Dear Dear Diary
Sunday, December 31, 2006
Should I post something for the New Year? No. I think not. There is no point in dwelling over promises I'm likely to break as life whaps me upside the head.

But if you are wondering what the huge sucking sound you are hearing wherever you happen to be... Jazz got into a new computer game, and I'm never going to see him again. I know this already. I'm all dressed up and ready to hit the town (and film a movie), but some how, I have the feeling, I'll be drinking my champagne by the computer screen....
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I got one of the most wonderful things for Kissmoose- just what I asked for- a book about how to make my own bras.

Now I know this isn't exciting to any of the male readers- if I have any! But I've ranted here before about how horrible bras are, particularly from my itchy standpoint. But last night I cut up a bra and drew a pattern out. Today I got out some muslin and it's going to be cut out and if I have time, I'll sew it up and wear it too. I can't find the camera or I'd take pics.
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Thursday, December 28, 2006

Last night, John came over and played darts with Jazz. We rehashed the script below, for possible filming.

Jazz wants very much to appear in the reality TV show "The Lot" which has as its grand prize $1 million budget for making a feature film. True, "clerks" was shot with $25,000 and made a lot more than that, but most films are a great deal more than $1 million. Still, it's a reality show Jazz thinks he might have the possibility of winning, and being the huge fan of these shows, he's all for winning. Never mind the horrible financial consequences of quitting the job to be on a show... Close but no cigar doesn't do *bleep* when the mortgage payment is due, ya know? We'd have to figure out a way to make the financials work, and I don't know of one.

Anyway, the menfolk were perhaps understandably confused by the entire premise of the original script. Why would a woman stay with a man for a year if she had no intention of marrying him? I have a lot of answers for that, but none they'd believe. Maybe I'm really screwed up, but I see no problem with a person enjoying a companion/roommate/lover while not actively seeking better and yet not intending it to be forever and ever amen.

So John wrote a lovely script of a man proposing earnestly, with the woman saying no for the only possible reason he could accept- that she was seeing someone else. And this I could not allow. It was the complete opposite of my point of interest.

Further arguments ensued. They boiled down to neither John nor my sweetie finding it could possibly ever be that a woman could say no without having a man on the side. I know from personal experience that ain't necessary. Ever. He can be boring. He can be too nice. He can be an abusive *bleep*. But we didn't want to play the abuse card.

We argued even more, but eventually settled on a completely different reason that all could accept. And I don't like reaching for that card either. We declared the woman Jewish and the man Catholic. The woman said she could not marry outside of her faith, and he wanted to know why she had wasted a year on him. I wanted to say, "it wasn't a waste." But John and Jazz didn't want that line in there. In the end of the arguments, a powerful message was given that did please me... marriage and true love are more important than religion. Because I believe they are. Or at least that one person's religion should not dictate everyone's ideas of marriage. It being man and woman inherently does not promote the gay agenda, but I like to think it levers the door a little.
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Sunday, December 24, 2006
story x (a scene never appearing in any movie, but maybe it should)


ESTABLISHING SHOT: A candlelit restaurant, table for two.

Well, Maggie, it’s been a year and a day since we first met. Today’s the deadline at last. Are you ready to give me your answer now? (he puts a small brown box on the table)

I still can’t believe you proposed to me at our first meeting. Almost the first words out of your mouth.

Yet you gave the perfect answer-

Give me a year and a day, and I’ll think about it. (both laugh)

I can’t believe you took me seriously.

But as you see, I have.

I used to propose to women all the time as a pick-up line.

You won’t do that again.

No. I promise.

You never would have ended up in handcuffs that night otherwise.

I didn’t know you were carrying them! That was a lot of fun… but kinky.

That’s not kinky. Kinky is using the whole chicken.

I am a changed man, thanks to you. I became your devoted slave that night. I love you more than I could ever love another person ever.

More than yourself?

I’m being serious.

So am I. (beat). Darling, I love you too. But I’m ready with my answer now.

But?! What but?

I can’t marry you.


