Hail, I warn ye that before you procede into this post it is nothing but ramblings of a tired mind. I don't know what I'm going to write about, I don't know what I'm up too, i just had a spare tack and a peice of paper, so here goes.

One of these days it will rain in Rucesion. Soon I hope, sorry if your looking at me oddly, being a sal wizard I love the rain, bloody hell, if I was a rogue who sat out rain storms deep in the woods under a tree I would still love the rain.

I wonder who waters the plants. We have so many beautiful plants here.....tons of them, all over the back of the rails, a few trees....but since it never rains how do they ever get watered?? maybe there is some elusive sal wizard who sneaks about and waters them at night. Perhaps an odd little mundane in a straw hat with a water bottle. Maybe the inate magic has allowed the plants to produce their own water..ohhh well I am out of time and then also out of paper.

One day it will rain.

Larsius Vespers

In light of a lot of bickering. A few personal aguments, and a whole lot of paper here is something with no relation to any of it. No politics will be mentioned, nor shall religion, and heck I won't even write about killing things to learn the true path of Aislinghood. I do hope you like gardening though.

I found that mundane rumored to sneak about the paths of Rucesion, to hide in the garden, to water the plants. Yes the plant waterer! he has been found. A ghost to so many. To the oddity of many they have seen his man before, his straw sun had, aged smiling face, sun goldened skin, and earth browned hands seem no more than a specture as he wanders though our lives.

After a long day of arguing with people, chasing the one beautiful girl who will always hold my heart, and even attempting to get some wizards to sing in meddely, which didn't work mind you, I felt tired and laid out under an great old bush to rest. I had hoped no one but a wandering Kobald might disturb me.

And yet soon, before I could suspect there came a gentle touch to my face of soft cool rain. Had my dreams come true, was there a storm front ready to wash over the city? Could I be so lucky? Nay, twas but fancy as I realized I was being watered..by what I took to be an old Kobald in a gardening hat. Later I realized this was the elusive man who makes the cerry buds flower in praise of Glioca, grows the flowers and grass for the great ballancer cail, trims the great hard oak for Ceanlindier, stirs the decaying compost for Sgrios, listens to the birds of Fioschads wim, lights the fire of deoch's leaf pile, reads the summer book of Luathas's knowledge, and even manages to tend the ivy of the small scerine gazebo for Gramail. ((hey, it's not relgious if everyone is mentioned on an equally fuzzy level =P ))

I was only soon to learn how lucky I was to be the first Aisling to lay eyes on the elusive gardener, the green thumb, and even fore finger, of Rucesion. His name is Edmund. If you see him raise a spade in his honnor. Mayhap I can tell you more of this most mysterous of the gardening mundanes. We're to have tea and Kavara on the marrow but for now good eve to ye.

It still hasn't rained

Larsius Vespers

Standing true and tall was that gardener
Watering each plant, each day and night
He trinkled there, and sprinkled here
Till one day, there aroused a fight

T'was Edwardo! O, how he was jealous of Edmund
He pulled out his bow and arrow and took his aim
Edmund held up his watering can, surrendering
The assassin laughed, and jumped, and sang

"What is the matter with you?", asked Edmund
The Assassin did not answer, he continued to sing
"Tis I who will water the plants now!" He laughed
"FFT!" went the arrow, and Edwardo considered himself King

Just then, a trickle of rain fell on Edwardo's cheek
And on the body of Edmund, who was lying dead
"Could this be? But Larsius said..."
And Edwardo heard thunder, and saw lightning

The body of Edmund rose up, and clanged Edwardo on the head
Edwardo fell over in a puddle, which grew red
Edmund smiled up at the sky, and the clouds cleared
Now he could tell his children, about how Edmund
Caught the Arrow!

Sammul

Wow, great writting Sammul. I tracked Edmund down where he was tending to the ice peas and we talked over a cup of Kavara. Happening to have a copy of your poem on me I showed it to him and he was delighted to be so famous so quickly. I think poor Eduardo is steamly under the colar though. Might want to watch yourself about him for a while. Great poem though. It's nice to see something fun and community improving on the board. Got to run.

