"The electrophysics a party interacts to circle their own event horizons…" Cornellia Monsatu certified the pi DSN Formulae over dinner. An expert, Cora was not positive the DS sensors possessed ample technology to sequence properly.
"Cora, a breakfast lobster?" A strong Abelisaur sat alongside Cornellia, his eyebrow light.
"A motivation," shell crunched in Cornellias' mouthfuls, "rewards don't constrain one's pace." "Agree, situation is apt," Alexzander scarfed chipotle enthusiastically, "when everything tempts to abortion, reward to perservere; flawless."
Cornellia ruminated amicably, adding an intern
The smoke wafted upwards, drifting past Ezekials' face in curls that stung at his eyes and gave the food in his mouth a dark taste.
"You can always tell where an elf is by the smoke," the voice was prim, his accent shaped to sound like a perfect gentleman.
Ezekial turned, dropping the bone he had been chewing on and reaching for the wand nestled in it's holster on his discarded belt.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," the orc stepped closer, his own wand in his hand, "leave it there, slave."
"I'm a free man, Thomas," Ezekial turned around, curling his lip at the orc's fine clothing, "got all my p
There's nothing quite like a good book, simply no other feeling can compare to sitting down on a cold night with your nose in a story, especially one in a far off land not much like your own. Land is a strange thing to call a place, might as well call it dirt. Our entire world is called Earth, one would assume this is enough soil for our nomenclature already.
Nomenclature is a very fancy way of saying names, which is interesting because it is a name for names. Leave it to the english language to come up with a name for names. It's a baffling level of redundancy for a language.
Redundancy can be an impermeable concept
Coatlicue peered about anxiously, circumnavigating the downed fighter jet. Flowers and weeds grew across the twisted wreckage, their petals following her movements.
"We have only bits and pieces of information. But what we know for certain is that, at some point in the early 21st century, all of mankind was united in celebration."
The dryad turned to see Rachel sitting in the shelter of a shattered wing, listening intently as Golem taught. Coatlicue couldn't help but feel her spirits lift as she watched, enchanting the moss the little human child was sitting on to grow more plush and comfortable.
"Shirley, I gotta say I just love what you've done with the place."
Shirley Nasopharyngitus turned, grinning broadly at the viruses that sashayed into the front cavity of their humble home.
"Helen, Bob! It's really good to see you! I'm just putting out some placemats, then I'll help you with your coat, Bob."
"Reckon we mustn't've understood ya'll before," Bob Coronavirinae mopped his brow with a napkin, "I heard Peter and you weren't working on this kid, but it's so hot outside!"
"Me and the missus had originally thought to leave this place well enough alone," Peter Nasopharyngitus drifted inside, took Bob's coat and placed it in the fron
Uncomfortable upon the stones I sit, waiting for your arrival. My steed paws at the ground in a moment of impatience, tugging defiantly at the lead in my listless hand. Time's strange ebb and flow has resumed its course, surging forwards where once there was a whirling eddy.
Then, like a ray of light on an overcast day, you appear. Youthful ringlets of flaxen hair pulled up into a headscarf of the purest white. You pause in your path without seeing me, stooping to tenderly caress a pink tulip petal.
There is beauty beyond compare beneath your youthful countenance, and I plead daily with the stream of time to rush ever faster and
The veranda is wilted and limp, a mundane spit of land nestled into the heart of a concrete prison.
My childhood was spent in forests, foothills and mountains. My parents raised me in the unknown comfort of adventure, connecting me to the wild in a way that can never be undone. Now all the adventure I can conjure is a pathetic scrap of brambles and weed-laden grass. Shame weighs on me, dragging my soul downcast as I sit amid the only vestige I have of mother nature.
Then, like a storm, loud voices drown out my self-pity and lift my weary bones. A cascade of joyous noise rolls out into the yard, and I am pulled by the sound into a realm of f
Excerpt taken from the records of Master Caeriphius, made many years before he became one of the twelve masters of windosorrow.
Travelling through Siothall has been much more pleasant than I originally imagined. The temperature is almost temperate, and the city of Cagairn has a lot more veranda than I expected. I figured the badlands we crossed to get up here would continue until the tundra, but instead the sandstone cliffs turned into rolling plains with every kind of wild nut and fruit imaginable. The bounty is not as lush as what I left back home, but many of the highwallers tell me there is an almost literal paradise to the west
Can't. Won't. Pain.
Footfalls sound a warlike drumline, echoing through the air in a mad cacophony of noise,
Can't. Won't. Pain.
The breath is laboured but controlled, a steady rhythum shorn up against the chaos of exhaustion,
Can't. Won't. Pain.
Stumbling feet trip and falter, wading through a sea of surrender and defeat,
Can't. Won't. Pain.
Trumpeting voices sound out, carrying thier encouraging light deep into the bustle of the darkened mind,
Can. Won't. Pain.
Bright colours and sounds assault the senses, the final length of the path stretched out before the thundering footfalls,
I remember her hands the most.
There on that day, under the harsh glow of the hospital lights, her hands had been so small and frail in mine that I almost couldn't recognise them.
Those hands used to pick me up when I fell, brush me off and put a salve to all my grievous boyhood wounds. I watched those same hands stop a wild charging animal, radiating courage and power while my father and I hid in the car. Those hands held others, gripping tight as teardrops stained them or shook with fright. No person was ever left on their own around her. If they were in need of help or friendship, those hands would descend to upli
Al paused, gooseflesh rippling over his arms as an eerie tingling convulsed it’s way down his spine. He shook his head and fitted the wrench onto the pipe, grunting in satisfaction as he moved the fitting back into place and sealed the two pipes together again.
“Alright, you.” He said to no one in particular, “let’s see if that did the trick.”
Placing the wrench back into his toolbox, Al reached up and clasped the valve on the pipe above his head; easing it slowly to the open position. After waiting a moment to make sure there were no leaks, he grunted again and packed up his toolbox.
Doing that whole thing where I write the last chapter first (or at least, before I reach it) and I noticed that my final chapter is a LOT bigger than most of my other chapters. Is that OK? Do we let authors have a few more words to tie up their story ...
OK, so I've been away for awhile (minus all the favs and commenting I've been doing) but I haven't done any serious work up until about a week ago.
SO, I actually had a pretty bad week last week. I had just come home from a long vacation (ended up NOT going where I wanted to go, though it wasn't a bad vacation, it was a little disappointing) and I got laid off from my work.
They said our tenants had terminated my position in the company, as in they thought my position was superfluous and unnecessary, so they eliminated it to save money. I even saw my poor truck sitting in the lot a couple of days ago, just gathering dust. My boss was unders
Questions, I have no time for QUESTIONS!!! *maniacal laughter* I realized this morning that I only have five more days. FIVE MORE DAYS till the end of the gauntlet!!!!!!! I'm all out of chrome, MEDIOCRE!!!!