76 thoughts on “Writing, v. 2006.3”

  1. Some of you know her from Dragonseye…
    STEEL MOTKIMI HAS RETURNED!!!

    Her Grace, the Duchess Ahleni of Camaranu, Royal niece of his Imperial Majesty of Ma’ar, Lady of the Ten Provinces, sat on a pink embroidered silk cushion placed on a mahogany wood bench, gazing pensively at her mirror, admiring herself. Her perfect face stared haughtily back at her from the polished bronze surface, reassuring her yet again her beauty had not diminished in the five minutes since she had last checked. Her pale skin, smooth and white as new cream, her golden hair, crystal blue eyes…

    Suddenly Ahleni frowned, her blood red lips curving in displeasure. Not a blemish on her part, of course; but then—what…was…that! She peered more closely at the metal. Ah, there it was. A tiny scratch, the merest fleck on the shining surface of her mirror. Her frown became more pronounced. She reached over to a tiny silver bell and tapped it lightly, her perfectly manicured nails echoing gently against it. Seconds later there was a sharp rap on her door and a guard came in, bowing respectfully.

    “How may I serve your Grace?” inquired the man politely, but with a touch of nervousness in his otherwise steady voice. His chain mail armor chinked as he rose from his bow, but still he kept his eyes properly downcast. Ahleni looked around and smiled, a long, slow, perfect smile. The guard swallowed nervously. He knew his lady. And what often happened to people she smiled at like that.

    “There is a chink in my mirror,” she said. “Have it taken and sanded, and polished properly. Then find my maid and have her flogged.” She picked up a second, smaller, handheld mirror, and began again her careful examination of her features. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

    The guard stammered an apology, and then backed hastily out of the room, bowing. Ahleni knew he would send someone for her mirror momentarily. The Duchess waited until a tiny, metallic click told her he had closed the door to her chambers, and then tore herself reluctantly away from her mirror. She did have business to attend to, after all. Tonight there would be a great feast in honor of her birthday, and she must look her best.

    Now to important matters. She got up, practicing in the mirror until the action was a perfectly graceful one, and then glided over the polished hardwood floors to her wardrobe, her satin shod feet creating the faintest whisper against the mirror-bright surface. Throwing open the doors, she gazed with interest at the magnificent array of gowns. Silk, satin, velvet, heavy brocade—sewn with thread-of-gold and silver, gems, precious stones, shining like liquid fire in the glow emanating from her mage-light…

    She sniffed and turned up her nose at such meager offerings. Only twenty dresses! Bah! She glanced at herself in the mirror, making sure that her annoyance and contempt was showing on her features in a flattering way. She twitched her lips into a more becoming position and then, satisfied, turned back to her wardrobe. She was about to ring for her maid to provide a better selection when she remembered the girl was busy being flogged. Ah, well. She would just have to make do with what she had.

    The duchess finally selected a deep blue gown, which, she knew, would put her sapphire eyes off to an advantage. Glancing at the silver plated timepiece perched on her dressing table, she saw with surprise that it was time to show herself. Ahleni would dearly like to take more time at her mirror, but it was, after all, her birthday, and she had a duty to be at the feast. In addition, being there would give everyone a better chance to admire her. She took another fifteen or so minutes to fix her hair to her satisfaction, a task usually reserved for her maid (where was that wretched girl? Surely being whipped should not take so much time!), setting a coronet made of spun silver and dark sapphires on the golden mass for effect. Finally, she was ready to descend. She flung open her door and began the trek to the banquet hall.

    The corridors were noticeably empty. Ahleni allowed herself to yawn for a moment or so in the silence, but she was careful not to let this marring of her features last for too long. She moved over the carpeted floors slowly and sedately, her dainty feet sinking into the thick, finely woven purple carpet. She was well aware that her guests were waiting, but she was in no hurry. Her late entrance would merely cause them to gaze a moment longer at her perfect features. She allowed her mind to wander to the festivities, for which all the nobles in the Duchy of Camaranu had been invited, as she neared the hall. What would be happening, again? Oh, yes. Music, and dancing, and there would be some acrobats and jugglers, of course, and she was fairly sure there would be some performances by the skilled slaves. Her Overseer had mentioned getting a new shipment, she thought, trying vaguely to remember. Oh yes, from a Sarain ship, no less! Momentarily she brooded over what the ruler, Sir Rup, would say if she found out, but she did not let herself dwell on that unpleasant matter. Even if the ruler did notice her missing subjects—Ahleni would not have, herself—doubtless one of her officials would take care of it.

    Ahleni descended the last flight of stone steps, her ebony-soled dress slippers clacking softly on the uncarpeted edges. She delicately pushed open the stair door, allowing it to swing shut behind her, and walked down the wide main hall, going at a leisurely pace as she gazed thoughtfully at pictures and paintings, landscapes and portraits, tapestries and wall hangings. Finally, however, she turned away from her meticulous examination of a woven bird, and, with a tiny, delicate sigh, decided that she would have to go in now. Moving at a quicker pace but still as gracefully as ever, Ahleni walked as if she couldn’t have cared less (which, she reflected, she really didn’t) toward the two huge, oaken carved hall doors. Her great-grandfather had installed the doors; they were finest oak carved by the finest craftsmen, and they had taken two years to finish. Of course, the carvers had been executed after their task had been completed; one couldn’t have one’s subjects going around bragging about how they had made something for their monarch, now could they?

    The two guards stationed at the doors were standing still as stone. If Ahleni hadn’t known better, she would have said they were dead, but the guardsmaster knew that he would be flogged if he hired inferior guards, and dead guards were certainly inferior. She moved toward the giant antique doors, and the armored men wordlessly swung them open. Ahleni didn’t spare them a glance. Now was the part where she would be admired.

    The hall was huge; it could have easily housed seven or so villager dwellings. The walls were marble; the floors marble patterned with ebony. Massive pillars of alabaster and marble supported the huge vaulted ceiling, which was hung with twenty enormous mage lights, each bigger than a man. The lights gave off a soft, clear glow that shone beautifully off the gold and silver, gems and precious wood that adorned every nook and niche of the room.

    Raised seats were ranged around the hall, made of fine hardwood, the ones meant for her nobles inlaid with silver, and hers, the highest and finest of all, softened with embroidered silk cushions and trappings, with gold. She smiled as she saw it. This was her reward for being the niece of the Emperor.
    The room was filled with guests, the richest and most noble people of the land. They were dressed in silk and satin and finest velvet, adorned with rubies from Middle Island and emeralds from Gillieth and pearls from Arin, and numerous other priceless gems from equally remote countries.

    Ahleni began the long walk to her seat along a raised dais. As she passed, people turned and bowed, the heavy gold chains of nobles and rich merchants clinking together like the very personification of greed. Her train followed her in a short, graceful sweep as she glided up the pathway, seeming, as she knew perfectly well, almost to float along. She cast tiny, sidelong glances now and then to either side of her, but could not find a face as beautiful as hers. She allowed herself a small smile. Of course not.

    The young Duchess continued her graceful walk to her seat, passing tables laden with the finest food and drink. Wines as red as blood and clearer than pure water were set out in decanters of cut crystal, pheasants and peacocks, still with bright feathers adorning their stuffed corpses, were laid on massive golden platters while their live counterparts preened in a fenced-off area for the delight of the guests. As she walked by, Ahleni turned her head slightly to watch a particularly fine swan rotate its head on the long, pure white neck; she had always liked those birds; they were almost as beautiful and regal as herself, ruling over the lesser creatures with practiced disdain.

    Ahleni reached the seats. She paused, waiting for one of her numerous honored servants or maids to come forward and assist her in mounting the steps, as it would be deeply undignified to climb them unescorted. However, before any attendant had time to reach her, she felt a faint pressure on her arm. Ahleni whirled around, ready to rebuke the one who had dared touch her, but stopped as she caught sight of the person, her gown, which had gained a slight twist from her rapid movement, falling back into place with a silken hiss.

    The one who had touched her arm was a young man, a foreigner. He had short-cropped brown hair that somehow reminded her of feathers, and blue eyes as bright as her own, only perhaps not as deeply colored. He was very tall and had broad, strong shoulders. He was dressed plainly, but in garments that were obviously as expensive as they were fine. He was a Galathin, thought the Duchess, because he was wearing green, and had the emblem embroidered in thread of gold and emerald silk on his doublet, a rearing snake coiling about a healer’s cup, surmounted by a seven-pointed star. The bit of crystal that formed the eye of the snake glinted in the glow from the mage-lights, throwing bits and pieces of sparkling light about the floor.

    The Galathin looked perhaps twenty, more than Ahleni’s seventeen years, although something told her he was younger than he looked. A roguish smile played about his lips, making him look, if possible, even more handsome. All in all, he was not one Ahleni wished to drive away. It might not be proper for a guest to touch her without her express permission, but she didn’t really care. She had her own interests to think of, after all.

    Ahleni smiled graciously at the young man, deciding quickly on a plan of action. “Yes, Ambassador?” she said, taking a stab at his rank. If she were wrong, he would have the pleasure of correcting her, that was all.

    The young man smiled and nodded. “Indeed, your Grace.” He looked pleased that she had identified him correctly. This was doubtless his first diplomatic assignment and he looked determined to do well. Ahleni stowed that away in her mind, for some time when she could make full use of the fact. He spoke again. “I was wondering if you would allow me the honor of escorting you to your seat?” He had a low, strong, almost musical voice, Ahleni noticed, a fine voice for a fine young man. She blushed delicately and artistically, a skill she had mastered by the time she was twelve. However, she admitted to herself, the blush was not all fakery…

    The young Duchess allowed her lips to form an even more pleasant smile. “Surely, my Lord,” she answered, and extended her fingertips to rest lightly on his arm, the long sleeve of her gown falling back to her elbow and trailing down. “It would be a pleasure.”

    The Galathin properly allowed her to take the first action. She began her ascent, each tiny step causing the deep blue of her skirt to falter slightly as she moved her feet. The young man accompanied her, and as they passed each row the assembled nobles filed into their previously assigned seats. Ahleni smiled somewhat. As her escort, the young Galathin would be allotted the seat next to her, a prospect that he should look forward to. After all, not many young men received the honor of even looking at Ahleni!

    Finally they reached the top. The Ambassador helped the Duchess into her seat and seated himself in the silver plated one beside her, as she had indicated. Two attendants immediately rushed forward and draped a green and gold cloth over the back of the chair to represent his status. As she sat down, Ahleni turned to her companion.

    “My Lord, I thank you for the assistance,” she said, “It is most improper, however, for a Duchess not to know the name of an Ambassador to her court.”

    The Galathin smiled. “My lady, a lady such as yourself could never be improper.”

    Wish a certain delight Ahleni realized he was flirting with her. Of all the novel things! And here she was, flirting right back, when normally the insolent fellow would have been decorating the wall of her dungeon, ambassador or no.

    “However,” he continued, “it might be better if you did know my name. It’s technically Toron, but my friends call me Tom.”

    The Duchess smiled right back. “My lord Tom,” she purred, “I would be delighted if you would accompany me during the festival tonight.”

    “The pleasure would be all mine,” he answered. Ahleni held out her hand, and the young man Tom, with no hesitation whatsoever, kissed it.

    A fat, round little man, receiving the message that the Duchess and her favored guest were settled, rushed busily into the room, crossed the floor, and mounted a high dais in the very center of the hall. Seemingly from thin air he produced a thin sheaf of parchment bound with a crimson ribbon. The man slipped off the binding, placed a gold-edged sight-glass over one eye, unrolled the stiff coil of parchment, and began to read:

    “‘In honor of the day of her birth, the Duchess Ahleni, niece of his Imperial Majesty of Ma’ar, Ruler of this Duchy, sister of her Highness Zsalani, Crown Princess of Arin,” read the man, his voice buzzing with self-importance, “does hereby declare this festival in honor of the great day of her birth, which in fifty-seven and three-quarters seconds will have been celebrated seventeen times.’”

    The man paused in his reading and looked to the very front of the hall. The guests followed his gaze, landing on a great timepiece artfully encrusted with bright jewels, with hands of gold leaf, built high up in the wall itself. Slaves, of course, had set the clock to the proper time as soon as the man had finished speaking; and the soft pinging noise of the second hand revolving was clearly audible in the hall, which was now as silent as the grave. Ahleni sighed with boredom, and the young Galathin chuckled. “Rather tedious, isn’t it, your Grace?”

    Ahleni smiled once and nodded. “Indeed, my lord. Soon, however, it will be complete, and the true enjoyment shall begin. My overseer has recently purchased a new shipment of slaves, and from what I hear some of them are quite talented. They shall be broken in, of course, before they perform…”
    The young man raised an eyebrow. “Slaves?”

    “Oh, of course,” Ahleni said carelessly. “You needn’t worry. As I said, they will be broken in thoroughly before they are allowed into my presence. Now and then we will get a spirited one, but they will be fully secured, all the best mage-bands, you know. But oh!” she said, remembering that this was a Galathin, “they don’t have slaves in your country, do they?”

    “No,” said Tom. “They don’t.” He remained quiet for a moment. “Tell me,” he said finally, “what do you mean by ‘breaking in’?”

    “Oh, the usual,” said Ahleni. “Whips, I imagine. But look! Here they come!”

    For the timepiece had struck. It resounded with a tremendous, echoing boom that filled the hall, bouncing off the arched ceiling and startling an emissary so much that he dropped his wineglass with a tinkle. Servants rushed in to clear it up as the noise faded away, and the fat man unrolled the scroll again.

    “‘Now, in honor of this great day,” he recited pompously, not even bothering to read from the parchment, “And for the pleasure of the Duchess, we now have for performance a barbarian of the East, who will be coupled against the gladiators of this court. As you will, your Grace.”

    Ahleni cocked a finger. “Bring him in.” Beside her Tom whispered, “Barbarian? A criminal, maybe?”

    She glanced sideways at him, and then smiled at the look of confusion he wore. “You could say that, my Lord. Not all Easterners are barbarians, of course; present company proves that fact. But I am sorry to say that your nation and her sisters are sadly ignorant in many ways. Hush, now! They’re opening the doors!” Then she leaned forward. “Oh my.” She shook her head incredulously. “It’s a woman. That doesn’t happen often.”

    And a woman it was. In this giant room full of pale-skinned, fair-haired humans, the gladiator’s deeply brown skin stood out like a raven in a flock of doves. Her hair was raggedly cut short, just brushing her shoulders below a narrow, ugly ring of iron encircling her neck.

    Ahleni glanced to the ambassador; Tom had looked away when the doors opened and was still keeping his eyes averted. The Duchess let out a tinkling laugh and reached out to put a hand on his shoulder. Startled out of his reverie, he looked up.

    “My Lord,” said Ahleni, “You mustn’t be upset by the slaves! This one, especially; she is just an Omi. A tribe with dark skin, all rebels against Ma’ar,” she added, remembering that the young man was a Galathin and would not know Western politics. “And anyway, they are bringing the other one in. Feel sorry for him, if you must; he is not fresh and the dark one is. She was just brought in yesterday, I believe. The only reason the fight was allowed, I assume, is that the fresh one is a woman, and weak.” To her surprise, this statement drew a soft chuckle through the ambassador’s displeasure. He glanced at her, smiling, and said, “I have known many women in my life who could never be described as anything but strong, and I have had the privilege to know two of them personally.” His eyes met hers, and Ahleni blushed—this time unconsciously. “And I may have the chance to know three—if you might say, your Grace, that you would allow me to know you personally?”

    For the first time, perhaps, in her life, she was rendered speechless. This Galathin boy, this mere ambassador, had, in the space of a quarter hour, managed to charm her completely and utterly. Then, hesitantly, she smiled and said softly, “Yes, I think.” She raised her hand, and he kissed it.

    The brazen sound of a trumpet rang through the hall, shattering the moment. Ahleni and Tom looked up; the two gladiators were moving into position along a raised platform in the middle of the hall. It was padded with a rough, absorbent material, to make falling easier—and to soak up blood.

    The man looked to perhaps thirty-five. He was wearing iron half-plate armor on the left side of his body, and a studded iron helmet. Both pieces of metal were rusty and pitted with age, and any half-trained warrior could tell that they would not be much protection from a heavy sword or axe blow. He was gripping an enormous bastard sword, the hilt of which, if the point touched the ground, would reach his chest. It was also worn, but unlike the armor it was clean and well made. Ahleni knew the slave probably owned the sword, cared for it, and treasured it as much as his life, which was not his own anyway. The gladiator himself was a giant in size, standing easily to six and a half feet. He was relatively good looking, but where his ragged shirt opened long, deep, crisscrossing scars could be seen, and his eyes were dead.

    The woman, who looked to be only slightly older than Ahleni herself, was not wearing any armor whatsoever. Her clothes were practical; loose trousers and a loose shirt of a light, cotton-like material. Her feet were bare and there was a green sash wound tightly about her waist. Like the man, the back of her shirt was torn into strips in several places, although not as many as her opponent, and through them new scars—whip scars—were exposed, dried red-brown blood shining against dusky brown skin. To Ahleni’s surprise, her only weapon was a plain ash staff, a green rag tied around a grooved section in the middle of the weapon.

    In one other way was she unlike the man. The swordsman moved neither his body nor his eyes; his shoulders slumped and his back hunched over his bastard sword, dug into the mat at his feet. His body conveyed no hope at all; this was his life, and he had no other. He had forgotten the days that he had. However, the woman, though she too stood as still as one of the granite statues scattered about the palace gardens, held her head high and proud. She challenged the crowd with her posture.

    The overseer, a short man and squat like a toad, with a toad’s flat face and rubbery lips, stepped onto the platform. He was wearing bejeweled finery and had a ring of iron keys at his hip, and in his flabby hand he held a double-pronged horsehide whip. The tall man’s head went up. Suddenly his resignation and exhaustion were gone, and a light came on in his eyes. He pulled his enormous blade from the mat, and Ahleni could see it left a deep gouge in the wood of the platform beneath, and lifted it, wielding it in two hands, the point low and rock steady. He placed his feet one behind the other; the back foot pointing off to the side and his knees bent deeply, a stance that would keep him from being moved by a battering ram. However, the woman did nothing—just stood with her feet apart and her hands loose by her hips, holding the staff slightly forward. Her eyes were closed and, although from this distance Ahleni couldn’t see clearly, she appeared to be breathing slowly and deliberately. Finally she opened her eyes and said something to the overseer.

    The toad-man’s face contorted in fury, and he struck her across the face with his fist. The gladiator’s face remained impassive. Her mouth formed the same words again: I will not fight. He has not wronged me.

    She wouldn’t fight? Ahleni drew herself up in anger. How dare this woman, this Omi, this slave refuse to fight for the entertainment of her Duchess? Apparently the overseer was thinking the same thing, for before Ahleni could issue the command, he had brought his whip down, hard, over the back of the slave, slashing two new cuts over the semi-healed surface. The woman winced, but did not move. He has not wronged me.

    The toad man drew his whip back for another blow, but a hand caught his arm. A well-dressed man, sharp of feature and with oddly colored gray eyes, who Ahleni had not previously seen, was holding the overseer helpless.

    “You just paid me good gold for this slave; surely you don’t want to kill her before you get your money’s worth?” He looked with scorn at the two jagged wounds, crossed over other, newly healed marks. The man jerked the whip away from the toad, clearly disgusted. “Give me that.”

    The man stepped onto the platform itself. Beside her Tom, who had flinched harder than the slave had when she was struck, said, “What is he doing?” His voice was trembling slightly.

    “I have no idea,” replied Ahleni, “He isn’t one of my people. Oh!” she said suddenly, “I know who he is! Did you hear what he said about my overseer buying the slaves from him? He must be the dealer.”

