Poetry Corner

[PancaKe]

Hiii Gavin Well pretty much I wanted to try a new style of prose/poetry and yeah,.. I bought a creative writing magazine that had some pieces similar, and I wanted to expand my language a bit... That's kind of what was behind the last piece. As in actual story wise, it's based on an unexpected friendship that is kind of up and down from one extreme to the next emotionally, from interest to uncertanty to a close bond to lust etc.. All those kinds of feelings. "He" is a dominant character, affecting the way that "I" feel and by the end of it, it seems like "I"'m just waiting for his verdict.

I like your song lyrics. I'm going to be totally dorky and admit that I tried to sing them to my own little tune too . That's how you can tell I liked them. ahahahaha I'm so silly. Sorry I can't give more constructive feedback, it's 3am.

Shaz I like your poetry and I'm glad you post it. I agree with Gavin, the first one you posted had so many uni student references. I guess that's what you get for procrastinating And the censored one, well I'm glad you spoilered it. It is rather graphic and intense, but it's really well written. Very powerful. I liked the rhythm that went with the poem, I felt that in the upbeat and somewhat innocent rhythm of the poem contrasted with the theme and that emphasised the whole nature of the poem (ahh so english teacher right now!) . well done here is a gold sticker !

[Chris 2.1]

Full Moon

You bring the tick, I bring the tock
As drunken men attack the lock.
Double bed, but that seems hasty.
Throw me on the floor and haze me.
Pressing down, exploring, lust;
Chew the middle, bite the crust.
Neck mawed gentle, fury, faster,
Wolfman holds me down - the master.

Why the floor? I have no clue,
Funny what drink does to you.
It takes ten pints to make you kiss
But sober your lips always miss me.
Here your eyes are closed, instinctive.
Naked body is incentive.

Yet I know what's coming next,
The Wolfman turns back into person.
With it, state of mind will worsen
He becomes uncool and irksome.

Slinks off back to his domain,
I touch my body,
Whisper 'Shane'
But now it seems, he will refrain,
From growling when he hears my name.

[Chris 2.1]

Can Of Crazy

I say enough.
Admit it, I'm crazy.
F&cked up in the fu&king head.
Tweet tweet tweet.
Let's post my life on Twitter!

Really, it's a strange old thing.
27 people watching me?
Happy that I'm making toast.
Gloating that my heart is broken.
Wondering why I'm wearing a saucepan at 6am and shouting for custard.

It happened so suddenly.
One minute, I was fine. Not fine, but sane.
Together, like an easter egg.
Then I thought too much
And everything went splat.
It irritates me, that.
Next thing I know, I'm fuc&ing crazy.

Ok at the moment I'm...writing a poem.
Checking my Facebook
Opened my email
Applying for a job
And I typed 'Hippo' into Wikipedia. Just because.
You came in, we made small talk about Volcanic Ash fuck&ng up your flight home.

Then it hit me, like a train of crazy.
Fucki&g hell, I'm fuckin& crazy!
I don't like this, I don't like that
I have to much work to do!
Dissertation makes me choke
On wordcounts, references and stuff.

My teeth ache, the phone is ringing.
The girl who lives upstairs is singing.

Fuck this, I need a drink.

[shazza]

I really liked that, Chris.

"Really, it's a strange old thing.
27 people watching me?"

It just shows, from another perspective, the awkwardness of the social network phenenomon when you stop and reflect on it all.

[Weasel Overlord]

So I wrote a sonnet. Please refrain from pointing out that it's not in iambic. Me and iambic do NOT get on. We're sort of like a relationship where one person is blind and the other is dead.

Anyway. Sonnet. Yeah.


Not A Fucking Sonnet

This is a sonnet only not really,
Let us pretend I can do poems, alright?
You make me wanna be touchy-feely,
Why do you have to wear trousers so tight?
I've gone mad with this fucking desire,
Just wanna touch you – fuck, I'm shit at this.
Honest, it's like you've set my loins on fire,
I swear to god I'm not taking the piss.
I like it when you do sarcasm, erm,
And your stupid floppy hair, I think it
Looks fucking hot, let me fill you with sperm.
That came out a bit wrong. Fucking bollocks shit.
Basically, I think you're great. Can we skip
The rest of this and get straight to the whips?

[Chris 2.1]

Hey all. I haven't been writing much [good] poetry as of late. My poetry has always been personal, and closely tied to my personal life, and things have been very comfortable. However this evening, I've been writing the piece below. It's a nice reflection of where I am and it comes from the heart. So much so, it's reducing me to tears just reading it!

Do let me know what you think.



Across The Sea

One big ending tying up the last three years,
Everything I've ever felt summised in words
Once uttered, dissapears.
And like the words I speak that leave,
Your scent won't linger on my clothes, every time I breathe.

I've been flying, you've been set,
The most colourful kite and he who grounds me
Letting me skip clouds and soar
Holding me and guiding more.

If it feels your world is splitting at the seams,
I hope you'll stand at Dover Cliffs,
And shout my name across the sea.
Cos I'll be sitting on the edge of where I want to be.
One ear poised for your soul as it sings a song to me.







Ok I realise that isn't as evoking as I made it out to be, but still, let me know what you think.

[Gavin Luper]

No, Chris, it was as evocative as your preamble suggested. The last stanza, in particular, is devastating - it's definitely the strongest part of the poem. The image of this figure longing to hear from the beloved one, hoping that one day, when everything goes wrong for them, they will come running back, is just shattering, though it has nothing on the image of the figure waiting on the edge of their seat for the rest of time, one ear cocked, waiting for that call.

