Sircuit (The info section.)

In a recent moment of self discovery, the inventor/weaponsmith formerly known as Inspector Gizmo decided that letting NoFace pick his code name when she was drunk had, in fact, been a mistake. But upon failure to come up with a new one on his own, waited for her to destroy one of her automated parts before asking her to try again. It didn't take long.

She searched her mind as he reassembled some synaptic relays in her spine. And then it came to her as she got a shock that, for some reason, made her hand shake. "Circuit," she said. "Only spelled with a 'sir'. I dunno maybe it will make it look like you were appointed to do this stuff by a queen?"

That would do, he nodded. And thus the name was changed.

He's Sircuit now. Got that?

I'm glad we had this little talk.

Sircut is the quiet member of this team unless prompted on the right subject. Rather, he has chosen to express himself in the things he creates, often from found objects. There is nothing he can't make given enough time.

Recently, he found himself with a new assignment. "This is NoFace. Her last fix-it guy took a bullet to the face when he crossed a wire wrong. She breaks herself a lot. Have fun with that."

"Yeah. I know her. Worked with her once or twice. Wasn't she the one who bullet sprayed the lair of Chestee-Hee a few years ago? Oh yeah. That was her." He chucked a bit. "That was funny."

This is being looked upon as an opportunity to try new things. Infinity ammo clip. Perhaps some form of faster propulsion. She's a heavy figure (no offense), and could be deadlier at higher speeds. What fun! He'd never worked with a cyborg like this before.

Most don't know it, and he's not one to brag, but Sircuit could (potentially) be very rich. He has claimed patents on all sorts of inventions in the past few years. But the money just keeps running out. "Could possibly have something to do with the oversized sub-basement I'm renting. Or that space station thing I've been working on. It all just kind of ... goes away."

He has chosen to outfit himself with a small air cannon capable of leveling anything from a petunia plant to a small house. Static Cans (small grenade-like devices that scramble any electronic signal not already protected by a patch signal), noise diffusers, a coat of chameleon cloth, ... well ... he has deep pockets in that coat. It's kind of like Batman's belt minus the carousel reversal spray. So who knows what he has in there.

He does have one given power. The ability to neutralize anger. He is nearly impossible to hate, no matter what he does. Though he is cautious and hardly ever tests it, it is not above him to be purposefully irritating knowing no one will get *that* mad about it. Even the queen of angry, NoFace herself, is not immune ... much to her agitation.

Heroes (the funny version)

(Disclaimer: All people featured here as superhero characters gave me permission to do so several years back. Some of them in writing, no less. Characters that are based upon no one will appear in this story ... in a later episode ... and some former characters have been changed to prevent infringement arguments on down the road. Anyway ... "identities", such as they are, have been used with permission.)

"It turns rocks into food. I'm going to market it to hobos," Inspector Gizmo said proudly.

"Why not market it to everyone?" Assimilator said with characteristic support and enthusiasm. "F---! I want to eat rocks!"

"You ... already do." Said Huma, giving him a patient yet withering look.
(note: What does Huma mean? http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Huma_%28mythology%29. There IS a method to my madness! I swear. And this is a pretty damned flattering one, if I do say so myself.)

"Silence!" Assimilator said abruptly. He melded into a nearby tree and observed the group gathered as not but eyes peering out of the bark. "I am one with the trees! It would be a more conventional eating of rocks! It would look like food but it would actually be rocks. And only I would know the difference. Knowledge is power, and therefore? I would have the power. It's logical!"

In some ways, things hadn't changed at all. Though no one had guessed that Slayer would have been caught in the middle of the League building explosion and hatched from a big white egg found in the middle of the crater. People were seldom prepared for things like that. If they were, then there would clearly be bigger problems than women hatching from eggs. But that was beside the point. Some things were still the same. Really.

"Lemmie see," NoFace swiped the gizmo as politely as swiping could be done. "I'll be damned." It was about the size of a pizza box ... in fact it looked at lot like a pizza box ... complete with pizza logo on the top. She had no idea how it was supposed to work, but decided to give it a try anyway. She loosened small rock from the dirt by her feet, put it in the box and closed the lid. There was a comical zapping noise, and she opened the lid to find a curry chicken skewer. "Curry chicken on a stick?" One eyebrow raised and observed Inspector Gizmo over the lid of the box.

