Profile for Sir David
| Field | Value |
|---|---|
| Displayed name | Sir David |
| Member number | 919 |
| Title | Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire! |
| Postcount | 3351 |
| Homepage | |
| Registered | Saturday, April 6 2002 08:00 |
Recent posts
Pages
| Author | Recent posts |
|---|---|
| Anagrams in General | |
|
Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire!
Member # 919
|
written Tuesday, August 15 2006 09:39
Profile
Spiro Agnew -> Grow a Penis It's amazing how many anagrams can be made from variants of Spiderweb... -------------------- And though the musicians would die, the music would live on in the imaginations of all who heard it. -The Last Pendragon Polaris = joy. In case of emergency, break glass. Posts: 3351 | Registered: Saturday, April 6 2002 08:00 |
| Icshi's Whereabouts in Richard White Games | |
|
Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire!
Member # 919
|
written Tuesday, August 15 2006 09:35
Profile
Our White Lord's Exarch of Benevolent Love and Other Happy Things, Such as Kittens and Assorted Candies, as Well as the Occasional Holiday Bonus Paycheck checking in. As an inherent heretic among the over-faithful, however, a situation such as this involving a heretic such as myself in a position such as mine is bound to result in a sharp decline in kitten and assorted candy distribution. It goes without saying that the Cult had been able to find a new Exarch of Benevolent Love etc. etc. by the time the next Holiday is, will be, or has been. -------------------- And though the musicians would die, the music would live on in the imaginations of all who heard it. -The Last Pendragon Polaris = joy. In case of emergency, break glass. Posts: 3351 | Registered: Saturday, April 6 2002 08:00 |
| Some sort of re-hello to spiderweb? in General | |
|
Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire!
Member # 919
|
written Thursday, August 10 2006 23:13
Profile
Hey, I definitely remember ørangutan. Welcome back! I'm going to pass off the job of summarizing the last year of Spiderweb history to someone with more time on their hands. -------------------- And though the musicians would die, the music would live on in the imaginations of all who heard it. -The Last Pendragon Polaris = joy. In case of emergency, break glass. Posts: 3351 | Registered: Saturday, April 6 2002 08:00 |
| Alec Kyras: An 19th Birthday Retrospective in General | |
|
Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire!
Member # 919
|
written Tuesday, August 8 2006 22:48
Profile
Alec is the wrong man to be questioning others' usage of real names. He's a very bad man to be doing that. In fact he may well be the worst man ever. ..but seriously, that was not my intent. You can reveal such information as you choose, although I think Salmon already spoiled that. I was perfectly content with the massive confusion, though. -------------------- And though the musicians would die, the music would live on in the imaginations of all who heard it. -The Last Pendragon Polaris = joy. In case of emergency, break glass. Posts: 3351 | Registered: Saturday, April 6 2002 08:00 |
| The Abominable Photo Thread Strikes Back in General | |
|
Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire!
Member # 919
|
written Tuesday, August 8 2006 05:49
Profile
Thuryl! Go back to the hairstyle of your famous downward-angle photo! Spiderweb demands it of you! -------------------- And though the musicians would die, the music would live on in the imaginations of all who heard it. -The Last Pendragon Polaris = joy. In case of emergency, break glass. Posts: 3351 | Registered: Saturday, April 6 2002 08:00 |
| Alec Kyras: An 19th Birthday Retrospective in General | |
|
Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire!
Member # 919
|
written Sunday, August 6 2006 21:39
Profile
Happy birthday, Ben, and may you never rule thusly over a large European nation. -------------------- And though the musicians would die, the music would live on in the imaginations of all who heard it. -The Last Pendragon Polaris = joy. In case of emergency, break glass. Posts: 3351 | Registered: Saturday, April 6 2002 08:00 |
| History in the making... in General | |
|
Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire!
Member # 919
|
written Tuesday, August 1 2006 18:36
Profile
quote:I know, seriously? I'm not even annoyed at Wiki, I'm kind of impressed. -------------------- And though the musicians would die, the music would live on in the imaginations of all who heard it. -The Last Pendragon Polaris = joy. In case of emergency, break glass. Posts: 3351 | Registered: Saturday, April 6 2002 08:00 |
| What have you been reading lately? in General | |
|
Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire!
