Thursday, 21 February 2008

Anemo settles into her blog.

Apologies, Links are dead. No fancy stuff today. I've been following that Goddess around, yeah spying on her. You know she erks me and that gnome of hers. I'd love to get hold her one day and show her that the dark side is not a place that you want to play in, just when the mood strikes.

I hear through the poll here that some of you would like to see exactly something like that happen. Do you really believe that the Goddess Canola will fight me like some common tavern wench? Yeah I'm a tavern wench and proud of that fact. Well I'll let you in on a secret. We are going to come to blows, but I've just got to bide my time and wait for her to be a little weaker. She is after all a Goddess and well, she could very well steal my Ga and that I do not want.

Though she teases me mercilessly with her sing song voice. She calls me a Pretty...I like that but not the way she makes it sound. I wonder if Elsen will get upset that I may take the Goddess of Music and Dance down a peg or two. Do you think Uncle Q would love to watch and the other Fathers? I could make a few mernals if I could just work out exactly when it would happen. You know tickets to the showdown.

I'll just have make sure that gnome is out of the picture, he fights dirty and well is a slippery character. He's really got the wool pulled over everyones eyes.

Your aware she has her character sketch written and the start to her Saga, even some chapters have been scribed. Ah excuse me....creator...I was here first!

Settle Anemo, your tale will be told and all the better for the waiting. Patience Little Wind, patience.

'Alright, I'll wait but I won't stop grumbling and you can't make me!'

Now I have to say that Canola's, 'ahem' friend Roadius posted a little instructional in the forums that had me chasing the creators kittens, just to see if it worked. You it does! Just mind the claws and don't let Bane know that I did it, He'll certainly come after me and I'd have to restock the goldfish pond, just to bribe him away from my legs. Speaking of friends, Canu has been a gem and I just want to catch him and give him a great polishing, but I hear he and To jumped a hurdle and missed. Too bad, they both now have large lumps in their throats! PMSL...

Oh and I've been so naughty that Uncle Q is surely going smack me, I've neglected the blogging question of the week. So I'll take the chance now to answer it.

What do you normally have for breakfast?

A nice long black with tight buns.....smiles brightly. Sugar coated and with buttered walnuts...mmmm. Seriously, I have a long black coffee and a danish...mmm...pastry. Only because I have share with the creator. Then she takes us all to the gym and we work it off, Uncle can't we work it off in your GYM?

Most days, and yes I say days as we do not do about being a biatch...don't wake the creator early...ah no siree...not a good sight.

We have a black coffee, either a danish or some toast with chicken or ham, usually accompanied by some aeoli and a nice dark blood plum, or a handful of fresh fruit. Now before you ask, the creator looks like a lettuce leaf, you know the designer type. lol, She eats salads for lunch and with her evening meals, oh before she eats she downs a huge glass of water. Then she'll eat what she has had the fancy to create , sometimes its fish, or red meat. Other times it'll be a bowl of veg or pasta. You know she hates biscuits, won't buy them at all and no candies or chips. So very unfair! But very healthy, smiles as realizes Creator is watching.

Anyway thats the response from the three of us...ah four...Creator/Anemo/Gnome/Canola...she has us all on a diet. Now if you had have asked what our dream breakfast would be? Or even dinner...Then maybe a better reply would have been forth coming.

Now did you ever wonder what a Starg was? Well To has supplied the answer. You know I travel stargs...just to kick Canola's butt.


Sunday, 10 February 2008

Self Promoting

My creator has been busy, with her writing and decided to create a page for promoting her own writing. I'm included in their along with a myriad of other characters. To view Canolas blog, just click the links. The creator has been busy, writing the Goddesses tale and sundry items. Canola it appears is one scary character, dread to think what she'll be like when the curse of fae eyes is upon her. Check them out, leave a comment write a review. Remember two positives and two negatives.

Saturday, 2 February 2008

Join the Site Design Team!

The streets of Mernac are bustling with activity pending the upcoming Subscriptions program on the site. The writers have their quills blazing across the parchment, the artists are at their easels and our musicians are tuning their instruments. Everyone is getting ready for "S" day, including our site design team.

Our league of extraordinary programmers, designers and developers are looking for a few good men - or women, elves, sprites, or even dwarves. Experience in Xoops, other CMS programs or other open-source programs is a huge plus.

Not only do you get the wonderful feeling of putting together this wonderful site, but also thousands of people look at it - your work - each month. We are also looking into other ways of compensating our design team.

So if you are interested in developing Mernac with us, please email me (linthur @

Composers Wanted!

Stories are intriguing, and pictures are beautiful, but they are ever so much nicer with music to complement them.

Legends of Mernac is seeking composers of original music in the Fantasy/New Age/Ambient vein. Compositions will serve as background music/soundtracks for the stories and images to be found throughout the site.

Why should you participate?

Financial rewards are possible: This Web site will be going on a subscription basis sometime in the Spring of 2008. There is the possibility of financial recompense for content creators when that happens.

Your music will be heard by new and growing audiences; it's a great way to build up a fan base.

Your rights protected: You retain full rights to your works, and Legends of Mernac will see that those rights are respected.

If interested:
Join Mernac and p-m me, or email me at

Looking forward to hearing from you soon!

