Ozymandias

Ozymandias looked out of his tower room window, and sighed. He wondered what he'd missed in the months he'd been gone - wondered about all except the lovely blanket of pure white snow that lay across the Pen keep and its lands as far as his eyes could see. That was most likely the product of some sentimental mage or other such magician resident's weathermaking, as it was more often than not on this particular day every year (though there was always the chance that the weather had had its turn this time, he thought with a smile). It was the first time he'd been in these poor, dust-laden rooms of his in days he'd lost count of. A bitter sadness gripped his heart much deeper than the freezing temperatures could ever hope to. As much as the battle-weary and unassuming mystic had long deplored the word 'founder' when applied to himself, and moreso all the credit that implied in the creation of this place, one of the one-time king's thinly veiled secrets was how very much kinship and responsibility he felt for all those within the grand and everchanging walls of this place and all of its residents abroad. It happened less and less as the years passed that Ozymandias reproached himself for thinking of all the writers of the Mighty Pen as 'his people'. Like so many others in his and the Elders' charge, he held no small training in the art of wizardry. The Loremaster's school of study had been the strange and fearsome art of the Phantasm Mage; a school that taught its acolytes the ways of reading minds, and hearts, and sundry ways of controlling them. However, though Ozymandias had before, unaided felled men, wizards, and more through his craft, he had long ago come to an unpleasant realization. The magic he had been taught was centered around taking. This is a useful proficiency for assassins, thieves, liars... but not leaders. Not good ones. Thus he had sat the seat of Loremaster of the Mighty Pen uneasily since he had been appointed to it. For the ancient Egyptian had known for many years now that all the skills he needed he had no formal schooling in - at least, none that he had retained well enough. This made it very easy indeed to feel himself a failure in cases like this present time; when he had been called away from his charges abruptly and left as quickly as the need came. He set down his quill on the still-blank piece of paper in front of him, at the intended note of sorrow, apology, gratefulness, and love he had meant for the Pen as a whole and went to the window. Ozymandias stared quietly out at the snow for a long while. He had still not alerted any to his prescence, for the time being preferring it that way. The sun set slowly as he watched. The clouds came into sharper relief as the play of light shifted across them. When the the winter-dulled sun came within a hair's breadth of the horizon, its rays spilled out now across the snow, even as the clouds grew dim. It left one with the impression of dust of the purest gold having been scattered upon the land for miles and miles around. The scent of incense wafted up to his nostrils from some unknown corner of the castle. He smiled wider and lighter now, nodding assent. With it had come slowly but stubbornly the reminder and reassurance that not only had all of the people called The Pen is Mightier been left in very, very good and trusty hands, but that all folk in these lands, from visitors all the way up to his beloved Elders would be, were, and will be well with or without him. For they as well as he had a kind of security, safety, and hope that he could never offer with his finite mortal powers -had that security no matter what. It lifted his heart and his voice (quietly, for he still wished stealth), and he sat slowly, leisurely, happily down at his desk again. Retrieving his quill, dipping it back into the ink, he began to write even as he sang: "God rest ye merry gentlemen, may nothing you dismay..." I've missed each and every one of you very much. Merry Christmas. :>)

"Yes, it's a terrible tragedy. No, I can't imagine why someone would kill poor Lenny. Man's inhumanity to man, it's so true." It seemed to Richard that this was all he said when visiting with his "friends" these days. Or that was all they wanted him to say. Disgust and anxiety roiled inside him. Leaving his conversation on autopilot, Richard let his thoughts drift to Pikes, to the revolt, and finally back to the war. Rounding that off with dark thoughts of these people's apparent disinterest in talking about Irene, the bile rose in the back of his throat. He washed it down with another scotch. (OOC: a vote for Quincunx/Billie Jo)

Updated! Look at the above link.

Richard sat on his bed, staring at his hands. He had cancelled all his "appointments" for the next few days shortly after hearing of Lenny's murder. His knobby knuckles popped a bit as he flexed his fingers closed, then open again. These used to create such wonder, he thought, and the anguish on his lined face deepened. Now, they create nothing. Nothing but clawing and scrabbling like the only other survivors. Cockroaches. A certain look solidified his face, even through the gloom. He stood, and with a rough brush at his wrinkled vault suit, Braggins strode out of his room. 'Now war arose in heave, Michael and his angels fighting against the dragon; and the dragon and his angels fought, but they were defeated and there was no longer any place for them in heaven.' God, how ostentatious a prologue is quoting anything out of Revelation? Richard shook his head in disgust. Now it'll be impossible to get a gun. I'm certainly not going to slit my wrists...