Member # 919
|
written Monday, July 31 2006 11:33
Profile
I'm reading Aldous Huxley's The Island because I hold that Huxley sucks and my friend disagrees vehemently. Before that I read The Genius and the Goddess, and neither has done much yet to change my mind. EDIT: LeGuin... that reminds me, I was going to start over in the EarthSea series. They're rather short, if I remember correctly... [ Monday, July 31, 2006 11:34: Message edited by: Sir David ] -------------------- And though the musicians would die, the music would live on in the imaginations of all who heard it. -The Last Pendragon Polaris = joy. In case of emergency, break glass. Posts: 3351 | Registered: Saturday, April 6 2002 08:00 |
| Facebook Me! in General | |
|
Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire!
Member # 919
|
written Wednesday, July 26 2006 11:58
Profile
I use Facebook but not Myspace; I really kind of detest Myspace, but Facebook's only half-bad. It's also very useful sometimes for the aforementioned reasons. I'm not a very organized person and if I'm planning some sort of party chances are not everyone I want to come is going to be notified, but Facebook goes a long way towards ameliorating that situation. -------------------- And though the musicians would die, the music would live on in the imaginations of all who heard it. -The Last Pendragon Polaris = joy. In case of emergency, break glass. Posts: 3351 | Registered: Saturday, April 6 2002 08:00 |
| Mountain of Shadows RP: the sequel in General | |
|
Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire!
Member # 919
|
written Sunday, July 23 2006 12:39
Profile
A wisp of memory flitted across Lisha's eyes, floated into her mind, tickling her ear on its way in. She let her eyelids droop, half-closed, as the Curator went rigid with concentration and she allowed herself a moment of remembrance. A red summer sun beats down on her golden features, her mouth and nose wrapped in tanned cloth, stifling but bearably familiar. A strand of hair breaks free from her headscarf and blows into her squinted eye, and is torn from her head by a blind reflex of her hand. The sorcerer had demanded a king, and the king, unimaginable riches; she'd brought them together and given them each exactly what they wanted, although neither had expected to be locked in the tomb forever in each other's grasp, the tribal king's now undead flesh drying, shrivelling around his automated bones, the sorcerer tortured more by the pain of knowing that it was the fault of his own magic that his own creation could never fully kill him than by the bony fingers digging into his throat. She tests the stone once more, then makes her way down the dune, satisfied; by the time they are found, both will be as lifeless as the sand at her feet. The enemy of an enemy is not necessarily a friend, but when the cards are played right, enemies can prove invaluable weapons against each other. What is no longer man can never be a true friend to man, but a powerful demon is a powerful demon; might as well make us of it. Sitting in a lightless room at three years old, she'd been told over and over by the sonorous speaker, never seen but always heard, that her allegiance was to the Grand Master first and to the Grand Master last, and to the Grand Master in between. He was no god, of course; the gods sat in the sky or wallowed in the river, maybe dwelt in the palmwood, but they were content to give and maintain life, to facilitate the chaos that is nature, and to accept death in its time. It was the Grand Master who had introduced order into the world, who asserted man's right to rule over what the gods had given them, and thus it was the Grand Master that she served above all, not a god but something better, something ordered and something real. The Grand Master had sent her into this abyss devoid even of the omnipresent, ever-watching sun, and as much as she resented it, she was here, a wall away from a great evil and the treasure and knowledge it hoarded. He'd ordered her as she lay prone on the stone floor before him to go and learn what she could; she'd learned, and what she'd learned was that if she didn't act now, she would have betrayed the Grand Master and order itself. The sonorous voice had also impressed upon her her right to use anything and anyone possible in the fulfillment of her duties. The greedy tribal king, among others, had