Silent Water

I have not seen him since he gave me his letter in Kent.

Much has changed since then. My former opinions about him were now but a lingering sense of shame. Ever since I heard that he would come to Jane’s wedding I have hoped and dreaded the encounter.

I did not know what his thoughts about me were now. His feelings, if any. All I knew was that I owed him apology. My character demanded it.

This morning I walked the path to Netherfield in the hope of meeting him. I saw him from afar. He stopped his horse. A slight nod as an acknowledgement of our acquaintance.

“Mr. Darcy,” I began anxiously, “I would like to tell you how sorry I am for the things I said back then. I did not realise I could not be more mistaken.”

He looked at me, hesitantly, and I wondered if he was curious to hear me at all, or only conscious of the discomfort that my revisiting the past had to bring to the both of us.

“Please, do not make yourself uneasy about that. It is all forgotten.”

I nodded and watched him go away. What did I think he would say? One cannot come twice to the same water.

(read the entire story on 50 Miles of Good Road)

Doing This by Princess Potter

Well, with all the sad news lately; HBP being moved up to next summer, and that there might not be a Midnight Sun, I thought we needed some more fluff in our lives.

So; here’s the first of many fluffy posts!

This story is basically a different take on how Harry and Ginny get together. It’s very cute, and funny.

“

“Someone I probably shouldn’t,” he said softly, staring at the counter and Ginny’s heart skipped a beat.

“Oh yes,” she said, her lip twitching. “You have to tell me first remember?” she asked with a smile.

Harry shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“So you’re not going to tell me?”

“No.”

She slid off the counter and looked up at him. “Well, I guess we’re at a standstill then,” she said as she smiled and patted his forearm. She let is trail along his skin as she moved past him. Harry stared down at his arm. Her hand wasn’t there anymore but it still burned where she had touched him; his hair standing on end and his entire body alert and begging for more contact.

He turned and watched her as she walked back toward the den, leaving the kitchen… leaving him.

Many, my friends included, rant on about how Ginny is such a Mary-Sue, and that her character just stopped developing after OotP. And sure, I can agree with some of that. But you know, we only see her through Harry’s eyes, and since he sorta has a CRUSH on her, he’s going to focus on her best sides. I’m sure we would see a different Ginny if the books were in Ron’s POV, for example.

But, if you want to explore more of her personality, I strongly recommend Princess Potter’s stories. She just knows how to write Ginny, exactly how I see her. And that’s the best praise I can give.

“Sides, Mum and Dad aren't bald, and baldness is heredity, and you should know! You went to university!” James smirked and scoffed at the thought of going somewhere so muggle, but inside, he really was jealous of his brother for getting to go to university to study teaching. Danny wasn't as magical as the rest of his family, so his parents saw it fit to send him to a muggle school, instead of putting him through wizarding school and paying all that money for nothing.

“Just you wait little brother, it will happen. Maybe not now, but in time, it will happen, you will be bald” James watched in surprise as a wide, teasing smile showed on his brother's face. “That lying, rotten... " Quickly, James looked over in the mirror above his dresser table, just to check that his hair was in place and none of it was missing. James smiled to himself, of course it wasn't, it was all in place.

“You're a sneaky, rotten liar, you know that?!” James exclaimed, turning back to his brother and keeping the arguing going. One way or another, James was going to make his brother declare that he was wrong- no matter what it took.

"Oh, I'm a liar am I?" Danny stared at his brother, slightly chuckling and enjoying teasing him about his hair. If there was anything that would spark an argument from his brother, it would be about his hair. "That's rich coming from you, my muggle loving little brother" Once, in a state of feeling lonely and being misunderstood, James had told his brother that he did like muggles and didn't hate them like he pretended, James now regretted that moment of weakness.

"Shh! Don't say that too loud, Mum and Dad will hear you and they'll stop me from going to Hogwarts!" James exclaimed, his eyes growing as wide as saucers. He had begged and begged his parents to go to the top-notch wizarding school, but they were afraid of introducing him to muggles and losing him from the magical world he was so immersed in.

Danny shrugged, feeling sorry for his little brother. He knew that he was a squib, and had no magical talent whatsoever, and his brother had a lot to live up to, being the only magic kid left in the family. "Don't worry, they're too busy trying to pick out a new wig for you when you lose your hair to be worried about listening to us" Oh, he was wicked, but Danny couldn't help it, he loved teasing his little brother, who was so innocent in so many ways, but who was so wise in yet not so many ways.

"Hey! I told you, you're a sneaky, rotten, liar and you know it!" James exclaimed again, rolling his eyes at his brother's comment. Picking up and a old shoe that was covered in dirt and smelt really bad, a gleam entered into his dark blue eyes. "You better be good at catching, my non- magical brother" And with that, he threw his old shoe towards his older brother, taking aim at his pudgy stomach...

to be continued...

Chapter 7

Vinnie Dorito glanced over his shoulder, ducking the cafeteria tray as he scrambled out of his trailer. Di had been in a tizzy all day. She kept complaining that the director was impossibly rude toward women, and she was pretty sure that the crew was out to get her. She had been shouting for the last five minutes about how useless Vinnie was, and how we wasn't "stepping up" and taking care of the problem. Vinnie thought she was getting into her role as antogonist a little too fully.

Vinnie had noticed though, that something was amiss on the set. He could never shake the feeling that someone was watching him with vicious intent, and every time he got near that eccentric director he couldn't help but feel somehow, vaguely inferior.

The master of Sinanju set upright, lotus-style in the director's chair, staring intently at the stage. He had been motionless for the last 20 minutes and the crew was getting nervous. This had happened once before, on the first day of shooting. A gaffer had made the mistake of tapping the aged Korean on the shoulder to see if he was alive. The gaffer was never seen again.

This time no-one was going to interrupt "the tempermental genius" as he staged the next "critical sequence" involving a discussion about the "proper preparation" of Chilean sea-bass. It was obvious to all that this particular scene was going to be of great importance to the director as he was wearing his sky-blue kimono with the orange brocade egret on the shoulder.

It had taken them the better part of two weeks to figure out the system. "Master Director," as he liked to be called, was fond of donning different attire for each type of scene he was directing. He felt that his choice of clothes would determine the success of the actors' feeble attempts to interpret his vision. They would, of course, ultimately fail to bring to light the full glorious and magnificent majesty of his design, but maybe they could achieve something slightly above the crass western standards of so many modern stories.

The director finally stirred from his trance as his tall lanky assistant with the thick wrists approached the set. It was just like all the other times. Remo, or Mr. Pomeroy, as they knew him, would always approach the set looking relaxed and content, breathing calmly and half smiling. He would exchange a few words with the director, shift the trunks at the old man's request, then take a seat on one of them. As their discussion continued, the assistant's gestures would become more animated and then he would storm off, remaining unseen for the next few hours. Some were spreading the rumour that he was somehow tied to the serial killer that had been targeting the local papparazi, but of course that was ludicrous--he wasn't big enough to inflict such violent damage on those men.

Vinnie watched intently as the usual scene folded out before him. He wasn't about to approach the director about Di's concerns--she had been man enough to demand a part in this weird little art film and she would have to be man enough to fight this battle. He could just as easily have chosen to star with that new kid, Keno Kent in "Bob & Jim's Egregious Trek," but instead he decided to placate her. Oh well, that movie probably wouldn't ever amount to much more than a stoner flick anyway. It's not like Keno Kent was going to ever make a name for himself-- no coat-tails to ride on there. Unless a young wooden actor was willing to make action-laden sci-fi flicks, there wasn't much chance for success these days. Besides, Vinnie would be done with this movie in time to start filming "The Man-Bat Lives!" At least in that film he was finally getting to play a proper villain--The Puffin!

"Out of the way," scowled Mr. Pomeroy as he thundered past Vinnie.

Vinnie wiped his chubby brow, thanking God that the breathing techniques the director had been forcing him to practice actually seemed to make him move more swiftly.

Of course, in the meantime, I still have a couple of other finished books that I'll submit to a publisher. As long as I can stay cheerful and I'm doing my best with that. Going for walks, even on little outings, looking for cool things to photograph, watching movies, even once or twice a week a tv show I actually like.

Though as far as tv is concerned, this is probably the worst time in a long time. Right now, as far as I know, there's just one thing worth watching. Don't get me wrong. I'd complain just as much if there was one or more shows per night, but this is going a little too far in the other direction. No wait, I think Heroes will be back. In that case, I can't complain.

It has been months since Drake humiliated Lucifer to rescue Rick Blood from his clutches. There was no earth-shaking fight, no massive battle – yet the Hierarchy witnessed Drake undo Lucifer without a single blow. For some, this battle represented shattered dreams… and for others, an opportunity like none before.

The first strike sets the tone for the face of things to come…

 --

To Reign In Hell – Part I (Ages of Blood and Bone…)

Now, in the aftermath of the shocking “For Tomorrow” storyline, a civil war for complete dominion of Hell has commenced. And caught in the deadly crossfire are the long-suffering warriors of Noble Causes and the Outsiders.

The end-game has begun… and everyone must choose a side for there is no neutral corner anymore. But how do you pick the lesser of two infinite evils?

Drake would know the answer, but he has been missing for months.

-- 

To Reign In Hell – Part II (The Path of Daggers)

Further secrets of the Hierarchy are revealed as more and more players from the Covenant and the Alliance find themselves pulled into the war for control of Hell. The Supreme Collective is playing to further their plans no matter who wins but their plans will divide their own military might into two warring halves.

