Ozymandias

I know the feeling, too. I wish you the best. /me reaches up and politely hands Katiya down her shoe

I have seen a cat without a grin; I have seen a grin without a cat I have walked with an elephant in flight I've argued with a cat in a hat I have walked with the animals talked with the animals Before and after going through the wardrobe or the looking glass I have flown to Mars long before man could Shivered in the cold and marveled at its forests I cleared the peg-legged corpse from the spear in whale's side I felt in wonder and confusion as the baby kicked from the inside My nose has gone very runny for reasons very small as a low hum emanates from the downstairs hall I stand upon the hillside and feel the soft caress then gentle push upon my face I study and admire great leaders who were and have never been That is why I believe in things unseen Dedicated to a happy reunion for Tralla and her muse. Edited by: Ozymandias the Elder at: 4/23/02 4:28:54 pm

Turning again, it fixes his gaze with one eye. "Balladore," it says aloud. Around the group, eyebrows go up, and Balladore finds his mouth dropping open slightly, despite himself. "You all heard that, too?", he asks the others. Nods of assent answer. Paying the reactions no mind, the frog continues to gaze intently at the careworn druid. It speaks again. "Life is not fair, Sir Druid. Nor is it just. The only things that are are our decisions, if we so choose."

Waiting until he was sure the half-elf was asleep, and then waiting another good hour without hearing Kaleyra-sized footsteps in the hall, Timothy carefully swung his legs over the side of his bed and tiptoed gingerly past his softly breathing comrade. Once down the stairs, the young man made his way to the common room and found a table. It was done easily enough; not even the owner was up at this time of night. Alone at last, he let an expression of such utter dejection flood his features that it might have moved a snake to tears. Burying his face in his hands, alone in the dark room, he silently cursed himself, his companions, their enemies, and the world. Gods, if any of you are listening, what have I gotten into? I saw it, help me, I saw it all in that instant. And if they find the pool, it'll happen again, won't it? If only I could believe such horror would be cleansing, if only... So many think ever of only themselves. And when that bright, rare, shining flame is lit, that one that loves others... It's snuffed brutally. If only she didn't have eyes like Sulette's.

Timothy looks at Kaleyra and Gyrfalcon in turn. "Comrades...?", he asks demurely. Still wary, Gyrfalcon scrutinizes the younger man for any of his evident stress and finds none in the placid gaze. Kaleyra sits silently, brows knit in thought.

The others looked at the stricken druid in open concern. Bhurin closed the distance between them with a single long stride and was just about to put a concilatory hand on his shoulder when they both stopped short. A simple "Ribbit" had cut the silence like a knife. Out of reflexive curiousity, the party looked down at Balladore's feet, where the noise had originated. The frog sitting there eyed each of them in turn before turning itself around to face Balladore. "Ribbit", it said again. It seemed expectant.

I know of no evidence that the subconscious mind can ever or will ever have an agenda of its own. That being said, from what I've learned from others and my own experience, I'd say dreams contain both direct but jumbled imaginings that the brain puts together from memories as well as symbolic elements. The proportions simply vary from dream to dream, and the symbolism runs from the simple to the complex also on a regular basis.

Taking his chin in hand thoughtfully, Tim stalled a few seconds longer, loath to speak for himself, Gyrfalcon and Kaleyra. When no response came from them, he groaned inwardly, realizing it was now or never. Waste having nearly been killed already? No. People are stupid and selfish, he knew, but their ideas weren't always. No, indeed, something still pulled at him here, almost tangibly. He gave in. "Well, if we're not going to contend over ownership, I should think one well will have enough water for five."

Ozymandias chuckles. Well, now you've got the beard... ;>) Happy Birthday.