"I like curry," Gizmo said quietly.

"Fair enough," NoFace gave his invention back and ate her poultry on a stick.

"See?" Assimilator said from the depths of the tree. "It's food! AND it's rocks! Now YOU have the power of rock-eating!" Huma just looked at NoFace and shook her head.

"What's it made of?" NoFace asked.

Gizmo sighed. "Ah let's see. Pizza box, unbreakable comb, stopwatch, tube sock, a radioactive thing I found the other day, and a guinea-pig leash." He held up the leash.

"Check. Leash." Huma looked around. "Where's the guinea-pig, then?"

"Yeah," Gizmo rubbed the back of his neck and looked artfully away. "Yeah. It has a little problem. I guess guinea-pigs get turned into rocks when put in the box. Who knew?"


"Poor Pumpkin," Huma sniffed theatrically. "We shall miss thee."


"Oh, he's still around," Gizmo said. He produced a guinea-pig sized rock from one of his bottomless coat pockets. "See? He's a pretty handsome rock, if I do say so myself."


"I'm not sure if that's weird or gross or neither ... or both," NoFace said. "In any case, I guess it really was a guinea-pig in your pocket."

The Great Corning

Cass tells you a story:
"Hey, you! Fanboy! Shaddup!" (That's my little tribute to Drew Hayes, by the way.)

The web address for this site features the words "don't corn me". Most people who read this know the origin. Some do not. It's a funny little story anyway.

*ahem*

A couple of us were sitting around the small kitchen table one night discussing cultural foods. This had all come about because of an earlier trip to the grocery store and the utter amazement that the "ethnic foods" aisle had nothing from Africa or Antarctica ... though we imagined penguins taste like crap. When we got home a few of us were trying to come up with a list of what other ethnic foods should be provided. The matronly Scottish woman among us suggested a more domesticated form of haggis, which made us all make faces. Then the Irishman thought long and hard about what would be in the Irish section.

"Well, ye cannae very well put an ethnicity on cabbage and potatoes. An' I doubt very much they'd put nothin' but whiskey an' beer on the shelf. I dunno' maybe some pre-packaged corned beef or somethin'," he thought aloud.

"How does one corn something anyway?" Avi asked.

Avi. Nearest and dearest to my heart. Asks a lot of strange questions such as "Why do all tampon brands end in 'X'? Except for OB. That doesn't count." and "How does one officially tell apple brands apart? Are there apple experts? Do they have degrees or something? Who died and made them Grand Master of the Apples, anyway?" Avi.

He continued: "Is it magic? Is it like: 'Poof! You're corned!'?" When he said "poof", he gestured to me as though I were the focus of this spell or whathaveyou.

And to this day, many years later, I still can't tell you why it bothered me so much. But it did. It was as though I was momentarily betrayed by his pretend corning spell. "Don't CORN me!" I said. Most described it as something between a scold and a plead.

Whatever it was, it was (apparently) hilarious. I haven't lived it down. The phrase remains so popular this website was labeled with it.

We have since come to learn that corning is a brining process. Kind of like pickling. Only for meat. It is not magic, and it certainly does not "poof".

So now you know. Don't corn me.

Arryd City (Because we all knew this was going to happen...)

It had finally happened. Matt Vitae had come to Arryd City. He stood outside the airport in his pearl grey suit and dark sunglasses sipping impossibly black coffee from a silver travel mug bearing his company logo. The fingers of his fully animated silver prosthetic left arm tapped nervously on the mug, partially obscuring the name from time to time. But it didn't take a genius to know who he was. That arm and the stark white hair usually gave it away as was happening here. Several people had already snapped a photo of him, most of which would make it into some tabloid or another. Since the attack on Tokyo that had killed everyone on the team but him, it seemed he was the best thing the news had to offer. And now they knew he was here. Great. "People like you don't hide in the background," Jessie had once told him. "You hide in plain sight." He shrugged even though no one else had heard his thought. It had worked for that really albino guild king in Polar City.

