OOC--Things are rather more interesting here at the moment, but I still get bored. Everyone go to the discussion forum to my post there and read my story on Elfwood...

IC--Drask sat back, holding a dragon's share of the chicken noodle soup. He remembered the first time he'd been under the influence of this particular nearly-narcotic: an entire city had closed up its gates and vanished before his eyes--entirely in his imagination. He enjoyed the slightly mind-numbing effect it had on him: it had been too long since he'd simply stopped thinking for long enough to stay sane. So now the dragon rested his brain and feasted his eye upon things that were not, in fact, there.

Then in came this broad bearing a sword. She'd come from one of the doors. Funny, he thought, someone must have missed her in passing. He fuzzily nodded to this thing which might or might not be just his imagination making a complete and utter fool of him. She seemed scared: it was, at least, realistic. Dragon-freeze. He decided to test this possible illusion: being a dragon, and being too lazy and not-quite-there to do magik reliable, he breathed at her. A searing wind, as it were. The elf whipped out a sword and shot coldfire from the flickering stream that surrounded the obviously enchanted blade. Blast met blast and they nullified each other in a fabulous blast of steam.

'Sorry, ma'am, just checking to see if you were real. I'm not quite sure what's what, with all this wonderfully fuzzifying soup in me. I hope that you will forgive me for that. You countered it quite nicely. Where are you from? Have you anywhere to go? If my commanders' Drask nodded towards vAl and Romulus, both completely out of it as a result of the soup, 'don't object, then I'd like to extend to you the hospitality--such as it is--of the Alliance of the WarAngels. If you wish to do so, you may travel with us for as long a period as you wish... We seem to have picked up a number of travellers along the way. We've got Chori Seile, who's lost at the moment, Vilset Daywalker, right over there tripping out on this soup--you're also welcome to your share of that... it's in the smoking pot over there. We've recently lost the company of Tarisse, and we're about to meet up with Emyr Helenas, an Elven princess and friend of both vAldiCi Altair and Di'Ethe... but don't ask about her stiletto heels.'

Drask was fuzzy.

OOC--someone (cough cough Naurelis cough cough) needs to rescue Chori if we're to keep her with us for entertainment and continuity. Someone (anyone who's more awake than am I) needs to think of something to have us do immediately--we'll get to stealing back the Soul Searer and then getting rid of Neit. We might introduce ourselves to Lywen, get her unscared of the stoned Dragon, and get unstoned ourselves. And hopefully I'll get my sister to post.

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Here we go in a flung festoon
Halfway up to the jealous moon
Don't you envy our pranceful bands?
Don't you wish you had extran hands?
Now you're angry but, never mind.
Brother, thy tail hangs down behind!
--Rudyard Kipling, The Song of the Bandar-Log (excerpt)

OOC- okay so im gona think of something for us to do, its gona b real cool like, and stuff.

IC- vAl looked at the one who called her self Lywen. And elven blood had joined again through wat seemed to be a precarious and coincidental fate.
But no matter, for their fate was for them to run across, weaving the patterns at random.
Yes.. no matter, it was of... no matter.

The dragon puffed with deep breaths the effects of the chicken -noodle. It had a much needed calming effect on the beast of war. The long and sharp blade that was instumental in the slayings of so many , many enemies was at rest, for now.

But in on their heads, as they all sensed it, some more so that others. The urgency of their task it seemed to greaten with every minute, every hour that they rested.
But yet they had to rest..
They had not figured out all that there was to figure out in the dark mountains of opposite colors...

and the thoughts of the battle- torn garden seemed to linger closer and closer.. for it had been many many months.

They were still there. Those who now occupied the Garden were beings of chaos and had, over the long period of time... changed it.
vAldiCi could feel it. Something about it. But not focused, not focused enough. It was a general uneasy feeling.. when he turned his thoughts towards the place..
It was the sort of feeling one gets when one has had too much roast beast to eat.

Uneasy could have been an understatement.

His eyes flickered towards the cloaked form of Di'ethe. "Now that we have the Diadem, do we know how to use it? DO we know how it will help us to retake our precious Garden?"

The Dark Elf silently revealed the Diadem from his cloak. It was a circular object, rounded and studded with various precious and magical gems. A circle to represent order. A circle to represent life. And death.
Di'ethes eyes reflected in the darkness of the flickering light..

OOC- we have to fight again, sadly. We need to 1. get out of the mountain. 2. figure out how to use diadem. 3. bust a groove and take the Garden back. So lets get those writing skills bustin kids