Lucifer’s drafting of the Swords of Xeen pits them directly against the mandate of Astaroth and his newest allies: Noble Causes.

Meanwhile, the warriors of Heaven have plans of their own for controlling the outcome of this war. And now, Dante is about to be torn between loyalties to the Alliance and to his legacy…

-- 

To Reign In Hell – Part III (The Fires of Heaven)

Caught right in the midst of all-out war, Dante finds himself facing off against Belasco of the Secundae – who has taken his new wife Lucia prisoner. Meanwhile, Michael Demiurgos enters the fray and takes command of the fallen angels – something that puts him in direct conflict with his son, Zauriel.

The orc war-chief Thrall and Karchak, the mighty king of the Dashers, continue warring against their once-allies, Noble Causes.

 Slowly and violently, the civil war heads to an inevitable conclusion…

-- 

To Reign In Hell – Part IV (Days of Then and Now)

Breaking away from the ongoing war in Hell, Dante discovers the secrets in the Blood Tome – which tells of the original ‘War of the Eclipse’ and how Damien Sparda became involved with the dark Hierarchy.

Further tales of the past reveal the link between the Kingdom of Heaven and Hell.

And flashbacks aside, the war for Hell continues with the final storming of the dark fortress Purgatory, which is said to contain the heraldic power of the Anti-Source…

-- 

To Reign In Hell – Conclusion (Who is Worthy to Break the Seals…)

Dante and a surprise ally work together to defeat Belasco and save Lucia.

Michael Demiurgos faces his fallen brother Lucifer after millennia.

And the war finally comes to a shocking conclusion…

-- 

To Reign In Hell – Epilogue (The Return)

The war for Hell is far from over. And all of the universe’s protectors are - in one way or the other – tied up in the conflict.

Now is the perfect time for a forgotten warlord of Hell to try and gain omnipotence – and if that leads to the destruction of a few planets, so be it…

But, somewhere out there, a hero has been found by some intrepid explorers - and saving the universe is just another day for him.

---- 

Saying that, I'll say this:

Somewhere, I have forgotten. Somewhere between pages and lines penned by literary masters, lies a cruel usurping of right and wrong; of life; of liberty; of skill; of talent. Somewhere in there, I lost myself. But there is a trail, and I am in pursuit.

Pursuing Mary.
Better writing through self-insertion ... because we're so hot. And totally rad.

This type of campaign provides grounds for a reassessment of the culture industry model with respect to developments in new media technologies. On the surface it may appear as though what we are seeing here is a marked break away from traditional relationships between the culture industry and its audiences. What we appear to be seeing is audiences reclaiming power; uniting to decieve the culture industry by creating a false demand for content. Essentially, though, what the Firefly fans managed to do was promote the franchise voluntarily by marketing DVDs. In this sense, fans are actually coroborating with the culture industry: working for them, providing free labour.

This idea can be extended to the way in which official, corporately monitored fan websites often exploit their users merely for existing for promotional purposes. Thus, fans who are aware of the culture industry and the way in which it operates realise that they must actively promote the texts they enjoy in order to secure more episodes or sequels. However, often fans inturpret this as an exertion of influence over the culture industry when in fact, the power remains squarely in the hands of the content producing media conglomerates.

Check it: The Journal of the Most Normal Things. Via io9.

Dante doesn't turn, but is already readying his first offensive spell, mutters under his breath, "Well... busy demon-hunters are HAPPY demon-hunters."

-----------------------

"Now, mister Max-ee-moose Lobo, we will retreat to opposite ends of this here arena. Then we will run at each other at breakneck speeds. We will pass the other in mid-air, your claws and my blades moving ever so deftly. And then fifteen seconds later, you will burst into a pile of blood and flesh. And I will laugh heartily." - Armstrong Locke

-----------------------
Dominique screamed at his mercenary minions, "He's gone ?!? Everyone... spread out. Don't let him get away !"

A moment later, one of his minions screamed as he was pulled into the shadows. As a trickle of blood pours out from the shadows, the remaining mercenaries approach their adversary cautiously.

And then, from somewhere behind them, a voice calls out from the shadows.

"Dominique...Who says I'm leaving ?"

A moment later another mercenary is pulled into the darkness.

As mercenaries turn towards Dominique and ask him what's going on. He shouts in return, "Nobody panic ! He's still in chains !"

As torches are lit, they find more than half of their numbers, strewn on the ground and Drake nowhere to be found. The body closest to Dominique has the metal chains Drake was bound with, wrapped around his broken neck.

Dominique steps back in horror.

Lucia, having watched the whole scene progress, screams out to the remaining mercs, "Okay. You can start panicking now..."

Soon, Dominique is the only one left standing in the room.

Drake steps out of the shadows to face him, "Darque… if you try to run, I will chase you. If you try to attack me, I will hurt you. If you try to hurt either of these ladies… God help you. Stay. Sit. And be silent. I have work to do."

"Why even try, hero? You know you will die even if my people never lay a hand on you. Your powers are draining every moment you are here. Why don't you just roll over and die already?"

"I'll tell you why I can't be dead. I have work to do." Drake answered without looking up, "My mentor is dead... by my hands. My brothers are in jeopardy. There is an unbalance. There needs to be justice. There needs to be vengeance."

--------------------------------

"Do you remember ME, Azrael? I’m Zephon. I'm the one you didn't fight - the only one you didn't KILL! And now... five hundred years later, you are still just the puny human who stood in our way. But I am so much more... sooooo much more. I am invincible."

Drake stepped up to the mis-shapened vampire and stared him in the eye, "I'd like to test that theory."

----------------------

Drake regenerates his hand after the Ogre mauler cuts it off:

"Damned witch-craft!"

"Damned dragon-bonded-to-soul-who-wont-freakin-let-me-die."

------------

"By the ancient rites of combat, I forbid you to scavenge on these lands for the rest of time. When you go back to your pits and tell others of this kingdom, when you tell them of its riches, its people, its potential, when you talk of the Outlands, then make sure you tell them this. It... is... PROTECTED !"

--------------

"The only thing the so-called Twelve did better than us... was 'suck'... and 'fail'." - Ivar Javidan

---------

Drake, Lucia and Aerynn are standing in front of a set of massive metal doors.

Lucia senses it first, "Triple layered and reinforced adamantium - magically entombed with spells I've never even heard of. Drake, can you try to open them ?"

Drake raises his left arm. Electrical energies surrounded by arcane symbols flow around his gloved hand.

He speaks slowly as the spell completes forming, "To 'try' implies expending significant effort with the possibility of failure."

A colossal flash of light occurs, causing both Lucia and Aerynn to cover their eyes. When they lowers their hand, they see the doors blown off their hinges with a blaze dying down around it. Drake is walking into the now open doorway. As the girls join him, he mutters under his breath, "A Crusader does not 'TRY'."

---------

“Since I am your sister, I am told that I am supposed to protect you. If this Dante makes you cry, it is now my sisterly obligation to kill him. Be sure he does not make you cry.” - Aerynn Jann
----------

"If you haven't noticed... that's MY arm sticking through your chest !"

"Yes... it's kinda annoying and I feel violated in ways you don't want to know about... but now I'm mad. And I'm going to strengthen the density of my body flesh. The wound will heal around your arm... and then I'm going to yank this fucking stump of yours right out of its socket."

Dominique is suddenly afraid. He cannot sense any feelings in his arm.

"Are you beginning to sense it? I NEEDED you to stab me with that arm so I could take back what you stole from me. The half of the Dagger-tail inside me is trying to recover its missing half. We'll know in the next few seconds who got the stronger half."

Moments later, Dominique is on the ground, bleeding profusely through his severed arm and coughing up the remaining blood between gasps for breath.

Drake grabbed his by the neck and pulled him up.

"You think you're evil?  Son, there’s an endless variety of evil. And good’s got a lifetime of tricks up its sleeve. We learn from the best. Didn’t you ever think of it that way? Zephon and Archimonde didn’t.  None of them do. But you will have plenty of time for that now. In a statis cage on Kyln... right next to the most depraved bastards in the universe."

"You told me you never sleep, Darque. But every day from now... you’ll wish that you could die."
--------

"All men have talents. Some build, some paint, some write, some strategise. For me it is different. I have always had a way with killing." - Armstrong Locke

"Everything only exists so that I can use it to beat up demons." - Armstrong Locke

------

"Okay... plan assessment time: What are my advantages? Good looks, charisma, a biting sense of wit, and I´m one heck of a snappy dresser. And popular it seems. But those aren´t the three really important advantages."

Aram walked past the Rangers,still looking towards the Hell-gate.

"One: we´re in a really small room, which is going to box these guys in, limit what they can do without hurting each other."

"Two: these are guys who look out ONLY for themselves. They´re not used to working as a team."

The Rangers looked at him with suprise. This was the same guy who they had heard communicate only in grunts and howls and doted on Drake for everything.

"And finally three: Even with all their enhancements, these guys think of themselves as the badass demons who were put in existence to end all life. What they don't know is that when it comes to 'badass', they´re not the real deal. BUT I AM."

--------------

"If it comes to pass... let this be the final testament of the Sparda clans. I have no more spells or arrows for my weapons. For the enemy, I have naught but the blade and fist. Let them come. They wait in the works, hissing and slithering like beasts. Let them. When my war cry comes, there will be a dread, final reckoning. Come forth, hated enemy. Let there be an end!" - Dante Sparda

-----

"I demand disclosure of my little brother's location, and easy-to-follow directions on how to get there." Drake said pointing towards the demon.

"He done gone to the devil. The boney-dread paid a pretty penny t' get his hands on yer buddy. I imagine I might operate in much the same fashion."

