| (no subject) |
[Oct. 10th, 2005|07:52 pm] |
You are Gonzo the Great.
You love everyone, and still you get shot out of a
cannon on a regular basis. Oh, and you are
completely insane and have a strange
fascination for chickens.
ALSO KNOWN AS:
The Great Gonzo, Gonzo the Great, Just Plain Weird
SPECIES:
Whatever
HOBBIES:
Tapdancing blindfolded on tapioca while balancing a
piano on his nose, backwards, five times fast.
FAVORITE MOVIE:
"From Here to Eternity...with no brakes."
FAVORITE TV SHOW:
"Touched By An Anvil"
QUOTE:
"No parachute? Wow! This is so cool!"
What Muppet are you?
brought to you by Quizilla |
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| Wow ... a livejournal! |
[Oct. 6th, 2005|08:21 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | H.I.M. - "Killing Loneliness" | ] |
I remember this thing. I guess I haven't had much to say. I got engaged, but most who read this probably already know that. May 20th is the big day, should be good times.
I haven't been up to much. Doing the D&D, the Craft, Taekwondo, listening to all manner of new CD's. The Bled, Dredg, Coheed and Cambria, H.I.M., Cave In, all have fantastic new CD's. The new From Autumn To Ashes is just a miserable mess. They went downhill fast, so I'm pretty much not interested in them anymore. I wasn't a big fan in the first place, so it doesn't matter much.
I saw that movie "Crash" and started to wonder if L.A. coincidence movies are becoming a genre. In recent memory, we've got Altman's "Short Cuts," Anderson's "Magnolia, and Haggis's "Crash." All having a large array of diverse characters, all based in Los Angeles, and all having a major event happen in the end which sort of ties them all together (earthquake, frog-rain, and snow, respectively). At any rate, "Crash" is a pretty good movie that doesn't give itself enough time to flesh out the coincidences as they pile up. The acting is pretty top notch, even from Brendan Frasier and Sandra Bullock. Although Bullock's character only has two or three scenes and is about as complex as a cup of coffee.
Work pretty much sucks. Nothing new there.
Since I last wrote in here, the new Harry Potter book came out. It was pretty amazing and tied up a lot of loose-ends, all while keeping with the dark tone that has been building up over the last few books. I can't say it was my favorite of the series, but Rowling's writing is still as sharp and creative as ever. The mysteries of Voldemort's past are quite intriguing, and he is shaping up to be one of the most fascinating characters I've ever come across.
I guess that's about it. Cheers. |
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| Embryonic Vegetarian Omelets |
[May. 21st, 2005|08:55 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  blank | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Atreyu - "Five Vicodin Chased With a Shot of Clarity" | ] |
President Bush recently said that he would veto a new bill that could lift restrictions on embryonic stem cell research. He said he didn't want to live in a world where you could destroy life to create life (or something like that, I'm paraphrasing). If you want to make an omelet, you've got to break some eggs.
I find this funny considering we attacked Iraq with the 'apparent' threat of weapons of mass destruction. The fear was put upon the populace that these weapons could be used to attack us. Therefore, he was essentially destroying life to save life. The difference is, he destroyed a lot of innocent lives (Iraqi civillians), and there were no WMD's. Let's also not forget he was governor of Texas, where the death penalty is far from taboo. I will go as far as to theorize that executing a killer is also destroying life to save life. I'm not necessary against the death penalty, but the intricate weaving of contradictions is always fun to point out.
As I've said before--and I'm going to say it again--I wish they'd stop this "life is sacred" bullshit. They need to call it what it really is: "Human life is sacred." If all the conservatives/republicans really believed all life is sacred, they'd be vegetarians. Of course, they also wouldn't support the war, or the death penalty. They'd probably even be against guns, because guns make it easier for people to kill each other.
I guess maybe I'm preaching, but I had to get that off my chest. Next update won't be political, I promise. |
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| RotS |
[Apr. 28th, 2005|06:32 am] |
Kevin Smith's review of Star Wars Episode 3: Revenge of the Sith
http://viewaskew.com/news/sith/
I'm officially psyched. Seriously, who wouldn't trust his word? |
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| Wow ... |
[Apr. 19th, 2005|10:33 pm] |
Earlier today I wrapped my brain around one of the most mind-bending, complicated, and confusing movies I have ever seen. It is called "Primer," and it just came out on DVD today. It is a hardcore science-fiction film about a group of engineer friends. They are constantly spending time in one's garage, searching for new and innovative things in their field, hoping one day to become published and make some good bank. What they end up discovering is a method of time travel.
But this is time travel like I've never seen it before. The complexity is so thick, the arguments don't even sound like science fiction. Listening to the dialogue the two friends have when debating on how to avoid paradoxes is interesting. What's even more interesting is their alternate timeline theories and ideas of how paradoxes aren't quite what they seem. I didn't understand a lot, and I'm going to have to watch this movie again to figure out what exactly happens. I'm not even sure I ever could understand it, because a lot of the science in this movie is beyond me. What I do know is that the plot is fascinating, and the way events unfold and get explained is severely mind-numbing.
However, it isn't something I'd recommend to everyone. I'd be surprised if one in ten people like it. A lot of the shots are out of focus, the acting is somewhat wooden, and the story is possibly too smart for its own good. But I must admit it is hard to complain about the production value, because the movie was shot for only $7,000. That itself is remarkable.