    The dealer, that was who he was, reached forward and grasped the slave’s shoulder, careful not to touch the open slashes. She tensed and pulled away, but the man released her; just speaking a few words that Ahleni could not make out.

    Finally he stepped off the platform. The woman glanced at the other gladiator, taking a long stare at the man, who was still at the ready. Then she looked back at the gray-eyed man and nodded once, wordlessly. The dealer lifted his hand and brought it sharply down though midair.

    This was apparently the signal to start, because the trumpeters started up a short, hard blast, and the armored gladiator jumped at the Omi, sword swinging sideways to cleave her in two. The muscles on his arms strained at his skin, the massive blade whistling through the air like swift death toward the dark-skinned young woman, who made no effort to defend herself.

    And then she was not there. The gladiator stumbled off balance as his sword, which had been a hair from slicing the woman into two parts, swung heavily through thin air. She was now behind him, having ducked at the last instant to roll between his widespread legs. She still made no effort to attack.

    The swordsman recovered quickly. He let the weight of his blade carry him around in a circle, bringing it up and over his shoulder to fall down on his small target. At the same time he kicked out with his feet, sweeping the woman’s legs from under her.

    The audience gasped as the sword caught the slave-woman’s shoulder. There was a spurt of crimson blood as the steel bit deep, but a bone-crushing blow was transformed into a painful cut as she rolled with the blade, letting the sword’s weight carry it away from her again. Once again the bastard sword plunged in a wide, uncontrolled circle before the gladiator managed to get it under control. His opponent took advantage of the pause in his assault by jumping backward; blood dripped down her arm onto the mat, where it sank in, leaving a dark spot. She bent her knees, putting one foot behind the other and slightly to the right, her grip on the staff wide.

    The swordsman drove in yet again. It went much as before; a long gouge appeared on the wood of the staff and the dark-skinned woman dodged away to land on his other side, waiting for him to recover. Ahleni wondered for a moment why such a strong swing had not cleaved the wooden staff in two, but it was insignificant in the face of the major battle. Again and again the pattern repeated itself; the woman never struck, preferring to duck and weave. The man’s blow grew wilder and wilder; sweat coursed from his straining arms to join the blood on the mat. His sinews stuck out like wires; his blows were still bone-crushingly powerful but were growing weaker and clumsier.

    The staff-wielder, on the other hand, didn’t appear to be tiring. On the contrary, her dodges were turning to tumbles and flips, and she seemed to be playing with the gladiator, reveling in letting his sword come within an inch of her throat before disappearing into thin air. But then, finally, she made a mistake. For the umpteenth time her larger opponent overbalanced and seemed to fall. She darted in and rolled right under the arc of his blade.

    Like lightening, it came down on her. With some sixth sense she saw it coming and managed to get out from under it, but it caught her on her wounded arm, and this time she couldn’t roll. She hand to fall from under it, once more transforming a strike meant to sever her arm into a comparatively minor wound, although certainly not minor enough—blood was now coursing from the double cut. The gladiator’s sword was stained crimson.

    The woman was in trouble. She was now flat on her back on the mat, her opponent standing over her, sword raised, and with her shoulder in its wounded state she wouldn’t be able to get up quickly enough to avoid the next blow.

    The swordsman sensed his advantage and moved with new, astonishing speed. It was designed to be the killing stroke, and the terrible leer he gave let the audience know that he meant to carry it out. The woman on the ground used her good arm to raise her staff pathetically; but it was obvious that she could not get it high enough to stop the sword, which would pass far above it to tear into her unprotected throat.

    For a split second, everything was in slow motion. Ahleni bit her lip as the massive weapon cleaved the air; saw the gladiator’s horrible, insane grin as he smelled bloody victory.

    Then there was a metallic ring, audible throughout the entire mesmerized hall, as two ten-inch steel blades snapped out of the ends of the staff at the prompting of the female warrior’s clenched fingers on the grip. The lower end’s blade buried itself in the mat between the woman’s legs, and the top one, with a screech of metal and a horrible, trembling vibration, stopped the sword in midair.

    The dark-skinned woman screamed, an echoing call of pure challenge and deadly energy. She rolled to the side, freeing the top blade from the bastard sword and tearing the lower one from the mat with a ripping noise and a shower of wooden splinters to clash against the other’s blade once more. Launching herself to her feet, she again freed her weapon and whirled it with lightening-quick dexterity at the hilt of the bastard sword.

    The armored gladiator, still stunned from the sudden change in the fight, was unable to keep the blades from biting into his palm, one after the other. He stared down at his numbed fingers in disbelief as his sword hit the ground, rolling off the edge of the platform to land with an iron clang on the marble floor, where shocked couriers gasped from the blood on the edge and backed away. Then he slowly raised his eyes up the length of his adversary, letting them come to rest on the razor-sharp spear point at his throat. A mighty sigh swept through the crowd. It was over. Ahleni looked down; without her noticing it, her hands had been gripping the arms of her chair so hard the knuckles where white. She sighed along with her guests and relaxed her fingers, rubbing them gingerly to get the blood moving again.

    Five guards jumped up from various positions around the podium, climbing onto the platform and drawing their weapons, forming a circle around the two combatants. Two of them, one with a short, untidy beard and the other with a ring fitted through his ear, jumped swiftly to each side of the woman and grabbed her arms, ruthlessly gripping the deep wound. The ringed one kicked her staff out of her grip with a mighty swing of his armored boot.

    At the same moment, the remaining three guards lifted the gladiator to a sitting position. At this moment all the ladies in the hall quietly averted their eyes.

    “Your Grace?” Tom looked at her, puzzled. “Why are you looking away?”

    “I isn’t considered proper that a lady should see such things,” she said briefly. “And I don’t want to, anyway.”

    He raised his eyebrows. “No proper that a lady should see what?” He turned his head back in the direction of the platform, and that precise instant was when the screams began.

    “By the Cup…” Tom raised himself in his seat, but Ahleni pulled down firmly on his tunic, her eyes still averted from the gladiator and his desperate shrieks. “No, ambassador! You can’t do anything!”

    “Yes I bloody well can! Now let go!” His good humor had dissolved into a terrible fury, and he pulled easily out of her grip to thunder down the stairs, taking them three at a time. He started across the hall, shoving frightened guests out of the way, cutting a path through the mass of people like a scythe through a wheat field.

    Suddenly, the screams stopped as quickly as they had begun.

    Ahleni slowly turned her eyes back in the direction of the platform, expecting to see the slave dead. All gladiators who fought in the presence of royalty and lost were executed…eventually…
    However, what she saw was not the gladiator’s mutilated body, leering guards beginning to lug the remains away. The slave woman, her double wound still dripping blood, was standing straight and free over her prone former opponent, now covered with slashes. A cruel spiked whip was lying abandoned on the mat. The ones who had formerly wielded the whip, along with those guards who had been holding the woman’s staff (now poised, blades out, in her hands) were lying several feet away from the platform, senseless.

    The gladiator’s lips moved. Swiftly, the Omi knelt down, putting her ear to his mouth in order to hear what he was saying. His hand weakly gripped her lower arm. She hesitated, and then nodded. Once. Just once.

    She straightened up. Her face was hard, expressionless, emotionless. She lowered the tip of the staff to rest faintly on the bigger man’s breast. His eyes closed. His mouth murmured a prayer.

    Razor sharp steel slid between his ribs. His breath fluttered, he gave a soft sigh, and died.

    Noise erupted in the hall like a volcano. Ladies shrieked, guards bellowed and rushed across the hall, noblemen shouted and pushed and spluttered, servants frantically tried to restore order as chaos erupted. Ahleni, however, kept her eyes on the slave. She had never been terribly concerned with the feelings of others, and now something more interesting was going on than the chaos.

    The young woman was standing like a statue over the body of the gladiator, just as oblivious to the crowd as Ahleni. The duchess followed her gaze.

    Tom was standing about five yards from the platform, looking as if he’d seen a ghost. He was holding an unsheathed sword loosely at his side, but seemed to have forgotten all about it as he stared in seeming horror at the dark skinned woman. He was trembling. Ahleni leaned forward and caught his words, a skill she was getting to be good at. “No…” he said, “It isn’t possible…”

    The guards had reached the slave woman. Just before the cudgel thudded on the side of her head, before they dragged her slumped body off in the direction of the cells, Ahleni caught a glimpse of her face. It was a typical slave face—bruised, bloody, streaked with sweat—but her dark brown eyes were not dark brown any longer. Instead, the pupils were distended, even angular, surrounded by an iris that was a bright, blazing copper.

    Pie 0
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  3. Here’s a short story that I wrote for Book Club. It was supposed to be humorous.

    “Beep! Welcome to the Giant Eagle automatic check-out system! Please scan your items.” We hoisted the various edibles onto the clear, glass scanning tray, while the lights within glared ominously. “Weigh your…bananas!” chirped the merry, halting voice of the frighteningly large metallic teller. This was not the type of machine you wanted to cross. “Move your…bananas!” it suggested, less cheerfully, more forcefully. The thing fairly bristled with all manner of slots, pockets, chutes, and other appendages. Some of them had obvious uses; others resembled a modern art sculpture. However, they were confusing and time-consuming, so they were also very popular accessories to have on a machine whose purpose was to make things expedient. The beast had just finished processing a bag of onions when it got a troubled look on its monitor. “There is an unexpected item in the bagging area,” it asserted suspiciously and somewhat sarcastically, as if it thought we were criminals and it just knew that we’d try to steal something sooner or later. “Please remove items,” This command was saved for when an item ended up in the bagging area that the machine didn’t remember scanning. Obviously it had a very poor memory. “Please remove items!” it said again, and it meant business. After a few minutes of rummaging around in the bagging area, we extracted a small piece of plastic which had broken off of a grocery bag. “Thank you,” came the voice of the machine, with an I-told-you-so tinge to it. Then it perked up and was about to remind us again to scan our items when it detected another error. “A weight has been removed from the bagging area,” it sighed dolefully. “Please replace weight.” We put the scrap of plastic back. “Thank you,” it started to say, but it froze before it could finish. It hummed to itself for a while as if it had forgotten about us, but it hadn’t. It was just ignoring us. Suddenly and triumphantly it shouted, “Help is on the way!” and it started flashing a distress beacon up above to try and hail down a passing clerk. Five minutes passed, and it reassured us calmly that help was on the way. It seemed very confident, as if it had the situation under control, but when your house is on fire, you don’t trust it to put itself out. You escape from your demise as fast as possible. We went off in search of a clerk and finished our purchase with a human being. But as we walked out of the store we could hear a desperate voice calling back to us, “Help is on the way!”

    If you’ve never used an automated check-out thing, this won’t make much sense. Suffice it to say that the things are seriously ANNOYING. They’re like those elevators in The Restaraunt at the End of the Universe.

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  4. CONTINUED FROM THE WRITING V. 2006 THREAD.

    Song Yue was a princess, and as a princess, she felt she should have more authority on the matter. But deep in her heart, everything was crystal clear (or at least society’s definition of crystal clear): women were the inferiors, according to man, and if a woman is of royal birth, it should make no difference. Women were mere trinkets, beautiful ornaments for men to strut around with. Eventually, they were to be a wonderful caregiver and raise a new generation to carry on the tradition of male dominance. Any lady who questioned these roles was shunned from most society. Song Yue appeared to fit the role of woman perfectly to the normal eye. She was beautiful, with long hazel hair full of curls (rare in Anshiogymna), narrow green eyes, perfect garnet lips, a flawless white complexion, and a figure that made her look at least four years older than she really was.
    Song Yue was quiet in the glare public eye, and when she had to say something, it was pious and maternal. Those who were close to her- not many- knew that she was clever and a strategic thinker, not some wishy-washy maiden.

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  5. this is a memoir I wrote for a portfolio to submit to a high-school (I got in…pretty much everything I post on museblog that has anything to do with writing or poetry was written for that portfolio)

    Honor or Loyalty?

    “Dad, hurry up or I’ll be late for my class!” I was trying to hurry my dad so I would be on time. I am taking a class about science and technology at the library. There are different teams that work together during the classes, and my team consists of one of my friends, her sister, and her sister’s friend. During the class, we are learning different things, such as how to lift fingerprints, how to detect a lie, and about water pollution and what happens when combined sewage overflow occurs. We are learning these things because we will use them during this special day at the end of the class where we compete against the other teams to solve a crime.
    “I’m going as fast as I can!” my dad said, defending himself. I glanced at the speedometer. He was already eight above the speed limit. We arrived at the library. I hopped out of the car, waved to my dad, and started walking up the steps. I was stopped by a holler, “What time do I pick you up?” my dad called out the window.
    “8:30” I had to yell so he could hear me over the loud hum of speeding cars. He nodded his head, waved, and drove away.
    My dad was late picking me up, so I just sat on the steps of the library and waited. When my group members left, I was very lonely. I saw autumn leaves drifting to the ground. A cool breeze blew my hair and I sighed. Finally, he arrived, with a big grin on his face. I got in the car and he told me, “Congratulations!” he smiled. “Marina picked you as her honor student.” Marina was my piano teacher. I have been playing for seven years, since first grade. But I didn’t know what an honor student was. “She chooses one
    Memoir, pg 2 of 3
    student each year to play in a special recital, and this year, she chose you!” My dad explained, probably because of the puzzled look on my face. He could read my face like a
    map. I had given up trying to switch the salt with sugar on April fool’s day. He always knew it was me.
    I just smiled. I was really proud, but couldn’t think of anything to say. When we got home, my mom congratulated me as well. I thanked them, and then went upstairs to do my homework. I had just finished my math homework when my mom walked in.
    “Clara you have a decision to make” she said, and continued, “The honors recital, the one Marina picked you to play in, well, it’s on the same day as the crime solving day.”
    “What time is the recital?” I asked. If it was in the evening, I could just go to the recital after the crime solving.
    “Well, that’s the problem” she paused “They are at the same time.”
    I sighed. I am horrible at making decisions and this is a hard one. What was I going to do? I would have to choose. The honors recital is very special, but I can’t let my group down! I thought about it for a few days. My mom told my piano teacher about my dilemma. She was very upset.
    “You can’t play in the recital?” she asked, in her Romanian accent.
    “She hasn’t decided yet,” my mom noted, so Marina wouldn’t be upset.
    “She’ll play in the recital, of course” Marina reassured herself.
    “She is still thinking about it” my mom said, so if I chose not to play, Marina wouldn’t think my mom had made any promises. The next week at my class, I told my

    Memoir. pg 3 of 3

    group members about the problem. They, of course, wanted me to do the crime scene, but I’m sure they would be sympathetic if I chose to play in the honors recital.

    “You can’t play in a stupid piano recital, we’ve been working on this for weeks!” my friend scolded.
    “It is her decision,” her sister said, always disagreeing with her sister’s ideas.
    “I’m still thinking, guys.” I really had no idea what I wanted to do, but three days after that, I came to a conclusion. I would do the crime scene with my friends. It was an honor to be chosen by my piano teacher, but I couldn’t let my friends down. We had worked towards this for several months and our group was one person short anyway. All the other groups had five people. My friends were very happy when I told them I wasn’t playing in the recital. Marina, on the other hand, was not so excited, but that was my decision. It was final.

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  8. Okay, Song Yue died before she started. But this is the beginning of a book I’m writing, and I put some effort into it. Hope you likey!

    Madame Nutikahn rubbed her temples tiredly. It had been a long, dragging day. Everything had been the usual. Lovesick youths had asked about romances in their lives, middle-aged people asked for financial advice, and the elderly had simply stopped to chat. This was an average day Madame Nutikahn, but something had exhausted her. She propped her elbows on the celestial-designed velvet tablecloth, pulling five bracelets off of her wrist. The gems- or were they really gems? – shone in the soft light coming from the muslin-covered oil lamp in the corner.
    The soothsayer gazed lazily at the cramped shelves that took up about two-thirds of the tiny little room. They weren’t crowded so much as they were cozy. Full of huge leather bound tomes bursting with myths, stocked with worn wooden carvings inscribed to teach the reader about alchemical notations, and overflowing with Asian scrolls so soft and delicate that anything more than the force of the beating of a butterfly’s wing directly upon them would mean they would be reduced to shreds.
    ‘It’s been a long time since I felt like this,’ came the Madame’s thoughts.
    ‘Must have been twenty years, at least. Right after I met my first match,’ echoed the voice of the psychic’s mind. She grimaced a bit. She’d never forgotten him, and never would. Who could forget their first Future Sculptor? Especially one like he had been.
    Madame Nutikahn played with one of the bracelets she had slid off of her thin, white wrist a few moments ago. All of the bracelets had special meanings to her, and great powers within that only she knew about. The one the clairvoyant woman fondled at the moment had many small purple gems, things a geologist would have classified as an amethyst had they come across it. The metal was of the purest white gold, with not a blemish on it. This ornament had always been especially dear to Madame Nutikahn, probably because of the sheer innocence that was locked away in its history. The other bracelets had fallen into her possession by treacherous, tragic, or angry means.
    One bracelet had a few medium-sized blue stones and gold metal. Another was composed entirely of at least 950 little orange stones. Yet another was made of platinum metal with a four huge stones that “normal” people think of as diamonds. And the last one had wrought iron metal and a single tiny black stone. When Madame Nutikahn was young, she had gone quiet for the rest of the day at the very mention of the last bracelet. Now she only flinched. She had been in contact with the bracelet frequently in the past few years.

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  9. here is chapter 1and 2 of a story I wrote called cassandra’s quest if u want the rest, post.

    Chapter 1
    The Wall and the Amulet
    Cassandra sat on the steps to her house with a bored
    expression and a bored mind, too. What she really wanted to do was to go explore the hidden passageways and crevices of her kingdom. One thing she was always wondering about her kingdom was why the benevolent and gracious King Taloner always always always
    always mentioned at Gatherings the rule that “You may never ever in this lifetime go past the great walls surrounding our beloved Castle.” Cassandra always longed to stride past the walls and see the mysterious “Outer Lands”. The reason she could not go explore as she usually did was because she had been found climbing the courtyard fence earlier that day, so she was home-restrained for 34 hours. The Security Council put an electronic bug on her, so they would know if she went somewhere.

    “Why me?” Cassandra mumbled, and disgruntledly picked off the bug, threw it on the ground and stomped on it, “ There. That’ll serve them, imprisoning ME.” Then, she jumped off the steps, and ran towards the courtyard. When she got there, she found many people milling around in Kingdom Alor’s everlasting heat. She dashed over to the opaque courtyard fence, and though many of the people in the courtyard shouted at her, she bolted clear over the top. She found herself, for the first time, looking at the Wall itself. She gaped in awe at the gigantic wall. She estimated it was at the least, 59 feet tall.
    She looked around and suddenly, her eyes caught on to a strange object on the Wall. She moved closer and realized it was a symbol, embellished into the Wall. She studied
    it carefully and realized she had seen it
    before. In the depths of her memory, she
    remembered finding an amulet with this exact
    same symbol edged under the courtyard fence a
    couple years back. Cassandra thought about it for a minute, then dashed to her secret hideaway behind the dining hall.

    When she returned she found two Guard Officials chatting by the Wall. One of them, who Cassandra recognized as Mattio, the Head Guard, put a strange sticklike metal object against the Wall, pressed a button, a light flashed, and both of them walked away. Cassandra was confused. Metal was extremely valued and restricted. How did the guards get some? Aah, who cares? thought Cassandra. She took the amulet out of her pocket and pressed it against the symbol on the Wall. She waited. She waited some more. Nothing happened. “Darn it!” Cassandra grumbled. She put her nose to the symbol. Then, she noticed something. A tiny little square box with a beeping blue light. She plucked it off and threw it on the ground. She pressed the amulet against the Wall again. This time something happened. The Wall rumbled, sort of like the earthgrowls she’d seen on videos. She stepped back. Then, just as Cassandra took her second backwards step, the Wall divided down the middle smoothly, not like the huge cracks down buildings she had seen in the earthgrowl videos. Then, the Wall split apart. When it did, it revealed a sparkling landscape. But not grass and trees and flowers, as she had expected. Of clouds and pure blue sky.