Polar City. What a damned shame. He had been working at the Relish Clinic when the Polar City League had imploded on itself. One too many good heroes pushed to their limits and a few too many given more than they deserved. Though it hadn't been all bad. Forrest Red, Rain, Inspector Gizmo, and that guy who did magic in binary ... what was his name? Never mind. They had come out of it okay. But so many hadn't. And without all the heroes they needed, the city had been defenseless when the guild wars erupted and the aliens landed. Now the place was in ruins. Pity he hadn't been licenced there at the time. He had been there to be a doctor. Nothing more. Though he did often wonder where some of the League's more colorful former members had ended up.

One more photo flash made Matt turn his head just in time to see a taxi come screeching around the corner and up the ramp to where people were patiently waiting for loved ones to pick them up and take them home. Luckily, it looked to be going in a nearly straight line. However, there was someone on top of he vehicle holding on for dear life and wearing what looked, for all the world, like a ringmaster's coat. People at the curb either screamed or stepped back or both. Matt removed his jacket, getting ready for something. Naturally, someone found time to get a picture of his arm. Vultures!

He could hear a voice over the screeching of the tires and almost smiled. "Hey! Budgies shouldn't drive! Quit lookin' in the rearview! Pay attention to the road, you seed-eating f---er!" Now having a vague idea of who that was, he stepped back, sipped his coffee and watched the car speed toward him. "F--- this!" she said. She stood up and the covers for her chest mounted guns ... he knew she had a crude name for them ... opened abruptly and she fired several rounds of some obscenely large ammo through the roof of the car and on down through the pavement.

The car lurched into the air, throwing her off and managing to slam into her as it spiraled to the left and caught itself on the guardrail. There was a moment of silence broken only by a hubcap rolling a wobbly line into the nearest lane and flattening itself out after a few rotations.

The woman pulled herself over the railing, swearing like a construction worker, and Matt caught a glimpse of her face for the first time. The symbiotic silver of her mask twisted with her lips as she swore, and heavy prosthetic legs and feet, made by the same man who had crafted Matt's arm, stomped across the ruined asphalt. She opened the smashed passenger door with one hard yank and bodily removed a man with wings dressed in a budgie mask. "Are you f---in' in-SANE?" She shook the budgie man in the air, and it was very hard not to laugh. Who dressed up as a budgie anyway?

The mystery man in feathers said nothing, simply pecked her face and half flew half hopped away as she stood there in shock! "Oh my f---in' god! Did you just peck me?! Get back here! No wait! Don't! Just keep ... flailing." Having finally taken in the scope of the situation, she shook her head and actually laughed a little. "F---in' Budgie Man. F---in' driving to the damn seed store! Goddammitall!" She tried to slam the open door of the car, but it bounced back anti-climacticly and swung open on damaged hinges. She turned and looked at all the people gathered in shocked silence. "What? Haven't you ever seen a second-class cyborg blow up a car being driven by a man in a budgie costume?!" More silence. "F---in' backwater yokels!"

The silence would have continued had someone not started laughing. To Matt's surprise, it was him. He had been amused by the whole thing, but now the laughter wouldn't stop. He had wanted to meet her for years, and now this? Who would have thought she would be here, of all places, chasing down a bad driver dressed as a budgie? He felt her eyes on him. He had heard that happened and wasn't disappointed. He was laughing and couldn't stop. It was all so absurd!

"You!" She started toward him. "Thanks for the help you f---in' prick! Oh yes, I know who you are! You think this is funny? Well it is, but it isn't! Quit laughing!

Matt couldn't help himself. He was powered by negative energy and what she was radiating made him tingle beneath the skin very pleasantly. This was the reaction he had always hoped for. She freely radiated that which made him strongest. As he laughed, he hoped the extra energy would be enough to protect him. She wasn't happy, and he couldn't make himself stop doing what made her so angry.

"I warned you, motherf---er!" The hatches over her guns opened and she fired.

Fast as thought, Matt whipped up a huge shadow-black energy barrier that absorbed the blast of the exploding shells. No. Not shells. Small missiles! She wasn't kidding, here. If he hadn't been there, she could have blown up the whole terminal. He stopped laughing and took down his shield. "Hey! Are you crazy? People are going to think you're a terrorist."

