These are problems how?


These aren’t issues in my book, LOL! :D

Originally posted on Adventures and Musings of an Arch Druidess:


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Hee hee

ESO Fan Fiction: Search for the Sky-Crystals – Part IV

Tur’a lunges at the mage, hoping to distract her from summoning another minion. The elf is closing on the other enemy, who has yet to reveal what fighting abilities and skills he possesses – he has drawn a sword and holds a buckler in a defensive position as he braces against the elf’s attack.

The mage turns quickly, waving her hands and casting a dark spell at the ground under Tur’a’s feet – black crystals encase her legs to the knee. Trapped! She struggles to free herself, managing to get her right leg loose. The mage gestures again, and Tur’a is flat on her back from a black, crystalline projectile. She struggles to free her leg and get to her feet…rage is building, and she fights to keep control.

The elf has slowed his steps and drawn a bow. Pulling back on the string, he rains poison-tipped arrows down on the mage – she rolls out of the way, but is struck on the leg by one of the arrows. Turning his attention to the other foe, the elf fires a single arrow at the center of the buckler. The shield-bearer is driven back a couple of feet, nearly dropping his sword and buckler at the unexpected force of the impact. He stumbles, dropping to one knee. The elf’s spotted cat leaps at the downed man, lashing out with claws…the man is just able to lift his shield to fend off the attack.

Tur’a’s panther has dispatched the second minion and turns his attention to the mage, who appears ready to summon yet another minion. Tur’a knows that this one could wreak havoc, and is all too aware of her vulnerable position. With a shout, she frees her leg and rolls to her feet, drawing on her own inner fire. She reaches out towards the mage – and a chain of arcane flame whips forth, drawing the mage close. “Got you,” she says to the surprised mage, promptly knocking her backwards with a savage sweep of her sword. The mage is now flat on her back, dazed from the blow and from the poison making its way through her system. Tur’a runs forward, dispatching the fallen mage swiftly. One down, one to go…she turns to see how the elf is faring.

The elf has swapped out his bow for a staff, shooting a ball of flame at the shield-bearer, forcing him backwards. Tur’a charges, bowling the shield-bearer over. The elf blasts a massive wall of flame at the downed man, who is incinerated before he can emit a scream. It’s over, but there’s no time to waste – they still need to get through the gate to safety.

Their cats crouch near to allow their respective masters to mount, then they’re off again, charging through the gate, dodging the arcane fire raining down from the mages on the wall. They race to the nearest fortress, dismounting only when they reach the broad, stone steps of the interior. Tur’a inspects her panther carefully, employing her own staff of healing on some evil-looking scrapes, scratches, and cuts. The elf does the same for his mount, except he applies salve from a small, green bottle to treat any wounds he finds.

She turns and looks at him for a moment. “Well,” she says, “I suppose introductions are in order. It’s rude to not know the name of one who fought at your side, so – I’m called Tur’a by family, friends, and acquaintances.” The elf looks up from his ministrations. “Call me Baragon,” he says. “I prefer it to ‘Red’ or ‘Flame-Hair.’ ” He laughs, pointing at his blazing red hair. Tur’a chuckles. “Understood. The names that others pick for us can be difficult to tolerate, especially those given by siblings.” Baragon laughs louder. “Truth spoken!”

Tur’a turns back to her panther, scratching around his ears. “You did well, dark one. Get some rest for now.” He purrs with contentment, then wanders off to his favourite corner. Baragon watches them, his tending complete. “If you don’t mind, Tur’a,” he says, “would it be too much trouble if I accompany you when you go after the other sky-crystals?” He takes out his bow and inspects it closely, waiting for her reply. “I suppose you can,” she replies after a moment. “You don’t seem to require hand-holding, like many I’ve encountered in my travels!” She eyes him covertly, having not removed her helm yet. He isn’t as slightly built as many of his kind seem to be, and he doesn’t wear their traditional armour. “One who can hold their own in a battle is always welcome to travel with me,” she says. “Give me an hour to eat and rest, and we can go get the crystal at the southern gate.” Baragon bows slightly. “Of course – that’s good advice, and I believe that I will do the same thing.” Smiling, he moves to the interior of the fortress, his mount near his side. Tur’a walks over to where her panther dozes and sits cross-legged next to him. Time to meditate before the next foray.