    ~page 2~

    Chapter 2
    Oh My Goodness Gracious!

    Cassandra gasped. She had absolutely no idea, even a hint of a speculation that her kingdom was floating in the sky. How in the world did King Taloner keep this humongous fact a secret? Why did he? Cassandra wondered. “Why?” Cassandra whimpered, and dashed away.

    When she reached her secret hideaway she was so incredibly astonished by this amazing discover that she started laughing. Then she started crying. Then she started laughing again. She calmed herself down, then started to search through the endless trunks and boxes for a string. She found it, then grabbed a sharp blade from a shelf and cut the string. She slid the amulet on to it, then tied it around her neck. She then returned to her house.

    When she arrived, she sat down on the front porch step, just as she had before this amazing revelation had struck her. She tried to mull it over in her mind, but the same sentence just kept repeating itself. My kingdom is in the sky. My kingdom is in the sky. It’s floating in the air My king- “Cassandra! What in the world is the matter with you?”

    Cassandra looked up. It was Naralissa, her friendly neighbor. Cassandra jumped up and stood face-to-face with Naralissa. “I’ve found a way out of Alor! I really have! And our castle isn’t really-” “Whoa, whoa there, Cassie. So you say you’ve found a way out of the kingdom?” “Yes, yes!” Cassandra said breathlessly. “Where is it?” Naralissa, (or Lissa as Cassandra liked to call her) said a little skeptically. “Is it out the top, up into the sky? Or is it out the bottom, underground?” “Neither.” Cassandra half-laughed, half-shouted. “Oh, come on. You’re not going to tell me it’s through the Wall? That’s positively impossible! Few people can even get past the courtyard fence!” “The exit is past the wall. I can show you if-”
    “Oh come ON, Cassie! You’re bluffing, and I’ve called it,” said Naralissa, who as Cassandra now discovered, had a nasty habit of interrupting. “Oh geez. What ever.” Cassandra grunted and walked towards the courtyard again.

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  11. The following is based on the world of Drowtales. I will not post a link b/c it is rated for violence. All charecters are my own.

    The light was like a giant pillar in its casings, soft, yellow light, so bright as to blind the eyes of those who looked directly at it. It split the heavy gloom of the city like a dagger cut, illuminating the Underworld more than could a million fire mages all working together. It was a great novelty, that light; over a hundered thousand sightseers, merchants, and travelers came to the bustling metropolis every day just to gaze at this wonderous magic from the Overworld. It was said that up there there was no stone above, just infinite blue, and in it hovored a great fiery ball, giving the light that was captured and directed to the city. The slaves talked about it in their own language; the humans, the white elves, even the gnomes, downtrodden and broken from centuries of captivity, would gaze at the light, singing strange songs of the cursed places above.

    Some of drow, even, remembered. Those of the clan of Sharess Diva’ratrika, the Val’Sharess, the high ruler of all Drow, remembered, although they did not speak of it. They would see the light, and everyone knew they would be thinking of the times when the Imperial Clan lived up there, in the light, before they were driven to the deep.

    Raianine Vala’shaness did not remember. She was a Drowolath, a Dark Drow, born in the Underworld. She was like her mother, the Sharess of Vala’shaness, her sire, the Sharen-ruler, her multitudes of older sisters and brothers, all the members of her clan, with her midnight skin, hair dyed in striped dark blue to counterpoint the cotton white of all Drowolath. Unlike them, her eyes matched her hair. She was one of the only members of her clan who was not Tainted.

    Raine’s refusal to become posessed of a demon was taken in stride by her family members. For a Sharess, her mother was suprisingly sympathetic–she accepted the fact that Raine though she could reach her potential in other ways than through possesion. However, that was not the only reason why Raine had refused to go through the Tainting ceremony, and the other reason she had not dared reveal, for fear that she would be disowned. The second truth was that Raine was frightened quite near to death.

    And that was why she had gone here. She had thought, perhaps, that her training as a priestess would curb her fears. But it was hard to overcome fear if you couldn’t let it be discovered on pain, perhaps, of death.

    Raine turned from her window to the inside of her small room. Her reflection was weakening her yet again, she could tell, so she crossed to the small table beside her cot and picked up her whip.

    As her fingers grasped the handle guard she could feel the life seep into the weapon. It was made of her blood and only came alive for her; anyone else would be forced to use a dead weapon. If the user meant her harm, they would be attacked by the tool herself.

    Slowly, the three thick indigo ropes that seemed to grow from the handle itself began to uncoil. Frills unfolded to reveal tiny horns, two pairs of eyes blinked open. The third serpent just yawned, exposing row apon row of razor-sharp, blood-sucking fangs. She smiled and gently stroked the creatures, then let go of the handle and let the snakes find their place under her cloak. Just being in contact with her blood made weapon made her feel stronger.

    Raine was not a coward. The time she was first shown the tainting ceremony was when she first felt the iron hand of fear contracting around her. She did know, of course, that Tainting was not an obligation for a priestess, and that many, in fact, never were joined to a demon at all. However, even these females went through the ceremony; if you came out unTainted, you were judged strong enough to remain so. Therefore, only the strongest preistesses were unTainted. And Raine’s fear of being Tainted, she felt, would keep her from being strong. Quite a paradox.

    She sighed. Her first test was tomorrow. Now was the time she would tell if she were worthy. Either she would come out tainted, or she would come out untainted, or she would come out dead.

    Whatever happened, she knew she would never show her fear.

    Name?

    Raianine Vala’shaness.

    Task?

    Summoning a demon.

    Class?

    Untainted.

    Accepted. You may enter, Initiate, and may you a priestess make.

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  12. who wants THE REST OF MY STORY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i need somewhere to put it all!!!!

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  14. Hey people from RRR 2006.2, an you please come back and write? Our story is going no where.

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  15. Sigh. Who am I kidding? No one’s going to work on it with me. *snibble*
    Mayhaps I should just post the whole thing here…

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  16. Kiki: I really, really liked your story. Just one thing: where in the seven hells did the guards go? Please answer.
    However, I thought you represented her discovery that she lives in a floating city really believable. Please write more?

    Haha. Now you must read my two stories and tell me what you think of them.

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  17. My story continued. Do you guys like it? I know I’m not as good as a lot of the older, better writers on here, but could you please tell me what you think?

    Phoenix, I apologize for ever accusing you of plagiarism. I would like to quote Skipper Nancy. “I was in one of my dumb moods.” And yes, I have read Charlie Bone. It’s very good. Jenny Nimmo rocks! You know, I would really like it if you would critique my story. If I’m ever gonna get it published, I need loads of help. You are an awesome writer.

    The room the psychic was in was a part of a small moving home. Not a trailer, as you might have thought, but a gypsy caravan wagon. It was much bigger than other dwellings of its class, but the compartments (this is a much more accurate name than “rooms” to describe their size) were still miniscule in comparison to that of actual homes or apartments. The little compartment the Madame sat in was the main compartment. It had a large window in the wall that Madame Nutikahn faced, which was perfect for seeing customers. The other compartments included a microscopic kitchen, only good for the housing of an icebox, a range, and a spindly old mahogany table with two rickety chairs, a diminutive bedroom with a bower that Madame Nutikahn had had since she was a small girl and a two-by-three vanity with a blemished mirror, and a petite tearoom with a dwarf pink sofa with gilded legs, as well as a miniature cherry wood cabinet that contained a motley assortment of whole and part tea sets. The whole abode was hooked up to two very strong white Arabian horses, both about a year old. Oh yes, and there was a little door with a crescent moon and a blazing sun design inked in on it, with a worn crystal doorknob that led directly into the tearoom.
    Presently, someone knocked on the door. Madame Nutikahn arose from the reverie she had lost herself in while staring at the oil lamp. She dragged herself through the puny domicile. Madame Nutikahn soundlessly opened the door, and instantly fainted.
    When the diviner awoke, she found that she was in her bed. She rubbed her head. What had happened? Then she looked up.
    ‘Please, by all that is held pure by all people in all places, let this be a dream!’ screamed Madame Nutikahn’s brain. Looming over her was a tall, handsome man roughly her age. He was wearing a reassuring, concerned expression, but he still frightened Madame Nutikahn to bits. He spoke.
    “Well, well, well, Madalasera. It’s been a long time since we last saw each other, hasn’t it?” he smiled as he spoke. “It must have been at least twenty years.”
    “What do you want? You know that I quit adventuring years ago.”

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  18. ‘s okay, Skipper.

    I like your story, and I think the cut-off end is perfect.

    Will someone PLEASE critique my two stories?

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  19. Hold on, why did I call you Skipper?
    The above comment applies to Gwendolyn of the Eastern Seas.

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  20. like it like it like it!!!!! like them all!!

    Prologue

    Silently, the old man stepped into the circle, and, lowering his eyes to the ground, started to mutter incantations. The trees suddenly sparkled with an unearthly light. The old man took no notice. The trees began swaying so much that they looked like they were dancing. In fact, they were dancing Faster and faster they spun around the old man yet still he took no notice. Suddenly a loud crack interrupted his mutterings. He looked up just as raindrops the size of your fist came pouring down onto his astonished face. He knew what was happening. Horrified, he instinctively took a step back.
    “No,” he uttered. “NO!”
    Then he quickly turned and ran as fast as he could out of the circle. After a few steps, he looked behind him and was horrified to see a lighting bolt the size of Consket racing after him. He ran faster yet he knew there was no escape. Just before the bolt reached him he yelled, “Awaken Lady of the Woods, awaken!!!!” Then the bolt struck him dead.
    * * *
    Miles away in a forest almost identical to the one the old man died in, the trees sparkled. A weeping willow standing dead center in the middle of the forest swayed gently. Then it began to change. Branches melded into arms and legs while flowers and leaves molded into hair. What was once a weeping willow was now a beautiful lady with long brown hair and forest green eyes. She looked around and disappeared with a soft twang like the sound you hear when you shoot an arrow.
    The Lady of the Woods was back.

    Chapter 1

    Lana sighed unhappily as she loaded her luggage into the carriage. Ever since they had moved from Tinca she had been sulking for over a month. It figures that right when she had finally settled into their home in Tinca they had to move. Again. Consket was their next destination.
    “Come on Lana! We got to go!!!” called Mom from inside the carriage.
    “Coming!” Lana called as she began to walk briskly to the car. However, before she even got a few steps, a voice made her turn around.
    “Lana, wait up! I got to give you something!!” huffed Rachel. Lana paused in her stride waiting for her friend to catch up to her, smiling a little at the sight of the plump girl come running over to the carriage.
    “You could have told me when you were leaving,” puffed Rachel accusingly. “I thought I was an hour early!”
    “Sorry, Rachel. At least you made it.” Lana tried to keep from laughing a little.
    “I got up extra early just so I could wrap this thing.” Rachel said slowly regaining her breath.
    It was then Lana noticed the package in Rachel’s hand. “What is it?” Lana asked.
    “Open it!” exclaimed Rachel.
    Lana concentrated with her mind on the wrapping paper. Suddenly, the wrapping paper flew off the package and landed in a neat pile at Rachel’s feet.
    “Hey, no witchy stuff!” pouted Rachel, but Lana wasn’t listening.
    “No way! Two dragon scales!” breathed Lana with excitement. “How’d you get those? I hear they’re worth 500 gold coins each!”
    “I got them at the local flea market in Allagan for 20 silver coins for them each.” Rachel puffed out her chest. “Good deal, huh?”
    “You bet! Are these the communication ones?”
    “Of course! How else am I supposed to keep in touch with you?” Rachel asked teasingly.
    “But why give me two?” Lana asked puzzled.
    “Well the way I figure, when you make a new friend in wherever you’re moving to, give this to her and we can all talk together.”
    “I don’t know who I’m supposed to make friends with in Consket, though…”
    “You’re moving to Consket!! But that’s where all the magical creatures live!”
    “I know. I’ll be lucky to even meet a girl my age. Even one with powers.”
    “Well, at least we’ll be able to talk. I’m sure you’ll be able to find a girl your age there. Don’t worry1” said Rachel half-heartedly.
    “Lana hurry up! We have to go! Your father’s getting angry,” called Mom.
    “Well, I guess this is good-bye. I’ll miss you.” Lana said sadly.
    “What do you mean? You haven’t forgotten about our dragon scales now have you? Rachel said feigning shock.
    “It still won’t be the same.” Lana sniffed.
    “LANA!!!!” yelled Dad.
    “I got to go. See you later… or not.” Lana smiled sadly then ran off to the waiting carriage and a very impatient father and cabby.
    “Finally! Now we can go,” Dad said signaling to Joe (the cabby) to go.
    The journey was long and treacherous, and by the time they got to the halfway point night had fallen. They made camp and Lana, Joe, Mom, and Dad all took shifts to keep watch for the night.
    Fortunately the night was quite uneventful and all except for Joe woke up quite refreshed and cognizant of the treacherous day ahead.
    Unlike the night, the day was rather quite eventful. Joe fell asleep several times at the reins, and Lana, who had insisted to sit next to him, was just able to steer the horses back on track. Around mid-day they came to a bottomless (literally) trench. Joe stopped the horses just a few feet from the trench. Lana looked around and gave a shout of surprise. Scrambling down from the carriage she ran over to a sign a few feet away from them. Her mom cautiously poked it with a stick to make sure it wasn’t a trap. Nothing happened so they assumed it was safe and went over to read it. The sign read:

    Welcome to the city of Consket.
    Normally we would welcome you in but times have changed.
    To enter Consket you must have one magical person in your group.
    This person must prove their abilities by moving a pile of rocks to the other side of this trench.
    Good Luck!
    You have 20 seconds.
    Go.

    Lana glanced at her feet and was surprised to find a pile of rocks there that hadn’t been there before. Suddenly a voice rang out.
    “20”
    “19”
    “18”
    “Lana use your powers!” cried Joe.
    “17”
    Lana reached for the power deep in her mind.
    “16”
    She felt it pulsing through her veins.
    “15”
    “Come on,” she thought.
    “14”
    Her teeth clenched; her muscles tightened.
    “13”
    The magic was stronger now; she could feel it.
    “12”
    “Come on,” she muttered under her breath.
    “11”
    Her family waited anxiously for the magic to work.
    “10”
    “Just a little more,” she growled.
    “9”
    Then one by one the rocks began to move slowly across the trench.
    “8”
    Lana’s eyes began to glow and her wispy white hair began to fan out.
    “7”
    The rocks began moving faster across the trench.
    “6”
    Lana began to rise a few inches above the ground, her hands now glowing a brilliant purple light equal to the one in her eyes.
    “5”
    Suddenly the whole pile of rocks began to glow and picked themselves up and zoomed to the other side.
    Lana sank back to the ground and struggled to her feet.
    “Bravo, bravo!!” exclaimed a voice. Lana looked up in surprise.
    Out of nowhere (as it seemed) stepped a little brown man wearing an enormous top hat on his tiny head.
    “Who are you?” Lana sputtered.
    “I should ask you the same question,” piped the little man looking at Lana’s family. “You’ve brought quite a party, now haven’t you?”
    “My name is Lana and this is Joe, my mom, and my dad.” Lana said gesturing to the speechless people behind her. “Now who are you?”
    “I’m Peddercongoga, your guide and guard to and from Consket,” announced Peddercongoga. “But you can call me Ped.”
    “Okay Ped. How do we get to Consket?” Lana wondered for her speechless family.
    “Watch,” Ped said, then turned to face the other side and clapped his hands in a way that would take us years to learn. Suddenly a bridge that led to the other side appeared.
    “Shall we go?” Ped asked politely. Lana’s family nodded. They crossed the bridge and on the other side Ped whistles and the bridge disappeared.
    “But there’s nothing here!” Joe said speaking up for the first time since Ped arrived.
    “Is there?” asked Ped mysteriously.
    Lana puzzled over what he said for a moment then gaped in astonishment. For gold and silver light flowed over her milky white hair, naturally pale face, and pastel purple eyes. Where there had been nothing before, now stood the golden city of Consket.
    End of Chapter 1

    The Lady of the Woods looked on as Lana moved the rocks with curiosity. In all her days (and there were a lot of them) the only people who had that power were moon people. This girl wasn’t a moon person, she could tell that from looking at her eyes. As Lana crossed the bridge over to Consket, the Lady of the Woods made up her mind. She would follow this girl and find out who she was. Having made her decision, she disappeared so quickly that it looked like the ground its self had swallowed her up. A soft twang filled the silence. The Lady of the Woods had entered the city of Consket.

