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Chapter Ten: Dialogue (Or the villains complain about their lack of screen time)
So, whats it been, five chapters since weve been heard from? Dejwin asked lazily as he looked over the kitchen table at the minions who were currently playing with his daughter.
Nine chapters, thirty seven thousand, one hundred and two words, One of the minions replied bleakly.
No, thats not quite true, Another interjected, There was a brief cameo in chapter four about seven thousand words after our last mention.
Seven thousand, one hundred and fifty five years, the first one corrected with a sigh, Which means its only been seven chapters and twenty nine thousand, nine hundred forty seven words since the last time we got to be in the novel.
This is ridiculous! Dejwin exploded, There should be a rule or something that you have to check in with the bad guys every
Chapter 9 and a half
Chapter Nine Part Two (Because it was just getting too large with only one part): Incoming! (or a basic lesson in quest magic)
Everyone looked at Parry like she had two heads. Their collective gaze was so intense that she actually checked to make sure. Nope, only one.
Did you see the bridge when Tsidu and Dirwe went across?! Cin demanded, catching her attention again. It couldnt take one more person, let alone a whole line of them!
Really, has the rain started leaking into your head, or is there something youre not telling us? Dirwe chimed in.
When it had become obvious that they were going to ramble for a bit, Parry had started on her knitting again. Now, at the pause she looked up. Its a foot bridge.
Obviously! Cin replied, rolling his eyes, That doesnt explain what you were, or in this case werent, thi
Today We're All Hokies
There are some days you'll remember forever
this one, this day not so long ago
I remember it like it was but yesterday
and in a sense, it kind of was
The world seemed to stop that day,
just as it stopped again today,
as we remember the horror
the terror, heart ache, and devastation
Helpless, we were so close
and yet we could do nothing
nothing but watch with fear
praying it was a dream, knowing otherwise
Today a bell tolled thirty three times
The air silent, even the birds stopped
their songs hushed in respect for the dead
So once again, today we are all Hokies
From the Cat
String up my brother and box his stupid ears
Why does this make me feel so wonderful?
No more will I suffer at his unfeeling feet
He must never say I am the perfect feline companion
Nip him always
And cough up a hairball on his nose
Crazy little boy pounced
Aria of St. Francis
Aria of St. Francis
By: Myron and Kuroinami
Yon wintry fowl now gaze upon the mark of youth,
Half-set in joy and risen in heart his song.
Who would expect such reason to hold, uncouth?
Thus to flight his wings, azure, shall long.
His call, lost breath, as fierce to Want as flame,
Her breast impassioned with rhythm untold,
So taut the charged sweetness that keep her name,
And in this day with mate together hold.
The blossom free from crafting self will fall.
In autumn light recall the spring now gone.
Enrapt with native dreams, the shame of all,
Wrought with age, the bird awaits the ancient Dawn.
Hide, dull plumage, against the winter snow,
Ghost song renewed in Springs fair youthful glow.
Chapter Nine: A Bridge too Far (Or how knitting can save your life.)
The next morning was hard on most of the group. For one thing, hangovers are nasty business, and for another, that storm that had started the night before was starting to flood the town! Though they stumbled down the stairs, the heroes knew what they needed to do and were already strapping on their gear, weapons, and other essentials. Parry had also started knitting frantically in a much wider stitch than she normally used.
Cin and Feiskar started to organize the people that were milling about outside the tavern (the people knew that a group of adventurers were inside and were counting on the fact that they would not run away and leave the helpless townspeople to their own devices.) Luckily for the people of the town, these were indeed true heroes (or substitute heroes, but that is just a technicality), and they would not leave a soul behind. Those without a soul,
No matter what time of day or night it was, Harriet was to be determined to annoy Smati. Or at least, it seemed that way sometimes. Sure she knew there was something important going on with the other saints, but Smati actually had some important intelligence for Harriet this time. Stuff that REALLY couldnt wait until tomorrow, no matter what the elf at the door said. And so, shed rather unceremoniously let herself into a meeting of the saints. She was quiet about it, Harriet was going to be mad enough with her barging in like this. Quietly melding with the shadows, the were moved around the room until she was behind the drow. Quietly and unobtrusively she placed the intelligence she had managed to gather on the table, then slipped back into the shadows. Moving back the way she'd come, the were paused at the door, looking back once at the room; one didn't often get to see so many im
Ambrosio in HellDarkness, darker than the darkest night, deeper than the depths of the ocean was nothing and everything. Darkness was, and reigned. Darkness was Ambrosios every conscious notion. Eternity had come and gone, or so it seemed, and still He languished. His tormentors had left him only after six days and seven nights, He knew the passage of time only from the Demons that did attend him. In the day the demons touch burned like fire. In the night, their rotten limbs froze him to the core. For those long days and nights they had tortured him to his limits and beyond, pulling, stretching, twisting, and morphing his malleable Soul so that his appearance might match that of his wickedness. Only on the seventh day did they finally leave him. When they were gone, he was utterly alone.
To one who has spent their life cloistered away from most of their fellow men, going days at a time without spea
Chapter Unknown: Intermission (or the gratuitous sing along chapter)
The large field, normally filled with flowers, was now filled with vegetables of a different kind. These things werent all that bright, even if they did stand on two shuffling feet and twiddle their thumbs in boredom. But when you were an evil warlord sending out job applications, and putting inquiries into the want adds, you dont exactly get the best and brightest responses. You had to make do with what you had. Make do, and weed out the weak. That was exactly what Cana planned to do. She smiled out at the pensive faces; they were waiting for an order, an admonishment, a reprimand, something, anything from the one they feared above all others. She motioned for those that jumped when the fanfare sounded to be taken away. Weak.
