War Dreams, Chapter 6

Siarah GASPED and sat up. She looked around as she reaches up to test her neck, her breath in ragged bursts. Slowly she starts to understand that she is back in the cavern. She tears back the blanket and dashes for the door, her hands over her mouth. Twisting out of the doorway, she drops to her knees and crawls to the longer grasses. Vomiting repeatedly, the woman fights back a swell of panic over her inability to breathe through the bile spewing out.  

A bird lands besides her, eying her for a minute. It was one of the smaller ravens, probably trying to earn honor by watching Siarah, and finally saw a chance for that. It leaps into the air, taking flight into the woods. It’s noisy cawing announcing its urgency to its brethren, the sound retreating as it plunges into the dark foliage. 

Soon, the Raven King emerges, its mighty wings making short work of the distance, the flap of the wings followed by his court, for all the birds were of a curious nature. They were as fascinated by the little girl as their king, and even more entranced by the kings reaction to her. The king cuts low to the ground as he nears Siarah's home, changing to human, and then adjusting his body down to Siarah's size as his feet land in the grass. He scoops up water from the rain bowl, and brings it to the little lass. 

"Siarah, what is the matter?" Gregeori takes advantage of the situation to touch the girl for the first time, helping to rinse her mouth, and then lifting her into his arms to carry her back into her home. As he nears the bed, Siarah starts to flail, fighting him, refusing to go near the bed. He looks at her in confusion, and backs away to the doorway, where he presses his back against the wall and slides down until he is sitting, and she is upon his lap. She is crying and burying her head into his neck. Gregeori pats at her awkwardly, and stares at the orb. This was not how he ever dreamed their first touch or hug would be like. His fingers tangle in her hair, and he nuzzles into her, unsure of how to comfort her.

Several times, when she started to calm down, something would set her off, and they would be back outside, her throwing up and him rinsing her off. Finally, he gave up hauling her inside, and just held her outside. The ravens around the couple stare quietly, with one or two slipping off to share the news to the others. Soon, the wall of cliff where Siarah’s home was nestled was covered in ravens of all sizes. With a single look, Gregeori motioned to the ravens to find food, to find things to ease Siarah’s pain. Many took off with a cawing to accomplish the tasks. Several taking buckets – those with the king’s blood, those who could shift. They would see to a warm bath for the girl.

When Siarah can no longer stand, and there is nothing in her stomach to leave, Gregeori picks her up, brushing back her hair to wipe her lips and offer more water. That is when the bruises around her neck were exposed to him and his court. Dark bruises the size of a warrior’s hand mar the pale skin around her neck. Seeing that, he roars - or would roar, the roar quelled inside of him instead of where he would scare Siarah. The court of birds behind him held no such respect, and cawed, flapping their wings in dismay and taking flight in short circles of agitation.

He lifts her to standing and starts to inspect her despite her tired and feeble attempts to push him away. The torn nails were discovered, and more bruising on her arms and legs, to his confusion. "What happened, Siarah? When did you do this?" He held up the hands, his eyes looking into hers.

She tugs at her hand, trying to hide them as she does her neck and the exposed body. She looks away, blatantly lying to her friend. "I did this gardening the other day." She reaches for the torn dress, too weak to put it on, and rests it over her breasts, feeling ashamed.

Gregeori, knowing her patterns, wanted to shake her and scream "LIAR" but instead he points out quietly, "It rained for two days straight, and then the battle before your doorstep happened. Your hands would have healed. Siarah, I am here to help, but you need to tell me the truth"

  

Siarah does not believe the truth, so she stares off into the distance. The birds who were gone when this happened were starting to trickle in, setting their gifts and supplies off to the side as they sense the agitation in their king. Gregeori crosses his hands, standing behind her, waiting. His anger at the harm done to her scares everyone in the area, including him. Better to sit back, better to give him time to cool, and Siarah time to gather her thoughts.  

War Dreams, Chapter 5

While Gregeori watched over the lass, she was not resting. What he saw as a sleeping form was only a shell. Her mind had slipped back into the orb the second her mind relaxed into slumber. The orb pulled at her, demanding her attentions. They were attached, or perhaps, she was too weak to protect herself as the Raven King was. So inwards she slipped, her mind being pressed into the chaotic tunnel of feelings and odd swirling colors until she wanted to beg and stop the ride. Her head pounded and her stomach was queasy from the eternal spinning. 