proven the voice's instruction beyond a doubt. Brother Sequoia had been digusted by her suggestion of using one demon against another. Fine. What did the priest of nature know about order? She'd do what she must. Lisha rose to her full height, shivering in the cold and dark but with a glint in her eyes that betrayed the fire behind them. The lich's gaze followed her, but his mind remained elsewhere. "Curator." His focus snapped and he shook his head as if woken from a reverie. "There is a member of my party who has been tainted by the power of your master. You know this, of course," she continued as he narrowed his eyes, "but you've not thought it through. Know, lich, that Orloki has enslaved you, drained you, and now abandonned you. We can use his own taint against him. Curator, if you can break us from our prison, I can free you - put your reins back in your own hands - and that if you cannot, Orloki may acheive power beyond what he has ever known, and have free range of the mountain." The fear was coming back into the Curator's features. She'd moved closer and was now standing right above him. "Free us and you are free forever. Sit still and do nothing, and your existance will lose whatever meaning it ever had. It's your choice." The Curator backed up and lowered his gaze, shaking. "I... I have connected with Gnosis... it may be able to give me a percentage of the stone-shifting power given me by... by the Guardian..." He pushed himself onto his feet, eyeing her knife warily, and moved to the wall through which the wolves had entered. "I must wait for him..." -------------------- And though the musicians would die, the music would live on in the imaginations of all who heard it. -The Last Pendragon Polaris = joy. In case of emergency, break glass. Posts: 3351 | Registered: Saturday, April 6 2002 08:00 |
| Pyrotechnics in General | |
|
Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire!
Member # 919
|
written Sunday, July 23 2006 11:19
Profile
Fire's kind of fun, I guess, but I wouldn't call myself a pyromaniac. I tend to hate needless destruction, so I've never liked melting plastic soldiers or whatever, but I love building a fire and keeping it going. Five out of the five senses, Gizmo - sparks from a woodfire are actually kind of pleasant-tasting. -------------------- And though the musicians would die, the music would live on in the imaginations of all who heard it. -The Last Pendragon Polaris = joy. In case of emergency, break glass. Posts: 3351 | Registered: Saturday, April 6 2002 08:00 |
| Starting Charcoal in General | |
|
Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire!
Member # 919
|
written Friday, July 21 2006 22:58
Profile
Gas grills seem to be the way to go. I tend to stay away from all those extras; a bit of lighter fluid should do the trick. You really don't need the other things you mentioned. Hickory is pretty good, by the way, as is applewood... -------------------- And though the musicians would die, the music would live on in the imaginations of all who heard it. -The Last Pendragon Polaris = joy. In case of emergency, break glass. Posts: 3351 | Registered: Saturday, April 6 2002 08:00 |
| Mountain of Shadows RP: the sequel in General | |
|
Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire!
Member # 919
|
written Saturday, July 15 2006 13:13
Profile
On the behalf of Nazgul: IC: A spark leapt from the black stone wall as Cain swept past it, jerking his hand from Edith's. The woman's smart, I'll give her that, but touching me... that's one liberty too many. Edith following closely behind, Cain pushed into the darkness, half expecting the rumble of stone signifying the termination of his unexpected luck. He blinked and looked around the unlit passage, his hand brushing lightly against the stone in lieu of any sort of lighting. They'd gone about fifty feet in silence before Cain decided, with mild surprise, that the stone wasn't going to close before him. Or on him. "See?" chirped Edith, spirits audibly raised by their good fortune. "Now that the Curator's gone, there's nobody to close the passage off. Orloki must be distracted. Perhaps he doesn't control this passage." Distracted. "Edith." Cain stopped suddenly, and Edith walked full force into his back. He reached out to steady her. "He must know I'm here. I'm holding part of him in me. I say he's drawing us in." "But do you truly