You are too traditional for my tastes. In the depths of your cold, dark heart, you still expect me to give up on my career so we can have babies and I will take care of the house just so. You want your Perfect Woman – a angel in public, a demon in the bedroom, and the Perfect Mother to your kid. Give it up. I’m not that woman. No one is that woman. I resent your continual pressure to become that woman. This is probably coming out from left field for you because I don’t think you’ve heard a thing I’ve ever said on the subject. But I think this is the perfect day to say this firmly and clearly so you will understand. Darling, I love you. Bye.
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Saturday, December 23, 2006

Happy fucking Holidays. If you want something happier than that, go read something cheery. Go look at Kitty Overload on the right- it helps. Or Cute Overload.

I'm very very grinchy this year. Colin died last year. So did my Gram. Every home I ever spent a childhood Christmas in is now lost to me. Maybe that's why people have their mid-life crisis around my age. It finally kicks in- I'm not a child any more and there ain't no going back. Also, while watching the TV series, "Everest Beyond the Limit" one realizes hey, there's a lot I'm not going to do. Climbing Everest is certainly something I am Not going to do. It's just not happening. Even if I slimmed down 100 pounds or so and managed to find a spare $50,000 lying around.... It ain't going to happen, and I'm okay with not climbing Everest itself. But there are some personal Everests I've faced this year, and the whole thing just leaves me wallowing in depression. Which is unhealthy and it has to stop.

I'm actually proud that I did not send out holiday cards this year. I mean not a one. And the ones I did get- they all with one exception were just signed with names. What the hell am I supposed to do with them? Into the recycling bin they go. Waste of trees and ink and money, really. The people who sent me cards are going to see me on Christmas Day. WHY send me a card? Why should I send them one? And those whom I won't be seeing but still adore- they don't need a card from me to prove how much I love them. Tata, Tammy- I adore you both and wish you happy holidays. Susan, I gave you catnip toys- and that's better than a card. Anyone else reading this, be assured I sincerely hope you enjoy your holiday more than I will. And I don't think you'll miss a card.

We didn't put up Kissmoose lights. Why make our carbon footprint bigger than it is? I feel guilty about being frivilous, and I'm sick of feeling guilty. This holiday is so damn disposable- wrapping paper, ribbons, trees, fatty sweet treats nobody really needs. It's just gross. It makes me want to be a Jehovah's Witness just to turn my back on the holiday. I don't need the season to make me want to give those I love something nice. Really I don't. I wish sometimes I could be firm like Gina and declare I'm not giving any gifts to anyone over 18. See her lovely article here. Maybe next year I'll get enough of a spine (and the funds) to give every one something for charity. Donate to Heifer or the Humane Society. But this year we made all of our gifts, and that means something more to me than just a gift card. How wonderfully personal. But then, I do adore the gift card my fabulous ex-brother-in-law got for me and have already used a third of it.

Whatever you do- don't leave the house today. It's just dangerous. Happy Suicidal Holidaze! I can't believe I plan to *drive* on Monday and Tues. But I'm hoping it will be a little safer then. Cripes! The lines at the ATMs are nuts. I'm just happy there wasn't a huge line at the Booze Shop. The grocery store on the other hand... The first line I went to... an Express Line, mind! ... the cashier's drawer jammed. The guy whose money was held hostage until the issue was fixed offered to fetch a crowbar. I politely waved off several people out of the line until it was fixed. Meanwhile the cashier in my line wearing a Barbie-pink santa hat with glitter forgot how to count, so it would have been faster for me to wait behind the really angry man. I realized when I was in line that I hadn't bought anything I needed to make Holiday Food to take with me to the Family. Right now, I'm grateful. There will already be more than enough Crap available to eat, and I do not need to add to it.

I am hoping that once I have made the pilgrimage North to the Bosom of My Family that perhaps I may have some holiday spirit. If not, I'll just have too much Holiday Spirits, paint on a happy face, and pretend I'm having a good time. I promise I won't make myself an orphan no matter how much I wish it- and if I truly do wish it, I'll just leave. I'm a grown up. I have keys to my own car. I can do that. And perhaps knowing that will give me peace. I love my family dearly. Please do not think otherwise. But there are times when I want to punch every single one of them. And I will miss my sweetie and he will miss me. He is staying home for his sanity and for our pets. The dogs will be less stressed and the cats will be less stressed and the cat will be shot on time. (she's diabetic). And my parents will get more time with Me, and after all, that's what they really want for the holiday.