    Chapter 2

    Lana could only stare as; Ped led her into the golden city of Consket. The city was beautiful! The houses and streets looked like they were made of gold and silver though when she asked Ped about them; he said that it was just an enchantment. Ped directed them to a large golden building that held all the housing information in it. As they walked down the street towards the building, Ped explained that this was where they could find out where they were to stay. On the way they passed a lone silver house where Ped said that moon people lived in.
    “What do Moon People look like, Ped?” Lana asked buzzing with curiosity.
    “Trust me,” Ped said. “You’ll know them when you see them. They sort of stand out, if you know what I mean.”
    Finally after a few minutes of walking, they reached the golden information building.
    “Wait here while I go check whether you’re registered or not. I’ll be right back.” Ped walked into the building, tipping his hat to the guard troll.
    A few minutes later he returned tipping his hat, once again, to the troll. Shaking his head, he walked up to them and announced, “You guys aren’t registered yet, I’m afraid,” he said resignedly. “While we’re waiting, how ‘bout I give you a tour of Consket?”
    “Sure, why not?” Lana said challenging anyone to say otherwise.
    “All right, then just set your stuff here and park your horses over there,” Ped said waiting as his directions were carried out. “Now onto the tour!”
    There never was such a tour as the one Ped gave them that day. They went into shops, wandered around in museums, and once Lana swore she saw a centaur. One of the museums stood out in particular.
    “Ped, what’s that?” asked Lana’s mom pointing to the museum.
    “Why that’s the museum of magical items and creatures. Every magical creature and item is displayed inside. Oh, don’t worry,” he said noticing the look on Lana’s face. “They’re not alive; they’re just statues. Do you want to go in?”
    Lana just nodded. She wondered if she would see what the Moon People looked like as she walked through the doors. Then she looked up. Lana gasped. The museum wasn’t gold inside like she had imagined but scarlet like the shirt her mom had gotten her last week. A large sign indicated that all magical creatures ranging from A-M were in this section of the museum.
    “Where are the Moon People?” Lana asked full to the brim with wonder and awe.
    “When I said all the magical creatures, I didn’t mean the Moon People. They refused to have their statues on display ‘like an animal in a cage’ they say.”
    “Oh.” Lana said disappointed.
    They wandered throughout the room and Lana recognized many of them such as a centaur, a dragon (she had the fortune to see one fly over Albitra one day), and a messenger owl (only for the witches and wizards ages 11-20, the others used ravens). Lana also saw many things that she didn’t recognize such as an equatolope (an animal so bizarre even a picture couldn’t describe it), a griacle (a sort of deer with eyes popping out of its body everywhere), and an indjellu (a shape-shifter that sheds ink out its jet black skin). She was just reading the description of an indjellu (no statue due to it has no original shape) when a cawing sound was heard. As she whipped around, she saw the doorman holding a large raven with a note tied on its leg by the beak.
    “Found it in the hallway blabbing ‘bout some message to Ped & company,” said Ted (the doorman) gruffly. “Thought you might want it.”
    He threw the raven at Lana who barely managed to catch it before it fell and left the room. Lana quickly put the raven on the ground before it pecked her. Then the raven got up, straightened his ruffled feathers, and said, “Message for Ped & company!”
    “Right over here,” Ped said kneeling down to look the raven in the eye. “What’s the message?”
    “I don’t know,” said the raven crossly. “Do I look like someone who reads other peoples letters?”
    “Yes,” Ped & Lana said in unison.
    “All right, so I do,” grumbled the raven. “It’s your house assignments.”
    “Oh goody, I was wondering when they would get here,” Ped said enthusiastically. “I’m sure we’re all excited about that, right?”
    “But Ped, I thought that we were to go to the records building to receive our housing placements,” Joe said confused.
    “Well it looks like they came in early ‘cause they sent them with me,” replied the raven.
    “Okay, Joe, Mom, and Dad’s assignment,” the raven announced. “Are they here?”
    “Yep, we’re here,” replied Lana’s dad.
    “Okay, you guys are in house 301,” the raven said looking at his sheet. “Joe, you’re supposed to put the horses in the stable out by the house.”
    “Where am I?” asked Lana breathlessly.
    “You’re Lana, right?” When Lana nodded he said,” Okay, you’re boarding with… oh my tail feathers.” The raven gasped. “You’re boarding with… Stella!”
    “She is?!?!” Ped gasped loudly. “Wow, Lana, they must think a lot of your power or you’d be boarding with someone else and not the most powerful Moon Person in Consket.”
    “I’m boarding with a Moon Person!!!” breathed Lana in astonishment. She took in a little gasp of excitement, then asked the raven, “ Thank you so very much…. Wait, what’s your name?”
    “My name? Call me Ray,” Ray answered apparently embarrassed.
    “Well, thank you Ray. Here, I knew this mini scarf would come in handy one day,” Lana smiled as she pulled out a rainbow woolen scarf that was just the right size for Ray out of her pack.
    “Oh, you don’t have to give me anything,” Ray said blushing (now that is a sight to see!).
    “No, I insist! Take it!” Lana smiled at the blushing raven whose cheeks were the color of roses already.
    “Well, all right. If you insist,” Ray said taking the scarf and wrapping it around his shoulder as he hopped towards the door. “If you ever need anything, I’m your raven!” The he was gone.
    A long silence followed the raven as though he had taken all the sound with him when he left. Then, unexpectedly, Ped burped a loud roaring burp. Lana giggled. Then she burst forth into a roaring laugh, which of course set the whole group off. Even the doorman started to laugh. Without knowing it Lana had put the whole city into a boisterous mood from the grumpiest old codger to the saddest little baby. Still laughing, they exited the museum and set off, though they didn’t know it, towards destiny.
    End of Chapter 2

    The Lady of the Woods looked on in wonder as the whole city erupted in good spirits. She watched as Lana came out of the museum laughing a deep roaring laugh. The Lady of the Woods smiled and laughed a girlish laugh. She remembered when she had been so young and carefree. Her name had been Kimika back then before she had become the Lady of the Woods. Dimples appeared in her cheek and she looked radiant as she watched the young girl laugh with her family and friends. In that moment she knew that the girl was special. Smiling even more, the Lady of the Woods disappeared from her vantage point with a soft twang.

    Chapter 3

    By the time Lana had gotten to the street on which the house in which she was boarding was on, the laughter had stopped and nervous tension filled Lana’s heart as Ped guided her up the street to Stella’s house. As they glided through the row of sparkling white and gold houses, she felt as if she was walking up to a lion’s mouth. Nervous, and afraid. A voice jolted her out of her reverie bringing her back to reality.
    “We’re here,” Ped said stopping before a large house. “This is Stella’s house.”
    Lana looked at the house speechless. The enormous house could have easily been able to fit her parents’ house in side of it and still have a few rooms to spare. A little pond was a little to the left of the house. It even seemed to glow a little more brightly than the other houses. As they walked up to the porch, Lana noticed little silvery flower buds poking up from the ground. She was about to ask Ped about them, but by then, they had reached the doorway. Around the door were bunches of little glassy red and hazel flowers with a sign near them that read: “From Zelda and Hazel.” As she observed the flowers, Ped knocked on the wooden door. After a few seconds, the door swung open to reveal a young girl around Lana’s age. Stella had pale skin, milky white hair that flowed freely down her back, and large full moon eyes that captured Lana’s attention. Ped seemed quite unperturbed as he introduced Lana to Stella and vice versa.
    “Lana, this is Stella. Stella, this is your new roommate, Lana,” Ped said formally.
    Stella looked over Lana and nodded for them to come in. After the door closed she turned and for a moment looked uncannily like Lana. Then the moment passed, and she looked herself again.
    “Hello Lana,” Stella said as she smiled at the young girl in front of her.
    “Oh… Hi,” Lana said trying to take everything in at once from the long treacherous staircase on the right to Stella herself. It was a rather distracting task.
    “Well, I’ll just leave you two to get acquainted,” Ped chirped rather cheerfully. “I’ll let myself out.” Then whistling a cheerful tune, he skipped to the door and walked out leaving Lana behind with Stella.
    “Well let’s get your stuff to your room, now shall we?” Stella asked kindly. With a flick of the finger and the glow of the eye, Lana’s stuff rose a few feet above the ground and zoomed up the steps and to the right.
    “Shall we go?” Stella gestured to the stairs.
    “Sure. Let’s go!” Lana said starting up the stairs after Stella. The stairs seemed to take ages to climb, yet in reality it was only about a minute. Once they got up the treacherous staircase, Stella abruptly turned right where the luggage had gone. Lana lagged just a short way behind her. Seeing that Lana was lagging behind, Stella conjured up chairs from another room for them to sit in. Once they had rested for about a minute, Stella and Lana continued to the right passing a few doors before they got to one that was open.
    “This is your room, Lana,” Stella said holding the door open so Lana could walk past her into her room. Lana’s clothes and luggage had settled into the closet, which was big enough to fit a bed into. Along the wall was a calendar, a bookcase, and in an alcove was an extremely large chair and lantern. On the chair there was a large book entitled: “Exploring the Magical Realm: Volume I: Magical Creatures.”
    “My last roommate was reading that,” Stella explained noticing Lana glancing at the book. “You can have it if you like. I have no use for it anyways.”
    “Are you sure?” Lana asked.
    “Of course!” Stella exclaimed.
    “Thank you,” Lana said turning her gaze to the bed along the right wall with the window.
    “Ding Dong! Stella!” someone shouted.
    “Oh, that would be Zelda and Hazel… Excuse me for a moment…” Stella said already halfway out the door. “This is not a good time for them to visit…”
    By the time Stella returned to Lana’s room, Lana had already set her possessions in their places and was talking animatedly into her dragon scale to Rachel.
    “…and this is house is the largest house I’ve ever seen, Rachel. I thought our old house was big but this one could fit our old house in it and still have a room to spare!” Lana was saying as Stella came into the room. “Oh, I think I’d better go. It’s nighttime here and I’m beat.” She listened for a moment then put the scale away and lay down dejectedly on the bed.
    At this time, Stella had gone to get her nightclothes on. A few minutes after she was changed, Stella stood knocking on Lana’s door, candle in hand for it was pitch black outside. The door opened with a glow and Lana’s quiet voice said, “Come in.”
    Lana was sitting cross-legged on her bed staring out the large window facing her. Stella walked over and sat beside her, and as gently as she could, asked, “Lana, what’s wrong?”
    “Nothing, really… It’s just… I’m sort of homesick,” Lana said with a sign.
    Putting her arm around Lana’s shoulder, Stella said, “Now Lana, I’m sure that within a few days you’ll be running around like a spring colt in the pasture! Trust me.”
    “Are you sure?” Lana asked doubtfully.
    “Positively absolutely sure!” Stella replied with confidence.
    “Okay. Thanks,” Lana smiled directly into Stella’s moony eyes that sparkled with kindness as Stella looked upon Lana. “You’re a great friend.”
    Stella blinked in surprise as she thought she could detect something in Lana’s voice that sounded vaguely familiar. Her hand flew to the orb around her neck as it sparked and crackled with power. Her last thought was, “What in the name of Queen Kimika is going on here!” Then she slumped to the floor unconscious.
    When Stella came to, she was lying on Lana’s bed with Lana bending over her loosening the sparking orb at her neck. With a sudden jolt of energy, Stella sat up, accidentally knocking Lana to the floor. Apologizing repeatedly, Stella grasped Lana’s hand and helped her to her feet.
    Looking at Stella, Lana smiled a quick nervous smile and preceded to ask, “ Are you all right?”
    “Of course! Never better,” Stella replied with false cheerfulness. “I’m not dead am I?”
    “No, you’re not,” Lana said uncertainly. “It’s just… It was so strange. That orb thing that I pulled off your neck was… well I can’t describe it.”
    “ Oh well, it’s over now.” Stella patted the bed motioning for Lana to sit down next to her. Lana tenderly sat down and rummaged through her bag beside her. Presently, she came up with a second dragon scale that glimmered purple in the moonlight and handed it to Stella.
    Fingering the scale, Stella exclaimed, “It’s beautiful!”
    “I know. It’s yours now.” Lana smiled shyly.
    “Mine! Are you sure?” Stella gasped.
    “Of course! Now we can keep in touch al the time. See, I have one too and so does my friend in Albitra.”
    “What, do you just give these out or something?” Stella asked teasingly.
    “Actually my friend, Rachel from Tinca, gave them to me for a goodbye present,” Lana said softly.
    “Now, now. Don’t get all upset! I’m sure you’ll be able to see Rachel sometime!” Looking out the window she said, “Wow, is it that late already? I got to get to bed! You need some sleep too by the looks of it.”
    Lana nodded wearily. “You’re right, I’m beat. It’s been a long day.”
    “I’m sure it has.” Stella stood up and walked to the door. “Call me if you need me, okay?” Stella said reaching for the doorknob.
    “Okay, I will,” Lana said yawning. “Oh, and Stella?”
    “Hmmmm?” Stella turned around.
    “You remind me of someone. But I don’t know who.” Lana smiled wryly. “I know that sounds silly, doesn’t it?”
    “Not at all, not at all,” Stella said with a quick hurried smile. “Now you get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”
    “’Night Stella.”
    “’Night.” Stella closed the door, her mind buzzing with unanswered questions as she walked to her room. As she flopped down into bed, she wondered why Lana had seemed familiar and why Lana had recognized her from somewhere. The more she thought about it, Stella became sure that she had recognized Lana from somewhere. But where?
    Still pondering, Stella slowly drifted into sleep. The night was still. Yet, in the garden, the Lady of the Woods lay in wait.
    End of Chapter Three

    you like?

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  21. Because I quoted Skipper, dear Phoenix, because I quoted her. Speaking of Skipper, has anyone seen her? I sure haven’t and she’s one of my good blog friends. Call me Gwendolyn. Or Gwen. Either one, please.

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  22. Sigh. I bored. Sigh. I don’t know why i’m posting it on the writing one, either.

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  23. Hey! Remember that story from the original Writing thread! Awesome!
    I feel sorry for the dude at the beginning, though.

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  24. 23- well, he misjudged the powers of nature + the power of the Lady of the Woods. Still, i still feel sorry for him.

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  25. I’m making a sample reader – written issue of Muse to show the editors that readers are capeable of writing some of the articles. I have an idea for an almost entierly reader – written issue that would be published on the off – months, caled By the Musers. I’d like it if some people could submit articles or poems that I could use. Type “For By the Musers” at the top if you want to submit. Thanx!

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  26. Cools! I might just write about Phi…but I have had to write seven essays in the past week and a half and I have two more to do, not counting a ten page term paper, not counting the last Festival essay I just found out about. So I think I might not have time.

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  27. cool! Pheonix I too am interested in Phi! Would you like to maybe co-author? We could post ideas and write it in this thread. Then it wouldn’t take as much time.

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  28. oh and who else here writes in a journal? I find it exceedingly handy for remembering what happened when in the past bits of my life. I can sort of visualize the journal pages when I think about these things and it helps to remember.

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  29. Yay, Pheonix! You brought Steel back! I loved dragon’s eye, and it was nice to see it continued. The beginning sound abit like the beginning of Queen of Sourcery( or maybe Emperor Mage). All those titles.
    Just to verify, Kricket’s story is in no way connected the Afareet.
    Here’s the start of my story. I plan to right a prologue later.

    The boy leaped off the horse, panting and sweating. He was what some of the more prejudiced students at the Pulzan University Highschool would have called a ‘mongrel’. Most of him looked Orani; he had the characteristic sea green eyes and extremely pale, almost white skin. He was thin, with muscles like rubber bands, and most people would have entirley mistaken his age, for he was only a shade under six feet. Yet he had the clean cut jawline of an Adivarian. His braided hair, which reached a little past his shoulders, was so cleverly dyed that some one who saw him would have thought blue, instead of black, was his natural hair color.

    sorry, gtg, running out of comp. time.

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  31. Pheonix! Don’t do this to me! Tell me more about Steel! What happens next? How did she get there from Dragon’s eye? I shall write a story of my own eventually. I tried to do NaNoWriMo this year, but I didn’t finish. I might work on something similar to that now.

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  33. I’m writing a little thing right now, well /many/ little things, but my main is a short story/ novella. It’s 32 pages which I know is supersupersuper short, but I love it because I’ve invested so much time into it. How long are your stories?

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  34. I just wrote the begining of a story that combines all the ideas that I have been thinking about for a while. I tend to come up with many ideas but I don’t write many stories. This story is an idea that I have been thinking about ever since freshman gym class where I was terrible at volleyball. I will write more of it soon.

    Thwack. The volleyball flew from Amelia’s hands… in the wrong direction. It rolled rapidly across the gym floor and out the door of the gym.

    “Amelia!” cried Amelia’s teammate Brian exasperatedly, “are you even trying to play?”

    “Sorry! I tried to hit it but it always goes where I don’t want it to. I’ll go get it.” said Amelia as she started towards the door that the ball had rolled out of.

    How can I never do anything right? she thought Everything I try to do in gym class goes wrong. The only things I’m good at are climbing trees and running. All anyone ever cares about is things that involve balls. If only there was a tree climbing gym class… Then I’d do better. I’ve always been alone; the only one who can’t catch or throw properly. I’ve always…

    Her thoughts were cut of abruptly as she exited the gym. Instead of the usual cinderblock corridor she found herself in a street lined with tall cramped houses.

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  35. More from my mind. Which, to give you a fair warning, may not be fully intact, because karate carrots, evil llamas, and retarded penguins rampaged through it today.

    …stated the frightened fortuneteller. She tried to make herself seem more stately by rising from the bed and pulling herself up to full height, which was just a tad under six foot two, even without shoes. She was only up to the man’s chin, however. He took her by a pale hand. She promptly yanked it away.
    “What do you think? I mean really, Madalasera, we traveled together for five years. You know me much better. In your mind, you’re sure that I’m either here to ask you to embark on some grand journey, or that I’m here to warn you about something. And by the way, if you’re such a great psychic, why didn’t you know I was coming?” asked the man, pausing for breath. Madame Nutikahn had set about lighting a fire in the grate in the wall. She soon had a crackling blaze going, and finally sat down upon the bed and looked at the man. She sighed.
    “You’re right. I do know. So, what is it that you need to tell me about? Oh, and I must have told you that time and time again, but you never listen. Oh well. I can’t see things that very near in the future. I’m farsighted that way. And besides,” continued the extrasensory woman. “you’re a Future Sculptor. I couldn’t see something you were doing if I tried, Seon.”
    Seon (for that was indeed the man’s first name) looked at her meaningfully.
    “ Two new Future Sculptors are about to rise- and we need them.”

    Chapter Two

    A girl stood waiting at a bus stop with a crowd of strangers. She glanced at the lady beside her, who had drawn on weird body pencil eyebrows and had bright blue spiked hair. Never a dull moment, thought the girl about her city, never a dull moment. The bus pulled up, bearing a graffiti-covered advertisement that probably once had some corporate mantra or the other on it. She walked on with an air that gave any one looking an impression that this girl couldn’t care less about where she was going. The braided creature sat down on a cheap leather-upholstered seat with spongy material coming out of various holes. She took an iPod out of the orange purse she had been carrying and turned it on, her ears soon filled with the sounds of the Black-Eyed Peas. Suddenly, the bus halted at the stop nearest to where the girl had to go. She turned off her iPod and walked off, paying the fare as she went.

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  36. Megan looked ou the dirty, stained window of the car. The remains of long dead bugs were splattered on the revoulting glass, gatorade spills were still visible from her brother’s last basketball game, and even more filth was being added to the window by the pouring rain outside. Long streams of water followed the drops splashing the window. Out past the window was not a much prettier sight. Mud was everywhere coating the cars and the road around her.
    Sorry, I have to go to dinner, but this story will be continued

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  38. which of the following three holds the most promise?? all different stories, not 3 chapters.

    -story 1- Montago
    There is a “chosen one” that is destined to turn up within the decade that this story takes place. Wise old women are searching for who may be the “one”, for there is no clear way to tell, and Alyanna Sinpalla Mourendores is the prime candidate. She is kind, intelligent, pretty, and honest. the only problem is that she is not well. she is deathly sick and has a disease with a similar degree of cure as cancer; can never be totally gone. soon, The One dies. everyone wonders if it is even possible, and isn’t the One supposed to be immortal? that is what ancient scriptures tell when the One showed up in the past. It is recorded that the One only faded away when they had completed their duties as restorer of order in Montago, but Alyanna had died just as any mortal would. and that is where our story begins.

    .:|:.

    “did you see her?” Aman leaned against the wall of the lobby in the hospital. It smelled like steralizing chemicals. He almost gagged but kept up his spirits in conversation with his friend, Calder. “people say that she’s the One” he continued. Aman walked over to a window, “but I don’t believe them.” “Why not?” Calder looked into Aman’s eyes with child-like curiosity. Aman laughed. Sometimes Calder’s innocence annoyed him. “She couldn’t be! She’s dying!” Aman turned around and played with a bell on his shirt. ping! It made a hollow sound that echoed through the small space between two double doors. “She is?” Calder’s eyes got big. “Psh! Of course!” “…Everyone always cares about something when it’s about to go!” Aman threw his hands up. He folded then across his chest again. “Stupid old farts” he muttered, but just kept his eyes to the ground for the moments of silence that followed his rant. He thought Alyanna was very beautiful, but he wasn’t about to tell anyone that. Aman was the tough guy of town, and he was going to keep it that way.

