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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Friday, 25 January 2008

Canubaraksson FREE fantasy fiction
is the Balladeer and Poet of LoM.

Here is a little bit of trivial information for you. 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 start at the very beginning: It all started with these wonderful words.

Swamp King casts his spell...

in the shimmering bubbles he can read events of past, present, and future.

Aah now look what I found Morgans very own introduction. Read this to know him just that little bit more. From here on in the links to the threads will be embedded in a part of the verse. This will save time and space and allow you just read to your hearts content.

Beware the Incubus, my friend
The throat that purrs, the claws that catch
You're like to break before you bend
Your chastity he'll snatch

(with apologies to Lewis Carroll)

Of course Canu is also renowned throughout Mernac to make some rather entertaining comments. Some will also be referenced throughout this post.

Well, in the words of the notorious sign seen hanging on the men's room wall:

"We aim to please; you aim too, please."

How was the bumble-bee dance invented?
I t happened when the hive fermented.
'Ware the mead!

My thanks, Great Lord. I trust this "Rickitisi" is not a contagious malady.

Just remember those words Canu, as we go through your posts! ;-)

I visit the blog and oh, what do you think?
Near the tail of the page I encounter a link.
Is its destination familiar or what?
Indeed, for it leads to my Mernac blog spot.
Oh Father of Lustiness, gracious Lord Quont,
What more could the commonest commoner want
Than inclusion within your own hyperlink ranks?
For this, Noble Father, I offer my thanks.

Be there mischief or be there none, I purely do adore a pun.

Dear Kris,

Reality's a nasty word
Yet not so real as it pretends
A bit of fun's more genuine
Conversing here with friends

So when life gives that uber-bite
To bite it back is only right
Such action keeps our spirits bright
Or so I comprehend


Yon Troll raised a ruckus in style
And his method would make a stone smile
He employed his own bum
As a symphonic drum
And marched by himself, single file

Oh, blast! I misread the header. I thought it just said "Siberlee's HOT", and came in here thinking there was art of the titillating sort. I guess my eye have been looking at the screen too long.

A Poem

A little wind's antics
On a hot summer's day
Chill me and thrill me
And blow me away

Thankyou Canu!

A virgin is a lovely creature,
Who hath but one redeeming feature:
That when her blood gets boiling hot
Remain a virgin she will not.

Virgin? Oh, not a chance, m'Lord. I was reading The Aeneiad; it's a misprint for Virgil.

Oh, aye...slippery inside...not going there (but sure wish I could).

M'Lord Quont, has it ever occurred to you that you might justifiably take on the title "Lord of the Flies"? As well as Lord of the Buttons, Snaps, Hooks, and sundry other assorted fasteners?

Most fortunate is unicorn
For maidens pure adore his horn
He likes them well
They think he's swell
But how it stands up none can tell

Sorry, m'dear, I missed that cry of damsel in distress earlier. Now, lets see...

If its greasy, it'll slip in easy!
If your feeling flexy, and a little sexy
Just visit current cardholder Quont.
He's payin' what you know you want.
Just don't expect a bona fide lay.
That we'll save for another day!
Or possibly another night.
Quick, Li'l Wind, turn out the light.

Not a masterpiece, perhaps, but serviceable...and we do all love our service.

If The One
Is undone
Who shall Fathers oppose?
Lets make get-well cards.
We could, if we chose.

When involved in doing art
You've some ideas right from the start
But whether painting, tale, or song
You make it up as you go along

P's and Q's I am all too familiar with, and mind them constantly. Concerning F's and C's you may have to enlighten me a bit. If they are what I think they are (I should be so lucky) I don't mind them a bit; in fact, I rather enjoy them. Oh. Did I just say that? Well yes, I suppose I did. A few days in the woods will do that to a person sometimes.

We rate our art, our pictures e'en
As some must not be viewed
By those below age of eighteen
The sexual and nude
The system there is very plain
And so, forsooth, we score'em
But it would be a dreadful pain
To have to rate the forum

Sorry, friends, the words just kind of popped intae me head.

Caution: Peril Ahead
Curling Toe Zone

-- seen on a road sign outside the Marble Palace

The writer narcoleptic
Hath a Muse that's far from septic
Typing fingers never hindered
By pneumonia or the flu

Still I never yet have quibbled
Over "tit bits" to be nibbled
Tales of tail, they will be splendid
When the Little Wind blows through

Yet the tenor of this letter
Is to say, lass, do get better
For to be in grip of illness
Can't be pleasant, dear, for you

Morgan's scribing comes and goes
Like the wind that gently blows.
But if you seek it you will find
It's yet unfinished; do you mind?
Then what is there to read, my dear?
Few stanzas only, still unclear
On what direction it should take
(Or where to add commercial break)

In reading it you'll say, I'll bet,
"He walks the wire without a net."
'Tis truth, I have made no outline,
But still have hopes 'twill turn out fine.
Upon my blog it doth reside,
For I was never one to hide
My light beneath a bushel basket.
Do you seek it? Simply ask it.

One thing to me is puzzling.
'Tis not the fire nor yet the sting.
It's that, as whip and wind do loom,
No one's suggested "Get a room!"

Oh least Vickie will bring cookies...

Does this really bother you?
Think of all the Fathers do:
Keeping Mernac smoothly running,
Joining in when we are funning.
Keeping us on pathways straight.
Straight to where? You've asked too late!
In this land, all tempest tossed
It may be Mothers have been lost.
But if you cannot find a Mother
Perhaps we've fed her to The Other!

I think its time to call it quits
but only for this
page as its making
'Little Wind'
go into
fits of laughter.

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Thursday, 24 January 2008

Quonts Questions

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

Tell us about your first kiss.

