Ozymandias

Whoop. Heheh...forgot about that little note. It's actually more of a pun in that sense of the definition. The more literal definition is it's an abbreviation of "Otaku Convention" or "Otaku Con". Nae worries, you friendly neighborhood Loremaster hasn't taekn *complete* leave of his senses.

Yas'm!!

Spammers must... A)be reasoned with first. If we just ban them, they won't learn anything. be punished. They'll never learn otherwise. C)not be my problem. D)... E)BE DRIVEN BEFORE ME! I WANT TO HEAR THE LAMENTATIONS OF THEIR WOMEN! F)Vas Flam! A quick tounge-in-cheek layout for a tounge firmly-in-cheek style of quiz. FYI: Not really written w/anyone in particular in mind...well, except a few answers. *cough* *DthroughF* *cough*

Welcome to Otakon! *rubs hands together with glee*

My hat is off to you Sir, on many levels. I am very glad to have you apply here.

Just as Miroku is about to shout his confusion to the gathered creatures (to be sure to be heard by the significantly taller ones), the strange scholar who had seemed to be asking the aid of the skunk, hamster, dog, and car demons for their aid in searching his vast tomes and Miroku watch in mounting surprise, then anxiety as the odd creature that seemed to be a tar demon dressed in a red garment, green helmet with a brush on top of it, a green armor skirt, and sneakers produced a device that he shot the wise man's books and scrolls with using the strange orange light it emitted, vaporizing all of the paper almost instantly. Before the young monk can react, the wise man, screaming in rage, reveals powerful shapeshifting ability as he changes abruptly from a pudgy, triangle-haired pale man into a weatherbeaten mighty warrior of giant stature. Not wasting another moment, he leaps into the fray from his perch atop the wall wreckage, blocking the beheading strike aimed at the small creature from the wise man's massive blade with his staff. The alien aura of the huge sword glowed a bright red as the two weapons collided with terrfic force into Miroku's staff, the sword hemmoraging a deadly red into the atmosphere, and a nimbus of holy light broke forth from Miroku's staff even as he grunted and began to sweat with the effort of holding back the mighty blow. The two vied for mastery over the other's strength of arm for what seemed an eternity. Finally, feeling himself weakening, Miroku managed through gritted teeth, "Noble teacher. Must this obviously weaker creature meet death at your hands? Justice will be served if this is what he desrves, but is it what he truly deserves? Or is there some more...fitting punishment you may mete out?", he finishes, with a small, knowing smirk to El Ravager. (OOC: Marvin. Sorry, dude. But while Miroku might wanna save ya, I have to say THOU SHALT NOT VIOLATE YOUR NEIGHBOR'S GAMING LIBRARY!)

Miroku raced back and forth across the rubble, calling out to anyone who might be underneath it and levering away any precariously balanced pieces that looked like a threat. As Spider-Man landed beside him, Miroku pushed and strained against a ten-foot long slab of doorframe (broken by Peepi's exit then knocked loose by Optimus' entrance) that had become balanced across the hole on only its barest tips. He watched in growing fascination as this masked stranger lifted and hurled away metal and concrete debris that weighed easily hundreds of pounds; over and over again. "Thank you for the asistance", Miroku grunted. "Would you mind...?" Miroku indicated his own burden with his head. "Hang tight!" was all Spider-Man said before leaping directly to Miroku's side, clutching the slab, and hurling it safely away into an empty stretch of parking lot. Then Ultra Peepi returned. "What on Earth?", both heroes cried in unison.

A stoic, purple-robed young Japanese man makes his through the parking lot. He gazes into car windows seriously but curiously as he walks toward the stadium, staff clutched firmly in hand. Kagome's world is indeed a strange one...these must be the 'automobiles' she had told us about. Suddenly, a large red tractor-trailer truck drives straight through the stadium enterance. Looking over in alarm at the crash, Miroku immediately begins a dash to the rubble. "Carts or cars, I know neither are supposed to be driven into buildings! I hope everyone's alright!", he says aloud to the camera.