believe the Curator is that good of an actor? He looked distressed by the opening of this passage. Maybe Orloki is busy." "With Brother Sequoia. Maybe the elf, or.. Lisha." "And that's why the passage is open! Brother Sequoia has some control over the mountain." "Maybe." Cain resumed his pace, and Edith jumped to catch up. They moved in silence for a while, largely because Cain was in no mood to converse and managed to keep Edith at a pace that made conversation difficult. The darkness drew them deeper and deeper into its stifling embrace so that when Cain noticed growing lights in the distance, he attributed it to the oppression of tons and tons of stone pressing in around him. Edith gathered her breath and spoke. "Is that a torch I see?" Cain blinked his eyes. Not just a mirage then. "It's some sort of flame." He clenched his fists. If the passage were full of the uruk-hai, they'd have to press on; by this time, surely, its entrance was sealed shut. But the flame grew steadily and stayed where it was, and as they got closer, he decided that it lacked the vile glow of the uruk-hai flame. The passage began to curve, and what had been one flame became two, then four as they came within sight of the opposite wall. Looking behind, Cain realized that the passage they'd come through was rough, unhewn, as raw and natural as the snow-capped peaks outside. The lighted walls were carved, polished, smooth as and oaken floor. And they were covered in sleek black shimmering ice. Cain reached for the first torch he came to but found it as irretrievably ensconced in the ice as had been the treasure in the chamber far behind him. He tapped the ice and saw no mark. Edith continued forward, then came running back to him. "Cain, there's a gateway made comepletely of ice. It's wide open." -------------------- And though the musicians would die, the music would live on in the imaginations of all who heard it. -The Last Pendragon Polaris = joy. In case of emergency, break glass. Posts: 3351 | Registered: Saturday, April 6 2002 08:00 |
| Israel - Lebanon conflict in General | |
|
Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire!
Member # 919
|
written Thursday, July 13 2006 22:12
Profile
If the situation were in the hands of PM Olmert's detractors, Israel would sit back and whine to the rest of the world while allowing avowed racists and terrorists to destroy its people, its buildings and its morale one shell at a time. That is if it hadn't already been destroyed in the mid-20th century, which would be entirely likely. Call it what you want, but to defend Hezbollah, Ahmedinejad, Hamas or any of their ilk is to say that the Nazis weren't so bad after all, just they were too... well, legitimate. We're talking about people who have publicly stated their intention to finish the job Hitler started, and I hate Nazi analogies as much as the rest of you. I'm in agreement with Alorael about Israel's actions. About those of Hezbollah... the thought that anyone could justify their actions makes me sick. No, Lebanon's civilians shouldn't be killed for the actions of a terrorist organization within their ranks. But what can you do when confronted by such people? -------------------- And though the musicians would die, the music would live on in the imaginations of all who heard it. -The Last Pendragon Polaris = joy. In case of emergency, break glass. Posts: 3351 | Registered: Saturday, April 6 2002 08:00 |
| Oh my God, you just can't make this **** up. in General | |
|
Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire!
Member # 919
|
written Tuesday, July 11 2006 08:56
Profile
Morningstar is generally pretty good. The fake chicken is certainly worth a shot. It tastes similar to chicken, but as Alorael said, it doesn't really matter; what matters is that it tastes good and is a hell of a lot healthier than anything coming out of a Swanson factory. I tried the ribs, though, and while I don't generally like real ribs, I'd much prefer them to the fake ones. Vegetarian meat, I guess, is hit-and-miss. -------------------- And though the musicians would die, the music would live on in the imaginations of all who heard it. -The Last Pendragon Polaris = joy. In case of emergency, break glass. Posts: 3351 | Registered: Saturday, April 6 2002 08:00 |
| Mountain of Shadows RP: the sequel in General | |
|
Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire!
