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Messages - Zizz Zelan
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« on: August 30, 2005, 08:04:00 am »
Hello, old friends, I figured this was as good a place to post as any. I'm back in the house where I finished editing the Layo handbook last year, and my how things have changed. Now it looks like our city is pretty much annihilated, and it's getting progressively worse. Check out http://www.wwltv.com for a good source of information on New Orleans; and those of you who are suggesting places to live, well...I'll be taking your suggestions into consideration. ;-) On the bright side, I don't have much else to do for the next month or so; maybe I should make a new Layo character....
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« on: June 23, 2005, 08:26:00 pm »
Soon...soon. And I need to think up a workable character. I'm going to rummage through my backstory bin and see what I come up with. EdTheKet - 6/22/2005 12:43 PM Zizz Zelan - 6/22/2005 4:37 AM (Also, hi Ed.  ) -Zizz
Hi. Got those new discs yet?
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« on: June 21, 2005, 07:37:00 pm »
uhhh, wow, thanks, guys. I don't hang around the Layo area much anymore, but Ed told me people were singing my praises in regard to this poem and I just had to come back and see. It's been almost a year since I wrote it, I guess, but it's always nice to see people enjoying my stuff. Thanks to the renewed interest, I'll put something else together for y'all -- cause you asked so nicely. Again, I appreciate the compliments! (Also, hi Ed. ) -Zizz
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« on: October 17, 2004, 01:23:00 pm »
These are all great, guys -- keep 'em coming!
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« on: October 15, 2004, 03:25:00 pm »
Nuzatch - 10/15/2004 1:59 AM
Volrath D'Andareth was his name,
Wielding an axe he sought fortune and fame.
And one fateful day, he set out on his own,
Only to have3 halfling mercenaries chase him back home. That is fantastic -- I love it!
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« on: September 30, 2004, 10:46:00 pm »
Vile! Vile thing! Vile pointy-ear, paleskin trash! He knows! He knows! He knows and he will not tell! Blast him! To the hells with him!
Does he lie? Does he toy with me? He says he knows the Harvester! He claims to know the Mother! Yet he tells me, in a coy rhyming riddle, "seek Milara of Rilara, beyond Bone Hill, who follows the path of the Scorpion." "You must make a deal or your soul will be shattered on the wheel." My soul became useless to me long ago. Useless since...since...since that time. Since it happened. Whatever it was...
...all told in that coy tone, with that superior smile playing on his lips. Faugh! I will not be toyed with! This rhyming fool, this elf charlatan, to the hells with him! If he lies...if he lies! If he lies, I will send him to the hells myself! I will stretch HIS soul over the wheel, and his screams of anguish will bring the Harvester! Yes, if he speaks true -- if if if! -- if he speaks true, the Harvester will certainly come for him. Certainly!
I am...tired. The day has been long. I will retire, and search again tomorrow.
But...I don't know his name...
...blast it all.
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« on: September 20, 2004, 11:56:00 pm »
EdTheKet - 9/21/2004 1:27 AM Err, the "Spine Mountains" were written by Rhizome and English is his first language 
Thanks to all who helped! (and if anyone does find any inconsistencies, let us know, thx)
Well, hell. Good job Rhizome, then. You did well too.
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« on: September 20, 2004, 09:46:00 pm »
Glad y'all like it...it was an absolute _monster_ to edit. I had a lot of fun, though. If you catch any nitpicky errors in the text I might have missed, drop me a line; I want this thing to be as near to perfect as possible. Major kudos to Ed...I know I fell behind schedule a lot, but he never made me feel bad about it. He did a fantastic job in the writing (if you have any doubts, read the description of the Spine Mountains; absolutely *gorgeous* work, I love the image of the dragon rising to the sky and shrugging off nonbelievers. And barring grammar/punctuation edit, that's all him in his SECOND LANGUAGE!), formatting, and support departments. He's incredibly committed and talented, and I'm proud to have worked with him. Enjoy, everyone! I hope y'all have as much fun reading it as I had working it over.
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« on: September 20, 2004, 03:04:00 pm »
You could argue that there's a half-step in that direction with the Zen Archery feat already. It seems like a reasonable idea to me...