"Me? Nah!" She waved a casual hand at him. "That's my ex-husband, I think. And crazy? Yes! It happens. Pleased to meet you, Eclipse. I'm NoFace. I had wondered when you'd come looking for me."

Character Surprise

It's so surprising what a re-evaluation of characters can teach you. I know Lex, Malcom and Accolon very well. They are characters I have worked with extensively over the past seven years or so. In the latest re-write of the Pazour story (on page 45 now!), I have had a chance to examine the three of them as children.

And I learned something. Lex and Accolon may have been the two who fought the most, but Malcom (shown above) was the one who started all the fights, usually on purpose. He was that one kid who caused SO much trouble and NEVER got caught. I hated that kid when I was little! But I can't hate Malcom. That's hard to do. He was never obnoxious about it, never bragged or teased. Just added his own chaos to the order and stood back to observe. And in a broader sense, that's more the kind of person I would rather be than one of the brawlers (verbally, it's something of a gift, albeit a damaging one.) And in the end people always learned something when he messed with them. I think that's the Gorsedd part of him.

Malcom has been such a quiet character for so long. And now I come to discover he was just as involved and laughed just as hard. I just wasn't looking in the right places. It's good to hear his voice finally. He's always deserved more attention than I gave him.

You are my sunshine ... or something ... SHUT UP!

Welcome to the kinder gentler more Earth-friendly and you-savvy me. I hate typing because you can't hear the tone I used to say that. I assure you, it was delivered with the flat sarcasm you have all come to either know or hate. Your call.

It seems we've been all 'enlightened' over here. And I'm all for that. New perspective and all that shit. Can't find fault with that. I just hope we don't take it too far.

Example: I know I did and said some really f---in atrocious things. I admit that. I will even admit I was wrong. (Mark this day on your calendar folks. I actually freakin' said it.) But I can't sit there and say that we were never provoked and no one else ever did anything wrong. That I was Satan in the room with a bunch of angels. No one ever lied to me, right? Of course not! And naturally, I never found out about it. My reactions were awful. Again, you have my admission of that. But it's not like people were sitting around eating toast and I blew up for no reason.

I'm no angel. I've never claimed that and I never will. I overreacted and said and did things I will regret for the rest of my life. Sometimes I did blow up over what I should have taken a moment to think about. Guilty as charged. The shame I feel over some of that, now that I have had space and time to reflect upon it, is overwhelming at times.

And so I am learning to live life without the drop-of-a-hat anger that I have used to protect myself (even when it was inappropriate and unnecessary). It's hard work. This anger is how I was raised to deal with people, and it was a defense mechanism that I leaned upon for a very long time. Quitting smoking was SO much easier. I can never promise people a 180 in attitude. I don't think the sarcasm and snark has to go entirely. Just the abusive parts. Because I know now? That's exactly what they were.

I don't think any of you will ever know how ashamed of it all and sorry I really am.

-NoFace

The Beast of Revelations

Nothing like the betrayal of someone you care for to make you take a good look at life. No, not you, Phoenix. This one is for you. Not because of you. You see what's important, and what's complete bullshit. And boy have I wandered into a pile of it.

Lately, I've been told a few things. Some are true and have made me feel really good. Some are ...well that word I used before.

I'd like to start with my favorite: "Well, it's kind of tradition."
Really. That's right you heard it here first. Someone tried to inform ME of tradition. Perhaps it was completely forgotten that I have devoted a lot of time to the study of tradition. And not just the tradition handed down by Hallmark and what I like to call "modern expectation". There's a difference. You know, what St. Patrick REALLY did. The meanings behind the symbols in modern Christian ceremonies. Stuff like that. It's made me a bit cynical. Hand me a white flower, and I expect you to know it means purity or death. Neither of which apply to me right now. So the point of this one is: if you're going to try to reason with me or convince me to do something, it's important to remember that I'm no idiot. I may not have a complete education, but that doesn't mean I'm stupid. Misquoting a "tradition" isn't a way to get me to listen.