That's about it.
-I.R. Pointystick |
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| Night Watch |
[Apr. 14th, 2005|09:16 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | Bruce Springsteen - "I'm On Fire" | ] |
There's a Russian film being released soon called "Night Watch." Apparently it is part of a planned trilogy. This trailer looks absolutely fan-fucking-tastic.
http://www.apple.com/trailers/fox_searchlight/night_watch/large.html
Sorry I haven't been updating much recently. By recently, this means over several months. I just don't have much to say these days. I don't like to drone on about pointless things I've done all day. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but I just can't do it myself. My pool of creativity has run dry as of late; which is painfully obvious by simple use of the "pool of creativity" phrase I used in the first half of this sentence.
Jay is going to the Webster to a ska show tomorrow night. So he more than likely won't be going to the Muni. I might go by myself, I haven't been in two weeks because I had my wisdom teeth out last Friday. That was just amazing, pumped full of novacaine, followed by a week on painkillers and troubled sleep. I've also discovered that driving forklift + percocets = not as much fun as water slides. I'm not sure where the water slides just came from, but they are rather fun. I suppose at this point I'm going on and on about pointless shit, oh well. I've been thinking that maybe I should put some of my old writings as updates, because at least they're something. It's not like anyone reads this journal anyway, so I guess it doesn't matter what I do. I could probably get away with putting pornography on here. Maybe I'll put up some pornography with pictures of my friends heads covering the naughty bits. I'm sure they'd all love that. Then again, Drew has said before he's always wanted someone to put his head on the end of a penis. That may surprise people who don't know him, but this guy is a very outspoken supporter of the Pen 15 club.
So I think/hope Kristin and I are going to see The Mars Volta on May 9th at the Palladium. Their new CD is just astounding and I'd love to see them live. Maybe someday I'll get to see At the Drive In. Figures, about a month after I started listening to the band, they broke up. I always have bad luck like that. For instance, back in 1997, I went to see this band called Cellophane, who were opening for Sevendust and The Nixons. I had their CD, aboslutely loved it, and saw them live. I met the whole band, got all their autographs and a free poster. They were awesome. And, months later they just sort of dropped off the map. I find out years later that they broke up in the summer of 1998. You can't find shit about them anymore. I've tried like mad to locate the singer, because he was basically the Billy Corgan of the band (i.e. wrote all music/lyrics). I've only found the bassist, and he plays in Puddle of Mudd, which is lame. Kristin told me she thinks Tool is releasing a new CD this year, which should be awesome. There's a band I'd love to see again. The lineup for the Warped Tour this year is fucking sick: Bleeding Though, Dillinger Escape Plan, Billy Talent, The Bled, and many others. Maybe I'll actually go for once. Of course, it is on a Thursday whichs means I'll have to work. It seems Billy Talent isn't on the list anymore, but Billy Idol is playing?!?!?!? Fucking SICK!!! Of course, not doing the Northampton show. Weak.
Well, that's enough yawn-inducing-dribble for now. Keep your head on straight, and watch out for kittens crossing the road.
-I.R. Pointystick |
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| whoa ... |
[Apr. 7th, 2005|04:15 pm] |
I just read about the GIGANTOUR. It's a concert Dave Mustaine from Megadeth is putting together. The main stage will feature the following:
Megadeth
Dream Theater
Fear Factory
Dillinger Escape Plan
Nevermore
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| The Test |
[Mar. 29th, 2005|04:47 pm] |
Intermediate
You scored 92% Beginner, 92% Intermediate, 75% Advanced, and 70% Expert! |
You have a good understanding of beginner and intermediate level
commonly confused English words, getting at least 75% of the beginner
and intermediate level questions correct. This is a good score. Remember, these are commonly confused English words, which means most people don't use them properly. You got a respectable score.
Thank you so much for taking my test. I hope you enjoyed it!
For the complete Answer Key, visit my blog: http://shortredhead78.blogspot.com/.
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My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender: | You scored higher than 35% on Beginner | | You scored higher than 30% on Intermediate | | You scored higher than 6% on Advanced | | You scored higher than 50% on Expert |
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| Grrrr.... |
[Mar. 8th, 2005|08:14 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  frustrated | ] |
| [ | music |
| | ATB - "Long Way Home" | ] |
"I’m kicking that stone down your street alone
and the walls criticize where I have gone.
I’m throwing that stone through your open door
and the halls seem to tell me that I am wrong.
I’m taking the long way home, where everything’s overgrown.
Just like the boy trying to give it away, I regret tomorrow.
I'm taking the long way home, whatever may come and go.
Just like the boy, trying to give it away,
I regret tomorrow more than yesterday.
Remember that wall where we used to hide,
and the world seemed so dark and cold outside?
Remember that field where we used to kiss,
and the rain washed away our secretness?
Nobody’s home and I feel lost inside.
There’s a clock counting down what’s left of time.
When you’re all alone it’s easy to hesitate,
like a girl listening to her heart break."
I'm jonesin' really bad. This is ridiculous. There must be SOMETHING out there. I just can't find it.
-I.R. Pointystick |
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| (no subject) |
[Feb. 19th, 2005|08:33 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  lonely | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Jon Brion | ] |
How happy is the blameless vestal's lot?
The world forgetting by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind.
