Place an X by all the things you've done and remove the X from the ones you have not, then tag your friends (including me).

 

Things you have done during your lifetime:

( ) Gone on a blind date

( ) Donated Blood

( ) Donated an organ

( ) Skipped school

( ) Watched someone die

(X) Been to Canada

(x ) Been to Mexico

(X) Been to Florida

( ) Been to Hawaii

(x ) Been to Alaska

(X) Been on a plane

(x ) Been on a helicopter

(X) Been lost

() Gone to Washington, DC

( ) Hugged a homeless person

(X) Swam in the ocean

( ) Swam with Stingrays

(X) Cried yourself to sleep

( x) Played cops and robbers

( ) Recently colored with crayons

( ) Ran a marathon

( ) Sang Karaoke -

( ) Volunteered at a soup kitchen

( ) Paid for a meal with coins only

( ) Been to the top of the St. Louis Arch

( ) Seen the Northern Lights

( ) Been Parasailing

( ) Been on TV

I am NOT

It's kinda funny. I hate change, but here I am again, changing things. Quite obviously, my blog will be looking a little different. I want to make it a bit more fun. Please make me write more often too. I'm gonna put up like three or four tags after I post this.

 

Brett

 

P.S. soon to follow will be an explanation of the reason behind the new look.

Okay, so I said I wasn't doing TOI anymore... I lied.  I'm re-writing it!  Here's the re-written first chapter.

Chapter One: The Whisperer 

A gentle breeze rustled the leaves on the soggy ground as the autumn moon rose over the trees and shone through gossamer spider webs hanging in the branches. A mouse stuck it’s head out of it’s hole beneath a large old oak. It blinked at the moon and looked at the Tower, it’s wet nose quivering.

To the mouse, the Tower of Noran Mir looked almost heavenly bathed in the moonlight, each of its four sides glinting with the golden images of a hand. Music and laughter drifted through its open windows, carried by the breeze into the forest. All was at peace. All was well. Had the mouse thought to, it would have smiled at the sounds of celebration. But it was frightened away.

A tall man stepped out from behind the oak tree, his face shrouded from view by a heavy black hood. A low growl rumbled from his chest as he gazed at Noran Mir. The moon glinted off his eyes; black they were, and cold as steel. They sparked with vehemence at the Tower and the sounds of happiness that came out of it.

“Soon,” he said to the Tower in a dead whisper, “Soon you will be bowing in the dust before me.” He patted the sword that hung at his side, and smiled a grim smile.

There was a slight noise somewhere behind him. He whipped about, dagger in hand, dark eyes probing the black shadows of the night. Seeing nothing, he sheathed his dagger, cast one last bitter glance at the Tower, and stealthily made his way into the deep shadows of the forest.

The path he followed was an old creek bed, which winded through the forest like a snake. Deeper and deeper it went until the man was reaching the very heart of the forest. He could just hear the sounds of harsh shouting and drunken laughter, and could see the red glow of fire up ahead, when suddenly a rough hand grabbed his shoulder from behind and he felt the sharp edge of a knife tickle his throat.

A figure stepped out of the shadows. The dokkal’s face, grey and grim, could barely be seen by the moonlight. “What’s the word?” the dokkal demanded in a deep voice.

“Shade, you idiot!” the man hissed. His captor let him go with a gasp.

“By the Snake, Elamstar!” muttered the dokkal, “We didn’t know it was you! With your hood...”

“Be glad I don’t have time to deal with you now, imbecile,” growled Elamstar. He turned and strode toward the campsite.

As usual, he was greeted by a drunken brawl. He scowled at his soldiers, but they were too busy fighting or drinking to notice him. He crossed the camp, dodging the fighting Dokkalim that came in groups or pairs, and stepping over the sprawled forms of sleeping soldiers, slowly making his way to a lone tent erected beside the great bonfire in the center of the camp.