I can't wait for Wednesday.
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Tuesday, December 19, 2006
More Necro.... I really hate interdimensional colons.

Tyrrae bowed her thanks, and made her way carefully across the bridge. This one was much narrower, only a foot wide, but had thick ropes to hold onto for balance. She realized that this platform was closer to the center of the clearing. It made sense. It would be harder to escape from such a location if she needed to, and easier to mark as a target. She saw a thin balcony around the outside of the platform, and would have stepped onto it, but the wolf whined.

She looked at the wolf. When she pulled back from the balcony, he wagged his tail. “So I’m not to go onto the balcony yet, am I? Very well.” The wolf’s tail wagged.

She permitted a sigh. She turned and went in the doorway. Unlike the other two very open platforms, this one seems to have been divided by curtains into rooms. This area was furnished with couches and low tables. The round-eared man was waiting here. “She didn’t come in with you?” He sounded disappointed. The wolf growled very softly.

“You mean Tira?” Tyrrae asked. “No.” She unshouldered her pack.

“Damn,” he said. He sat down.

Another female entered the room, from one of the partitioned areas. “If you please, miss,” she indicated, “won’t you bring your things in here?”

Tyrrae did as she was bid and placed the pack on a low table. There was a dresser and a large bed and a couple of chairs. Tyrrae’s room at home wasn’t as well appointed. She also suddenly realized that this room was the size of the whole platform as it looked from outside. Come to think of it, the other two platforms also looked larger from on top than below. She thought it wiser not to comment on it.

“I’m Dawn. If you have need of anything, I’m to help you. The dresser is for your things. You can even press your thumb here in this spot if you want to seal it to you alone. Merely press your thumb here again to unlock it.”

Tyrrae smiled. “That is a lovely spell. I’d love to know how to do it.” She knew of at least 3 spells that had similar effects, but she did not feel casting them here would be appropriate. One of them at least involved sacrificing a small rat and covering the dresser with the blood. Everything here seemed too clean.

“I can see if it is permitted to grant you a copy. Whether or not you can cast it is of course a separate issue. If you are what they are calling you, I find this unlikely.”

Tyrrae unpacked her clothing and placed it all in the dresser. “What are they calling me?”

“They say you are a necromancer… that your magic has to do with the dead.”

Tyrrae nodded. “That’s a fair enough word for it.” She thought of the servants and the sacrifices.

Dawn remained calm. “Then our magic is opposite yours. Our magic is based on the living. We cast the spell before the tree dies. I think you could not cast it on the dresser after it is assembled.”

“Very interesting,” Tyrrae nodded. “I only know a spell that would work on stone or bone, and not this tree thing.” She laid a hand on one of the supporting branches, and for the first time noticed its innate warmth. It was alive. She felt stupid for thinking it inanimate before. She pulled her blankets out of her pack and spread them on the bed.

“What is this material?” Dawn asked. She touched it lightly.

“Silk, like most of my garb. One uses the material one has available. I have one veil of cotton, but I inherited it. I shall wear it when I wed.”

Dawn smiled. “I’m dressed entirely in cotton. It’s common nearby. I’ve only heard of silk coming from far distant places, but I have never seen it. It’s very soft.”

“That was the gift of the spiders on my journey here. A blessing from them, I feel.”

Dawn snatched her hand away. “Spiders?”

Tyrrae smiled. “Who else can spin silk?”

“I… I heard of worms…” Dawn managed.

Tyrrae shook her head gently. “There were stories of worms long ago who spun silk, but they gave their life into the silk, and unwinding it killed the worms. Spiders may spin silk all day and every day without endangering themselves. They are generous to us.”

“I am afraid of spiders,” Dawn confessed.

“Then it would be rude of me to discuss them further or press the issue.” Tyrrae tucked the rest of her pack into the bottom drawer of the dresser, and used her thumb as instructed.

Dawn managed to collect herself. “If you come into the great room and wait, I will fetch you a lunch.”

“That would be lovely,” she replied.

The wolf coughed. Tyrrae didn’t know a wolf could cough.

Both women turned to look. He nudged the ceramic pot under the table.

“Oh!” exclaimed Dawn. “No, I didn’t explain that. Um, have you heard of chamber pots?”