If I may. Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy. -Benjamin Franklin Outside of a dog, a book is man's best friend. Inside of a dog, it's too dark to read. -Groucho Marx If you're going to lose, make sure they don't win as much. -Goblin motto One bone broken for every twig snapped. -Llanowar penalty for trespassing MishaNiz, Please dont take our guild's name in vain. -Nazgul Smiles and Bestest of Best Of Wishes- Scorn (But that name is misleading, I'm really a nice, great guy and fun to be with...) -Scorn What do you expect me to say? -MishaNiz I'll get you yet! And with even less useful things to say!!! -Ozymandias I don't Give A Rats A$$ about who your allies are or what guild you claim to be part of -shi-hulud, to The Grim Squeaker, THM while both were on App Server of Archmage How in he name of god did this get turned into a bash canada string. -shi-hulud Man pictures lined this wall. -Orlan Gee, It sure helps in this game to have some backup. -Jojo It's been hard not to put "peachy keen" in every sig of yours, it has! -Tzimfemme Noo! You killed Bob! -P51mus it will take a horde, no wait a planet of pats to take me out without any help. -Lord Janus Ozymandias' quote sums up the entire reason why these hallowed halls still exist. -Tzimfemme (in response to the above quote in the Archmage bulletin boards) Grief is. It, like love, touches our hearts and souls deeply. It is an expression of love. Grief is not the loss of love, but the loss of one who is loved. The love remains in our hearts, a memory; a treasured impression of another that will last as long as we do. Grief cannot restore that which we have lost, but can express the love that remains. -In memory of Barbara Callahan. -Abby Estes Life is either a grand adventure or it is nothing. -Helen Keller Beauty is exuberance. -Ernest Hemingway Flames? That means insult right? I guess I could try......(ahem) What is this!? I've seen more interesting thing come out of my dog's arse! I'm sure a blind one armed monkey could do better!You should sell your computer! You aren't worthy of being called human for writing such tripe! -Arawn Dan'Shir The things I do for Terra. -Arawn Dan'Shir Sometimes I wonder. Then I stop. -Matt Cox

Very empathetic with a skillful twist at the end. More, please.

Starts out simple and sad, and becomes something dark and frightening. But for all the pyrite child seems like a demon or some other human-hunting predator, they still seem very lonely. I find it a very rare writer who can really plumb the dark depths of humanity without bringing the reader down (emotionally). Well done. Incredibly well done. Please write a book.

You like to make me think, don't you? Wonderful stuff.

Ozymandias heats up the coffee he's drinking from and offers Rasash some. It's tough, being ignored, rejected and uninformed, *especially* in rapid succession. I know. All the same, well done poem. You still show a strong control, without being heartless.

"Stars can't talk." -Cohen the Barbarian Ouch. Very good. :>)

Thrilling and sad. Bravo.

Ozymandias hunkers down in a corner, eyes whipping around furtively as he clutches his copies of The Lord of the Rings trilogy to his chest. "Precioussssssss......" I can do a d@mn near perfect imitation of Barleyman Butterbur and am very proud of this fact.

Tim pauses to turn the artifacts over and over in hands. Gaze so intently does he, that his eyes seem to focus independently on them, first the green one, then the blue. Even as Y'Tren watches Myth carefully, Myth and Kaleyra watch Timothy's hands, and so Gyrfalcon, looking Tim in the face is the only one who notes the cynical scholar close his right eye very briefly to focus on the objects with cold blue. It is brief, but he catches it. Gyrfalcon's war mage mind continues to whir. Hm. He's done that quite often, but I swear he's only done it when he met somebody. Odd habit, that. I wonder what he's looking at? Finally, the young man looks back up at Myth. "Tell me, my capitalist host, why should we 'deal'? A forthcoming speech does not an honest speaker make. And we'd hate to have our time wasted." Timothy finished loftily, with what he hoped was a convincing, subtle sneer. I have no idea where this conversation is going, he thought somewhat anxiously.

Elsewhere, someone cursed the good king. He seemed the sort highly resilient to diplomacy, this observer thought. The diplomacy of the mouth, anyway. He might make things ugly.