Casting a hostile glance at the sleeping dokkal leaning against the tent with an empty wineskin in his loose grip, Elamstar lifted the heavy canvas flap and entered. He lit a small lamp hanging in the corner, revealing a table with a plate of half-eaten food on it and a cot. On this cot lay a person, dressed in a dingy blue shirt under a stiff leather jerkin. The flickering light from the lamp accentuated the sharp Annwine features of his youthful face and shined in his golden hair.

Elamstar scowled at the sleeping Annwyn. He looked so peaceful, as if he were back in his own bed in his great Fomorian palace in Linaar. “Well, Prince Mornan Fomori,” muttered Elamstar under his breath, “It seems your days of peace are finally at an end.”

A slow smile spread across Mornan Fomori’s face. “Would you mind closing the flap?” the prince asked, “There’s a draft.”

Elamstar frowned. “Stand up!” he ordered.

The Annwyn prince slowly obeyed, clearly enjoying the cloud of impatience spreading over Elamstar’s face. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather me bow to the dust before you, like Noran Mir?”

Elamstar started at this. “You... You didn’t follow...” He rushed back to the entrance where the dokkal guard was still in a drunken slumber. “Fool!” he shouted as he shook the massive soldier to his feet. “I warned you that if you did not keep the closest watch on him, there would be consequences!”

The dokkal stumbled to the ground, wide eyed. “He escaped, sir?” he asked in a hoarse whisper as he struggled to his feet.

“That’s one thing you’ll never know,” hissed Elamstar in his soldier’s face. “Kinnos!”

A large dokkal strode away from the bonfire and grunted a salute.

Elamstar shoved the staggering dokkal toward him. “This idiot isn’t to see the light of another day,” he snarled, “See to it, and replace him with someone more trustworthy.”

“I’ll do it myself,” said Kinnos.

Elamstar studied Kinnos for a moment. There was a certain... something about him that unnerved him. Something almost noble, if a dokkal could be noble. Elamstar waved them off. “See to it.” He went back into the tent.

Mornan was smiling that mischievous smile that never failed to anger him. “I could have escaped, you know,” the prince said.

“Why didn’t you?”

“I enjoy baiting you. Your reactions are most amusing.”

Elamstar scowled. “You are not at your palace in Linaar, Mornan. You are as helpless as a rabbit in the claws of a vulture.”

Mornan tilted his head to one side, as if studying Elamstar. “You’re right,” he said finally, “You do look like a vulture.”

Elamstar regarded the Annwyn with distaste for a moment. Then he smiled slowly. “Would you like to hear the latest news of the war, my prince?”

A stoic mask immediately dropped over Mornan’s face. He sat down on the edge of the cot and stared at the flickering lamp. “Go on,” he said quietly.

“Very well,” Elamstar leaned against the table and watched Mornan’s face. “Our troops,” he said, “Have destroyed all the ships in Isai Nor. Without their sailor friends, the soldiers of Noran Risas gave up without much of a fight.”

Mornan’s face remained emotionless, but Elamstar could sense the shock of the news quickening the prince’s Annwine blood. Shock, replaced by bewilderment, and then... hope?

“Did you find what you were looking for?” asked Mornan suddenly, his blue eyes piercing into Elamstar’s.

Elamstar was taken aback at first, but then shrugged it off. “So, you’ve guessed,” he said slowly, “But, no. Your fool of a brother escaped with it.”

There was no mistaking the triumph, and pride, in Mornan’s voice. “As long as Naramir has it in his care, you can forget about taking the Sarilan.”

Elamstar shrugged. “Who cares about that sword anymore? We have a better one now.” He straightened and threw his coat back. He drew the sword that dangled at his side, it’s elegantly curved blade rasping as it came out of it’s scabbard. Elamstar held it almost worshipfully in the dim lamplight. “Do you know it, my prince?” he asked in a low voice, his eyes never leaving the polished steel blade. “Can you feel it’s power? Can you hear it screaming for a battle? For death?” His eyes narrowed at Mornan. “It’s bite is hungry, it’s fire is unforgiving. Do you know it’s name, Mornan?”