Member # 919
|
written Sunday, July 9 2006 21:15
Profile
EDIT: Dear Readers, Nazgul is no longer with us (by which I mean that he is unable to type, not that he is dead) and as such I will be in control of Cain from this point on, unless he returns before the end of the RP (which he doesn't expect to do). Therefore, if you'd like to discuss plans involving Cain, discuss them with me and not Nazgul (who you probably won't be able to contact about it anyway). I'll post an IC for Cain soon, but first things first. IC: Lisha was growing impatient, and it showed. Though there was clearly no way out of the passage she was now trapped in, she'd only sat a minute or two before getting up and pacing the room, searching for cracks in the ice or the stone, anything that she could possibly manipulate to get closer to her nemesis. The Curator sat where he was, spidery arms wrapped around his stick legs. Catching sight of him, she stopped. "Lich." The Curator made no response. "Lich. Do not ignore me. We are in the same predicament, and you know that." The shrivelled old man stared straight ahead. Lisha moved around in front of him and knelt to meet his gaze. He looked away as if shown a particularly revolting piece of meat. She smiled. "You cannot hide from me, you're right in front of me. Curator, back before the stairway you closed us in and created a hole in the stone where a sheer rock wall had been a moment before. You know that your master didn't waste his time closing us in well. Why don't you just move the stone aside?" The Curator stirred as if coming awake after a restless night. He looked into her eyes and she shuddered; where she could see the shadow within Melora's eyes, the power in Sequoia's, even the demon with Edith's before she'd been freed, in the eyes of the Curator there was nothing. Only the irregular rise and fall of his thin cloak set him apart from the automatons of a Tass Shanti crypt. "Why should I work against my... master's plan?" he asked, his tone suggesting a child's bored curiosity rather than a guard's demand. "What may I accomplish by freeing us from this prison? If Orloki wants us here, then here shall we stay. I..." He stopped. "You have such power, do you not? Move the stone. You could crush me. Try, move the wall behind me down upon my head. Why do you not try?" She stood back and waited expectantly, arms outstretched, completely at the mercy of the mountain. The Curator rose a hand toward the wall, then dropped it into his lap. "I already have." She stared. The Curator loweered his gaze to the floor. She lowered her arms, then sat on the stone, cross-legged. "Your power is not yours, then. It was never yours." "No." The lich looked up, eyes suddenly flashing with the light of embers rekindled. "My power is - my power was my own. I do not need the demon, or - I need no aid. I needed no aid." "You do now." The Curator started, then stopped. A sigh swept the fire from his eyes. "I do. Yes, yes, I do now. I placed my strength in the claws of the Guardian, and now..." He sighed again. When he finally spoke, Lisha had to lean forward to catch his words. "Now there is none left within me." Lisha supressed a smirk. "Orloki is not the greatest power in this mountain. The mountain itself has long lay dormant, but no longer. It has grown weary of the demon's intrusion, and will tolerate it no longer." She moved closer. "Who are you?" "I am the Curator," he said simply. "There is nothing more. I was the Curator, and now I am nothing. Nothing. Nothing at all. I gave myself away and received protection, mainly from the taker, and now that he is finished with me I am nothing. A husk." "The Guardian. Curator... what is he?" He glared at her. "I will tell you nothing." "On the contrary." She drew a knife. "You have nothing to gain from withholding your knowledge. But the mountain will crush your master, like it or not. Aid it, and you will be rewarded." The Curator closed his eyes. "It is not the mountain that will reward me." "Oh?" But the lich heard nothing; something bigger had stolen his attention. [ Sunday, July 09, 2006 21:19: Message edited by: Sir David ] -------------------- And though the musicians would die, the music would live on in the imaginations of all who heard it. -The Last Pendragon Polaris = joy. In case of emergency, break glass. Posts: 3351 | Registered: Saturday, April 6 2002 08:00 |
| Oh my God, you just can't make this **** up. in General | |
|
Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire!
