The Harlequin

[font=gothic][color=crimson]OOC: I've got to start paying attention.... Hell, who cares. Saving the world. Tch. IC: Lacroix: Bunch of paranoid bastards, the entire lot of you. [I]Immediately, two arrows flew into a shadowy alcove in the corner of the hall. Both made a soft, fleshy thud. The voice continued, unperterbed.[/I] Lacroix: If you'll excuse me. [I]What appeared to be a walking robe stepped out of the shadows, walking calmly over to the fireplace, kicking it around until it was severely dimmed. Turning, it shrugged the hood of the cloak off, and freed his four arms.[/I] Axel: Does anyone else accept me find it strange that we have winged, four armed pillar of darkness walking towards us? Nepenthe: Looks Lythanoid. Lacroix: Very good. That's exactly what I am. My circumstances are just somewhat bizarre. I'm undead. Speaking of that... [I]He moved the cloak slightly exposing two arrows sticking out of his stomach. He casually pulled them out, and tossed them onto a table. They were bloody, but had no chunks of flesh attached.[/I] Lacroix: A Lythanoid's body is pure muscle. Undead don't really care about wounds. Arrows, no problem. Ryowa: And what do you want demon? [I]The figure's head seemed to turn, and Ryowa felt the grip of invisible eyes on him.[/I] Lacroix: You are really going to piss me off... Basically, you're all here to save the world or something along those lines. I'm here to make sure you don't mess it up. Ryowa: Anyone got a hungry dragon we can feed him to? Lacroix: I imagine Alqwerik would object. [I]On cue, a long, sinuous beast walked in, ducking under the door way. The creature by the fireside reared up in alarm, before a sharp word from the creature's master settled it. Alqwerik stalked along to Lacroix's side, taking in the beings around his companion. It sniffed, and then, to everyone's surprise spoke.[/I] Alqwerik: We're consorting with this rabble now? [I]The creature by the fireside again reared up, making noises of alarm. Lacroix was unconcerned, talking in an almost scholarly tone.[/I] Lacroix: Everything does that. You should have heard the argument it had a few mintues ago when we first got here. Someone's dragon, and I think there was a gryphon, seemed really determined to stop us landing. Something about an abomination. Ryowa: I understand that. Alqwerik: Luckily for you they didn't manage to catch me mortal. Ryowa: You want to find out if you can die beast? Axel: That's enough. [I]Lacroix muffled a laugh, then stepped back into the now very deep shadows. Alqwerik went with him, and to all eyes, the two disappeared.[/I] Alqwerik: You'd better have a damn good reason for this. Lacroix: Trust me.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]I just need to find out where he lives... I've read it before, but I can't remember where from. Hell, I've read a lot of stuff I can't remember right now.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Actually Cloricus, I have my suspicious about Newt. Remember when we went to the pool one Wednesday afternoon? First there was the "Can I borrow your towel" line. 10 seconds later I see him, with my towel wrapped around his head. 5 minutes after that, it was "I'm gonna have a shower. Come with me". Freaky. Then he walks past his girlfriend at a shopping centre, and he hasn't seen her for weeks, and just says hi. Doesn't even stop. I'm really quite suspicious of Newt. I want most insufferably arrogant elitist bastard![/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson] [I][u]Driven[/I][/U] Far away from you, twisted Driven away by you, tormented All I wanted was you, broken You said I had you, battered Never again I am not your pawn I am not your slave I am not your conscience I am not your soul You life is your own. You drove me to this. You allowed me this. You gave me this. You wanted this. Sing me not your screams. I lost the right to hear them. Long ago, in another deep night. It was another I embraced. Nevermore yours. Nevermore my own. I have been set adrift. You drove me away.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Yeah, that's right, we all just leap off the LA ship like rats now that it's over....lol. This stands as the first rpg I was ever in, and the first I've ever been in that has actually ended, and not just died. Raven will be pleased, or I'll hear about it for a week.... And Liam missed it all.