Thursday, 31 January 2008

Quonts Questions

Asks the Mernacian FREE fantasy fiction
Anemo Eolic
to answer the question below.

Whats something that we will never hear your character say?

"It wasn't me!"
"I dislike Canu!"
"I love Canola."
"I can create art."
"I love gnomes."

Oh theres a lot that I, Anemo would not say. But say it I might one day.

Míränor 101

Sorcia is playing catchup and I'm keeping up so here is what we have this week.

In Míränor, if we want to show that someone is an inhabitant of some place (-ian, -an, -ese), we add the suffix -itaar.



If we want to weaken the meaning of a word, or denote little, or small amount, we add the suffix -ilos.

- few hours
khaezoukilos - few inches

If we want to do the opposite and strengthen the meaning or denote much or a great amount, we add the suffix -enen.

- very dark
uuthenen - very hot

Monday, 28 January 2008

Míränor 101

Looks like the Master Bard Canubaraksson has created a variation on the theme for The Legends of Mernacs language. So lets just take a look at what he has to teach.

Today let's begin looking at dress.

The word "waz" denotes an article of clothing or simply put, a garment.

what garment = zhen waz

Answers to what garment?:

this garment = eth waz

that garment = aan waz

some garment = phes waz

no garment/naked = os waz

every garment = mir waz

And what do you give to the Mernacian who has "mir waz"? A laundress.

oooh...Headmistress..I didn't see you come in...

Here's one off the top of my head, so to speak. The word "nouth" denotes a hat or cap.

what hat? = zhen nouth?

Answers to what hat?:

this hat = eth nouth

that hat = aan nouth

some hat = phes nouth

no hat = os nouth

every hat = mir nouth

And how do you refer to a Mernacian rancher who is big on talk, little on action?

Mir nouth, os hraenae.
All hat, no cattle.

How about looking at some affixes for changing the meaning of a root word? Okay, here we go...

If you want to make a word negative or opposite, like we do in English by adding on the prefix un-, in our One Tongue language we add the prefix os-.

ezhazh - happy
osezhazh - unhappy

- invite
osokhoukhä - uninvite

- necessary
oshrephiz - unnecessary

= merciful?
osaalesiraal = merciless?

I believe merciless would be aalesulos. But you can say unmerciful: osaalesiraal

aales (mercy) + suffix -ulos, meaning -less.

So while we're on that then, if we want to add lack to a root word, we use the suffix -ulos (-less).
If we want to add surfeit to a root word, we use the suffix -iraal (-ful).

Kir ukhoiwä ezhazhios.
I serve gladly.

Alright we are caught up here.

Canubaraksson VII. Incredible! FREE fantasy fiction
is the Balladeer and Poet of LoM.
Here we are again, the man just does not know how to stop. Do we want him to cease and desist? Of course not! Bloody Tumba Guts the Fathers would do some really unmentionable things to me if I did. But then again so would the Mothers for that matter. I really don't think this Elemental would enjoy that at all. So without further ado, I am going to expose you to more of Canu...he he I rhymed without trying.

Actually, I believe drunken Dwarvish and and Rick-itis possess many startling similarities. As to the matter of dungeons, I am thinking I ought to compose a song about that.

Note: Rick-itis is a Mernacian ailment and we all suffer from this disorder from time to time. Some of us admit it more readily than others.

But on second thought, this seems to scan rather nicely:

The Dungeons of Quont
A (hopefully) collaborative effort

What will you find in the dungeons of Quont?
Why, just about anything that you might want.
Are you hip to the whip? Does the flail bring you joy?
Is your preference a lassie or is it a boy?
And I hear that there's many a marvelous toy
In the dungeons of Quont
In the dungeons of Quont

Okay, there's a start...anybody else want to play?

Isn't that the one where they rubber-band their little legs together?

Hee, hee, hee
Such a sight to see
I beg you, dear uncle
Don't use it on me

A break in the regular scheduling, I found some of the Bards music, so why not share!
Click on the Music button below the image, a new window opens showing a link to the tune; clicking that link opens a player instance which plays the piece. He's done this with a number of images and they all play.

The Bard's Sacrifice

I have writ a lovely tune
That shines more brightly than the moon;
Stirs the blood most ennervating,
Melodic and intoxicating.

When that certain tune was played
Many Mothers stopped and stayed.
Most unwisely, I do fear,
For I'd a wicker cage right near.

Father, whom I hold most dear,
Come and look: see here, see here!
Your melancholy's sure to lift
When you receive this precious gift.

To the Dark Lord Barak, I, Canu Baraksson present:

The Mother of His Choice!

May it find favor in your eyes.

Your dutiful son,


A query for Anemo:

If human form was sacrificed
So long ago as so you say,
How is it that thy legs did not
With thy sweet body fade away?

Pray pardon me if I be dense,
And trust that I mean no offense.

Ok so I forgot to add a couple of links, but believe me they are in the forums. Your just going to have to look for them if you want the originals. :-)

For My Uncle, Much Beloved

Most every night each week it's been my wont to go
Seeking solace at the Traddlebow Arms,
I quaff a cup or six among the friends I know
And pay court to all the ladies for their charms.