    ——(i want it to be that something happens so that Alyanna dies and Aman, who had a crush on her, is really unhappy. Calder and Aman set out trying to find out if she is the One because all of the wise old women are not finding anything out. nobody believes in them, and they are banished. they get note years later that she was not the One and try to figure out who is. after that im not sure…maybe it will seem to a reader as though Calder is the One but Aman thinks he himself is, and then they fight over it until they are adults, when Aman finds that he has a daughter and she is the One. They try to find out more about this blessing but are whisked away by death and mortality from the face of the earth.)——

    -story 2- Amarya
    Nora’s auburn hair whipped at her face as she sailed through the air in the dark of night. Her feet ached and her stomach felt hollow, but she followed the moonlight and attempted to stay on the path. Iridescent insects littered the tree bark as she flew by the woody thicket surrounding her. The narrow path of dirt lighter than that around her seemed to be made only for her at the perfect width. It diverged into perfect resting spots nestled in the center of various scattered enclosures of brush that blocked out the sun when it rose but let in the moon in the dark of night. One was coming up now, and she slowed down, her feet feeling gritty and tender. When Nora sat down on a large rock at the entrance of the alcove, she saw that all of her constant running had worn a hole through the soles of her light sandals. The leather was faded and ripped, while the ropes on the top of the shoe had long since broken. Long blades of grass were wrapped around her foot. Those, too, had worn down and it was time to make new shoes. Nora hung her head down and noticed the tatters that her clothing had become. Her jeans were brittle from becoming drenched with sweat in the day and then drying at night repeatedly for the last ten days. Her skin was tanned and her eyelids were tired. She realized that she had been running for almost half an hour and collapsed onto the ground. If she died, nobody would find her—that is, not until the Patrol found her. But, Nora realized, the Patrol never had been very fast. As Nora traveled on foot, the Patrol traveled by Undermol to better fly under the radar of other detection agencies. The Policing in Amarya was never coordinated, and one Patrol party always clashed into another. So all of them developed different tactics to better be hidden and undistinguished in attempt to capture lawbreakers. Therefore, what had been meant to make them blend into the environment only singled them out more; each division developed a different nickname amongst the Escapees. Those who fled; those who refused to conform. They all didn’t pay any attention to the tracker rings or the protection gel that “everyone” wore. It was too cumbersome; Nora would rather ask for a pass in school, and walk right out the back door as a gym class did. She then hung around the brick side of the building as everyone ran out to the track or the field. She snuck behind cars and then strolled to the high school, to appear as if she had business to attend to. Once at the entrance, she would reel around to appear insane, and dash off into the wood. By the time she had gone one mile into the Never-ending Wood, the people of the school actually realized that she had disappeared. Then it took even longer for the notification to reach the entire District 3, City N, and Area NoZ. Search parties were sent out, but they never caused Nora any trouble. Usually three or four Patrol groups took on the job, hoping they would outdo their fellow workers. Everything would be so much better if people coordinated eachother, but someone had spawned an equal hatred amongst the cities in her area and so nothing was as interconnected as it could have been. The Diggers on their Undermols always took too long because they carved different underground paths every time, filling up behind them as they went so as not the weaken the foundation of the city. The Fliers took Jets to cut through the air and attempt speeding to get to criminals fastest, but they often missed. The treetops in the Never-ending Wood were too dense for anyone to detect a small girl of thirteen without any provisions at all. It was different this time, though. She wasn’t going back home in a day to Nessa, Nick, and Nandi. Or to her parents, Naddy and Nina, who scolded her every single time she ran away and wondered what they had done wrong that she fit best with the Escapees. In Elementary School, it had seemed harmless, but by 5th and 6th grade, her parents began to worry about the negative effect on Nora. By age 12 and grade 7, Nora fit perfectly with her best friends and had escaped many times. It was never nearly this far, though, this was definitely the farthest anyone she knew had ever gone. At least, at her age, and having returned.
    Nora could barely tell anymore why she wanted to escape permanently in the first place. She loved her family and adored her friends, but it always felt like something was missing. She was the biggest rebel in her grade, popular with most everyone, and had the highest marks in City N. Impressive, especially for an Escapee. But all of her accomplishments had seemed for naught. She felt hollow inside, an empty programmed shell. Nora didn’t want to conform in any way. The murmur of the crickets lulled her to sleep and she wrapped herself in her blanket on the rock and drifted off. Her thoughts wandered, remembering snippets of her old life, and Nora could tell that this would change the course of her life forever. Already, she saw herself getting thinner. Mostly because although she had brought bags full of food, she kept saving most of it, for fear of starving like in the numerous adventure novels she had been sneaking from Storage since she was 7. Nora could remember vividly; Nandi told her about palaces and goblins and Nora stared in awe. Late at night, Nandi tapped on Nora’s bed cabinet and shined a flashlight onto her face. Nora clambered down and noticed Nelly, Nick, and Nessa standing with Nandi. The five of them pushed a serving table out of the way and loosened some wood floorboards. Nick pulled a nail out and Nessa pulled another one at the same time, and suddenly a perfect circle opened up directly under Nelly. He dropped in first, and then Nandi, Nick, and Nessa followed. Nora stood up, backed away, and cannonballed in, hoping to land in something soft. She looked up and saw a dim light flicker off above her. The hole had closed.

    -story 3- Ragelli
    “And the solution to everything is you. When you die you are born again. We depend on the rights of the reality of you. And nobody can see the truth when the truth is hidden in a small innocent child. Nobody suspects the one who is still learning his or her primary foundation of knowledge. Your fate, chills, is to be immortal. But not in the usual way, no, you instead will die over and over again, but you will know it. You will always die before the age of ten. Death, though, is not the end. You can be another being every decade. You will be born into every place, every person, every pattern of life your wise being can imagine.” Ragelli sat on the rough silk floor cover and listened to the prophet. She crossed her right leg over the other and folded them in. The wise old man continued,
    “Your reincarnation will go on forever more. You will get to see the world and become a wise old soul. When it is long after today, and years have passed that no other human could live through, remember all I tell you, and lead us all along.” He smiled at Ragelli and got up out of the wooden chair. Ragelli looked through the screen, through the wall in the other room, through the door, through the very outside of the house. She watched her soul come undone; she was free. It roamed around the outside, looking around, and taking in her life for the very last time. She thought about the future; what would it be like?
    The prophet discussed some important matters with her father, but her mind was wandering. She didn’t have the energy to eavesdrop on their conversation. The two men eyed her and walked softly out of the room. Ragelli’s inner eye watched them walk out of the bungalow. She looked spacey to anyone walking by, but she knew for herself that the thoughts that ran through her mind now would be running through for the rest of eternity. Ragelli’s father came back into the room. He nodded.
    “Is it true, Father?” Ragelli inquired. Her father froze. His words came out cautious and slow.
    “Yes.” He paused. “Ragelli, god told your mother and I, when you were born ten years ago, that you would live each reincarnation for only ten years, sometimes less. Your birthday is in two days. Ragelli, I can’t—you shouldn’t—but now . . . Ragelli, you are going to die.”
    At that, both Ragelli and her father burst into tears. He hid his face; it was quite improper for a man to cry, Ragelli didn’t know what dying was. It was not the beginning, now everyone around her was saying it was not the end. It is more significant than the middle, so what could it possibly be? She did not want it to happen. She would now allow it. Ragelli stood up and ran out of the room. Brushing her tears ad she went, she ran down the corridor to her room and pushed the door over. She picked it up, ran into her room. And yanked it into place. She ran to the windows at the far end of the wall and stuck her head out. She screamed and screamed until her voice was hoarse. She tilted her head back and sobbed. Her knees weakened with the rest of her body as the fell to the floor into a crumpled heap.
    “I am going to die.” She whispered. “I am going to die. I am going to die. I am going to die.” Ragelli said it religiously over and over until the words took over her mind, her body, and her spirit was cut in the side. Her feelings poured out. She leaned over the ledge of the window, saying it louder and louder until everyone in the village could hear Ragelli Mandavi Nakracha Chandi Lakatchya yelling out the window.
    Her mucus and tears mixed on her face, tangled in her throat, caught on a clump of her sorrow, it stuck in her neck. Ragelli put her hand to her throat, she couldn’t make a sound, she couldn’t breathe, her mind was slipping into her lungs, her stomach was turning inside out, her heart was squishing blood out of the cracks in its form, all of her body was collapsing, caving in, unwinding, untying, changing, morphing, struggling to breathe. She fell to the floor, twisting around, spilling blood, tears, mucus, saliva, and parts of her innards from the depths of her throat. Everything was coming out and a greater force was cleansing her body. Her soul shone with fragmented darkness, and soon became overcome with light, healing the cuts, mending the wounds, and piecing her back together again.
    And then,
    Everything went blank.

    Pie 0
    Squid 0

  39. e~a, terrific.
    Jeffica, I’m truly sorry but I did not have time to complete your story.

    Pie 0
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  40. Oh yeah: I’m working on the second chapter of the Steel story, from her POV. It should make things clearer.

    Pie 0
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  41. phoenix- I lurve your storys, for some odd reason the firt one reminded me of a anime book i just read. its called neotopia.
    heres the rest of my story.

    Chapter 3
    Sky, Ground, and In-Between

    At the courtyard, she acted just as she did before she had opened the Wall. She vaulted over the fence, then darted to the symbol. Before she pressed the amulet against it again, she breathed deeply and stepped back. “You can do it, Cassie, you can do it,” She stepped towards the Wall, and pressed.

    The Wall opened again, and though Cassandra had seen it before, she found herself gaping in amazement. She closed her eyes and prepared to do something to get her down there. But before she could jab the amulet, she heard a squeaky voice behind her. “Cassie, Cassie! Let me come with you! I can’t believe you’ve found the way out! Let me come with you!” Cassandra turned around. It was the King’s Supreme Messenger, a tiny little green thing named Doodah. He was running as fast as he could towards Cassandra and the opening in the Wall. Cassandra was a bit confused. She had never talked to Doodah before, so she had no idea how he knew her name. “Now, how do you get out without killing yourself,” he said, hopping up onto her shoulder. “Maybe you should poke it right… there!” he exclaimed, pointing to a dot near the top of the amulet. “Come on, press it!” Doodah said a bit wildly. “Okay, okay,” Cassandra said. She breathed deeply, closed her eyes and pressed.

    The amulet started to pull her up towards the sky. “Wrong way!” Cassandra said, and poked at the dot. Then she poked at the bottom dot. The amulet started jerking her towards the edge of the kingdom. “No! Not over the edge!” Cassandra whimpered. “Oh, don’t worry. The amulet won’t let you fall,” Doodah said. “O.K., whatever you say,” said Cassandra a bit uncertainly. She let herself be pulled over the edge. It was a curious sensation, floating. Cassandra felt as if she were in the middle of an everlasting leap. She heard a groaning noise, and saw the Wall close behind her. “Oh no,” she muttered. “Now we’ll never be able to get back in!” “Don’t worry,” Doodah said reassuringly, “I’ll find a way.” “Thanks, Doodah. You’re beginning to be my friend!” Cassandra said.

    “Ooh, look!” Cassandra exclaimed. “We’re almost to the ground!” She was right. The green grass and trees were only about a half-mile down. “Uh-oh!” Doodah squeaked. “This is the kingdom of Rubeznia! Very bad place. Verrrry very bad.” He chittered nervously. “What’s so bad about it?” Cassandra asked. “Bad people. Verry bad. That’s all I’m going to say on the matter.” He folded his arms stubbornly. “Hey look! We’re going to touch ground in a minute!!” Cassandra squealed. And they did. In less than fifteen seconds, their feet were on the ground. Well, not exactly their feet. Cassandra was sprawled on the ground, and Doodah kept standing up, then falling
    back over dizzily. While Doodah continued his
    routine, Cassandra picked herself up, dusted off
    her skirt, and stood up.

    When she stood up, Cassandra found herself looking into the face of an extremely handsome boy. “H-hi!” she managed to blurt out. “Hello yourself!” the boy said. “What is your name, my lady?” he asked. “C-cassandra. B-but you can call me Cassie.” She stuttered. “My name is Danyel. Welcome to the kingdom of Rubeznia. Let me-”
    “Oh, heavens. Fraternizing with the enemy.” said Doodah, putting his face in his hands. “Who is that?” Danyel said, pointing a finger at Doodah, who had once again hopped up onto Cassandra’s shoulder. “Oh, he’s just my sidekick. Cute, isn’t he?” “I am not-” said Doodah indignantly. Cassandra cut him off by clapping a hand over his mouth, which almost knocked him backwards. “What were you saying, Danyel?” “Oh yes. Let me take you to my home.” He pointed to a large castle in the distance that Cassandra had not noticed before. “Come along,” he said, and started walking
    along a trail marked by small purple sticks. Cassandra trotted after him. “Oy vey iz mere,” said Doodah disgruntledly.

    Chapter 4
    The Evil King and the Prison

    As the strange threesome of Cassandra, Danyel and Doodah walked across the huge field to the castle, Cassandra looked around and saw a patch of pretty red-and-purple wildflowers that she had never seen in Alor. She walked over to the patch, which was near an old, crumbling solitary wall. As she bent over to pick up the flowers, she noticed that there was writing painted on the wall. She squinted to make it out, because it was crumbling, too.

    Heel Awle
    Tokram Vesla Can De Mortey
    Nekra Kallite Doshe Tortey
    Ga Fusha Ca Menday Mo
    Ta Rula Te Krendey Mobisha Fro
    NATATATA!

    Hmm, thought Cassandra. This might come in handy. She pulled a scrap of parchment from a pocket on the inside of her cardigan. She pulled a stick of meshtra from the same place and copied the words. Then she put the parchment and the meshtra back in the pocket, and hurried to catch up with Danyel and the others.

    When Cassandra caught up to the others, she realized how long she had been at the flowerpatch. “Where have you been?” asked Danyel. “I’ve been worried sick!” said Doodah. “Uh.. I’ve been picking flowers!” Cassandra said, which was partly true. “Oh, let’s just forget about it, and carry on,” said Danyel. “Okay,” said Cassandra. “Carry on.”

    They had walked for about a mile and a half before they reached the castle. “Crouch low,” said Danyel. “Do not let the guards see us,” “Why?” said Cassandra. “They do not like me,” said Danyel. “Why?” said Cassandra again. “They think I am mischievous.” “Are you?” asked Cassandra. There were a lot of questions to be asked about this place. “No. They only think so because my uncle told them. “Who’s your uncle?” asked Cassandra. “The king of Rubeznia, King Suleiman.” “Wow.” Said Cassandra in awe. They reached the door and quickly walked in.

    The throne room was a huge chamber painted in red, yellow orange, and gold. Smack dab in the middle was a gold throne engraved with pictures and symbols, and inlaid with diamonds, emeralds, rubies, amethysts, and stones Cassandra had never seen before. Sitting in it was a tall and husky king. “Who dares enter the court of King Suleiman?” he asked in a booming voice. “It is just me, Danyel.” Said Danyel. “It is just me, Danyel who?” said the king. “It is just me, Danyel, your majesty.” Said Danyel nervously. Cassandra was starting to get the impression that this was not a benevolent king like King Taloner back in Alor. “See?” whispered Doodah in Cassandra’s ear. Then the king caught sight of Cassandra. He looked at her clothes, then her headband.” His face turned a nasty purple, then he stood up.

    “YOU MAY NOT BRING PEOPLE FROM THE CASTLE IN THE SKY INTO THIS KINGDOM!!!!! HOW COULD YOU BREAK THE MOST IMPORTANT LAW OF RUBEZNIA?! THIS IS COMPLETELY TERRIBLY HORRIBLE!” the king yelled, and it echoed in the gigantic chamber. “Where and what is the Castle in the Sky?” and Danyel, looking terrified. The king looked even angrier still. Breathing slowly, he sat back down. With clenched teeth, he said, “If you needed to know, I would tell you.” He stood back up. “AND YOU DON’T NEED TO KNOW!!!!!!” he yelled. He sat down again, and pulled his majestic crown over his eyes. “This is a crime…. A felony……. Not good…” he muttered. He pressed a button on his throne and straightened up. “I have reached a decision,” said King Suleiman. He pressed another button. A cage rolled out of the back of the wall. “Guards!” he called. Two black clad guards walked out from a door on the side. “Take him away.” He pointed at Danyel. The guards took him and put him inside the cage and locked it with a large skeleton key. Cassandra stared, open-mouthed. Then the king pressed yet another button, and the cage was engulfed in a crackle of fire and ice. “NO!” Cassandra yelled as the cage slowly disappeared with Danyel inside of it.

    Chapter 5
    Sandy’s Desert
    “NO!” Cassandra yelled again. “He was your friend, wasn’t he, Alorian?” said the king. He smiled a wicked smile. “That was absolutely not a very kind thing to do,” said Doodah angrily. King Suleiman stared at Doodah. “Oh, not very nice, you say?” said the king evilly. “Hmm..” The king stood up. “Tranfigurus Crystallium!” he bellowed. And Doodah fell to the floor. But it wasn’t the Doodah that she knew who fell. It was a little froglike creature, carved out of stone. The king cackled, and Cassandra ran. Behind her she heard the king calling “Guards! Seize her!”

    r r r r r

    Cassandra ran. She ran through twisting tunnels and hidden passageways. She ran past tapestries of trolls and paintings of old kings. She ran until she reached a cavernous room, bigger even than the throne room. There was only one thing in this room, and it was the thing that caught Cassandra’s eye. It was a floating transparent green ball with lots of little spots in and on it. She moved closer and realized the spots had names. One said Nastia City. One said USA. Another one said Rubeznia. And now Cassandra realized what this might be. “A portal!” she whispered. This was exactly what she needed. Somewhere to go, and somewhere to go fast. She looked around the green sphere until something caught her eye. It was a bright yellow dot on the far side of the sphere, labeled Sandy’s Desert. Unwisely, she jumped to conclusions, and assumed that pressing that would transport her there. She heard footsteps behind her and in a very quick decision she reached her hand in the sphere and pressed Sandy’s Desert.

    A bright red beam shot out of the spot where Cassandra had pressed. She heard voices behind her shout, “She’s found the portal!” but then she was swept away. About a half a second later she found herself in a sweeping yellow desert. Suddenly, she realized, What’s keeping the guards from coming here, in the desert? She spun around and saw two things. The same green globe that was in the portal room, and a red button that said LOCK. In a flash, Cassandra reached out and pressed the lock button. A computerized voice said, “ Portal Sealed Securely” and Cassandra sighed in relief.

    She walked on through the desert for what she thought was about 2 hours before she started to get thirsty. She looked up and saw a shimmering object in the distance. She walked a bit closer and squinted, and realized that it was a house. “A house?” she muttered as she walked closer. It has to be a mirage, Cassandra thought as she quickened her pace. No one lives in the desert. But as Cassandra approached the “house”, her thoughts were proven wrong.

    It truly was a little house. It was a log cabin-like structure, with windows made out of hand-blown glass. Cassandra at the moment was extremely thirsty and she ran up to the house as fast as she could with an empty stomach and a mouth as dry as the desert she was in. When she reached the door she thought to herself, Okay, this house could be a mad killer’s. I think I’ve lost my conscience. But even with all these colliding thoughts, she walked in to the house. The first thing she saw was a circular stool with three things on it: a note, a basket, and two glasses of water. Cassandra immediately dashed to the stool and gulped down both of the glasses of water in forty-five seconds flat. Then, breathing deeply and feeling refreshed, she took a peek at the note.

    Dear Cassandra,

    Cassandra was shocked. How did the person who lived here know her name? Confused, Cassandra read on.

    I knew you were coming so here are some important things. There are the glasses of water, which you already drank.

    Again, Cassandra was surprised. How did this person know all of this? Maybe he/she could tell the future.

    There is this note, which you are reading, a map, and a basket. The map is on the back of this note. It tells you how to get to a portal that will lead you close to the prison of Rubeznia. I know, I’ve been there.

    Mottrey, thought Cassandra. Maybe this person is a mad killer.

    Not for anything bad, though. Just a misunderstanding.

    Whew.

    The basket contains food and more water. It also contains a magical snake that can teleport you anywhere you tell it to. It is very good for avoiding the guards.

    Right now I am on a trip with a friend. I may never see you. Use the snake to get here if you want to say hi.

