Paradox - Words for the Dying

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Chévre-feuille - We feed the figs to a yak! says:
(Now here is the IC window, that's what)

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Jon has been added to the conversation.

Chévre-feuille - We feed the figs to a yak! says:
(Jon, get your *** back in the IC window )
Jon says:
it's doing it again! >_<
Lord Inquisitor De Veredi, Ordo Libri says:
Melchior arrived in the entry hall of the Mage's Tower. Stupid fools, taking me away from my fun. Melchior walked toward the large, silver that led to the council hall. When he entered, he found the hall empty. Melchior looked around for any sign of life. "Are you looking for the council?" "What gave you that idea," he retorted. "They are in the foundation hall." Melchior stared at the mess
Lord Inquisitor De Veredi, Ordo Libri says:
enger. The foundation hall, that wouldn't happen except under the most dire of circumstances. He sighed, not wanting to waste magic, he began to climb the stairs that led to the 36th floor.
Chévre-feuille - We feed the figs to a yak! says:
~Claudia stared at the man blankly for a moment before comprehending. Finally, a sharp, incredulous smile cut her delicate features, glinting dangerously in her cerulean eyes.~ You just don't give up, do you? ~Before he had a chance to reply, she was on her feet, the food left forgotten on the step, one hand extended to push him against the wall across the alleyway.~ What's this obsession with
Chévre-feuille - We feed the figs to a yak! says:
talking, anyway? Can't a man like you - a man who hides money in his armor and wears - what is this, an imperial medallion? - find some royal sycophant with nothing better to do than *talk?* Why do you need to follow around some prostitute from the street, exactly?
Jon says:
*A familiar smile graces his face. "Well so far, following you has been far more exciting than chatting with royalty." He fingers his medallion, his face a little more grim. "And I'm not so sure I'm welcome in the royal halls anymore, not that I much liked them, or the fool sthat inhabited them." His smile returns "I go where the wind takes me, and now, it has brought me to you. I do not claim to
Jon says:
understand the ways of the universe, nor claim that there are ways, but here I am and here you are. Not to mention the latter wouldn't be if not for me."*
"Make me a sammich" is not the right way to ask for food. says:
Up one street, down another. Past vendors and mothers ushering their children around like ducklings Rhial sprints, ducking into every shadow she can find and doubling back a good few times before she hides in an alleyway, completely out of breath and hiding as far from the street as she can. The guards' voices fade away, still shouting to arrest the murderer and lock her up. Foolish. All this tro
"Make me a sammich" is not the right way to ask for food. says:
trouble for a simple meal.
Lord Inquisitor De Veredi, Ordo Libri says:
"Too many stairs at my age," Melchior huffed. He stood at the threshold of the foundation hall. It was here the magic that held up the tower was centered. As he entered the chamber, he noticed eight imperial guards standing next to the door. "Yet again, you are late." "You really should watch mouth, white robe." "You dare talk to the Highmage in such a manner?" "I believe I just did, you
Lord Inquisitor De Veredi, Ordo Libri says:
fool." "We summoned you here to stand trial for crimes against magic and its users." "What! Me, commit crimes against my life's blood." A blue robed figure walked out from the shadows. A Imperial officer. This is going to be an interesting trial, Melchior thought as he planned his defense.
Chévre-feuille - But I remember you, and I will relate to you how our histories interweave says:
~She smiled mockingly, pressing close against him, though the armor impaired the effort somewhat.~ Not "welcome in the royal halls?" So you're a failed member of the imperial court? But then why would you keep this little trinket, soldier? ~She hooked a slender finger under the cord of the medallion and tugged gently, her gaze fixed on his.~
Jon says:
*He was startled by his own, however slight, stumbling of thought as this beautiful woman pressed against him. It had truly been too long since he had found any female companion that intreged him. "Not failed, betrayed."*
"Make me a sammich" is not the right way to ask for food. says:
As a few searchign guards walk past, Rhial flattens herself against the wall, cursing her luck and the black robe that had set these men on her all at once. Now she'd be lucky if she could find work at all, much less anything that wasn't an insult to her occupation as a mercenary. "Damn it all...." Another glance at the streets and Rhial finally sighs and slips off, down a connected alleyway.
"Make me a sammich" is not the right way to ask for food. says:
She'd try to find some place to hide herself until all this ruckus died down...
Lord Inquisitor De Veredi, Ordo Libri says:
"This is sickening. You have become the Empire's lapdog. You sacrifice our Art for a corrupt government. This is shameful." "You are guilty." "No chance to prove that you are wrong?" "No, you will be executed for crimes against the crown. Guards seize him!" Melchior looked above him at the red glass globe. This orb, like the magic he used was delicate. Spells could not be cast in here for
Lord Inquisitor De Veredi, Ordo Libri says:
fear of destroying the orb, which was the foundation for the tower. Melchior summoned his staff, he leaned back and threw it with all his might at the orb. Let this work, he thought. The staff pierced the orb, shadow and light streaming from the cracks the staff created. "Farewell, you bastards. May the gods of magic forgive me."
Chévre-feuille - But I remember you, and I will relate to you how our histories interweave says:
Oh? ~Still gazing straight into his eyes, she slipped a hand up around the cord of the medallion.~ You betrayed the empire? What could possibly possess you to do something so stupid? ~Her mocking laugh was now somewhat gentle, but this was likely because she was attempting to keep him distracted as she felt for a knot in the cord.~
Jon says:
*He grabbed her hand. "No one touches my medallion." All the lightheartedness drained from his face. "And no one insults my family." He shoved her off of him. "I thank you for the excitement, but now I must be on my way. Have yourself a good life Whore." He started off and got only a few steps before he saw a large... explosion? engulf the top of the magician's tower. Good, the emperor's powerful
Jon says:
playthings are gone. I can only hope they were all in there. Then it struck him. The emperors main tool for peacekeeping was gone... He started to run to the tower. Surely there must be a crowd there.*
Chévre-feuille - I guess we have some time to kill says:
Your... family? ~She was more puzzled by this than angry at being shoved, but her anger swiftly returned as the man strode away. She took only a step after him before the explosion at the top of the tower gave her pause; there would be trouble. Hesitating, she glanced after the man, then picked up her abandoned food and followed him toward the crowd at the tower. As she was not wearing armor and
Chévre-feuille - I guess we have some time to kill says:
was somewhat fleet of foot, she caught up, but slowed before passing him and veered off into the crowd.~
"Make me a sammich" is not the right way to ask for food. says:
The tower was of little concern to Rhial until she heard the gasping and pointing, the overall reaction from the streets. Seeing nothing from where she was hiding, Rhial chances the crowds in the streets and hurries herself toward the tower. "...If the gods smile upon me, that bastard will be in there perishing with all of his dirty lot." She mutters to herself, staring up at the sight among some
"Make me a sammich" is not the right way to ask for food. says:
of the local commoners.
Lord Inquisitor De Veredi, Ordo Libri says:
Melchior ran towards the stairwell where he ascended to the foundation chamber. He proceded to jump while flames flew from the door. He knew his robes were on fire as he fell the 36 stories. As he reached what he thought to be the 10th story, he pulled the only undamaged feather from his robes and chanted. His descend slowed enough for a semi-soft landing. Melchior proceeded to run out the
Lord Inquisitor De Veredi, Ordo Libri says:
silver entrance door into the crowd now gathered around the flaming, now crumbling tower.