Each prayer accepted and each wish resigned. |
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| Backstory |
[Feb. 14th, 2005|09:48 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | geeky | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Explosions In the Sky - "First Breath After Coma" | ] |
The following is a story I wrote for my character's background in the D&D campaign I'm playing in. The character's name is Maleon, and his a Paladin of Heironeous. While I know the majority of this will be consistent with elements that most of you aren't familiar with, I thought I would share it anyway. I'm actually rather fond of the way it came out. The story was written in the form of a letter that my character received in game, which is how he found out about his past. I know some of you like my writing, so enjoy it if you can.
Maleon,
Your name was the last thing your mother said before she died. Shirren is my younger sister, and she died after giving birth to you. Maleon was the name she had chosen for you, not knowing that your True Name was given to you centuries ago. Yet what a fine, sturdy name it is. She passed on almost thirty years ago, and I still wish that I could have done more to save her. Of all the magic I know, healing was never my specialty. Shirren insisted that I be the only witness to her child’s birth, for reasons I would not know until after your birth. She narrowly escaped a terrible fate, and was in my care for her whole pregnancy. Little did I know that her child was not that of her husband, Damien Locke.
Yes, that is correct. The man you have been told is your father is not.
Shirren and I were born and raised in Meliad, capitol of Darakeene, on the west coast of Ghelspad. Our father, Gerald, a graduate of the Colleges of War, worked as a city guard. We didn’t have much money, but we stayed afloat. Our father was a hard worker, and insisted that our mother, Tara, stay home to raise us. The story of our childhood is fairly inconsequential. It was simple, and fairly uneventful as childhood stories sometimes go. We grew up and left home. I moved on to study the Arcane Arts, something the people of Darakeene do not look down upon. Shirren married a fellow named Damien; a farmer. He introduced her to a quiet, country life outside the rustle and bustle of the city streets. They ended up settling in a small village called Rilt, which she believed would be an extraordinary environment to raise a family in.
A few years after Shirren moved away, our father was killed. He was fighting off some bandits whom he had caught trying to rob a jeweler’s shop. While engaged with two, a third bandit snuck up behind him and slit his throat. He was dead within minutes. As sad as it was, he had a well regarded reputation, and the city guard put together a glorious memorial in his honor. He had never gone up high in the ranks, but he put in enough service to earn this.
Mother fell to pieces shortly thereafter. She died in her sleep a few months later. It was a peaceful way to go. She just couldn’t live without him, and is probably better off now that they’re together again in the Heavens. I was sad to see her go, but relieved that her pain was gone. I spent about a month with Shirren after that, just discussing our childhood and trying to remember our parents in the best way we could. We spent many days and nights walking through the hills surrounding Rilt. It was a good time; I had never been closer to my sister.
After a month, we parted ways. I would never have imagined the circumstances surrounding the next time I would see.
Shirren came to me a year later, upset, distraught, and horribly bruised. She told me—through gasping breath—that Rilt had been attacked, ravaged, and destroyed. She was horrified, saying the attackers were killing whatever crossed their paths. Claiming she had never seen the creatures that attacked with her eyes, she knew them unmistakably. They were the ebon-skinned, red-eyed, lost elves of the underworld: the Drow.
Apparently, this attack was staged during a town meeting for a celebration in the following weeks. The town was small, and the majority of its inhabitants were at this meeting. It sounded as if the Drow didn’t want anyone to get away. Shirren believed herself to be the only survivor of the incursion. The attackers may have even outnumbered the population of Rilt, but regardless, they were obviously well-trained and especially vicious--very unlike the clever, methodical Drow that most of us know and loathe. So vicious, in fact, that not only did Shirren bear witness to three children being murdered before her eyes, she also witnessed the death of her own husband.
Much to Shirren’s surprise, Damien fought off a number of Drow with an old longsword before he was overtaken. She was completely unaware of his ability to use the blade--she just thought it had sentimental value, or something of that nature. He was beheaded by a Drow who Shirren claims looked like the leader of the group. He had a ferocious look about him, and screamed several things at Damien in a tongue she did not understand. While it happened quickly and her memory was obviously disjointed, there is one thing she did remember about the Drow who killed Damien. He had a mark on the back his hand: a light, powder-blue drawing of an eye with the point of a spear descending on it. Amidst all the chaos, the peculiar symbol stood out in her mind.
My immediate response after hearing the horrible story was to go inform the city watch, and get Shirren’s story on record. She seemed horrified with the idea of reliving this experience, but I wasn’t sure if that was the case. At any rate, she was my sister, and I honored her wishes. I asked her for a compromise, saying that I have many close friends in the city guard, and that they could organize a team to head out without having to talk to Shirren. She agreed to that, at least holding out hope that there were some survivors. I also had a good friend who was a skilled healer, and asked her if I could bring her to him to heal her wounds. She was apprehensive, but eventually caved in, saying that she would see him, but wanted to leave the city as soon as possible. I didn’t understand why, because in the city she would be well-protected. All she said was that she wanted to get away, far away and never look back.
I was concerned with her immediate desire to flee this tragedy, but she was emotional and didn’t seem to want to do anything else. Reluctantly, the next day I used what little money I had to buy some horses for us. I packed some supplies, and we headed east.
