Ozymandias

Do you mean retiring *alive*?

Jamison, like most of the guards, had had no real idea of why Spike was there. When he'd asked the Commandant, his CO's reply was simply, "Classified, Mr. Jamison. Anything else?" He'd heard the rumors that had long ago spread through all of the prisoners and guards and back again thousands of times over by now. But even being in such, a ominous, empty place, especially with the likes of the Shaman and William of Humperton (who had given the poor man five straight years of nightmares long before they'd either of them started trying to)...Bartholomew had never truly believed. Now, confronted with the sight of blood pouring like water from an upended pitcher across the dry dirt outside Spike's cell and being able for the first time to clearly hear the noises coming from Spike's cell that weren't his curses...those bestial, inhuman snarls and low, throaty growls accompanying sickening wet noises... Batrholomew Jamison did the only sensible thing he could. Rifle falling from nerveless fingers, he turned and ran for all he was worth, mouth open in a soundless scream. He did not stop even when he hit the water, and was not found until two hours later when he washed up on the beach half-drowned.

Damn, you're good. Eloquently, and with just the right touch to not be *too* much brutality, the first half makes all too clear the full experience of suicide. Then, I got to the second half. O_O Yui, that was GREAT. I got down to the last three paragraphs, and had to read the first two of those three...three times, actually...before I *could* go on and read the last paragraph. It seriously took me that many attempts for my brain to fully digest/accept what I had just read, after that opening. Now that was a twist ending to remember. Yow. More!!!!!!

Ozymandias offers her his arm in response. "Then let us be off!", he declares in a jovial boom. "For the night is young, the moon is full, and the possibilites are endless!" Shadows takes his arm with a wider grin, and he looks at her from the corner of his eye shrewdly. "You know, I'd even say this night calls for a boat ride. We have such a beautiful river running right through the Pen lands that hardly any of us use for anything at all. What do you say to an exploration 'party'?", he finished with overexaggerated eyebrow raising. Purple Shadows rolled her eyes in mock consternation and said,"Sounds interesting, Your Highness." Ozymandias, without jostling her, or letting go of her arm, swung himself out to the Cabaret at large with a grand gesture of his free hand. "Who's with us??", he bellowed.

My time seems to always find a way these days, to say "NO!" to me writing much. However, the tide, she slowly turns (not to mention inspiration just popped up out of it's hole AND didn't see its' shadow. ^^). EQ? heh. No, not the inspiration. Actually came from thoughts of my girlfriend, and a mutual good friend of ours. Once *I* get into an MMORPG, it's like to be Star Wars Galaxies. :>)

Bartholomew flinched openly at the first violent clang of the bars before hurrying away. He had never wanted to think about that one, and had no intentions of doing so now. (OOC: Vote for Sweetcherrie. 'Cause all the cool kids are doing it. )

Could it be Spanglish pirates who stole the princess?

Aimo and Bartholomew Jamison locked gazes. The bulky Arab's eyes burned with a cold, slow fury. Jamison's look in return was enraged, and more than a little wild. It went no further at that point, for Aimo needed time for his throbbing temples to clear again in the wake of the savage beating that the guard had administered with the butt of his rifle as two of the other guards looked on. Jamison, on the other hand, had not nearly as much rhythm and reason to his thoughts. "We don't take kindly to murderers", he said in a low tone. Aimo did an admirable job, as intoxicated, brused, bloodied, and sore as he was in keeping his face passive as he spit a tooth (inside of a wad of blood) in the neurotic guard's face. Bartholomew's face twisted in what could be described as animal fury, but rather than strike the prisoner again, he turned on his heel. "You take him", he muttered to the other guards as he strode off briskly. Aimo refelcted ponderously through his head injury and alcohol-induced haze how convenient it was that someone else may well do for this lunatic without him having to go to all that trouble himself.

Gaston Leroux would've been proud. Quite touching, and makes some good points to boot. Well done.

I have the distinct feeling that Humperton is going to end up hurting poor Bartholomew rather badly at some point(wolf or not!). ^^;; Great start, everybody! I'm loving this already. :>)

Can I get a 'Woop, Woop'? Can I get a 'Woop'? Happy Birthday, Brothaman!

Jamison glowered back at William for an instant, then quickly looked away (in such a manner as he firmly and repetetively told himself as would not look at all weak). Softtly mumbling curses, he returned to his patrolling, careful not to meet the eyes of the rest while looking as stern and 'don't mess with me' as possible. That one's a short fuse in a sea of sparks, he is, Bartholomew admitted ruefully to himself. I don't like him here. Not at all. If not for the near-nonexistent shipping we get, and the Godforsaken distance from everyone, I'dve put in for transfer the moment he got here. As it is, that one's too smart to try and stage a pointless coup. Though the Devil himself staged one. And he's plenty smarter'n any of us.

I fly, free and lighter than any bird on the wing, lighter even than their feathers. My speed is beaten only by light itself, it would seem. I race, and cavort, and wrestle, and would explode if I could from all the energy and drive I have from simply being. My strength is vast, due simply to my creation. There is no obstacle I cannot overcome. Yet all too often, I become wrapped up in myself, and do damage untold to those around me, even as my might increases in terrible ways. These times bring me crashing to earth, and in the wake of that crash, the weight of my footfall seems nigh immesurable. I cannot move without tearing a furrow wherever I tread. I am the winds of a tornado.

Not as far as I can tell, zariah. {:>)

Holy crap. O_O *TACKLEHUGS* Cerulean!!!!

