It took some debating to come up with the title of this thread. I have learned a fair bit from ROaTNO and WN, so I endeavor, with this new thread, to weave an embroidered cloth. One with less flaws, although it doesn't hurt to try something new.
Reference to the "Imaginarium" is almost an in-joke. However, I herewith introduce a new idea, one that is most certainly not novel but challenges the concept of the meta-term. This isn't the Imaginarium. This is the Phantasmagorium. No Children Under Eleventeen Admitted. If you are under eleventeen, leave now.
An Introduction
Silent serenades. Troublesome sighs. Solace in surreal ambience. A desired truth. A dose to dote, to dope, the wayward soul. It only works if you believe it would, sir, mister. Galatea? No, I do not know her name. Lindra, I think she is. Yes, sweetish. Ambrose? What's he to do with this? The supple wine of the nectar peach with rose hip tea would do. We drink a sip to drug our health. Our hearth? No, health. Oh, let him in, Letum's solemn twin. What worse could he do than what I have, such sombre song? I shall slip peacefully for once, sound and somnial some. Eos shall do what she does and I shall wake when it is done. So long imagined sun, the bull waits with you between its horns to enter into Lore.
The signature makes me wonder briefly if that name is really all that set apart from the others. Perhaps it is more than a signature.
Way to state the ambiguous.
Also, I can't read cursive too well...
You mean, you can't read bad handwriting well. I didn't realize how unreadable some of these names are. The signature is near perfect, which is odd, because that's not even my legal name.
From left to right, top to bottom as of Aug 27:
Crowman White Rabbit Ibilis Marabou The Bullman Lena Charles Taberdag Lagless Kinsiung Stallion Man Lindra Union Gander Caelum Hen Rainheart Alfred T. Kineson Space Cowboy Condor Awesome
Heroes and Legends
Had Stallion Man been born a tiger, the Bullman's quest would already be over. Had Stallion Man been born a tiger, the Bullman's quest would have never started. The only tigerkin he knew was Bakfu and with what happened last time, he doubt that he would ever retrieve a kanabo. Perhaps, the only one the Bullman ever feared was Bakfu... and Bakpu who chronicled his magnificent journeys... and his own mother.
A tiger was as strong as a bull if not stronger and where a bull had horns, a tiger had claws, more of them and sharper, and teeth to match. The chimeras beyond the Demon Gate were more abominable than the two combined. The Bullman would never survive beyond the Gate alone but he would also never want to concede and join Bakfu when there was nothing in it for him. Yet, he must if he was ever to deliver the bones of Kinsiung to the Obsidian. Without a doubt, he was certain that the other bones had been or will have been delivered to the Quartz, the Turquoise, the Lapis, the Malachite, the Nephrite, and the Pearl before he had retrieved a kanabo.
Failure was dishonor. Dishonor was disgrace. Disgrace was soul death. Soul death was the death of a hero and only legends were ever reborn to fullness. Duty, Direction, and Fortune were the three strands of Destiny. Every being lived by at least any one strand at any time. Heroes lived by two. Legends lived by three. Those of Duty lived routine lives. Those of Direction lived unfulfilled dreams. Those of Fortune lived for themselves. Direction and Fortune was borne of greatness. Duty and Direction achieved greatness. Duty and Fortune had greatness thrust upon it. Duty, Direction, and Fortune were together mercurial. Anyone who lived by all three led a tumultuous life that shaped Destiny as Destiny shaped it.
Click. Tock. Tick. Clock. The luminescent hands of Chronos march across the dial, a scythe in one hand. Know men stand amongst his hands. No men rejoyce, dance at lack and lack, but at the end, again we wake as we are borne to sleep between Nut and Geb. The air is thick with strife and the hours gone. Irene, long forgotten by my tongue, lingers in my mind, not a shadow, not an imprint, not an essence, but a fancy, a whim, an aether. Men tell stories about the void, about the fluid that fills the abyss and often with the taint of Ananke. From Chaos, from one, came two and from two came three, from three came everything. It happened because it was meant to happen. It was meant to happen because it happened. Do I know her name? Does she know mine? It is inevitable. Tiny Tim will live, but what do we Learn?
