Peredhil

Living, Jesus the Christ. Dead, My Grandfather.

Peredhil as an object... A life-sized soft fuzzy Teddy Bear, with actually huggy arms and waterproof fur suitable on which to cry. Nuncio: A rapier in broad scabbard, a stilleto in Bowie Knife sheath. A Mage in zoot suit clothing, a keen-eyed detective in black fedora. Perhaps a camera, for little escapes his eye, and that which he sees, he remembers. Guido: A harlequin doll, a cleric's cudgel. Little finesse here. Heart on the sleeve and willing to fight at the drop of his fedora, but doctors the wounds and stands you up to buy you a drink. Forceful club, banded with cold iron. Elrohir: A Archmage's staff, wrought and carved with secret runes only the most observant can see, full of ego and knowledge, a deep well of wisdoms. Power sits his brow and Might is in his hand, His self is hidden deeply, but his self-sacrificing love is all too apparent. Elladan: The bright sword, edge fading into rainbows of acuity, with unwrapped edged hilt, ready to cut the wielder. Enchanted with wonderous beauty to behold, warm sunlight to Elrohirs brooding darkness. Full of the blood and power of a thousand thousand taken in by his smiles. The kind of guy who helps little old ladies cross the street, cries at McDonald's commercials and cute kitties - and eradicates annoyances such as loud people without thought or remorse. He's aware of societies rules, but just doesn't care.

All alternate definitions taken from the Funk & Wagnalls Standard Desk Dictionary. Later, Elrond sat at dinner with his family. Over the quiet clinks of crystal and the murmur of dinner conversation, he told them of the prophecy. "Weren't you a Seer at one time," queried Elladan, "I seem to remember that." "It was in the Eighth Plane, the lands under the Rune Quest. It was a strange thing, I'd get visuals, but no audio. Like little holograms." "Future, present, or both?" Nuncio was now interested, this was before his time with the Elves. He sat for a moment and followed with a non-sequiter, "And why are you a Half-Elf, but the boys are Elves?" "That last is easy, the first generation resulting from the mixture of Human and Elf had the Choice. That choice was binding on all future generations issuing from the union. Thus I chose to be an Elf and am of one kind with them, and Elros chose to be of Human-kind. "He founded the kingdom of Numenior, which made Aragon a distant nephew who married his cousin, many times removed." Sipping his wine, he continued on to the first question. "The visions I saw, a Seer being a See-er, where mostly of the present or past, but once or twice they were of the future. Only in that plane however." "I," Elladan mused, "always thought the descriptions sounded like those you could see in a Palantir. Whenever I was in the area, I'd use the Seeing Stone in the Tower by the Shipwright to try to glimpse the Undying Lands." Peredhil nodded a quiet agreement. "Why aren't you a Seer still?" "I'm not sure. It could have something to do with passage to the Undying West. The voyage was perilous, following the Star of my father's ship. Parts of it passed through time and space which were not natural to Elves. Of us all, Frodo had it easiest. He was the only one who wasn't sea-sick at least once. All of our kind, the Elves, from Galadriel to the boys here, were very sick on the voyage. Even the Gandalf was heaving a few. One reason we avoid sailing." The twins gave fervent nods to this! "Deep are the wounds we incurred over Ulmo's deeps!" "What kinda wounds?" Guido asked, eyes shining. He loved it when they got the Boss talking. "Well, with the exception of the Undying West and the Rune Quest's plane, we've had extremely delicate digestion - apparently constipation of the body gives a Seer constipation of the Inner Eye. The light of the Rune gave us such diarrh-" "You should drink more water Dad," interjected Elladan, while Elrohir offered, "If you'd lay off the chocolate before dinner you'd be better off," at the same time. Smiling, they concluded with the constipation motto, "Don't push or you'll blow an O-ring!" Elrond shook his head at their crudity even as he smiled at them both and crunched happily into his chocolate and puffed rice dessert. Turning to Guido and Nuncio, Elrohir smiled and gestured with a "you're letting him eat like this?" only to get rueful shrugs acknowledging that Elrond listened, smiled, and then did whatever he wanted. At their look, Peredhil switched to water for the rest of the meal. The conversation passed onto the works of Pen artists and the Politics of the White Rose. Hours later, Elrond woke with tummy cramps. Pulling his knees up to his chest, he rode the pain out. Healer he was, but some things were part of the body's natural rhythmns and shouldn't be altered. He shouldn't have had that fourth serving, but Elladan had gone hunting for Tricorn in another Plane as a special treat, and it had tasted so GOOD. Feeling bloated, heavy of body and eyelids, he wrestled his way from under the covers and began the long lonely trip, staggered, drunk with pain and fatigue, toward the door. A sour burp filled his mouth with the nasty taste of acid and brocoli. Stubbing his toe on a chair that should've been two feet further to the left, he smothered an Impolite word, knowing his words contained Power. The lessons of the Third Plane had taught all of them to be wary of tempting the Sisters Weird and their knack of causing curses to come about. He was nearly to his goal when his intestines did a strange twisting dance. Something that hadn't happened in centuries was on his way. He definitely wasn't constipated tonight! He hoped he'd make it the last few steps... ~time passes~ Though his eyes were tearing, he felt pounds lighter than before he'd sat down. There was still something roiling within him which felt like a beast clawing its way to freedom. Remember the boys advice, he resisted the urge to push, settling for stomach massage. With nothing to do, the smell and fatigue left him light-headed and dizzy. With a gut-wrenching spasm, his body finally purged itself, releasing its load. At the same moment, the vision formed from the spikes and moire patterns of his closed eyes. He knew where his wife's picture was! After cleaning up and casting a few air purifying cantrips, he began a solitary trip back to his chambers, heart and body both lighter than when he'd set out.