Drake rubbed his chin, "Hmmm... I don't typically deal in bribery. However, in this instance, I am prepared to offer ten."

The one-eyed demon's eye lit up, "Twenty."
 
Drake clenched his fists, "We have an agreement."
One-eyed demon: "The payment if you please. "

Drake stepping up menacingly smiled,"Ah, see... you failed to specify the units of currency agreed on. In this instance, currency will be metered out in blows to the skull."

Ten blows to the demon's skull later, the one-eye shrieked, "Please... I'll tell ya ... how ya get to your brother! Please Stop... please..."

Drake laughed, "For someone who buys and sells souls, your negotiation tactics are embarassingly pathetic !"

-----------

"Say, you're pretty good! Now let me teach you a move I once taught a guy named Lucifer at this very place !" - Drake then maneauvers Archimonde by the very spiked-gauntlets the demon was using to pound Drake and pushes him face-first into the bell tower, instantly destroying the structure and causing tremors for several miles in all directions.

-------------
Dante turns towards Aram, who is readying his blades in anticipation of the massive hell horde that's coming towards them from the portal.

"Gren, you think we can take this many?" he asked.

Aram thought about it for a minute and answered,"Well, it might get rough if a hundred more show up."

Dante smiled, "Don't worry. That'll just have to be THE one hundred I deal with ALONE."

Aram turns towards Dante and points a blade at him, "Wait ... hold on... my calculation is off... are YOU going to fight TOO ?"

Dante laughs out loud as he watches Armstrong Locke charge right into the rampaging horde. And moments later, he goes into the fray to join him.

---------------

Drake shakes his head, "I don't get this. Archimonde spent like two hundred years putting together a massive evil army of demons and orcs and what not to conquer everything in its path ... and then he opens this freaking Hellgate and the first thing he throws his army at... is ME !"

Dante smiled, "In other words, Archimonde has just wasted the last two centuries."

------------------
"Just remember this. Fools rush in where Angels fear to tread. Well... only fools or Noble Causes !" - Dante Sparda

-------------------
"You're in charge because when the chips are down, you blow the crap out of things better than anyone else I know." - Dante to Drake

-------------------

As the resurgent demon horde loomed ever nearer, Aram could feel the fear spreading among the tattered and bruised warrior-women standing behing him. The line shifted hasitly as shields were gripped more firmly to face the newest onslaught.

Aram smiled. Time to channel some Drake here, he thought.

With the instinct of a lifetime of war, he obliged. Raising his twin swords glistening in the flames of the battlefield, he bellowed at the advancing demons.

"Tell the rest of your re-inforcements to just come out now, you whore-sons! I am Armstrong Locke... and I will line that Hell-gate so high with your corpses... that they'll tumble back into the pits ! Your seed-mothers and your filthy pod-fathers will know of the foe you faced here today."

Aram turned towards the Rangers. The women stared at him in disgust and shock. He shook his head.

"Oooo-kay. So much for the pep-talk... let's just kill everyone !"

-----------------

Drake pointed at the Dread-lord at the helm of the attack, "This world could have looked on all of you in wonder instead of terror... We... especially us... know that. Do not EVER come here to destroy our world."

Dante continued, "Do not come here to orphan our children... or to test our will... and our swiftness to act."

Aram finished it, "Do not come to dominate us. Come in peace... or leave in PIECES!"

---------------

Drake to Gargerensis: "I'm the Godslayer, boy. I’ve put hundreds of these revered and worshipped deities of yours into untimely graves. I've  made the whole Supreme Collective beg for mercy over and over. You are nothing to me."

---------------

The Tylmarande clan consists of Roland, his second wife Catherine and their daughters Julia, Akara and Celestia (the daughter of Roland with his first wife). Both Julia and Akara found that they were able to manipulate cosmic energies from a very young age. When their parents were brutally killed during the war between the Elder Gods and Sargeras, the three daughters were forced to abandon their homeworld. Both Akara and Celestia sought out to be priestesses of the goddess Theia while Julia took up the path of a warrior. Soon, all three were trained and proficient in their deadly arts.

When Lothar Anduin approached Julia to join in the Twelve and fight the Dream-War against Sargeras and his demons, Akara was also inducted into the team but Celestia refused to be a part of the war. Akara had her doubts about the group but those faded when she saw the might and diversity of the warriors Lothar had assembled… and the moment she first met a young Kherubim Dragon-Knight named Richard Mainer.

As the Twelve progressed in the war against Sargeras and as her sister, Julia, grew closer to Paridian Hawkleigh, an Uchiha Talon Knight serving in the Twelve, Rick (being Paridian’s best friend) and Akara found themselves in each other’s company a lot. And love blossomed.

The War of The Ancients ended with the help of the Titans and the Twelve decided to establish a military empire in response to the Orc kingdom that had sprung up in the war. As Rick and Paridian established the kingdom of Ardon in the borders of occupied space, Julia and Akara faced the difficult choice of either staying with the men they loved or setting up their own kingdom. They chose the latter and Celestia soon joined them in the endeavor.

The three sisters (and many of female warriors they had gathered during the Dream-War) settled on the backwater planet called Solus. They soon found themselves at odds with the natives of the planet and their goddess – the omnipotent Titan goddess called Solusandra.

A series of confrontations were barely avoided and finally Solusandra agreed to work with the sisters in establishing the kingdom – and the idea of the Sisterhood was born.

Soon, Julia found herself wondering about Paridian and she became distrusting of the militarization of the Sisterhood and the growing oppression they were inflicting on the native barbarian clans was becoming more and more imminent. Her decision to leave the Sisterhood and join the Crusaders was never quite forgiven by her sister.

Akara’s decision to stay was affirmed by the fact that Rick was also beginning to frequent the planet for the training of his young apprentice – Drake. It was in one of these later training sessions (which turned into an actual confrontation with the Orcs) where Drake would first meet the Sisterhood and a young orc war-chief named Thrall.

Akara’s Sisterhood had become a military force to content with in the years to come. She and Rick married soon after (in secret as the Sisterhood was quickly turning into a matriarchy).

When the Infinity War was drawing to a close, the Titan known as Solusandra, fearing for her life, returned to the Sisterhood after nearly a century of absence, and entrusted her infant daughters to Akara. Solusandra mysteriously disappeared the next day and was never heard from again. Akara raised the daughters of Solusandra (Aerynn and Lucia) in secret. It was also during this time that she became pregnant with Rick’s child.

Their daughter, Kashya, was born a few months later but due the fact that Rick had been declared missing in action, Akara went into a severe bout of depression and began to concentrate fanatically on the growth of her sisterhood. Kashya would only first meet her father at the age of 10. During this time, Akara also adopted a young white-lighter infant named Aribeth.

When Kashya began to develop explosive Kherubim abilities in her teenage years, Akara and Rick had a disagreement about their daughter’s future. So fierce was the quarrel that Rick broke all his ties with the woman he loved (it was also during this time that the Elder God Keeliani would begin to take control of Akara’s mind in order to keep Rick, his enemy, off balance).

Kashya would also soon leave the Sisterhood (despite rising to the ranks of an Elite Ranger Commander) and seek out her father again, much to her mother’s and younger sister’s dismay. Kashya would also meet her future husband – the beast-master Tarnum Cathare – for the first time in Ardon. Drawn into the lives of the Swords of Xeen, Kashya would soon abandon the Sisterhood to join the adventurers in establishing the kingdom of Azeroth.

Akara kept track of her daughter’s rise to power, but was unable to lure her back. Her depression was further compounded by the fact that Keeliani’s influence had faded (after the Elder God’s death at the hands of her husband) and she was left without a husband (or a daughter). The sisterhood’s rise to power during this period was heralded by another who called herself a Tylmarande – the enchantress Celestia.

Akara and Celestia would soon come to odds over the future of the Sisterhood. Many Rangers would eventually leave to side with Celestia – who imposed a self-driven exile on her followers. And after centuries of military superiority, the Sisterhood found itself suddenly with only half of its much-feared military strength.

The barbarian clans would soon grow more and more powerful and the Sisterhood merely found itself allied with whichever clan came to power. The glory years of the Rangers had come to an end. In the years that followed, Akara would prefer isolation (after the reported ‘demise’ of her estranged husband, Rick, on the Day of Reckoning) and her Rangers would follow suit, becoming aggressively independent of their spiritual leader. More and more power would rest with her adopted daughter, Aribeth Del Tylmarande, who possessed little of her mother’s compassion and tolerance for the internal warring between the Outlander clans. The sisterhood drifted into a status quo.

But soon all that would change as a young Slayer Knight, Dante, was about to enter their lives...

The Kohan: Clan Javidan

The history of the Javidan clan is as old as the story of the universe itself. Many believe them to be the descendants of a Seraphan and a Titan – two of the purest and most powerful races in the universe. Their origins however differ greatly from the books.

It is true that a white-lighter mage named Moebius was born to the Seraphan-prime Jophiel Dina and the titan-princess Thetys of Othrys eloped. When asked his name, Jophiel told them his earth-bound moniker, Jovid’aan – and the name stuck to his descendants. Their son Moebius Javidan would become a proficient mage and a good hand to hand fighter. He would also marry the Alexandra, sister of Cassandra Chakran and one of the first of the Seraphan Prime descendants. Moebius and Alexandra went to sire two sons and a daughter. But soon the clan would come under fire from a group of rogue Titans. Moebius thought to transport his wife and children to a safe haven that the Seraphan had constructed. However, a brutal attack by the Titans on the ship carrying the Javidan family destroyed the vessel and the wife and daughter were thought lost.