Jon says:
*He jumps on top of the tallest cart he can find, ignoring the protests from the vendor. He draws his heron marked sword, and stands, beaming with presence, eyes burning green. "Look what the gods have done to the tower! They burn it! Burn it for it's corruption! It's devotion to the twisted man they call an Emperor! What shall he do without his magicians to do his dirty work? He shall Perish! How
Jon says:
many nights have you all gone to bed hungry? Watched your loved ones suffer from lack of supplies? How many times will you let him get away with this?! As he sits there in his palace, surrounded by his mighty walls. But I tell you, they are the only things mighty about him!
Jon says:
*
"Make me a sammich" is not the right way to ask for food. says:
Rhial starts at the familiar voice, gaze sifting among the people and finally upon the man she'd seen talking with the Companion not an hour ago before all her trouble had started. She edges toward the middle of the crowd, not wanting to be seen by any guards that she assumes will come to investigate the noise. Around her, the citizens begin to stir. Many usher murmurs of agreement for the armor
"Make me a sammich" is not the right way to ask for food. says:
clad man shouting at them while the tower before them crumbles in flame. Still others grow angry at his blatant downtalking of the emperor, muttering that the ruffian should be hanged immediately. Tension buzzes amongst the crowd. "...Well...this is going to get messy.." Rhial looks around her with a sigh.
Lord Inquisitor De Veredi, Ordo Libri says:
Melchior blitzed throught the crowd, his robes burning, searing his flesh. "Get out of my way!" The crowd gave way as the flaming mage ran towards the river. He knew the city would be in an uproar. Let the emperor figure this one out. He also knew the tower would be crumbling soon. Let the crowd get crushed, too many fools as it is. As he approached the river, he noticed guards running in
Lord Inquisitor De Veredi, Ordo Libri says:
his direction. He dove head first into the river, knowing he was about to get arrested.
Chévre-feuille says:
~Claudia caught sight of the woman she had seen with Melchior. A mercenary? She smiled, looking up at the madman shouting on top of the cart. Pulling the pouch of coins from inside her dress, she approached the woman quietly.~ Madam. ~Her voice was clipped and confident, oddly professional and seemingly quite sane.~ Are you willing to take care of something for me? I assure you, the task is small.
Jon says:
*"He sits in his rich palace of plenty whilst you all, his people, have little. I saw we take back the crown and install a worthy leader! He scans the crowd, knowing full well the power of his gaze. He catches sight of Claudia, as well as the black mage running into the river. He notices some guards running towards the crowd. IT took them long enough to get over their fear of my crowd. They are
Jon says:
weak, but a fight is not in order right now. "Forget not what I have said friends. You shall see me again, and we shall accomplish together, for glory for justice, what needs to be done!" He takes off in a dead sprint towrds the river in hopes of catching up to the black robed man.*
"Make me a sammich" is not the right way to ask for food. says:
Rhial watches him speak, not looking at the Companion addressing her. If she was speaking quietly, RHial would not make obvious their conversation. "If you're willing to pay, I'm willing to listen.." Carefully she draws her cloak back far enough to get a better glimpse of her hopefully client. When the man dashes off, the crowd breaks into a buzz and only then does Rhial fully turn to Claudia.
"Make me a sammich" is not the right way to ask for food. says:
"What sort of task would you ask of me?"
Lord Inquisitor De Veredi, Ordo Libri says:
Melchior floated to the surface of the river, his skin burned and his robes in tatters. He knew he didn't have the energy to use his magic, not after his body getting severely burned. He struggled to climb out of the river. He faltered when two imperial guards seized his arms and hoisted him out. "You are in more trouble than you realise, my dark friend." "Oh, I think I know." One guard
Lord Inquisitor De Veredi, Ordo Libri says:
proceeded to hit him with his gauntlet, knocking Melchior out. He was now at the mercy of the Empire.
Chévre-feuille says:
~She raised an eyebrow as the man dashed off, then glanced after him pointedly.~ Catch him. And... ~Her eyes dark with concentration, she withdrew a small vial from the folds of her dress; within glittered a fine turquoise powder.~ Don't let this touch your skin - but make sure it touches his. It will knock him out; hide him somewhere and find me. ~She offers the woman the purse.~ Will this be
Chévre-feuille says:
sufficient? If not - well ~She smiled wryly.~ There's more behind his right breastplate. And he wears a medallion that looks like it might be worth something.
Jon says:
*As he approaches the now unconscious magician, he tosses his remaining short sword with his usual accuracy and catches the right guard right in the face. He drops to the ground without a sound the other guard stands for a second stunned, that second would be his last as he is cleaved in half by a heron marked blade. He grabs the magician, turns around to see if he has any persuit. A quick scan of
Jon says:
the area shows none at the moment, though he knows more gaurds will come as well as some angry loyalists perhaps. He hoists the magician over his shoulder and continues to sprint, at an incredable pace for the added burden. He pats his side to make sure he has his short sword back. He does. Oh boy, this is gonna get rough.*
"Make me a sammich" is not the right way to ask for food. says:
Rhial accepts both the money and the vial. The purse goes into her bag; the vail, into an easily accessable pocket in her cloak. She asks no further questions, but merely nods once. "Stay near the market. I will come back once I've done as you've asked." Rhial leaves no room for arguement with the Companion. Toward the river, hm? Rhial takes off, weaving through the crowd and then making pursuit
"Make me a sammich" is not the right way to ask for food. says:
through the alleys when she can, making sure her route leads her ever closer ot the river. If he was chasing after that blasted black robe, Rhial knows that there will be guards involved. One hand stays close to her dagger as she sprints after him. Perhaps not an easy job, but definitely not so rough that she would turn it down.
Chévre-feuille says:
~Claudia sat down where she was, watching the crowd's antics with something like amusement, and ate the meal the crazy bastard had paid for.~
Jon says:
*he continues to run down the street. Never leaving main roads as they are the quickest way out of town. "Come on you old magician, wake up!" He barrels around a corner and nearly runs right into a horse walking the other way. He takes not time to apologize, just keeps running. He looks over his shoulder again to see persuit, but finds no one he remembers form the crowd, nor any guards.*
"Make me a sammich" is not the right way to ask for food. says:
Rhial catches up enough to see him soon enough. She only gets glimpses of him every so often on the main road as she darts down the alleys before weaving onto the main road again and then back to the shadows. It's slow work, catching up to him, but Rhial does not want to risk being seen until she can no longer help it. She loses track of him when he rounds the corner, looking about before spotting
"Make me a sammich" is not the right way to ask for food. says:
him again and taking off. She skirts around the horse altogether and then sprints directly after him, closing their distance as quickly as she can. One hand grips her dagger's hilt while the other finds the vial in her pocket. She hoped to be quick; fighting with what appeared to be a well established soldier was risky.
Lord Inquisitor De Veredi, Ordo Libri says:
Slowly gaining consciousness, Melchior realises he is moving. "What is going...Hey, I know you. What are you doing?" He suddenly feels extreme pain from his burns. He wearily moves his right arm into the remnants of his robes, finding very few spell components left. Damn, this isn't good. As he finally remembers what happened, he notices a cloaked figure following too quickly. "Put me down
Lord Inquisitor De Veredi, Ordo Libri says:
we are being followed. I have a little strength left," he said preparing to cast one of his favorite spells.