Our destination was uncertain. Shirren didn’t say much for the first few days. Having just lost her husband in a horrible tragedy, I didn’t push her to speak. We continued to move east, occasionally stopping in small towns or joining well-guarded caravans to find safe passage through the more dangerous wilds of the continent. Her sleep was troubled, and she’d often wake up in the night, short of breath. I wanted to speak with her of her troubles, but I was still apprehensive to push it.
It was a few weeks into our journey that she told me that her and Damien were going to have a baby. This topic seemed to make her eager to speak, and at the same time upset her even more. It was obvious to me that she was happy to bearing a child, but horrified that its father was dead. We had many conversations about her child, and of course, I offered to help in any way I could. This seemed to comfort her a bit.
I could offer more details on this part of the story, but time is of the essence.
I witnessed your birth many months later. As I said, Shirren did not want to seek help for this. I pleaded with her, saying that this was not something I was skilled with, and that things could go wrong. She insisted that there be no one else there but me. When asked for a reason, she would simply stare off into nothingness, like she didn’t understand or refused to give me any sort of reaction. I was forced to find a library in a small town we stopped in, and read as much as I could on childbirth. I learned a good amount, but in the end it just wasn’t enough. A genuine healer could have been the only thing that saved her.
And so it came to be that you were born in a grove, several miles somewhere outside the Stricken Forrest. Of all the events of the previous year, nothing could have prepared me for your birth. It was awful--there was so much blood, and she was in such pain. Her screaming still echoes in my sleep thirty years later. While my comforting her may have helped, it certainly did not show. I did what I could, and you slowly came out of her. The biggest shock was about to come.
Realize first that I was confused, and that it was the situation that painted my reactions. I will not coat my words with something sweet, because you must know what happened--every detail seems of great import to me, if only for my own conscience.
When I first got a glimpse of you, my horrified thoughts were immediately followed by a slow realization. Shirren’s silence all these months; it all made sense. She didn’t tell me the whole truth about the attack on Rilt. I thought some more, all while comforting her and doing what I could to help. I realized that she never actually said that she and Damien were having a baby, only that she was having a baby. The rest was an assumption I made, an assumption that worked in her favor, for she did not want to tell me this.
She did not birth a human baby, but one that was..., is unmistakably Drow. Immediately after this all came to me, I realized that this child was Half-Drow, since the mother was Human. While a look of horror no doubt reached my face, I helped her finish giving birth, keeping consistent on my comforting words. In the last few minutes she was alive, she held you, her heaving breathing slowly becoming shallow. The blood loss was too great, and I could not stop it.
She looked at you with a mother’s love. She did not see a child that was part-Human, part-Drow. She only saw her Son, and held a smile until her final moments, when she turned to me and said, weakly, "His name is Maleon." It was after that, she took in a few more breaths, and died.
I buried her later that night, under a tree in the grove. I used a knife to carve the letter 'S' in the tree. While I doubted I would ever return here, I felt the need to mark the grave nonetheless.
The mark I soon saw on the back of your hand did not surprise me. It was, of course, a light blue drawing of an eye with a spear about to pierce it. The Drow had not only killed her husband, but had raped her. Not sure what to do, I continued to travel east, avoiding towns if necessary. When I did go into one, I made sure you were well covered, and did not let anyone see you. It was a long and difficult journey, and I was lacking any sort of skill to care for a child. I used what magic I knew to help keep us concealed in the wilderness, hoping to avoid any unnecessary encounters. It seemed to work, and our journey was mostly safe.
I eventually reached Vesh, and came to a rather large city called Ezel. I decided that my situation would require some help. I found a temple of Heironeous there, and befriended a cleric named Triea. I was acquainted with a priest of Herioneous back in Meliad, and he had been a good man, which was a comforting thought. Triea turned out to be an enormously thoughtful and gracious person. She listened to my story, and offered her help without hesitation. She was unsure what to do, but said she would seek the advice of the head priest. After doing so, he sought a meeting with me. I must confess that I never considered what he had in mind.
The head priest,Kendal, seemed to understand this situation like he had prepared for it. One of my first questions was if he knew what the mark on your hand stood for, but he did not. We both agreed that you would suffer years of persecution and hardships for being what you are. A possible solution would be to bring him you up away from the public eye, but Kendal dismissed that thought. He said that unless I wanted you to grow up a total outcast, you must be raised with people around. However, the problem is that no matter what happened, word of a Drow living amongst other humans on the surface world would spread. I suggested that if you were raised within the church, then the church’s reputation would help people understand. My thoughts were that if the Church of Heironeous accepts you, then you would be accepted to the rest of the world. Kendal said that he wished that was true, but that the church does not have that much sway. There are many with enough hatred for the Drow that it would cloud the reputation of the church.
Kendal’s last suggestion seemed to be the only one that would work. He was friends with a very powerful sorcerer, named Jinsen Bluecast. After hearing of our situation, Kendal contacted Jinsen, and they worked out a plan. Jinsen would cast a complex spell, a spell that would change you. It would change your appearance, to yourself and to others. Your skin would no longer be dark, your eyes would no longer be red. You would look and feel human. You would not display any traits that the dark elves have, because the spell would hide them too. Apparently, Jinsen could make this spell last for your entire life if he had to. After this, Kendal told me that Heironeous felt the first part of your life should be spent within the church. Once you reached an age that was old enough to make the decision, you could leave if you wish, or stay.