Larsius Vespers

Good points, tricky questions I guess. We all know that if we seek to avoid the squalor of the boards all we need to is step a few feet away. Many Aisling souls aren't ohh so bad, not so depressed, and not even that opriesive. Sorry, this comming from a pessimist gone optimist.

Most Aisling, and even if we're doing our job all mundanes enjoy a safe life here. Life keeps rolling and a few of us can enjoy it. Maybe I just need sleep but if none of life is taken too seriously it's really rather nice still.

An Aisling spark flickers in the midnight fire of a hunters camp, sparkles on the sea water of the love struck woman by the waves of our fair coast. Looking at the good people and the good parts can only be framed by chaos.

Take pleasure in a few great souls sparked with the curiousidy, wisdom, creativity, and free will of our gifts from Deoch.

What is there to revolt against in the first place.

Larsius Vespers

P.S. There will always be love of someone or something

well, another fun chance to ramble on paper. I noticed the board had rambled to a bit of a halt so I just wanted to add another tid bit of stuff with no particular mind but to perhaps be relaxing and to encourage loiterings on our city streets. Nothing is better than a lot of lazy people with nothing better to do and no where better to go. Something special about it...maybe it has something to do with wandering minds and odd impuses the bored act upon. But anyhow then I sit now writting on the knee of my new mane under this grat Greybark tree which Edmund was so kind to show me. I had to jump over the fence to get here...I don't think we have a law against that but why would be ban someone from enjoying the shade. Anyhow to inspire minds to write about interesting little things I'd like to tell you a little bit about the Greybark Tree.

So little in our world is base. We all know the begining building blocks of our land are the four elements. And therefore we, and so many of this worlds inhabitants are magical by nature. In our very blood so to speak, or in this case in the very sap.

The Greybark tree has a long long history, it used to be known as a Euceliptus tree ages ago, but has long since changed due to the high concentration of magic here in our old city. It can be distinguished by the gray bark that peels off it, the odd unique smell something between a new morning and a fresh breeze, and it's long hanging branches.

It's value comes in that odd scent which was turned into an incense by the wizards of the Luathas faith to help them in their meditations and relaxations, as we all know wizards they did more of the latter. This incesse still made by Braz on occashion also can give visons to those lacking sleep. I was lucky enough to procure a little from Edmund who uses it to relaxe sometimes. My visons were of the sea, my love, and a soft waterfall hidden high in the moutains. Thus I might conclude one dreams of what is dear to their hearts and close upon their minds.

Because of these visions is where the tree gained its less mundane magic. A wizard in the early Dannans was using this and had a great sight, that of two great tree's under which he took shelter from the rain. yes, it rained contantly back then and the isle we live upon was always a inches layered in water. He around these trees no rain would fall. He took an industious step to rid himself of this rain he hated, and I so miss. By carving great runes of an anicent path he created the Greybark tree which has shallow roots in poor soil. It drinks the rain from the air, and therefore that is why it never rains.

Well I hope that wasn't too dull, I hope to see you all at my magic lore class comming soon ((Teusdays 9pm pst)) about the magic of the world around us, but functional and dazzling. Thanks!

Larsius Vespers

These are exerpts from my journal which I wrote durring a hike along the eastern side of our island along the beaches and forest edge. We live in a wonderfull place so I hope you enjoy this.

-

The sun shines so tenderly as it sets down behind the trees to my left as I walk north. The cool crispness of the new dusk entices my skin and my eyes after a long day in the ocean sun. My feet scrunch softly in the fine sand, almost squeaking as a thousand million soft round peices of glass rubbed together. ((yes! Silicon people =] )) as dusk settled I could only look foward to the stars..tonight I would rest beneith the stars within the woods edge.

-

The light has faded from the sky, what was before a sliver of grey in a light blue sky is now an illumnating orb to guide my pen in the silvery night. Softly, slowly, smoothly the waves lap at the sand. Rythmic and esistenshal they beat putting me into a soft half trace of the tired and innterspective man. Wandering my mind lights softly over myself, half alseep there on the beach, the stars above. The beatiful of the stars, ohh that the wizards of yore but pulled down the great stars of bright shining deo and made the lamps of our streets.