Watching Orlan's enterance with amusement, and feeling the reverberations of Tzimfemme's arrival to the party proper, Ozymandias began to wonder about the merits of continuing his wait in line. No, I suppose I should, decided he wearily. Must set a good example and such. ... I do hope that rather large quadrupedal...gent isn't carnivorous. We'll likely end up with enough unstoppable predators who manage to show up on their own to the point we won't want to worry about guests' bloodthirst as well. As a pair of zombies in party hats glancing furtively over their shoulders at the enterance passed by, Ozymandias wordlessly pointed toward the nearest exit. Grunting their thanks, the dripping twosome shambled off as fast as they could.

On his arrival, he found the two of them fast asleep. To his dismay, the sounds of each of his companions' breathing was still labored, but he quickly took heart as his keen ears told him that not only had Timothy's sharp stacatto eased down into a somewhat greedy, but vastly more measured rhythm, but Elena's had nearly relaxed to normal. Gyrfalcon entered and sat silently on a heavy stool that slid about almost imperceptibly between the bunks they had been given. He watched the two of them for what felt like a long time, considering many things. Finally with a small, but not sad sigh, he stood, turning to leave and very nearly did, but for the odd thing he spied out of the corner of his eye, halting him in the doorway of the gently swaying ship. The spine of a thin book protruded ever so slightly from the neck of Timothy's shirt. That's strange, thought Gyrfalcon. I'm certain he had no belongings with him, other than a sword, as far back as Felleros Cathedral, when we first met. In fact, I'm sure of it. Hmm. He walked easily back over to his friend's bedside, careful not to make any sudden or loud movements, lest he should disturb the much injured young man's well-earned rest. Gyrfalcon leaned over Timothy ever so slightly as he examined the much worn, stained, and slightly odorous binding. Did he find this in the temple? If so, why keep it secret? Or... Is this something else altogether? If so, how did he hide it so well, and why? Oh Timothy. Don't tell me I know Myth better than you, after all. I don't know if my mind can really take another ominous puzzle right now. The half-elf, wearied in body and soul as he was, nearly gave a start when Timothy's eyes fluttered open and giving a glazed glance up at him, reached shakily into his shirt and pulled the strange book free. "Gyr-fal...con", he croaked. Slowly becoming alarmed, Gyrfalcon tried to calm his friend, fearing Timothy was relapsing into his fever dreams. "It's alright Tim. I'm here." The next thing his companion did however, he also little expected. With a weak shove, Timothy thrust the now obviously dark-stained and dusty tome at him. "Give...Kal...book...she needss...", he managed before his eyes went completely unfocused again. Gyrfalcon stood at the head of the bed as Timothy's eyes slowly shut once more. He waited as Timothy's speech drifted off into a softer and softer murmur until he finally lay quiet and snoring once more. * * * * Later, on the deck, Gyrfalcon finished his explanation of how he had gotten the book to a silent Kaleyra. She looked at the cover pensively and ran her fingers across stains that looked like water and...blood? "What could it mean?", she asked quietly, face a mask of confusion. Knowing well by now her likely thought pathway right at that moment, it was Gyrfalcon's turn to say nothing as he gave Kaleyra time to absorb the strange gift. When she turned to face the horizon, book clutched now in both hands, he knew it was time. "Open it and find out. That he meant for you to read it I'm certain of." She did. To hers and Gyrfalcon's surprise, it seemed to be almost completely gutted; every page ripped out- and none too gently. Every page save five. Three of those five were blank; but the first in the set appeared to be a smudged journal entry. The exact date was obliterated though the season remained. The rest was not damaged beyond Kaleyra's ability to glean their meaning from context: The more I think of the geneaologies we studied, the tales mother and father showed us, the more I am certain. Kaleyra is more than forthcoming, as always. Her aid with the histories of the Avians has been invaluable, of course. Everything from the tidal waves, the apparent location of the mountain refuge. The stories I'd always loved to hear as a child, like the ones of our Great-Great Grandmother, who "rode the wind". I'd always assumed she was a sailor. Who would have thought that my family was not entirely human? What's more, who would have thought I would find our lost ancestors, their history, their fall, and the story of how our family began in that fishing village with a pair of survivors from a horrible tragedy. Tolec and Maradeh. A husband and wife. Survivors who could fly. Did mother and father know? I'm not sure. Surely Kal does not, or she... Surely she would have more hope. How do I tell her? Do I tell her? I wish, God, that I knew. Kaleyra sat down on the deck where she stood. It was almost too much to comprehend, especially following an encounter with a fallen angel bent on destroying the world. But Tolec and Maradeh were the members her own family had lost, back in the time of the waves.