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]OOC: Greetings all. Know ye that he who speaks thus unto you was contacted by one Raiha, to be thine shack-nasty Witch King. The one who speaks thus unto you, of course, did accept. So, basically, here's Johhny. I'm your bad guy. IC: [I]In a dense, humid jungle, there lies a castle. So out of place, yet concealed so well. The castle is wrought granite, and ironstone, the remains of what was once a mountain. It is tall, and circular, with five spires. Graceful, fluted connecting bridges, marvels of ingenuity, connect the spires, giving it the appearance from above of being a giant pentagram. The castle, though wrought in black stone, is strangely beautiful. It is however, a chilling beauty, the hard, distant lovliness of something far removed from mortal concerns. The castle lies in the centre of the jungle. The jungle is tropical, filled with strange beasts and trees. Stalkers lurk in every shadow. Not all of those stalkers are animals. Many of the living things in this forest are unique to that place, and the mortal world has been spared much destruction due to their isolation. In the castle there is a single living being. There is no need for other life. Automatons of every kind fill out his every need, and his mental prowess is capable of providing anything and everything he may need. This creature, a fell being of darkness, is the Fire Witch King of the South. Ruling vast stretches of land, and turning it to his will. Already, much of his domain is blighted, the very earth dying, and the sky is under permanent shadow. For he draws the life out of it, to feed his own rapacious need for power. This being's name is Lacroix s'Xalerian. As a human, he appears frail, though young. Someone who has simply missed too many meals out of a lack of concern for eating. Certainly, he is not undernourished. Merely overly slender, though tall. Death, he seems, dressed in robes the colour of that fell force, with hair and eyes to match. The voice the echoes out of his blackened lips carries a spectral echo, a reminder of long dead dreams. And his power quite often glorifies the Final Embrace. Indeed, it is the only force he respects, though he eludes it well. However, he has another form. Another physical aspect. The drider. Abominations to every religion, every sect, every caste, every other form of life. A creature created by arcanus vitrus, the esoteric life magic that can heal, kill, or twist. An arachnid, larger than any dire spider. Eight legs tipped in sets of four talons, covered in chitinous armour, and comparitively stronger than any other arachnid could match. Aware of the weakness in such frail limbs, the creation was augmented, enhanced. The abdomen is black, smooth, hairless. A white design, appearing like knotwork, lies upon it's upper abdomen, where its legs meet its body. Yet where a head would, comes the torso of a man. The skin lightens to a sickly white, though still mottled with blue-black patches. The torso is upright, the face set in a hideous visage of evil delight. The being is immensely strong, though it seems gracefully slight. Standing seven feet tall at the shoulder, it is an imposing sight. This being too, is The Witch King. And a being of last resort. As yet, nothing has daunted the Witch King's magical prowess enough to warrant its use. Still, Lacroix occasionally uses it for ...entertainment. Which was exactly what was happening now. The virgin awoke, instinctively straining at her bonds. She looked around, and screamed. The spider/centaur scuttled towards her. From that horrible face, low words came forth.[/I] Lacroix: Worry not. Your end shall be swift. [I]She screamed, suddenly aware of who had taken her. She remembered nothing of her capture, only fear. Intense fear. Fear that eclipsed all other memories. The spider beast scuttled away for a moment, then returned. In one gauntleted hand it held a strand of wire. Cruelly barbed, and twisting in a molten state like the throes of a dying man. The virgin screamed again, and somehow found voice to speak.[/I] Virgin: I will not be dishonoured! [I]Lacroix paused, looking at her in detached curiousity.[/I] Lacroix: Dishonoured, young thing? Is that what you fear? Be thankful then, that I do not choose that path, for I could rape your spirit far worse than any ruffian could rape your body. My current form prohibits such a base rutting, as I'm sure you could easily imagine. As I'm sure you are imagining. Yet you find the idea intoxicating. You like it. The dishonour, the pain, the captivity. Virgin: Gods you're sick... Lacroix: True. But so are you. [I]The young girl struggled, and Lacroix stepped back, 32 sharp talons clinking on the hard floor. Looking at her, he took in her appearance. Dead white skin, raven black hair. A body and features to stop the heart. Blackened lips and eyes. A coldly defiant look on her face, despite the fear. But there was something in those glacial blue eyes. Something dark. That darkness was in her soul. It was in Lacroix's soul. She knew him, intuitively. Unbidden, she gave her name.