Pulling away from myself and stepping to the waves, reaching the stars I pluck one from the sky in my dream and hold it in my hand much the way one would hold a diamond lifted with great care from the inky black soil of the land. Tenderly staring at it's singluar charms I could but make a wish, and a hope. One might wish for luck, to be rich, powerfull...some to defeat my enimies, some for peace with all. My wish was a selfish one, I wished to be allowed to love Kibibe my only true for as long as the fates allow. Be that this is not a love story and bear with me that this is what is special to me and my wish, only representative of a wish and not all things which are worthy of the subbject to be written upon.

My eyes open eventually to the lulling crashing song of the waves, enternal drummers upon our sandy beaches. The elments of Nadur have an affinity for the dramatic, and the symbols, hence a thunder clap, fires roar, earths crack, and waves crash. Crah, crah, crah, such is the sound of nature in anger. Shhh, shhh, shhh, such is the sound of nature at peace; a still pond, a quiet ember, the soft wind, and an even field of quiet spring grass rustling with a shhh, shhh, shhh.

-

The sun rises now over the ocean, it's blazing rays relflected in the swaying gold of the tractless sea, it's rolling hills and depreshions lifting the shimmering light of dawn, in a blazing fire over water.

A wish can only be wish if you have within your power to make it come true, thus being the true intent of the fae in making us wish, to earn our hope. And so thus I headed home to my love, in the quiet dawn, with the sun to my back, oblivious to the crah, crah, crah of the waves, listening to the shhh shhh shhh of the land. We all wake to a new day

Larsius

Very very tired now as I write this, but as we all know I'm very rarely in any other state. Just putting pen to paper and seeing what rants come...or what is on my mind I suppose as I sit here with my back to good wroght iron fence and looking out at the main square of the city. The mundanes hustling about their lives.

Makes you wonder what the mundanes do in their time off. Since the difference between Mundanes and Aislings is creativity I'm sure they must do interesting things and have lives, just not speculate on themm all the time as we do. We've got a gardner...I wonder if perhaps Braz would like peasant hunting on the northern tip of the island...or maybe if Eduardo would like to swim in the coves.

Does anyone here know some good quiet coves on our island. I know the cliffs on the south eastern side so close to the city are a beautiful walk over the green bluffs looking down to the white surf. Rushing against, toward and back the waves toil on the rocks....so far, so far below the rocks there. There are some interesting knarled trees there though.

You know, there are over fifty kinds of trees on our island? So many of them were brought here on accident by trade with Abel and Loures for grain but they're here now. The old twisted tree is an orgional here, best suited to the sea and the cool crisp weather we get on the southern tip some days. I wonder if the old twisted shape of our island native tree says something of the lands history.

Ever wonder who walked here before us? Before aisling feet who walked the Isle of Dawn. Was it the elder fae as some suggest. Not the Aosda who lived in old Fionlach ((eeep, I hope I spelled that right, if not just pretend, it's the old name for Mileth)) but then the dubhaimid? Did they build the great castle that stands in the heart of the woods, preserved and hidden deep. Now where one of the gods makes his home.

I wonder if the gods made their lands suit them or chose their lands because they suited them? Did Ceanlinder make the Piet flat lands flat as battlefields? Or did Deoch just happen to set down in a place where wine and revely are prelivent. Maybe it's just me but the god of luck and the largest trade city? I wonder who shapes who here, the land or the gods. Who shapes an aisling?

I know this one, do you? Our thoughts shape us of course, everything we think, everywhere we go, everytime we open our eyes and behold a new wonder and terror to speak of us our friends, to be amaized by. To behold. We are aislings for our creativity and ablity to learn and be inspired by our experiences, these give us insights into our world. Look beond the woods, and past the tip of your sword, dagger, gauntlet, or staff. Look at the rest of our world, there is much to learn, see, and experience.