She landed on her back, staring up into a grey haze. Her body was in a strange form, there were no soft gossamer wings pulling at the muscles in her back. She felt big, and bulky. She raised her hands to look at them, and the fingers were clean – the nails buffed. There was no dirt embedded in them, no breaks from the gardening. These were courtesan hands, all soft and polished. She struggled to sit up, confusion on her face as she peered down at what she wore. She had human clothing on, a white dress, similar to that which the women of the towns wore on their mating day. Her feet were clad with soft silk slippers, already starting to turn grey from the dampness of the ground. She stared at herself in confusion, and then reached up to determine what made her hair so heavy. Flowers adorned her hair in a circlet, a mixing of lilacs and lilies that scented the air around her as she pressed into the circlet. She pulled her knees to herself and wrapped her arms around her knees. She studied the area, trying to figure out what or where she was.

The area around her was grey. Like most of the colors were washed out by the cold humidity. Fog gathered around the ground and at her ankles, the chilly moisture causing goose bumps. The air was not quite a mist, and definitely not a rain, but the moisture felt like a damp sponge, clinging to her face and making small rivulets of water as it collected. Soon her hair clung to her face and dress as the water soaked into the tresses.

The trees in the distance were bent and warped things, as if they were rotting while still alive. The softness beneath her feet and bottom was not grass, but moss, washed out, and heavily fed on the rotting plants and moisture. No birds chirped their greetings, no squirrels, or other creatures went about their duties. The place was silent. Deadly silent. She rubbed at her arms. This was not what she expected at all.

She bent over, struggling to stand up. The dress was bulky and she was not use to the material tangling about her knees and ankles. She tripped a couple times, falling to her hands and knees before she successfully stood up. She gathered the dirty and wet skirt into her hands, lifting it up enough so that she could easily walk without stumbling over the fabric. Picking a direction, she started walking; somewhere there was a man that needed her. At least she thought, optimism always her beacon in the worst of times.

From behind her, the man appeared. He grabbed at her, choking her with his arm. His sudden grab lifting her off the ground, her feet flailing out in a panic. Siarah reached back, clawing in a panic at what held her. Her fingers made contact and raked three deep welts into the face of that which grabbed her. Her breath was in short bursts of stolen air. Harder she fought the assailant, twisting to the left and right, pulling at the arm and kicking with all her power. One slipper fell to the ground in her fight, her toes splayed out in her panic.

 

The man's breath is hot on her ear, and he rasped into it "Who are you. Where are we?" Siarah, continued to gasp for her very life, did not answer. Her fingers plied at the tight hold around her neck, the nails cutting into the bare skin of the man. His body was pressed against hers, every muscle felt in a hot heat against her wet clothing. Her foot kicked out and back again, making contact with his kneecap. He growled in pain and threw her to the ground before him.

 

Siarah tried to crawl away, dragging in deep breaths of the wet air. Her hands scrambled uselessly forward, the dress impeded her knees and movement. The man reached down and grabbed Siarah. Flowers scattered as the crown falls from her hair, the man's heel grinding into the petals as he moved in rhythm with the struggling.

 

She scratched again at his face as her body is lifted and flipped. Siarah could feel on nail tear off her finger, the blood mingling into the blood from the man’s face. She twisted her body to roll away as he moved to straddle her. His hand went to her throat again, pressing in tightly as he brought his bleeding face to her. Again he growled out to her “Who ARE you? What is this place?” Siarah, finally seeing the man’s face managed to gasp out “Siarah. I am Siarah. Here to help..”

The scent of the flowers was the last thing that Siarah remembered, her eyes starting to bulge, her fingers slowing their struggle, and her feet lose their kick. The man’s hand released her, too late to get any more answers, too late to know where he was. The two stayed like this, the living dead staring down at the dead. Pale pink drops of blood dropped onto Siarah’s face, the moisture mixing with the wounds upon his skin. Now that the struggle was over, the fog crept back, seeping into the area like ooze. Soon Siarah’s dead body was covered, no longer visible to the man.

Standing up in a fluid movement, the man stared forward. His fingers gripped tightly in fists, the body at his feet forgotten. The fog crept higher, reaching the man's knees. The place faded to black, as if the last hope of sunlight was taken with the girl when she died. The final smell of the flowers lost to the uncaring man.