[/I] Kattarin von Drachenfels Lacroix: Daughter of the Great Enchanter. Constant Drachenfels. Kattarin: And your latest victim. Lacroix: Sadly true. Kattarin: A force previously unmatched in the realms in either magic or evil, yet swept away on both counts like chaff. Lacroix: Also true. Kattarin: Tell me, what do you really intend to do with that? [I]Lacroix turned, and cast the wirse away. He spun with frightening speed, clawed hands ripping the bonds away, before his being shimmered, slowly shrinking into a tall, slender human. A male version of Kattarin it seemed.[/I] Lacroix: You will take advantage? Kattarin: Of course. [I]The young woman got up, walking past Lacroix, into a huge, vaulted throne room. Ignoring the floating suits of armour, the great golems of steel and stone, she went to the ornate throne, and sat down. Lacroix, who had followed her, stood beside her.[/I] Lacroix: You wish this? This dark embrace. Kattarin: You knew my father. You understood him. Understand me the same way. I am this darkness. All of our ilk are. Lacroix: Then your intentions? Kattarin: I will stay. There is nothing for me in the outside world, and this life beckons me. Besides.... Lacroix: What? [I]What she whispered in his ear brough a gastly smile to both their faces, and she lead him off, beckoning him back into the torture chamber, lying back down on the stone bier, and refastening her own bonds.... Darkness was a sweet embrace.[/I] OOC: The virgin stuff was originally Raiha's idea. No, really, it was.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson] [U][I]Beautiful Scars[/U][/I] I need repreive. I need to know. What malady afflicts me? Woe betides me? Despair unmans me? Do I dare find out? Have I lost all sense? Did I lose myself to ecstasy? Alone in your arms. In your embrace. So far away from you. My mind travels far different paths. I wandered there long ago. And still, I show you nothing. I delude you. Allow you your illusions. And it cuts you. Because you know it to be false. It leaves you broken. It leaves you gasping. It leaves you scarred. All scars are beautiful. They are the beauty of strength. The beauty of character. The beauty of redemption.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Spyder: NO! [I]There was startled, sickened silence throughout the room. From Harlequin's ravaged, inert form, tendrils of energy slowly moved upwards, twisting and coalescing into a humanoid being. A darkened being, that certainly not Harlequin.[/I] Ochkik Haddah: You cannot defeat me that easily. [I]The form started to float forward, but found itself blocked by another shimmering being. Just as black, yet shot with live silver lightning. Harlequin.[/I] Harlequin: Ah, but they have. Ochkik Haddah: And what did you gain out this? Rememberance as a self-sacraficing noble hero? You disgust me mortal. Harlequin: Not so, not so. [I]Harlequin's voice spiralled into a deadly, satisfied whisper.[/I] Harlequin: Oblivion. [I]Harlequin's etheral form reached out, taking Ochkik Haddah by the throat. Upon contact, there were vicious sparks, as the lightning interlacing Harlequin jumped to the other dark entity. The two seemed to merge, and the energies binding their forms to the material plane dissolved into a maelstrom. What appeared to be a black sun, flares of darkness writhing around it, hung in the middle of the room for many minutes. Then, at last, the darkness exploded, flying in every direction, seeming to be partial absorbed by everything it touched. In place of the darkness was the lightning, now outlining a familar humanoid figure.[/I] Spyder: So, there really is such a thing as a soul. Harlequin: Soul? Me? Hell no. I would have stayed away from the whole thing, and stayed corpreal, if the recourse had been becoming a spirit. I'm a collection of energies. Etheric energies, not physical, I'll grant you, but still not a spirit. Spyder: Alright. What was that all about anyway? Harlequin: I lied to you somewhat. Spyder: What? Harlequin: I do love you. Always have. But the whole idea, both of them, were shot from the beginning. So, I got you to set up the opportunity to do something more permanent to our mutual friend. Anyway, once Valeigh weakened him, I dispersed him. He is now a part of every physical being in this world, whether they are geographical, flora, fauna, anything. A small bit of darkness, in every auric being. So unless the entire planet comes into auric alignment, which is impossible, he's kind of stuck. Anyway, my existence here is over, time to leave now, whatever. As I said, I'll see you all on the other side. Oh, and don't be angry at Valeigh. She did only what needed to be done. [I]The crackling lightning flickered, and shot towards the wall, blowing a very large hole. The bundle of energies that was Harlequin disappeared, from this place, from this world, from this plane.