Larsius Vespers

Just wandering thoughts. Kind of tired today. No comments on anything this time either I think... Just writting on paper. I have this old notebook...I mean really old...I don't think any of it is particularly good but why not post a bit of it anyway.

I step into the light
I look to the way that lies
before me
I see turns
I see forks
I see walls
and yet I walk
I walk from then, to now
to soon

Well that was a blow to creativity, mind I wrote these before my aisling spark was fully manifest ((this stuff is two years old))

I love green
it does follow order
it grows, and changes
it springs from it's self
it adapts to anything
green is life
green isnew
green is chaos
I hate black

Can you guess my favorite color. I can barely help cringing at this stuff when I read it...I hope I've gotten a little bit better.

The wind kisses my cheek
I turn and look
around me,
beauty
perfect white weeds
grow in the path.
A shiny pebble in
my shoe.
an old friend
asking how I've been
the melody of a bird
in the background,
I love distractions

Nice idea...bad wording and worse placement. ohhh well, here is a new one, written on a hike a little while ago, a discration even.

Twilight's soft shimmer,
wonder wyrded by light,
dimmed under dark drapes
sitting under a cliff clung by moss.
When did they lock learning behind glass?
High on the horizon looking down,
dive deep into the nights starlight.

Well....not that much better. Ohhh well, it's nice walking old paths which you've already trodden and thinking back. Try it sometime. The feeling is...interesting

Larsius Vespers

I swear, you think that nothing is particulary unimportant right? Trivial, fleeting, even temporary. Well, I was writing about nothing....writing a rather long story about nothing to share with you about my morning. I'd even go so far as to say hopefully that this nothing specially might have been interesting.

And then I bloody well go and fall in the mud ruining the story and losing all of it. There is nothing more frustrating than losing something you didn't know you cared about. Tis not something to be reproduced either in that being nothing there is nothing substancial to it and therefore like the temprary whisps of insparation it flows though my fingers never to return or be seen again.

Maybe this means that a moments whim of nothing is not just nothing. Maybe perhaps? Maybe I should have acted more quickly upon my nothing and made something. Or maybe I should have just watched where I was walking. Anyone else ever had this experience?

((Nothing is more dam frustrating than getting disconected a page into a story on a board!!! gah!))

Larsius Vespers

Hello again Pashura, your absence has been too long. Welcome back.

As I sit here with the intent to, in the best of my ability, answer your question my mind wanders a bit and reflects a bit my mood so I hope this isn't too bitter, these are just my views and hold no real merit so no one get angry at me if I say something ye donna agree with.

The people are the same as they've always been, as are the ideas the same as well. There are still heretics, as there have always been. There are still a few out to manipulate politics for personal gain or power, and there are still those depressed, slowly disapearing to us. Such as the fairly recent loss of Kedian and Cliona to our lands. But I'm sure you expected these things.

On that same note the good things are still here. The citizens who care about the city still exist, though a few of the faces might be different. There are still good politicans who try to do their job to the best of their ability. There are still the creative few on our boards, and the Unseelies still gather about the city, though now the rather entertaining sport of EstaraBall has come into fashion.

The city grows as a city. The ideas are the same, as they will always be, one can hope our laws are a little bit better. But other than that the city, if not the people, is the same.

Take care, sorry if I've been ranting about nothing and wasting the paper.

Larsius Vespers

I've achieved one of me goal's of monk. I've taken some time to study life and death. I've also been studying this town.

The roads of Rucesion are all cement. We don have many tree's or grass. Our buildings are plan and dull. Just as the ground of our streets, the buildings are cold and damp. The streams and pounds of Rucesion remain still and clean. The citizen's grow but our town does not. Like Mileth many new law's are grown, but also like Mileth the words have no meaning.

The few tree's we have shine with beauty just like the summer love. Citizen's walk and smile. Politition's laugh and count there votes. Rogue's sneak into a strange building, as they exit I listen to there gold coins jingle as loud as there grin. All is quite and peacful. But like the sea's a strom can strike at any time.

Worm~

(In case you missed my point, WE NEED FLOWER'S~!)