Happy Happy Birthday Birthday! To the all of you. BPO and cohorts. All the the Psimon.

Clicking fast reply, he replies quickly... Verdant green, sweet and clean, Nature's true delight. Ascendant's Choir, Holy Fire, defending what is right. Firey Eradication, Dragonic proclamation, always ready for the fight. Magic's child, Phantasm's wild, dour wishes and peeping mage sight. Nether's Cruel, Devil's fool, blood-thirsty altars and withered land's plight. Red, Green and White are (almost but not quite) the paths to trod While icky Black and Blue, bruising foul two, fit one to feed the sod.

Read's Orlan's post. Falls out laughing. Reads some more and at the 'doom' sequence, has a flashback to the little old man muttering 'groooooove' in the Emperor's New Groove. hurts himself laughing some more.

The Tavern or Bardic Circle at Angels of Apocolyse site The Tavern or Stage at Legion of the White Rose site

Elrond Peredhil slumped in his chair in exhaustion, simply overwhelmed by juggling too many responsibilities at once, and his inability to Rudely say no to any of the requesters. Elrohir shuffled a deck of Dragons and Skulls card, wondering what had ever become of Cerulean's Demonette, and subtley not worrying or keeping an obvious eye on his father. Guido and Nuncio sat the recessed seats of an arching window. While Nuncio made quiet comments to his brother (making sure Peredhil didn't hear his all too accurate assessments of various Pen people), Guido practiced spitting at exactly where each walker had been two seconds before. Elladan simply sat, smiling at his father, and wondering if killing anyone would brighten his Dad's mood. He knew it would be a great stress reliever for himself. With a uncharacteristic sigh, he silently lamented the permanent portal to Archmage (anchored on the doorway of an old linen closet which was never used) opening on said linen closet once more. Heh, Guido chortled, Dat crazy Gypsy dame ain't had a cust'mer yet. Not even Wyvern has hit her wagon! She must be broke AND nuts. Nuncio elbowed him sharply and spoke loudly to cover his brother's gaffe, I'm sure she's very nice and will have all sorts of business soon! A welcome guest to the Pen, she is. No need to bother yourself on her account. Rubbing his side, Guido looked at him as if he were the crazy one. Youse should be lucky I ain't sapped you on the noggin for elbows like that! Waddaya mean welcome guest? Don' bothered me at all. Her wagon'd prolly fall apart wit someone in it. Nuncio covered his eyes and sighed at he heard Peredhil's chair creak at the words 'guest'. Elrohir swept up his cards and followed his father out the door. Elladan, without apparently crossing the space between, was suddenly at the Guinea Pigs' side. Dearest Bodyguards, he said brightly, (Both Pigs cowered back at his cheery tone and bright eyes) Now that your reminder of the Pen's Rude welcome to our guest has roused Elrond to action, perhaps you should join him? Guido and Nuncio eyed the closing door, Elladan blocking the way, and then each other. Swallowing visibly they looked back at Elladan. He was so still and focused on them, he apparently wasn't breathing. Yeah/yes sir! trailed back up to Elladan's ears as they jumped out the window to await Peredhil's arrival. Alone for the moment, 'Dan's eyes flashed from their normal light-grey to obsidian-black. By the time he turned to pace out of the chamber, they were a clear cheerful grey again. Peredhil paused for a moment in confusion at seeing Guido and Nuncio waiting for him downstairs, then continued toward the garish wagons, his Bodyguard limping after him. Elrohir waited for his twin, knowing if when their father was running on duty instead of sleep, 'Dan would never be far away. The tall grey-eyed elves started toward the wagons at Elrond climbed, his Bodyguards shed at the foot of the stairs. As he entered the wagon, Nuncio rapped the back of Guido's head so hard his black fedora was knocked off. Letting his spirit lap out in a wave of acceptance and friendship that brought an involuntary smile to Madame Quixotic's face as she looked up, Peredhil stood framed, a slender dark figure outlined in the doorway. Entering, he finally spoke, sincere pleasure at seeing her warm in his eyes. Madame, Thank you for the honour of being your first customer. Have you a fortune for me?