[/i] OOC: And that is the end of my part in the rpg, come hell, high water, or a continued storyline. I realise that was a very crappy, cliche post, but I was completely shot for further ideas. Thank you all for the experience.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]I don't sleep, I eat as little as possible, and I have no idea why I haven't died of dehydration several hundred times. My body is completely run down, and my immune system is apparently shot. Despite that, I very rarely get sick. I have no idea why. Although, when I do get something, it tends to be pretty nasty.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]I've had very few problems with people's names. The only name-related problem I've ever had is that certain people insist on corrupting my name into "Harly", "Harley", or most recently "Harley Quinn". Which forces me to make them call me Flynn. Food for paranoia...[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Well, that's the most common interpretation, but there are a hell of a lot of others that I've run into. Normally it's got gryphon wings as well. The second most common is a horse's body, bat-like wings, man's head, claws and fangs or a tiger. The rear end of the body turns into a tigers, with tail. But I think that was just a lot of people getting inventive and running into the same thing. Gods I read too much.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Harlequin looked at him, in something that resembled disgust.[/I] Harlequin: You're surprised? Cold, unfeeling. Welcome to the icy embrace of the grave. All you have to do though, is embrace it back. You'll understand. Oblivion is bliss. Athen: Embrace oblivion? Embrace death? Harlequin: There is no darkness. There is no emotion. There is no pain. There is nothing, and nothing is required. It's a far simpler, and far more logical, existance. [I]Spyder looked at him, in growing alarm. In desperation, she tried to sift through his mind, but found the door barred and closed. She closed her eyes, slowly, a tear running down her cheek.[/I] Spyder: No emotions? Harlequin: None. [I]There was a moment of silence, Harlequin's pronouncement a sudden reversal of everything they knew about him.[/i] Harlequin: Feeling however, is easily feigned, when one understands what motivates it. Neccessity required that the semblance of feeling existed though, for continuity, and so that this may be seen through until the end. Spyder: You manipulated me. All your protestations of love.... Harlequin: Oh, I loved you once. With everything I had. Then, I realised, not with my death, long before that, how little such feelings meant in a corpreal world. One day you'll understand, though it will most likely take true death. You never had my detached insanity, darkness. [I]He looked around, his manner becoming more business-like.[/I] Harlequin: The plan is workable, but can improved on. Rather than have Valeigh resist Ochkik Haddah, which is chancy, we'll confine him once lured out, then destroy the mortal form he inhabits. Valeigh: How? Harlequin: Simple. Forced possession, followed by an auric realignment. Valeigh: You can't do that... Harlequin: Ah, but I can. Rather than risk his own physical form, he will attempt to possess a being most easily manipulated. Which, due to my detachment, is me. However, once inside, I'll shut the door behind him. His etheric self will be trapped, and you can annihilate me, and him, at will. Spyder: I won't let you do that. [I]Harlequin turned, with a wicked grin on his face. The room darkened around them. When Harlequin next spoke, his voice was far different, and carried a ghastly echo from a far-distant plane with it, an ethereal chorus of moans.[/I] Harlequin: You're too late. I already have this mortal under my complete control. Spyder: NO! [I]Harlequin's form shook violently, and urgent words tumbled out. In Harlequin's voice.[/I] Harlequin: He's trapped, but will try to flee. Destroy him, now! Don't worry, I'll see you all on the other side.