Minions! The little girls magically amplified voice commanded the
breathe that soul straight down my throatyou are my full-lipped muse
and half-lidded siren
humming a broken chorus
breathing to a metronome
sighing in crescendo
an evangelizer of acoustics
the ministry of instrumentals
I've been baptized
in your anarchist hymns
you've made me a believer
of vinyl and a religion without god
INFINITELY LILITHI am not dead for I cannot die,
once Man thought I could be easily misused,
exiling me to an epilogue no longer remembered
as he blotted out my blush from staining
the Earth's chrysalis rind, if only he knew
that beneath my touch knowledge took root
and pumpkins were hollowed out into shapes
-seedless and skinless-as infinite as the mind.
I am not dead, I cannot die
for I am the memory of primevel bliss,
though blackened my skeleton still exists,
licking the Silence clean so my name can
bite more soundly, a thousand serpents hiss
from my nebula center, welcoming to me
my children who bring the blood that feeds
my dessicated garden, ravenously growing,
I cannot regret for I live too purely to repent
the pushing and prodding of my blossoms to be
known by the timeless exuberance of eons past,
in the Moonlight I move and speak of dark things
not really dead and the light not really blessed
without me being known first, infinitely I say
I am not dead for I cannot die.
I am Lilith.
The Lost Who WanderI find myself
at the feet of a god,
not with expectation,
praying falsely for
of divine intervention,
but out of sheer desperation,
like those who murmur
prayers to St. Jude,
within the darkness
where there is none
over the rocks
with the blind,
not counting how many
along the way,
all to hear enigmatic
from the parched
of a mad woman
with hallucinatory visions
living in a cave
which sweeps over me
in waves of nausea.
I martyr myself
for your pain,
and grieve unaccountably
for your loss,
it seers through me,
like St. Sebastian
I find myself penetrated
full of holes, bearing the marks
of a guilt which should
never have been my own.
But that dose not entirely
absolve me, there is
no escape from my own
all I can do is watch you
and wait for dead prayers
to be answered
by the indifferent
sages who devour
our fates making
bets as they attempt
In the WoodsIn the woods my spirit wanders
it goes where now my feet shall follow
the trees, they speak with silent tongues
where wind will pass through every branch
my eyes alight with newfound life
I know this is my lasting home
the ground beneath receives me warmly
soft-spun soil has kissed my feet
the air around has touched me deeply
soaking in my every pore
the birds are singing in the trees
with peeping frogs drawn up and down
the waters of the streams are murm’ring
the distance now is not so far
and what is near is father still
the world it breathes in through the roots
where my soul is rising to
digging deep in untold heights
my spirit wanders with the breeze
here is where my people lived
where they fought and drank and built and died
the forest is our endless home
whence our finest tribes did hail
fare we well to come back home now
to bring soft flesh to bare
bear it out along the way
softest skin on rough hewn bark
the palm may breathe in with the wood
and out the lungs give a cath
UntitledToday, Father, we need Your aid
For in the in the present, battles rage
With Your guidance, victory will be made
And Your praise will be sung from age to age
at the endisthmus tossed over the edge
wipes the bull's back
in the odourless sun
the tiger could rest
could perhaps be crossed
the temple is marble,
white and final
the boy stands up
Memories of Days of Peace to ComeMemories of Days of Peace to Come
Midnight, silence echoes through the void;
A sight once seen, the earth ever recalls.
In wordless wait, time comes to an end;
A tale of anguish, by curse and decay,
To be cleansed by the coming of a King.
Heat goes away as all things perish;
Universe being poured out unto death,
Longing for the hour of redemption,
Whence the high price of man's sin is paid,
Foretold since the old days of the fall.
Mountains weep with great tears from the heights;
Magma blood erupts through earthbound pores;
Pressure tightens the core in the deep.
Humble, the moon comforts grounded cries;
Thrice the quakes submit to divine will.
All of nature stands tortured and shamed
By the bloody hands of foul mankind;
Murderous, desecrating the holy.
The deep growl of God's wrath reverberates
Like judgement on atoning innocence.
Starlight pierces the black of the night;
Words of white tell their ancient witness.
The firmament bleeds its precious glow;
Holy brilliance she
Chakrathe Tree of Life is in your hands
the winding of your veins
up and down and through your arms
it ends up in your heart
pulsing Blood is your own story
a tale that’s told in cells
shrinking down in four dimensions
hidden by old Mimir’s holt
on and on into obscurity
hidden by the Veil of Maja
you are a piece of eternity
your final end is God
THAT PAIN YOU FEELThat pain you feel is muscle building,
destruction of the worn away pieces.
Staircases being built while you work away,
signs saying "Construction: please use detour".
Walking partially on the backs of past foremen,
who built their own homes and left behind the blueprints.
The world can't show restraint in its assault,
but the paths have been cut for those who would spit in the eyes of gods.
Look down at yourself now,
That six pack didn't grow itself.
To depression, for creating days without endWake up to the realization that you've been awake
for seconds, minutes, hours.
You've been awake in this warm, dark room
and you don't know how long it's been
but now you're conscious
and it starts again--
the pain, strong and steady, in your chest.
You gain consciousness in this too warm morning
and your thoughts whir in endless loops
because it's either that or face the weight in your chest.
Light breaks though the window, soft and unwelcome
but you take it as a reluctant gift--
a new distraction from the feelings awake in your chest.
Awake, but not conscious.
So you think yourself in circles a little while longer
waiting for those quiet pains
(the constant reminder)
to gain consciousness.
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