well-done anthromorphing the Beast! Jews are shrubbery? Monty Python's Holy Grail takes on new levels of meaning... But seriously, well-written with a message without being pushy. -P

As she runs, she's briefly smothered under 465 pounds of well-dressed Guinea Pigs hugging her. "Dat's from da Boss," Guido explains unnecessarily, "He's off busy wit some class or da'ther." Nuncio nods as he picks up up, brushes her off, and sends her toward the door once more. "A quite resilient damsel, isn't she?" Nuncio murmurs "Yeah, she squished in all da right places." They wave after her.

composed by Amadeus Mozart, performed by Justin Hayward, called Long Lonely Heart's Journey The bright rippling melodies and frivolous alliterative word-playing lyrics would mask the repetative dark bass line.

Oh. OH! The Macedonian uprising! That sounds like it could fit, and it fits what I know of his moral outlook. Good one Sorciere!

Haven't a clue what Dunkerley (the Oxenford was a pen name taken from "Westward Ho!") was writing about, unless it was Britians 1882 annexing of Egypt. But that doesn't "feel" right. Dunkerley wrote several Hymns that are worth searching out if you like that kind of music.

point of view is behind two figures facing three powerful rulers at the edge of a clearing, the sun setting slowly off to the left. the left and right rulers are very aged men. the one on the left has cataract-filmed eyes and is obviously blind. His skin is stretched over his bones, as though it tightened as he aged until the skull seems on the verge of erupting through the flesh into death before the eyes. the rightmost has a long wispy white beard and mustache, "fu manchu" type. His eyes are the faded blue of the sky behind his chair. His robe is pale yellow edged with white, embroidered with faded red stitching that might once have formed runes, but is washed almost pink with age. The middle figure is vibrant with power, the finely scaled skin ripples and shifts with muscle at any movement. There is no shirt, which reveals the massive pectorals, deltoids, biceps. The scales seem slightly larger over the shoulders and chest, smaller down the arms and sides, down the six-pack abdomen. There is no navel or nipples. The eyes are verdant grass-green irises surrounding enormous pupils which react to emotions as well as light. The faintest rim of yellow sclera is visible. All three sit in lawnchairs, stark aluminum bars with cheaply colorful wide plastic webbing for seat and back. The two figures' backs are to us. The one on the left has oiled curly black hair, so thick it seems to froth as it descends in waves from under the metal skull cap with riveted brim. The hair foams down to the small of the back, stopping just short of completely covering the stained leather corselet which falls to its knees, with divisions allowing motion for the last foot or so. Can't recall the one to the left at the moment, as my wife came in to tell me about her quiz. action forward: The two figures demand access to a guarded portal. The aged rulers, fearing the two, assent, and are respectfully helped to their feet. Their lawnchairs are folded and handed each to it's former occupant. The lizardman smiles a surprisingly normal smile, and refuses to budge. The challenger on the right draws a shord sword (looks a lot like a gladius), but hesitates. After a bit of discussion, the lizardman rises and, taking his chair, moves off to the right. The pair advance and pull on a recessed ring. As the sun dips behind the world into a deep lavender twilight, a large trap door rises, amber light welling up slowly like slightly sparkly honey. As the light rises, spills, outlining small crevasses, painting the edges of enormous squares under the dirt before flowing over its covering, the lizardman returns. His scales seem almost black in the amber light. He carries a black mace with an obsidian head in which a red coal seems suspended and centered. Putting it down, he shrugs into a rippling suit of gold-washed chainmail. The combination of his natural scaled hide and the chainmail give an impression of great toughness and strength. Lifting his mace, he bows sardonically to the pair, and with the lizardman in the rear, they descend. From their motion we can deduce stairs. After a few minutes, the blind ruler feels his way to the edge of the entrance, and with surprising strength heaves the trapdoor up. Wavering a moment at its apex, it tips over to close, gaining speed until it's final closure is a ground-shaking event. The amber light fades reluctantly, sinking into the now black ground. pause on darkness, then cut to next sequence of dream. The three move slowly through a very black house, black stone floor, black paneled walls, vaulted gothic black ceiling. rough beaten iron arms jut from the walls, the cold-iron hands gripping smooth crystal spheres from which the yellow light flows. They move from patch of light to the next patch like figure wading from one pool of water to the next. The long haired one is in the front, now holding a single-edged knife in a ready grip, while the other is a step or two behind, to the left, sword gripped firmly but point angled to the floor. Their heads sweep back and forth as they walk so that they are looking in both directions and to the front, a well practiced dual caution. The lizardman walks a few feet behind, mace dangling casually from his left hand (note the fine scales etched in the light, the way three scales fuse to become a claw-tipped "fingernail".) He's watching the pair ahead of him, and smirks in anticipation. The rest is pretty much gone at the moment.