“Um, no. We usually put the ceramics on the table.”

Dawn had the grace to blush. “Um, when you eat, food goes in your mouth, and eventually stuff comes out the other end, right?” She was trying not to be too graphic, yet literal enough to be understood.

Tyrrae nodded.

“Well, you are supposed to balance yourself on the pot and do it there.”

“Under the table?” It was a rather low table. She would not fit.

“No, it’s just stored under the table. You have to pull it out and put it back when you are done. It um cleans itself so nobody has to.”

Needing to empty the pot had not occurred to Tyrrae, but surely if something went in, something would need to come out, or this lovely spacious room would smell rather… “I see,” she said.

“What do your people do?” Dawn could not help but ask.

“Every building has at least one very deep pit over which there is a stone seat with an appropriate hole. If it begins to smell too much or nears full, we just build a new one. Sometimes the mushroom farmers collect the soil for feeding the mushrooms.”

“How sensible! I think this goes to fertilize the trees, but I haven’t asked particulars. One just doesn’t ask too much of such things.”

Tyrrae smiled. “Everybody poops,” she said. “Better to know where one ought to go. Thank you.”

“Um, I’ll go fetch you a meal.”

The wolf followed Dawn out, presumably so that Tyrrae could attempt to try the device. She decided that it worked rather well. One really needed a fine dexterity to cope with this environment, but she was holding her own. She walked back into the main room.
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Friday, December 15, 2006

I'm wearing a pair of socks that I made!!!
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Wednesday, December 13, 2006

I can prove I have the wrong sort of spices. Look here:

It says McCormick stopped producing the little boxes of spices, except black pepper more than 15 years ago. Um, I have at least 4 of those boxes... and none of them are pepper. Baltimore MD is another sign of age... um. I ain't counting them. Nope.

Nor am I tossing and replacing like they want me to!!

I guess I'm just not spicy. Jeannie would be horrified by my kitchen. :)
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I am so not in a "holiday mood" again this year. I resent anyone who wants me to be in a "holiday mood". I feel more like Santa being asked by the angel where he wants the tree put, and that's why we have angels on trees. If I hear one more Ho, Ho, Ho broadcast over loudspeakers, I'm buying a gun.

I'm broke. It ain't pretty. And yet I surrounded with messages to buy everything for your loved ones, so they will continue to love you. I know this is complete and utter bullshit, yet I love to see their faces smiling because I thought of them. So instead, I am getting a generous helping of Guilt. The holidays are not lovingly frosted with glucose- they are frosted with Guilt and we just down the sugar to have some sort of comfort, regardless of it rebounding on us with yet more guilt about how fat I am.

And last year's holiday season was overshadowed by Gram and Colin and their loss of the struggle to continue breathing. I don't want a party hat- I want to sit in the corner and cry. I greive for the Kissmooses of Childhood, because I ain't a child any more.

I could continue but why bother? I don't have the right spices in my spice rack, wear the right kind of watch, or wear the newest seamless bra that shows everything off just so and you can see my wings. The commercials are getting worse and more pervasive. it's a matter of time before there are bidding wars for advertsing forehead tattooes, and my marriage will be sponsored by Preparation H.
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Tuesday, December 12, 2006
OT Wee! More necro!

She looked around as the men dispersed. Many still remained in the clearing, but they had lowered their weapons. Lining the platforms were even more faces, including children. One face in particular drew her attention. He must have been the strange man the women were discussing earlier. Even from this distance, she could tell that his ears were small and round. He did not emit the same suppressed power that Lily had, rather he had another aura about him, like he would dearly love to murder herself if he had the chance, but would not do so while she was under the village’s protection. Honor it seemed was stronger than any of his other urges must be. This was a weakness she could understand. But honor compelled her not to exploit it.

One of the young women she had saved stepped out of the basket and approached her. Her hair was dark and her skin was pale. Tyrrae felt she was looking into a mirror with reversed colors. “I’m Tira. I suppose you heard us talking about how to enter the village.”

“It was rather foolish of you to discuss your defenses outside of them.” Tyrrae was pretty sure the Queen would have anyone guilty of such an offense killed over a long period of time, publicly. They also would be lucky if their entire house was not given the kiss of the knife and the ashes scattered on the wind.

