Peredhil

5-7-5 Haiku battle reports as requested: Trees in Dragon Fire Dryads slay from flaming groves Grey ash dusts dull scales Leviathan spies… Griffons spiral high over-head Winged-cat chow in flight Creeping vines,Mandrakes, Eternally slow Treants Eradication? Mind Rippers psigh Dominions fall like rain-drops End? Angels in flight… Top Stack nowhere found? Billion geld Hero worm-meat? Contract of the Soul. White Rose Legionnaires. Rebuttals in long postings- Honor’s Defenders. For Beta - Enlarge Animal Ring of Animal Command Griffons… WereBears… Sheep! For whimsy - Villagers bolt doors. Stealthy rodent killers fly. Pillaging squirrels. Enough! Back to work. Defragmentation Complete! Restarts Print spooler. Never Random Archmage Seek suitable opponents Random, Amber's Son? Assumption's idjit- Peredhil drips eggs from face. Other Legionaires?!? Scented spring winds blow Storms rage across Server strife Bedlam rules Board Bards. Yippee! Legionnaire! Earlier Haiku applies. Honors White Rose Bloom arch17.magewar.com/ubb/Fo...00106.html Note there are some excellent examples of other

"...Kind of idiot walks the skin off his feet without a comment?" The Voices sang a choral reply. "Oh. Well, then. At least he's not a complainer. I want you two to lift him until he heals." Shrill high Voices sang a protest. "Ahneck ddyllew Toan!" A cool comfort spread across the soles of his feet. The relief was so great he spiraled down into blackness again.

Manditory fun. My wife dresses me funny To compliment her. Plastic smiles abound, People swirl, leaves in spirals Rank and wit suction. In shallow Eddies Close friends huddle, turned backs! Lower masks and breathe.

Comments are welcome - If they be cast in Haiku. Let your wit run free! 5, 7, 5 Jechum floats in... Oh, I just felt that line fit in with you poem above. Not really a comment... just an inspiration. Jechum floats out... Edited by: Jechum at: 12/14/01 5:55:34 am

Obligatory Office parties can't be fled - Endure with a smile.

The grey skies shed tears Like the bears I wish to sleep I view life grey-eyed.

Peredhil stands and applauds Lady Celes for her new sig, her willingness to work within the system, her cheerfulness, her... Peredhil pauses and wipes a happy tear from his eye, kisses the air by both of the Lady's cheeks, and embraces her. Viva la France!

Peredhil looks dubiously at the beautiful but incomprehensable reply. Seeing the word ACCEPTED, he moves off to update the Lists, wondering what neat Role Playing he's missed.

Mademoiselle? Peredhil checks in confusion, then shrugs and moves on. The beauty couldn't have been talking to HIM unless his French was worse than he'd known. He makes a mental note to have his hair trimmed again just to avoid confusion...

Peredhil pauses in the hallway and listens in delight to Lady Celes' lovely voice, enjoying the beautiful tones while not understanding any of the words. M'Lady, Your patience, understanding and good humor are appreciated nearly as much as the excellence of your writing. I'm so pleased to see you here! Peredhil sets off to look for a Party Lizard.

Very nicely done.

It was the next day that Mordecai began to talk as they walked. He staggered on painfully, his attention more on his feet than the words of his uncle, but occasional phrases slipped through. "...have to always be on guard... Master must first master himself... they're tricksy!... if your will is great enough, there are few limits ... they're jealous sometimes, beware of loving ..." Finally he could walk no longer. Every step was squishy with blood. He stopped and and just stood, waiting for the beating he'd earned with his weakness. "What's wrong boy?" Mordecai stood before him now, impatience interlacing his voice with concern. A long scarred finger lifted his chin. He focused on the fine pores in the cheeks. How much smaller than his fathers they were. Small hairs shifted on the chin as the lips opened and closed. His vision seemed be come as if he looked up a well; blackness edged all but the moving face. He could no longer hear the voice over the thrushing sound of blood in his too-hot ears. He heard the Voices Shout as he fell into darkness.

Perhaps violence is the stain in the water, with a drastic impact on color. But communication is the water itself. Writing and Oral communication spread the stain into uniform diffusion. The violences are forgotten unless recorded. And even so, over tens and hundreds, hundreds and thousands of years, what were tramatic violences become mere footnotes in history. If the tree falls without record, does it make a sound? If there were no violently falling tree to fall, there would be nothing to record. But wait - the Pen can record events that didn't happen, and do it so well that it comes alive in the mind of the reader. So the violence of the Pen has more flexibility than the violence of the Sword. Peredhil is so tired, his eyes are crossing. He stops while he still makes the shadow of sense - he hopes.