One night each week for uncle these pleasures I'll forego,
Though it grieve my throat (and certainly my phallus).
I'll spend that time a-singing every bawdy song I know,
Entertaining at the Marble Palace.

What you really want, uncle, is a combination deal...knobs in the shapes of pussies. Pulling open your cabinets and drawers with little kitty heads.

I shall go away from here,
A finger planted in each ear,
And come back when the coast is clear.
There's just too much I should not hear.

not listening....not listening...not listening...

I'll find a good vampyre if I've good luck.
The legends all say that good vampyres suck.
If that be the truth, then does it not follow
That better vampyres invariably swallow?

There once was a nice little Mother
Who wished she could be like The Other
Though she knew that she should
Do the things that were good
She aspired to sleep with her brother

Time I think for a wee bit of clarification. The Mothers and Fathers of Mernac are Sisters and Brothers, but not of the same blood.

A toast:
Here's to the pretenders
Who tackle their genders
And try to subvert them to something they're not.
She's got more of balls
Than the guys down the hall,
While he as a she is most wonderfully hot.

Monument Musings
All manner of original tombstone content, at reasonable prices

My arms are suited to the playing of instruments, not the administering of punishments. I pray you, wreak vengeance on the vile Troll who causes me such distress.

I laughed so hard with the following when it was posted and am now glad that Canu has popped it into his blog. I can do the same.

The God Blob cometh
And cometh right soon
Bubbling like the contents
Of an old spittoon

This is Canu Baraksson for Rick-itis. You know, friends, a lot of people suffer from this dread ailment, people that you may pass on the street every day. Yes, they look as though they've got it all together...suave, sophisticated, even handsome...yet they can't string two words together to save their souls. Your generous donations now could make all the difference. Please...give till it hurts. Send your pledge now to:

The Rick-itis Foundation
c/o Canu Baraksson
The Dark Hall of Barak
Mernac Underworld

Well he has to try and make some sort of money!

I fancy each Mother
Will shortly discover
The Other's disciples
Will thwart such attempts
They may be quite clever
But surely they'll never
Successfully manage
To gain the ascent

Me and you and a god named Bu
Scrabblin' and a-grabbin' in the sand
Me and you and a god named Bu
He's so deadly, but oh, what a man

I steal thy soul with melody.
I sing thee straightways home,
So there let thee now wend thy way,
Thou aggravating gnome.
No power hast thou to chase nor kiss
As music 'round thee slips.
If thee should'st try yon trick again,
Thee's like to lose thy lips!

Right. That should scuttle the little bugger.

On Australia Day I'm afraid I must say
That the winsome wallabies wandered away
Hopped from the outback and down to the bay
Dressed in their best frocks and ribbons so gay
And took ship for the port of Mandalay
We all waved our kerchiefs and begged them to stay
But it seems that they wanted a new place to play
And our tears will be falling for many a day
As for their return we all pray
As for their return we all pray

Down Under is a land that is extremely far away
I'd hop astride the Pegasus and fly with him all day
Until we reached that far off land, that homeplace that is thine
And humbly kneel down at your feet and take your hand in mine
And press upon that lovely hand a very grateful kiss
To thank you most sincerely for all that you've done with this

Thank-you Canu! We can only wish!

You know I think I caught up with the Balladeer and what a way to end this page but from a place on the Planet Dirt that I hold very dear. Now Canu, its up to you. Make copies and put them onsite, I'll try to do the same, with keeping records here.

I hope you all have enjoyed the journey, from start to end, our Bard and Balladeer is a treasured find and one that we all hold very dear. Keep us smiling with yer rhyming and we all will soon be having some great timin. Ok, so I'm not as god as the Master....chuckles. Now I wonder whats been happening with our Míränor language. Then I'd better set myself to some of the Disciple duties and check out what Canola and her pet gnome are doing. See Ya all on the next page.

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Saturday, 26 January 2008

Canubaraksson VI. What more? FREE fantasy fiction
is the Balladeer and Poet of LoM.

Please do not think that I jest. The verses and one liners here they do be true. Just click the link and if you like what you see Come Join The Legends of Mernac and become a part of immortality.

Welcome in to Barak's hall.
I'm sure we're going to have a ball.
Fling the Troll to his sad doom,
But please, dear, do not take my room!

No incubus is Canu.
That's a job that I don't want.
Though if I were an incubus,
I'd serve my Uncle Quont.

The facts are these, I'd have you know:
Please get them through your head,
That Canu serves the Dark Lord
For Canu is Undead.

It may be that I'll lose my soul
As Father did before me.
It may be races of the Light
Will grow to quite abhor me.

It may be that I'll lose my heart
Or possibly my mind,
But the day I lose the family jewels,
On that day I'll resign.

Oh Dad...I warned you not to eat the chili...

So many things I need to tell
So much I need to do
I feel I'm caught
By the things I ought
They've got me in a stew

I need to tell the Dark Elf wolf
Before he dips his pen
The youthful Canu was a joke
He'd not a single friend

I need to write my Uncle Quont
Another lusty story
In which his counsel saves the day
And brings the lovers glory

I need to tell Traesha she's
Exceptionally pretty
And that I thought "Mudwhiskers" was
A fine name for her kitty

Yes, there's so much I need to do
And some things that I don't
Like flirting with the Mernac gals
I'll stop I won't!