Tira grimaced, but she waved it off. “Our customs are fairly commonly known. Every wood elf village has similar customs.” She smiled. “You have not seen all of our defenses, nor will you. You have been welcomed in, but you could be prisoner as easily as guest. Unless you become One of the Village, you will stay an outsider and we will keep most of our secrets.”

Tyrrae bowed her head. “That is wisdom.”

“Come then,” Tira bade her follow to the waiting basket. Other baskets were now being raised and lowered, with both goods and people. She showed Tyrrae how to enter balanced, and where to sit. The wolf leapt in with practiced ease. “Our people have lived in the trees since the Divide. We prefer the natural world than the cold stone spires of the high elves.”

“What’s a tree?” Tyrrae asked.

Tira had a giggling fit. Even the wolf snorted. It took her a little while to realize Tyrrae was serious and to stop laughing. “What’s a tree! You’re surrounded by trees!” She pointed at a trunk. “That’s the main trunk of the tree. That’s a branch. That’s a leaf. It’s all around you- what on earth did you think they were?”


All mirth left Tira. “So it is true. You did go underground. And it was long ago enough to where you have forgotten the world above.”

“I am not understanding. What world above? What underground?”

“Oh heavens. You are a babe in the wilderness, and I have no idea how to explain.”

“I am no child. I am of betrothal age.” Tyrrae’s tone was chilling.

“Bother. Don’t be offended,” Tira replied. “Of course you are of age in your culture, but you know nothing of the world outside it! I suppose I’d be just as lost in entering your world.”

“You’d be dead already, had you spent this much time in our place.” But her words had no more edge to them. “If you managed to pass the sentries, you would have encountered more warriors. Surrendering only gives the quick kiss of the knife. Fighting would earn you respect, but surviving that is very difficult.” Unbidden came memories of Lily fighting wave after wave of warriors, until the Queen herself had called enough. Lily had not attacked first; she had waited to be attacked and then shown no mercy. Tyrrae had not realized Lily was capable of such violence, but now she understood why Lily was allowed among her people. She realized the memory came from the drops of Lily’s blood within her. She shuddered slightly.

Tira shuddered too. “Then I am glad that it is you who came to us, and not me to you.” The basket bumped the edge of the platform. Again, she showed Tyrrae how to remain balanced and exit gracefully. The wolf helped balance the basket with his movements as well, and leapt out after them.

“I’ll give you a small tour. Some of these platforms will remain off limits to you, particularly since many are private homes. You understand that concept yes?”

Tyrrae nodded. “Yes, we all have our own homes. We all favor privacy.”

“We’re rather open here, but some privacy is preferred for families. This platform is the eating and meeting platform. When we don’t meet below, we meet up in here. Your meals will be directly in the guest house. We don’t eat here as a group very often, but bachelors and other workers often come for a communal meal.” Briskly she walked through the platform, dodging branches and waving at various people. She led the way to a narrow bridge and across it. “Be careful with our bridges. It’s a long way down.”

“At least you can see the bottom. Some chasms don’t have visible bottoms. There’s just so much light here, and that might be a difference as well. Depths don’t usually bother me.” Tyrrae had no trouble with her balance. It was true about the chasms. The moat between the Queen’s quarter and the rest of the Underdark was very deep indeed, and only a few bridges were wide enough for more than one at a time. This one was wide enough for two to pass by, but not comfortably.

“It’s day time. The sun’s out. Of course there is light! Be happy it’s behind clouds at the moment, or it would be much brighter.” They reached the next platform. “This is various shops. The booths change daily, for those who wish to have a booth, or a place to work on their trade. You are welcome to speak to all here, and shop if you wish.”

Tyrrae thought of the small bag of silver coins. However, she could not think of anything she could possibly want for sale. There were carvers, tailors, and more, both male and female. She noticed a few other bridges leaving the platform and going to others, now that she knew what to look for.

Tira stopped at a smaller bridge. “This is the way to the guest cottage. I’ll come back for you when the Loremaster is ready to talk to you.”
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Friday, December 08, 2006
OT: Computer issues this week. I really need to install a new fan in the old computer or take it apart, clean it, and apply WD-40 in the appropriate spots. But hey- have some more necro- where I started from for this year's NanoWriMo.