In his anger, Moebius waged war on the rogue Titans to no end. Only with their banishment at the hands of Kronos did his rage subside. But the horrors of war and his family’s loss had left him an emotional wreck. He soon re-married to provide his sons with a mother but his new wife had her own plans. By the time the dust from the war with the Titans settled, Moebius had drawn quite a following to himself. And his new wife soon molded her husband’s followers into a nation. And the kingdom of Khaldun was born.

As the husband and wife busied themselves in building a kingdom, the Seraphan took the two surviving sons under their tutoring. The elder one, Mordecai, would be trained as the warrior of the clan while the younger, Jamsheed, would choose the path of his ancestor – and become a white-lighter in the Seraphan Phalanx. As the kingdom of Khaldun grew in power, enemies from both outside and within began to rise as well.

The natives of the planet Khaldun were a clan of barbarians well-versed in the art of creature-magic. The beast-masters had grown to live their planet and its tranquility and saw the invaders as a threat to their sustenance. And the war between Khaldun and Vellore began which would span a hundred years.

As the kingdom of Khaldun strengthened, Moebius and his wife Kara were blessed with another son, whom they named Lazarus. The boy soon developed a liking to magic and was trained to be a mage. As the attacks from Vellore grew in number, Moebius grew tired of yet another bloody war he wanted no part of. Then, one day, he was approached by a stranger called Tallus who offered him a different path. And that was the last anyone ever heard of Moebius Javidan.

Vellore had noticed the chaos Moebius’s disappearance had caused and struck at the queen. They succeeded, leaving the throne of Khaldun bereft of both a queen and a king. This was the time Mordecai Javidan would chose to rise to the throne. With his brothers at his side, Mordecai began striking back at Vellore (something his father had avoided) and the beast-masters began to lose ground. But that was only until the ‘original’ beast-master Arcaine Locke returned to the throne of Vellore.

The fierce war between Arcaine Locke’s beast-masters and Javidan’s warriors came to an abrupt cease-fire when the War of the Ancients began. Suddenly, Arcaine and the Javidans found themselves on the same side in the Twelve, battling Sargeras and his Eredar. And in the heat of war against their common enemy, a fragile friendship was forged. As soon as the War of the Ancients was over, the nations of Khaldun and Vellore entered a peace treaty. But a last brutal attack from the beast-masters severely shook the foundations of peace.

Jamsheed Javidan found the treaty with the barbarians a despicable step. He also resented the fact that the Twelve recognized Mordecai as the king of Khaldun while the actual succession was yet up for grabs. It was here that he decided to break away from his brother and Khaldun. The group he gathered called themselves the Royalists, while the name Nationalist was branded onto Mordecai’s men. Nearly five thousand Khaldunite Royalists marched out of the capital Ravenswood and set up base in the deserted city of Ironwood Grove setting up the kingdom of Haroun. And a season of cold war started between the clans that lasted till the present day.

Meanwhile, as the hostilities came to an end and Mordecai accepted his brother’s decision, he decided to settle down. The Twelve, in their many battles, had come across many clans of white-lighters left bereft in space by Sargeras’s siege. One of these clans had settled on Khaldun, under Javidan protection. Mordecai soon courted the daughter of the clan leader. And few months later, Kendra Riatta Javidan became the queen of Khaldun.

Jamsheed Javidan also soon married (to an outcast warrior from the same clan as Kendra). The youngest, Lazarus, however accepted celibacy and became the apprentice to the Supreme Highfather Izaya. Over the next two decades, Mordecai and Kendra had two sons – Darius and Ivar. Jamsheed had a daughter Leila. And Lazarus was elevated to Supreme level.

Darius Javidan, elder son of Mordecai, chose the path of an arch-mage and apprenticed under his uncle Lazarus from a very young age. At twenty years old, the prodigy would become the youngest of the Templar’s new elite order of magi called the Horadrim. The Horadric order was in training, centered on the arid life-less world of Tcharun. It was a harsh and unrelenting world where the native species, Saurians, struck out at any and all intruders. But this would also be the place where Darius would meet his future wife – the half-Saurian sorceress Roxanna.

Meanwhile, back in Khaldun, Ivar, Darius’s younger brother, had displayed more of a liking towards the arts of war. And at the age of ten, he decided he wanted to be a crusader. But before he could join the academy at Ardon, the war with the Beast-masters broke out again.

Arcaine Locke had been gone from Vellore for nearly a decade. His decision to shift base to Ardon (where his young son Armstrong Locke would be enrolled in the Crusader Academy) was a difficult one. And the throne of Vellore was once again up for grabs. After nearly two years of bloodshed and assassinations, a mysterious man named Thane Harwood would come to power. It was revealed that over the last century, through a sustained and planned cross-breeding with captured Khaldunite nobles, a new race of warriors called the Ceyah had come to power over the beast-master. Thane Harwood was one of them. And his first act as king was to declare open season on Khaldun.

One of the most horrendous acts committed by the Ceyah was the murder of Kendra Javidan in front of her young son Ivar. The boy was spared with a message for his father. Mordecai responded in kind – slaughtering thousands of Ceyah in a long bloody campaign spanning nearly a decade.

The Khaldun Royalists also defended many Nationalist cities which were unprepared for an attack of this scale. The war also brought Darius back to his homeland. Darius, with his lover Roxanna in tow, brought down the might of the Horadrim on the Ceyah. The resultant battle was quick and decisive and the Ceyah were reduced to meager numbers within months.

As young Ivar went over to the Crusader academy, Darius now took an expanded role in running Khaldun (responsibilities previously with Queen Kendra). He clashed with his father on many of the Nationalist’s policies. His relationship with Roxanna, a half-saurian, was also not well received. After nearly a decade of courtship, Darius married Roxanna against the wishes of his father. He also relocated away from his father’s capital at Ravenswood into the quiet town of Hightower. However, Hightower was also the secret base for a Ceyah resurgence. And Roxanna was sighted as an easy victim.

Over the next few years, the Ceyah would manipulate Roxanna (she would even try to murder Darius) and the half-saurian would become an active member in the ranks of the rebel army. Darius, heart-broken and oblivious to the Ceyah hand in his wife’s new path, chose to move back into the Horadrim ranks. Roxanna’s Ceyah and Khaldun’s defenders would clash more and more. And soon, Ardon would have to take an active hand in clearing out the rebels. The second brutal war for the kingdoms of Khaldun and Vellore had ended. It was only though Mordecai’s resolve and Arcaine’s timely intervention that the Royalists and the Nationalists voted against the complete subjugation of Vellore.

The sons of Arcaine Locke and Mordecai Javidan, both enrolled in the Crusader academy, have since become good friends (and subsequently blood brothers in the Sovereign Seven). Even after Arcaine Locke’s death under mysterious circumstances, his son Armstrong Locke has held his father’s place in the ruling council of Vellore. Over the years, Vellore and Khaldun have allied to usher in a new solid era of peace (despite being rocked by rogue elements in both kingdoms). Roxanna Javidan was freed from the clutches of the Ceyah and has recently returned to her place in Khaldun’s hierarchy. Darius however does not know of his wife’s return…

Jamsheed Javidan’s Royalists have started discussing trade and cooperation with the Defenders of the Alliance. And Jamsheed’s daughter, Leila, has expressed interest in marrying into the ruling household of Ardon – the Hawkleighs. This proposal had prompted the only son of Paridian and Julia Hawkleigh into joining Dante Sparda’s expeditionary mission into the Outlands…

The Beast-masters of Vellore: Clan Locke

The beast-masters of Vellore are rumored to have been existence since the very beginning of the universe. It is said that when the great tree of life, Yggdrasil, was planted, the Titan-goddess Solusandra and her brother Danik planted the roots into the very core of a life-less planet. Once the roots pervaded through the lifeless planet, the dead soil turned a lush green. Strange green plant creatures walked the world within a few years and the first signs of sentient life appeared.

Yggdrasil, left to its own means by its creators, had birthed the creatures needed to protect it. But the great cosmic sentience (of which the world-tree was a part) sensed the coming darkness and decided that better guardians were needed to preserve its existence. And it created a wolf.

The creature was shaped as a composite of the fiercest creatures in existence – the swiftness of the celestial hawks (the Eagle host) and the sheer raw power of their eternal rivals (the Dragon host) – however, the creature would be based on the ground (linked to the earth as the geomancers). And hence the great one-tail wolf-giant Argos was born. The creature was endowed with a hundred eyes (one for each world in existence) and could run as fast as a blink (legends say that Argos’s breath created the winds in the universe). The creature was immune to all magic to protect it against the Titans and other magical species should they ever go rogue.

Argos defended the cosmic tree against hundreds of threats once the Titans began going rogue. It was one of these titans that would eventually lead a clan of half-seraphs (called the Kohan) onto the shores of Vellore. Argos watched curiously as the creatures crawled out of their shells made of wood and metal and unlike him, these creatures strode on two legs, not four. The Kohan willingly followed one of their own and dwelled first in huts of wood and leaves and then in more stable, thatching made of mud and rocks.

The wolf-giant was impressed with the sheer intelligence of these creatures and it craved to be more like them. The cosmic tree Yggdrasil felt the invaders in its land. It also sensed the hesitation of its protector Argos in destroying these creatures. It was time to take other measures. The first creations were vile abominations. Made to model the life-forms who had invaded the kingdom, something had gone wrong. Soon, more and more creations followed and suddenly, Vellore was full of wolves, tigers and lions. And hence, the fabled beasts of Vellore were created.