War Dreams, Chapter 4

Siarah is an enigma. Man started creeping into the land of her clan for years now, and the clan accepted it, tucking themselves deeper into their recesses, and interacting with man as they saw fit. Now, man wanted it as theirs along with other men. White men with red hair fought against darker skinned, darker haired men. The darker men were savages without armor, fighting with primitive tools and winning at this battle. They used magic as their weapons. They weakened the paler men with their spells. The army, led by the man who wielded the sword of gems, was slowly being decimated. This was not quite a good thing.

Despite their greed, the paler humans cared for the earth and accepted those who were not like them – the fae in all their shapes. The paler humans wanted the land, but they wanted the land fertile and bountiful. They were aware of over burdening the land, which is why their continual greed for the land grew. They were worse than the rats and rabbits in their ability to reproduce.

The darker savages raped the lands that they called theirs. They took the harvests and did not feed the soils. They took the magic of the air and earth and did not wait for it to replenish. The lands they claimed turned dark and dead, their people hungry and mewling for more. They did not understand or care to understand, how to repair the earth. They saw the lush lands of the paler men and coveted it. They fought, bringing dead to life, sucking the forces from the trees, air, and even the magical beings of the land.

This is why Siarah’s clan had left the area. They sought to protect the dwindling numbers of their family. They sought shelter in the other lands left untouched. Even those were becoming overloaded, a draw on the resources. They would not be able to stay here forever.

Yet, Siarah stay when her family fled the land for safety. She stayed because of a dream she swears the spirits sent to her. She watched the battles from the sidelines, not knowing he watched over her. She never flinched or turned away from the damage man wrought upon each other or the land. She studied every face that came before her, and every one of the men upon the fields. Gregeori knew that when she got home from the forays that she would throw up, and cry for hours. She was not as strong as she showed outside of her cavern. How he wished that she would go now, now that her part of the dream was fulfilled, go back to her family. Even as he wished that, his gut clenched. His mind screamed "Mine! MY jewel!"

He clenched his hands and clenched his teeth. How he wished that he were the one resting where that orb lay. Finally, the dawn came, and Gregeori shifted into his raven form, hopping to the bed for one last look. With the orb and the weapon found, he guessed that would be the last time he would see her. He plucked out a feather and laid it on her pillow, hoping that she would see it, and take it with her on her journey to her family. He hoped that she would not forget him. Finally, he steeled himself, knowing she would wake soon, and with a final glance, he took off, out of the small cavern and into the air. He refused to look back, not even to see if she followed him.

War Dreams, Chapter 3

A smallish raven, probably one of the lowest in the flock by the amount of lost feathers and exposed, scarred skin; hopped in front of the Raven King. The raven bobs its head, talking to the king in the language of birds. The cawing, which is all Siarah heard, translated roughly to "We have found the man, a powerfully built man, the mighty sword with three red gems found in his hand." The little raven hops from one foot to the next in its excitement of delivering the word to its king. "The others allowed me to carry its soul to you" With these words the raven looked like it was about to burst as a round object made its way up its throat, and the bird regurgitated a glowing copper ball upon the graveled ground by Siarah.

Utter astonishment crosses Siarah's face, and then dismay as she looks upon the ball at her feet. Not touching the object, she whispers, "He was dead? What am I to do with this? The dream never showed me this!"

"Dreams do not always show everything my dear" The King cawed, trying to be gentle, but in his heart, he was glad that the man was not man at this point. "If I recall, the dream you told me about simply had you seeking the man during the war. You fulfilled that in the last three years, and you stood here watching the battle in which he perished. You have found him. Now, lass, will you leave these lands? Will you join your people once again?"

Siarah still stared at the ball; a line of wetness etched her tired face, a silent mourning. Quietly she picks up the coppery orb, amazed that it is warm under her hands. She looks pensively into the swirling lights and feels herself start to drift. She had fallen in love with the man in her dreams, seeing that he and her would save the lands and bring back her people. That together they could reunite man and fae again. She mourned not only his passing, but also the future she had built up in her heart and mind.

The raven king, seeing the lass start to slip into the orb without realizing the danger, pushes at her hands with his beak "Whoa now! Dangerous trip you were about to make. Do not look into its lights; you will not like the results!" This startles the small fae, and the ball rolls out of her fingers back to the ground. “To look so deeply into the orb of a soul, will cause you to travel to that soul. You will stay trapped there, trapped until the ravens deliver the orb safely to the Summerland. Your body would be a shell, left to rot without you there to protect it, and you would not be able to pass into Summerland, nor back to these lands. You would not even be a ghost.”