My first response to this idea was no, but I kept it to myself. I told him I would think about it. Kendal was very respectful, knowing that it was my decision, and that it was a tough one. He instructed me that I could stay in his church for as long as I need, and that Treia and her young daughter, Tasharra, would help care for the baby. I thanked him for his hospitality, and assured him I would think about his idea. It took several weeks for me to decide. Not once in that time did Kendal ask for my decision. He let it be without putting any pressure on me. Treia and Tasharra were wonderful. Their eagerness to help me was overshadowed only by their joy in taking care of you. Tasharra, having no brothers or sisters, was certainly enjoying this as much as she could.
I agreed to Kendal’s plan, with certain conditions. I wanted you to grow up with as little trouble as possible, so I told Kendal that I wanted the spell to take effect, and stay that way until you were thirty years old. If I was still alive, I would tell you about what you really are before you turned thirty. If not me, I would hopefully pass the duties on to someone else. I could only imagine the consequences of a grown man living his whole life, only finding out at age thirty that he is not who he thought he was. I suppose I thought that of all the possible situations, this would be the least damaging to you. You could grow up and be taught the ways of being just and pure, without facing the prejudice of the rest of the world. I toyed with the idea of telling you when you were old enough to understand, but even then you may have not been able to deal with it. Maybe you won’t be able to deal with at age thirty. I will find out eventually.
So, Kendal and I brought you to see Jinsen. He was a very old, very wise sorcerer that was quite thorough in explaining what he was going to do. He said that as you approached the age of thirty, the spell would start to fail. Your appearance would start to change subtly at first, and then one day you would no longer look completely human. He said his spell would keep a lot of your looks: size, weight, and facial features. He said that anyone who knows you would likely recognize you if they could see past the dark skin, white hair, and red eyes. I reluctantly agreed to his plan, still wondering in the back of my mind if it was the right thing to do. Jinsen said the spell would take several days to cast, and that he would take care of you while he did so.
When I left, you were half-drow. When I returned four days later, you were unmistakably human. Jinsen was right, you still shared the face of the half-drow infant, but your features were those of a human baby.
So began your life within the church of Heironeous. You were mostly under the care of Treia and Tasharra. I helped out a bit, but I didn’t want to interfere with your upbringing in the church. It should be said that Tasharra was very angered at the idea of you growing up not knowing who you are. I got the feeling that Treia felt that way as well, but was more in control of her emotions. I guess she felt that if that it was what the church wanted, she would not question it. Knowing it was not your fault, they still graciously accepted the responsibility of caring for you.
When you were about three years old, Treia and Tasharra decided to move to the city of Eastgate. There was an established Temple of Heironeous there that they could settle into. The level of violence in Ezel was escalating, and they feared for your safety. So, they left, and took you with them. I’ve only seen you a handful of times since then. Little did I know what you would become of you.
Not only did you stay within the church, but you moved on to become a Holy Knight of Heironeous, a Paladin.
Amazing.
As important as that story is for you to know, what I’m about to tell you may turn out to be just as important, if not more. I’ve spent the last twenty-five years doing what I could to research what exactly happened in Rilt all that time ago. I wasn’t necessarily looking for eyewitness accounts on the attack, but rather the reason why the town was attacked. I wanted to know the meaning of the eye and the spear.
It was been quite difficult to research this. The Drow are very secretive, and resources on their society are scarce. I’ve established contacts in many major cities, from major politicians to lowly street merchants. I’ve spent many hours in libraries, studying as much as I could on the mysterious dark elves. I read some horrible things, and in some ways I can see why people hate this race so much. I have even ventured underground, and to the Outer Planes of Existence, seeking out places that might be of assistance. It has been a long, arduous journey. I have more or less devoted my life to finding out why my sister and her husband were attacked. Why that entire town had to die at the hands of these creatures.
The Drow that murdered Damien, raped Shirren, and is your father is named Rilaere Aghe of the House Arkeneld. His name actually means ‘Foretold Heir of Destruction.’ His story goes back far, and is a frightening one indeed.
Several hundred years ago, their existed a human wizard known simply as Grikol. He was a dark, evil, and wealthy man that had an almost unnatural connection with the arcane arts. Legend says that his rise to power was slow, and he had a good face he put on for the bulk of society. He seemed a respectable man. He had friends in high places, and used his wealth to donate to charities and help people where they needed.
One day, when he was in his mid-thirties, he disappeared. Out of the blue, he was gone with no trace of where he went. He did not return for over ten years, and came back with an extraordinary understanding of destructive magic. No one knows where he went for those ten years. There are many rumors, legends, theories, but nothing that has any proof. The only one that seems most likely is that he traveled to another Plane of Existence, most likely the Infinite Layers of the Abyss, or simply The Abyss. From there, he studied vile arcane powers from creatures such as the demonic Tanar’ri, the mercenary Yugoloths, and the Drow themselves. He even traveled to other Planes as well: the Plane of exiles and outcasts called the Tarterian Depths of Carceri, the soul-sapping Gray Waste of Hades, and the mysterious Realms of the Concordant Domain of the Outlands, where lies the City of Portals to all worlds, Sigil. He was powerful enough to force what he wanted out of people, then take what he had learned and use it for chaos and destruction. He studied intensely, and somehow managed to harness incredible power. After learning all he could, he came back into public light. He was missing an eye. No one knows how this happened, but the most believable story I heard was that he was pierced through the eye with a spear by an evil gnome with a bit more zealousness than Grikol had bargained for. Some suppose this to be a sign of Odin’s hand in this, but whether Odin looked kindly upon Grikol for his ties to magic and chaos, or whether he cursed him as a grim mockery of what the All-Father stands for, none can be sure.