But soon the sentience discovered that although they were fierce guardians, the mindless animals were hard to control. Their thoughts were vile and driven by the basic necessities. And soon, Yggdrasil created creatures with more independence and logic. The beast-masters appeared. The war with the invaders followed. But the invasion force was well trained and equipped with better weaponry and the beast-masters were too ill-prepared.

Suddenly, Argos was once again needed. But Argos had a demand of his own. The time spent away from its master’s control and observing the increasingly savage behavior of the creatures it had once admired, the wolf-giant was once again on Vellore’s side. His demand, however, was to be given a form closer to that of its adversaries. Yggdrasil complied. And this is how the first ruling clan of the beast-masters, the Clan of Locke began.

Arcaine Locke did not attack his adversaries head-on. Instead, while his settlements strengthened their defenses, his forward-guard would lure the enemy forces into a wilderness where the beasts would do the rest. However, the cursed ability of their enemy to summon lightening at will was to be feared.

The guerilla attacks lasted for about fifty years. Arcaine expected his enemies to concede defeat (like the Titans had) but that was clearly not going to happen. Then one day, a group of beast-masters attacked the main settlement of the invaders and killed their queen. Arcaine abhorred attacking women and children – the surviving attackers were swiftly punished. But the damage had been done. His enemies now fought back with greater force. The taint of evil couldn’t have been far behind.

Soon, however, a stranger appeared from the sky and asked Arcaine and his men to be part of a holy crusade. A threat greater than the invaders and the Titans had emerged from the darkness and the War of the Ancients was beginning.

Although Arcaine knew the world of Vellore to its very edges, he was unprepared for the majesty of the universe that awaited him. There were so many worlds and so many wonders that the wolf-man had never seen. Arcaine learned the languages of the universe from the stranger, who called himself a ‘Lo-thaar’ and soon he could converse with his teammates. Then, he came face to face with an enemy he thought he had left behind in Vellore – the thunder-tamer called Mordecai Javidan. A friendship would be forged over the course of many battles fought as unwilling allies.

Upon his return, Arcaine knew what he needed to do. One of the branch clans that had helped maintain order in Locke’s absence was given the throne of Vellore over the next century of peace. He would take a wife and be blessed with a son. And soon Arcaine retired to a life of re-building and training in Ardon. His absence would gradually drive the beast-masters into chaos. Into the midst of this upheaval, a stranger called Thane Harwood would slowly begin to usurp power. His followers (claiming to be a long-lost tribe) would undertake a bloody coup to remove the ruling council from power. And then Thane Harwood would declare war on Khaldun once more.

Arcaine would hear of the suffering of his people at the hands of the Ceyah only a decade later and he would take an elite group of Crusader beast-masters trained by him back into Vellore for a strike at the Ceyah capital. The strike succeeded in dismantling the Ceyah chain of command (although Thane Harwood escaped). But soon after and before he could establish another ruling council, Arcaine Locke disappeared. The beast-masters were thrown into chaos once more and the Khaldunites would have to impose a military rule on the kingdom to keep the long-suffering nation from collapsing.

Nearly a century later, Arcaine Locke’s son, Armstrong, would stake a claim on the throne of Vellore and would go on to create his own legend. But that is a tale for another time…

Armstrong Locke has also recently discovered that several branch clans of the Vellore beast-masters, residing in the borderlands with Khaldun, have gone into hiding for no apparent reason. And on the face of things, the Khaldun Nationalists seem to be preparing for war…

The Beast-masters of Vellore: Clan Gran

History may remember Arcaine Locke and his prodigal son Armstrong as the most prominent names from the kingdom of Vellore but there is another name that will be remembered in the history of universe as having a similar impact.

The Grans were a prominent branch clan of the Vellore beast-masters, always residing in the borderlands with Khaldun, and were savagely loyal to their progenitor Arcaine. The Clan had an inspiring leader in Caleb Gran – one of the first beast-masters to be created by Yggdrasil. Caleb Gran would go on to become a part of the ruling council of Vellore after Arcaine is called away to fight the Twelve.

Caleb continued to lead the council even after Arcaine’s return on his leader’s request. But when the Ceyah took over the beast-masters in a bloody coup (assisted by many of the beast-master clans that were being controlled by Ceyah-driven puppets), the head of clan Gran decided to send his infant son, Arturis, to Ardon. In fact, Arturis’s arrival in Ardon had been the sign for Arcaine of something being terribly wrong in Vellore, prompting his return in force. Caleb fought alongside his leader but fell to the overwhelming numbers of the Ceyah in a crucial battle defending a key outpost. He was honored by Arcaine and other beast-masters when peace time returned to the kingdom. As another sign of honor, Arcaine raised Caleb’s son Arturis in the same stead as his own.

Arturis Gran (or Arthur to his brothers) was one of the rising stars amongst the Crusaders. Although he was not nearly as powerful as Armstrong Locke, the Crusaders (and especially the new Fourth Knight Drake) found in him an excellent tactician and ANBU squad leader. It was around this time that Drake (then Fourth Knight of Ardon) and his mentor Rick Mainer began toying with the idea of a team of heroes spanning the entire universe. A recruitment drive began full swing around the same time. It was also around the same period an Elder God named Keeliani began exerting his influence across the universe to establish a new multi-worlds-spanning kingdom, something which had never been attempted before.

Keeliani, a descendant of the Titans and self-proclaimed demi-god, had formed an army from the remnant races from the War of the Ancients into a force bent on domination. He began sending his pirate militia on raids into Ardon (and an upcoming Aalandor) to instill fear in the most widespread military faction in the universe. Ardon responded in kind: with the Swords of Xeen (named after the planet which they had been gathered to attack).

Rick Mainer and Drake gathered heroes from across worlds for their team (members included Dante Sparda, Armstrong Locke, Ivar and Darius Javidan, Tarnum Cathare, Nasher Alagondar, Zaurial Trailblazer, Karchak Ruarc Varagoth of the Duskwood Dashers, Thrall of Durotar and Lucifer Morningstar). From the ANBU, Drake requested Arturis Gran, Moreno Ibliss (another rising ANBU squad leader) and his own squire Accepted Kyran Delrobe to join the Swords.

Upon landing on the shores of Xeen where the pirates were attacking from, Drake and Dante immediately realized that there was a nation in the making that could be forged from the races that Keeliani had gathered. However, since every nation needed a glorious history, it would need new heroes. Most of the members of the Swords were assigned fake aliases. The Swords became popular to the people of Xeen as a group of rebels acting against the oppression of Keeliani. The Swords would soon defeat Keeliani’s raiders (and Rick Mainer would kill Keeliani after a long fought battle) [DETAILS: “Chronicles of the Sovereign Seven – Tales of Sword Coast”]. Drake asked Arturis Gran to lead the races that had gathered on Xeen. And the kingdom of Azeroth began.

Spanning multiple planets (through established colonies), Azeroth was a bold idea achieved in the span of two decades. Arturis Gran (or King Arthur) would become a widely revered ruler for his fairness and his policies. He would also soon marry a noble from a Seraphan-born family and their union would lead to a son, named Minos. But all would not end well for the Gran clan.

Questions would soon be raised on the origins of the Swords of Xeen, which they had relied on for their popularity with the masses (Drake would increasingly grow to believe that the truth had been revealed by the Supreme Collective, which had been unable to establish a religious stronghold in Azeroth under Arthur’s rule.). Distrust and lies spread by the rebels would lead to a coup where King Arthur and his queen would be murdered by the rebels (who would, in Arthur’s place, install a new king – Leoric Terenas). The Supreme Collective moved into Azeroth soon after to establish the Church of Universal Truth.

Drake would rescue the infant Minos but he was too late to save the young king and queen. And Minos Gran would be raised in Ardon and would become the Accepted squire of the Sovereign beast-master Armstrong Locke. Minos would become a skilled Crusader, soon earning a place on the highly respected Youngblood team (accepted widely by the Alliance’s Defenders as the ‘next Sovereigns’). After centuries of intense training, the Youngblood team is finally ready to its next biggest challenge – to prove their worth in the battle for the Outlands…

I lapped at the water as the evening breeze tousled my fur. The water seemed so cold compared to the warm dusk. I quietly gazed at the scenery surrounding me. The lush green grass spread as far as my eyes could allow me to see. A lone heron stood in the pool. It all seemed so peaceful, so unreal. Everyone seemed restless from the hot day, but now the wind had cooled us down, everyone seemed so much more relaxed. There's nothing worse than sticky fur.

I reflected on last night’s story time. The mad old hare from across the field always told the best stories. We sat on the golden sands like usual when he recalled his encounter with a man beast. Animals so big, even the mighty stag are afraid. The man beast seemed unreal, like a mythical legend that had been passed down from generation to generation. I'd never seen one in all my life. To be truthful I thought it was an old wives tale that mothers told their kids to make them behave. You know the kind? Of course, I wasn't fooled. Now, I don't mean to brag but I am known across the valley as having the most acute sense of hearing and being the champion sprinter. Last month I even won the Nobel Carrot for my skills. Now imagine you could hear 'danger' from miles away and you can escape without breaking so much as a sweat. Would you be scared of a tall tale?