All praise to the Fathers from whom curses flow
A curse seems a blessing to us here below
And cheers for Darnesha of the Succubi Queens
For 'twas she in the end who provided the means

I need to tell the lovely wind
She's a winsome lass and merry.
In my previous post I may have sinned,
But 'twas sent from my Blackberry!

Now I always could tell a rock from a jewel
And I've never been terribly easy to fool
By Mernac's twin sons and the stars that do shine
Yon stranger's no stranger, he's of wolfish kind

Seriously think we ought to sell Troll Pincushion Dolls in the Shoppe. Probably wouldn't have much appeal for the casual visitor, but I'll bet virtually every registered Mernacian would buy one.

Oh yeah...

Christmas is coming
The wallet's getting flat
The kids think I pull the money
From my hat
Santa's elves are singing merrily
And Rudolph's nose is glowing
Some morning very soon we'll wake
To find it snowing

Coffee in Mernac?
That takes me way back,
Back to the days of my misguided youth.
I think I shall scream-o.
We can't find Anemo,
Whether coming or going, and that is the truth...

I need to remember that half a novella is not a song and takes one hell of a lot more words.

Shhhhhhh! You want to make something happen?!

While Roadius is talking everyone risks sanity.

Aggghhh! I read it, I read it! to get these panties untwisted...

Dunno, was very dark...I was very drunk...

I'm sure the Terran holiday
Has led The Other's mind astray,
And very understandably.
I find it no great mystery,
For while 'neath mistletoe he's kissed,
Some other matter's surely missed.
Faithful disciples stand in need,
Who can't afford a honey mead,
Or e'en a mug of bitter ale.
Hast e'er thou heard such doleful tale?
Yet we'll keep heart, yes, we shall wait,
Whether coins fall soon or late.
Yes, we shall be thy slaves forever
(For "late" doth surely beat out "never.")

After VI pages, you'd think I've had enough. But when is enough, enough? My friend the Balladeer needs his words immortalized and that is what I am doing here. You never know some wonderful publicist may happen along and enjoy he's verse. Oh if that happens, I'd be so proud to call him friend.

You know what else? From nearly every hundred postings I garner a page. Not bad for a person who says he can't write!

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Canubaraksson V. What more? FREE fantasy fiction
is the Balladeer and Poet of LoM.

For those of you that have not scrolled to the bottom of these pages. Here is the brief on Canu.

Canu joined LoM on the 2006/8/24. He has made in excess of 1480 forum postings. All of which I might add I am going through to locate his impromptu verses. He has many varied interests that encompass his personality including music (all sorts), reading, writing, and digital art. Canu also keeps himself occupied within his lair. If you plan to visit the bespectacled gent, please be aware that he is prone to writing a verse or two about you. He resides on the Marches of Moksun, often you can hear him before seeing him. Yes, he's the one walking around playing the Lute.

Now lets see what he's been offering from here:

Little Wind around the pole
Feel the tension mount
We are only waiting for
The blow-by-blow account

To solve all Mernac's needs and wants
Clone an additional dozen Quonts
Faced with thirteen determined faces
In- and out-baskets soon trade places

If I commit lese majestie
I hope you'll not think less of me
But choose to pardon me instead
As it was lust beguiled my head

One cannot hamper him with chains
Nor put him to the test
The cuckoo lays her egg within
Another birdie's nest
Observe a bit and in a while
You shortly will discover
He gets up to in the underworld
The same as in the over

Come neighbors! Light torches, and grab your pitchforks. The Trolls are just over the next rise...

Though ye may be of the Light
Still and all, we'll treat you right
And this one of a Darker type'll
Give welcome to The One's disciple

Catnip I have, and that to spare.
You see, it grows most everywhere,
In my front yard and in the back.
The one thing I shall never lack
Is catnip.

Legends of Mernac holds many great works.

Legends of Mernac honestly makes girls wonderful.

Legends of Mernac hosts my good words.

I need to entertain.
I need to feel I'm useful to other people.
I need immortality.

Ooops! Too serious?

I swear by Barak's missing soul
That when you drop things down the hole
The perpetrator of that cavity
A demon is who's known as "Gravity"
To aggravate his other sins
He'll ofttimes knock you from your pins
To hear the echoes that resound
When that your arse do strike the ground
But here's where you must take your pick
To choose if to the ground you'd stick
Without this demon's impish way
You very soon would float away

I need the women of Mernac to think well of me (they needn't fall in love or anything like that; thinking well of will do nicely for now)

I need to keep it a deep dark secret just how easily I am seduced.

I need to write a song that sets the entire world to singing.

I need to not care that I frequently believe my life in Mernac is the RW.

A disciple named Canu knew not what to do,
When a Shadow Guard's offer did set him to smiling,
With her face like the roses and eyes like the dew,
And a manner he rapidly found most beguiling.
Now how can it be that a creature of Light
Should call to the Dark and still have it seem right?
But believe, I'm the last one to put up a fight
For that just isn't my way of styling.

Oh my dear Little Wind...the meter...the meter is all.