Jon says:
*He sets the magician down. He quickly draws his heron marked blade, finds the figure charging at him, sticks his blade out in front of him as to impale his follower should she not stop.*
Chévre-feuille says:
-=[The gods of the setting would like to remind you all that it is late in the fall afternoon. Hence, the shadows are long, and the sky has begun to burn with the early sunset. As the breeze stirs, the air is beginning to cool.]=-
"Make me a sammich" is not the right way to ask for food. says:
With the mage on his feet again, and the armored man drawing his sword, Rhial slides to a near stop before she gets too close. Within a second she's darting off, scrambling atop a nearby food cart and onto the roof of a nearby home. She doesn't want to be directly in front of any spells, especially after seeing what the others have done with her own eyes. Her dagger is drawn, and Rhial has to
"Make me a sammich" is not the right way to ask for food. says:
think quickly. It is not her objective she is too concerned about. The black robe though...."Come and try it, you pruned old codger!" She shouts from her vantage point, perpared to jump down the other side if need be.
Lord Inquisitor De Veredi, Ordo Libri says:
Melchior, infuriated at the insult, fires his spell. 12 green missiles of energy zoom toward the young whelp. Frowning, he turns to the armored man beside him. "Get me some liquor and I'll regain some energy." Turning back to the cloaked figure, he sneers, "You wait, my friend, you'll get what is coming to you, you wench-spawn!"
"Make me a sammich" is not the right way to ask for food. says:
One small glance is all Rhial needs to sum up the situation. "Fuck!" She scrambles down the roof, leaping off the far side and landing with a roll onto the ground. She pulls her hands over her head and braces for the spell to hit something.
Jon says:
*Ho tosses his last wineskin to to the magician as the building on which the mercenary, and he was sure no ordinary crowd member could move like that, had been standing burst into flames. A shock wave flew over a large portion of area kocking several people down and almost blowing over himself. "Not bad old man. Hope wine is good enough for you cause that is all I have." He turns back to the
Jon says:
burning building and shouts, "It isn't wise to attack a mage and a soldier with nothing other than a dagger. Enough blood has been spilled today. I simply want to talk. Ins't that right Archmagus." He says in a tone forbidding argument.*
Lord Inquisitor De Veredi, Ordo Libri says:
As Melchior finishes off the wineskin, he feels the fire of magic burning again in his soul. "Indeed, you are in no position to attack us." He then a takes a step forward, wincing in pain from his terrible burns. "The greatest, yet most foolish, archmages perished in our tower because of me. It would be wise not try anything that might get you killed." Melchior then noticed it getting
Lord Inquisitor De Veredi, Ordo Libri says:
significantly darker. He knew he would have to be extra careful, given this whelp's ability to move with incredible speed and skill.
"Make me a sammich" is not the right way to ask for food. says:
"I'm not here to attack anyone, save to keep my own life!" Rhial calls back, getting to her feet and easing behind the far wall of what remains of the home in an effort to remain unseen while she can. "And I've no business with you, mage. I learned my lesson back at the market, if you care to recall such trivial things." This was decidedly NOT going according to plan.
Jon says:
*"Don't be foolish. The mage is a man of pride. You insulted him, and now tell him you've no nusiness with him? Well certainly he has business with you. Regardless, we won't hurt you... if you are cooperative. I even have some coin for you. Please show yourself... and remain at a distance."*
Lord Inquisitor De Veredi, Ordo Libri says:
"Yes, do show yourself," he sneered, "Why were you following us and do not lie. If I suspect you do, you will suffer for it." Melchior winced again at his pain. He realised he needed to get to the temple to get some healing. "Tell me your purpose so I might get to the temple before my condition gets any worse."
"Make me a sammich" is not the right way to ask for food. says:
So now they were both keen to her, and there was little place for her to run and get away. Damn it all. It would be dark soon, blessing that it was. If she could stall until nightfall, she'd have a better chance of getting away. Job or no, she was not getting herself killed. "..Fine" She puts away her dagger and steps out from the rubble, hands in view. She moves no closer once she's in sight. If
"Make me a sammich" is not the right way to ask for food. says:
the armored man wanted her at a distance,s he would not argue. All the easier to get away later. "I was paid to follow the speechmaker to his destination and report back to a client." She does not blink, nor hesitate in her answer. It was close enough to the truth, and Rhial is quite capable at lying in her profession.
Jon says:
*Follow the speechmaker and then report back. Mage do you have any toruting spells? She thinks me a fool. Apparently charing headlong into us is her idea of "following" us. Nay, someone paid you for something a little more devious. Who and what, and this time, don't lie. I't won't be good for your health." He pulls out some heavier coins. "I can pay for the information, if it makes things easier..
Jon says:
"*
Jon says:
*torturing
Jon says:
*charging
Lord Inquisitor De Veredi, Ordo Libri says:
Melchior grins, "I suppose if need be, I could cause a lot of torment. When necromancy is your preferred school of magic, you know a lot of dark magic. Now, whelp, I'll give you one more chance to tell the truth or suffer the consequences." Melchior starts muttering, preparing a spell to be used against the cloaked figure.
"Make me a sammich" is not the right way to ask for food. says:
Rhial heaves a sigh, and throws her dagger down at her feet, showing her surrendur. "I dislike compromising my client's wishes, but as I've been paid in full already, I see no reaosn to lose my life over it. A Companion you were speaking with earlier sent me after you with orders to cut of something, ANYTHING of non-vital importance and bring it to her as a souvinier. Whether it was your speech or
"Make me a sammich" is not the right way to ask for food. says:
your previous harrassing of her, I neither know, OR care."
"Make me a sammich" is not the right way to ask for food. says:
*off
Jon says:
*"I can buy that. Though I doubt it's truth. Take us to her, and I shall pay you upon our arrival with her. Simple task. You will remain in front of us, walking the whole way. Well mage, looks like we meet The Whore again. Perhaps this time she will be a little more accomodating..."*
Lord Inquisitor De Veredi, Ordo Libri says:
"I will join you, but first allow me to go to the temple. I fear that I may be of no use if I need to fight in this condition," Melchior says as he looks at the remnants of his robes. "As for you, if you cross either of us, I will kill you and make you a undead servant. No one wants that, no one. If you will excuse me, I must go." Melchior mutters a few arcane words and with a flash of blue
Lord Inquisitor De Veredi, Ordo Libri says:
light, teleports to the temple.
"Make me a sammich" is not the right way to ask for food. says:
Rhial kneels slowly, picking up her dagger and putting it back away. She makes no sudden movements, but shrugs at her target. "Believe what you will. Paranoia is what keeps most men alive." Rhial is glad when the mage leaves, however. If an opportunity presented itself, this mission was still doable. "Alright, sir knight. I will lead you back to town, if that is what you wish of me. As I've said,
"Make me a sammich" is not the right way to ask for food. says:
this is not worth my life."
Jon says:
*"Before we go, tell me our destination and I shall apy you half now."*
Jon says:
*pay
"Make me a sammich" is not the right way to ask for food. says:
It was quite a walk back to the market, Rhial notes. She should eb able to get this done before then...and if not, well, she'd been paid already. LEt these others work out their differences. It was bad taste to not complete the mission...but this was getting altogheter too dangerous. "To the southern way of the market place back in the heart of the city. I am sure guards will be on the look out fo
"Make me a sammich" is not the right way to ask for food. says:
for both me and yourself.."