Member # 919
|
written Saturday, July 8 2006 19:38
Profile
See, I'd eat a meal like that, but not one with the first four percentages of daily requirements in that nutritional information. As 5814 (eh?) said, the meal itself isn't horrible - what's horrible is the individual parts of it and how full of **** they are. Those eggs. My God. I've eaten eggs (cooked by myself) from one of those low-cholesterol pre-scrambled health food things, and I can tell you I'd rather avoid the experience in the future. Between the two, though, I'd pay money to not have to choose what's in the Hungry-Man breakfast. I wouldn't be too sure of those pancakes, either. I mean, at first glance, 78 carbohydrates for breakfast isn't so bad. I tend to eat more than that every day (edit: for breakfast). What's scary about it, though, is that those carbohydrates come from two sources, namely the home fries and the pancakes. The home fries can't be more than 35 or 40 carbohydrates, and shouldn't have anywhere near 22 grams of sugar in them. That probably means at least half of the carbohydrates in the pancakes are directly from sugar. I would never make pancakes anything like that, let alone eat them. Good lord. All I can say is I'm glad there are four grams of fiber in that. Whoever eats it is sure as hell going to need them. [ Saturday, July 08, 2006 19:39: Message edited by: Sir David ] -------------------- And though the musicians would die, the music would live on in the imaginations of all who heard it. -The Last Pendragon Polaris = joy. In case of emergency, break glass. Posts: 3351 | Registered: Saturday, April 6 2002 08:00 |
| Bride of the Abominable Photo Thread in General | |
|
Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire!
Member # 919
|
written Tuesday, July 4 2006 23:35
Profile
Ephesos, do you play an instrument, by any chance? Because your face, your physique... you were made to be in a ska band. Streetlight, not Bosstones. Seriously. You're letting down the human race if you don't join/create a ska band. -------------------- And though the musicians would die, the music would live on in the imaginations of all who heard it. -The Last Pendragon Polaris = joy. In case of emergency, break glass. Posts: 3351 | Registered: Saturday, April 6 2002 08:00 |
| Bride of the Abominable Photo Thread in General | |
|
Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire!
Member # 919
|
written Monday, July 3 2006 10:03
Profile
Finally, some pictures of me...  Call it a birthday celebration.  Last musical concert of our public educational careers!  Creepy red eye... -------------------- And though the musicians would die, the music would live on in the imaginations of all who heard it. -The Last Pendragon Polaris = joy. In case of emergency, break glass. Posts: 3351 | Registered: Saturday, April 6 2002 08:00 |
| Mountain of Shadows RP: the sequel in General | |
|
Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire!
Member # 919
|
written Wednesday, June 28 2006 10:01
Profile
Dibs. Thanks for getting things up and running again, Aran and saunders. EDIT: Tpoys. IC: Lisha stood utterly motionless at the entrance of the passage in the ice. The sound of the Curator's footsteps had ceased. He has stopped. Her eyes closed, she sent her mind back to the Tomb of Hasput. She had been hiding, waiting just around a corner, when the necromancer's spy had come flying from the chamber and discovered her own spying. Remembering the chaos that had resulted then, she began inching away from the entrance and from the wall, eyes trained on the corner. With a startling clarity the footsteps resumed. Trusting to instinct, Lisha gripped her knife and spun herself into the entrance. The room had a rigidity about it not normally found in nature, a stiffness that suggested an imposition of a greater will, something incredible, something far more powerful than simple stonecarving. The ice, oddly enough, was thinner here than anywhere else - she could see the stone through it. It was glowing as if lit from within but, unlike the ice until this point, seemed to be reflecting within itself. Thus it was without obstruction that she saw the retreating back of the Curator. Lisha padded forward, sure the Curator had not yet noticed her presence. The mountain groaned, a deep, grumbling growl and she paused, but the Curator walked on, oblivious. A stalagmite cracked and fell from the ceiling. Stalagmites... The far end of the anteroom, she saw, was obscured by row upon row of stalactites and stalagmites, all poised treacherously, ready to drop onto the unfortunate intruder with a simple shift in the ice. A portcullis. Guarding what? A shape - no, two, were making their way through the stone, and Lisha swept toward the wall, her cloak concealing all but the glint in her eyes. She watched as the Curator went to the end of the anteroom and stopped before the shapes. The lich spoke. In a forgotten tongue it whispered, in tones of unquestionable command, to the two shapes. One came forward, out of the stalagmites. A wolf. Even