Siarah looks at the orb that was resting before her toes, and wipes away the tears on her face. She looks up at the mighty king, whose bird size is a few inches taller. “I will not look into the orb, not without someone there to protect me.” The king looked satisfied, and leans over to preen gently at the little woman. He stands guard beside her to watch the battlefield, his ravens, and what he is starting to deem as his – Siarah.

When the ravens have left to complete their otherworldly tasks, Siarah took the coppery ball into the cavern. Her little hands could barely wrap around the orb, and it swirled in warm eddies upon her palms. Lying back down upon her mossy bed, she studied the orb, ever so careful to keep her mind shielded. Soon she drops back to sleep, weary from the activities of the night.

Outside, without her knowledge, the Raven King has flown back, shifting to his human form and then using his magic to adjust his shape to match the small fae’s size. Slipping into her cavern, no further than the door, Gregeori gives a silent sigh and sits with his back against the wall. He has been doing this almost nightly, ever since the war of man moved closer and closer to Siarah's abode.

Gregeori scowls at the orb that rested on a mossy pillow beside her. How he wished that man had never graced the lands near Siarah. His human form is almost alien to him; he stares at his bare feet wondering what Siarah sees in the man within the orb. The human male body is not that well built. It is gangly with long awkward bones and so many soft areas to protect. Nothing for warmth either. No wonder clothing was so important. How man can lift heavy weapons, don clothing of metal is beyond his concept. The ravens dined upon the dead, taking their souls to the Summerland. There was no need for the metals left behind.

ScumFlash: We needs more slogans!

Remember this? http://scumbase.blogspot.nl/2012/07/scumflash-making-up-our-own-damn-rules.html

This month's theme is up a few days late ... oops.  I'd like to thank Ciciz for the inspiration as well as Aaylia for February's bit of brilliancy.

I'm looking for some more slogans for The Scumbase .. Ghettoboss likes it when I have to bend my brain around a concept that you've come up with.  I picture him sitting back in his gold throne with his feet resting upon Alyxyn, whom he has forced to be his coffee table, drinking something horrid and giggling.  There's also scratching, belching and passing of gas involved, but I'm not sure if its Alyxyn or Ghetto.

Even though I'd like to think I'm a bottomless well of creativity, the truth is that a number of you have provided cleverness and I've simply wrapped graphics around your words, ideas or deeds.   If I haven't used something you've previously suggested, its because I don't yet have a good idea how to present it .. or may not ever - quotes from Snakes on a Plane don't tend to lend themselves to subtlety.

I'd love it if you'd apply your own twisted sense of fun to our monthly graphic header .. give us a slogan we can use, remembering that we have to keep it fairly short for it to work. I'd like to work with the Round One Memes, phrases, sound-alike words also work.

Thanks for your help!

Io

War Dreams, Chapter 2

Siarah sat there in a fine fettle, her chin cushioned by her fist upon her knees. Hours passed and still she sat, her mind far away, straining to make sense of the calling given to her. So deeply she mulled her thoughts that even the sticky dew or the warm glow of dawn's first rays through the darkness of night did not stir her from her reverie.

High above, a lone raven circled the aftermath of the carnage, watching the lass as she meditated. She had become a fixture to the feast, a curiosity at first and now a fascination. His fascination was not his alone. His entire realm was developing an unhealthy relationship with her, guarding her home as she slept; monitoring her while she waited in the shadows of the fights, alerting him to her needs and distresses.

His obsession was increasing with every visit she made to the battlefields; slowly she was becoming the prized gem that he coveted. He was even becoming jealous of the dream person that she sought, wishing to be the one that filled her dreams as she slumbered. Irritated at his thoughts, the king gave a mighty CAW as he floated in the cool morning air. Yet, instead of joining his flock as he should, the king landed in a pine tree not far from Siarah.