Ah! Tones of fairy tale and epic fantasy at the same time. I like it! I also greatly approve of elves used as enemies. Too danged much stereotyping done in fantasy nowadays, if you ask me. I'm one of the head honchos around here, and I qualify myself as only an aspiring writer, too. So stick with us! I think you'll be surprised. But back to your story- Please, keep going.

I admire anyone who can use a jarring element (in this case, lust- "A smile and a soft caresse as you see me in that sinful dress." And btw, I love that part! Smooth like buttah!) when writing about love and still keep in touch with the care, passion and purity of the emotion. Bravo!

Ozymandias wanders past, muttering something about a bitter butter battle. [ Great stuff! Keep it coming! (I smell a Shel Silverstein influence...)]

Easter Monday? New one on me.

*lol* Ozymandias bows. Thankee, one and all.

Many miles away, a young Nether Mage cleaned out his castle with brisk efficiency. Devils ran and flew hither and thither, running this errand and that, snarling and making obscence gestures at their master more than usual as they did the housework. None of them dared confront him directly, however, as all knew in what passes for bones in a Devil, that he could, on a whim, send them into hopeless battle to meet their eternal doom. And they would have no choice but to comply. The dark wizard himself whistled a funeral dirge as he swept and mucked out his rookery, the contents of which were better left to childhood fears than living, breathing form. All zombies, of course, guarded the edges of his lands and the castle grounds themselves, being kept carefully outside, for as any idiot knows, zombies have neither the brains, hygeine, nor physical cohesion to be clean. This wizard was a man who had his borders broken by vengeful heroes easily, and often. He had but one saving grace- he was tidy. And so it went, until the young man came upon an odd sight fluttering about and making ghastly noises in a corner. Staring at it intently, he searched and searched his brain until he found the appropriate memory. "Aha!" he cried. It was a messenger pigeon, he recalled. It had flown across the sky almost a week ago, and in a rare moment of inspiration, he had sent his Devil prince after it. The poor bird summarily captured, the mage had an art project. Somewhat disappointed when he realized it was only a magical construct, he nevertheless went to his delightful task with gusto. Then he completely forgot about it later that day, or maybe a day or two later. He couldn't recall. So here it flopped, oozing and spitting, with (he noted with some amusement) its message scroll still firmly tied to its leg. Sighing with the desire to rid himself of useless knick-knacks, he pushed it up to the windowsill with his broom and gave it a sharp swat to send it tumbling away. Out of sight and out of most minds, the unfortunate creation flew about in dazed circles for several hours before finally crossing the border of the mage's lands. Free of the place's leechlike negative magical aura, its body remained shattered, but its purpose srung forth anew. Return. So, it did. ***** Hearing something like large amounts of raw meat colliding with the wall just outside, Zephyrin stood and walked over to investigate. He opened his mouth and eyes wide in nauseous shock as he saw the source of the sound flying awkwardly toward him. With no further warning, it alighted on his shoulder and cooed. A coo that was a hissing and fluid filled noise at the same time, so that one would think one or both of the creature's lungs were punctured. Noting in the midst of his mild shock a message scroll around its...ankle...he did the only thing he could think of doing at the moment, and retrieved it. When Zephyrin had unrolled it, he read: __________________________________________ To Whom it May Concern, You may or may not know, but one of our fellows in pen, Balladore, has left The Pen's company, for his family may be in grave danger. I have followed he and his volunteers to try and keep their travels from harm, but I fear they may not be able to make it without more than my help. Please! Rouse what force you can, and come quickly! But keep numbers small, these are circumstances where stealth may outweigh force. I have left a trail that any aid may follow. But hurry, I beg you! Yours in haste, Ozymandias ___________________________________________ His messenger burbled again. Zephyring glanced at his shoulder. Too many eyes looked back. Shuddering in disgust, he began to simultaneously plan who he would bring and how, and how to most carefully and quickly remove what was left of the pigeon from his shoulder. As he paced, it relieved itself on his armor. It wasn't until he heard the sizzling and smelled the acrid odor that he realized the feces were acidic.