Another way to get dismissed? "The Bible says."
No better way to throw an intelligent conversation out the window than to prove one's own willing ignorance. As Travis put it to me "Let (her) dance in the garden of voluntary ignorance if she wishes, but she will not find me there." I always feel like countering that argument with, "Well Green Eggs and Ham says 'I would not could not in a box'." Oddly enough, one is a bit more profound than the other if you really want to think about it. Trying to argue a point with me by saying "The Bible says", is a guaranteed way to lose my respect. Permanently.

And it has also come to my attention that I have thrown out so many good people in favor of folks who would rather I follow their status quo than do what I need to do to be happy. So I can't show up at every function with a smile plastered on my face. At least I show up at all. That's more than I can say for some people I know.

Sometimes I wonder, with all the caution people tell me to have (along with their knowledge that I am among the most paranoid people they know), if I am not *expected* to be keep myself in a closet somewhere and find no joy. Hoping is a difficult thing for me to do anymore. And to be advised against the little hope I DO have? That's just mean. Cut it out!

There are some things in this life that give me the joy of a child holding a kitten for the first time. Even now. So they aren't what other people consider worthy. That doesn't make them wrong. I'm not hurting anyone. Just let it go and let me smile for once. In five years is it going to matter? Probably not.

I have come to a revelation that has made me smile. I am asked to do a lot of things that will hurt me, and I do them because they will make other people happy while tearing me into little bitty pieces. Travis said it again: "As someone who loves (someone), it is my goal to keep (them) from crying. If I was to take (their) hand and make (them) do something I know will bring them pain in the end, then it's not love I feel for (them). It's apathy. What's worse is deliberately hurting and manipulating (that person) to get (them) to do the thing that will hurt (them). I would be sub-human to do these things. Darling? There are a LOT of sub-human people. Are you a magnet or something?" Probably. I have decided that from now on? Application of that sub-human behavior will guarantee my lack of participation. If I say "that hurts me", and you insist I do it anyway? You find yourself in VERY interesting company. (Several of whom are penniless now because of a civil suit, if you take my meaning.) Occasionally, I have to do something of the self-affirming sort. It's about damn time.

But there are some things that have made me happy that do not involve changing anything. Someone wrote to me recently: "I can say with honesty that I have missed having you around." And this is not someone given to mushy sentiment, either. I took it at face value for that reason. And in that moment, I realized that I am not a "monster" to everyone. That someone WANTED to have me around. I don't want to embarrass this person, so I'll leave off with the more profound thoughts that went with that. In short, it was just what I needed to hear. If I knew it wouldn't scare this person to death, I would hug them "thank you".

This person is a first step in connecting with the few people who understood me, even in a small part. There are a few I have been in contact over the past months, but that's not been going very well. Learning things they had never bothered to say before has actually been damaging. But this is where I dare to hope again. Where I hold out my heart, black and shriveled though it may be from years of distrust and other "gumbo ya-ya" (Yeah, I didn't forget that. It's funny AND sad!), and hope that the little *ding* I heard was the sound of door chimes as the door opened, not as it shut.

And thusly, apologies are given where I need to give them. And you all know me well enough to know how my sense of guilt doesn't let me lose track of those. I am sorry for turning my back on you, me and the whole of us.

Good Morning, Charlie!

Exhibit A: Charles

(Now, please remember that I lack all the rule books and whatnot. This is my stab at it.)

Charles is a four trick creature. As a departure from the other sword slingers you all know me for, this poor guy wouldn't last too long in combat. But he had communicate by magic over long distances, heal by magic a bit, is a fantastic lawyer, and is a first rate teleporter. Most of the magic is aided by rune tattoos all over his body ... which can make some activities awkward at best. (Please see attached mini story ... yes ... that IS mini ... for me.)

I am going to trust you guys to make an acurate (as best you can) and fair sheet for him. I don't need to tell you that INT, and WILL are going to be key here. If you have any questions let me know.

Some basics: He's 40, 5'11'', colors shown above (blue eyes ... which may be hard to see). He would much rather talk his way out of an issue than fight (obviously). He has the annoyinghabit of knowing how to push people's buttons, and takes pride in being hard to noticeably rattle.