How shall The Other wear a skirt?
Methinks 'twould dangle in the dirt.
Indeed when that he did get spilt
That thing he wore was just a kilt.

She wonders, she says, what lies under the kilt
To produce that amazing and intriguing tilt
'Twill widen her eyes
If she should see it rise
No harsh words now, m'lady, or it surely will wilt

Methinks Mernacian ladies are awfully hard to beat.

Beware the Stereotype, my son; the jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

Whack-fal-de-daddy-o, there's whiskey in the jar...

If my poor thumb
Should grow too numb
My ukelele for to strum
'Twill be no treat
To take the heat
That comes from clicking "mail delete!"

Why is such a delightful action invariably a swear? Never ceases to amaze me.

Thee'd best not let The Other hear thee say that; methinks he's rather fond of demons.

Busy place tonight, the Bard mused, sipping thoughtfully at his (could it be seventh?)mead.

Now what had she said? Something about 'Both Disciples swivel in their seats'...aye, that was it. He turns from the long trestle, blatantly admiring the swivel in their seats.

Little by little, day by day
We grow more lit'rate in every way

The demons are already fat and lazy, m'dear., my mistake...that would be the Trolls.

Verily, a Mernacian prostitute is really enticing.

Not that you could find such a thing around here. Nor would want to, the Succubi being so exceptionally accomplished and all.


Dogs openly dig Grumby, even ribald spaniels.

Canu stares after her, shaking his head in disbelief. "Never saw one actually grow feathers," the Bard muses to himself. Turning to retrieve his ale, the long sleeve of his coat brushes the strings of his lute, bringing forth a loud jangling and not-especially harmonious chord. A harsh laugh escapes him, and he tilts back his head and begins to sing:

Oh, we'll have another flagon
Of the Essence of the Dragon
And perhaps there'll be a shaggin'
But I shan't go on the wagon
Nay, not me, not I
Till the day that I do die

He pauses for breath, speaks with a quizzical expression passing over his face. "What's happened to wofie and the Fire Lady? It's gotten downright quiet around here..."

Ice whine: "Oh, I'm cold!...I'm free-e-e-e-e-zing!!...somebody warm me up!!!"

You're invited to the hall
Where gay balloons festoon the wall
Where you'll hear a mighty call
From the throats of one and all...

Words are the tools that writers use.
Employed correctly you can't lose,
But if you twist the meanings, honey,
It ofttimes comes out sounding funny.

With that said, Its time for this page to end. But please do not go for there will be more you know! I know there was more one liners than verse. But hey he makes me laugh til it hurts!

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Canubaraksson IV. What more? FREE fantasy fiction
is the Balladeer and Poet of LoM.

Canu dropped by, tis nice to know. He left me an email which follows.
'You're beautiful, lady, no ifs, ands, or buts. At the rate you're going, there might actually be enough material for a short book. Hate to break it to you though; I wrote at least one, maybe two more this morning already. It's hard to keep track. Big old hugs,'
Canu, thats fine. I'm patient and I will locate them all.
So here we go again: ready or not, lets look at some more of the Balladeers work.

How about magic sponges that you stick in your ears to soak up the ideas as they dribble out during sleep. In the morning, you squeeze the sponges into a glass and enjoy a most inspirational drink.

You're not an acrobat, nor yet a sword swallower
But you can play the part of your very own follower.
There's one way I can think of to maintain your serenity:
Create another user for your alternate identity.

A distinction well-earned and deserved
Proclaims the lass wickedly curved
Should your thoughts turn to lust
Take a number you must
And wait till your turn to be served

Bards, Uncle, are polite when it suits them. At least I didn't resort to out-and-out satire. By the way, welcome back. I've missed you.

Can you say "schizophrenia," boys and girls?...I knew that you could...

Mernac is a diverse land.
It has a lot of features;
10,000 years of history
And oh, so many creatures.

There's humans, Furs and Undead folk,
Might even be some cannibals,
But as I look around I wonder
Where are all the animals?

One thing to note: a good bit, like with any other discipline, is practice. That's something that anyone can do.

Can I help it if it tickles my fancy every time I tickle yours? Of course not Canu, you're just wonderful, as we both know. ;-)

Like some untamed beast
I'm in lust at the least
And I'm hoping she happens to hail me
For she's got me involved
And I'm firmly resolved
To seek my release
Without any surcease
And before very long
I'll be writing her song
Pray the Fathers my words do not fail me

Pursuit pales beside the rapture
That's engendered by the capture.
If within my sight she lingers
I may abandon eyes for fingers...

Mama Terees, that wasn't me.
It must have been my Muse.
She perches by my ear and
Whispers words that I must use.
I merely smile and nod my head
And scribble it all down.
If there be flack, I take it,
For my Muse cannot be found.
She's disappeared, she's flown the coop,
She's vanished in thin air,
Leaving me to hold the bag.
Now who thinks that is fair?

Barak's Balls! That is just too cool for words.

ohhh...forgot all about the "delicate" members...aren't they the one's you have to hand-wash?

Can I help it if I am the handsomest Undead you're ever likely to meet? A genuine, dyed-in-the-wool zephyr magnet...

Perhaps along with all the other projects we should be working on creating the Mernac Day Care Center...