Another one was in the tree as well, the fair princess of Cloidthe, of the Northern Forest, and the closest friend of Siarah. To look upon this maiden was like watching a flower blossom from its dewy bud into a breathtaking flower. Her golden hair waved around her face, a single band of copper laid upon her head denoting her office. Her tan skin flushed in the cool air, and she turned to acknowledge the Raven King. "We meet again, Sir" before turning her worried eyes upon her friend. Quiet settled between the two for a few moments before the princess spoke again, "She is starting to worry me, I fear what will happen if she does not find this man soon, and at the same time I fear what changes this man will bring if she does.”

The Raven King did not speak for a long time, his dark eyes watching the princess, for she was truly beautiful, but not like Siarah. Meolin was the most delicate of fine porcelain where Siarah was the tough metal flagon that whets a man's thirst. "She has sought him for over three years. Her hope is starting to weaken, look upon her now, and see. Be the loyal friend she needs, and do not tarry too long in these lands."

Meolin nodded her head at the king's wise words and made her way down the tree, her bare feet finding easy purchase upon the wide branches and her agile acrobats quickly landed her beside her friend. Together the women sat for a while, held tightly to one another in comfort. As Siarah started to relax, Meolin stood, and guided her friend away from the carnage of man. The two slipped slowly into the dawning mists, and out of the sight of the Raven Kings protective watch.

That night, the dreams took a new turn. The sounds of battle louder than ever, causing Siarah to toss and turn upon her lofty bed of moss, crying in fear of the horrible slaughter happening. She could hear the swords clang and the grunts of men, their war cries loud upon the air. Siarah could take no more and sat straight up in her bed, looking about in a sleepy fog. She shook her head trying to get the sounds of the night to banish from her mind, but the sounds remained, echoing in the lass's chamber. Wrapping a thick blanket around her, Siarah slid off her bed and padded to the opening of the cavern that she called home. In the night, the war had landed upon her doorstep and she watched the many dances of death with a morbid fascination. Slowly, body after body succumbed to exhaustion or the skill of the opponent, until only a handful of wounded men stood, leaning against heavy bastard swords, and breathing in the night air in huge gulps. One man started up a warrior’s cheer, one that burned the last of his adrenaline and cited their victory in this battle. Another man echoed the cry and soon all those left were adding in their voices. It was like watching a pack of wolves braying to the moon.

As the group of warriors left the area, carrying what wounded they could, Siarah waited, watching the sky for the ravens. She knew they would come, and it did not seem right to step out into the field without the presence of the raven's King. When he was around, she felt safer on the field of the dead. Therefore, she stood there, watching over the dead through the last of the night until the dawn breached the skyline, and the sounds of the birds drew close. The king flew right to her doorway as if he knew right where she was, and landed at her feet. "Your princess worries, Siarah. Let my birds search the field as we work. You stand guard with me, keep this old king company, and tell me what is so important of this man. Why is he more than all your friends and family, who you have refused join. What answers do you think will be filled by finding him?" The king was quite serious, and for the first time, Siarah felt compelled to stay and share with the king. She nodded her head, the sleep tousled hair bouncing with the nod. "Let your ravens seek."

I promised Ghettoforce I would start writing again. So what I am going to do is take an old story I started in NanoWritMo, and complete it. Feel free to comment, edit, make fun or help guide the story along with ideas and input. It makes the writing more fun when I get this feedback. We will see if I can complete this story that I once started.

War Dreams, Chapter 1

The sounds of war were fading into the setting sun. The settling dust coating the blood soaked bodies of the dead, their glazed eyes left ever staring into the heavens. Moans, a sad wail, pleas to a far-off lover broke the silence, but eventually all was quiet.

Fog seeped through the bloody grasses to envelop the bodies in a damp shroud. The flit of many wings grew louder as the ravens came to perform their duties to their Gods, to carry the deeds of these warriors to the heavens. As the flock landed amongst the dead and dying, a figure stepped out from her hiding spot. Barely larger than a man’s hand, her clothing was made of soft spider webs that clung to her slender body. The sharp contrast of her raven-black hair made her skin all the paler in the shadows of the evening. In her hand, she carried a spear fashioned from a silver fork, stolen from the world of man many months ago.

Perched upon the hilt of a sword thrust into the ground, the largest of the ravens sat, not partaking with his brethren in the feast offered by the carnage. Grey feathers marked his crown and though his once bright eyes clouded with age, his mind was sharp as ever.

“Again you prowl through the dead Siarah?” the raven cawed, “You will never find that what you seek! It was a dream! Go home and be away from these sights! Be away from that which is our due!”