I was reading your post Worm and I couldn't help but respond. Have you ever met Edmund? He's our city's gardener. Atmitablly the gardens out of the north west side of town are still small they grow slowly but surely. Maybe you'd like to visit them with me some time? The care he gives the growing life out there is amazing.

*the pens rests here while he thinks for a moment before going on*

I wonder if there is any sort of plant life we could get in our ponds. You know like lillies or something. I've seen them floating about absently in the Mahendi swamp before. Might be a bit cold here though. That and the buildings might look a little funky. Well, who knows we can always look.

One last bit, blame the big merchant carts for all the stone roads. Not that I like dealing with their horses much either.

((you know it might not be impossible to get some aesthetic improvements here you know. We could mail Dave with an offer to do some minor graphics work for him. Bentic designed a lot of the new clothes, I don't see why he wouldn't at least let you perhaps try and make a few plants for our city to add a little ambiance. *smiles at the mear thought of an ivy covered bank wall*))

Lars

I warn you now before you read another line that I have no idea what I'm writting about and that my quill touches paper for the pure reason that I'm in a bad mood and I need a vent.

Ever had one of those morning, they can be only mornings as I you will understand in a minute, where things seem to really be going nicely? You wake up roughly about when you wanted to wake up. Breakfast was left in the cuboard where you knew it would be but to your surprise it's actually what you wanted. The kind mundane next door doesn't mind lending you his good horse since yours is lame and needs rest. As you ride along the trees are bright and as you look obove while passing underneath you can see the small shafts of light filtered though a million tints of green. You know the mornings I'm talking about. As you get off the kind, obedient horse, such a noble animal, which waits for your nickering quietly in the pleasant morning. And taking that first step down the path toward the circle you've been working on for a few moons you take in a deep breath of the cool crist morning air. Then you feel your foot come to rest on thin air as you topple over a cliff spiralling down toward the large rocks bellow with only enough time to whisper to yourself "bloody hell" and if your lucky shut your eyes before "CRUNCH". Yea...I had one of those mornings. ((I hate math tests...))

There is a moral to the hell of one of these mornings, never let down your guard or fate will make it it's personal bussiness to kick you in the ass and remind you that this is life and not some fairy tale.

Never trust a nice morning! Something with big sharp pointy teeth is always waiting around the bend! Vicarious experience is a boon we should all keep our hands on.

...ohhh, one last thing, no one use the north trail any time soon...I think something exploded and it's a bit of a drop down.

Larsius Vespers

I haven't written a post about nothing for a while now. If you know me you know what I'm talking about. They're a good outlet you know. Your brain can be half melted, your leg sore, and the gods be kind, you can even be a wizard and still enjoy writting about nothing in particular.

It's just therapeutic. In the same way listening to music without words can be therapeutic. There are ideas, words, form, substance but you don't really need to grasp any of it. None of it's meant to fill your head with contemplation, to offer an outlook or insight, or even to make you laugh. It's just a nice form which flows though you and leaves you a little content and more relaxed than if found you.

Then again I suppose the mechanism is a little different. With wordless music the idea, I suppose, is you relax yourself into the flow and can just sort of shut your eyes and rest while the music fills you and let the rest go. Writting is similar mind you. I'm not saying posts about nothing are very fun to read but they feel good to write. You just occupy your mind with something trivial and non-lasting which won't make a large impact on your perfectly planned life. This way you flow into what your writting and can let go of a few worries.

I think a lot of this has to do with the nature of meditation and concentration. Many people say meditation (a proven stress release) is the practice of ridding your mind of everything. I disagree completely. Meditation is the compleat focus of your attention on something trivial and no-worrysome, so that the rest of the world fades and you can just deal with this one little thing and relax. With the music you concentrate on the melody and are lost there. The writting is the expression of ideas which aren't planned or even a problem. Just ideas and they flow and pull you in. In your average meditation nothing works like just concentrating on your breathing. As you breath that is all you have to do and deal with, just breath and sit there. Try to concentrate some time on something which isn't imporant and just let go. I highly recomend it.

I hope you enjoyed this little bit of nothing, I did.

Larsius