I need my thumbs and fingers
To play upon the lute.
They're also rather useful
For to pick forbidden fruit.

I need my digits, one and all,
To pluck upon the lyre.
They're necessary too to drive
A truck until you tire...

Yes, I expect I can find better uses for them than to batter them with hammers.

Hah! Who says mosquitoes have poor taste?

'n ddedwydd ben-blwydd atat
'n ddedwydd ben-blwydd atat
'n ddedwydd ben-blwydd , anwylyd Julie
'n ddedwydd ben-blwydd atat

Just have to add the reply that went with the above. Um, okay, thanks Canu
*whispers* anyone have any idea what that means?

If you fall to vile contagion
And within the fever's ragin'
An incantation or a spell
May serve the purpose very well
But in times of fearful pain
Magick then I do disdain
And even if it be a sin
I'll surely ask for vicodin

When Quont doth as a lass appear
All men take note, both far and near.
Yet when he dons his manly form
Around about the ladies swarm.
Eroticism is contextual
(And bye the bye, a bit bisexual)
When all is said, when all is done
Lord Quont appeals to everyone.

An interesting allegory.
There is a moral to the story.
Remain in bed; avoid the sports.
Take exercise of other sorts.
You catch the tenor or this verse?
One leg is bad, two legs much worse.
Given a choice though, no doubt lingers:
I'd sooner break a leg than fingers!

A single dot, a blackened spot
A monicker bizarre:
To find a stranger blog-name you
Would have to travel far.

Yes, blogging's all the rage these days.
Of names there are a myriad.
But our Terees likes none of these,
And settles on a period.

It is sad. Doleful even. I shall have to write a lament for these sorry Trolls, or possibly even...a dirge.

Your pardon if I give offense,
But I must say in my defense:
One phrase that sets my ears askew
Is hearing folks exclaim "Whoo Hoo!"
Our language has so many ways
To express gladness or "hurrays."
"Whoo Hoo" this and "Whoo Hoo" that
Just seems to fall a little flat.
Like I said, I mean no "dis,"
But tell me: how'd we come to this?

Prithee, lassie, if you're able,
Take your buttocks off the table.
Aside from being rather rude
It's dreadful seasoning for the food!

The situation's strange and the implication's icky.
Tell me now: however did the wicket get this sticky?

Ever so sweetly we bind up the Trolls
And place them discretely in cereal bowls.
Slice on golden bananas or berries of red
(Unless you'd prefer to slice Trolls up instead)

How could things get any worse
When blessing can't be told from curse?

It always pleases me to see Quont gain another lassie,
Particularly the curvy sort who's got a tempting chassis.
Still, there's a little problem that I think I ought to mention:
If this keeps up, the Palace will require an extension!

Women, like cats, need no excuse. The world would be a far less tolerable place without either one of them.

I am surely no dissenter
Unless encountering "The Preventer"
Who comes between many a he and she
And goes by the name of Geography

Oh, delete is not forever (except sometimes)
They're the times it wipes out everything you had
But nothing's really damaged
Though your messages have vanished
We'll just hit re-send to save you from your sad

Most highly esteemed of wee breezes:

When I chanced to see this note
My eyes lit like a star
To know that you were well and all
In some strange land afar
I imagine we'll have to simply trust
That you'll stop when you can or when you must
But I still have to say, and hope you hear
That you are sadly missed, m'dear

Should you lay at His feet the cold carcass of goat
You've likely as not just sunk your boat
It will never hold water nor will it float
(And His temperament better would suit a stoat)
These things are important, please take note
And pay heed to the words of advice I wrote
Just a word to the wise you may certainly quote
If you don't then your skin may become a coat
To keep out the chill from The Other's throat
(He won't feel any guilt; he will merely gloat)

That'd be a great name for a band..."Inane Saliva"...or maybe it should just be called "Crazy Spit"

Oh, the Trolls are surely wishing they were stone
For the flail of The Other has cut them to the bone
They desire everybody just to leave them alone
Oh, the Trolls are surely wishing they were stone

Oh, the Trolls are surely wishing they were rock
They discovered the Other is not the one to mock
And the terrible tortures have come as a shock
Oh, the Trolls are surely wishing they were rock

Oh, the Trolls are surely wishing they were steel
Metallic mostrosities, if only that were real
When the whip descends again they wouldn't have to feel
Oh, the Trolls are surely wishing they were steel

Ummm...Father? Next time, may I watch?

Ok, well that'll be another enough this page. Let me see where I am least I'm halfway through.

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Canubasraksson III, and so it continues. FREE fantasy fiction
is the Balladeer and Poet of LoM.

We're not even into the thousandth thread yet. So here comes so more of Canubaraksson.

Should I paint this pleasant fiction
Of punishment for dereliction
And all of its resultant friction,
Regale you with such gross depiction,

Then needs I must the next offender
Draw and quarter, then to render?
Run the blighter through a blender?
Roast him till he's soft and tender?

"Where's it end?" the artisan cries.
Another sins, another dies,
But when I pause to analyze:
Depicting it makes no man wise

If you would know their fate, my brother,
Whether maimed or merely dead,
I counsel you consult The Other,
But don't forget to duck your head!