Anemo responds with Uncle you really want to know about the first kiss. Hmm, I gather the kiss would be in ethereal form. That would have to have been with .... Oh boy I just can't tell. Go ask Canola! I bet she'll tell all about her first kiss, thats if you can get past that gnome. At least he's not here and annoying me!

OMG! theres a little man here.....eeekk he just kissed me!

Anemo runs on the wind to the nearest waterfall. Spitting and spluttering all the way.

'Now that ought teach that windy soul to leave my Goddess alone.' a peeked hat snorts and stamps out of the room, whistling a happy tune.

Creators response: My first kiss. Oh that was so very long ago. We were parked by the beach, we'd been a part of a car rally all that day. The sun was setting and I was cold, he gave me his cardigan. Oh it was great it smelled just like he did. We sat on the bonnet of the car and it sort of just happened. I thought I was so in love, my heart near pounded out of my chest, my knees went weak and I'm guessing I wore a grin like the Cheshire cat afterwards. We were together for four years, but then he cheated on me. Broke my young heart. The girl he cheated on me with trapped him by getting pregnant, so he married her. They now have two kids and have been separated for the last five years or more.
I know I ran into one of his mates. Aaah to recall the memories of the young. Now my hubby's kiss, whoa, I knew then that I was going to have his baby and that was just the first kiss. It was deep and he's eyes revealed more than words can say.

Monday, 21 January 2008

Disciple Report & Chatter. FREE fantasy fiction

OMG! It’s been some time since I’ve written a daily report, so I guess I had better get to it. This past party season, I’ve truly not spent partying, though there has been a lot of wishful thinking on my part for that score. (Glares at the creator, you know she’s all work and no play. Don’t think I’ve not seen you dancing around the office, and yes thank-you for the spin and lift of the skirt, it was appreciated. NOT! lol)

Let me just start by Welcoming Sola, Canola, & Linthur to the God and Goddess ranks. (Some minor revision performed on this piece. ;-) )

This means I’m going to have to be even more wary than before. I hear that Linthur's
sense of smell is a bit off, but hey he has good reason. Mine would be if I’d given up what he did. I must say my creator is looking forward to reading some of the tales that Linthur will have to tell. I can say this though, he’s certainly going to be on of the Fathers that I’d like to know was near.

Alright so this isn’t a weekly report, per say. I’m allowed to have a windbag (lol, funny, seeing as I am the local windbag.) about the Newest Gods to have landed on the shores of Mernac.

Ok now there is Sola,is she not one of the prettiest Goddess’s on Mernac. With exception of course to Siberlee. (Have to keep in the good books there; you just don’t know what Siberlee might do. We women can tend to get a little testy at times and really who wants to upset a Goddess, I hear Father Elsen did once. However that’s a tale to be told on a oncoming date.) Oh, it seems I went off on a tangent again. Lol, I’m such a windbag today, especially with so much news to spread throughout the lands.

Sola Goddess and Mother of Life and Light, is Matriarch to the Elven races and patron of all the heavenly bodies. (So we have her to thank, I think Quont has thanked her time again, for the blessing of beautiful bodies. You know it for truth, he has a particular affliction the body beautiful, though he does not walk around with rose colored glasses on. All bodies are beautiful to Uncle Quont, especially if their headed in his or his disciples direction.) You know Sola has a little control over me, though I think Father Elsen tends to get a little riled up about that, not all the time. But hey, we disciples do what we are to do and if we’re asked to do something by one of the Gods, it does not matter which side of Mernac they come from, we jump. Though, I think Quont’s disciples tend to say “Yes, Mother, Father.” Then they go back and report to Uncle about the request.

Oh and finally Canola, apparently she is wandering around Mirdoren or Mernac. No ones actually caught sight of her as yet. There’s a rumor that she’s having one of her mood swings, thankfully they don’t seem to last that long. Whispers on the winds have it that she’s had a bit of tantrum and is behaving a little childish. Also she’s hiding from Uncle Quont’s advances, why I don’t know. Uncle Quont can tend to be a little nasty at times, but really who could blame him, he is after all, a male trapped in a female body. How’d you like to be experiencing everything a woman does (and I don’t mean the good stuff, like climaxes and the like. Though he does like looking at his own breasts, nice as they are.)

Geez, I must have been bitten by the succubi for the amount of times I’ve mentioned Uncle in this post. I better watch out or Father Elsen may get a little jealous of the attention. (Looks around warily. As they say in Mernacian ‘Ñaexäsä kiso ouukumo sael ymyshae kisi rouxusä Aevenáanbaalu Gaekixo.’)

Don’t you just love faeries, their flighty little creatures? Did you know they can shape change? Have you ever seen one that has changed to human size? If you thought they were tremendous in their small forms, catch sight of one when they are bigger and you’ll be awe struck or frightened witless. Then you have to take into consideration Sara Dragonmist
now there’s a faery that one has to be wary around, she speaks with dragons and has Canola’s ear.
Though do be wary of those dark faeries, they don’t work with Canola. Though Canola does have some mocha skinned faeries, tenebrous as they are. Often being mistaken for the dark faeries, it’s hard on them and rustling's have it that they have a little mean streak in them. You know those faeries really can be deceiving take a look at the Crystal Faeries, they practice a form of martial arts, known as Sel'Ma'Noh. Apparently it’s a beautiful sight to watch them practice this art form, but take it from the breeze don’t mess with these creatures, they can be deadly.

Well that’s my welcome to the newly awakened God’s and Goddess’s and my words of advice on the matter. If you can call it advice! I will say they will be God’s to watch, certainly as they grow. I’ll be looking forward to their Festivals, now that they are awake.

Legends of Mernac
One World...Endless Possibilities