    Sincerely,
    Lara

    Cassandra was very exited. She needed help, and she got it. She flipped over the note and saw an intricate map of the desert. It said go right of the house and turn left when you see a cactus with 9 arms. There, the map said, you’ll find a portal to the prison room. Then, after examining the map closely, she took a peek in the basket. Inside was a serpent, about a foot and a half long. It had a thick orange stripe along the middle with red triangles on it. Also in the basket were two corked jugs of water, and five meat sandwiches. She put the now hissing snake back in the basket along with the water and the sandwiches. Then, she took her first glance at the house around her.

    Cassandra’s jaw dropped. The walls around her were covered with every sort of animal and animal home you could imagine. There were birds’ nests in the rafters, salamanders living in fountains, and so much more. She goggled with amazement at all the different creatures scampering around. And slithering, and crawling, and flying. Cassandra took one last look, picked up her basket and the map, and walked out the door.

    Chapter 6
    Rescuing Danyel

    Cassandra stood in the majestic desert and thought her plan over in her mind. She was going to walk to the portal, get in arrive in the prison, and rescue Danyel and Doodah. Somehow.

    She walked on for how long, she didn’t know. Not very long, though before she came to a cactus with 9 arms. She turned to the right and saw a few feet away, a swirling mass of purple and black mist. She was a little doubtful about clambering into that, but she thought about Doodah, and then she thought about Danyel. She sighed and hitched up her basket. Then, she looked straight ahead and walked in to the portal.

    The feeling of that portal was one Cassandra would never forget. It was like stepping onto a cliff, then realizing there was nothing beneath you. When Cassandra stepped out of the portal, her breathing sped up, and she felt dizzy. She leaned over and put her hand on the first solid thing she came to. It felt like wood, and when Cassandra’s body adjusted, she stood up and looked at her surroundings, or more specifically, where her hand was resting. It was a handsome wooden desk. Her eyes swept upwards, and caught on a bronze plaque. It read, Victor Smatan, Head Guard.

    Cassandra gasped. Head Guard? she thought. But that means-
    “Hey, Vic, isn’t that the girl from the Castle in the Sky? The one we’re supposed to be after?” Two burly guards were standing a couple feet away from Cassandra. She had not seen them there in her after-portal sickness.

    “Yeah, Bob, but don’t get her yet,” said the one on the right who Cassandra reasoned was Mr. Victor Smatan. “Why, Vic?” said Bob, the one on the left. “It’s our lunch break.” Then, the two guards grabbed brown sacks on the desks, and left. And Cassandra was left standing there with her mouth open, gaping like a fish out of water.

    r r r r

    After Cassandra had recovered from the shock of getting off so easily, she took the snake out of the basket. As far as she was concerned, serpents were beastly things, so she held it between her fingernails at arms length. It hissed at her. “I am not absolutely sure you will work, so if you take me to some far-off mystical place, I am going to throw you in the closest well.” she said to the still-hissing snake. There did not seem to be any operating instructions in the basket, so Cassandra put the snake right up to her face and said, “Take me to the prison Danyel is in.”

    Cassandra immediately appeared in a room. She rubbed her eyes, trying to make what she was seeing not real. The room was a swirling and hissing inferno of white fire and blue ice. And in the middle of this horrible fault of nature, was Danyel. He was in a cage-like construction and the fire and ice were continuously licking the bars of the cage. It seemed as though the prison was trying to eat him. Just then, one of the tongues of fire caught Danyel on the arm. A few drops of blood dripped out, but before they could reach the ground, the ice grabbed them and consumed them with a horrible sucking sound. How many people have been consumed by this horrible thing? Cassandra thought. And Danyel, right in the middle, was looking utterly terrified.

    “Danyel!” Cassandra called out. “I’m here to save you!” “Cassandra?” Danyel shouted from his prison. “I will be next to you in a moment!” said Cassandra. “Take me to inside the cage.” she whispered to the snake. She then was in the cage with Danyel. “Cassandra!” Danyel gasped. “How-?” “It’s a long story, Danyel. Now let’s get out of here.” She took the snake and said, “ Take us to a safe spot in the flames and ice.”

    As immediately as always, Danyel and Cassandra appeared in a circular spot where there seemed to be an invisible wall surrounding them. Danyel looked at Cassandra with awe. He seemed to think she had magical powers. They looked at each other, embraced, and then, kissed.

    Chapter 7
    Rescuing Doodah

    After Cassandra and Danyel went through the whole “I love you” then blushing thing, and Danyel saying “Thank you,” about a hundred times, Cassandra said, “Now let’s get serious. What we have to do is rescue Doodah.” “Who is Doodah again?” said Danyel. “He’s that little green-” said Cassandra, struggling to think what to call Doodah. “that little green thing that hangs around on my shoulder.” “And what do we have to rescue him from?” “Oh, I forgot, you weren’t there,” said Cassandra. “Well, after you got taken away, Doodah truthfully commented to your uncle saying that your uncle was evil, so the king turned Doodah into stone.” “Yep,” said Danyel. “That’s my uncle.”

    r r r r r

    “So where do you think we’ll find the cure to being turned into stone?” Cassandra asked Danyel as they hurried down a seemingly endless hallway. “I think the answer would probably be in the library. As far as I know, it has all the books ever written in it.” Cassandra agreed, and they set off to the library.

    Cassandra was not that amazed at the Rubeznian Library’s collection of books. There was one just like it in the Castle of Alor. “Now let’s get down to work,” said Danyel. “Where should we look first?” asked Cassandra. “There are so many books!” “Well, the most logical thing to do,” said Danyel, thinking hard, “is to look in the books about magic.” “But how are we going to find even one among all these different kinds of books?” asked Cassandra. “Oh, that is simple!” laughed Danyel. “All of the books are organized by subject. All you have to do is look in the magic section.” Cassandra made a mental note to mention this way of organization to King Taloner. Danyel led Cassandra over to a section of shelves marked with a wooden sign reading Magic and the Unknown Sciences.
    For about 15 or so minutes, both of them searched until Cassandra walked over to Danyel carrying a large burgundy-colored book. “I think this is it,” she whispered as she and Danyel sat down at a small table. Gold embossed words on the cover read The Transformative Magics. Danyel flipped open the book. The pages were old and yellowing. There were illustrations of things happening to people who had obviously had one of the spells put on them. There was one gruesome picture of a large shark with a man’s legs and lots of yellowish goo. Cassandra winced. She hoped something like that would not happen to Doodah. Danyel looked at the table of contents and found a chapter called Stone Transformation. There were 39 pages in that chapter, Cassandra counted. Her and Danyel spent ten minutes alone flipping through the first 17 pages alone. At long last, they found a page that was headed, Untransformative Stone Magic. According to the book, the only way to restore one back to normal after he had been turned to stone was to rub him with a leaf from a menesove tree. “What in the world is a menesove tree?” Cassandra asked Danyel. “I do not know either,” Danyel said. “But maybe the answer to that is in another book.” he suggested.

    This time Danyel found the right book. It was a small, green leather-bound tome with more pages than the Alorian Dictionary. The faded, dark blue title read Healing Herbs of Scandinavia. Cassandra had never heard of Scandinavia but opened the book with no doubts. Oddly, this book was much easier to navigate than The Transformative Magics. The two found the right page in no more than a minute. The heading said the Menesove Tree. From what Cassandra read, the menesove tree was a powerful healing tree that can only be found in the Silent Woods. “Oh no.” said Danyel. “Not the Silent Woods.” He had a sort of terrified look on his face. Cassandra wasn’t worried about whether the Silent Woods was a bad place, a good place, or even an evil place, she was just glad they didn’t have to look through more books.

    Chapter 8
    What Is The Silent Woods?

    “Danyel,” Cassandra asked after he had calmed down a bit. “What’s the Silent Woods?” “Oh, you don’t want to know, believe me.” “But I do!” said Cassandra pleadingly. “Well,” began Danyel. “A long way from here, there is a large forest. This forest has no noise. No birds singing, no bugs crawling, nothing.” “That doesn’t seem horrible.” said Cassandra. “Sometimes I like it when there’s no sound.” “Yes, but this silence isn’t like, say, at night. You can still hear the white noise and gentle rumbling of the world. Here, it’s so silent that people sometimes go crazy from it being so quiet.” “I can manage it,” said Cassandra, shrugging. “My mother says I’m as brave as a bear.”

    “So if we want to rescue Doodah,” said Cassandra. “We have to get him first. Where do you think we’ll find him? I left him in the throne room when I ran away.” “Well,” said Danyel thoughtfully, placing his hand on his chin, “Usually when my uncle does something he thinks makes him look important, like winning a tournament, he places a reminder of that event in is trophy cabinet. Turning someone into stone is certainly quite an achievement. I am assuming we’ll find Doodah in his trophy cabinet.” “Very well assumed, Danyel,” said Cassandra. “But where is the trophy room?” she asked. Danyel’s face fell. “In the king’s quarters.” he said.

    And with Cassandra confidently leading the way, and Danyel reluctantly tagging behind and giving her directions, the two headed off to the trophy room.

    Chapter 9
    The Trophy Room

    Danyel and Cassandra got lost only once. They turned right instead of turning left, and they ended up in the Royal Bathroom. Danyel, knowing every part of the castle by heart quickly found a way out. They ended up in the Trophy Room five minutes later. It was a medium – sized room, slightly larger than the Royal Bathroom, which actually was the size of eleven or twelve of the bathrooms at Cassandra’s house in Alor. The walls of the room were almost completely hidden by enormous shelves. On almost every inch of those shelves were gleaming bronze, silver and gold trophies.

    Cassandra walked a little closer to one of the shelves. One of the gold trophies had WINNER – CHESS CONTEST OF FINLAND engraved on it on a silver plaque. “Wait, wait, wait.” said Danyel. “We are not here to look at trophies,” he said, as Cassandra scanned a row of silver bird-shaped trophies. “We are here to rescue Doodah. Plus, the guards’ quarters are right next door.” He seemed a bit eager to get this over with.

    Cassandra quickly drew away from the shelf. “There he is!!” she shouted. She pointed to a spot some nine feet away from where Danyel was standing. “Oh, no,” Cassandra whispered, and immediately clapped a hand over her mouth. Mumbling and noise came from next door. Cassandra and Danyel stood stock-still for about a minute until the mumbling stopped. Then, when they were sure the guards had left, Cassandra quietly tiptoed over to the shelf where the stone Doodah stood. Surprisingly, the glass door that protected the trophies was unlocked. Very carefully, Cassandra took Doodah out of the shelf and carefully placed him in her basket with the magic snake. “Good.” said Danyel. “Now let’s go!” And without further ado, Danyel and Cassandra quickly and quietly sneaked out the door.

    Chapter 10
    Into the Silent Woods

    As Cassandra and Danyel stood in the hallway outside the trophy room, Cassandra shivered as she thought about how they might have been discovered. “Now that we have that Doodah friend of yours, how are we going to get to the Silent Woods to rescue him anyway?” asked Danyel. “Well,” said Cassandra, thinking. “I used a portal to escape from the guards, but when I found it, I was just running around the castle randomly. I doubt I’ll be able to find it again.” She reached into her basket to check that Doodah was still there. She felt the scaly skin of the snake brush against her hand. “I know!” she cried. “We’ll use the magic snake!”

    r r r r r

    “Ouch!!” As soon as they arrived in the Silent Woods, Cassandra tripped seemingly over her own feet. She picked herself up, and dusted her skirt off. She looked at the ground. There was a crystal lying there, about the size of Cassandra’s palm. She picked it up. Cassandra thought it was glowing, but she couldn’t tell with the nature of the light that was in the woods. She showed it to Danyel. “Cool!” he said. After only five minutes, both of their legs were starting to hurt. “We don’t know how far away the menesove tree is. We don’t even know what it looks like!” Cassandra moaned. “Look in your basket.” said Danyel. “Why?” said Cassandra curiously. “Just do it.” Cassandra reached inside her basket and pulled out Healing Herbs of Scandinavia. “How did that get there?” asked Cassandra incredulously. “I put it there,” said Danyel. “I thought we might need it.” “Oh, you are so sweet!” Cassandra flung her arms around Danyel.

    Cassandra and Danyel ended up using the snake to get to a stable to rent horses. Cassandra gave the stable owner a few gold coins stashed in her pocket and she and Danyel disappeared while the owner was greedily counting the money. When they got back, Cassandra immediately noticed just how silent the Silent Woods actually were. She checked the small green book and memorized the features of the menesove tree before setting off. As they rode on through the woods, Danyel saw Cassandra getting twitchy and sitting slouched down in her saddle like she was trying to hide from somebody. “Are you okay, Cassandra?” he asked. Cassandra didn’t answer, she just swung her head from side to side with wide eyes like she was some sort of periscope. Danyel shrugged off this strange behavior. After all, he thought, no news is good news.

    Pretty soon, though, Danyel started to think that no news is bad news. Cassandra’s behavior got stranger as she murmured, shook and said to Danyel, “It’s getting real close” periodically.
    Then as Danyel thought the strange behavior was at a low point suddenly a piercing scream split the silent air. “Aaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiii!” screamed Cassandra. She was shaking and screaming more like she was possessed. Danyel tried to ride over to her but his horse wouldn’t move. Cassandra tried to get of the horse and Danyel thought it looked like she was trying to run away. She tripped over the stirrup, as she was going so fast, and fell to the ground with a thud. Danyel hopped off his horse and rushed over to Cassandra. As far as Danyel could tell, she was unconscious. She must have hit the ground hard. Then, Danyel realized what caused her strange behavior! That sickness you get in the Silent Woods when you can’t bear the silence! Danyel took Healing Herbs OF Scandinavia out of her basket and looked up Silent Sickness. Nothing. Danyel was scared. How was he going to cure her? He knew how to use the snake, but he couldn’t take her to the doctor in Rubeznia. She would be captured! He looked around frantically for a cure that would come out of the blue. Well, not exactly out the blue, as there was not a sliver of blue to be seen in the dark Silent Woods. Then his eye caught on a scrap of paper on the ground next to Cassandra. He picked it up. The heading read in scribbly handwriting: Heel Awle. Danyel threw the paper to the ground. He didn’t know why Cassandra was carrying around useless gibberish in her pocket. “Heel awle,” he muttered. Wait a minute! he thought. “Heal All!” Danyel said with excitement. He grabbed the paper off of the ground and recited the words on it. “Tokram Vesla Can De Mortey, Nekra Kallite Doshe Tortey. Ga Fusha Ca Menday Mo, Ta Rula Te Krendey Mobisha Fro. NATATATA!”

    Danyel felt rather foolish saying nonsense words aloud to no one, and stuffed the paper back in to Cassandra’s pocket quickly, but as soon as he had said the last “TA”, Cassandra stirred. She sat up, rubbed her eyes, and mumbled, “What happened?” “You got the Silent Sickness, and tried to get off of your horse. You tripped, fell off, and got knocked out from the hard ground.” Cassandra hurriedly checked her basket to see if Doodah and the snake were okay. They were. “Well, we better get going.” said Cassandra.

    They traveled for about an hour until they came to a small copse. In the copse were a few dead flowers surrounding a large tree looking a lot more alive than it’s neighbors. Cassandra gasped. “That’s the menesove tree!” she said. “How do you know?” asked Danyel. “I memorized its features from the book.” “Well, let’s get on with it!” said Danyel. “Alright!!” said Cassandra eagerly. She plucked one of the deep green leaves off of the tree. She took Doodah out of her bag and rubbed the menesove leaf all over him. She did it again. They waited. They waited some more. Nothing happened. “Maybe the book wasn’t that accurate,” Danyel suggested tentatively. Cassandra looked crumbled. “We can’t go back,” said Danyel. “We’ll be captured.” Cassandra looked as sad as ever, but she agreed. “We’ll have to set up camp here,” said Danyel. This was the last thing Cassandra wanted to do, but she agreed. They spread out the blanket in Cassandra’s basket and took off their sweaters for pillows. The forest was dark and they fell asleep immediately.

    “Wake up, Cassie!” Cassandra sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Danyel, what-” She opened her eyes. Doodah was sitting on her stomach, smiling. “Doodah!” she cried. She opened her arms for a hug, and Doodah came gladly.

    “Danyel, Danyel, wake up!” Cassandra shook him by the shoulders. “What-?” “Look!” She pointed at Doodah. “Oh, great!” said Danyel. “Well, now we have and excuse to get out of here!” exclaimed Cassandra. “You’re right,” said Danyel. Both of them got dressed hurriedly. Then Cassandra took the snake out of her basket and said, “Take all three of us to Alor.” Nothing happened. She repeated herself, more forcefully this time. “Take us to Alor!” Again, nothing happened. “I think,” said Doodah, “That the serpent doesn’t know where Alor is.” “Well, how will we get back home?” asked Cassandra. “Don’t you remember?” said Doodah. “What did we use to get here in the first place?” “The amulet!” Cassandra muttered and pulled the amulet out from under her shirt. “Doodah, get on my shoulder. Danyel, hold my hand.” she said commandingly. Then, with her free hand, she pressed the dot at the top of the amulet, and the three started to float upwards in the direction of Alor.

    Chapter 11
    The Amorolos

    As they were floating upwards, Cassandra noticed that the fields of Rubeznia, which had been green, were now yellow. Cassandra was curious but as soon as they reached Alor, she forgot all about it. People were rushing everywhere, yelling and huddling. “Nessetor, nessetor!” Cassandra called to some inspectors. They didn’t answer, and scuttled away. She rushed over to the palace, which stood in the middle of Alor. Crowded around the castle was the largest amount of people Cassandra had ever seen. She couldn’t imagine seeing all of these people at a Gathering, even. The door to the castle was open.

    “Danyel, use the snake to get to my room in my house. If my mom comes in, hide under the bed.” Cassandra said. She thrust the basket with the snake into Danyel’s arms. Then she rushed into the castle. The king was talking worriedly to a pair of stout men with pointy hats and sticks. Cassandra knew she shouldn’t do it, but she rushed up to the king anyway. “Please tell me, oh majestic King, what is going on?” The king stared at her. “You do not know what is going on?” For a second Cassandra thought he was going to reprimand her, but he smiled and said, “ I shall be glad of a rest from all of these worried citizens. Come.” The king beckoned her towards a corner. “The Amorolos are attacking.” Cassandra gasped. The Amorolos were large, green scaly giant lizards that had giant teeth and sharp claws. They were very interested in taking over Alor so they could get at the mineral stores. “Have they hurt or killed anyone?” asked Cassandra nervously. The Amorolos were also very violent. “Yes. When they first came, the Amorolos slightly hurt five people and seriously wounded one.” “Who was that wounded person?” Cassandra asked. “It was your neighbor, Naralissa,” said the king. Cassandra almost fell over. “Naralissa?” she asked. “Are you sure? She’s not a warrior or anything-” “Yes, I’m sure,” said the king gravely. “When the Amorolos came, she went out to see what was happening, and they attacked.” Cassandra rushed out of the castle towards Naralissa’s house.

    Cassandra reached Naralissa’s house and found that the door was open. She rushed to Naralissa’s room and walked in. Naralissa was lying on her bed. “Cassandra,” she croaked. “Oh, Lissa!” Cassandra cried, and rushed to her bed. “What happened?” she asked, but there was no need. Lissa had a huge gash down her arm, which was covered by a bandage, but blood leaked through. Her face was scarred, and her fingers were yellow and bruised. Her breaths were short. “Oh, Lissa!” Cassandra cried again. Her friend was dying and she was doing nothing. In her rushed mind, Cassandra had a sort of thought that something in her pocket would save Lissa. She searched through it desperately and pulled out that piece of paper on which she had written down those strange words in Rubeznia. Heel Awle, she thought. Heel sounds like Heal, and Awle sounds like all…. Her thoughts trailed off. She held the paper in front of her and recited the words. “Tokram Vesla Can De Mortey, Nekra Kallite Doshe Tortey. Ga Fusha Ca Menday Mo, Ta Rula Te Krendey Mobisha Fro. NATATATA!” Suddenly, a change came over Naralissa. The blood beneath her bandages disappeared, her face became smooth, and her fingers returned to normal color.