We were waiting for the hare to join us when it happened. At first I thought it was Mr. Hare about to join us (late if I might add) but something wasn't right about the way he was moving. Either he had just gained 150 pounds or something else was about to appear. I made a sign to the others and we hurried noiselessly for cover. The heron, who had been watching us, realised that something must be coming and pounded down the river. For a moment the place seemed lifeless, yet as the footsteps got closer and closer, our nerves were not settled by the scenery. Then they came. There were two of them. Being the owner of a Nobel Carrot I of course realised there was more than one but the others recoiled in shock. I stayed hidden under the brush and curiously watched the newcomers. It was strange. Although they must have been from the same species they both seemed so different. It's not very often you see so much variation between creatures from the same pack. At first I thought they were bears. I had never seen a bear in real life before and although I don't want to meet one I was intrigued by what it was doing here. You see, bears tend to live in the woods, not on the hillside. However, as the creatures got closer I realised I wasn't looking at bears.

A shiver ran down towards my tail as I realised what I was gazing upon. Could it be the mythical man beast? It looked as if they had objects on top of their fur for some reason. I remember the Ol' Hare mentioning something about man beast wearing a disguise- 'rags' he called it. I have never heard of any other beast wearing 'rags' so this must be it. This must be them. They must be 'manbeasts'.

As I mentioned earlier, they both seemed so different. At first I was sure one of them was a bear. It certainly looked like one. He even dragged his paws like a bear. But there was no mistaking his identity. It was definitely one of them. Although I have never admitted it before, I didn’t move from the brush as I was frozen with fear. Now, I know what you’re all thinking. A rabbit with a Nobel Carrot scared? I 'ain’t exactly proud of it either but you try being in the presence of something so different and not be scared. Go on. I dare ya. It 'ain’t easy. Anyways, rooted to the spot I watched and waited. They sat together and drunk from the pool. How dare two cretins come out of nowhere and take our water as if it were their own. Of course I was enraged. Yet fear soon dampened the fiery anger as the two beasts started communicating. Although I couldn’t understand a word of their alien language it was fairly obvious that the bear-like man beast relied on the other. Truth be told he seemed kind of dim. All of a sudden the smaller one seemed mad at the other. I'm not sure why. But from his rags the big 'un pulled out something. I strained my eyes to see but even my eyesight wasn't that good. The smaller man took the object and threw it, aimed right at me. I was sure he had seen me. At that moment my brain seemed to finally regain control of my body and I managed to sprint out of there.

Upon arriving back at the field my story got somewhat twisted. Ok. So I may have exaggerated on the details a bit whilst talking with my friends. But who hasn't done that? The point of the story still remains though. I had seen the man beast up close. Closer than that Ol' Hare ever got. I lived to tell the tale and I ain't old or mad yet. That’s because I'm the best. I told ya didn't I? There ain't anyone more deserving of a Nobel Carrot than me.

When I was in high school I couldn't write well, and of course all I did was write N Sync fan fiction. If you read Nsync fan fiction then you know the basic Nsync fan fic archetype:
Jc is a crack addict,
Joey is a fat man whore obsessed with superman,
Justin is obsessed with himself and naive,
Lance (ironically) is very metro and his sexuality in question,
and Chris is the retarded oldest member.

All members get into some strange situation with the writer and her two to four best friends resulting in the complete sexual harassing of JC, tying Justin up to a chair, and forgetting about the three other members who composed Nsync. Oh wait, maybe that was just my fan fiction. Anyways, Cursed be the day when Nsync Fan fic was removed. I never really got a chance to say farewell to my boys. So, I thought (since its 4 AM and I'm still not asleep) I'd officially write my last VERY CRAPPY Nsync Fan fiction....

Disclaimer: I don't own Nsync. Non of these events ever transpired. This is not meant to offend. Should be thought of in humor purposes only. 

Setting: A lonely day in my apartment, I am unpacking some old boxes, and I come across the old celebrity CD. I blow off the remaining dust, and poof Nsync suddenly appears in my room.

Me: After all these years, Cd tele-transportation still works?

Joey: Yeah, I'm a bit shocked at that...I was hosting the singing be, and poof here I am.

Justin: I guess you've got the one copy that cd transportation works on.

Chris: Maybe she's a witch, an obsessed fan witch.

Me: I think you guys pop up every time I touch the celebrity album. Blame your album its magical.

Lance: Really? We released an album so powerful it was magical?

JC: We were an awesome group. I don't doubt we released a magical cd.

Justin: Wait a minute...we're missing something very important

Everyone in the room: What?

Justin: Dar, lover of all that is Nsync, one of our most dedicated fan fic writers that never made me randomly hook up with Lance or snort lines with JC--

Me: You're too much of a front man to be pushed off with that riff-raff. I give those career damaging scenes to Chris.

Chris: (says muttering to himself) I'm the most un-loved member of N Sync.

Me: Yeah you're pretty much as un-loved as JC's solo career

Justin: ANYWAYS...Dar, you mean to tell me you haven't picked up our Celebrity CD in 7 years.

Me: Yeah, well no. You boys went on hiatus and then boy bands went out of style.

JC: We were never a boy-band. I can't believe you've forgotten.

Me: Forgotten What?

Lance: OMG, she has forgotten.

Me: Forgotten What?

Joey: Dar, come on, please remember...

Me: I don't know what you boys are getting at. Spit it out.

JC: We have never been a boy band, we have always been a Legendary VOCAL GROUP.

Me: Oh yeah...that used to be important, back when I didn't have a life.

Chris: What are you talking about? You had a life back then, and it consisted of your imagination and all 5 of us 24 hours a day and 7 days a week.

Justin: You swore to us...Pinky swore that you'd never forget to listen to our cd daily.

Me: Yeah, well, things happened. Nancy died her hair, I went to college, and britney spears got fat. 

Justin: Thats understandable...I did a solo career

Lance: I came out of the closet.

Joey: I host game shows.

Jc: I'm a judge on a dance show.

Chris: I became an alcoholic, and did reality tv.

Me: Chris, you always were an underachiever. Do me a favor and when you transport back try to host a game show or come out of the closet or something.

::A long awkward moment passes, as nsync and I just stare at each other.

Justin: So, at what point during this fan fic are you going to tie us up, and turn Lance into a cow.

Me: Honestly, I hadn't really planned on tying you up. Although, you are still ab-a-licious Justin, I just don't have that urge to keep you hostage

JC: My god woman you've changed!!!!

Me: I see you're just as over dramatic. You still doing crack?

JC: No, I've cleaned my ways. Crack is Whack.

Me: Okay Whitney Houston...I think its time for ya'll to go.

::Justin looks around my room::

Justin: You have no posters of us hanging.  What the hell is wrong with you?

Chris: Wait you're telling US to leave.

Me: Yeah

JC: Usually we have to use our stunning talent to somehow distract you enough so we can escape.

Justin: This time I brought a little pocket knife to cut through the rope.

Me: I'm sorry. Goodbye guys.

Lance: Oh no you don't!!! We're not leaving! 

Jc: Yeah we're not going anywhere until you tie us up, and act insane.

Me: That time has passed.

Lance: To hell it has! 

Me: Boys, I can't just tie you guys up in the middle of my apartment, and refuse to feed Lance like I used to. I've got responsibilities.

Justin: Come on....please...you used to be our stalker, and we used to be your obsession. Just one more tie down for old times sake. Please!!!

::Justin gives me puppy dog eyes::

Me: Ok, fine, boys go into the living room, and I'll find some rope.

::Nsync goes into my living room, and I find rope in my old box. I tie each of there hands together the same way I used to::

Justin: I missed this, you know, being captured.

JC:Where's your psychotic friend...Debbie, I think her name was.

Me: She's back in my hometown, haven't seen her in years

Jc: That girl knew how to tie a knot.

Me: Yes, she's pretty useful. She's got a boyfriend now.

JC: I'm no longer the love of her life

Chris: Now you know how it feels not to be the center of attention

Lance: Yeah that's right, although, you used to sing lead, you're nothing more than back up in her life.

(The door unlocks and I look around nervously when my roommate, Taylor enters, and looks shocked staring at Nsync with a grin)

Taylor: Heeeeyyy

Justin: Finally, someone still appreciates our greatness as a fivesome.

:: Taylor crosses the room and whispers to me::

Taylor: Dar do you know you have a has-been boy band tied up in our living room?

::Justin being the closest hears Taylor::

Justin: We are not has-beens! We are legends! N Sync forever!!!

Me: They wanted to be tied up. 

Taylor: I knew the day would come when you'd completely loose your mind--

Me: They wanted to be tied down, and besides whose going to miss them? Can't we hold them hostage for a few days?

Taylor: Someone is going to miss Justin, he brought sexy back remember?"

Justin: Hell yeah I did.

Me: He didn't really bring it back. Sexy never left. I mean Thomas Jane and Brad Pitt and Hot Joggers.

Taylor: Dar, don't get distracted on me. You have to untie them.

::Justin struggles his way out::

Justin: I've cut myself free

::I roll my eyes::

Me: (sarcastically) Damn...that was my last thing of rope. I guess you all can hope back on the cd and live your has-been lives.

::JC gives me a pointed look::

Me: (sarcastically) Oh yeah...you will be mine some day...Your brilliant vocal group. Don't ever forget I shalt have you.

Jc: That's better...

Justin: We'll be transporting through the cd just so you don't forget us.

::The boys step on there cd and transport away one at a time::

Taylor: You never told me you were friends with N Sync?

Me: I always thought they didn't like me kidnapping them. Now, I guess they miss it.

I found another set of words I like by CS Lewis, in a letter to Arthur Greaves:

'To enjoy a book like that thoroughly I find I have to treat it as a sort of hobby and set about it seriously. I begin by making a map on one of the end leafs: then I put a running headline at the top of each page: finally I index at the end all the passages I have for any reason underlined. I often wonder--considering how people enjoy themselves developing photos or making scrapbooks--why so few people make a hobby of their reading in this way. Many an otherwise dull book which I had to read have I enjoyed in this way, with a fine-nibbed pen in my hand: one is making something all the time and a book so read acquires the charm of a toy without losing that of a book.'

