Ozymandias

"Hardly even..."? i say thee nay, Sir! Why, there are so MANY things you can do with a knife! Such as trim your bootlaces! Scale a fish! Skin a kill! Keep a calendar! Pick your teeth! Fling them at carnivals! Fling them at those Lord Nobunaga wishes dead! Whittling! And the list goes on!!! Knives are wondrous mulituse things!!!!

Yesterday upon the stair I saw a man who wasn't there So I didn't sit and chat with him I didn't enquire about his day We didn't spend the afternoon with laugh and joke and play We had a wonderful time that wasn't I hope we don't do it again today (First stanza adapted from "The Little Man Who Wasn't There", by William Hughes Means)

Thought it would be the most likely to be off-putting to off the knightly one first, and that seemed a random enough decision for the random kill pattern purpose, too. Did it work?

Ozymandias charges the field, briefly jabbing his fingers into the air in a twin pair of Vs for victory. His loping stride already flapping his customary blur robes majestically in the breeze, he spies the Grim Squeaker spy him. A dangerous glint flashes in the Death of Rats' right eye socket. Ozymandias accelerates, magus robes now flapping madly like a flag in a windstorm. The crowd cheers enthusiastically. The Grim Squeaker does not move. Ozymandias accelerates again, his sandals begin to blur- his robe now sounding more like and outboard motor than cloth. Few are those who remember that the old man can move so fast. The Grim Squeaker does not move. Ozymandias accelerates again; with a speed that none knew; few are sure how a mortal's limbs are acheiving such a feat. The crowd is screaming wildly now- even the lusty chant of "Oz-y! Oz-y! Oz-y! Oz-y!" can barely be heard. Ozymandias grins ferociously, lips peeling back slightly with the force of the wind in his face. The Grim Squeaker holds position as if daring his attacker to come. Ozymandias does. The details of the Loremaster are barely discernible now, only tan, grey and blue tones mark the separate parts of his appearance now. Sparks fly from the ground when his feet connect. He is on his target in less time than it takes to blink... The Grim Squeaker shoulders his scythe and sidesteps in one fluid motion...then sticks out an ivory foot. The Loremaster is sent ignominiously sailing through the air at terrific speed. A mountain troll on the sidleines has enough time to say, "Hwuh?" before he gets his very first taste of Egyptian jerky. "Hgrmph! ERph!", says Ozymandias, legs protruding from the troll's mouth kicking helplessly. Somewhere along the way, the poor man had even lost a sandal. The medics grimly lead the beast away, one already armed with a plunger. An annoucement comes over the loud speaker: "Pennites, our Loremaster has rallied the charge, and has fallen! Another early point loss!! OUR NEXT CONTESTANT IS. . ." The Grim Squeaker waits mid-field, grinning.

Routh listens, placid eyes growing wider and wider. He waits to speak until Marisia finishes her somewhat breathless account of the missing mercenaries, and addresses her again with now unfeigned gravity.. "Thank you for telling me. This is serious. You'd better get back to your sister quickly, young Miss; you'll be safer with her. I'll go speak with the men at arms" (OOC: TheResearcher/Joran.)

On the first day of their trip, Routh Kurston found much to his chagrin that making rather merry with his latest client had left him with a newfound susceptibility to motion sickness. The affable merchant on the ground quickly became the rather green-faced who lay miserably in his cart for several days. At last, he emerged in the rain with a wan smile and sheepish look. Smoothing back quickly moistening hair, he came upon Marisia first. Routh gave a bow and a greeting befitting a young lady, and enquired as to what he had missed.

still ready. :>)

Dear Diary, Don't know what has absconded with my focus, but it's getting worse. Spent two hours throwing a ball at the wall and catching it, as quill sits, dry and accusing. Even the shadows and faerie dragons exit in a huff within minutes of being summoned, I have become so utterly...mundane. A shadow creature in huff is a fascinating sight, it should be noted. For ones with no faces, voices, musculature, or skeletal system, they are shockingly emotive creatures when they wish to be. How is it I hadn't noticed until now? Faerie dragons angry behave much as you would expect- think of a reptilian my little pony granted life, then denied a sugar cube. Endearing, guilt inspiring, and mystifying all at once. My laboratory goggles, also disused, stare at me almost as balefully as the shadows. Must continue research into principles of spirit transference into inanimate objects through devotion and regularity of use one day. I do believe I heard Tzimfemmstein muttering about the same thing one day as she tried to blowtorch some clone or another into submission. Must ask for her input- she keep copious notes. I wonder where my shadows, dragons, and other creatures have been fleeing to? I must be growing senile for the thought to take this long in coming. Drat. I do hope I haven't made any trouble. Hmm. Could they have anything to do with the underside of the bed smelling of cookies lately?