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]You could have just said "large, slightly screwed up manticore". Oh well, at least no more plant golems....[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]OOC: I resurrected this, at Raven's urging albeitly, but still... So I'm doing this my way. IC: [I]Never daunted by a beast far larger than him, with more more physical strength, and the power to regenerate any wound except burns, The Archon walked into the clearing, arms folded. The troll turned, and roared at him. A bellowing cry, that shook the trees, and sent woodland creatures scurrying away. Lacroix's expression didn't change.[/I] Lacroix: Yeah? Well **** you! [I]The troll seemed confused by this. He probably understood a bit of human tongue, but not enough to decipher Lacroix's words. The fact that the human hadn't moved, and didn't seemed scared, probably confused it even more. After a few minutes of deliberation, during which no one moved (though Lacroix somehow managed to convey a sense of boredom with moving a muscle), the troll made up what served for a mind. It lumbered towards the unmoving assassin. It stopped about two feet away from him, puzzled. It looked at him closer, trying to determine whether Lacroix was really alive. Lacroix answered the question with a dagger strike to the eye. The troll stumbled back, clutching its face. Lacroix calmly took his pack of his back, pulling out a torch, flint and steel. Lighting it, he turned and put the torch in the same place the dagger had been. Though a troll is nearly invulnerable to normal weapons, it caught like kindling, the fires eclipsing the roaring beast in seconds. As it burned, the troll dancing around in agony in front of him, Lacroix's expression remained as it had for the entire incident. When only ashes were left, he looked over at the other two.[/I] Lacroix: Well?[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]OOC: Damn. Hasn't this been a while coming.... IC: [I]Harlequin followed along somewhat nonchalantly, bored with all proceedings. Hell, he'd seen it all before. Crazy lights, crazy people, and crazy kids. Nothing new. Of course, he didn't voice that opinion, or allow Spyder to draw it out of his mind. He found people, especially people like those around him, got very pissed off when he got blase about events like this. He absently wondered where his quarterstaff was. His knife was still in its sheathe, and he felt somewhat limbered up. Combat was good. Combat was a release. He really, really felt like hitting someone. It must have shown. Spyder stopped, looking back at him.[/I] Spyder: I'm afraid my love, that this will be far more sophisticated than some mere brawl. We are here to settle this. Harlequin: Still a brawl to me. I might just not be hitting people with my body. [I]With a slight smile, Harlequin held up his hand. At the tip of his right index finger, silver lightning seethed. He slowly reached out, and touched it to the wall. The was a sharp burst of static, a loud crackling noise, and a large section of the wall blackened.[/I] Harlequin: Electricty, just for an example, lies on more on the mortal's plane than do the other elements excepting water, as it exists in greater quantities in the human body. It is simple to channel that natural flow into one's aura, control it, and indeed enhance it. You know as well as I do that should it come down to it, I'm easily as prepared as you are for this. [I]There was a moment's silence...[/I] Harlequin: I just care less... [I][B]Crack![/B] ...Having given Harlequin the sharp slap he deserved, Spyder continued her walk, Harlequin's mocking laughter following along after her.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Lacroix bolted upright, flipping away from the bed in a sideways arc. His landing, unmarred by a jolted awakening, left him ducking under the bed. Gunshots. Two of them. He resheathed his katana. He felt a hell of a lot better. A quick glance at a watch told him he'd been asleep for quite sometime. Enough to recuperate to the point where he could get out of here and find safer territory. And obviously, this place was not as uninhabited as he thought. He had been too deep asleep to judge how far anyway the sounds had come from, but they were in the building. That was enough. He listened intently for a moment. No other sounds. Which could mean a lot of things. Now that he thought about it, extra rest sounded good. He twisted the be around, the large, oaken headboard now facing the door. It wouldn't stop bullets, but it would make him harder to see at first glance. Soon asleep, Lacroix's katana dug into his leg, as he shifted in nightmare.