Well. I s'pose this blog is somewhat in the same vein. And hypertext is a sort of nested marginalia, isn't it. CS Lewis is one of the many dead men I love, along with Tolkien and Hopkins and Freddie Mercury and Pascal and perhaps poor grumpy Thomas Hardy. Lost boys, mostly. Most of the women artists I love are still alive, interestingly, although I often feel I'd like to watch Emily Dickinson from my own window across the way, or get into a lovely shouting match with Emily Bronte. And the women artists I love are more curmudgeons, on the whole, than lost girls. Why is this? Perhaps it takes force, even anger, at times, however contained, for women to produce and publicly share their work. Even now.

And men too, often. Okay, let's just say people in general. Don't want to be discriminatory.

Anyway. I like the above quote because what Lewis describes, interacting with books, world-building (or at least making little nests in other peoples' worlds) is something I like doing myself, although I have never taken it to the lengths of creating an index.

I did create family trees for the Earnshaws and the Lintons, the first time I read Wuthering Heights, as well as a chart showing the loves and relations of the members thereof. Also as a kid I wrote and bound into a chapbook my own biography of Jane Austen based on my own 'research' (reading the preface of every novel she ever wrote)--I painted the 'chapbook' a cover of waterlilies. And I added, at the end of the last Borrowers book, an extension of the story in which Arrietty and Spiller got married and had a garden house and lots of adventures in the outer world. In a library book. What was I thinking? Was this my first foray into the odd liminal world of fan fiction?? I suspect that those penciled words are still lurking in that dusty old copy of The Borrowers Avenged in that dusty old public library. I like to think so.

There's this marvelous quote floating around on the internet right now, by Michael Chabon:

'...There is a degree to which... all literature highbrow or low, from the Aeneid onward, is fan fiction... Through parody and pastiche, allusion and homage, retelling and reimagining the stories that we were told before us and that we have come of age loving--amateurs---we proceed, seeking out the blank places in the map that our favorite writers, in their greatness and negligence, have left for us, hoping to pass on to our own readers--should we be lucky enough to find any--some of the pleasure that we ourselves have taken in the stuff we love: to get in on the game. All novels are sequels; influence is bliss.'

So there.

I still think the Borrowers a masterful and involving series, by the way; Mary Norton manages to infuse into Arrietty's world such an air of melancholy, existential angst and general Victorian decay, abandoned gardens etc.

Perhaps my favourite--that is to say, most ridiculous--juvenile elaboration in a book was the pictographic code I created for my childrens' poetry anthology Favourite Poems Old and New. Little symbols in the shape of teardrops, tongues of fire, lightning bolts, hearts, drawn by the titles of the poems in the table of contents, by the poems themselves, and in the index.

I then created a master chart decoding these symbols: teardrops=sad poems; tongues of flame=searing poems!; lightning bolts=poems of learning; there were other symbols representing quite abstract values, such as 'smoky, 'tangy' or 'bittersweet'. And so on and so on. Why I didn't just write an adjective or a comment, I don't know. Some sort of desire to generate a meta-semiosis all my own, I guess.

Nowadays my marginalia often seems to consist of lists, odd analogous references to string theory which I look back on later and no longer understand, or simply underlinings and frames around fine passages. My copy of Possession is full of frames and brackets; I think AS Byatt is one of my living heroes, even if some of her novels are far better than others. Her short stories are delicious. Her writing room is quite cool; I like the objects of natural history and her rock collection. I like how she takes factual curiosities and embroiders them into her stories.

Just today I've attempted to implement Lewis' method of indexing, using the collection of Virgina Woolf's essays on Women and Writing. There are a good many entries under the heading 'a room of one's own'--the which room of one's own being a synechdochic indication of freedom to create, of course--an idea I often struggle with.

Theodora Goss has lately written much on this topic. That 'money is another word for mental space'. And that:

'Part of the problem with being a writer, or maybe just with being me, is living partly in the world and partly out of it. Out of it is where the stories are written. In it is where dinner is cooked, the syllabus is drafted, the bills are paid. But being always in it, being faced all the time with the inescapable reality of it, leaves me feeling anxious and disconnected. Makes me feel as though I'm losing touch with another kind of reality that is, at some level, deeper and more authentic.'

Which is all terribly true. Mark says, when I'm absorbed in some other world, that my ears are growing pointed; it takes me forever to respond to his questions, like an old computer whose processes are all backed up and delayed.

And I think two things. One is, that time and money seem always to be an inverse ratio. Right now I have a lot of time, because I'm no longer nannying; just sort of trolling the internet looking for work that doesn't involve cleaning houses, or working at a bed and breakfast, or serving mayonnaise sandwiches to construction workers, or even caring for other peoples' children, however delightful those children might (or might not) be. This could take a long time. Heh.

Two, the thing about having a room of one's own, I think, is that it takes a great deal of pig-headed courage to claim one's own resources for writing, including time to do things that might not seem practical--like blogging, or yoga, or creating a rock collection, or writing millions of little thoughts on yellow posts-its and putting them up all over the wall. All of which I've done. To what end I still don't know. It feels terribly egoistical to assume that whatever creative efforts one might undertake are worth not making billions of dollars. It feels miserable to not.

In truth, I think that all artistic or creative or representational pursuits are as significant as their Real Life context, a part of our overall dasein which is, however mewed about with the isolation required to generate these visions, necessary, significant, valuable, and of a piece with the larger world. Woolf writes,

'for a novel, after all, is a statement about a thousand different objects--human, natural, divine; it is an attempt to relate them to each other. In every novel of merit these different elements are held in place by the force of the writer's vision.'

And I agree. Where would we be without all our efforts to transmute whatever it is that is external reality, meta-reality, all that is or might be or seems to be or was or shall be, into experience, that is, into a form which we have seen and shaped and share, that others might see it, in some way, too? Take a picture, and it becomes a lasting and uniquely slanted representation of a transitory space and time, becomes something others can participate in, in whatever unpredictable and inimitable ways, for a duration. And then there is simply the pleasure of one's own visions. It is the act which counts.

About.com of all places offers the following comment about existentialism:

'Arguably, the world itself is a work of art from the existentialist perspective. It is, after all, a product of human imagination and full of symbols communicating meaning. Unlike traditional works of art, however, the world is never "finished" or completed. It is forever a "work in progress," something which calls out for us to improve. Traditional art is supposed to get us to wake up and doing something in the world around us; seeing the world for what it is should also do the same.'

'Wake up.' For me that's it. And waking up can't just mean reading the BBC every morning and making money and keeping the shirts ironed (although these things are very important indeed); it must mean allowing or forcing oneself to see, participate in, create, other layers and possibilities within the world. Even within worlds that are outside this world; for it seems to me the most fantastical fiction is but a marvelously enhanced vision, or experience, of reality. Sometimes highly shitty and inaccessible. Sometimes transcendental, disturbing, transformative, or sheerly delightful.

I'd like to think that however I spend my time, either in contemplation of other people's writing or in trying my own hand at it, all is well. Wake up and write a world. Or diddle with one, at least.

Well Shiloh and I made the joint account, and to attract some attention we decided to write a JoBro fanfic. It's called StarStruck.

It includes me and Shiloh and a girl called Camilla.
I ♥ Joe
Shiloh ♥ Kevin
Camilla ♥ Nick

^^

It's gonna be awesome.
3 chapters are already out.

Check it owttttt

http://www.youtube.com/user/heartsanthem

Hollaaaaa

-Alice xxx

You probs need to go to the actual vid cuz the story's in the description.. but w/e

Executive Officer's Log, Commander Kip Ryder reporting ...

I reported to the Serapis today after visiting with my family back on Earth.  And for a first job out of the Academy, I think I've done pretty well for myself.  I'm the Executive Officer on board which means I lead the landing parties, supervise the administrative duty roster ... stuff like that.

This ship isn't the biggest in Star Fleet, but I've got confidence that Captain Jones will steer her well and give us a chance to make a difference to the Federation.  After all, when Captain Jones was my age, he was workign with the legendary Ambassador, Dillon Arness, restoring order (or sometimes forcing order) into The Badlands. 

I'll bet Captain Jones has seen and experienced things that we cadets could only dream about.

I don't understand why Star Fleet would send someone with Jones' experience and credentials on a star-charting mission - but they did.  And fortunately for me, he picked me to help. 

I start interviewing and recruiting junior officers to help us with the tactical part of our mission.  It's a bit like pulling together hands for a round-up, and I'm used to how that works.  Fortunately there's no corral or bad-tempered horses that need breaking.  I've done enough of that to last a lifetime.

/s/ CMDR Kip Ryder

What's that scene from the movie Finding Forrester? The young writer asks the old one why he reads the National Enquirer. Sean Connery responds "What's wrong with it?" "It's trash, man. You should be reading the Times or something." "I read the times for dinner but this, this is my dessert." That's what FanFiction is for me: my reading dessert, and my writing dessert.

It's a rather lovely concept that stories are literally never-ending. For instance, the final novel of the Harry Potter series came out in July. JK Rowling claims that she'll never write about those characters again. And yet, there are thousands of people out there who are fans of her book, and they're writing thousands of stories about those characters. In that respect, Harry Potter will never end because there will always be people writing new stories.