Not long after, the stalagmites opened up to reveal a clearing of bare ground. A pile of stalagmite pieces created a platform in the middle of the clearing, and three men stood upon it – all dressed alike. There were several more men standing around the platform in formation. All the men were armed, with weapons ready. Tyrrae looked up at the stalagmites and saw several platforms entwined in the branches above. The platforms looked more elaborate than the word implied, but she simply didn’t have the vocabulary. Webs of green moss and rope obscured the platforms, but she could tell that there were more armed men above her. This differed greatly from the story line she had overheard, but she felt complimented by their fear. She preferred fear and respect to open trust.

“I have not come to harm you,” she said calmly, keeping her hands open and still. I am but one girl, and have approached you openly. I have seen one orc that threatened to attack two of your people and scared it off. I have heard that more of these predators threaten your people. I would help destroy these orcs with you. The one I saw looked too dangerous for me to hunt alone. I would ally with you against these, if you would allow it.”

“Show us your weapons,” said the three men on the platform in chorus.

Tyrrae set down the small pouch of her grandfather’s blood and bone, and the knife she had made from his left thigh bone. She also pulled the silk robe and her eating dagger from her pack, as they could be viewed as offensive weapons, although she would not use them that way comfortably. She was no warrior, and she knew it. It was better to be honest here, as these men could prevent her from ever leaving this clearing.

“I offer these to you, if you wish, though I doubt that you would find my best weapons to be useful to you.” She watched carefully for any sign for which was the real Loremaster, and decided it was one of the men in the lower row, off the platform. She approached him directly. She humbled herself to kneel. “Loremaster, I swear that I shall not harm your people.”

Tension rippled among the other men, and she knew she had made the right choice. The Loremaster lowered his weapons, and indicated that one of the other men should collect her weapons. “You are wise in our ways, Dark One. Please show us your face and gift us with your name.”

Tyrrae unwrapped the silk veil. Closing her eyes, she undid the strap holding the dark glass pieces. Bracing herself for the pain, she opened her lavender eyes long enough to say, “I am Tyrrae N’Tyl, Second of House D’Ner in the line of Tartulos.” Temporarily blind, she replaced the strap and the dark pieces of glass to protect her eyes. “My eyes are not accustomed to so much brightness, and must protect them.” Absorbed in her pain, she did not acknowledge the gasp as her face was bared.

“That is why you are a Dark One. Out of darkness you have come and to darkness you will return. It is burned into your skin and its mark will remain upon you.”

Tyrrae filed that away. She assumed that these were the Hated Ones, and also elves. She wasn’t sure what that made the strange eared ones.

“Custom declares that we should kill you now, as we kill all of your kind we encounter. Yet you have approached us in our fashion, and we hesitate. Is there any here who would speak of your veracity concerning this orc?” He almost spit the word orc, yet he did not show emotion while calling her a Dark one. Tyrrae wondered if he had ever seen one of her kind before, or if he was merely being courteous.

A female voice filtered down from above. “I saw not this girl when I ran from the berry patch. I saw a speaking skeleton with an orc, and I ran from there.”

“What did the skeleton say?” the Loremaster asked.

“It acknowledged its master and agreed to fight.”

“But it faced the orc,” another female voice said. Tyrrae recognized it as the one called Amarylis.

“So you did not see if the orc commanded the skeleton,” said the Loremaster. “I shall not rule out the possibility.”

“We did not stay to see,” the first voice explained.

“Orcs are not known to possess such power,” Amarylis said.

“I did summon the skeleton,” Tyrrae said. “I ordered it to attack the orc.”

“Yet you were not heard or seen. Only the skeleton was.” The Loremaster kept his eyes on Tyrrae.

“I did not wish to be seen by the orc. I am unskilled in the ways of fighting directly, but my skeleton servant will defend me.”

“That pouch contains what you need to summon a skeleton, does it not?” The Loremaster’s eyes narrowed.

“Aye,” Tyrrae said. “It is my greatest weapon, and therefore I offered it first. The bone knife is what I would need to create more servants to summon, and therefore I offered it next. It would take time to actually use it as it is meant to be used, and any other use may taint it. The rope and my eating dagger could easily be misused to cause harm, so I offered those as well.”