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« on: September 18, 2004, 03:39:00 am »
Feeling somewhat more connected today. I spent my first few days in Layonara wandering its crypts, crushing skeletons and fencing with zombies. In my...maddened state, doubtless brought on by my appearance in this new world, I thought that I would surely find Death in a tomb.
Stupidity. I attribute it to the fog that clouded my mind. Death has no use for the dead.
I broke out of my reverie as I talked to a young man named C.J. on the main road of Hlint, the town where I initially found myself. He led me down into the sewers, where we retrieved tax records stolen by a rat-man. Strange indeed, but the tax collector -- a lady named Florah -- paid well for our service.
I considered killing C.J., but eventually concluded that nothing would come of it. I have devised a list of possible reasons that the Reaper eludes me:
1) His task is a simple one, done so quickly that it cannot be seen by mortal eyes.
2) He operates from this "Plane of the Lost," and needs not come onto our plane to do his duty.
3) He knows that I am looking for him. I do not aim to flatter myself with the idea that a demideific figure such as the Harvester fears me, but I do believe my inquiries would trouble him. My work cannot and will not cease, however, so if he is shy, I must turn him out myself.
There is a solution to my conundrum. How do I ensure the Reaper's presence? There must be a soul, a soul so powerful that even the Harvester must struggle with it. In the battle, I can catch him and seal him. Souls of normal people and animals are not enough; I feel that they must be far more potent to provide a challenge for him. I have some ideas for targets, however:
1) Heroes, heroines, villains and villainesses of epic stature.
2) Gods.
3) A multitude of souls simultaneously, e.g., via poison in a city water supply.
4) A mighty, ancient dragon.
5) A Great Tree or other spiritual focus.
I can see how my poisons must be blended. I will stop him cold, and wrest my family from his icy grasp. For now, however, I must sleep. Tomorrow I will seek out Andraia Benteel, who has posted a flyer in the market requesting skeleton knuckles. I believe that my time spent in the crypts may pay off after all.
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« on: September 10, 2004, 08:10:00 pm »
Can I have students this skillful and creative? Nooooooo! Stupid New Orleans public school systems...I have to move to Amsterdam. 
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« on: August 21, 2004, 11:06:00 am »
I still say that's fantastic -- way to go, Ed!
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« on: June 02, 2004, 05:49:00 pm »
EdTheKet - 6/2/2004 3:44 PM I like it.
Now do one in Middle English
*groan* -- let's not talk about that.
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« on: June 23, 2005, 09:06:00 pm »
By popular demand, here's a little sonnet-ish thing I cooked up; consider it a tribute to all those who have fought so hard against Bloodstone. Enjoy! Tribute SongAs the Bloodpools close and wither Beneath the two-moon sky, Sinthar's forces break and either Retreat or screaming die. Heroes all, the bold ones stand Against the threat'ning dark. Light on their brows, and in their hands Steel and magic spark! Layonara's valiant saviors Reclaim their land once lost, And win the gods' and poets' favors With ev'ry scheme they cross. But ware, brave souls who guard the world, in your triumph don't forget, Your foes may fall in hordes before you, but Blood is not dead...yet. (I know, I'm rusty -- I promise I'll get better. ) [EDIT: Pools! I meant pools!]
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« on: September 16, 2004, 11:17:00 pm »
My name is Marley.
I think it is, anyway. I can't be too sure of anything. I can't be too sure of anyone, least of all me.
My name is Marley.
I remember books...many books. Books that smelled of old paper with the smoke of a million candles in it. Writing...crabbed, fluid, beautiful, ugly, spiky writing that danced or slid or jagged or oiled its way across a thousand, a million pages. More pages than motes dancing in the light; many, many more. I read them, I did, old Marley-not-Marley-maybe-Marley sitting in a cushioned chair reading reading reading and writing writing writing, reading like I did then and writing like I do now.
My name is Marley.