Grikol formed alliances with many different creatures, most notably the Drow of the Underdark, who know of ways to travel throughout the worlds, guided by their dark deities from the Abyss. No one knows how this came to be, but I assume their mutual taste for atrocities and destruction helped out. To make a suitably long story somewhat short, Grikol’s end finally came, though not without mysterious circumstances. I have read many stories as to how this happened. Again, there is not proof for any of them. While dying, Grikol prophesized his return. This prophecy was given with several witnesses, and there is an actual record of it. Here it is:
"Behold, for after the Falling of the Moons and Rising of the Sun, I will return. The Drow Elves will see to it. The bloodline in House Arkenald will remain intact. Many centuries will pass, but one will be born of that bloodline bearing the mark of my return: The Eye & The Spear. This Drow’s child will be the key to opening the Doors for my return. He too will bear The Eye & The Spear. His name will be Nathidil, and his Sacrifice will open the Gateway. When Orcus rises again, I will help Kiaransalee destroy him utterly. My power will be even greater, and with it I will cast a shadow of doom across the land."
I have gotten that prophecy from several sources; it is—disturbingly—the most solid piece of lore I could find of the Drow on Tarn. Thousands upon thousands of years ago, the Drow Goddess of Revenge, Kiaransalee, killed the Demon God of Undeath, Orcus. No one really knows when this happened, and how long ago it happened. What is known is that Orcus has risen again, and it is safe to say that Kiaransalee isn’t happy about it.
If this prophecy is true, then you, Maleon, are the key to bringing Grikol back to power.
When I came to this conclusion, I was afraid for your life and what the Drow would do to you if they found out who you really are. Then I realized that they certainly would not kill you, but that doesn’t mean they won’t kill people you care for. But, everything I had discovered had led me to believe that the Drow were not aware of your existence. Not until recently, that is.
You seem to be the last of that bloodline: Rilaere--your true father--was one of the last, but not the last. In my research, I discovered that he was a disgrace to House Arkeneld. He was rash, brutal, and far too eager to prove himself to everyone around him. A lifetime of discipline for things he has done did nothing to sway his vile ways. Even by Drow standards, he was truly a monster. He knew the importance of the mark on his hand, and he let it go to his head.
The attack that the Drow staged on Rilt was one of retaliation. Many years ago, Damien Locke’s name was Damien Vastover. He was a warrior in a clan called Quickedge. They were a small band of warriors, rogues, and a few wizards that did off-the-record fighting against evil. They weren’t associated with any city or government. You could say that they were heroes of the underground--mercenaries and sellswords with a sense of honor and duty.
To make a long story short, the Quickedge were involved in a fight with some Drow that resulted in the death of Rilaere’s mother. While Damien was not the one that killed her, he was nonetheless involved in the fight. Quickedge disbanded after only a few years in existence--their actions had made them too many enemies in and around the lands of Darakeene, such as among the Druids of Khirdet. Many members changed their names, and scattered throughout the land. Damien and a friend of his moved to Rilt, where they were attacked and killed a few years later. Your mother somehow escaped getting killed, but not before Rilaere raped her. It was acts such as this that gave him a poor reputation among the drow. Even I do not know how Shirren escaped death.
Rilaere was killed a few years later in another raid. He had two sisters, who were also killed. The bloodline was considered dead. As far as the Drow knew, he never had any children. They expected Grikol was gone for good. Of course, Kiaransalee--being a goddess--would never admit to needing a mortal’s help in defeating Orcus, so all of this was meaningless to her. But there were still Drow who wanted Grikol back.
I thought you were safe. I thought that the danger was over. However, it appears I was wrong.
The reason you are reading this is because I don’t expect to survive much longer. Somehow, the Drow have discovered that Rilaere did have a child. Within moments of hearing of Tasharra’s death, Drow attacked my home. I only narrowly escaped them a few nights ago, and I’ve been writing this as much as I could while distancing myself from them. But, I’m getting old, and it is only a matter of time before they catch me.
They know about Shirren, about Damien, and they know about you. The problem is, they don’t know where you are. They don’t know that you’ve spent the last thirty years becoming a Holy Knight, and that your appearance is that of a normal human. And no matter what they have in plan for me, they won’t get any information. I will die before I am captured, because that is the only way I can protect you. The last duty I have left in my life is to make sure you know where you came from. I hoped to get Tasharra to do this, but she refused to. With her death, things have only become more complicated. Her loss has compromised what little protection Kendal and I had in regards to you and your true nature. We are both overcome with grief, but also with the realization that we must act sooner than we’d ever imagined. Two stodgy old men forced into action—your situation truly is dire, and I do not mean any of this in jest.
Soon I will cross through Ezel, and this letter will be given to the church there. Kendal is still alive, but very old. He said he will see to it that this letter reaches you before your thirtieth birthday, which is only a few months from now. Hopefully it will reach you in time. I can assure you that news of a half-drow Paladin will spread very quickly.