here... The wolf's companion, a snarling, grizzled mass of grey fur and taught muscle, came forward to join it. Suddenly it froze and sniffed the air. So I am revealed. The wolf's eyes locked with hers and she threw the cloak back; it billowed behind her as she raised the knife, sprinting to the Curator and his guard. The Curator barked a word and the beasts sprung forward. With her left hand she flung a dagger - its hilt bounced off the first wolf and the blade caught in the second. They bounded at her soundlessly, unperturbed by the missle, the Curator chanting behind them. The first came near and lunged for her throat; she spun out of the way, snapping her cloak in the wolf's face, and drew her knife across its throat. It landed, stumbling, and turned back just as the second came near. Lisha threw herself at the smaller wolf, disrupting its balance. The first leapt again, desperate, but the Curator barked another command and it fell short, confused. They aren't meant to kill me? She took advantage of the moment to plunge her blade into its heaving side. The beast threw its head back, catching her arm in its teeth, and her knee struck its chest with enough force to dislodge it. The Curator, she noticed, was backing away, avoiding stalagmites and focusing its chanting on the second wolf. The beast jumped at her with far more strength than its body would naturally have contained, fed by the power of the lich, and knocked the knife from her hand. She grappled with it, wrestling it to the floor, and struck its throat with her elbow. Enraged, the wolf latched on to her cloak and tore a strip from the material. She held the end of the strip and twisted it; the wolf, suddenly unable to let go, tried to back up and stumbled into its companion's body. Lisha found the knife and threw it deep into the wolf's throat; without a sound, it collapsed onto the other and its movement ceased. Before the body had settled, Lisha was on her feet, running for the Curator like all the hounds of hell followed at her feet. His chanting never ceased and took on a tone of greater urgency and terrible power, but it was too late - in an instant she was on him, his spindly body writhing like so many snakes beneath her overwhelming strength. His gossamer, bony hands pinned to the ice, Lisha reached for a knife. Then the passage shook. It wasn't the deep-seated rumbling she'd grown accustomed to, the slow, painful, uncompromising grind of stone against solemn stone; it was a sudden shift, a desperate jolt, a screaming, screeching, skull-piercing crunch of stone and the thin black ice that covered every visible surface. She pressed her hands into her ears and began yelling at the top of her lungs, anything to drown out the terrible screech; the Curator writhed on the floor, unable to block out the noise but entirely willing to do so. Then, in a second or two, it had stopped. Her ears still ringing, Lisha looked up. The Curator lay panting, otherwise still, beneath her. The portcullis was gone, swallowed by the icy stony maw of the mountain - the gate that kept Orloki's chamber to the demon alone. The Curator tilted his head back and froze. Lisha, shivering, watched as his gaze slowly went from the blocked off entrace to her steely eyes. The unnerving arrogance and conviction was utterly gone from the face of the lich, replaced entirely by fear and touches, she noted, of doubt. Realizing what had happened, she rocked back off of him and began to laugh. He lay still. "So," she chuckled. "Abandonned by your master in your hour of need? In his, too? You're not so important after all. Message boy." The lich began to push himself up. "You know not of what-" "Silence." The lich obeyed immediately. "I know exactly what has happened. The mountain has grown weary of the demon's intrusion, and it has chosen an avatar. Your master cannot deal with both the avatar and myself, and has deemed you, shall we say, expendable." The Curator shook. "You speak foolishness. I am not... expendable." "Then what are you? A shrivelled old man, kept alive by another's powers. Possibly just for convenience. For amusement." She spat. "You are nothing. You are closed off, abandonned by your master. You are nothing." A glance over her shoulder confirmed what she's already suspected, that the anteroom was closed on both sides and she was trapped. She retrieved her cloak and sat down with a little shurg. "You cannot kill me, I've seen that. You can hurt me, maybe disable me, but you no longer have cause to." The lich stared at her lifelessly, its form devoid of strength. "You are on your own. We," she corrected, "are on our own." [ Wednesday, June 28, 2006 10:08: Message edited by: Sir David ] -------------------- And though the musicians would die, the music would live on in the imaginations of all who heard it. -The Last Pendragon Polaris = joy. In case of emergency, break glass. Posts: 3351 | Registered: Saturday, April 6 2002 08:00 |
| The Mountain of Shadows RP in General | |
|
Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire!