More truth


This is a fact…I’ll never stop playing! ;)

Originally posted on Adventures and Musings of an Arch Druidess:


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Big move?

Got this email from an old friend…


Oh, my…

Originally posted on Chris The Story Reading Ape's Blog:


We were dressed and ready to go out for a dinner and theater evening. We turned on a ‘night light’, flipped the answering machine on, covered our pet parrot and put the cat in the backyard. Then we phoned the local taxi company and requested a ride.

The taxi arrived and, as we opened the front door, the blasted cat scooted back in the house. We didn’t want her shut in the house because she always tries to get at the parrot. So my wife walked out to the taxi while I went back inside to get the cat – who ran upstairs with me in hot pursuit.

Waiting in the cab, my wife didn’t want the driver to know the house would be empty for the night; so she explained that I would be out in a minute. “My husband’s just going upstairs to say good-bye to…

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Joke of the Day


LOL – this is a good one! :D

Originally posted on Nutsrok:

The Old Monk
A new monk arrives at the monastery. He is assigned to help the other monks in copying the old texts by hand.

He notices, however, that they are copying copies, not the original books. So, the new monk goes to the head monk to ask him about this. He points out that if there were an error in the first copy, that error would be continued in all of the other copies.

The head monk says “We have been copying from the copies for centuries, but you make a good point, my son.” So, he goes down into the cellar with one of the copies to check it against the original.

Hours later, nobody has seen him. So, one of the monks goes downstairs to look for him. He hears a sobbing coming from the back of the cellar, and finds the old monk leaning over one…

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R.I.P., Ann Rule

Ann Rule: 22 October 1930 – 26 July 2015

Ann Rule, noted “true-crime” author, passed away on Sunday at the age of 83. From the Huffington Post:

True-crime writer Ann Rule signed a contract to write a book about an unknown Seattle serial killer six months before he was identified as her co-worker Ted Bundy, who shared the night shift at Seattle’s Crisis Clinic. The woman credited by her publisher with reinventing the previously male-dominated true crime genre by focusing on the victims has died at age 83. Rule wrote more than 30 books, including “The Stranger Beside Me,” which profiled Bundy. Rule and Bundy met in 1971 and their relationship was mostly a grim coincidence, except that he later confessed to eight murders in the state of Washington. The FBI says Bundy started to kill attractive college students in Washington state around 1974 and was first arrested in 1975, but he later escaped and continued killing…Rule’s book on Bundy — her first and most famous — was published in 1980. She said she corresponded with him until his death. Rule died at Highline Medical Center at 10:30 p.m. Sunday, said Scott Thompson, a spokesman for CHI Franciscan Health. Rule’s daughter, Leslie Rule, said on Facebook that her mother had many health issues, including congestive heart failure. “My mom died peacefully last night,” Leslie Rule wrote. “She got to see all of her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.” Ann Rule, who went to work briefly at the Seattle Police Department when she was 21, began writing for magazines including “True Detective” in 1969. A biography on her author website says she has published more than 1,400 articles, mostly on criminal cases. Rule said she was fascinated by killers’ lives, going back to their childhood to find clues about why they did what they did. But her books focused on victims, and she became an advocate for victims’ rights.

I have many of her books; I always found them to be well-written and fascinating. She did her research on each case and ensured that the facts stood out – at the same time, she brought the human aspect of the victims and families to the forefront. Her books on Ted Bundy, Diane Downs (Small Sacrifices), and Gary Ridgway, the Green River Killer, were of interest to me, as they were local events. I understand that many of Ann’s books were made into television movies that are most likely aired on Oxygen, Lifetime, OWN, and other “women’s” channels…but I’ve not watched a one. The books are always far more detailed than the movies, and one can use their own mind to imagine the scenarios that Ann described in the pages.

I’ll miss her writing – she was good.

More truth



I’m good at doing this! :D

Originally posted on Adventures and Musings of an Arch Druidess:


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