Chévre-feuille - We feed the figs to a yak! says:
-=[Above the city, a midday sun shines on the rustling autumn leaves. Dying leaves burn crimson and gold, spiraling toward the ground, caught in the gentle wind. Though crowded with people, the streets still seem oddly quiet; a nervous hush has fallen over the city.]=-
Chévre-feuille - We feed the figs to a yak! says:
-=[The river, rippling through the middle of the city, gleams like a ribbon of gold in the bright daylight. To the south and east of the city are gentle hills, brilliant with the varied colors of maples. To the north and west, fertile fields and fresh-painted farmhouses create a peaceful, picturesque landscape. The city itself, though crowded, seems to glow with health and life.]=-
Jon says:
*As he wanders down a certain backroad from his past, he fingers his medallion, wondering if it is safe to keep. He has long since ditched his name, a dangerous name in these areas. He knows the familiar vibe in the crowd and is no stranger to Oration, though, today, he isn't in the mood for adventure*
"You'll suffer the worst from me!" says:
The sunlight doesn't reach every bit of the city. Dark alleyways litter the eddies of the main shopping district and all through the housing. It's hard to say in which hideaways the secret meetings are all meeting, but it has to be done here in the shadows. The tension is far too much out there. One spark and an explosion of chaos would erupt. It is out of one of these alleys that a cloaked person
"You'll suffer the worst from me!" says:
takes in the feel and tension of this place. Still, it is only one more obstacle in the way of a decent meal and some good money.
Lord Inquisitor De Veredi, Ordo Libri says:
Striding through the southern gate, the tall black robe shoves his way through the crowd. He knows that he can not afford to be late for the meeting about to take place; he was in enough trouble with the rest of his kind. Deciding that striding was not enough, he charges headlong into the crowd, hitting anyone who got in his with his staff.
Chévre-feuille - We feed the figs to a yak! says:
~Though she would rather be sleeping, the woman stumbles about in the darkness of her windowless room; she tugs on a dress and brushes her hair blindly. She goes out into the hallway, growls as she trips over a sleeping child, and finally steps out into the blinding, painful sunlight. She awoke with the vague conception that she was supposed to be somewhere, but she can't remember where.~
Jon says:
*He winds his way towards a main street. The sun glints off his recently polished shoulder plates as he steps from the alley. He notices a man robed in black shoving his way through the crowd. He knows htis type. Magicians. He has had to deal with them in the past. Though he has the same innate fear of them as all men, and the respect that accompanies it, he dispises them. They didn't have to earn
Jon says:
their title, their power was inherent. A certain vigor return to his person, as a tinge of anger swells inside him. He, hoever, passes it off and continues on his to no where in peticular*
Jon says:
*his way
"You'll suffer the worst from me!" says:
Taking careful measures to not draw attention to herself wasn't too much of a hassle with the black robe shoving his way through the streets. She makes sure to be quite clear of his path when he strides past, content to smirk at a fool who had stepped in front of the man and had earned himself a good solid clubbing with the staff. So many people off to their own agendas. It shouldn't be too
"You'll suffer the worst from me!" says:
difficult to find a job in a city so on edge as this. She follows the black robe out of curiosity, though at a distance. Perhaps wher ehe was going would lead her to potential...clients.
Lord Inquisitor De Veredi, Ordo Libri says:
"I finally made it," he thought, "Ignorant fools, don't they know I am in a hurry?" The black robe stood before a large, white marble tower. He pulled his hood back, revealing long, white hair, a hooked nose, and grey eyes. He knew that this was merely a formality, but these mages were afraid of their own shadows. The large silver, door opened, the black robe entered into a vast hall with black
Lord Inquisitor De Veredi, Ordo Libri says:
statues of past mages. "Let the fun begin," he cried.
Chévre-feuille - We feed the figs to a yak! says:
~With no recollection of where she is supposed to be, she stops, shielding her eyes with one slender, intricately-scarred hand. She tries to think, but her head aches. Nothing. She feels fuzzy and disconnected. [All right - I'm hungry. I'll eat.] She steps out into the street, then glances down at her dress and realizes there are no pockets. [Very little fabric at all, actually.] She smiles.
Chévre-feuille - We feed the figs to a yak! says:
[Nothing to carry in the pockets anyway, I'm afraid. So I'll improvise.] She glances around; everything seems quite hazy, but she weaves expertly through the crowd anyhow.~
Jon says:
*He wanders down the street, watching the magician. He refuses to call them mages, it makes him feel slightly better about not having their power. He notices another person, seemingly of little importance, following him. He wonders why anyone so meager would follow someone such as this magician. They don't generally take kindly to followers. He decides this is, at the very least, more interesting
Jon says:
then the rest of his day, and continues to watch.*
"You'll suffer the worst from me!" says:
At the sight of the tower, or more specifically, that being the destination of the black robe, Rhial halts immediately, a forwn setting in as the large door shuts after the mage. It had been a solid idea, save for that meetings of -this- sort rarely appreciated outsiders or anyone not from that class. She heaves a sigh before manuevering to a vendor nearby as though she'd meant to go there all
"You'll suffer the worst from me!" says:
along. She could listen for now, but some money for food would be necessary at some point.
Lord Inquisitor De Veredi, Ordo Libri says:
The black robe strides through another silver door at the end of the hall. He slowly ascends a platform, facing a semicircle of the greatest mages of the age. "Archmagus Melchior, you are late," a white robe states. "Late? You should be grateful I came at all, but I suppose the greatest do need to be present." He looks slowly from side to side, seeing the pitiful council he calls his peers.
Chévre-feuille - We feed the figs to a yak! says:
~The woman pauses, her oddly clouded blue eyes catching sight of an certain member of the crowd. Though the city was a busy one, she often recognizes most of the faces, particularly the male ones; this one, however, is unfamiliar. [He seems pretty well-off, too. Strange I haven't encountered him yet. Most of the I-wear-armor-on-perfectly-nice-fall-days types head straight for the taverns when
Chévre-feuille - We feed the figs to a yak! says:
they get into the city.] She changes her direction slightly, slipping past a woman who seems to be disappointed, to approach this other one carefully.~
Jon says:
*he watches the magician disapear into his tower, and watches as the follower heads to a vendor. He decidely puts it out of his mind and continues to walk aimlessly. He looks again at all the people and contemplated, if only a second, whipping them into the frenzy they are just waiting for. He has no particular love of the Empire though he had once served it. He notices a particulary attractive \
Jon says:
female sway towards him. Whore. He has grown an affinity for whores in ciities such as these. They have to be smart, talented, or they will be put out of business. Too many unemployed in such troubled times.*
"You'll suffer the worst from me!" says:
The talk in the city is all the same. Meaningless drivle to keep a barely maintaned order in place around the city. Nothing of importance dares to be said, for fear of upsetting some self righteous denizen just looking for a reason to glorify his cause and start something. Unbearable. She'd never find work like this. Her gaze glides from nobleman to nobleman from behind her cloak, trying to find
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anyone at all that seemed promising. A simple errand would not even be beneath her at the moment, she hates to admit, since her funds have grown rather short of late.
Lord Inquisitor De Veredi, Ordo Libri says:
"This is not right," Melchior screamed, "You would make us spellcasters subservient to the Imperial family. I say no!" "You have no say here, leave." Melchior sneered, he walked slowly off the platform, exiting through the large, silver door. "Fools," he thought as he strode outside. He noticed the sun was very bright. He knew he had to do something to take his mind of the travesty that occu
Lord Inquisitor De Veredi, Ordo Libri says:
red in the mages' tower. He began the walk to the marketplace.
Chévre-feuille - We feed the figs to a yak! says:
~Getting a slightly better view, she glances the man over, looking for anything important or dangerous. He carries weapons; nothing unusual, but there is reason to be careful. A medallion. Something seems odd about that medallion. She can't quite place what seems so strange about it. For a moment, she has an urge to steal it, but then there are the weapons, and the armor. No pickpocketing this
Chévre-feuille - We feed the figs to a yak! says:
one- at least not while he's conscious. She slips toward him, still careful, then realizes that he has noticed her. She pauses, looking for any important response. He seems somewhat stoic. She raises her brilliant, clouded eyes to meet his, somewhat boldly, then glances off and moves vaguely toward a nearby vendor.~
Jon says:
*He looks over this attractive woman. He knows there games as well as a man can, knows that glare was a beckon, and decides it has never been a bad decision to accompany a beautiful female. Except that one time when the husband was one of the ruling council. That didn't turn out so well. He lets a small laugh out, the only kind of laugh, and rare at that. He fingers his medallion one more time,
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making sure it is secure and walks over to this women. "A day for blood like this... men are eager, excited, plenty of cash to be made, yet you choose me. Why? Do I look like I am in need of a "bath?"*
"You'll suffer the worst from me!" says:
Rhial nearly balks when one of the noblemen approaches where she stand, but then notes a 'Companion' walking to speak with him. It calms her nerves that it is she the man has spotted and not herself. Lucky woman was doing business from the sound of it too. Well, wasn't that lovely? Having no where else to go, she instead stays near and peruses the market, keeping an ear out for any rumors of the
"You'll suffer the worst from me!" says:
city.
Lord Inquisitor De Veredi, Ordo Libri says:
As Melchior continues towards the marketplace, two city guards approach him. "Are you a mage?" "What gave you that idea," Melchior retorts. "You need to register to practice magic in the city." "Is that a threat or a request?" "A threat, you wise-ass" "I believe you just made your last threat," Melchior responds as he pulls a dark stone out of his robes, hoping no reinforcement would
Lord Inquisitor De Veredi, Ordo Libri says:
arrive.
Chévre-feuille - We feed the figs to a yak! says:
~She tenses for a moment at his voice behind her. This is unexpected. Most men have the decency - or the shame, perhaps - to be more subtle about things. She whirls and glares up at him - though a hint of laughter still glitters in her gaze.~ What makes you think I've "chosen" you? Do I look THAT desperate? ~She smiles coldly, her eyes still fixed on his.~
Jon says:
*He was ready to get angry until he saw the light-heartedness in her eyes. "Well perhaps you are, matters little anyway. I do not pay for such pleasures. Though I must admit, for being drunk, you have a certain grace, What is your name, pray tell?*
"You'll suffer the worst from me!" says:
The skirmish catches Rhial's attention immediately. Wandering closer proves difficult as people stop to watch the mage and the guards have their blows. But soon enough, another pair of guards can be seen shoving through the people. Her first instcint is to watch, but as she's desperate for a chance to earn herself a meal, Rhial moves into the crowd herself, daggers in each hand beneath her cloak.
"You'll suffer the worst from me!" says:
She stands between them and the mage, lunging when given a shouted warning to get out of the way. They don't expect the attack from the slim woman, so she is able to make quick work of them befor tugging her cloak back over her dark hair once she's finished and looking back at the black robe in silence.
Lord Inquisitor De Veredi, Ordo Libri says:
Melchior rubbed the dark stone in his hand. His hand began to glow a bright purple color. "Now, you will pay for what you tried to do!" A purple beam flew from his index finger, hitting the lead guard as he charged with his sword. His body flashed and crumpled to the ground; he was a soulless shell now. Melchior proceeded to turn the second guard into a donkey. "Most befitting, don't you think
Lord Inquisitor De Veredi, Ordo Libri says:
?" Melchior then turned to a young woman who apparently helped him. He decided to approach her, for better or worse.
Chévre-feuille - We feed the figs to a yak! says:
~She glances at the fight, her eyes darkening. Though not a resident of this city, the mage is familiar to her. Unfortunate.~ Frankly, darling, if you're not interested, you've no reason whatsoever to learn my name. ~Still smiling icily, she tosses her hair back from one slender shoulder and brushes past him.~
Jon says:
*Notices the fight. "Oh the pesky tricks of magicians. *sighs* at least he is dispatching his majesties guards." He said with his usual flawless diction, only he spoked his majesty as if he were spitting. "My dear, I am intereted. Interested in a bit a candor. I find... people of your profession to be much more to my liking than the mindless bafoons who infect these cities. If money is what you
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want, money is what you shall have." He tosses her a small bag of coins. "I just need solace from idiocy."
"You'll suffer the worst from me!" says:
