How is Rio?How's Rio?How is Rio? by ~MeteorSage
I type this as my fingers are nice and icey since the house-heater broke down and we won't have a guy from sears come in to see it till Monday.
How is that Brasillian summer?
I've heard so many songs about it that I can't help but romanticize it. Perfect white sands, sprawling metropolis, young-spirited people by the millions...
How is the Cristo?
that icon of faith turned symbol of nationality. Whose arms spread to embrace the horizon and all the people it contains. To welcome the weary and give them rest saying, "You can belong here. You too, can be one of us..."
Like the rain running from the mountains and back to the sea, like the tree that turns to mulch and then tree again, like an exasperated musician that runs out of notes and returns to the base "do"
"How is Rio?"
I, RongoI, Rongo- son ofI, Rongo by ~MeteorSage
Whrot- Orc mercenary and mate of
Allise- Human huntress of bandits.
I remember that my mother used to go on many mercenary
missions; its how she made money. I don’t remember my father at all; my mother
said he died a long time ago. When my mother left, I’d wait at the pub. My
mother trusted the bar because it was run by a proud ale-master who had been my
father’s friend. When my mother came back, she’d show me the town at night, and
by day we’d both wear cloaks and kept out of sight. Sometimes, we would travel
to other human town to see festival days, but we only watched; and once she
took me to see the mountain where my father was born, but we didn’t go into his
village. I asked my mother why we always hid, she said that it was because she
wouldn’t like the way people looked at me if they saw me.
“Orcs would say your skin is too smooth, humans would say your teeth are too
big. But you’re my little tree-breaker and
I, Rongo: As for the schoolgirl outfitThe sun rose over the tropics.I, Rongo: As for the schoolgirl outfit by ~MeteorSage
An elf smiling way too much, dressed in bright clothes and far too many jingling bells was driving a covered wagon through a forgotten trail in the jungle. Beside him, a mangy-looking human, obese and in dirtied noble's clothes held a crossbow. Soon, they would be in the city of ruins and would sell their wares, carefully bound and stocked- 14 schoolgirls from a far-off land, sent here in a gesture of friendship by two long-standing rival nations. Such easy prey for Jingle the Bard and his accomplice, Beadle the Illusionist. There were three rows on that wagon and five heads with short dark hair on each one. Most of them were crying, but some had already exhausted their tears and sat silently in that slaver's cart.
Suddenly a couple of men stepped out in front of the road with quarterstaves in hand.
"That's as far as you'll go Jingle."
The elf laughed slyly, like a chirping sparrow having a panic attack.
"Oh, and I suppose you lot ar
Caught in a webA little girl sat on the lawn, gazing up at the beautiful sky above, thinking of sweet nothings and anything else little girls dream about.Caught in a web by ~missanimestranger
Her soft, cotton expression screwed up in confusion. Above her was a strand of, wire? String? Oh what was it exactly? A spider's web. Concluded the little girl. She drew her eyes up the strand to find it was attached to a scrawny, child of tree, but no web.That's terribly odd. Thought the girl.
She then proceeded to follow the strand down wards, sometimes tracing the strand lightly with her fingertips. Her cats, who before had been lying beside her, were now wide awake, completely mesmerised by their mi