    “Cassie!” she half-shouted, and leaped out of bed and through her arms around Cassandra. “Thank you to the end!” she said, and rushed out of the room, presumably towards the kitchen. Then Cassandra heard shouts outdoors. She walked out of Naralissa’s house and saw that a great black cloud had risen over a spot on the courtyard, which she assumed was the Amorolos’ base, and was rapidly spreading. “The end has come!” shouted a woman. Cassandra was scared. She was in that same frantic situation she was in when Naralissa was dying. Again, she searched in her pocket and pulled out the crystal she had found in the Silent Woods. She held it close to her face. Engraved on the crystal in tiny script were the words Crystal of Goodness. Then, as soon as Cassandra had read this she ran about a quarter mile towards the cloud and threw the crystal at it.

    For a few seconds, everybody stared at Cassandra. Then, a loud SHOOMMMM! came from the courtyard. A few brave people including Cassandra ran the half-mile to the courtyard to see what happened. In the courtyard stood a large castle-like structure. It was built of black brick and obviously was empty. A few tools lay on the ground, as if somebody was using them and the person just disappeared. That was what happened. Suddenly, everybody stared at Cassandra. “Uh…” Cassandra was confused. She did throw in the crystal, but she didn’t plan it all out. It just came to her.

    Pretty soon, about everybody that Cassandra had ever seen was crowded around the fort, gossiping and chatting. Cassandra engaged in some of the conversation, but pretty much all the people wanted to know was how and why she did what she did. A little bit later, somebody came up with the great idea to dismantle the fort, and soon enough, everybody was hauling, chipping, and throwing great black rocks. Cassandra slowly moved out towards the edge of the crowd and sat down on a bench. A couple minutes later she saw King Taloner slowly striding through the mass of people.

    Cassandra dashed towards him. “What is it, Cassandra?” he asked, looking down at her. “How did this all happen?” she asked determinedly. “Oh, that’s a long story,” the king said, sighing. “I’m listening,” said Cassandra. “Very well, then,” said the king. “Follow me.”

    Chapter 12
    King Taloner’s Story

    Cassandra followed King Taloner into the castle, through the throne room, through many hallways like the ones in Rubeznia, and then into a smaller room, painted lilac, and the curtains drawn. “Sit,” the king said. He beckoned to a wooden chair with a blue plush seat. Cassandra sat down. The king also took a seat in a chair almost alike to Cassandra’s but a little bit more fancy. “Now let’s begin,” said King Taloner.

    “A hundred years ago a man named Marton Astor thought that the world was soon to be engulfed by nuclear war. He was a prodigious mind and was more than a century ahead of his time, so he built a floating city in the sky, so the human race would not be extinguished. He created a medallion used to lock and unlock the Wall, but that medallion disappeared six years ago. WE have been using a simple manual lock which is easily broken.”

    “Six years ago, I found that medallion under a fence. I used it to get out,” said Cassandra. “Yes,” the king chuckled. “You are smart for your age. Now let’s continue.”

    “He gathered 555 people to come to Alor, which was a variant of Astor. The nuclear war did not come, but the population expanded, and soon did Alor. Many of our resources such as wood, meat, and paper came from Rubeznia. We traded these items for our own resources such as aluminum and iron.”

    “But if we had our own metal, how come it is restricted?” asked Cassandra. “When the Rubeznian-Alor war started, the Rubeznians demanded all of our metal.” “But how did that war start?” asked Cassandra. She was getting confused. “One year, about 17 years ago, the fever was going around. We Alorians have a natural resistance to it, but Rubeznians don’t. When we went to pick up our yearly supply, we transmitted the fever to the Rubeznians. It killed more than half the population.”

    “So that’s why the king of Rubeznia didn’t like me. He thought I was going to transmit the disease to his kingdom,” said Cassandra. “Exactly,” said the king. “You found the amulet, escaped, and performed some amazing heroics.” “With the help of me!” Doodah popped up on the king’s shoulder. “Doodah!” Cassandra cried. “I forgot all about you!” “Well, I hopped of here when you dashed of to your friend’s house,” said Doodah. “Me and Doodah have been discussing an important matter. Should Doodah stay here with me, acting as Supreme Messenger, or should he go with you and live with you?” said the king. “Oh, I don’t know,” said Cassandra. “He should really stay with you. You need him,” “But I don’t,” said the king. “I have a new Supreme Messenger.” He snapped his fingers and a cat with wings walked through a small door in the wall hidden behind a curtain. “This is Laila.” The king pointed at the cat, and the cat started to lick herself.

    “Oh, in that case, I’d really love to have Doodah stay with me,” said Cassandra exitedly. “Very well then,” said the king. “He’s yours.”

    Epilogue

    Cassandra gave the amulet back to the king and then took Danyel and told him everything the king had said. She gave him the snake and told him to take it back to Rubeznia and tell the snake to go back to it’s home. Doodah lived with Cassandra happily and the king was very pleased with his new messenger, Laila. Danyel, however, had another adventure, but that’s a whole other story.

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  44. yeah, well my friend wrote a story that sort of goes with this one and one of her characters’ names wsa Zippedy, so I just thought that would be funny. Are you laughing yet?

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  45. Anybody interested in seeing part of the actual story of Itholianam? The background is on previous threads, but the story isn’t. However, it’s quite large, and I won’t post it without some sort of interest.

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  47. Perhaps I shall post my exceedingly dull research paper on chemistry and archaeology. Or perhaps I shall spare you. Who can say?

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  48. thanks kricket!! I worked for two months on that. maybe it should have taken a little longer, but I had a deadline.

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  49. 47- NOOOOOOO!!!!!!! SPARE US!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I BEG OF YOU!!! and I’ll give u virtual choklit if you spare us from the torture…

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  50. actually, 47, i love chemisry. if you could just post the really interesting parts (if there are any) that would be nice.

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  51. I would post something on here, but I, unfortunately, can not write. I’ve tried writing a few things, but I’m literally terrible. If the MAPs would let me post a link to my Xanga (which I know they won’t….. but will they let me post directions to it? Like “search this+plus this and it’s the 3rd link”? Can I do that or not?) you would all see how bad my writing really is. Actually, I would post something here, even if it was terrible, if I had ever in my life managed to complete a story. I’ve written the intro for a story, but I don’t know if I want to write that one or not.

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  52. the little foreshadowing at the end of my story is leading to a story called The Stones Of Halassa. I’m not done with it yet but here is the stuffits I have written.

    Chapter 1
    The Speedy Turtle

    “Hey you!” Danyel turned around. Peeking out of the tapestry he was hiding behind, he saw one of the guards pointing straight at him. “Hey you!” the guard repeated. “Come here, you little-” But the guard was cut off. Danyel sped down one of the palace of Rubeznia’s many hallways. He made a sharp turn at an almost-hidden door. He checked behind him, then he creaked the door open.

    The room was dusty, cobwebby, and empty, except for a small hatch on the ceiling and a string trailing down from it. Danyel had been here many times before, and he pulled down on the string in a routinely fashion. A large, wooden ladder erupted from the hatch it made a loud clunking noise as it hit the ground, and Danyel quickly climbed up.

    He emerged in an attic, which seemed to go on forever. In fact, as Danyel had discovered in his many trips up into it, that it spanned the entire shape of the castle. Down below, he heard the door creak open, and at that moment he realized that he had left the ladder down. He smacked his forehead in disgust. The ladder creaked, and Danyel scrambled behind a huge potted plant. After no sign of a guard for thirty seconds, Danyel cautiously poked his head out from behind the plant. There was a medium sized turtle running towards him with what seemed to be a note clutched in his mouth. Danyel did a double take. A running turtle? Yes, its legs were moving quickly, and it was propelling itself at a speed, Danyel estimated to be, as fast as he could run. He slowly clambered out from behind the plant. The turtle was about four feet away from him. When it reached him, it dropped the note out of its mouth and sped away. “Wait!” Danyel called after it, but it was no use. The turtle reached the ladder hatch and dropped out of sight. Danyel then bent down and picked up the note.

    To Danyel,
    The city of Halassa is in grave danger. The three stones that power our kingdom and our ruler have suddenly disappeared. You are the only one that can save Halassa. You will learn why this is important along your journey. To begin this massive undertaking, you must go to the spot in the Surrounding Field where the ruins are, and stand in the middle. Good Luck.

    Danyel felt very confused. So this is how Cassandra must have felt, he thought. But, as it was, he was longing for some good adventure, and here was a great chance running right up to him! Literally! So he pocketed the note, and set off for the field.

    there is more to chapter one, but right now i just feel lazy.

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  56. For the Musers, By the Musers

    Let me tell you a little story
    About the magic caveman machine

    The cavemen that came out were british Torys
    And came complete with appendix and spleen

    They used tools
    though they hunted like fools
    And always ate nuts

    They chased prey off cliffs
    Or into a ditch
    Boy did those cavemen have guts

    The cavewomen, see here
    They did not hunt the deer

    They got the nuts and berries
    They really liked wild cheeries

    Excpet one of these days
    With the sky in a haze
    The machine will be no more

    You you can always count
    As much as a horse you can mount
    The the machine we will countinue to adore

    …..

    Hopefully this isn’t to, whats the word, bad, to be in the magazine. It was kind of rushed, and I needed help from the people at Furry Paws.

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  57. Whoops, forgot to mention, I want it to be attribvuted to Mel H.

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  58. Phoenix is brilliant with a keyboard/writing utensil.

    ‘Nuff said.

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  60. 50 (kiki)- Ah, but none of it is interesting. Seriously.

    58 (Gwen)- Indeed. I’m still jealous of her. Bad Penty!

    Anyone at all interested in a)Itholianam or b)ridiculously sad Sesshoumaru/Kagura Inuyasha fanfiction?

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  61. Anyone have names for the teachrs in my story, The Riverveiw Cronicles?

    Heres the teachers I need names for:

    The Perkey, Happy Science teacher who is oblivious to the fact that her students have supernatural powers. She/he barely even recognises that they have Aspergers Syndrome.

    The comidian Math Teacher who is a total clown. He is so into his job, he/she named his/her dogs Radius and Pi.

    The serious, strict social studies teacher who also has telekenesis and uses his powers to map out scenerios with his/her revolutionary war action figures

    The nervous wreck art teacher who often breaks down and panicks whenever he/she sees any sign of kids using their powers

    The fast talking General Music teacher who loves to con her/his students into doing things they don’t want to do

    The poetic language arts teacher who often speaks in Haiku and is generally strange

    The ADHD Home and Carrers teacher who is a caffine addict and often skips around the room.

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  62. OK, I’ve got the Prlouge doen, see what you think

    It was a rainy day. The cold, hard raindrops beat loudly on the Epstein’s car. The sky was gray and gloomy, and the roadside cows were mooing up a storm. Sue was busy reading The 2006 New York Almanac.

    “Did you know that the New York State animal is the beaver?” she said, flipping through the pages. “No, I didn’t know that”. Said Mr. Epstein, who was reading The Dogsburg Gazette. “Put that Newspaper down, I can’t see a thing” said Mrs. Epstein, who was driving. Sue shut the book and looked out the window. “Why do I have to go the boarding school? I know how to handle myself.”. “Sue, look at someone when you talk to them.” Sue then looked at her mom and said “Why do I have to go to boarding school?”. “You’ll like it” said Mrs. Epstein, making a left turn. “And Mike will be there” added Mr. Epstein.

    Sue sighed. Michael Goldberg was the love of her life. She had had a crush on him since they first met in preschool, and knew each other form the shul back in Dogsburg. He often insulted her, and only wanted to talk about what he likes, but she still liked him.

    “I guess it would be for my own good” sighed Sue, looking out the window. She then noticed they were going over a body of water. The visual effect of the rain hitting the water was fabulous. “Is this the Stuyvasent river?” asked Sue, flipping through the almanac trying to find a river list. “Yes it is” said her dad, who, like Sue, had Aspergers Syndrome. “Stuyvasent River. How Riverview got its name”. “Its beautiful” said Sue. “Imagine how many freshwater animals are in that river. Snapping Turtles, Bull Frogs… It’s almost worth going to the academy for”.

    As they neared the school, Sue wondered what kind of people she would meet. Was there a pecking order at a school for special needs? Would the students be nice? Would they also have three syndromes all at once? Would there be a bully? She thought all this as they pulled into the school driveway.

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  63. what’s asberger’s syndrome?

    Sasha’s face twisted into a cruel smile as she raised her foot and smashed it against Kay’s nose. “What’s wrong with you? You’re family’s rolling in gold and yet you wear the same more-rags-than-cloth clothes. You’re pathetic, the way you try and be like us. You’re so desperate to fit in. You’re a queen in rags. Ragqueen. It doesn’t work. You stay away.” she wheeled around and stalked off. Kay stumbled to her feet and veered off toward a clinic. She couldn’t go home like this. Her whole face was covered in blood, and people were staring at her.
    “Are you allright dear?” a woman called.
    “Yes.” Kay gasped, but it came out more of a muffled “yeb”. Blinking the blood out of her eyes while trying not to cry, she did not see the bicylist speeding toward her until it was to late. She flew off her feet and her head it the curb. The last thing she thought before losing conciousness was “Oh, no, dad’ll kill me.”

    “Hey- you okay?” A young man with a gash across his nose was kneeling over her. “I’m so sorry, i didn’t see you in time… is anything broken?”
    Kay realized that this was the biker she had hit. She sat up and found she was still in the street. “Yeah- my nose, but don’t worry, that happened before- are YOU ok?”
    “I’m fine, just a few scratches. What’s you’re name?”
    “Name?” Kay asked blankly.
    “You, know, what people call you.” the young man looked at her expectantly. She realized she had no idea. What WHO called her? All she could remember was the accident, and getting her nose broken. But wait! The girl had called her something, what was it?
    “Ragqueen.” she said simply.

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  64. I revised my story a bit.

    Prologue

    Madame Nutikahn rubbed her temples tiredly. It had been a long, dragging day. Everything had been the usual. Lovesick youths had asked about romances in their lives, middle-aged people asked for financial advice, and the elderly had simply stopped to chat. This was an average day Madame Nutikahn, but something had exhausted her. She propped her elbows on the celestial-designed velvet tablecloth, pulling five bracelets off of her wrist. The gems- or were they really gems? – shone in the soft light coming from the muslin-covered oil lamp in the corner.
    The soothsayer gazed lazily at the cramped shelves that took up about two-thirds of the tiny little room. They weren’t crowded so much as they were cozy. Full of huge leather bound tomes bursting with myths, stocked with worn wooden carvings inscribed to teach the reader about alchemical notations, and overflowing with Asian scrolls so soft and delicate that anything more than the force of the beating of a butterfly’s wing directly upon them would mean they would be reduced to shreds.
    ‘It’s been a long time since I felt like this,’ came the Madame’s thoughts.
    ‘Must have been fifteen years, at least. Right after I met my first match,’ echoed the voice of the psychic’s mind. She grimaced a bit. She’d never forgotten him, and never would. Who could forget their first Future Sculptor? Especially one like he had been.
    Madame Nutikahn played with one of the bracelets she had slid off of her thin, white wrist a few moments ago. All of the bracelets had special meanings to her, and great powers within that only she knew about. The one the clairvoyant woman fondled at the moment had many small purple gems, things a geologist would have classified as an amethyst had they come across it. The metal was of the purest white gold, with not a blemish on it. This ornament had always been especially dear to Madame Nutikahn, probably because of the sheer innocence that was locked away in its history. The other bracelets had fallen into her possession by treacherous, tragic, or angry means.
    One bracelet had a few medium-sized blue stones and gold metal. Another was composed entirely of at least 950 little orange stones. Yet another was made of platinum metal with four huge stones that “normal” people think of as diamonds. And the last one had wrought iron metal and a single tiny black stone. When Madame Nutikahn was young, she had gone quiet for the rest of the day at the very mention of the last bracelet. Now she only flinched. She had been in contact with the bracelet frequently within the past few years.
    The room the psychic was in was a part of a small moving home. Not a trailer, as you might have thought, but a gypsy caravan wagon. It was much bigger than other dwellings of its class, but the compartments (this is a much more accurate name than “rooms” to describe their size) were still miniscule in comparison to that of actual homes or apartments. The little compartment the Madame sat in was the main compartment. It had a large window in the wall that Madame Nutikahn faced, which was perfect for seeing customers. The other compartments included a microscopic kitchen, only good for the housing of an icebox, a range, and a spindly old mahogany table with two rickety chairs, a diminutive bedroom with a bower that Madame Nutikahn had had since she was a small girl and a two-by-three vanity with a blemished mirror, and a petite tearoom with a few dwarfish pink chairs with gilded legs situated in front of an oaken tea table, as well as a miniature cherry wood cabinet that contained a motley assortment of whole and part tea sets. The whole abode was hooked up to three very strong white mustangs, all about a year old. Oh yes, and there was a little door with a crescent moon and a blazing sun design inked in on it, with a worn crystal doorknob that led directly into the tearoom.
    Presently, someone knocked on the door. Madame Nutikahn arose from the reverie she had lost herself in while staring at the oil lamp. She hauled herself through the puny domicile. Madame Nutikahn soundlessly opened the door. There stood a very tall woman with dark brown eyes, and a slender nose. The lady was wearing a flowy but slightly tattered hijab dress.
    “Shadiya! What are you doing here?” asked Madame Nutikahn , eyes wide in shock.
    “It is a long story, Madalasera. I cannot tell you right now. Please, if you would be so kind as to let me in?” asked Shadiya. Her normally musical, laughing voice with an Arabic lilt was now tired and weary. The Madame, remembering her manners, instantly admitted the exhausted woman into the tearoom. Shadiya plopped down onto a rose chair. Madame Nutikahn grabbed an English tea set with many multicolored flowers on it and busied herself with making refreshments for her comrade. When the beverages were ready and Shadiya was sipping her cream-and-sugar Chai tea, her hostess and friend broke the silence that had pervaded the wagon-home for nearly fifteen minutes.
    “Why are you here, Shadiya? Aren’t you supposed to be in Greece right now?” asked Madame Nutikahn. Shadiya sighed deeply.
    “Yes, I am supposed to be in Greece, Madalasera. But something has happened, and I have had to come back here for the time being.” She took a long drink from her cup.
    “But that is not the only reason I am here. Two Future Sculptors are about to rise, and they need us… almost as much as we need them.”
    __________________________________________________
    Chapter One