I remember It. I remember It. I remember It hanging over her face, drawing her breath, scything her soul. I remember It. I remember It laughing. It was laughing at me while it took her, my beauty, my love, my life, my girl, my woman. It was laughing. It hurt to listen, but I couldn't stop. Cackle cackle cackle, and she-they were dead. Dead! I remember It. I will find It. I will kill It? Is Death death-able? Can Kill be killed? Murder and Plague and Famine and Plague and Folly and War and Battle and Plague and Sickness and Plague. So much of It. It's everywhere. It can't be stopped, they tell me. They they they are wrong wrong wrong! I will hunt It. I will kill It.
My name is Marley.
It isn't alone. It has a Mother. It reaps the wheat but She separates the chaff. I know this now. It is the Scythe, She is the Thresher. I call the Scythe, challenge the Scythe, kill for the Scythe, but the Scythe does not come. It will come. She will not. I must find Her. I will find Her. She is the Key, the Key to she-they. The Key to the door that returns them, spits them out like they did their blood-phlegm. The Key to the Door; the Key to Death's Door.
My name is Marley.
My name is Marley.
My name is Marley, and I am Here.
Where is Here?
Here is…L…?
It is Here.
(My name is Marley.)
She is Here.
(My name is Marley.)
I am Here.
(My name is…)
There will be a reckoning.
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« on: July 25, 2004, 02:10:00 pm »
Hello, all Layoplayers,
I am trying to collect odds and ends that capture the "feel" of Layonara. If you have any short (emphasis on short!) anecdotes to relate from your character's perspective, any heroic (or amusing, or significant) quotes from you or your companions, or any little bit of flavor that you've come up with (short poems, songs, snippets of religious text, etc), please reply to this thread or send an email to me with "Layonara" somewhere in the subject line so my spam filters don't weed you out. I figured that this would be the right forum to open this topic up, so send in your submissions!
(to allay any fears: Yes, you retain all rights to whatever you submit as long as you actually created it, and you will receive credit for it.)
(to rile up fears: Please make sure your submission is quality; that is, spellcheck it and be completely sure that it contributes positively to the aforementioned "flavor" of Layonara. I retain all rights to discard or edit submissions, though I will make sure that I check back with you if I edit your submissions in any substantial, more-than-proofreading way.)
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« on: June 02, 2004, 01:02:00 am »
Just a little something I knocked off while thinking about Layonara. It's hastily written and unrevised, but then, what do I write that isn't? Comments are welcome.
"Ballad of the Unnamed Hero"
Sing, spirits, sing and hear my story,
Hear it on this mourning misty morn!
Hear my tale of strife and glory,
Of one now dead, and one never-born!
A hero was he, with eyes of fire,
Strong of arm, with lightning steel.
He rose to fight at Toran’s ire,
A fight not his his fate did seal.
Four days it’s been forth he went,
Four days of trials and travails fierce,
Four days before my sad lament,
Four days before his heart lay pierced!
Forth he went, four days before,
To mete the great god’s wrath.
Armor bright, and shield before:
Faith and Iron to guard his path!
He fell in val’rous battle with
A foe that never drew breath,
Fell and died on sword-thrust fifth
Straining ‘gainst the grim undeath!
And when he fell five sword-strokes in,
The lich-lord cackled on the moor,
“Fear not, your new life shall begin,
Soldier now mine, paladin poor!”
The hero managed a bloody smile,
And spoke through broken teeth,
“If die I must, thou creature vile,
Thou diest too, upon this heath.
“I stood steadfastly through five thrusts
Before my quest was done.
You forget, in your blood-lust,
I stood long enough to see the sun.”
The lich, forewarned, turned to flee
As a shy and startled fawn,
But the fighter’s fight doomed him to see
The white-hot light of dawn!
In the light the lich changed shape
Flesh appeared and breath was drawn,
Cap and clothes and even cape
Appeared in the light of dawn.
The change was done, a man now stood
In the lich-lord’s place.
He cried and screamed and wished he could
Turn back time’s heady pace!
But the hero spoke to the new-wrought man
Words fit to end his strife:
”I was sent here by Toran,
To deal not death, but life.”
Spirits sing, and hear my story!
A hero lies this morning mourned!
In the earth, bereft of glory,
His new-dug grave, unadorned!
Heed me spirits, and heed me man,
For as along as I draw breath,
I shall sing his praises when I can:
He who delivered me from death!
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