We write, we write.
See how we write,
From early dawn
To fading light.
Fountains of letters,
Barely seen,
Cascade from pen,
Display on screen.
We fear the day
Will never last.
The hours fade
Away so fast.
Dying minutes,
Seconds leave,
And not a one
Can we retrieve.
Mercy, Father,
Heed my rhyme!
That which we cannot
Keep is time.

Oh come now, m'dear friend...surely you know by now who it is that does the intentional rhyming around here...

We'll never lack for halflings
The reason, it is plain
The lassie's dance doth quite entrance
The coldest lad or swain
And though it makes but little sense
Against it he hath no defense
He must demand some recompense
Or face her sure disdain

Be he of dwarf or elven stock
Be she unlike to he
Betwixt the hard place and the rock
They sigh most lustily
For that is how the world doth go
I tell thee, friend, that it is so
That of such dances halflings grow
And evermore shall be

Tickle you fancy or tickle you plain
Tickle you once and then tickle again
The reason I do is right easy to tell
When you come to laughter it pleases me well

Wheels within wheels, my friends...see how the ripples spread...

(sung to the tune of anything that happens to pop into your head)

A thoughtful Frost
His arrogance lost,
But friends, let us be wary.
It's bound to return
And we'll shortly learn
'Twas only temporary.

Greetings, lovely "problem girl"!
Ill display makes thy head whirl?
Yet know for sure my words be true
When I avow "It ain't just you".
I've also dwelt in format hell,
And likewise write H-T-M-L.
(I even taught it for a while,
Along with sheets to set the style.)

The thing I oft have contemplated
Is how the page is generated.
Some script grabs text undoubtedly,
But how's it then displayed to me?
Does it, perchance, what I'd abhor,
The tags therein to just ignore?
I know not, and it leaves me stumped.
Meantime, m'dear, we're surely humped.

A Character Story is a royal pain where a pill can't reach...or was that a rhetorical link?

for dimeloas

When I was young my parents would be sure
To beat me if I'd peek behind the door
To Mernac, or to places of such ilk,
Where fantasy shares space with sensual silk.

Yet since I've come to manhood I've discovered
A different mood in Dad, likewise in Mother.
Subjects that erstwhile seemed to give offense
The pair of them now rise in their defense.

All this is natural and well and good,
That parents guard and guide us through childhood.
They point the way until the time we're grown.
Then we must make decisions on our own.

Though we shall miss your art and presence here,
That any bear resentment do not fear.
If we're to meet again, the Gods can tell,
But in the meantime, friend, I wish you well.

She sails in beauty like the breeze,
Over the wall and through the trees.
Sometimes rising, sometimes dipping,
From cloud to cloud so lightly skipping.
No hill so high she cannot clear it,
And never a damper on her spirit.
I'll pledge my word and not rescind:
A fervent fan of Little Wind.

And the avatar looks very nice too.

She flies to the forum, she's all in a fluster.
Her burgeoning laughter, it threatens to bust her.
Her lithe little body caught up in a wiggle,
Convulsed by a truly incredible giggle.
"Great question, Lord Quont; there must be more to come."
"Mernacians, get busy; give those scrolls a strum.
With your sexiest notions to make our heads hum,
Write a question for Quont that will make us laugh some!"

Anybody care to sing?

There are many roads to travel
Many paths to take
Puzzles to unravel
Mernac please, for goodness sake
I know this is a topic
Dear to every heart
But it may be time to stop it
And make some other start

There's a thread on down the line
And it is beckoning to us
There's other matters just as fine
That we could easily discuss
Just how long can we pursue a thing
Before the thing is gone
I'm thinking maybe that it's time
For moving on

Come back safe and whole and sound
From the darkling Earthen ground.
Wind and water, stone and tree;
Fortune, Father, follow thee.

How shall any soul be kissed
While in Mernac thou art missed?
To whom make love's sacrifice
Without the Lord of Lust's device?

See the priapismic rows
Go limp amidst sweet passion's throes.
Without the urgings of Quont's word
Flesh calls to flesh but goes unheard.

So come back safe and come back soon
To be the Pan who calls our tune.
Wind and water, stone and tree;
Fortune, Father, follow thee.

The didgeridoo's not a hit
You need too much wind to play it
It's moans and it's groans
Nearly rattling your bones
And it sounds like it's taking a s**t!

Actually I like the way they sound, but somehow this was irresistible.

Who would believe it?
Can we all trust
That Arleas yearns for
The presence of lust?

I drew my map on a slice of bread
Lest hunger overtake me
Yet now I fear to eat it, dear
For directions might forsake me

Still I'm not concerned that I may get burned
I have left myself an out
The map I drew has a backup too
On this moldy brussel sprout

Aye, horney dust...made from an olde family recipe...Pulverized Horney Toads well mixed with Eye of Nude and tongue of Frenchman...a few other things as well...Igor, fetch the Elixir...

Ok, so I'm only at the 800th post. Its a big search for all the verse. But one that is none the less fun. Til the next page, I'm heading off to the land of nod instead.

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Canubasraksson II, and so it continues. FREE fantasy fiction
is the Balladeer and Poet of LoM.
On looking back at the thread/s where these came from. I think its pretty safe to say that our Canu had too much enjoyment in one thread. But it is throughly entertaining, for me at the very least to go back and read all the posts. Oh and Canu, thanks for the memories and giggles.

