The Snow Arena

[Marcus Wolfe]

Huzzah!

 

It is time for Marcus to go on a zombie-chainsawing spree!

[nosisab]

?

 

Well, everything in the universe has been destroyed, so.....

 

I'm really hoping you have a time machine or a time reverse spell or a universal reset button or a restore the universe spell because if you don't we are royally

F***ED

have you ever thought what "everything in the universe has been destroyed" means?

 

and remember NO HUMAN CAN UNMAKE WHAT THE OLD ONES GAVE TO THEN (wolves counts yet less in this capacity).

 

I was thinkamancing some way to recover your 'life' from a drug bad trip nightmare, more and more this seems a real bad idea.

 

"Know" my name is the name men have given to me across the eons. It means "The one no one knows" or "He who is unknown to everyone" in an ancient language (and there are the ones that tend to think of me as more than Who, they are promptly discouraged at this).

 

"Know" I shape reality at my leisure.

"Know" I grew a loving for the fragility and beauty of life, and all life. But, he who dares to menace life beyond limits is likely to be found unworthy of it from me.

 

Finally: "know" I actually have "Time Stop" and even 'Reverse Time" Spells I use very sparingly, and don't seems to be needed at this moment.

[NewtC]

Did I ever mention that Bob is an undead ghost? He slips the rules. I myself am not even human. I am a salamander, a.k.a a six legged fire lizard. I also slip the rules. However, I am still having to run from a large horde of murdurous zombies, who again, found a loop hole. Run!

[nosisab]

Did I ever mention that Bob is an undead ghost? He slips the rules. I myself am not even human. I am a salamander, a.k.a a six legged fire lizard. I also slip the rules. However, I am still having to run from a large horde of murdurous zombies, who again, found a loop hole. Run!

The rules are clear, We don't mingles the affairs of life where life come at any shape. We honor the ghostly life, but mean and meaningless parody of life we found disgusting. Yet these are life affairs, and where life can care itself it is free to follow its way.

 

When the oppressive non spoked words cease reverberating at the minds of all sentient creatures, Nosisab is not at sight anymore, and everyone feels like wakening from a strange mix of nightmarish dream, about ending of the universe, self destructive megalomania and an overwhelming yet caressing voice that seemed to have the whisper of the wind and the deep bass from the earth.

 

To almost everyone this was actually something they barely remember only as shards of a dream. A dream they can't say was bad or good, a dream they can't even be certain they dreamed.

 

Life follows its course again.

 

off: NewtC, the 'other Nosisab', where he is saw as a forgettable old man, is somewhat more easily dealt with. I need to go for a short time, soon I'll be here again and will try to interact with the plot. See ya

[Chesto]

The Old One clutched his head in his two hands. Then he clutched his stomach in his two hands. Then he clutched his head with one hand and his stomach with the other. So much pain. So few hands to deal with it. Through the pain he felt a moment of envy for NewtC :so many limbs for clutching with.

 

What the HAMMOCK was going on!!!????

 

NewtC was back and now seemed to be COOPERATING with Bob! Would wonders never begin!?

 

Wolfie C had resorted to universal anhihilation, GIANT *****ISKS and dire threats of the red button! Even though all he had to show for it was a small puff of green smoke coming out of each of his furry ears.

 

Evil had disappeared in a puff of acidsweet powder!

 

Doom had simply disappeared!

 

The Goddess! ( the Old One's increasingly fragile brain pan was full to the brim with the vision that was his last sight of that giant, clean limbed... and, if he was going to go the whole vision route he may as well add, even though it probably hadn't been at all like that...shimmering with essential oils, dispenser of fecundity and bounty. Mountain MAMA! )

 

But worse... far worse!

 

NOW HE COULD UNDERSTAND WHAT NOSISAB WAS SAYING !!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

Panic, complete, overcame the teenytiny Shaman. He began running, crushing the daffys, whirling around his stunted satelite in ever decreasing circles, pollen dust filling every one of his available orifices and some not quite so available.

 

'hah...CHHOOOOOOOOOOO', blasted the cosmic sneeze from the disproportionately huge and throbbing Shaman hooter, tearing off all the remaining heads of the daffodils...

 

... and propelling, with a particulated tail of golden daffodil dust, the pathetic remnant of the formerly glorious paper moon out, out into the vastness of spaceness...