Ozymandias' brain twitched, as old awarenesses he had not used in a very long time were tickled by the minutest sensation. Ye Gods...They're all here. Tzimfemme(His mind briefly carried him away to waking to yet another sunrise in an expansive and utterly ravaged banquet hall with a stern naked woman clearing away the last of the debris while directing the aid of several in-house Giants and Golems who worked on the larger pieces, and he himself having another headache that rivaled that of Zeus 'birthing' Athena), Rydia, Minta, Rosemary... He became lost in a microreverie again with the accustomed ease of a Phantasm Mage jumping from line of thought to line of thought imperceptibly quickly, no matter how much he actually mulled over a theme. This time, his face nearly became sprained as a whole, as old thoughts of Tzimfemme, then Rydia, then Minta brought a subsequent wry smirk, then broadening smile, then a laugh out loud as he thought of them in succession, which was in its own turn cut short by more pensive memories of a woman in a tattered yellow dress sitting alone at a tavern one fateful evening. Facial muscles tried to mirror in realtime speed Ozymandias' upswell of emotion, which was distracted yet again by the subsequent pain from the unconscious effort. Oof. Wait... He reached out harder, while carefully limiting himself still to only polite 'listening', and eventually frowned. Tzimfemmestein is still missing. Drat. Hers is one of the gifts I was most proud of, too. I daresay the Lady does not hear or receive much music. Ah well. She'll be able to hear the new curiousity later. I know I can count on any one of them who...isn't...Minta, he thought, stifling a chuckle to give it to her when they next see her, if I ask. With that thought, the line moved again, and a decorously beaming Ozymandias stepped forward, clad in his best robes of his school, freshly washed and painstakingly polished armor, as well as a newly procured pair of flaming steel-toed boots (one never knows, after all...) with his horse-drawn chariot of gifts following obediently behind him.

No sweat, Brah. Take yer time. We'll be here. :>) *fidget*

Very nice. Has a very cartoon-esque flair to the design. You don't happen to be a cartoonist as well, do you? One way or another, good show! (especially since he seems to be modeling clay. I know from experience that even the cheap stuff requires a *very* patient artist's hand)

Just a quick FYI for anyone who's interested or already going to attend- DeantheAdequate and I shall both be in attendance at Otakon this year, in Baltimore, MD, July 30th- Aug. 1st. Drop me/us a line if you are going to attend, and we can do...stuff! It's my first anime con. Veddy veddy exciting. Banzai!!!!

Danke Katz, but I may happily say; news of my lateness was greatly exaggerated. OOooooh, a tough one! Thinking a moment... Aha! We have our finalists! In the American corner: Strong Bad, of homestarrunner.com Best Strong Bad info. there is. In the Japanese corner: Miroku of Inuyasha "This Inu-Yasha: A Feudal Fairy Tale hero is a wandering Buddhist monk of very questionable scruples. Despite his cheerful attitude, Miroku carries the curse of his family: an air void in his right hand that will absorb all but the most powerful creatures when he removes the prayer beads from his wrist. If he cannot break the curse, one day the air void will consume him as well. Miroku can be a lech and a conman, but he is also very loyal to his friends and stands by them throughout their many battles." -Zora, dragonfare.com And now, some avie tests...

Gathering his slightly rattled composure, Ozymandias bows deeply to all and sundry (blushing just a bit). Turning to the ever-philosophical Elder of Shadows, he remarks calmly, "My years may be young or old, dependent upon ones' reckoning, but one thing for certain is in dog years, I'd truly be an ex-king." Finnius underpantsless? Again? Oh my. <OOC: Thank you all so much! You've all made this adventure a great one, and I'm glad I've added another year to it. I can only hope I can give back even half as much as the people of The Pen keep giving me. ...and I do still have another trick or two up my sleeve I think you'll like. Excelsior!> And his shoes...shine onnn...! \:>)

Heh.