Due to the intense pressures of being Elder of Initiates (by far one of our most important and demanding jobs), we've hired... well, almost hired... well, we're NEGOTIATING to hire. Peredhil stops and thinks. There is now an Almost Secretary to the Elder of Initiates. Melba. I hope that all Applicants will have the courtesy to Role Play their Application to the Pen, and suffer along - strike that. Endure the resulting. NO! ahem. Will remain active while their paperwork is processed. Don't forget to Role Play! Thank you, Elrond Peredhil, 31 Elder of Manners and Lists.

Peredhil nods to Jechum and whispers in his ear. You found someone? Jechum exclaims. Peredhil whispers some more. And they know they have to work with Wyvern?! bzzts pssmsb beesnstm bztst. Peredhil whispers, and then nods knowingly. Both Peredhil and Jechum turn with huge cheesy smiles to the Applicant. The Application grows wings and flies down the short corridor to the Recruiting Office. Thank you for your patience! Either Melba or Wyvern will be with you shortly!

Peredhil takes the brief Role Played application and the attached writing sample and puts them in Melba's Inbox. Melba or Wyvern should be with you shortly. I understand the Role Playing requirement of the Application Process can be difficult or wearysome for some very busy writers, but we DO appreciate your understanding and patience. Good writing, by the way - that part was simply topnotch... as I've come to expect from you, having seen your works elsewhere.

Peredhil wanders in and sighs. Carefully brushing the cobwebs off the patient Princess, he takes her application over and puts it in the Inbox on Melba's desk. Either Melba or Wyvern will be with you shortly!

Peredhil stands with a bright smile. Another Seeker of Babylon found us! How good to see a fellow Scholar! If you go down that short hallway there, hand your application to Melba, our new Almost Secretary. She's helping Wyvern. Either she or Wyvern himself will see to processing it. Welcome, again, welcome!

Melba! Peredhil absently shakes her hand. It's about time you arrived. Things have been hectic around here. Peredhil runs his hands through his hair distractedly. With all the press of other issues, the Recruitment area has simply been impossible with which to keep up adequately. No one wants to short-change these new Lights, these potential Stars of the future, these - Melba has already sat back down and begun typing furiously. Peredhil waxes on pendantically in the background. Stopping to pull up her sagging support hose, she tunes back in briefly. -will of course still be in charge. When he's here. But a Torch Bearer to carry on the day to day business will - She continues arranging things to her satisfaction. Noting that Peredhil seems to show no signs of stopping she stands and waves her hands in front of him. Oy! So thank you very much! I have applications to process! It's been nice seeing you. Drop by again. Closing the door behind him, Melba gets down to work...

perhaps something like Sisters of the Knife have no family for old age ? you have such a knack of revealing the humanity of the darker side of humanity - like an assassin...

Peredhil suddenly looks suspiciously at his Guinea Pig BodyGuards.. "I've been assuming BP stands for Big Peredhil." "BP could stand for Big Pig..." The Pigs look at each other and begin smiling. Nuncio just buffs his nails knowingly while Guido elbows him in the ribs. Sauntering from the room, they begin running and chortling as they clear the door. "Hee hee hee! Da Boss is gonna be so mad when he finds out weese jerkin' his chain!"

You mean... it gets BETTER? Peredhil wags his head disbelievingly. You GO girl!

Peredhil stammers a thank you, then bursts out. I'm not worthy! Beautiful poem though. I'd love to see more from you. Peredhil hugs Cheyenne warmly and waves to Doc in the shadows behind her.

Later that day, they camped. The Voices were a constant quiet murmur, easily tuned out. His uncle walked broodingly through the woods, following the path of least resistence. He wondered if Uncle Mordecai knew where he was or even cared. He spent the day trying to keep up with the long legs of his Uncle. That and keeping watch for the myriad monsters that he knew wandered the woods. By the time they stopped, he was in a resigned numb funk, hardly noticing his blistered splintered feet. He missed home. He missed his sissy. He missed Mom. He almost missed his father.

Peredhil muses on the example given and nods thoughtfully. The Sword... In consideration, the Sword has a commanding presence in the immediate short-term reality, with obvious implications in the long-term such as maiming or death. To remain the beautiful and lethal weapon it is, it requires loving care and maintainance. Yet the Pen... When skillfully wielded, it can influence in the present and presence and also over thousands of miles, change hearts and minds, reveal or obfusicate reality, and endure untouched hundreds of years to eventually flower as fresh and applicable as when first written. There may be a time and a place for both. Many Scholars have also been Warriors as well. As in so many things, context is essential. Peredhil sips his Starvation Spring bottle of water and broods on the subject.