Maleon, I am sorry about everything. I hope one day you can forgive me for allowing you to live your life as something you are not. I only had your best interests in mind. Soon I may be dead, and perhaps I will never be able to speak with you about this. I will just have to hope that everything will be good enough for you. You have a strong heart, mind, body, and soul. I trust that they will see you through these dark days, and forge for you a brighter future than mine.
Please, take care of yourself.
From your uncle with love,
Tristan of Meliad
P.S. Your God knows what you really are; you are still his Paladin. Never forget. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jan. 31st, 2005|09:47 pm] |
"I always wanted to be a dancer. But I could never get the shit off my shoes."
-Crazy Paul |
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| (no subject) |
[Jan. 24th, 2005|04:35 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  indifferent | ] |
"I know you.
You were too short. You had bad skin. You couldn't talk to them very well. Words didn't seem to work. They lied when they came out of your mouth. You tried so hard to understand them. You wanted to be part of what was happening. You saw them having fun; and it seemed like such a mystery, almost magic. It made you think that there is something wrong with you. You look in the mirror trying to find it. You thought that you were ugly, and that everyone was looking at you. So you learned to be invisible--to look down, to avoid conversation, the hours, days, weekends. Ahh, the weekend nights alone. Where were you? In the basement? In the attic? In your room? Working some job, just so you could have something to do? Just to have a place to put yourself? Just to have a way to get away from them? A chance to get away from the ones that made you feel so strange and ill-at-ease inside yourself? Did you ever get invited to one of their parties? You sat and wondered if you would go or not. For hours, you sat and imagined the scenarios that might transpire--they would laugh at you; if you would know what to do; if you would have the right things on; if they would notice that you came from a different planet. Did you get all brave in your thoughts? Like you were going to be able to go in there and deal with it, and have a great time? Did you think that you might be the life of the party? That all these people were going to talk to you, and you would find out that you were wrong? That you have a lot of friends, and that you weren't so strange after all? Did you end up going? Did they mess with you? Did they single you out? Did you find out you were invited because you were so weird?
Yeah, I think I know you.
You spent a lot of time full of hate. A hate that was pure as sunshine. A hate that saw for miles. A hate that kept you up at night. A hate that filled your every waking moment. A hate that carried you for a long time.
Yes, I think I know you.
You couldn't figure out what they saw in the way they lived. Home was not home. Your room was home. A corner was home. The place they weren't--that was home.
I know you.
You're sensitive, and you hide it, because you fear getting stepped on one more time. It seems when you show a part of yourself that is the least bit vulnerable, someone takes advantage of you. One of them steps on you. They mistake kindness for weakness. But you know the difference. You've been the brunt of their weakness for years, and strength is something you know a bit about, because you had to be strong to keep yourself alive. You know yourself very well now, and you don't trust people. You know them too well. You try to find that special person--somone you can be with, someone you can touch, someone you can talk to, someone you don't feel so strange around. And you've found that they don't really exist. You feel closer to people on movie screens.
Yeah, I think I know you.
You spend a lot of time daydreaming, and people have made comment to that effect, telling you you're self-involved and self-centered. But they don't know, do they? About the long night shifts alone, about the years of keeping yourself company. All the nights you wrapped your arms around yourself, so you could imagine someone holding you. The hours of indecision, self-doubt, the intense depression, the blinding hate, the rage that made you stagger, the devastation of rejection. Well, maybe they do know. But if they do, they sure do a good job of hiding it. It astounds you how they can be so smooth. How they can pass through life as if life itself is some divine gift. And it infuriates you to watch yourself, with your apparent skill in finding every way possible to screw it up. For your, life is a long trip, terrifying and wonderful. Birds sing to you at night. The rain and the sun, the changing seasons ... are true friends. Solitude is a hard-won ally, faithful and patient.
Yeah, I think I know you."
-Henry Rollins |
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| (no subject) |
[Jan. 8th, 2005|01:07 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | amused | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Into Eternity - "3 Dimensional Aperture" | ] |
Kevin Spacey is playing Lex Luthor.
-I.R. Pointystick |
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| (no subject) |
[Dec. 24th, 2004|07:23 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | amused | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Hum - "Ms. Lazarus" | ] |
I don't know much about the comic book, but the trailer has recently come up for the movie "Sin City." Holy SHIT does it look awesome. This is by far one of the sickests casts I have ever heard of.
http://www.apple.com/trailers/miramax/sin_city.html
-I.R. Pointystick |
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| (no subject) |
[Dec. 20th, 2004|07:16 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | melancholy | ] |
| [ | music |
| | 30 Seconds To Mars - "The Mission" | ] |
The following is any essay I found on www.michaelmoore.com. It was written by a woman who has been an advocate for domestic abuse victims. She sees parallels between her work and they way the Democrats are reacting to the election. I must confess, reading this actually made me feel good.
"Watch Dan Rather apologize for not getting his facts straight, humiliated before the eyes of America, voluntarily undermining his credibility and career of over thirty years. Observe Donna Brazille squirm as she is ridiculed by Bay Buchanan, and pronounced irrelevant and nearly non-existent. Listen as Donna and Nancy Pelosi and Senator Charles Schumer take to the airwaves saying that they have to go back to the drawing board and learn from their mistakes and try to be better, more likable, more appealing, have a stronger message, speak to morality. Watch them awkwardly quote the bible, trying to speak the ?new? language of America. Surf the blogs, and read the comments of dismayed, discombobulated, confused individuals trying to figure out what they did wrong. Hear the cacophony of voices, crying out, "Why did they beat me?"