The woman stood firm, her chin jutting out in a silent show of anger, her green eyes snapping in ire at the bird. “Tease me as you will, but I know in my heart that I have to find the man. He is critical to the future of all our worlds”.

Wings spread wide as he took to the air, the Raven King laughed, his words fading as he flew to oversee his flock “Critical? Men only destroy young one. Even when they create, they destroy. Look upon the ruin they have brought to themselves, you will fare no better if you persist in this fool’s errand… leave this place like the rest of your kind”.

In spite of the old raven’s warning, Siarah searched among the fallen, careful not to disturb any that might be feasting. As the bird had said, it had been a dream, but it was a dream that had occurred every night since the human war claimed the lands of her home. Such a dream must have meaning, must be prophetic and so it was her duty to see it through.

The memory of the dream she had come to know so well over the course of the last three years night’s was clear: a powerfully built man with bright blond hair and freckled skin, he would fall in battle and she would find him. She would know him by the mighty sword that he wields – A sword so large that two hands strained to swing it. Three red rubies were nestled into the pommel of the hilt with a gold inlay of three birds twisting their flight around the gems. Somehow, she knew that in this, there was hope for her homeland.

Silently, she moved from body to body between the pools of blood already congealing in the open air. The ravens were efficient though, and all too often eyeless faces stared soullessly into the night. Long after the birds were gone, she searched until every one of the dead was examined.

Frustrated, the tiny fae moved to rest on a mushroom peeking from the edge of the forest; another battle whose end she had witnessed, and yet still the prophecy remained unfulfilled. Doubt filled her, “Perhaps it was as the raven king stated - only a dream?”

IF YOU PLAY.. EVEN ONE GAME, THIS IS WORTH IT. DONATE A LITTLE MONEY - WHICH GOES TO ONE OF THREE CHARITIES, AND GET A BUNDLE OF GAMES! IT IS CROSS PLATFORM, AND ACCESSIBLE THROUGH STEAM AND NOT.  WHY NOT HELP A KID, OR A FAMILY -- WHILE GETTING A BIT OF A GAMING FIX WHILE YOU ARE AT IT?

humblebundle.com

A Ghettoforce Pep Talk

Babbling Decapitation Contest

I had this great idea of using these pictures to tell a story. The story of awwwwww but I took these pills, all 40 by my math ...

Thinking they would help my brain, and instead I became super pregnant - hatching out enough minions to train, soon to take over the throne (watch out Ghetto, they grow fast!)

Sadly, one of them got hurt, and I spend a long time nursing the little puss back to health. While she recovered, I taught her how to play the game, pushing the buttons and looking excited to flushing things down in the toilet.

My other little chickadee was a hero, a boy that even as a kid rescued girls, even using skates to do it. See what a family I raised?

Sadly my story is about to end. I can hear the mighty warlord yelling from the loo, pissed cause he cannot do his daily duty and flush, or retrieve his prizes....

Soo.. I will leave you with today's picture. Enjoy it and let the captions and meme's appear with great haste!

Decapitation Contest

Are we ready for a new week and a new contest? These guys are! They are breaking away from their busy Shakes and Fidget game and Spot of eternal VirginityDom to stare upon the pictures I offer, and attempt to beat Kamisama's win of the weeks before.

Can you see Kami, Ghetto, g33k and schnebbs there?? I can! Totally. Ahem.

Anyway.... here are the photos. Pick one.. or all of them. Relate them to the Scumland of The Severed Tongue... if you cannot see these well enough, here is the original link: http://imgur.com/gallery/UoRu8

Just cause we all love it .....

WINNNNNNNER!!!

Yes yes yes.. we have a winner. Finally the Biased Judges have spoken. The caption contest has a winner. one with hands down, undefeated for weeks now. Yes folks. give a round of applause to ......

KAMI!

Their meme using the LoTR and their reactions to the love affair of Nargipoo and Ciciz was the ultimate in classic. To him we bow our heads and admit. We are not worthy!!

Next week will start a new series of fun from Mistress AAylia. What ever shall it be?

Decapitation Contest

Today I decided to delve into the dark side of Mordor ... and the evils that people do when they are obsessed with the doing of creatures of imagination. The first is gentle, an amusing antidote of a DM that tries so very very hard to get his group of roleplayers to seriously embark on his epic journey into Mordor. This story is even more funny by the comments under the comic itself, and the recollections of the readers.

