shadeofsound

'Twas the night before Christmas And all through the land The DM was plotting, playbook in hand The players trudged on, completely unawares Of the monsters still lurking, under nook and stairs When out of the blue there arose sucha clatter; The ranger's d20 was thrown and had struck the platter, He shouted to his fellows, "I see hordes of undead!" "Arise Cleric, Sorcerer, and Rogue your heads!" "And through valor we may yet win this night;" "Merry Christmas to all! And to all a good fight!"

I wonder if I should be concerned, About my propensity for abuse, How no matter how hard someone hits, I can smile and shrug it off. It never seems to me to be That anyone can hit too hard for me; I've always been hit harder, by another, Sometime far before. Even when I'm knocked down, Or gashed and bleeding, bruised or burned, I manage to find the strength to rise, Onto my own two feet, and stand. It's almost as if I wait, With wicked grin and open hand, Beckoning the plunging knife, Because I know that I'll still stand.

I reach my hands out Towards the heavens, Grasping the impossible, To hold it in my hand. I reach my hands out For the secrets of yore, Of discoveries made long ago, And now faded into lore. I reach out, straining To find my limits, containing All the possibilities that can Satisfy the urgings within me. I reach out my mind, Pushing it beyond the norm, To find the wisdom to navigate The waves of this creative storm. I reach out my sight, To seek what has been sought, Becoming the one To find what was lost. I reach my hands out, Despite the dangers, To places unknown to me, To circles that I am a stranger. I reach out

It was over now, taking far too long a time to finish and done in time far too short. A final strike in a moment's weakness; a flash of bright steel spearing unprotected flesh. A sickening noise as blade tears skin and sinew, parting it to pierce the life beneath. A hacking cough splits the ensuing silence. Victim looks up at victor, blood seeping from between pain-clenched teeth. The victim blinks at the darkness nibbling at his vision; how could he have lost? What was the flaw in his formiddable defense? Why did the other deserve the win? It was unfair; it was too short - too short for the last time... He grasped shakily at the single

The blade of my self has Been withdrawn, I lack interest in conflict, Who can tell if this will go on? I am afraid, A rariety in my life, Of the instincts inside me That dominate in fight. I wonder if they have left, Or if they were ever really there, Even if I should have them at all, Of their use, should I beware? It seems I have lost more Than just passions or desire, I have lost my will and drive, And made embers of my fire. Yet I know the coals are hot, But my question does stand, Should I stir the sparks again, Or be silent, and stay my hand?

I'll tell you a tale, About a fish With a wish To match each scale That covered its body. These scales were not ordinary, That shimmered and shone, Like diamond honed, Indeed quite an extraordinary Sight to behold. But this one was not glad, So he made a wish; But with each wish He lost a scale that he had In return. Soon this wishing fish was, Glittering no more, Shining no more, Very embarrassed, because He was, indeed, Quite naked.

"Gather 'round!" He jovially said, "I have a story to tell; If you closely pay attention, I won't have to yell. "It is a tale of mystery, A daring adventure, It could be anything My mind could forth venture. "It is a tale of valor, Of facing death without fear, Of friendship bonds strong, Of laughter and of fear. "Of extravagant places Far away in distant lands; Of humble homes Built with honest hands. "Of the great men's deeds, And the deeds that make great men; The story has already started, And to it I see no end. "Though understand This tale is not told by me; Rather it tells itself, Flowing far and free. "This gr

Cold. It's cold outside. The obvious thought travels through my head, eliciting a slight grin from my face, despite the biting air that seeps through my clothing. The clothes themselves offer little protection in this freezing weather, being only a pair of pants and a short sleeved shirt. A chuckle escapes my stiffened lips, reminding me that this is not my brightest fashion choice ever made. I could have done worse, however... It's terribly cold, but I will myself to not tremble. There is no wind, no rain, no sleet, no hail. It is simply cold, calm, like the whole world has numbed and does not allow itself to feel the warmth of spring or t

A quiet night, An open sky, Sparkling stars, The wind blowing by, A blazing fire, A circle of friends, A bag of marshmellows, And stories that never end, From scary to funny, Sad to happy, To one's that make you think, And the ones that make you smile, Around the circle the stories go, From big to little, Tall tales to short stories, Epic adventures to wonderous fantasies, The stories wind on, The fire dies down, The marshmellows are gone, And everyone lays down, And look at the stars, The wonderous glittering jewels, That inspire fantastic stories, And keep storytellers like me around.

Past, Present, Future, all will come and go, mountains to dust, by Time's ruthless blow Trials by Fire, That you have passed That were so difficult, Now seem like wind through the grass... Faded, too, are the Good times that were had, Only memories remain, Their absences make you sad... Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow, It has been said, That life's but a walking shadow, With no hope for the end...