And then ask anyone who has ever worked in a domestic violence shelter if they have heard this before.
They will tell you: Every single day.
The answer is quite simple. They beat us because they are abusers. We can call it hate. We can call it fear. We can say it is unfair. But we are looped into the cycle of violence, and we need to start calling the dominating side what they are: abusive. And we need to recognize that we are the victims of verbal, mental, and even, in the case of Iraq, physical violence.
As victims we can't stop asking ourselves what we did wrong. We can't seem to grasp that they will keep hitting us and beating us as long as we keep sticking around and asking ourselves what we are doing to deserve the beating.
Listen to George Bush say that the will of God excuses his behavior. Listen, as he refuses to take responsibility, or express remorse, or even once, admit a mistake. Watch him strut, and tell us that he will only work with those who agree with him, and that each of us is only allowed one question (soon, it will be none at all; abusers hit hard when questioned; the press corps can tell you that). See him surround himself with only those who pledge oaths of allegiance. Hear him tell us that if we will only listen and do as he says and agree with his every utterance, all will go well for us (it won't; we will never be worthy).
And watch the Democratic Party leadership walk on eggshells, try to meet him, please him, wash the windows better, get out that spot, distance themselves from gays and civil rights. See the Democrats cry for the attention and affection and approval of the President and his followers. Watch us squirm. Watch us descend into a world of crazy-making, where logic does not work and the other side tells us we are nuts when we rely on facts. A world where, worst of all, we begin to believe we are crazy.
How to break free? Again, the answer is quite simple.
First, you must admit you are a victim. Then, you must declare the state of affairs unacceptable. Next, you must promise to protect yourself and everyone around you that is being victimized. You don't do this by responding to their demands, or becoming more like them, or engaging in logical conversation, or trying to persuade them that you are right. You also don't do this by going catatonic and resigned, by closing up your ears and eyes and covering your head and submitting to the blows, figuring its over faster and hurts less if you don't resist and fight back.
Instead, you walk away. You find other folks like yourself, 57 million of them, who are hurting, broken, and beating themselves up. You tell them what you've learned, and that you aren't going to take it anymore. You stand tall, with 57 million people at your side and behind you, and you look right into the eyes of the abuser and you tell him to go to hell. Then you walk out the door, taking the kids and gays and minorities with you, and you start a new life. The new life is hard. But it's better than the abuse.
We have a mandate to be as radical and liberal and steadfast as we need to be. The progressive beliefs and social justice we stand for, our core, must not be altered. We are 57 million strong. We are building from the bottom up. We are meeting, on the net, in church basements, at work, in small groups, and right now, we are crying, because we are trying to break free and we don't know how.
Any battered woman in America, any oppressed person around the globe who has defied her oppressor will tell you this: There is nothing wrong with you. You are in good company. You are safe. You are not alone. You are strong. You must change only one thing: Stop responding to the abuser.
Don't let him dictate the terms or frame the debate (he'll win, not because he's right, but because force works). Sure, we can build a better grassroots campaign, cultivate and raise up better leaders, reform the election system to make it fail-proof, stick to our message, learn from the strategy of the other side. But we absolutely must dispense with the notion that we are weak, godless, cowardly, disorganized, crazy, too liberal, naive, amoral, "loose,? irrelevant, outmoded, stupid and soon to be extinct. We have the mandate of the world to back us, and the legacy of oppressed people throughout history.
Even if you do everything right, they'll hit you anyway. Look at the poor souls who voted for this nonsense. They are working for six dollars an hour if they are working at all, their children are dying overseas and suffering from lack of health care and a depleted environment and a shoddy education.
And they don't even know they are being hit." |
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| (no subject) |
[Dec. 12th, 2004|07:00 pm] |
It seems like every day's the same
and I'm left to discover on my own
It seems like everything is gray
and there's no color to behold
They say it's over and I'm fine again, yeah
Try to stay sober feels like I'm dying here
And I am aware now of how
everything's gonna be fine one day
Too late, I'm in hell I am prepared now,
seems everyone's gonna be fine
One day too late, just as well
I feel the dream in me expire
and there's no one left to blame it on
I hear you label me a liar
'cause I can't seem to get this through
You say it's over, I can sigh again, yeah
Why try to stay sober when I'm dying here
And I am aware now of how
everything's gonna be fine one day
Too late, I'm in hell
I am prepared now,
seems everyone's gonna be fine
One day too late; just as well
And I'm not scared now.
I must assure you,
you're never gonna get away
And I'm not scared now.
And I'm not scared now. No?
I am aware now of how
everything's gonna be fine one day
Too late, I'm in hell
I am prepared now
seems everyone's gonna be fine
One day too late, just as well
I am prepared now,
seems everything's gonna be fine for me
For me; for myself.
For me, for me, for myself
For me, for me, for myself |
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| (no subject) |
[Dec. 10th, 2004|10:14 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  nostalgic | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Pantera - "This Love" | ] |
Good movie night. I watched "Vanilla Sky," then I followed up with "Spider-Man 2." Now I'm going to bed.
I've been feeling a bit nostalgic this last week. Dimebag is gone, but not forgotten. I haven't listened to Pantera in a long time, but I never forgot how amazing their shows were.
Rest in peace. Your music will be remembered.
-I.R. Pointystick |
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