Current Residence: Baltimore, Maryland|
Favourite genre of music: Country, 90s Rock
Favourite style of art: Vector
Operating System: Win7
Favourite cartoon character: Dirk Daring
Personal Quote: Words are magic -- Frank Herbert
The Prophecy of The ForbiddenPrologue
A scream pierced the night air. A young man growled and turned, looking around. "Carol!" His voice was deep and held only a slight hint of worry. "Where are you?" He heard a muffled cry as Carol tried to say something, but her voice was cut off. It made it harder for him to locate her.
"Damn it." He strode off in the direction he believed the scream to have come from.
His worry wasn't for Carol, not at all. The minor amount of concern he felt was for his child; Carol was merely a tool. She was almost due, the reason for his uneasiness and focus on finding her. If anything were to happen, it would not be good.
Another scream pierced the silence, followed by a cry for help. His eyes narrowed and he looked around, more urgently than before. It was Carol; he could easily recognize her voice. He had learned to do so after spending much time with her, to earn her trust. However, the fool hadn't known what she was getting into.
"Damien," she cried from a distance. "P-Please help!"
Fitting Right In
A male. I still can't believe it.
Ironic, really. Personally I think I've adapted fairly well to this new world where humans rule, the Underdark does not exist, strange gods lurk quietly in the background, and magic has been superseded by incredible science and technology. Hells above, I'm even using a PC to type these musings up.
And yet I simply cannot believe that the most powerful person in this world and the bearer of my goddess' mark is... a man. Who thought one could be so capable?
Poor old Priestess Allythus. She simply wouldn't be able to comprehend this place. Just the thought of a world where Lolth held no sway would make her tie someone down and whip them until she was damp in the leggings before she calmed down.
I almost miss the sadistic old bitch. Almost.
The hag always thought I was her pet, her trained attack lizard to be kept chained up until it was time to unleash it on the bitch's enemies. A loyal slave...
She forgot something: I am drow. We do not submit. We
Face the FaceFace the Face by SRSmith
Erik had been in this room before, although it seemed smaller this time.
"Please, Lieutenant Skane, have a seat." The room's other occupant was well weathered, maybe not retirement age, but close to it. The bars on his uniform, like the lines on his face, were as much a measure of mileage as of seniority.
Erik pushed his way awkwardly between the chair and the sparse desk, wedging himself between the arms of the seat and feeling the metal complain as he lowered his considerable mass into it.
"Lieutenant, I understand you're inquiring about discharge; I was hoping we could convince you to stay."
Erik met the officers gaze, caught the briefest glimpse of discipline tempered revulsion, and looked away.
"I want my old body back. I want you to undo what you did. Looking like this isn't any use to Ops anymore, and sure as hell it's no good for me."
The old man sat back, steepling his fingers. "Splicing in gene code to bring out your current... characteristics, that's one thing, but excising
A Writer's Manifesto.I am your neighborhood whore of self-assurance. I am your lock-lipped student. I am every angst-ridden teenager, every heart-aching mother, every boy with a bass guitar. And I am a writer.A Writer's Manifesto. by AGoddessFinch
I know the strength of the pen and the impact of digital words. Ill tell you of abandonment that Ive never suffered, of love never lost, and touch Ive never felt. I know the sensation of inspiration struck at midnight, of swallowing native ideas, of embracing a language of words never spoken. Im every sick child you picked on, every boy you cheated on, every adolescent brave enough to pick up a pen, every person who had the guts enough to make a difference on paper. Im what you wish you were in a place you want. Im alive in the red glow of lamplight, I breathe in the scratched ideas on a diarys blank pages. I know the envy of talent surpassed and the anger of muse lost and I use everything you toss to the garbage as my ink.
Im every song you hate