Mornan gazed at the shimmering blade. He saw how easily the hand of Elamstar gripped it’s handle. “Rimastan,” he said reverently, “The sword of King Dore.”

“Rimastan,” said Elamstar, “The sword of Elamstar.” He sheathed the sword and leaned against the table. “Do you realize the gravity of it all? Rimastan is in the hand of the one it otherwise would have fought against.”

“I assume you are thinking of the prophecy of Seer Ash?” Mornan asked.



“That if Sarilan and Rimastan fought against each other the Towers of Iron will fall?”

Mornan narrowed his eyes at Elamstar. “Surely you don’t believe that,” he said, “Seer Ash was a madman!”

“Was he?” Elamstar smiled, “Not a nice thing to say about my great-grandfather.”

He continued to speak, but Mornan couldn’t hear him. The detail of the tent, Elamstar’s face, and everything else blurred and blended together in confusion. Mornan instinctively leaned back and let the feeling take him.

Elamstar stopped speaking. His eyes narrowed as he saw Mornan’s eyes close. Then uncertainty gave way to fear. He realized with shock that Mornan was passing into salimin, a trancelike state in which the Annwine people were said to receive visions. Elamstar grimaced. Visions from... Lor.

Elamstar spat and leaned against the table, waiting for Mornan to finish speaking with his god.

Elamstar.

Elamstar smiled. He closed his eyes and concentrated. “Yes Master?”

All is ready. You need to attack now.

Elamstar nodded. He opened his eyes and stood.

“You will fall.”

Startled, Elamstar looked at Mornan. The prince had come out of his vision and was smiling up at him.

“Oh, yes,” said Mornan slowly, as if savoring each syllable, “You will surely fall. The strength of Lor is on our side.”

Elamstar struck Mornan across the face with the back of his hand. “Don’t you say that name again,” he snarled. He turned on his heel and strode out of the tent, leaving a smiling Annwyn prince behind.
“Kinnos,” he growled to his general, “Is all ready for the attack?”
“All is ready,” said Kinnos, his voice showing no emotion, “The troops are assembled just outside the wood, as you ordered.”
“Then,” said Elamstar, his voice jubilant, “Order the advance.”
“Yes, sir.” The dokkal drew his scimitar and lunged through the camp, followed by half a dozen soldiers.
They ran down the winding path faster than any horse could have, and soon they burst out into the clearing. Kinnos laughed a grim laugh as the rush of the impending battle swept over him. He lifted his great battle horn he carried at his side and blew a resounding blast. With a tremendous shout the Dokkalim troops exploded out of the darkness of the forest and swept over the clearing toward the walls of Noran Mir. Overhead great round stones hurtled through the night sky and burst against the stone battlements. Kinnos saw them and grinned wildly. The catapults were doing their work.

_______________________________________________________________________________________

Inside, General Nimoran leapt up from his seat in the Great Hall. “Everyone to the walls!” he commanded. There was confusion as tables and chairs were overturned and people scrambled for the doors. Men hurried everywhere, herding the women and children deeper into the Tower and seizing weapons and armor.
General Nimoran stood on the wall, staring in horror at the great mass of Dokkalim charging the walls. A flaming thing hurtled towards him from the blackness of the night, roaring through the air.

_______________________________________________________________________________________

Mornan opened the tent flap, just enough to peek out. The camp was almost empty, only a few drunken Dokkalim sprawled out around the diminishing fire. A slow smile spread across his face. He stepped out, keeping to the shadows as much as he could as he crossed the camp. No voice called out, no pursuing footsteps were heard... And he ran.

Hi. I Just wanted to post this little fact. Did you know that a space sute ways 135lb. Thats heavy!

