Ozymandias

"Deirdre, dear", he calls out, startling the seeds,"if you like, you can lead old Arkyn over here. We'll fix him up right." The seeds, angry at being surprised and (apparently...) threatened, move in on Ozymandias. They're very close. Ozymandias' robe begins to sizzle and bubble in the acid. He holds his ground. And his hands still behind his back. He's still grinning. "Just a little closer, now", he hisses through bared teeth. ------------------ I am Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair! Edited by: Ozymandias the Elder at: 2/23/02 1:18:44 pm

But wait, where's Ozymandias? He's NOT AT THE BAR!!!! Wait again! What are those soft footfalls that don't seem to have an owner? It's Ozymandias, who reappears right behind the seeds. He is grinning malevolently enough to give baying Hellhounds pause. Black mages quail. Swooping Red Dragons come to a dead halt. An Ascendant mage faints. Heck, even Dierdre's taken a little aback. His banquet hall has been threatened seven times now, in one day. Twice by grapes, twice by Watermelons, once by a chair, once by a pit to Hell, and once by Giant Stereotypical Frenchmen. And now, more produce strikes. He's lost one Banquet Hall already. He's just gotten to like this one. They will not threaten his wenches. They will not threaten his barstool. They will not threaten his poker games. They will not threaten his beer. They will not threaten his ale. They will not threaten his mead. They will not threaten his wine. They will not threaten 'his spot' on the floor. They, most of all, most emphatically, will not, will not ever, threaten his Vodka. He has something better than a plan. He has something better than Jet Li. He has something worse than dancing hamsters. He has something worse than Barbara Streisand. He has something far worse than Giant Stereotypical Frenchmen. He has something behind his back. To be continued.... ------------------ I am Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair! Edited by: Ozymandias the Elder at: 2/23/02 1:16:14 pm

Deirdre the cat is running for her life when she sees Arkyn approaching her with a nasty sneer on his face. She yelps,realizing that he is still under demonic possession and screams for help at the top of her voice.

Deirdre looks in total horror at poor Dameon as wierd noises emerge from his stomach.A few minutes later,he throws up the watermelon seeds which have grown 3 times bigger in size. Now because a person's stomach contains acid, the watermelon seeds have become even more lethal as they have now become the Poisonous and Acidic Watermelon seeds. Anyone who comes into contact with them will slowly be "eaten" to death by the poison and the acid the Seeds emit. Deirdre sees the Seeds bouncing after her and she runs for her dear life. Meanwhile,Dameon is shouting for someone to get him out of this mess.

One minute he had been tending to Deirdre's wounds, that he knew. All of the sudden he was being assaulted with an onslaught of giant watermelon seeds. And not those tiny normal ones, mind you. The ones as large as cherry tomatoes. "Ow, stop, ouch, aaahh, sonofa..., quit it, ack!" Decimator tried in vain to cover his face, but it was no use. The seeds kept on coming, rapid fire. Suddenly the cessation of "She'll be Comin' Round the Mountain" (and its replacement with a thundering explosion) caused Decimator to look up. At that moment the giant watermelon fired one last seed. It spun through the air, ricocheting off of chairs, walls, and heads, and finally found itself inside of Decimator's mouth. *Gulp* All of the tales he'd heard in his youth about swallowing watermelon seeds came back in a rush. "This is not good," thought Decimator. His stomach rumbled and gurgled. Decimator Wielder of the Ukulele of Doom

A polite but firm,"Don't even THINK of asking the Phantasm mage, I do *phantasm* things, *not* transmutation. Thank you!", floats over from the bar. ------------------ I am Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!

Deirdre gets mad with the cute little dragon as it keeps singing "She'll be Comin' Round the Mountain",grabs some water and pours it over the poor little Dragon. The next minute,a huge explosion rocks the Hall and the cute little dragon changes into a cute little Arkyn who looks more like a 9 yr old kid than a 21 yr old mage. Deirdre looks at him shocked and wonders:"Dear gods, what have I done this time?" ------------------

Let's all give a round of applause to Deirdre for starting this wonderful thread. [clap clap clap] Decimator wielder of the Ukulele of Doom

Deirdre quickly pulls him out of the grape and runs back to Ozy's side.