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]OOC: Jesus Christ. This thing, resurrected. My opinion was that it was dead, evicerated, and strung up on a fence.... Hell, I think that was the consensus for a while... Like, three months or so. IC: [I]The drow marched. Rather than the thunderous boom that accompanied the armies of lesser races (which was everyone), the drow moved silently. A legion, a multitude, a horde. Or assassins. Murderers. Rapacious fiends unmatched in warfare, magic, unmatched in sheer evil, sheer darkness. Lacroix sat, high in one of Menzoberranzan's many caverns, watching the Exodus. It seemed every dark elf able to fight, or cast spells (which was all of them), along with countless slaves; goblins, ogre, bugbears, rothe, deurgar, illithids.... An unstoppable force. Priestesses of Lloth chanted dark hymns, undead priestesses, the dreaded lichnee, banshees, arch liches, the wizards of Sorcere. Spiders followed along behind the marching forces. Behind them, greater creatures of the Underdark. Hook horrors, basilisks, Grubb beasts, strange scorpion/spider mixes, other fiends never seen by mortal eyes. All beckoned by the drow's mystic call, their palpable desire for slaughter. Drawn along in the bloodrush, the bloodlust, the blood tide. Nothing would sway them. A force of tens of thousands marched, the mightiest force in the realms. Let Nilothakir, or all the gods of the universe, try and stop them. Lacroix rose. He remembered what it was to be a drow. He remembered the dark passions, the intoxicating evil. He realised what he was. He came to terms with it. He was one of them. He would lead the ravening beast. He leapt down, in front of the army. The halted, awaiting his command. He beckoned to several mages, and a huge portal lit the eastern edge of the mile wide cavern. A strange realm appeared on the other side. Lacroix examined it, confident it would serve. He turned, the smile on his face one only a drow could make. It was echoed in every face, every pair of fangs and mandibles, and creatures thoughts. Destruction.[/I] OOC: Apocalypse when? Whenever the hell I feel like it...[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Hehehe. Welcome to my world DOK. *Looks over the sign-ups. Goes back and rereads his own*....God damn I'm good.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Been a while... Name: Kattarin s'Xalerian Age: 27 Gender: Female (Don't ask me why) Appearance: Kattarin, like all her family, is tall, about an inch under six foot. She is, of course, slender, complete with the wiry muscle that results from her family's strange past. She has inheritated the taste for a gothic appearance, and dresses as such. Black leather pants, and a black half robe, trimmed in silver. Leather boots. Incredibly white skin. Blackened eyes and lips. Grey face, raven black hair that falls to her shoulders. Incredibly beautiful, and more than willing to deal with any man (or woman) who makes an issue of it. Background: 171st decendant of the founder of her line, renowned (mainly for being an insufferably arrogant, elitist pain in the ***) adventurer Lacroix s'Xalerian. She's a genetic throwback, in many ways. Still a pain in the ***, still an independant *****, still manic depressed, still insane, still runs around hitting things she doesn't like. Only difference is she eschews her family's swords, the twin scimitars Lacroix left as heritage. Despite their heavy enchantments, she prefers the simple alternative of a damn good kick to the face. In fact, Kattarin is the 170th descendant (there was a black sheep a few hundred years or so ago who didn't like getting dirty or sleeping on the ground. He was a pretty prominent mage, but only studied, never put anything with a practice. Studied demons a lot too, his only mitigating quality. Anyhow. He ended up getting a succubus pregnant. Didn't really corrupt the bloodline, it was pretty bad as it was. The succubus eventually nagged him to death and flew off, leaving the baby Kinrade, the 147th descendant, alone in the castle at the age of 14...) who has renounced her heritage, wealth, prestige and all, and run off adventuring. It's somewhat of a family tradition to run off, then ending up sneaking into Castle s'Xalerian and stealing the family inheritance a few years later. Kattarin has no intentions of ending that tradition. Tattoo: Black panther. A black rose coils around it like a chain. The stem of the rose has two thorns. One has a drop of blood on it, right above the panther's