Shut up, and leave me alone Close for business for the night Shut up, and leave me alone Even though I just got here and I'm hungry You're tired, you work hard I understand My belly doesn't but that's okay I'll go somewhere else Stop calling, I don't want to talk to you My phone ringing unendingly with your constant pleas and demands Stop calling, I don't want to talk to you I know you're only doing what's expected of you but I'm not interested and I have enough on my mind already No more letters, I said and yet they still come Always wondering where I am what I'm doing how's my finances, job, family, do I need any money? No more letters, I said Yet you are so persistent in your concern that I get a new one every day I'd return them to sender if only I knew how to give all this back Shut up, and leave me alone

Have damned the torpedoes and gone full speed ahead. Lookit! What do you think? Questions? Comments? Complaints? Gah! Where *are* my manners? Thank you for the compliments and interest!!

Richard Braggins, the world's last pulitzer prize winner. Already a bestselling novelist of high repute at the beginning of the wars' climax, his final novel, Cestus Dei, earned him international recognition as being the last international bastion of peace and sanity in that time of horror. The missles began to hit, and he bribed his way into the vaults in the very last days before they were sealed. It cost him nearly everything, but his survival was assured. He was a truly accomplished author; when the vaults locked, he was twenty-seven. Now, at 71, he lives off of the excesses and (now) condescending kindnesses of fans as well as those who pursue the social climb as voraciously as they have ever done - he is no longer a person to these folk, he is instead a walking, talking trophy. Richard has never had any special training in any field; the only thing that ever made him special was his writing. His new lifestyle, however, is non-conducive to creativity. After fourty-five years of being completely unable to finish any piece, or get ahead in his new world, the once sharp, compassionate, and erudite writer is becoming shallow, cynical, and despondent. Howzat? EDIT: Changed time passage to be accurate for setting. Thank you, Tanny! ADDENDUM: It's good to be back. Thankies. ^^

To everyone (especially those several whom I owe message replies to): I'm back! Only on for a little bit today -perhaps an hour- but shall be on for a few, hopefully more, tomorrow. Excelsior!

I actually agree with both of you on almost every point. The only exception? I too believe that bad things are allowed to happen so we can grow. I really must come back to this thread when I've more time. Thank you both for it. :>)

Dignified? Dignified? Um, Wings, you DID play the same Archmage I did, right? \;>) Good to see you. Have a seat. Stay awhile.

Well, 60% of classic in my own mind "Attack of the Flying Grapes" starts on page three of The Classics, also in the Library. Beyond that, I know Gyrfalcon might have a great deal of things...

As injury and death seemed to slowly spread the rumors, of course, travel unflaggingly at breakneck speed. Rumors of these things not being accidents. With this, and Prom, and of course the best use that it all could be put to for his future in mind Vincent marched on. His continuous efforts to keep his grades intact, his football practice intact, and of solid unquestioning support of anyone - friend, teammate, casual acquaintance, the beautiful, or even the geek, many took as an inspiration in such dark times. To Vincent, however, it was all number-crunching, one big logic puzzle as always. Leadership is a matter of intelligence, trustworthiness, humaneness, courage, and sternness. Sun Tzu's words became his mantra as he turned his considerable focus to what he should do next. Vincent figured even if this did turn out to be a false alarm, it would still be an ideal opportunity to put the General's five assessments for war-making to the test. Even as he girded himself for "war" the ever-calculating quarterback found his eye fixing on Sue Lincoln. (OOC: another vote for Mer Sanford/dragonqueen. Because people trust consistency.)

From here unto antiquity There shall be those in ubiquity Who track the boggarts, Ride the clouds, Paint the phrase, and Sculpt the sounds They traverse merrily and resolvedly through our hearts and through our minds and let loose the menagerie Onto an unsuspecting anxiously awaiting mankind Our joy and our despair dance on nimble feet in that intricate weave Our nightmares, our fantasies will come right in and greet It is all this and more we owe undying thanks to the storytellers, the singers, the poets and the chroniclers They and they alone remain undaunted, unswerving in their mission to help us see, remember, and believe A hearty congratulations to those promoted this spring. It's well deserved, for your service to yourselves, and the community. Booyah! ^^ To Page: Akallabeth Pillow To Quill-Bearer: YanYanGanaffi

Hm. Damn shame. He was an idiot of the lowest denominator, and too damn wrapped up in his teen angst schtick., Vince grumbled in his head. He patted Suzie Derkins on the shoulder again as she cried against him. "It'll be okay, Suze. It'll be okay." But he was a decent guy otherwise...and made me look good on the field. She slowly worked her way down to small, choked sobs. "He's in a better place now." Too bad he couldn't hold his liquor. Jenny had better be watching this...I have so many things to do that're guaranteed more useful. But women just eat up sensitivity like it's going out of style. I couldn't pass this up. Hopefully, she's watching. Or at least Ashlee, if worst comes to worst. It is only prom after all, and window dressing wouldn't hurt... Vincent, mouth now mostly hidden by Suzie's slightly askew hair, allows himself a small smile. Knocking one back for you tonight, M.B. I owe you a BIG thank you. (OOC: vote for Mer Sanford/dragonqueen. 'cause girls is meeeeeeeeaaaannnnn. P.S.- So's Vincent, but that is totally beside the point. )