(Story time! Everyone have their juice boxes and cookies?)

“Charles! Drop what you’re doing!” Stone, of the Stone, King, and Smith stuck his head into the very black and very posh office of Charles Jouskonsudt esq. “You’ve been summoned to the Hall of Thaumatergical Law.”

“Well,” Charles said, removing his feet from his desk, “That wasn’t expected for another month. Is it really that time again?”

“Nope,” the senior partner saluted him. “Rumors of active duty. Have fun, soldier!”

“This certainly puts a cramp in my day,” Charles said to the empty room. “Cynthia,” he pushed the intercom icon and called his assistant. “Cancel my appointments for today.” Finally he got up and headed for the door, buttoning up his black suit coat in one fluid motion. “And I was SO looking forward to that flounder for lunch,” he muttered to himself as he made his way to the elevator, wishing he had worn black boxers instead of purple.

* * * * *

“Specialized Wizard Jouskonsudt,” said one of the board members from his high shadowy seat. “What have we told you about that name?”

“I like making opposing council try to say it,” Charles smiled up at the board members. He stood in a spotlight in the center of a gleaming white floor. They were in a dark crescent of shadow looking down at him. He was fairly sure most of them were scowling. But he didn’t make it where he was today by being unnerved by a few scowls. “I find watching someone stumble through my name puts me in an intellectually superior position in the eyes of some juries. I stick with it for that.”

“Very well. After this examination, if you are found fit, you will be assigned a unit of ASSs to assist and advise should they need it.” He couldn’t even tell which one of them was speaking any more. Spooky bastards. “We heard that! Disrobe now.”

A rack with hangers on it materialized next to him, and Charles went about the task of stripping down to the boxers with the unfortunate color. Usually, he liked his clothing to match. The purple was a bit of a fluke. A gag gift from someone special. He had worn them to spite her and ruin her fun today. If she could see what he was up to now, she would laugh. Once all his clothing was hung neatly and his shoes paired in a most orderly fashion, the rack melted back into the shadows. He knew the drill. This was the fifth such examination he had endured. He spread his arms and turned so his back faced the board members.

Runes were tattooed symmetrically across his shoulders, down his back and even down the back of his legs. There were thirty-seven of varying size. Charles cracked his neck, rolled his shoulders and adjusted his spine. “Activate them, please,” said one of the board members.

Charles took a deep breath, centered himself and opened his mind as he had been instructed. The runes began to radiate a potent deep purple light. Presumably, it was the color of his aura. Whatever. They came in handy when he needed to move things around and impressed women. Or … the one who had ever seen them anyway. He could feel the tingle under his skin around the complicated designs and knew they were all working as they should.

“Very good, Charles,” said the same board member. “Now I would like you to sense-link yourself with the man in the field who has been marked with your rune.”

Fighting a very inappropriate yawn, he touched the odd 37th rune on the back of his neck, then passed his hands over his head to link the rune’s energy with his eyes and ears. First he saw the inside of a prison cell. It was well decorated with very familiar items; the inhabitant would be there for a very long time from the looks of it. But he wasn’t afraid of this. He knew who that was. Sure enough, it was her face in the mirror. When she looked up and he saw through her eyes, Charles had to fight a smile. He had connected with the person he wanted to see through, not the one assigned, and he was sure the board members knew about it. He pulled out of the woman’s mind and began to search. Normally, a connection over the huge distances being required here was nearly impossible, and required a wizard with more skill and practice than he had. But it was all in the runes. They made such long distance links possible. Charles and the Hall stood in the near center of Allied space, he managed finally to open his eyes and see through the visor of an ASS in the field. The soldier looked out into space, perhaps wondering why he was there. Through his eyes, Charles saw a big gorge. The man was standing in a little cove in the cliff face.

“Hey, Charlie!” The soldier said, then waved his hand in front of his eyes in a friendly fashion. These where the times when he most wished he could do this anonymously. People could be SO annoying. But that was the way of it. His touch wasn’t gentle enough to go unheeded. “Welcome to Warthog Gorge! Tell the board members that the password is ‘Soy Milk’.”