shoulders. The other, midway down its back, has a skull hanging off it. The point of the thorn comes out the skull's eye socket. The tatoo is about a foot long, and located on her right thigh. No-one's seen that tatoo for about 24 years now. Tattoo Power: Basically a passive thing, Kattarin has panther's agility, intincts and reflexes added to her own honed abilities. Weapon: A pair of black leather gauntlets, crafted by a resident mage at Castle s'Xalerian. Like a cat's claws, they have a retractable, curved blade, starting at about the second knuckle, extending past the tip of each black painted fingernails for two inches. Used in conjunction with her martial arts. Armor: None whatsoever. I somewhat adept at catching weapons in her claws and promptly removing them though. No, Lacroix is not getting boring! He's just slightly overworked right now....[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Hell, I really didn't care. Ravenstorture, Jesus Chicken and I came into the new year lying on The Unholy Newt's trampoline, which is way too small for that kind of thing. With him sitting there playing some really depressing song. We actually didn't find out until his neighbours yelled out Happy New Year to us. Then we checked our watches, and kind of went "Oh. Oh well. Bleh", for a while. I'm certain I was in Raven's arms at the time, so I don't mind. The Unholy Newt: The man with no idea what the word "mood" means![/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson] [U][I]My Desperate, Cast Away Wardship[/U][/I] I've watched, many nights The silver glass of your soul The mirror of your psyche Drip with the blood you've shed for me Stained, defiled, ravaged A curtain drawn across the candle There is no more need for the light There is nothing left to illuminate No more need for comfort You say you wish it so You say the darkness calls you It twists through you with forgotten ecstasy Driven by winter winds, And long buried dreams But the phantasms That follow you down Into the pits of delusion Are not the lovers That you pray they are Deeply, completely, unforgivingly, You know them not to be But the candle, even though snuffed Still draws the moth And it still kills And it still tortures And you still love it.... The light is gone. The song is ended. The candle rejuvenated The taper, exposed To the flame of heart Nevermore a demon Nevermore the nightmare Embrace it Pain, nightmares, darkness. A welcome lover, when compared, in all our well-meaning arrogance, to the uncaring populace, the great unwashed, the blight. Embrace your psyche. Embrace the blackened heart. Embrace your darker passions[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Most of my experiences have been with the kind of obsession Semjaza mentioned. I'm in the middle of one of those right now.... I'm just not complaining all that much. Anyway.... Offhand, probably the Tea Party, and fantasy of any kind, are my only obsessions. Raven doesn't count. Raven's not an obsession, she's my symbiote.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Actually Ajeh, there's an improved version of your first idea. Fell your windpipe, then move outwards, slowly. There's a soft spot just beside it. A knifehand thrust, into that area, hard enough and in the right spot, will penetrate the skin. Keep moving in, and you can grab their spine. Then, with your other hand, move in and grab the windpipe. Rip up with the spine hand, outwards with the windpipe hand. Head comes off, throat comes out. The windpipe hand needs to rip out slightly earlier though. Anyway, as to where I get my ideas... let us just say I have way too much time on my hands, and a very gothic view on life, death, pain, and pleasure.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Besides, the word "elf" and its variants has been applied to a hell of a lot of things asiding the usual; faeries, fairies (there is a difference, I don't care what anyone says), goblins, dryads, nymphs, pixies, leprechauns, and even a slyph a time or two. That's just a small portion. So really, in original fantasy, an elf was just any edritch mythical creature. It's mainly the Celts' fault. I'm not objecting, but it is mainly their fault.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Gods, I haven't played Twister in years... Actually, now that I think about it, I've never played Twister. I'm fairly good at twisted myself into strange positions though... sometimes even in a physical sense. Helen Hunt? ...weird. I've been told I look like Micheal Hutchinson at times, but that is just bizarre.[/font][/color]