 

... perhaps, never to be seen nor heard from again...

[Marcus Wolfe]

Seeing a Zombie horde ahead of him, Marcus put on his protective gear, revved up his chainsaw, charged and swung it around wildly, massacring the zombies.

[NewtC]

Seeing his zombies massacred, Bob, summoned the true location of the Arena, and froze the air around the zombies to form armor. The zombies, catching on, began to fight back at the Wolfe. They finally suceed in removing his chainsaw and eating it.

 

Newt on the other hand, uses his powers to call on the other salamanders, so that they can reign again.

[Lisnpuppy]

The Goddess upon seeing the salamanders said, "aww...they are so cute. Just like the ones I used to play with when I was a little Goddess in my mountain home."

 

At that thought she decided they would be most happy there in the warm and clean mountain creeks and thusly immediately and permenately banished them to those fine places.

 

She heard a chainsaw in the distance and thought about the nice wolfe fur coat she may need...but would handle that later.

 

The Goddess looked about and saw Nosisab sitting with a very anxious squirrel on his shoulder. She floated over to him and the Old One.

 

"Hi."

 

"Anybody want to try this party again?"

 

Before them appeared yummy selections taken from their wildest gastronomic fantasies. As the Goddess sipped her Cherry Coke from her favorite R2D2 cup she peered curiously at the Old One...well...at the Old One's nose, then at the Old One.

 

"Essential Oils, huh?" and then, "You know, John Denver never visited West Virginia before he wrote that song...and the Blue Ridge Mountains aren't in West Virginia...but I like the song...it was on EARL last night."

 

She offered Nosisab a smile and the Squirrel a handful of nuts as she swung her feet contentedly over the side of the still intact paper moon....

[Marcus Wolfe]

Cursed Zombies ate my chainsaw!

 

Well, it just looks like I'll have to kill them with my bare hands!

[Chesto]

The Old One shook his head, to try to clear it of the noises-off of Wolfie, NewtC, ((((Bob)))), the salamanders and the zombies. It sounded like a dried pea rattling in an empty tin can.

 

Then he considered the improbability of Nosisab, a squirrel, the Goddess ( gleaming oleogenously or otherwise ), the picnic and himself all being able to fit onto the one meter square remnant of the paper moon at the same time. A remnant which was still hurtling, trailing daffodil dust, into the utter vastness of utter spaceness. To do him credit, Nosisab had the same look of perplexity on his own face. Though this may have had something to do with the fact that the squirrel was serially incontinent. On his shoulder.

 

At last the Shaman discovered how this could be so.

 

During the many depreciations of area which his poor, tattered paper moon had gone through, at some point the Old One's reptile brain had taken over from the other, whatsit, brain. And, indeed, in all unconsciousness, the Shaman had shrunk to and had assumed the shape of ... a reptile. To wit, a chameleon. To woo, a pigmy chameleon. About one and one half inches in length, in old money. The nose, which the splendiferous Goddess had been regarding with varying degrees of revulsion and interest, had merely been the final stage of this metamorphosis.

 

Cufflinks, thought the Old One to himself, not yet having remembered how to transmit his thoughts to others, though he was sure that he knew how. His Shaman curses would take place only in his brain for the foreseeable future until he could get them under control. A much worse fate could have befallen his remnant of moon than a square meter of golden daffodils, after all.

 

But, now it was time to respond to the glorious Goddess, using all the charm the Old One had at his... thingy. From his precarious perch on one of the broken, headless, daffodil stalks, in close proximity to her left, gloriously muscled, thigh, ( It wasn't me who made her a goddess giantess, dagnabit, says chesto ) he conjured up his most charming voice. Think Sean Connery as 007 on heat, but more accurately, for British viewers, Leslie Phillips...

 

'Well. Hello.'

 

Which, unfortunately, came out sounding like Alvin the chipmunk with his nadgers caught in a wolverine trap. It was then that the bright pink Shaman, or Shameleon, noticed that his prehensile tongue had lolled, drooling, its full length down to the surface of the paper moon, where it had stuck fast.

 

If only, he thought, she would stop going on about partying ... and mountains.

 

To be fair, the Old One hadn't been this close to anything approximating a woman since he had avoided being turned to stone by that Greek bint, whatserface. Me...something. Snakeylocks.