My armor is tarnished and cracked. I can't find my polish anywhere, and any smith I trust seems miles away... My sword isn't broken, but it's notched all to hell, and serves more as an overlarge club than a blade anymore. Even my physical injuries aside (for they are truly minor) one of the most horrible pains in all of life I have found is hearing my Lady screaming and weeping in terrible pain, anguish, and fear... Suddenly the battlefield between me and the ugly fortress where she is held prisoner seems nigh infinite. It gnaws, tears, rips and claws at my heart with all the ferocity the most bloodthirsty of beasts can match. The agony threatens to bring me to my knees sometimes. To paraphrase myself: Watch how fast I run from this fight. Put me against a legion, the entire world, I don't care. I will not stop. My Lady needs me and you shall not have her, demons. ~~~~ The paladin and wizard fought back to back, even as the battle they both knew their beloved lady fought with equal fervor was frozen, it seemed, by her cries of pain, which in turn clove the air through the tumult they themselves churned through by might of arm and will. Each had their assigned guides who take them through this land fighting at their backs with even more fervor. The bright host of soldiers from whom their guides had come from fought all 'round them as well, though the foes were as tireless and legion as they. Two of the darker warriors, who kept their wits about them enough to sneer at the two friends, jeered. "They can fight us to a standstill all they want. You will tire. You do, even now.", mocked one even as he batted the paladin's sword away with effortless grace, again, and again, and again. "You'll die. It will only go harder for you if you fight now. Come, join us, and it will be easier. So easy..." the other purred, even as the lightining bolt that flew from the wizard's outstretched fingertips simply splashed off of his breastplate, and he advanced another step. The paladin caught the full force of his opponent's blade across the temple. He reeled, not dying only because the other soldier had only meant it to be a stunning blow. His sword fell, and he was struck again, across the other side of the head. The paladin fell to his knees, where he was viciously kicked fully to the ground. The wizard felt the snare close, and eyed the situation critically. They were indeed, surrounded. His heart skipped a beat. "Yield.", said the first dark warrior, placing the tip of his sword at the paladin's now exposed throat. "Kneel", commanded the second, as he lashed out swiftly, catching the wizard across the back of the knees with the shaft of his spear. He too, fell. "Or you'll die. Alone.", said a third, as he motioned archers into position. The paladin and wizard exchanged a look, and began to smile. The enemy warriors' faces turned black with wrath. "What can you possibly enjoy about this?", one demanded. At that same moment, one of the shining host lifted a horn, and blew a resounding call that echoed all the way through to the hearts of every soldier on the battlefield. Allies were warmed. Enemies felt only cold. "That," said the paladin quietly. He turned his unfocused eyes upward and the wizard did the same, even as the clouds that had hung over the battlefield were split by a great and shining light. "As the wizard was just telling me yesterday, we may be confused for the ones with whom you are truly fighting. I say to you, and myself, and all of our friends and yours- We are not. We are heralds all, of His coming. And today, our Lord has arrived." And the dark warriors' carefully crafted smug facades and arrogant veneer fell away like so much melting snow. Today, the bullies, the torturers, the tyrants, the despots, the thugs, the predators of all stripes, knew fear.

*Ozymandias falls right out of his chair laughing* *Sweetly asks his lady-love to go get him a sandwich* *as she heads off to do so, he is silently pleased with the surprise of a delicious new blend of coffee that he is about to spring on her once she sits down to take her turn at the computer* *at some undefinable point later, he notices with a small smile that his own shoes have been forgotten on his feet for nine hours since he has gotten home, and that HER own shoes are lying in a random enough spot that they have likely been forgotten again as well*

Bartholomew Jamison, prison guard. Wholly unremarkable at the outset of his duty, Bartholomew at Thirty-five years old has already been stationed at the colony for nine years, and has slowly but surely increased in paranoia and shaky confidence. He tries too hard sometimes to exert his authority because he wants to "make sure the blaggards stay in line", a fact which the convicts resent from the subsequent verbal and physical abuse which may or may not be justified from outburt to outburst. He too, however is not a cruel man at heart, he is simply a soldier trying hard to do his duty, but whose resolve is inexorably crumbling under fear of his charges, fear of dying here, fear of being alone. His commander worries about him, and Bartholomew in turn worries about everyone, and and everything, though he is loath to admit it. Fear which may or may not be wholly justified, as he has made claims more than once of hearing strange voices in the night.

Ozymandias smiles happily at spying Shadows heading his way. As she approaches, he executes his best courtly bow. "My Lady. How are you this evening?"

I'm in. Can't think of a character atm, but otherwise, yeah. :>)

The arcades. :>)

Hmmm. Ants can survive for indefinte periods of time if frozen. No dog likes having their tail pulled. Screw "stand up to a bully". If you can't sucker punch 'em, a tall tree is quite handy (especially if you just failed to sucker punch them). Beer just doesn't taste good on breakfast cereal. Don't drink Sunny Delight if you've got a stomach virus. RPG gamers are a supersitituous and cowardly lot.

OORAH for you, Mr. YP. God bless you both (more). :>)

CRASH!

Thessalonian sat on a rickety folding chair on the massive sheet of plywood he had up on bricks in his 'office'. Surrounded by jugs of dozens of different liquids, he held his portable tape recorder's microphone to a porcelain pitcher that was currently full of water as he twirled it gently. "Pete...now Doug. Damn shame.", he muttered as clouds of odd-smelling cigarette smoke swirled morosely around his head. Satisfied, he set the pitcher and microphone down to hit rewind on his tape recorder. He played it back, and swore as he heard his own mumbling confusing the sounds of the sloshing water. Looking thoughtful after a moment, he rewound the tape again, and listened to it once more. With no further ado, he promptly retook his seat, unceremoniously dumped the water onto the floor, and began muttering at the microphone as he twirled the pitcher, now full of chilled Coca-cola.