Once upon a time, there was a village boy. Although we really shouldn't call him a "boy", he was more of a young man, being at the age of 16, and all. And we really shouldn't call him a man, meaning human, seeing how he was an elf. He had been born in a tree hut deep in elf-country, in Teralou. His father worked as a carpenter, and made almost the finest furnishings you would ever hope to see. His mother took care of their hut. He grew up without any siblings, and didn't have very many friends, aside from his horse, Leon. Although, he did have one very powerful and loving Friend: his Best Friend, and True Father. He loved to please Him any way he could. The young Elf loved his life in his village; and that is why, when that fateful day came, it took all of David's courage and faith in his Father to do what he must.

Sam

Hello!

Excuse me for forgeting about this place for awhile, I've been totally busy! I'll be back soon with another story :)

Anna

Hello everybody! I have finally got up enough courage to post my prologue....I wold have posted this sooner, but I was busy, ah, doing other things. Tell me what you think!:

 

            Prologue

                  Vengeance and dangerous plots     

Deep within the city walls a crowd of the king’s soldiers, disguised as peasants, gathered. They all stood silent, and solemn, waiting for their leader to give them their orders. They carried torches, ready to be lit, and the purpose of these is not difficult to guess. The soldiers were hiding in the middle of Arden disguised as peasants, and carrying torches for only one purpose……The burning of the city.                                          

Night had fallen over Vladimria, and it was late into the night when at last their leader appeared. The soldiers all made way for their fierce general, they knew that if they were thought impertinent they would be killed; and so none of them risked that possibility.                                                                                                      

 Saber Rhhune was a tall, muscular man, with curly black hair cropped short and brown eyes with flecks of gold. It was said that he could lift a tree from the ground without dying, and kill a hundred men without being wounded. Yes, if there were any men in Vladimria that were fiercer than saber Rune they were either too cowardly to show their faces, or they simply did not exist, the latter being the most likely. Saber Rhhune stepped forward, and faced his men.                                                                                                 

“You all know what you must do. Burn the rebels out, and surround the city outside its walls after it’s lit, so that none may escape. And after you are rid of your torches leave the city as quickly as you can, unless you wish to be consumed by the flames as well.”                                                                                                        

The soldiers saluted their leader, and, with a curt bow, they left his presence and dispersed, each away to work his own mischief.Saber Rhhune simply watched and smiled.                                                                                                           “Before long all of the rebels will either have submitted to their king or been destroyed. All is going according to plan."

……

Fire…. It burns, kills, razes. Fire cannot be tamed, it is like the wild beast which chases its prey and destroys anything in its path. Fire is what ruined the home, and killed the family of a little eleven year old boy who watched as it all went up in flames from afar.                                                                                            

Demetrius stood on Brire hill, a large grassy hill standing one mile from his home-town, Arden, and watched as soldiers surrounded the city and burned it to the ground. His family, his parents, Braugh, and Mereina, and his sisters, Breana, and Rouen, and his only brother, Rhhune, were dead, and he was alone in the world.                                                                                                                                                                         

  A warm breeze blew his jet black hair, and smoke carried by the wind stung his eyes, but that was not causing the tears that were streaking down his dirty face.He angrily wiped the hot tears away. It was all so hard to understand. Why would they burn my home down? He thought, as he watched, motionless.  His sisters, Breana not yet ten months old, and Rouen only eight, how could the soldiers be so heartless? How could they have burned my family?                                                                         As the hours passed the smoke had gradually died away and the soldiers had gone. Demetrius slowly made his way down the hill and towards Arden, or rather, what remained of it.                              

Demetrius was forced to look at it from outside its stone walls, rather than inside, for some of the building remnants were still flaming. And the ashes inside the city were too hot to walk on.His tears were spent; he had none left to cry. The only thing that occupied his mind was intense grief, and rage at what the soldiers had done.                           

Demetrius fell to his knees at the ruins of the city gate, and screamed at the top of his lungs.“Why? Why has this happened?” He yelled sinking to his knees, sobbing.                                               

After a little, his tears ceased to flow, and his grief succumbed to rage. “Hear, soldiers of the king!” He said; and spat on the ground. “I will not rest, , and I will not give up even if death takes me and I am forced to haunt you who are still alive. My family will be avenged. And I will pay any price to avenge them, be it my life, or anything else. This I vow. Justice and vengeance will com!"