The man holding the items paled.

The Loremaster nodded. “You have shown your wisdom and your weaknesses to us. What became of the orc?”

“It was disarmed and retreated. I think it shall return for its weapon.”

“If its fellows do not kill it for cowardice, aye, it shall return with companions. But is there other proof of your veracity?”

The wolf stepped forward, holding the axe in its mouth. He dropped it at the feet of the Loremaster, then moved to sit beside Tyrrae.

“So,” said the Loremaster to the wolf, “you would vouch for this one?”

The wolf did his slow nod.

“Very well then,” the Loremaster nodded. “Please return her eating dagger to her. The other items shall remain with me.”

The tension drained out of the men at his words. The man handed the pouch, bone dagger, and rope to the Loremaster, and then the dagger to Tyrrae. She bowed slightly to him in thanks, and put it away.

“We will trust you as far as we are able. There is too much history between our people otherwise.”

“I know it not. It is not between you and I.”

The Loremaster relaxed a bit. “Then we must teach you our side of the story if you will hear it.”

“All knowledge gained is worth the pursuit.” She bowed her head in thanks again.

He actually smiled. “So that is still a tenet among the People. May it always be so. We will converse further in the future.” He looked up at one of the platforms. “Lower a basket for our guest!” His eyes returned to Tyrrae. “But let this wolf remain at her side to guard her and us from each other.”

The wolf nodded, as if he had intended this all along. Tyrrae set her hand on his shoulder as she watched the basket suspended by thick strands of something she did not recognize. The hair on the wolf was a texture she had not felt before, but she appreciated it. It was softer than a spider yet rougher than silk.
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Monday, December 04, 2006
Rum balls:
1 box niller wafers crushed to crumbs. (do not do in front of child or other cookie beggars - they will accuse you of cookie abuse)
about 3 tablespoons or so of light corn syrup
1 tablespoon cocoa powder
Serious dash rum (1/3 cup ish)
half-empty bowl of powdered sugar

Take cookie crumbs and mix in the cocoa. Then add rum and corn syrup and mix until moistened enough to stick together. If you added too much liquid, add powdered sugar to thicken again.

Make 1-inch sized balls. Roll in powdered sugar. Store in an air-tight container higher up than minors can reach balanced on a box on a chair, or other safe location.
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This rather schizophrenic blog was started as a fictional blog, written by a character of a story. I've since taken it over for writing personal stuff I don't mind sharing with anyone who cares. I am also writing thoughts about writing and stories that move me.

Other places I go:
Georg's Research
Help local kitties
I have relatives. Be afraid
Blessed is the One True Tami
Tata the Bodacious
Obligatory Yarn Harlot
It is impossible not to love Sandi Wiseheart once you've met her
The Tsarina
Holiday Yarns
I like the name Twiggi
Who to blame for my sock addiction
Maybe the cleverest blog title
Romancing the Yarn
Why I read Romancing the Yarn
Get an ab work out with laughter
My Kitty Obsession
You meet the nicest people playing video games
I'm such a fanboi
One of my stalker targets
The other stalkee
I just love Josh (the cat)
Josh the Cat and friends
Pet politics
Pet Care
If I were a sheep, I'd be Delores
I live here now
Not Your Mama's Crafters
Make a Lily Pad

Anything not marked might be just me, Georg, posting as myself.

It's just this blog, okay? Some of it is story. Some of it is animals. Some of it is knitting. It's a blog.

For story #1, I do recommend starting from the beginning of this blog if you haven't read this before. Please start at the beginning.

I did mean it to be for - but I never got quite got it done under the wire.

Jeannie is the author/main character.
Frank is her husband. Poor man.
Tony is musician/singer.
Angie is a teenager, who was Jeannie's best friend. Now currently dead.
Honestly, there is no connection between Jeannie and me and Frank and my husband.

Story #2
Frank and Ether. This will be much weirder than Frank and Jeannie. I like the name Frank. No one expects a Frank to lie.

Story #3
A desert story. Anna is the main character. Currently there is only her little brother and an old servant, and a mysterious redhead.

Story #4
The necro story. A young necromancer heads off to the Hated Ones to find her trousseau.

Story X
Reserving this for one-offs, poems, etc.

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Marriage is love.

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