream on his face and knew immediately that something was wrong. Blue eyes stared back at him from the mirror, eyes without a trace of red despite a sleepless night. The wonders of Visine. Still, despite his alert appearance he felt disconnected from himself. Off balance. Wrong. That sleepless night... amazing. She was still in the next room, living, breathing, occupying his bed. The one. They had talked over dinner while the food went to waste and the wine remained untasted. Invented new constellations in the night sky afterwards, roared back at the crashing waves on the beach, danced without music and laughed until the sun had come up to share in the joke. And here he was, the morning after, nervous suddenly. Fearing rejection that would shatter his joy like skeet. Showering and scouring, cleansing, flensing, scraping, and even re-tinting his eyes, eliminating any mortal imperfection that might mar his chance at bliss. "Oh, dear God," said a voice from the bathroom doorway. She was there, long honey-colored hair cascading over one shoulder, down the front of one of his shirts. It looked fantastic on her, but she was shaking her head pityingly. "You're a morning person... this is never going to work out." Danny couldn't move. His eyes would not focus, nor breath pass from his lungs. Thoughts flashed to the past, to the women he had known, friends or lovers, that rose each day an hour or more before their husbands and boyfriends, making certain the men in their lives never, not once, saw them without their makeup on. This tension, or conflict, this fundamental dishonesty had so appalled him that he had never looked at them the same afterwards and certainly could not ever trust them. Had he crossed that line this morning, become like them? Striving against fear to be something he was not, not quite, was he losing his dream even now as a richochet of what had passed? She smiled then and moved towards him, pressing her body against his and kissing him full on his Barbasol-covered lips. Snuggling against him, she tilted her head back and said, "Did you know you were trying to shave with your toothbrush?" ++++++++++++ Cheers! -DnT spartan wild vine thrush

In the mirror land Rejection is impossible Ever been stood up By a ricochet of light? Faithful silvered friend Socially impeccable Always there to dance Or talk away the night See the looking glass Growing paradoxical Something dark is here And not reflecting right Little looking glass Clearly quite uncomfortable Physics should apply But can't enforce its will In the mirror land Impossible is happening I see my face and yet, I'm disconnected still. -Disco-neck Ted (sorry, couldn't pass that one up) Weevil Sneeze Teleport Mud P.S. Some nice stuff up above. Nyarlathotep, Gwaihir, too many to mention. Good show.