DM of the Rings

As I continued my journey into the heart and soul of obsession, a very creative woman tells the truth about the whole tale, uncovering those hidden diaries that Cassandra Claire wrote an epic series of blogs, which should come with a warning, what is once read cannot ever be UNREAD... Enjoy!

The VERY Secret Diaries

So here is the challenge I offer to you this week. Take this simple picture (or pick another of the lovely fellowship of the ring) and imagine if they were planted in the guild of The Severed Tongue for the week, trapped in the glen where we live, watching our battles. WHAT would they say. What is their reaction? perhaps tell a bit of background - explain what happened in guild chat to get that reaction. Have fun, get silly, and lets see if we can stand up to these two excellent creators of the ditties I showed above.

Decapitation Contest

Your goal for the week - if you choose to take this mission ..... Caption the above photo!

Decapitation Contest and results from last week

First a Brief message from our advertisers .....

Now back to our contest winners from last week! wait... another commercial...

ok ok ok no more commercials!!  Our winner is... drumroll please? 

Ghettoforce! with "wall of wonders!" and "wetness has its price"

Our runner up was Kamisama for going the ultimate mile with a Meme made!

YAY!!! --inserting a ton of cheering here-- Pick your prizes up at the door over there...

Now on to this weeks contest: lets see you put a caption to this!

Decapitation Contest!

So I figured, enough blathering, and what a fun way to get people to poke fun at things. So I am offering a contest. Weekly winners will be granted a free overnight stay at one of our luxury dungeons scattered through out the lands.

Goal: Write a unique caption for the picture below, be creative and have fun!
Rules: Keep the language safe for work! All captions need to be in by Wednesday, winners will be revealed on Thursday, after a lengthy 'dancing by the stars' prologue - giving a mere taste of the delights that will wait in one of the dungeons the winner will visit.

This weeks contest photo:

Tired Knot

The mistress had lots of homework and real life mucking today, so I thought I would share some lighthearted stuff about knots with you. Enjoy, and I will be back next week to share with you how to tie the warlord to his throne...

arms and legs entwined

he loves me, he loves me knot

yes he says, he does

(Love Knot, by L. K. Thayer)

There were three pieces of rope wandering in the desert. They were very hot and thirsty. They came upon a bar and one went in. He asked for a drink and the bartender said, 'read the sign buddy we don't serve ropes.' 

'Oh come on just this once', the rope asked again. 

The bartender said 'nope', so the rope left. 

The second rope figured he was a bit better looking and maybe the bartender would soften a little and let him have a drink. He went in and asked for a drink, the bartender shook his head and said 'Hey Buddy, it's just like I told  your friend we don't serve ropes here.' 

Dejected the rope left the bar.

The 3rd rope heard both of their stories, thought for a moment. Then he rolled himself into a knot and fluffed the edges so it was a little frayed. The third rope went into the bar like this and asked for a drink. 

The bartender asked, 'Hey are you a rope?' The 3rd rope looked down at himself and said 'Nope, I am a frayed knot!'

How to Tie a Monkey's Fist

One of the hardest or most tedious knots to make properly is the Monkey's Fist. This was originally made by sailors to help weight a rope to throw a greater distance (easier to capture and board a ship, if one was a pirate!)

In Girl Scouts, the knot is made and given to a person that you feel is a mentor, that emulates the meaning of the program. I personally have received four knots in my facilitating career from girls and adults.

I see this knot being helpful for the Scum as we go to pillage castles, throwing the weighted line to the turrets, to climb and breach the mighty walls. I see us able to take to the seas, to pillage and raze all the weaker ships! And of course, It makes a great toy to bonk one another in the bar -- got to do something more than dwarf tossing!

how to Tie a Handcuff Knot

So it has been a busy week - and as I traveled, I thought about how I could capture that bad guy that lurks upon my plane...
Ok I wasn't playing hero in my dreams, just mistress! But the knot I teach you this week is an important one all the same.

It is used as a restraint or a binding tool. Hunters use it to tie deer's legs and haul them from the forest. Firefighters use it to help them with getting people out of buildings (especially when getting them from higher spots) amazingly police do not tend to use it, as it tightens easily but does not loosen as nicely.

I figure it is time that we learn this knot, and then we go after them there Endless buggers, Get us something to play with in my dungeons. Unless I have volunteers in the scum?