Charles’s face withered for a second. What? He turned around and stared at the board members with his own eyes. “Soy Milk? Are you kidding me?”

“What? I like it,” said one of the unspecified voices. “What were you expecting? ‘Eye of Newt’ and bullshit like that?”

“Well no, but … fine. The password is … that.” Charles shook his head and continued to relay other symbols and sounds required for the test. When the connection had been broken, he turned around and addressed the board members again. “Charlie?”

“Usually, we require soldiers in the fields to address our wizards in a more proper fashion, but as you have chosen to retain your ungodly difficult to decipher last name, against our best advice, we had to improvise. You brought it on yourself.” This time a female board member spoke.
He didn’t suppose he could argue with that and win, so he let it drop. Fantastic. He would be Charlie to the troops at large. Fine. Life is neat. “Very well, Ma’am.” Charles inclined his head. “What is my next task?”

“We would like you to summon various people and items we have designated."

Charles smiled to himself. This is what he was good at. One by one, items began to appear on the floor around him. Depending on the weight and potency of the item, a different pattern of runes would illuminate on his body. He pulled in a shopping cart, then a child who giggled as though he had just been on the best amusement park ride ever. A grown woman, a grown man, a horse, then lastly a large armored vehicle with three occupants. The last teleportation had been such a heavy item and had come from so far away that Charles lowered himself to hands and knees in order to better catch his breath and gather his wits. As he watched the room spin, two men got out of the vehicle and opened the back hatch. The pulled out the third occupant, a man on a stretcher who appeared to be bleeding profusely. He didn’t have to be told what his final task was. Taking a deep breath, he crawled across the floor to the man and pulled himself up so he could see. The poor soul had a large gash in his leg. Charles pressed his hand to the wound, cast his spell, and the bleeding stopped. Completely drained, he collapsed leaving a smear of the man’s blood across his chest and face as he fell to the floor.

* * * * *

He woke in his own home hours later with a letter of commission glowing next to him. He had passed their tests again this year. And his reward was to be shipped off to the middle of the nowhere universe to help a bunch of ASSs.

He stopped by the prison and said goodbye to the woman in the mirror, then reported for duty. He left three cases pre-trial. Though the board members had assured him that his practice would be waiting for him when he returned, it occurred to Charles as he boarded the ship, that the practice may very well be waiting forever. For the first time in years he was scared. This he hid behind a quirked smile and off-color comments about today’s state of affairs. Rich, spoiled and completely unaccustomed to this conflict up close, Charles was shipped off to war.

Meet Accolon Chase.

He enjoys long walks on the beach, kittens, and is looking for someone to call "sweetheart".

Just kidding. (This picture has been edited for those of you who look at this in public places.)

I like Accolon. He's fun to draw, and fun to write. And because I think you are going to see a lot of Pazourian work on here, you best get used to him. (I'll make sure he puts some clothes on next time.) He's not the Grand ArchDruid of Gorsedd Territory, nor is he the king. He's a blacksmith ... and a general of the Pendragon armed forces when he leaves the forge long enough to pay attention. I think that's why he's the story's focus. Don't get me wrong. There's plenty of room for Lex and Malcon, Nemo and Sadika, and all the rest. But Accolon's eyes are the easiest to look through. He is the artist of the three (though Lex's piano playing is NOT to be underestimated), and is the most unshakable in his morals, which I appreciate.

Now, he's not perfect. A bit of a drinker, and smokes like a chimney unless someone hides his cigarettes (which they do ... because he's usually too focused to go out and look for them or buy more). He also has a stubborn streak, but is wise enough to listen to people and realize that he can't *always* be right. (Most stubborn people lack this distinction.) The biggest downsides are his temper and his ability to hold a grudge. Once Accolon has been crossed, he STAYS crossed for the most part. It's not that he lacks the ability to forgive, he's just slower to it and requires more effort from the person who wants it. His temper? Well, he doesn't lose it easily, but he's a monster when he does. Especially if someone has hurt his loved ones. If you ask Sadika? His worst trait is his tendency to pick up strange pets. To date: one loris named Loris, one huge bright yellow puffer fish named Taxi, and four fainting goats named Missy, Maggie, Marta, and Maureen.