Ladies, Gentlemen and various creative folk: It is time for promotions again! [actually, for official records, it was time for promotions by the rules on the fourth. I find myself to be...fashionably...late. (...again.) Gomenasai! {:>( ] In light of the dog days of summer having hit with a vengeance, at least in mine own, Perdhil, Wyvern, and I do believe Damon's respective areas, I propose something a little more laid back this time for the ceremony. In other words: Drinks are on me! I'd like to propose not one, but nine toasts to-day. A mug of coffee (my own #1 poison o' choice) raised to all of our new Pages! *gulp* For each in particular; A glass of red bordeaux raised to Jareena Faye and the Corpus Christi. *sip* To MeThinksUFoolish, a glass of Irish Coffee. For only someone with a mentality far too close to old Sav's could devise such a drink. ;>) *gulp* To Tanuchan, a shot of Grey Goose Vodka, a refined, yet powerful drink. *gulp* WhooO. To Vanessa, another hit from the Hypnotiq; its' sweet, effervescent taste is good at relaxing you before you notice it's happening. *gulp* To ntraveler2, a swig of Sapporo. In my experience Japanese as a nation seem hyper-reserved people with a roiling storm of passion and creativity underneath that thin yet strong veneer. And it's the best beer they make. *gulp* For those promoted to Quillbearer, I raise my trusty flask of Ol' Peculiar, that legendary drink we senior oldsters both cherished and reviled. *SSSSSizzzzzzzzzzzzzzle* Ow... To Finnius, I raise not one, but two glassesh, 99 apples, then 99 oranges; for the one who has been mixing them and mixing them well since day one. And last, but not least, to Xaious, Master of Time I raise the most appropriately freakishly sugar-charged popular drink I could find- Everclear. *gulp* *twitch* Hee. WHURRRP. Congratulations to all, and excuse me!!!!

"Alas my love you say goodbye wipe the poison from my brow alas my love this guilty night it gives me up like a foster child and in this moment I take my vow these angels sleeping at my feet and in this moment you do not know how my spirit wants to flee." One man, against the night taking on a multitude that had left him high and dry no candle burning vigil could light the way, darkness hit the ground like a fallen satellite he wrestled until morning with human souls and fallen angels and he finished his work on the third day -Kevin Smith, DCTalk Happy Easter. :>)

"My dear girl...I had thought you didn't want me in your prescence, as I was too distressing. Why then, are you following me?" Morris looks old and tired at this, but still concerned- and confused, as he gazes at Terri in the far hallway he had retreated to in the face of her earlier attacks.

(OOC: That would make this a good time for *me* to cast a vote, yes? ) Hmm. Too often can the rigors of social warfare crush winner and loser in the battles that are our teenage years. I wonder about that Zachary boy. One love triangle is historically one too many, my son. (OOC: The Zach-man! The Zachinator! Zach-o-ram-A...)

Why I am not allowed to freestyle. A.K.A.: The Cheese Guild! Attack of the Cheese -------------------------------------------

Pavlov raises a snowy eyebrow at the twins, face calm, but eyes betraying worry. "My dear children... I fear you are the victim of hysteria. I am a well-known actor, to be sure, who has made a name for himself in frigtening people. But that is all I have ever done." So saying, he spreads his hands slightly apart, as if in supplication. "No matter how many things you may hear about Hollywood, we will not do 'anything for fame'. At least, I will not." His hands rest again, one at his side, one on a chair. " Human life is sacred to me, and to be protected." His brows knit together in consternation, the end effect of the deeper wrinkling of his weathered face and joining of his thick eyebrows looking rather like snow-covered mountains in the middle of a desert. He looks sad, but not in a way that seems recent. His eyes reflect some old pain dredged forth anew. Finally, he sighs slowly. Composing himself again, Morris once again addresses the twins coolly and politely. "I also have much experience of people reacting immediately with fear of that which they do not understand. The characters and creatures I play being a good example." One corner of his mouth quirks up in the ghost of a smile for an instant. "I do not blame you; I understand the reaction. Since my prescence is only upsetting where I sought to sow peace, I shall remove myself immediately."

There is a book for everything, and about a gajillion websites apiece for most things, I always say. :>)

Morris looks concerned at the further extreme proceedings. He stands slowly, but purposefully. Looking to all the military personnel remaining, he asks, "Is there no way to retrieve the poor child? In weather such as this, nevermind a 'spacecraft', I fear for her safety. We had shelter and were nearly flayed alive. She has no such advantage, perhaps for miles."