Once all of the guards are disposed of, and a small kick to the donkey, Rhial nods slowly to the black robe, a sign of respect she is smart enough to give an elder. "My apologies, if I was interferring. They were a nuisance." It would be wise, Rhial notes, not to get on this one's bad side.
Lord Inquisitor De Veredi, Ordo Libri says:
Melchior notices two guards lying at the woman's feet. "Quite a skilled fighter, for a woman," he said to the young woman, "You took care of them quite well." "She attacked four city guards, someone get to the guard house. Everyone know she did it, right," he screamed. He knew that what he was doing might be considered wrong, but "I am a mage," he thought, who are they going to trust? Not
Lord Inquisitor De Veredi, Ordo Libri says:
a street walker, he was sure. He grinned at his terrible plan he set in to motion.
Chévre-feuille - We feed the figs to a yak! says:
~She barely manages to catch the coins; her usual deftness is somewhat slowed by the general fuzziness of things.~ Solace, dearest, is not in my particular job description. ~She smiles at him sweetly, tucking the purse into some hidden region of her dress, then moves into the crowd, doing a reasonably good job of disappearing (though this is not foolproof and he has already said he's good at
Chévre-feuille - We feed the figs to a yak! says:
watching). Her disposition shifts when she catches sight of Melchior (who is in fact screaming about something). She watches fixedly, tensely, her eyes cold, suddenly sharp, flickering with a peculiar and frightening fire.~
Jon says:
*Watches her dissapear into the crowd, and even though he can't see her personally, he knows where she is. Watching the crowd, following her akward motion through the throng. He wonders why he isn't mad about being robbed. He decides it is because the girl is far to intreging. She turned him down, he isn't used to that. She stared him in the eyes, women don't do that where he is from. She accepted
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his money and walked away. This thought hit him again, he looked and saw he was wearing all his weapons, and his armor. This he found most interesting of all. She robbed him. He is well armed and looks as if it isn't just show. He decides to catch up to her being as she is headed to the only other point of interest.*
"You'll suffer the worst from me!" says:
"I've done some--" Rhial trials off, adrenaline dumping into her system as he starts yelling. She jerks around, looking at the people, most of whom are muttering and pointing at her despite watching everything for themselves. "There she is!Quick, arrest her!" More guards come running, and Rhial takes half a step back. "You...I see how you've lived to old age." She retorts to the mage. "My the
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plague hunt you down personally." She sneers before turning on her heel and darting off into the crowd. She weaves past the Companion wordlessly and after a moment shoves past the armor-clad man she'd spotted earlier. None of it matters. "After her!" The voices trail her and she curses, running off down the district.
Lord Inquisitor De Veredi, Ordo Libri says:
"Simple minded people, so easily dealt with," Melchior mutters. He knew that he was free to do as he pleased, considering people fear someone of his reputation. He decides he needs to buy some spell components, so Melchior starts off to the mageware shop, when he spots to brilliant, glittering eyes staring at him. "So familiar, yet... Who cares, just some bar wench. Not like she could anything
Lord Inquisitor De Veredi, Ordo Libri says:
to me, an archmagus." He stares little longer, before heading off to the mageware shop.
Chévre-feuille - We feed the figs to a yak! says:
~She scarcely notices the occurrence with the unfortunate woman, so focused is she on Melchior. Oblivious also to the man who is trying to catch up with her, she slips through the crowd toward the old mage, largely unnoticed in the disturbance. Her eyes are fiery, intense. She approaches him silently but openly, one hand hovering near the hidden knife in the folds of her dress.~
Jon says:
*He watches in utter shock and amusement as this lowly whore appears to be attacking a magician. He decides that it may not be wise to catch up to her afterall, yet decides he likes the whore far more than the black mage. He opts to keep close ready to help the woman should she need it. After all, he has fought magicians before and still lives. He releases the straps on his short swords, making
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them ready to draw, and then realizes as the whore gets closer, her stride doesn't change nor her approach. She isn't going to attack after all. Regardless, he stays close behinh.*
Lord Inquisitor De Veredi, Ordo Libri says:
As Melchior strides towards the mageware shop, he becomes aware of someone following him. He stops, gazing quickly around the crowd. He catches sight of a man in armor. He has seen that look before, he realises the man is following someone. As he summon brandishes his staff, he spots the person the man is following. "That bar wench, hm.... Wait, I know her... Oh, this is really not good."
Lord Inquisitor De Veredi, Ordo Libri says:
Melchior reaches into his robes and pulls out an amber rod. "Just in case," he thought.
Chévre-feuille - We feed the figs to a yak! says:
~Claudia smiles, looking up at the old mage with a savage calm.~ Melchior. ~Her voice is an odd mixture of childlike clarity and sensual softness; she touches his arm gently, noticing the drawn amber rod.~ Put the stick away, love. ~She laughs softly, mockingly, shaking her hair back from her shoulder.~
Jon says:
*He gets quite close to the two before he realized it. Too close [What has gotten in to you? You dont make mistakes like this. They get you killed. Well it's obvious now I am after them might as well approach entirely. "My lady, I believe you took off with my money, yet provided me with no witty bantor." His eyes flick to the magician. "Good day to you Archmagus, I assume you are in town for the
Jon says:
debate. I must say, it pains me that this... emperor... has power over the likes of you, and I laugh at the foolishness of the council to submit." His eyes once again return to The Whore. "I can tell you bear no particular love of this man, but I assure you, your time is much better spent with me."*
Lord Inquisitor De Veredi, Ordo Libri says:
Melchior allows the young woman to approach when he realises she is not threatening him. "My dear...um....let me think....Claudia!," he proclaims, "You laugh at me, drawing components for defense. Not the wisest thing anyone has done to me, but you are quite different, I'll let it go...this time." He looks to the man following Claudia," Yes, I was here, but there was no debate. The fools
Lord Inquisitor De Veredi, Ordo Libri says:
decided to submit to that bastard. But let me assure you, I will not tolerate the Art being controlled by a damn fool." Melchior glanced at them, realising the man wants to go. "If you will excuse me, I have some affairs to take care of," Melchior stated with a bow; he turned on his heel and started for the mageshop.
Chévre-feuille - We feed the figs to a yak! says:
~Claudia does not turn to the man, and her fiery gaze does not move from Melchior. Her voice, though, changes, losing the velvety tone she was using with Melchior in favor of its previous laughing sharpness.~ You gave me your money, darling, and said I could have it. And by allowing you to live after you insulted me with your forwardness, I earned it, too. ~She has not removed her hand from
Chévre-feuille - We feed the figs to a yak! says:
Melchior's arm, and as he turns away, she tightens her grasp for an instant, her fingernails digging sharply into his flesh. She hopes she broke the skin; likely he'll be unaffected by the minor poison, but it was worth a shot, at any rate. She turns finally to the man as Melchior walks off. Her voice is suddenly very cold, with no humour.~ And I assure you that my time is better spent elsewhere.
Chévre-feuille - We feed the figs to a yak! says:
~She moves away swiftly, as though she has a destination, though she doesn't.~
Jon says:
*His cocky smile returns to his face, "Then you would be mistaken my dear." He pulls out a larger pouch of coins then returns it to a pocket safely tucked behind the right breastplate. He suddenly lashes out and grabs Claudia by the throat and pushes her against the nearest building. "You see, Claudia, "letting me live" was an awful choice of words for someone with self-interest in mind." He
Jon says:
releases her. "Now you already caught my fancy *before* you confronted a magician. After having done so, I am far to curious to let you slip away." He bows slightly keeping his nearest hand ready to pull a short sword with his lightning speed.*
Lord Inquisitor De Veredi, Ordo Libri says:
As Melchior pulled away to head to the mageware shop, he realised Claudia dug her nails into his arm. "That is the respect I get even when I spared her life? It figures," he thought. As he gets about half way to the mageware shop, he decides that she really did a job on his arm. It was sore, but intact. He rolled up his sleeve to reveal red, swollen flesh. He decided that he couldn't allow her
Lord Inquisitor De Veredi, Ordo Libri says:
to get away with this. He turns about and heads back to where he was earlier. When he arrives, he find the man letting go of Claudia's neck. "She probably had it coming," he thought. I think I will surprise her with a little spell. Melchior then reached into his robes to pull out sulfur and bat dung. A ball of light and fire form in his hand. He yells, "Remember this," as he throws at her.
Chévre-feuille - We feed the figs to a yak! says:
~Once released, she glares up at the man, her eyes dark and flickering with an unstable fire. Her small form is tense, crackling with a psychotic energy. Her hand hovers close to her knife again, but she realizes that he is also prepared to draw a weapon; she is not yet far enough gone to outright attack an armed and armored soldier. It is in this moment that Melchior arrives. She is tense enough
Chévre-feuille - We feed the figs to a yak! says:
to move quickly, but unlikely to dodge it entirely; she twists and falls to one knee, hoping that the fireball will pass her.~
Jon says:
*He watched the magician... Melchoir? yes that was what Claudia said, walk back and knew to be ready. Magicians are tricky. When he watched saw him, out of his peripheral vision of course, he wasn't about to make two fatal errors, he tensed and prepared to leap to action. He heard Melchoir shout, something he didn't catch as he was already leaping to action. He noticed Claudias instant reaction as
Jon says:
well
Jon says:
she dropped to a knee, but he knew magicians were better than that so he tackled her to the ground. From his now prone position, he drew and flung one of his short swords at the magician.*
Lord Inquisitor De Veredi, Ordo Libri says:
As the fireball streaked toward Claudia, Melchior watched as the man Claudia was with tackled her to the ground. "Damn, I missed...," he said in horror as saw a sword flying in his direction. Melchior acting quickly, levitated a bystander in front of him. The bystander was impaled and took most of the damage, but Melchior lost a hand to the sword. "I need a healer." "I will be back," he
Lord Inquisitor De Veredi, Ordo Libri says:
screeched. As he stumbled towards the church, he realised that maybe he liked Claudia. He quickly decided that it was the loss of blood. He entered, and despite some protesting, he was healed, but he now had only one hand. One hand, he thought, one hand.
Chévre-feuille - We feed the figs to a yak! says:
~As the mage stumbled away, Claudia slipped one hand into the folds of her dress and inconspicuously drew her dagger. She did not attack; she just drew the knife.~ My choice of words, love, was precisely correct. ~She smiled, then slipped out from beneath the man and rose quickly.~
Jon says:
*A smile graces his face after a moment to regain his stature. Only this isn't his usually cocky smile, no, this is a genuine smile. "Well, you have more than earned those few coins anyway." He looks at the knife in her hand." Now, why would you think I am a threat to you? I just challenged an archmage and made quite an enemy saving you?"*
Lord Inquisitor De Veredi, Ordo Libri says:
"Archmagus Melchior?" "Yes, what do you want?" "The High Council wants to see you at the tower immediately." "Damn fools, do they think they can win my support? Tell them I will be there shortly." Melchior shook his head and frowned. A mage's first loyalty is to the Art, not a man. He sighed as he glowed a bright blue and disappeared from the church.
Chévre-feuille - We feed the figs to a yak! says:
A threat? No. ~Her smile faded, and she looked up at him icily.~ You are a gods-damned arrogant fool who challenged an archmage to gain the gratitude of someone you had just thrown against a building. ~She slipped the knife back into her dress, her eyes still dark with anger.~ And failed to earn it, I might add. But your life - you may, once again, keep. ~She turned away, then closed her eyes, shaken by the encounter.~
Jon says:
*His smile fades and is replaced by a sad disapointment. "I saved you more because I liked you better than the magician. not because I want a free fuck." He sighs stands up tall. "You must be shaken a little, almost having been vaporized." He actually knows by the look on her face, having dealt with soldiers and their near death experieces He toses her a few more, weighty, coins. "Go get some
Jon says:
tea, it helps a swimming head." He turns around and starts walking away*
Chévre-feuille - We feed the figs to a yak! says:
~Claudia doesn't catch all of the coins; she is slowed significantly by the quivering. She crouches, picks them up, and looks at him for a moment as he walks away, then uncertainly moves toward one of the vendors, glancing at him over her shoulder. She buys some food and moves off to one of the alleys, where she sits on a step and waits for herself to recover.~
Jon says:
*He walks away, deliberatly slowly, and after a short while turns around to see if he can still spot Claudia. He sees her just leaving a vendor and watches her walk into the alley and perch on a step. He notices she seems even more shook up now. He walks over to her. "It helps to talk to someone too."*