Vincent's gaze came up quickly from his cel's screen. He'd been checking his stocks again while he, Bobby and Pete lounged in their desks. He answered Bobby with a touch of a button, a quick flipping around of his phone so the other two could see the picture of Jenny in a fantastically fit sundress, and a knowing smirk. "My date, of course." "Your date?", said Pete in mock challenge. "'Course," shot back Vincent, pleased look unflapped. "You even asked her yet?", asked Bobby, arching an eyebrow. "No", he continued with a theatrically drawn breath and slight rise in his seat, as though he were about to make a profound speech, "but after all, I am the quarterback." Vincent struck a 'manly' pose. The other two laughed. "Bull", was the only chuckling reply. "It's a bear market, actually", Vince said making a face. He'd already gone back to his stocks.

Gah! I missed it! http://www.themightypen.net/public/style_emoticons/default/ohmy.gif Happy Belated Birthday!

There really were no words to describe the lay of the land, or the things that happened there. It simply beggared description. So here is the tale, in simplest terms possible. -The Wheel of Time, Robert Jordan

w007. ^^ *gives Falcon some victory noogies* Go Falcon, It's yer birthday, Go Falcon, It's yer birthday... Congrats, bud. Congrats. Very, VERY good to know we won't have a Falcon-shaped hole in the Pen.

Life sucks, thought Holden Caulfield, and I will whine and soliloquize until people understand that deep meaning. -The Catcher in the Rye, J.D. Salinger ~~~ Lenny ate mashed potatoes. A LOT of mashed potatoes. Then he petted them. -Of Mice and Men, John Steinbeck ~~~ I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear... And when it is gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear is gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain. -The Power of Positive Thinking, Norman Vincent Peale ~~~ "..a tale told by an idiot; full of sound and fury, and signifying nothing." -William Shakespeare -A Seperate Peace, John Knowles ~~~ Now kneel before Zod. -any L. Ron Hubbard book ~~~ Harry Potter was dead to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Dumbledore signed it. And Dumbledore's name was good upon 'Change, for anything he chose to put his hand to. Old Harry was as dead as a door-nail. -Harry Potter and the Sorceror's Stone, J.K. Rowling

I as well. I look forward to this. :>)

Only one football player??? This cannot be! http://www.themightypen.net/public/style_emoticons/default/ohmy.gif Well, in that case... Vincent Edward Oxford, quarterback on the football team. Good at it, but not *dazzling* has mild hopes of being scouted, but when he's not on the field (in a game or practice), his mind's more throughly focused on his stock portfolio. Fortune 500 for *this* up-and-comer (if he has anything to say about it). Detached inwardly, but a bit of glad-hander (just a bit, mind you) and "everyone's buddy" on the outside, he does these things as well as troll around for the prettiest, yet also at least fairly smart and preferbly, compassionate girl, buy nice cars, dress in his best every day, and take great care with personal grooming less becuase he truly cares about these matters in and of themselves, and mostly in the name of politics. Gotta act the winner to be one, he thinks. Yes, this means as a general rule (to us objectice observer *players*, not characters), he's kind of boring as fellow human beings go. The two exceptions - 1) he's a baby shark - knows "instinctively" that blood is good for him (preparation for the hotteset and most high-paying business deals, you see), but has yet to have fully honed his skills as he's is, after all, still just a high school student. He has quietly (read as: not told anyone but Dad) studied Sun Tzu's The Art of War and is also currently practicing to live and breathe it. 2) he's an alcoholic in the making - shouldn't take him longer than another year, at teh rate he's going. Interesting side effect of alcohol on him: It makes him interesting - he hides behind precious little BS when he's drunk, and is much, MUCH more honest and relaxed (read as mostly, rather than his normal mode of "once in a blue moon") when's he's blitzed out of his mind.

Louise, Gia, Sharalyn, Faith, Emily, Amber, Vicky, Olivia, Cheryl, Calliope, Erin, Rachel, Angela, Catherine, Amanda, Elizabeth, Mary, Annaleiss, Devon, Jennifer.

Maybe it's just my weird mind already in a horror mindset from the current WW game, but this seems like a *wonderful* opening to, or maybe exposition point for a ghost story. :>)

*glomps your other leg* TRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLA!

*high-paws Gnarlitch* Great game, everybody. Awesome characters, and plot twists. Kas - FRIGGIN' AWESOME ending.