……

Many leagues away, in eastern Vladimria…                                     

It was dark, very dark. But inside the network of caves hidden in the mountains of Amran many fires were burning, and the flames lit their dark interiors.Inside the main Cave, called “Ravin Quir,” Dwarves and Fauns gathered around a fire in its centre to discuss an extremely important matter; a matter that could change the future of Vladimria, and possibly end the upcoming war sooner than expected.                                                                                                           

“We must release it on our enemies! The time is now, friends, to attack! We must destroy them before they destroy us!” shouted Throndier, a Dwarven Lord who remained very prominent amongst his people, he was well respected, although he sometimes let his temper get the best of him which would, ever so often, cloud his judgment. Throndier was a member of the twelve Dwarven war-lords who led the troops into battle, he was a very rough personage and he was not well liked although he was the dwarves’ strongest man.                                                                                                                                                                                      

The listeners gasped. “But we have no supplies! No general or leader! How can we defeat the King’s army of ten thousand strong?” Replied a Faun, who rose and walked nearer to Throndier shaking his fists angrily as he spoke, “Throndier, if you are truly the man of wisdom that your people boast of, then tell me, why do you wish to start a war before we are truly ready?”                                                                                             

  “I will explain all in good time!”Replied Throndier loudly, “But you must listen, and ask no questions.”A murmur went throughout the crowd, some rose and left, others stayed but they looked rather uneasy. Another of the dwarf lords stood up.                                                                                                                                                           

“Our respected, and wise Throndier has been chosen for our leader, and the supplies will be gathered in due time, but for now we must all concentrate on preparing an army for the upcoming war.” He turned to the Faun who had spoken, “As for you, you and your people are in need of a leader as well, so I suggest you cast a vote as soon as possible.”The Faun returned to his place silently. The Dwarf cleared his throat.                                                                                                                                                                   

 “And you Throndier, I believe your anger has clouded your judgment, you know as well as I do that we cannot attack until our weapon is complete, and fully formed.”                                                                 

Throndier sat down with a slightly annoyed expression on his bearded features, but he said no more. But the other Lord remained standing.                                                                                                                   

Another of the Fauns stood up; presumably he was a king for he was garbed in blue, a color reserved for royalty among their clans.                                                                                                                  

“Muirod, my friend, I have not simply come to represent my people, I have also come to share with you a proposition, which, I believe, will aid us in our efforts to defeat our enemies.” He said, speaking to the Dwarf lord standing in front of him.                                                                                                      

“A proposition?” Muirod asked; his bushy eyebrows shooting up in surprise.                                                               “Yes. If we are to defeat the men’s King and bring peace to Vladimria we must have help. Our armies put together are not enough, I have taken a census and our numbers are far less than that of the King’s.”                                                                                                                                                                                           

“Tell me Fleequin, my friend, what exactly are you proposing? For it matters not what our numbers are, numbers do not win wars alone.” interrupted Muirod.                                                                            

 “If you would let me speak without interruption then perhaps I might be able to reach the proposition.” Replied Fleequin, slightly irritated, “Now to the point. If we cannot defeat the King ourselves then why not seek out anyone else who would agree to our cause?”                                                                     

Muirod was silent for a moment, apparently lost in thought.“Yes, but who might we ask without drawing the King’s attention?” he inquired.                                                

“I have messengers who know all the locations of trustworthy races,” replied Fleequin, “And there are a great many too.”                                                                                                                                                               

“I see. Very well, send out your messengers to whom-ever might aid us in our quest, and for the sake of your people’s lives, do not fail.”

~Autumn Harper~

I just wanted to let you all know that, no, I have not fallen off of the face of the earth. I just went on a little journey. I, hopfully, will be posting Chapter two of "Shadows Over Teralou" very soon. Oh, and Arianna Joy has a great contest posted under this entry, for those of you who have not had a chance to see it yet.

Sam