This is a link to my friends' band's site, which is improving very quickly, by the way. If you like the music, or if you like me, you should post the same link in your journals. You do this by typing:

a href="http://www.nex-online.net/">Nex</a>
With a < in front of the first a.

Nex

List of things that annoy me:

Childish idealism.


Petulance. (You didn't even have permissive parents. What's with the tantrums?)


Compulsory faith.


Self-destructive drug use.


Attention-whoring emotionality.


Insincere apologies.


Smug philistine Americans. It should be its own nationality. Philistine-American.


Utter lack of emotional control.



I have soooo many things to point out to these people. You know what they would do? Scream at me!

Ah... the fruits of divine irony are bitterly addictive.

(Psychologically. Like other substances.
Cough.
Cough.
Anyway.)

Well! Aren't YOU pathological tonight!

They were dying as they ran. Beneath a bloodlit sky, they flashed, twinkled, flames licking up their fragile silhouettes. Like glittering trout pulled from the waves into a fiery sun, they flopped and twitched, crying out in desperation, dying there on the pale sand. In their moments of death, they became inhuman, beautiful and complete for an instant before their gasping and convulsing ceased.

-My thought of the day, which is a modification of a piece from a month ago.

One night a moth flew into the candle, was caught, burnt dry, and held. I must have been staring at the candle, or maybe I looked up when a shadow crossed my page; at any rate, I saw it all. A golden female moth, a biggish one with a two-inch wingspan, flapped into the fire, dropped her abdomen into the wet wax, stuck, flamed, frazzled and fried in a second. Her moving wings ignited like tissue paper, enlarging the circle of light in the clearing and creating out of the darkness the sudden blue sleeves of my sweater, the green leaves of jewelweed by my side, the ragged red trunk of a pine. At once the light contracted again and the moth's wings vanished in a fine, foul smoke. At the same time her six legs clawed, curled, blackened and ceased, disappearing utterly. And her head jerked in spasms, making a spattering noise; her antennae crisped and burned away and her heaving mouth parts crackled like pistol fire. When it was all over, her head was, so far as I could determine, gone, gone the long way of her wings and legs. Had she been new, or old? Had she mated and laid her eggs, had she done her work? All that was left was the glowing horn shell of her abdomen and thorax-a fraying, partially collapsed gold tube jammed upright in the candle's round pool.

And then this moth-essence, this spectacular skeleton, began to act as a wick. She kept burning. The wax rose in the moth's body from her soaking abdomen to her thorax to the jagged hole where her head should be, and widened into flame, a saffron-yellow flame that robed her to the ground like any immolating monk. That candle had two wicks, two flames of identical height, side by side. The moth's head was fire. She burned for two hours, until I blew her out.
She burned for two hours without changing, without bending or leaning-only glowing within, like a building fire glimpsed through silhouetted walls, like a hollow saint, like a flame-faced virgin gone to God, while I read by her light, kindled, while Rimbaud in Paris burnt out his brains in a thousand poems, while night pooled wetly at my feet...

 

-From Holy the Firm, by Annie Dillard

by MegalosOneiro
http://MegalosOneiro.yafro.com

     "I was three years old when I met the man who would eventually be my father," she says without a trace of sincerity. Her face is artlessly expressionless, her hazel eyes hollow beneath too many carefully-applied layers of ivory and charcoal. "I hated him on sight." Now she smiles, matter-of-fact and warm, as though this is the easy thing. Chewing one chipped black fingernail, she pauses. "Do you have a  cigarette?" I hand her one; she lights it. The flare of the Bic lighter bathes her lined face and short, matte-black hair in a sickly, hellish glow. Her silver rings sparkle with it. "Thanks." Taking a slow drag, she leans forward, her eyes buried in thought and the lapel of my business suit.

     "He was a thirtysomething genetic defect. Born and raised in Ransom Creek, population 250, so... I mean... ( Read more... )

Life is the urge to kill and reproduce. The balance between creation and destruction. Freud: Consciousness is the bastard child of the unconscious child, i. e. the id. We all live the past* of least resistance. We are rivers driving toward the fulfillment of our primal needs, but society drives us back and we must trickle and flow through the dams of acceptability and morality. To loose the dams is to unleash hell for Christians, of course. The melding of a dichotomy into unity. Overcoming the superego makes the balancing ego useless. Nature does not do pointless things.

*A Freudian slip? “We all live the past...” The alternative, “we all live the path,” may be flawed taken alone because its religious connotation is out of place in juxtaposition with the atheist id, although this conflict will be resolved. The id is intense spirituality in a certain sense.


What the id wants? The id does not want to have intercourse or copulate; it certainly does not want to make love. Scatological impulses? The war situations, the scene of toilet, grass, and flowers. Where the id is embraced, humanity is primal. The id is intensely spiritual… the id is undervalued by society because religion has made it base and unacceptable. Humans fear their bodies, and we all go to heaven to escape. The natural attraction to sex and sexual aggression is guilty and uncomfortable. The id is the driving force to desire, passion, and creativity. The superego in perfect melding with the id creates a religion that is not. The religion of the superid is the spirituality of man.


Every line that limits humanity was drawn arbitrarily in the indelible ink of shame and guilt. Shame in our bodies, in the “weakness” of flesh, and guilt for the passion and desire that drive us to create and to destroy. God limits creation, being the Creator himself, taking this burden upon himself in exchange for our deference. More, destruction is left to God. As the true Author of all things, he is given the only right to this.


When man as individual harnesses his power and his desire, or more the power IN his desire, he becomes the author and destroyer. To truly accept these manifestations of his reality, however, he must acknowledge that he is his own driving force. His talents were not granted by a benevolent hand, but ingrained in his being by the very nature of his being. Nature is not God or Mother, but a living expression of all things. Man is part of nature- but no piece or cog of machinery- and therefore Nature has given him nothing. Nature cannot give or withdraw. It can only exist, with all action within simply representing the self-contained cycles and drives of a reality beyond the reach of an influencing hand.


Man cannot transcend nature or reality. By the nature of nature… Whatever heights man may strive to, whatever infinite understanding he may reach, his being is a part of nature, and his understanding becomes part of nature simply by virtue of him reaching it. Nature should never be viewed as something to overcome. Humanity cannot escape humanity, and indeed must not, were it possible. To raise oneself is to raise humanity, but to leave behind the savage herd of the unenlightened and unambitious. At the apex of understanding, there is still room for growth and flight; when, if, one man touches the height of human potential, that man will still struggle to raise every other to the same height and expand the scope of understanding.

Pause.

Take one moment and just find yourself where you are. Close your eyes and listen to the breathing. Think:

Within, power lingers that even I cannot control. Power that forces this breathing to continue. Power that only death can curb. Beyond, without, a world of lying compassion and blind idealism presses in upon me. My mind may collapse, but this power does not. Beyond, without, a world of hype and false happiness. A world of clothes, cars, work, suburbia, sterility. This world may collapse, but I do not.

Imagine:
A world of gaudy, sterile color. Shrill, plastic laughter, plastic families, plastic faces. Despite the fluorescent lights, this is a place of darkness. Veils, smiles, glass-eyed stares, and lies. In this world, you are one of many, all imprisoned by their plastic masks. Every sound you hear is muted, a mere remnant of what it once was, tinny and meaningless, driven through the churning of the machines and the roar of the crowds. To live in this world is to breathe underwater. There will be suffocation, panic, and lethal comfort.

Look up.

You stand on a horizon line, beneath a sunset sky, blood-brilliant and streaked with gold. Distant stars merge and burst in chaotic constellations, unnerving, terrifyingly beautiful in their impossibility.
Take one step and you will be borne upward by the wind, borne alone into the fire and the wonder that you now see. This is a world of terror, of truth, of light, of chaos, of war, of unmistakable beauty. Killing fire, dying stars. Apocalypses played out again and again to thunderous symphonies. Flash. One step and your choice is made.

Few of you will comprehend the reality of this. Many have already seen the fiery horizon and turned away. The world you live in is a world of veils and hopelessness, of stagnancy and unconscious self-loathing. But there is a spark in each one of you that glitters, flares, glows with the restless desire to be lifted up out of the world's quagmire. You have the ability to cradle that flame, to nurse and feed the blaze until its brilliant, shifting, constant light consumes you.

You stand on a horizon line beneath a sunset sky.
Take the step.
Make your choice.