    A girl stood waiting at a bus stop with a crowd of strangers. She glanced at the lady beside her, who had drawn weird body pencil eyebrows on the place where her natural eyebrows should have been and had bright blue spiked hair. Never a dull moment, thought the girl about her city, never a dull moment. The bus pulled up, bearing a graffiti-covered advertisement that probably once had some corporate mantra or the other on it. She stepped almost carelessly onto the bus. The braided creature sat down on a cheap leather-upholstered seat with spongy material coming out of various holes. She took an iPod out of the orange purse she had been carrying and turned it on, her ears soon filled with the sounds of the Black-Eyed Peas. Suddenly, the bus halted at the stop nearest to where the girl had to go. She turned off her iPod and walked off, paying the fare as she went.
    The sidewalk she stepped onto was a not a sidewalk at all, but a bit off cobblestone road, in the French Quarter of the metropolis. She turned a few corners, crossed a couple of intersections, and soon was at the entrance to a small café. She walked inside, and was greeted by a bustling middle-aged woman with long, curly, dark brown hair that was held prisoner by a high bun.
    “Oh, Jenna, je suis si content que vous etes ici! La cafetiere est sur le fritz, Donna a une defaillance emotive, c’est tout si fou! Votre uniforme est dans la cuisine. S’il vous plait, s’emparer de lui rapidement!” tumbled out the Frenchwoman’s words.
    “Okay, Jacqueline. Should I go check on Donna first?” asked the girl, whose name was Jenna, for my readers who can’t understand French. Jacqueline was indeed a Parisian, born and raised. She could understand English well, but still couldn’t speak it after four years in America, two and a half in which she had owned her own bistro, L’IRIS ORNE, in the heart of a huge city.
    “Oui!” said Jacqueline. She hurried off to attend to the coffee machine. Jenna walked to the kitchen to retrieve her uniform. The blue double doors swung open as she pushed them. A chef busily preparing a dish full of delicious-looking crepe ice cream waved at her. He was Jacqueline’s brother, Henri, who could understand English just as well as his sister.
    “Bonjour, Jenna! Comment etes-vous?” asked Henri.
    “I’m doing okay, Henri. How about you?” asked Jenna in return.
    “Je ne peux pas me plaindre vraiment. Avez-vous vu la Donna? Je sur pas le besoin pour etre environ quand cette crise attaint son sommet!” said Henri jokingly.
    “No, I haven’t seen Donna… yet. I’m sort of afraid to. Do you know what happened to make her so upset?” asked Jenna.
    “Non. Je n’ai pas obtenu un indice,” shrugged Henri.
    “Oh. Well, thanks,” she said. Jenna walked a bit farther into the kitchen and found her uniform in a plastic container near the giant freezer where Henri kept his veal and ice cream. She took it into the ladies’ room where she could change, but as soon as she opened the door, she heard the pathetic sobs of none other than Donna, the waitress that Jacqueline had worried about and Henri had joked about. Donna, unlike some of her co-workers, was not from France and spoke English fluently. Jenna approached the stall from which the cries could be heard cautiously. She knocked.
    “Wha-what d-do y’all w-want?” asked a trembling voice.
    “It’s just me, Donna. What’s wrong?” asked Jenna. There was the sound of the stall door being unlocked. The door creaked open slowly. Suddenly, two hands with hot pink talons pulled Jenna in through the open door. She tried to fight, but there was alarming strength in the arms of her captor. One arm held her to the wall one wall of the stall, while the other locked the door. Jenna looked at the girl who had done this to her. She had been crying, evidently, from the large amount of thick black mascara and metallic-ky blue eyeshadow that had run down her face. The girl still had tacky bright red lipstick on, though. She had short white-blond hair with Gucci sunglasses in it, and she wore the same L’IRIS ORNE uniform that Jenna clutched in her hands. And she was also wearing far too much blush. She quickly moved in front of the locked door, to keep an already starting Jenna from escaping.
    “Stay right there, cowgirl! You ain’t goin’ anywhere until I have finished with YOU!” said Donna, gritting her teeth menacingly. Jenna flinched a little.
    “Listen Donna, whatever is happening right now to you could be fixed if you calmly let me out of this stall and we just talked about this…” said Jenna pleadingly. Donna sighed a bit. She relaxed the death grip she had been holding Jenna’s arm in. Then she started blubbering like a baby again.
    “Je-Jenna, it’s my b-b-BOYFRIEND!!!! He’s t-two t-timin’ me with some f-floozy n-named Ca-Cathy!!!!!!!!!!!! And th-this girl is NASTY. I m-mean, she d-don’t even sh-shave them sc-scrawny l-little tw-twigs she calls l-legs!”
    And it went on like that for about fifteen minutes, when Donna, who had poured her redneck soul out to her, finally released Jenna. Quickly, she ducked into another stall and changed into her uniform. She shuddered as she came out, tying the crisp, smart apron that came with her uniform.
    ‘That Donna sure does have some issues,’ echoed Jenna’s private thoughts. Jenna washed her hands before going to do her part time job- Jacqueline had a strict hygiene policy. She opened the door out to the café, where Jacqueline stood taking a break. She was covered in coffee stains.
    “Hey Jacqueline. Sorry it took so long with Donna. Any luck with the coffee machine?” asked Jenna.
    “Salut Jenna. C’est bien que vous avez pris si long avec la Donna. Au moins elle fonctionne comme une humain est maintenant. Je pense que Henri se mele la cafetiere maintenant, mais je l’ai repare pour la plupart. Pourriez-vous aller voyez s’il vous plait ce que les gens a la table cinq veulent? Ils ont wainting pour un instant, maintenant…” Jacqueline’s voice trailed off.
    “Sure,” said Jenna. She walked off with the perfect poise that Jacqueline had embedded in her vertebrae in the first few weeks Jenna had started working there, which was really only two months ago. There was only one person at table five presently. It was a boy about Jenna’s age. Jenna, who was not a girl likely to fawn over a guy who she had just seen for the first time, looked at him coolly, but with the perky attitude any waitress needed.
    “Good afternoon. I’m Jenna, and I will be your waitress today. Before you make your decision about what you want to order, may I recommend today’s special? It is a bowl full of rich La Soupe Francaise d’Oignon, made with ingredients picked from the garden in the back, accompanied by our specialty Cappuccino a la Vanille de Torsion.” The boy looked up from the menu he was browsing through.
    “Could you come back later? My date is in the ladies’ room, and she still hasn’t decided what to get,” said the boy. Jenna nodded, then walked off. His date must have been the thin girl with long black hair that Jenna had seen on her way to the table. She paced around casually, looking to see if anyone needed anything. On Friday afternoons, the café was always particularly busy. Everyone seemed perfectly content with whatever they were dining on, however. Finally, the slim maiden with the ink-colored mane emerged from the lavatory. Jenna quietly followed her back to the table, where she and her date were ready to order. The female half of the couple spoke with a dainty, delicate voice.
    “I would like to order the La Salade Fraiche de Jardin with a petite cup of Le The de Camomille de Bordeaux de Chocolat-Insinue.”
    “And I’ll take the La Coupure de Prime de Bouef d’Aloyau with a large Coke.” The girl spoke with a flawless accent when saying the names of the French dishes, one that Jenna was sure was not just a colonial dialect but one localized from some obscure town in France, but the boy mangled the pronunciation so badly that Jacqueline and Henri would have simultaneously burst into tears had they heard him maiming their language in such a profound manner.
    “All right. It should be out in a few minutes,” said Jenna, making her way to the kitchen to inform Henri and his staff of the order. She did so, and saw that the previously vacant table eight now had a lady with a glittery lavender shawl draped around her shoulders, a thick-knit ginger sleeveless turtleneck, and a sparkling light blue broomstick skirt that reached the floor. The woman herself looked to be in her late thirties, with bushy and wavy brown hair completed by a few strands of steely gray here and there, gray eyes that reminded Jenna of the sea on a foggy winter day, and a small nose that ended in an aristocratic point. She could have been a hippie very easily, and probably was, just stopping by the café for a quick pastry that had not been prepackaged by a corporate establishment headed by a conformist philistine (everything served at L’IRIS ORNE was actually homegrown, save the meat, which Jacqueline got from a small farmers’ market at very reasonable prices. But what would a hippie want to do with meat, anyway?). Or so Jenna thought.
    “Good afternoon. Welcome to L’IRIS ORNE. Can I get you anything?” asked Jenna in her polite waitress voice. The woman closed the menu she was looking at. Jenna noticed that five bracelets of various qualities clinked against each other at her wrist.
    “I’ll take the La Soupe Fondamentale de Légume with some Le Thé avec l’Agrume et Sasparilla, please,” she said calmly and softly.
    “All right. I’ll put the order in with our chef. It should be out in a few minutes.” Jenna turned on her heel and started to walk away, but then the lady jerked her back by the elbow. Her touch was firm but gentle.
    “I’m terribly sorry to bother you like this, but that boy over there is my nephew,” said the woman, gesturing to table five, where the couple sat in silence. The boy was staring at the beautiful girl, and the girl was smiling nervously and not making eye contact. The beatnik-esque woman continued.
    “His mother has asked me to keep an eye on him- he hasn’t been thinking straight since this girl, Audrey, agreed to date him. I would very much like you to bring me little reports about what’s going on, and intervene, if necessary.” Jenna nodded silently.
    ‘He must have one of those freaky overprotective moms,’ she thought as she gave Henri the order. Henri gave her the dishes that the couple had ordered, and she brought them to their table.
    “Here you go. One prime cut steak and a Coke for you, and a garden salad with chamomile tea for you,” said Jenna perkily, laying the plates before them. She strolled off, taking a quick breather.

    Okay, I’m trying to figure out a logical way for the boy and Jenna to meet, involving hippie lady, who is really Madame Nutikahn. Any suggestions? Phoenix?

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  65. i like your story, gwen. couple suggestions;
    make sure your french is ok. it’s comment-allez vous, not etes.

    don’t use synonyms that are to obscure

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  66. cotton, which ones are too out there? When I write normal stuff, my teachers all give me extra points for junk like that, but in a book, I’m guessing, it doesn’t sound right. No synonym is too obscure for me, personally. Seriously. I got the “Walking Thesaurus” Award at my school on the last day.

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  67. I like the revision, Gwen. What’s the french mean?

    Shriya, your stories are really good. I like them all a ton.

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  68. “slim maiden with the ink-colored mane” was a little obtuse, if you ask me. but that’s just my opinion. you should see what other people say. :)

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  69. I wrote a good story for a shcool report I had to do. It drew people in until it started it’s descend toward the ending. I think that I’m going to make it longer and turn it into a book. It was great though.

    I know, I have the ego of a lion.

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  70. Is anyone else participating in the Summer WriMos? (Write 50,000-150,000 words of a novel between June 1 and August 31.) Just curious… I’d post parts of Urphy Ln, but all you’d get is the first, rather boring bit, because then the sex, drugs, and rock’n’roll (and a bunch of other stuff that would get censored) kick in.

    If I’m trying to write a novel, what am I doing online? Good question.

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  71. The Epic of Ike

    There once was a character name Ike, who was the the color of the third stripe beneath a spot-tailed quoll named Frank’s right ear. But this story isn’t about Frank, nor his right ear, nor the stripe beneath it. In fact, it’s not about Ike either, because he’s actually a rather bland fellow with little to say and even less to do.

    Let’s try this again.

    Ike’s sister, Ilene, was in fact, quite charming and vivacious, but sadly, she was eaten by an oversized newt at the age of 6, and so the world knew little of her excellent qualities. The newt, however, knew all about them, because, so cheery and pleasant was she, that she continued to be charming in his stomach long after he had swallowed her whole and gone down to the pub for a drink. He went on to develop a multiple personality disorder and alternated between being a dark, troubled best-selling novelist, and a large fluffy animal for a children’s television show. The television show was actually funded by gangsters to transmit secret messages.
    This is where Detective Hindenburg comes into our story. Detective H. had been on the trail of these crooks for years, but now he was at a dead end. He had lost them in Fresno, and hadn’t been able to find a lead anywhere. He was returning to his apartment one rainy afternoon when he chanced by a child day-care center and heard through the windows the sound of Ike-Frank singing “Alice says Bucky’s faded, take the sugar and Freddo will meet you in Happyland,” on the television. Suddenly, the gears in Detective H.’s brain started turning. Who was this was this Alice figure? What did she want? Why did he get the feeling that she wasn’t telling Freddo something?
    He quickly ducked into a nearby cafe and ordered a serving of beans on toast for sustenance. When he exited, he knew what he had to do. He had to get into the child day-care center, to take the TV. Obviously, the strange fuzzy creature who had been singing the song knew where Alice, Bucky and Freddo were. If he lived in the television set there (which he clearly did- Detective H. had seen him inside the set with his own eyes), then he needed to talk to him. The problem was, the day-care center was likely to be highly secure and guarded. No, if he wanted to talk to the fuzzy animal, he was going to have to lure him out, not take the TV. How? The answer came quickly: food. Now, what did food did fuzzy singing animals like best?
    At this point the story must be interrupted by a very important government announcement:

    ATTENTION MEMBERS OF THE GENERAL PUBLIC. WE HAVE JUST BEEN INFORMED THAT THE CURRENT STORY IS LACKING THE FOLLOWING SAFETY FEATURES: 1) A PLOT 2) A POINT 3) ANY TRACES OF COHERENCE WHATSOEVER. THE SURGEON GENERAL WOULD LIKE TO INFORM YOU THAT THE LACK OF SUCH FEATURES COULD BE HIGHLY DAMAGING TO YOUR SENSE OF SENSE. IF ANY OF THIS MAKES ANY SENSE TO YOU AT ALL, WE WOULD LIKE TO INFORM YOU THAT IT DOES NOT IN FACT MAKE ANY SENSE, SO THEREFORE YOUR SENSE OF SENSE IS ENTIRELY NONSENSICAL. IF THAT MADE SENSE TO YOU, THEN YOUR SENSE OF SENSE IS PROBABLY OK, BUT YOU MIGHT WANT TO SEE A DOCTOR ANYWAY. IF YOU ARE THOROUGHLY CONFUSED, DON’T WORRY, SO ARE WE. WE HAVEN’T GOT A CLUE WHAT WE’RE SAYING AND ARE PRETTY MUCH SURE THAT SENSE IS OVERRATED ANYWAY. SO THE BOTTOM LINE IS THAT IF ANYTHING YOU’VE READ MAKES ANY SENSE, YOU’VE GOT NO SENSE OF SENSE, AND IF IT DOESN’T MAKE ANY SENSE AT ALL, YOUR JUST FINE, NO WORRIES. THANK YOU, THIS HAS MESSAGE HAS BEEN BROUGHT TO YOU BY THE GOVERNMENT.

    And now, to resume the story.

    “Smeagol won’t go, O no precious not this time,” hissed Gollum. “He’s frightened and he’s very tired and this hobbit’s not nice, not nice at all. Smeagol won’t grub for roots and carrotses and- taters. What’s taters, precious, eh, what’s taters?”
    “Po-ta-toes!” cried Detective H. “That’s it!”
    He rushed off to buy some potatoes.

    Meanwhile, Ilene’s family was holding a memorial service for her in the park. Her aunt Bessie said to her aunt Betty “It’s really to bad you know, with her being such a pleasant child and all.” and her aunt Betty replied “Yes, m’dear, but have you tried the potato salad?”

    The funny thing is, this is the exact same thing that was said to me by my second cousin’s pet parrot three years ago just moments before the parrot and I (but not the second cousin) were spontaneously transported to a small island in the Bering Sea, along with six bonsai trees and half of a salad fork (which I had been planning on using to eat the potato salad with). See, we were having a picnic in on the roof of my uncle’s house, because that was the only place where we could escape the ants. I reached for the salad, and next thing you know, it’s bloody 8 below and all I’ve got to keep me warm is six miniature trees. The parrot was just fine, because, being paranoid, he never went anywhere with out an extra parka. So, there I was, trying to somehow get a bonsai tree to perform the same function as a pair of woolen socks, when suddenly, out of nowhere, a spot-tailed quoll appears. “Hullo, I thought you lived in New Zealand,” says I, and he says “Yes, well I moved up here for my health.”
    “For you health?” says I, and he replied “Yeah, the dryness of the desert was supposed to be good for my eczema,” and I say “we’re not in a bloody desert, we’re on a freezing tiny island in the middle of the Bering Sea,” and he says “yeah, well I was misinformed.”
    Then there was an awkward silence filled only by my angry cursing (I was still trying to make the bonsai be woolen socks and scarves).
    “Do need some warm clothes?” he asks and I say “Yes, in fact, some warm clothes would be dreamy you don’t happen to have any do you?”
    “No but I know someone who live in the Death Valley who can sell you some for free,” he replies.
    At this point I chose to sever our acquaintance and try and find my way off. I took the parrot and made a boat out of the remaining bonsai trees.

    The chronicler just remembered the rest of the story.

    Detective H. bought a sack of potatoes from a marketplace. At this point, however, he realized that the fuzzy animal couldn’t live in the TV, because things don’t live in TVs, except maybe really old ones. He remembered that it was just a picture of the fuzzy animal on the the TV screen. Stuck again with this new problem, he abandoned his sack of potatoes and walked on, deep in thought.

    The potatoes were picked up by none other than Ike, who wasn’t imaginative enough to do anything but eat them for breakfast. Meanwhile, his aunt Betty was reading Ike-Frank’s latest novel, but she wasn’t making much sense of it. It seemed to be about a strange girl who wrote stupid nonsensical stories in her free-time. At this point the story starts building up and even the links between the sentences of unpremediatedness disappear. Ike got a job as a chartered accountant, replacing the last one who had run off to become a lion tamer. Frank ate some bugs and move into a cardboard house. His right ear did nothing. In Ike-Frank’s stomach, Ilene finally ceased to be charming and became a sullen teenager instead. Detective H. walked in front of a bus in his musings and miraculously survived. He wrote a book about the ordeal, which Oprah put on her book list. The chronicler’s eyes began to hurt. Pizza was called for, but all there was to go with it was diet coke. The sun went behind some dirty looking clouds. A faint buzzing was detected somewhere deep in the dampness of the laundry room, and even Klondike Bars didn’t help the matter. The story became boring and even the best-developed senses of humor couldn’t follow it. All seemed lost, but then-
    There was the vegemite song.

    We’re happy little vegemites
    as bright as bright can be,
    we all enjoy our Vegemite
    for breakfast, lunch, and tea
    our mummies say we’re growing stronger
    every single week
    because we love our Vegemite
    we all enjoy our Vegemite
    it puts a rose in every cheek!

    And this was generally agreed upon as a Good Idea, and there was much celebrating, even for those who don’t like Vegemite.

    The END.

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  74. Ike pwns. I want to marry Ike.

    No, I don’t, don’t worry, but I like the story anyway.

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  75. heres a story about the evil sibinator and me, Agrrrfishi. Enjoy! :) :) :) :):) :) :)

    DEFEAT OF THE SIBINATOR

    One beautiful rainy day in October, a happy peppy school student named Agrrrfishi skipped merrily up the lumpy gravel drive way of her house and to the back door. Supposedly, nobody was home, so she let herself in with her key. Then she sat down, and did her mind numbing homework like a good student should. After completing said homework, she rushed merrily upstairs and into the hallway that lead to the Sacred Chamber of Computers. But then, from behind a corridor corner, emerged the awful, smelly SIBINATOR!(DAH DUH DUUUUH…). He picked up Agrrrfishi by the ear with one greasy hand and shoved her in her room, locking the door. Then he whispered into the keyhole, “I’m getting’ on the computer! MWAAAAHAHAHAHAH!”Agrrrrfishi did not cry though. Instead she sat on her bed and devised a plan with a kit ordered from Muse magazine…
    After stuffing the items into a bright knit knapsack, she picked the lock using an Aeiou-Patented bobby pin. Then, she crept quietly, in Bo-Moofuzzy Slippers across the grimy floor that the Sibinator never bothered to clean. She burned a hole through the door with a Urania Brain Power laser. After crawling through the door, she crept behind the Sibinator and cried, “Surprise!” The Sibinator leapt from his seat and tried to grab Agrrrfishi, but missed. Agrrrfishi hit the Sibinator over the head with a Chad electropower Mega club, and read him some of Crraw’s poetry, which pained as much as the club. She then pied him with Superpower Koko knockout-brand pies, and wrapped him in Feather’s un- breakable Spike weed. Good prevailed, and Agrrrfishi won the computer(finally) after a lot of hard work. Muse helps to save the day again!

    THE END

    like it?
    ~Wheeeeeeeee! Agrrrfishi

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