Member # 919
|
written Tuesday, June 27 2006 10:29
Profile
Yeah. I had a post almost all typed out, but I plan on changing the end of it so as to keep the Curator alive. =] ...I'll post it tonight if not in the next fifteen minutes. EDIT: Posting now. [ Tuesday, June 27, 2006 21:20: Message edited by: Sir David ] -------------------- And though the musicians would die, the music would live on in the imaginations of all who heard it. -The Last Pendragon Polaris = joy. In case of emergency, break glass. Posts: 3351 | Registered: Saturday, April 6 2002 08:00 |
| Collections in General | |
|
Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire!
Member # 919
|
written Wednesday, June 21 2006 08:06
Profile
I collect soda cans and bottles - not all kinds, but either foreign cans and bottles or domestic ones that have changed recently, like when Diet Sprite changed to Sprite Zero. Not very interesting, but if I end up traveling a lot, it may become interesting eventually. -------------------- And though the musicians would die, the music would live on in the imaginations of all who heard it. -The Last Pendragon Polaris = joy. In case of emergency, break glass. Posts: 3351 | Registered: Saturday, April 6 2002 08:00 |
| Polaris in General | |
|
Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire!
Member # 919
|
written Wednesday, June 21 2006 07:56
Profile
quote:The most surprising part of this post is how long it comes after the first... -------------------- And though the musicians would die, the music would live on in the imaginations of all who heard it. -The Last Pendragon Polaris = joy. In case of emergency, break glass. Posts: 3351 | Registered: Saturday, April 6 2002 08:00 |
| The Mountain of Shadows RP in General | |
|
Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire!
Member # 919
|
written Monday, June 19 2006 14:46
Profile
Right, then. Lisha knew what she was doing. She always did. It was her job, in fact, to know what she was doing at all times. If the others didn't understand that, it was nothing new. If even Sequoia... Lisha drew a knife, a wickedly curving Eastern blade, and bounded across the runes and to the stair. Edith called out a question, but she ignored it. Working solo was much, much easier, and she'd been a fool to allow herself to be convinced otherwise. She skipped the bottom step and almost slipped on the ice, still a relatively new sensation to her, but between her own sense of balance and Sequoia's transformation of the ice she managed to right herself and speed on. Soon she was out of sight. The demon's right. We need the Curator to find the library. What he's forgotten is that the Curator will lead us to his master first. They always do. She'd been observing her environment only subconsciously, and now suddenly realized that she was in all but utter darkness. She altered her footfalls so as to make less noise on the surface, harder than rock and smoother than ice, and listened for the clack, clack of the Curator. Several moments later she heard it, and slowed immediately to a fast walk. Her eyes grew more and more adjusted to the light, impossibly adjusted, and slowly she realized that the light was adjusting to her. Or to her progress, anyway. A dull glow, impossibly deep, emenated from the ice beneath, around, and above her, and just ten yards on, she could see, it was already growing brighter. She rounded a bend and stopped in time to see the bony back of the Curator either enter another chamber, or be consumed by the ice. Assuming it was the former that she'd seen, Lisha crept to the Curator's exit and stood utterly still, eyes closed, all her consciousness focused on listening in what she was suddenly sure was the anteroom of Orloki. -------------------- And though the musicians would die, the music would live on in the imaginations of all who heard it. -The Last Pendragon Polaris = joy. In case of emergency, break glass. Posts: 3351 | Registered: Saturday, April 6 2002 08:00 |
| Use A Debate Tactic Against Itself in General | |
|
Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire!
Member # 919
|
written Sunday, June 18 2006 16:41
Profile
You guys had better stop making pointless topics about anything but Spiderweb Software or General will become the new Misc. It's up to YOU, Gentle Reader, to determine whether the above statement was in the same vein as its predecessors or not! -------------------- And though the musicians would die, the music would live on in the imaginations of all who heard it. -The Last Pendragon Polaris = joy. In case of emergency, break glass. Posts: 3351 | Registered: Saturday, April 6 2002 08:00 |