Still not done. More work later.

ver. 3 vomitus Surrounded by dark split by shafts of light quick as the storm that steals them clouds roll, thunder rumbles, wind lands its first blows in anger, there is no rain Waves crash overhead, salting my eyes, my lungs meat prepared; preserved chains squeal across the rock some days, I strain at them and every night in sleep I wait for the vultures. They ride and die upon the storm they always eat their fill There are others here too- other castaways, Cast away? The wind may stumble them, the sea may stagger does nothing make them fall? Each still tries to break my chains someone else there too who tries? I cannot see I peck at their entrails I remain. I'm choking.

unsatisfied. Ver. 2: vomitus Surrounded by dark split by shafts of light quick as the storm that steals them clouds roll, thunder rumbles, wind lands its first blows in anger, there is no rain Waves crash overhead, salting my eyes, my lungs meat prepared; preserved chains squeal across the rock some days, I strain at them and every night in sleep I wait for the vultures. They ride and die upon the storm they always eat their fill There are others here too- other castaways, Cast away? titan with her grip of iron huntress with bow of unearthly wood grace claws flexed without quarter the rock never moves, never splinters, no matter the ships dashed agianst it, no matter how much rage and noise The storm rages, the storm subsides, islands dashed to pieces; deadwood Still they stand, here on our rock It's so hard to remember All I see is blue and white, and black and red and grey The wind may stumble them, the sea may stagger does nothing make them fall? Each still tries to break my chains someone else there too who tries? I cannot see I peck at their entrails I remain. I'm choking.

I finished! Two requests remain- Closure. All of the Dreamer stories I've read have about half again as much closure as the average American Horror movie. Wrapup, please? Not all the time- just 50/50, maybe 60/40? I think I see better how you manuever The Dreamer's life and those of all the supporting characters' now, but I'd like to learn more. Are there any of the pieces that delve deeply into any supporting characters' lives/selves? If so, are there any you'd recommend as a place to start trying to understand your people better? That being said- bravissimi. This was a real a war tale as many of the best works of battle fiction: Saving Private Ryan, The Lord of the Rings, Braveheart, take your pick. Well done! And dammit, what was the significance of that gate????? Must reread!

With a grin, Ozymandias produces many, many steins of an inscrutable metal. Summoning a small retinue of shadow creatures with a wriggling of fingers to help him carry them to Brute, he sings lustily, "May love and wine their rights maintain, and in united pleasures reign...!"

I Am Legend This one was actually very refreshing. Worked as a good horror movie (not scary to me more than once- Those damn mannequins!!!!)- it had plenty of really nicely executed tense moments in the grand ol' Night of the Living Dead tradition...it was a very good action flick (you can always tell a crappy post apocalyptic yarn when it has NO gripping action)...and it was NOT MATHESON'S STORY, BUT WAS STILL VERY GOOD. Wtf? Hollywood mutated a great novel into something almost entirely other (seriously- the movie had three, count 'em, THREE plot points in common with the book), and made a good story???????? These are the end times, my friends. XP Oh, speaking of end times and apocalypse and all- eagle eyed comic book geeks should keep a lookout as our hero walks through times square. You'll find a fun and cruel little joke that the filmmakers played on us in the background. :>) My only complaint? The rewrite of the story left the title having next to nothing to do with the plot. Can't win 'em all, I guess. P.S.- If you're easily scared, you'll be screaming at least twice in this movie. Loudly. If you've a delicate stomach, be wary of the lab scenes. That's all I will divulge for fear of spoiling. It's amazingly empathetic violence though. No, I do NOT mean in the adrenaline rush way.

I'm choking Surrounded by dark, broken by shafts of light that come as quickly as the storm steals them again The clouds roll, the thunder rumbles, the wind has just begun to push with anger, the rain hasn't begun Waves crash over me, salt filliing my eyes, my lungs The chains squeal across the rock When I've slept, I strain at them every other day, I only sit and wait for tyhe vultures. I know I can count on them to always eat They're there, too garce, titan strength, she, wit her grip of iron her, with her bow of mightier wood than earth births she who flexes claws with promised challenge to each new danger The storm rages, the storm subsides, the islands are dashed to pieces, deadwood splintered in nature's torrential fury Still they stand, here on our rock the rock never moves, never splinters, no matter the ships dashed agianst it, no matter the water, the wind, no matter how much rage and noise There are others here too- other castaways, right? It's so hard to remember All I see is their blue and white, and salt and red and grey The wind moves them- occasionally They rarely falter How? They fall but nothing will keep them down How? Each still tries to break my chains (is there someone else there too who tries? I can't see) I peck at their entrails I remain.

...lived with a sick ladybug? ...used your sculpting skills in ways you never, ever expected? ...had a squirrel rob you of your sofa?

*takes 1D6 intelligence damage* XP

I've been wanting to challenge myself more. I'm in, if there's work for an ex-Pharaoh...I'm open to suggestions!

*wishes he still had his black dice bag*

Many, many congratulations Mai! *bows* Proud to know that yet another here has so dedicated a heart as to protect and to give at the same time. Arigato, good example.

...dressed up as someone else, yet introduced yourself as you? ...made a friend this way? ...ever felt bars of soap to be more honest than liquid? ...seen a bird fly in time to your music?

Zool- thankya. *That* element was quite deliberately as you figured. Tzim- sincerest apologies for the same thing. {:>\

I liked especially liked the dichotomy of the moth's ethereal, almost fragile beauty, and the weaving in of them being the nightmare bearers lends them an air of faint menace as well. You made *moths* menacing!!!

*dies* Oh no you didn't! ^^

Thank you. This started as an exercise in exorcising anger, but when I sat down to write it, I'd calmed immensely. I don't actually know what this is, specifically...