"I'm a scholar, not a soldier. You'll find no argument from me there. But Kaleyra? She seems made of softer stuff than I...in a stand up fight," he quickly added on seeing Gyrfalcon's sharp look.

Timothy paused, absorbing that thought. "Well." he said slowly, "That explains a good bit." There is another long pause as they continue their observing. "I don't suppose you have something such as a pipe about you?"

Ozymandias strode purposefully across the grounds. The grass crunching underneath his feet , and scuff of his sandals against the soil were the only sounds he made. The relative brightness of the afternoon brought out the stark contrast his normally dusk blue robes, now black, created. A careful observer would see tiny points of light shine randomly across the fabric. His jaw was set, eyes unblinking as he made his way to the garden. Passing the apple trees on his way to the pond, out of the corner of his eye he spotted Seth thoughtfully chewing an apple, hanging upside down. The poor man's face was as bright red as his snack by now. Without turning, Ozymandias gestured in the other man's direction and said, simply, "Come." Lord Seth Exodus shivered despite himself. When the old Egyptian had passed, it felt as though the forest's temperature had dropped below freezing, if only for a moment. Before he could reply, the shade of the apple trees suddenly unfolded long, spindly arms with spidery, grasping fingers that firmly clutched him about the middle with one hand and carefully unsnagged his clothing with the other. Upon being flipped right side up and set gently down by his ethereal rescuer, Seth stared after Ozymandias, brushing absently at his clothes. "Wait!", he called suddenly, and broke into a jog after his fleeting compatriot. (Oz's note: Our story has branched off, much to my happy surprise. Check out Conversations in the Cabaret Room.)

You're making me miss my dog. I hope I can get another soon. You play the heartstrings very well, Madame.

I'd read this before and enjoy it, but rereading it and the comments, I read it aloud. Quite haunted. Bravo.

Thank you all.

I like it. I shall have to reread Do Not Go Gentle... when I get home. Glad I could be an inspiration.

I was going to comment on the fact that you'd repeated yourself (this and "Celest"), but I guess you already caught that?

I love this girl's attitude!

He stands ready, waiting for the next cruel slash Hands clasped tightly around his sword, grip barely wavering He thinks Where have they all gone? I want to be strong but not alone Not always As these thoughts begin to break his concentration it comes The enemy, leaping out of nowhere and in plain sight at the same time brings his wicked blade forward in an angled, eviscerating stroke He comes to his senses barely in time blocking only the lethal force of the blow He is staggered back and tasting coppery redness in his mouth Sizing up his opponent He hangs back unwilling to strike until he knew what was coming And they were there, all of them some had only just returned the others had been there locked in their own battles as well as the one who never left They saw the warrior engaged in battle in his eyes written doubt An arrow flew then, striking the hateful beast upon their comrade It jerked back, muscles spasming in pain It whirled for a second eyes glinting in hate as it set its brethren on the soldiers They plowed through the hideous ranks sword shield and arrow singing a mighty hymn Their comrade needed to know he was not alone The warrior saw his opportunity The beast's back was turned Still, he wavered until he felt a hand on his shoulder The One who was just out of sight but never out of reach Gave the warrior a nod and lent him his power Seeing the beast starting to turn and seeing his friends being hurt trying to reach his side The Warrior let out a Mighty Yell and struck at the beast with all his heart

From one hopeless romantic to another- Bravo.

Thank you all. A little secret about the dog hair one- As I sat down to transcribe the rest of the poems from paper to the boards, I was carrying dinner. I leaned a little too far forward, and splat! Voila! Instant poem.

At the risk of sounding too esoteric, this reads like a song that doesn't need music. I like it.

I'm beginning to see a pattern in our poets- not one (or very few) write of simply the depths of pain. Be pain depression, loneliness, confusion, frustration, or what have you, it seems like a solution is always being searched for, or amends are being made in each piece. Damn, but it's refreshing. We all know what pain is like, in our own ways. But figuring out how to deal with it, that's less common.

You are the finest of the elvish poets, Peredhil.

All I have to say is, if we ever pull off ANY sort of Pen get together, I want to hear this man's music!!!