What a marvelous word picture!

Sneaks in a hug, trying not to break the continuity too much

But even having died for our pleasure Their subtle scent when withered Lingers for our leisure. A copper (but mostly zinc) penny found Reminds me of God's blessings When found on the ground. Problems come and fun is missed But your pursed lips Every day should be kissed. Men are hampered frequently when they aim Toilets, laundry baskets, social grace- But y'all love some of us just the same. And when YOU laugh I break out in smiles Even though we be separated By so many miles. I look at her mother and think she's just fine Even with all I've been through My boys came through her line. Huggles and ducks the swing... blows a kiss to the nose of miss grumpy

sneaks in to catch up on his reading, knowing he really doesn't have time but unable to resist. "Oh good job!" he whispers furtively

Oh! Well done. I liked this. Like Sal' said, effective use of repetition, 'specially since you pulled us in one side and then out the other. Since the Tuesday I'm having feels like a Monday which didn't end, I'm particularly pleased I made the time to read this. -P

depends on which way you're looking at it... From the point of view of photons, black is the absence of color, and white the mixture. From the point of view of paint, black is the combination of color (since it absorbs all wavelengths and reflects none) and white is the absence (since it reflects the wavelengths coming in). Isn't it neat when everyone is equally right but saying something different? I like the poem Arwen, it made me think. Hugs -P

Peredhil groans as the alarm goes off. Why had he stayed up until 3:30 playing Yu-Gi-Oh? Oh, house guests of course. Not Polite to rush them to bed on their last day of stay by being unwilling to play. And it was such a FUN game after all his avoidence all this time. Time. Oh! Nyyark. Stumbling out of bed, he made it to his door, where Crow stood waiting, cocking one eye, then the other at him. Yes? ... Oh, he did? ... Wonderful! Peredhil made a mental note to say thank you to Damon when next he saw him, and yet another to give Nyyark his presents whenever Nyyark woke up. The crowboy had still been awake when Peredhil had finally given way to Lethe's gentle charms. Guido, Nuncio. If Nyyark wakes before me, keep him occupied with something interesting until I wake back up. It's his 18th birthday after all. Utterly missing the sudden gleam in their eyes and quivering whiskers, Peredhil stumbled over to his bed and burrowed with a happy sigh back under his quilts... The giant guinea pigs looked at each other and their smiles threatened to spread to the point they'd dislodge their fedoras. Well... Youse heard da Boss...

nice...

Wuv.... Twue wuv... Is what bwings us togetha today...

Sometimes the strongest things are those unseen. It's dangerous to deny the power of that in which we believe without seeing, only perceiving its effects. Air. gravity. love. The power of the unseen.

One speaking with overflowing heart, the other with empty. One needing someone stable to which to cling, the other chafing at the restriction of being loved. In such a few lines, you've presented the pain of a lopsided relationship, where one feels and the other doesn't.