Heroes and Legends was nice. The information about the setting revealed is certainly enough to pique my curiosity. The last paragraph was also the sort of thing I can really get into. Not overly romantic, but poetic. It also seemed to me to be a nice transition into the next bit.
The last sentence of Apercu was excellent: The unmistakable allusion was perfect* for wrapping it up.
Irene, long forgotten by my tongue, lingers in my mind,
This phrase is especially worthy of note. Not entirely sure why.
The last sentence of Apercu was excellent: The unmistakable allusion was perfect* for wrapping it up.
I hate it when people do that! Why do you have a lingering asterisk when there is no footnote! Where is the footnote! Do people know I waste many minutes trying to find footnotes when there aren't actually any footnotes!
This phrase is especially worthy of note. Not entirely sure why.
Well-twined assonance and alliteration in iambic? One of my favorite poetic devices. I didn't realize it until you pointed that phrase out. Subtle, yet poignant. Unless you mean metaphorically, then I wouldn't know exactly.
Did what? I post the same day I finalize anything plus an hour or six. It's a collage of characters that form characters' names and colored according to character/characteristics.
Why do you have a lingering asterisk when there is no footnote!
Same reason you used an exclamation point instead of an interrobang.
George Orwell probably said that good writers say what they want to say in as few words as possible. The hanging asterisks tells you that the word perfect was qualified in some way. No further information was necessary; you can extrapolate what qualifying statements might be associated with an assertion of perfection.
Okay, so I forgot about the footnote while writing my post :$.
Unless you mean metaphorically, then I wouldn't know exactly.
I meant how it sounded. Definitely the well-twinned assonance and alliteration in iambic.
Same reason you used an exclamation point instead of an interrobang.
You mean quesclamation mark!
Not happy with this one, but it's been too long since the last installment.
Draft Animals Freedom Trust
The air rattled with the rhythm of hooves and wheels. Standing by the side of the road, the Bull and the Stallion turned their heads as the crashing of hoof and wheel on compacted dirt slowed to a trot. A pangolin waved at them from his seat at the front of the oxcart.
"Yo! You two!" the pangolin called. "You're headed the same way as us, right?" The pangolin vaguely waved back towards the caravan. "Yea..." the Bullman replied. "Cool. Would you like to join me and my crew until we get to the next town? You two look like hardy adventurers and we could use the company." Stallion Man leaned slightly toward the Bullman and remarked, "At all offended by the oxen used to pull the carts?" "What? Why?" the Bullman asked. "Are you offended by eunuchs?" "Not bullocks, twit, draft animals." "Well, excuse me if I don't agree with the ideals of Draft Animals Freedom Trust because they're DAFT!" "Ha ha. Can ride if you want, but I am walking," Stallion Man replied. "Second thought, you're more likely to get into trouble on your own."
Silence was a dread to the lonely soul and to the wary ears. The lonely desired the company of the like-minded. The wary desired the calm in the cacophony of the birds and the rodents in the trees and the grass. Yet, it went unnoticed as it enveloped the Bullman's heroic narratives and Stallion Man's redactions, not from the lack of laughter but from the lack of chatter more preoccupied with survival.
The singing of arrows pierced the fabric of the tale and bandits rushed from the foliage to block the caravan from advancing or retreating. With a heroic stance and a heroic boom, the Bullman demanded that they disperse or enter into a world of pain. Of course, as is requisite of any legitimate band of bandits, they did not stand down and attacked. As a result of the struggle, which the Bullman will tell you he won and the Stallion Man will tell you he didn't, the bandits had dispersed in defeat and the Bullman was unconscious. Stallion Man will tell you that the Bullman had been knocked unconscious when he tripped while chasing a bandit, but the Bullman will tell you he had not, and he would be right because he had been poisoned.