That's him.

Oh, did I mention the ability to embed souls, or portions of them into swords he makes? Yeah, that might come up once or twice as well.

It occurred to me ...

As I understand it, representing one's God/Gods/Goddess ... whatever, is sometimes frowned upon. But what if, some days, that's the only image you have. Or at least the one that screams to be made real? Is that bad? Maybe it's said entity telling you to do it. I don't know. So with that in mind? This one was done a while back after a very intense experience. You may believe what you like.

It's also occurred to me that anyone looking at this site would mistake me for man-crazy. At least it's not crack-crazy. So there. (And I know I've said it before, but please do not steal this image. It's very important to me. If you REALLY want one ... though I have no idea why ... comment me with an e-mail. I like to know where my stuff is.)

So that's Him. I suppose he comes with a lesson. Be careful what you wish for. (Here's where I get all weird on you!) When I was little I cried out for a protector ... because I really needed it. No one dropped out of the sky and punished the people who hurt me. No one ever will. Most of them got away with it. Not a comforting thought. But I am still alive, which is more than I can say for others who went through what I did. For some reason I have been able to hang on. (Though I would like to know what I'm waiting around for. A long life feeling like I do now? Let's hope not. I am not interested in that.) But sometimes, if I'm so far gone I feel I may never return, a big hand with lightning under the skin holds mine tight. Most of the time, it's all the comfort I have. Most of the time, it's enough.

And it all makes me wonder ... this recurring experience of mine is so similar to what many have described as "God". That's the Christian one with a very big "G". Yet those who believe in the big G and big G alone, refuse the validity of what I feel. Is it so implausible that the same being, realizing I needed something more dramatic to get me through, comes to me this way? Is it necessary to tell me it doesn't exist? I'm not hurting anyone. This guy has been the only constant in my life, no matter how inconsistent I make myself. It's the only love I can feel without fear of losing it. Even if you don't believe me, is it so hard to just smile and nod?

So the minute it thunders, I want to be outside with hair unbound to run in the rain and nevermind the soaking I will receive. I know no one gets that. (At least I keep my clothes ON, okay?) And so I run as fast as I can or sit and let it fall where it will. But then, when it's over and He is gone to wear himself out elsewhere ... I am alone and wet ... usually cold too. Hence the "be careful what you wish for" part. I know things that hurt. Believe me. I don't hold a monopoly on pain or anything. But knowing such joy and beauty for a moment and to never be able to share it ... because no one understands it? That's a migraine of the heart. I'm having one of those tonight.

There you go.

The origin of "...as it were."

Once upon a time (because I have always wanted to start like that) there was a king.

And he was doing a pretty good job of being one, too. (Which is actually saying a lot. There are some crappy kings running around these days.) He stood on the biggest balcony of his castle with his two most trusted advisers and friends: Accolon the blacksmith, and Malcom the druid. The three looked down and watched daily life unfold in the markets and the streets and wondered at what they saw.

"My friends," said the king. "This is a good place we have here. In so few generations we have done away with hunger, most crime. There hasn't been an uprising in 900 years. Yes, this truly is a great kingdom."

As the friends let the words sink in, the silence was broken by a scream from down the street. All eyes turned to a man running with large axe raised high over his head. He stopped in front of an ox-cart, and chopped the ox's head off with two clean whacks. The man grabbed the head by one of the horns, punched the driver of the cart (who had been frozen in confusion) and ran off down the street holding the head up in the air and screaming with rage.

The blacksmith and the druid looked at the king. Had he just seen that too?

The king blinked once and sighed a little. " ... as it were."

Figuring he had something to attend to rather quickly, he took his leave.

Last one for tonight.

Because it makes me smile?You get this one, too!

A reminder: Stealing pictures is NAUGHTY!

So don't do it. Please? (I shake my finger ahead of time.)

Can't hide forever, I guess.

Okay, so ... I'm done being sick. I've had quite enough of that. So for lack of finding a store where I can easily purchase a life? Now there's this. I hope it keeps me busy. This is Kol. Some folks may remember him.