El año pasado se dio una discusión acá sobre un presunto caso de plagio: la cosa no llegó a nada porque la escritora acusada borró los textos (publicados en su propio blog) por los que se afirmaba que había robado el trabajo de otro escritor, y éste, por su parte, prefirió no pelear. Ahora, en la misma página se han dejado dos nuevas acusaciones de plagio contra la misma persona. [Los enlaces correspondientes se borraron por accidente en una etapa reciente de la reparación de Las historias, pero las acusaciones se encuentran archivadas en los blogs de quienes las formularon: aquí y aquí.]

Mientras el asunto se ventila (y si no llega más allá de los blogs no pasará de una polémica sin consecuencias), sólo quiero comentar una idea que leí al paso en uno de los sitios involucrados: para minimizar la importancia de las acusaciones de plagio en general, alguno de los defensores de la parte acusada arguyó que "lo que se publica en la red es de todos".

No es así: lo que se publica no es "de todos". No de esa manera.

Me explico:

No estoy en contra de que se difunda la información por Internet. No sólo sería absurdo: me parecen una maravilla los sitios que acopian y difunden textos, imágenes, video, música, etcétera. Algunos se dedican a la piratería, otros llevan demasiado lejos sus intereses mercantiles, pero lo importante es el potencial de la red: ésta, al menos por el momento, es lo más cercano que hay a un medio de comunicación y difusión al alcance de cualquier persona, como lo fue la radio en sus primeros tiempos o la misma imprenta de tipos móviles. Es un medio que está muy lejos de ser totalmente "libre" o "igualitario" (pensemos en la situación de China; pensemos en las grandes poblaciones por debajo de la línea de pobreza extrema), y casi todo lo que se publica es basura, claro, pero en el resto hay muchísimo de valor, y además la posibilidad de encontrar puntos de vista diversos y plurales sobre gran cantidad de asuntos, una cantidad enorme de informaciones prácticas, una infinita variedad de obras artísticas, etcétera.

Por otra parte, nada de esto tiene que ver con el plagio. El plagio no depende del medio: el plagio es atribuirse el trabajo intelectual de alguien más. Punto.

No hay un plagio cuando se reproduce algo citando la fuente: cuando Roberto Bolaño transcribe, por ejemplo, unas cuantas palabras de Baudelaire para citarlas (reconociendo quién las escribió) como epígrafe de su novela 2666. Tampoco hay plagio cuando se crean variaciones sobre obras previamente existentes o se utilizan personajes de historias conocidas en nuevas historias: cuando se escribe fan fiction, por ejemplo (los "años perdidos" de Anakin Skywalker, digamos, o el secreto amorío gay de Harry Potter y Draco Malfoy), o cuando Josh Simmons, un monero estadounidense, escribe y dibuja su propia versión de Batman sin la autorización de la DC Comics; es obvio que ninguno de ellos podría atribuirse exitosamente la invención de los personajes que emplea, y de hecho ninguno lo hace. (La persecución de que son objeto en ocasiones los autores de fan fiction y otros semejantes es una cuestión totalmente distinta.)

No: plagio es lo que sucede cuando, por ejemplo, Alfredo Bryce Echenique toma enteros artículos escritos por otras personas, les cambia una o dos comas y los publica con su nombre. Plagio es lo que sucede cuando Ana Rosa Quintana toma trozos extensos, perfectamente reconocibles, de libros de Danielle Steel y Ángeles Mastretta y los inserta (o permite que un redactor los inserte), sin comillas ni nada, cambiando sólo algunos nombres, en una novela firmada por ella, como si realmente se le hubieran ocurrido a ella. En casos así no hay matices que valga invocar, explicaciones ni justificaciones posibles: es evidente, para quien conoce el texto original y sabe que vino antes del plagiado, que el plagiario está robando. No se trata de nada relacionado con la difusión ni el "libre acceso" de las obras plagiadas; quienes plagian acostumbran publicar lo que roban, con la intención de que otros lo conozcan y lo crean obra original de los plagiarios.

Hay peores infamias que ser un plagiario, por supuesto, pero se trata de una infamia. Es una acción deshonesta: tampoco hay matices. De los casos que conozco, además, resulta que la personalidad del plagiario tiene varios rasgos desagradables y en especial un ego enorme, que parece llevarlo a creer que puede aprovecharse de quien sea con toda alevosía y que su mera fuerza, su reputación, las ventajas de que disponga (los palgiarios roban muchas veces textos de autores menos conocidos que ellos) le permitirán salirse con la suya.

Me alegra cuando no es así, cuando no se salen con la suya, por razones gremiales: el único orgullo al que cualquier escritor puede aspirar es el de su propio esfuerzo, y plagiar es por lo tanto una forma de autoengaño. Pero también me alegra por esto: el plagio es un insulto a cualquier lector posible de la obra plagiada.

Cuando un plagiario roba un texto de X, es como si dijera "puedo hacerlo porque mis lectores son ignorantes: jamás han leído a X"; cuando es descubierto e intenta defenderse, es como si dijera "puedo hacerlo porque mis lectores son estúpidos: me creerán a mí y no a la evidencia".

No sé ustedes, pero a mí no me gusta que me digan "ignorante" ni "estúpido".

Chapter 6

There are certain laws that apply in the land of celebrity. Crossing at crosswalks is not one of them--at least not when you're Festus Lindon, world famous photographer of the stars. Festus had singlehandedly unleashed the nether regions of some of America's greatest up-and-coming starlets. Through the power of his lens and his undying devotion to his craft, he had photographed more than 20 of the most beautiful women in the world exiting their cars sans undergarments. He was a legend. He had gotten his start when he exposed the violent streak that ran through Stan Quill, recieving not only a cool quarter million dollar settlement check, but also another thirty grand for the photos of himself getting bashed in the skull by the star of "Life at Doper High."

Life had certainly been going well for Festus. He had just sold a couple of photos of Rick "Holdy" Holiday getting into his car with an open bottle of beer in his hand, and he had it on good authority that Eilene Degenerate had been seen sneaking around town holding hands with another woman. He wanted to break the story before she had the chance to use her coming out to boost the ratings on her new sitcom "Eilene."

Festus stood on the sidewalk, gazing at the small studio across the street. He had heard that there was a new movie being filmed there; the rumour was that some pretty big names in the b-movie industry were involved, and they were usually easy to provoke to violence. He could hardly contain himself when he saw a very angry Killroy Hamm exiting the studio wearing ridiculously thick wrist prosthetics. He was gonna eat well for the next few months.

---------

Remo couldn't really pound on a jaywalker, it was just a bit too harsh--even for a highly trained assasin who lived the life of a dead man. He couldn't pound on him, but he could at least give him a stern talking-to. A little verbal beatdown might just be a good release for some of this inexplicable pent up anger he was feeling.

At least the plan was to lecture the jaywalker. As he stepped out of the gate, he saw that the man was approaching him, and raising a camera.

"Sh*t," thought Remo, "now I'm gonna have to hurt this guy. Wait, he looks familiar..."

"Hey, don't I know you?" asked the thick wristed gentleman.

"Maybe," replied Festus, realizing this wasn't Mr. Hamm, but lifting his camera anyway--maybe it was one of his doubles.

"Yeah, you're the guy who took those pictures of the Lawson twins," smiled Remo.

"You like my work? You wouldn't believe how hard it was to force them to climb up that fire escape. Lucky for me, they were too drunk to realize that *someone* had stolen their britches..."

"That really was you, huh?"

"Yup."

"How'd you get them out of their panties? I mean, those young girls seemed pretty smart."

"Well, they just played a smart girl on 'Packed Home'-- remember, it took two of them to play the same girl, I guess you could say they had a whole brain between them" grinned the photographer, "plus, the roofies I slipped into their wine coolers didn't hurt."

"You drugged them? Classic." chuckled Remo. "How old were they when you took those pictures?"

"Oh that was the beauty of it all. They were only 16. I could have made a hundred thousand off the pictures of their underaged drinking, but the pantiless pictures secured me an extra fifty grand!" cooed the idiot.

"So, let me get this straight," asked Remo, "you exploited the beloved, cute little girls of America's favorite T.V. show, drugged them, and abused their trust for a hundred and fifty thousand dollars?"

"Pretty much--yeah" responded Festus, realizing something was amiss.

"Thank you," stated Remo, reaching for the paparazo's camera.

Before Festus could blink, Remo had grabbed the camera, snapping the strap in two with a quick yank. He looked at the camera, trying to find the release button for the back.

The cocky photographer smiled at Remo.

"It's one of them new digital cameras. There ain't no film for you to destroy!"

"Digital, huh? I'll show you digital," frowned Remo.

He grabbed Festus's hand and folded all his fingers back, popping them one by one, save his index and middle finger--These he spread out making a "V" and slowly pushed them into Lindon's eye sockets.

After thorougly gouging the man's eyes out, Remo used the hook on the end of one of the camera straps to scoop out the remaining fleshy bits from his sockets.

Remo squeezed the camera until the lens popped off. Then, he meticuously oriented the glass so that it faced outward and shoved the back end of the optical peice into the man's skull.

Next, he yanked the large flash from the top of the mangled camera and inserted it in Lindon's other socket, giving it a little twist, causing the man to twitch to a whole new pain.

Remo spotted the test button on the backside of the flash.

"Hmmm... I wonder what this does," he thought.

He pushed the button.

A hot, bright light shined briefly out of Festus's mouth, searing his brain and killing him instantly as 250 volts of electricity arced through his skull.

"Smile for the birdy!" quipped Remo.

Remo wiped the blood off his hands, and hummed to himself as he strolled down the street.

He definitely felt better.