Surely this cannot be right
She mistakes my meaning quite
Implication there was not
Except that it requires thought
When the buyer's hands be hot
Consider well the item bought
Lest with flame it be imbued
And vendor thinks you should be sued

Pray call off these Elementals
Ere another stone they fling
I have naught to do with them
The stones I cherish form a ring

Indeed. We ought to make up t-shirts bearing the motto "Sex may sell, but cookies really satisfy" or some such. Hmmm...this is a cookie on vibrator? Tsk! Fer shame, Morgan; get your mind out of the oven.

RIDDLE: What starts with "F", ends with "UCK", and makes people come in a hurry?

That would be a "firetruck" of course; if they don't come in a hurry, your house burns down. Tsk...another great mind undone by cheap humor...

M'Lord, you can't highjack this thread
For I will vow upon my head
That in exchange for touchy-feely
This thread is offered you most freely
Nor can you, Lord, subvert its aim
Which is to offer up a game
To all Mernacians who would play
Until R-L calls them away
Do what you will; there is no test
We cannot pass, and turn to best

(hums) I'm in the mood for lust, won't someone share it with me-e-e-e-e....

Valorius wrote:



The first, writ in the present tense,
I like right well, for it makes sense.
The second though, for goodness sake
I can't of it a sentence make
And as a child grows through a phase
So words betimes are just a phrase.
A trap for authors, all unwary,
Sentences grow fragmentary.
Taskmaster hard I sometimes am
Demanding, and don't give a damn.
But oftentimes, I must confess,
My opinion's meaningless.
Valorius, I bid you, count to ten,
And when ten's reached then try again.

And for the Fathers' sake, don't listen to me. As my students used to say "I'm just playin' wit' you, man".

Why, 'tis a veritable Tower of Babel!

To hear such matters strikes me odd
Admissions spoken by a god
Yet since himself the tale does tell
No blasphemy, and all is well

For dimeloas:

The world is not a perfect place,
So keep the frown from off your face.
The more you work, the more you strive;
It lets you know you're still alive.
Be it so humble, I suspect
Your effort's worthy of respect.
Stay focused then, and in the end
You'll find that which you seek, my friend

This is quite the conundrum
This being we know as "The One"
Perhaps if what we hear is true
We should address him as "The Two"

Quont Ubiquitously Opens Numerous Thighs?

Ohhh...I think that came out rather well. What say ye, Oh Lord of Lust?


Why...that's...pure poetry, Skjald. Not sure just what it means, but that's often the mark of genius. Or at least so I've heard.

You sometimes it pays for you to read back a thread post or two, just to see what the Balladeer is carrying on about.

Patience is a virtue, and I, all modesty aside, am one of the most virtuous.

What would I not give for the hue of her eyes,
To know them for mine sans pretense or disguise?
The deepest of oceans? The purest of skies?
These compare not a whit to the orbs that I prize.
Their shade like to shadows in forests of old,
Yet rivalling gemstones set sparkling in gold.
The color of cobalt, sweet loyalty's hue,
Imprison my vision on she I pursue.
Forever I follow, be it e'er so unwise;
To be sure, there's no cure for the lure of her eyes.'s kind of a paragraph...sort of...well, maybe not...

Couldn't we go walking together
Out beyond the valleys and trees?
Beta tester threads stand like heather
Beckoning gently, asking please.
None of them display a lock
And if they do we'll clean...their...clock!

Hey there, Lady of Fire...I thought you were a beta tester.

Tame it is not,
But spicy and hot.
To all good Mernacians we call:
Go read what Quont wrote,
Or you're missing the boat.
Believe me, you will have a ball.

Ode to a (formerly) Silent Incubus

Lavender's lovely on flowers in Spring
But backed up with beige early blindness doth bring.
Put no faith in the Editor; often it lies,
And produces surprises to frustrate the eyes.
It promises beauty, but what do you think
When your words disappear like invisible ink?
The words of the incubus, written in frost,
Dissolve into mist and all meaning is lost.
Yet since he's been "Skjald-ed" we notice how fast
He makes love to a hue that provides more contrast.
Blow a blast on the trumpets! Let all Mernac rejoice!
For Incubus Frost hath recovered his voice.

He led them down the streets of town
And straight to Father Quont
And vowed they surely would receive
Most anything they'd want

Oh, Frosty the Inc man...

(If it goes on any longer it gets really silly....)

Why it does not pay to ignore the iucubus...

He who takes lightly the incubus
Has never yet spied one in action,
For when he comes 'round
The ladies have found
He's an object of instant attraction.

Men have learned, to their cost,
Of this fellow named Frost.
They wish he would go to perdition.
You may as well hear it:
Betwixt man and spirit,
There's dreadfully stiff competition.

Aye, and those that don't just yet we are veering this way, one mind at a time...

Tickets please, for the Last Faerie Ferry...

Ok, so now its time to start another page. I am certainly hoping that if any readers enjoy these posts/poems and verses that they link to this page and give not only myself credit for going through all these, but the actual Balladeer himself. Canubaraksson!

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