More powerful than you thought, man. Well done.

[Gavin Luper]

Also, Kirsten, loved the not-a-fucking-sonnet! I lost the rhythm straight away but I feel that was pretty much the point of it. I liked that the off-beat sonnet leads us into the story of an off-beat 'romance'. ^_^ I loved it ... very kinky and unexpected.

[Chris 2.1]

Aw I'm glad it had the effect I wanted. I got inspiration from a song called 'No One's Gonna Love You' by Band of Horses. Youtube it if you want a listen. It's this beautiful, evocative song, and while its more about lamenting the end of a relationship, it's one of the most stirring songs i've ever heard. I love the singer's voice.

I'm finishing Uni in a week (YIKES) and I'm moving away, and the poem's all about someone I've grown very close with. It's like me saying 'look, when everything goes wrong, find me'

[shazza]

Jack Frost’s Curse

The sun returns to night within a blink of an eye
The arctic wind burns within my bones
Gray skies dispirit my mind
Confined inside now that the Earth is my foe
Mother Nature turns against me once more
My fingers merely cold; my soul complete ice
Those luminous days now wishful nostalgia
The Art of Happiness left behind with Aquarius’s tune
Augments tenfold come the Full Moon.

My only hope is when the sunlight is reborn
Spring back to life and overcome the fall
Until that day my soul will be lost
As I suffer the curse of Jack Frost.

[Houndoom_Lover]

Such awesome poems were put up here! I decided to drop a few I wrote in my absents. I really like your Shazza, for the life of me, I can never remember poetry teams, ever, but its splendiferously visual!



At Breakfast

I scooped potatoes on a round white plate
The syrupy was not real, so I did not pour any on
I picked up a donut and took it back home with me.


It was not a Crispy Creme.
Highly disappointing.

---

I am nothing-I am everything
I am nothing
I am everything
Zingheim! Zingheim! The world pivots on my eye!
I balance your life
your laughter on my nose
My chin holds your deepest secrets they pour down through my body
Like lightening
And like liquid
They drip from my fingers and
drip from toes. Sorrow clings to my hair
This sorrow is yours- I snatch my hair bald
For it was just straw which I burn
The world tips when I tip
And it tips because I saw so-
Even blinded gutted torn
I can tip the world

I am everything
I am nothing
There is blackness that sucks everything in
at the centre of our galaxy. See it though the chink
See it through the chink
Does the moon not laugh at you too?

It sees how foolish you are.
You ramble. There are sticks.
Something has died.
long ago

[Chris 2.1]

End

I've been here before,
Exhausted on your floor,
you've been good to me

[Chris 2.1]

XX

I don't cry at all,
This was everything I wanted.
I can't mourn something if love was never corporeal.

[Chris 2.1]

Digital Love

"Mate, I hope ur not
offended by not doin
anything! It's jus I dnt want
that jus bein th only thing
ya no! It's gona be weird
not havin u around."

"The more I think about it
the more I'm okay with it. I
don't want to reflect on the
last three years and just
think of ******** or
*******. I want to
remember all the good
memories I had with
someone who couldn't be
more different to me and
yet is more like a brother and a
best mate at the same
time. I'm gna miss you loads!"

"Exactly mate. It was jus
nice havin a wee bit of
time 2 sit ther u no? And
like wise, I'll miss u 2.
Wish I was finishing uni and
heading off like u. Ur a
good lad, and you'll always
have a friend in me."

***

"I'm nearly home.
journey seems to have
taken ages! Sorry for welling up before..."

"Yea I'm good. U had me
near set off cryin 2 mate,
teared up like. Crazy. But
I'm sure its not good bye.
It's just c u soon there
will be a hole where u used
2b. And seriously, u'll
always have a friend in me."


***

I wonder if he thinks it's love, too.

[PancaKe]

Nothing more than a line in your book

Like shouting off mountain peaks;
the world is my audience
and nobody is listening.

[shazza]

Confined Mind

The underlying reality corrupts your mind for the millionth time
The Other Side has always been a mix of lucidity and lunacy
But you will never know which one is which
How can anyone else verify?
When the insights whispered shall forever remain trapped in your soul?

Delve into the subconscious of those around you
The sudden reflex of the sixth sense
And you think that they think that you think
And you feel that they feel that you feel
It’s all subjective truth of unverified insight
You desperately yearn to know
Is this the insanity of true reality
Or has your reality gone completely insane?

A million trapped thoughts all at once
Visions within that can never be explained even to yourself
Floating around in your internal Cosmos
One luminous vision fluently links on to the next
Sometimes the next is before
Trapped anxiously in a vicious loop of thought
The flowing stream of consciousness
Sometimes scratching the surface to uncover the wires of subconscious
And as you ride the tide of the present
The harmonic horizons of before become lost and unknown.

Capturing elements of the thought but never the thought itself
Even so who is it for but yourself?
Fear of loneliness creates loneliness
The product of thought is only a fraction of all thought
True thought forever imprisoned within
As you remain confined in your mind.

False masks guard your broken soul
Companionship aids but does not heal
For never will anyone ever know you like you do
Your reality will never be known by anyone except you
Universe fine tuned uniquely to you
A uniqueverse is your life.

We all exist confined in our mind
We all just want every word of ours to be revered
Narcissistically seeking to be the Sun of the social solar system
Selfishly blinded by your own light
Oblivious to others trying to shine through
Nobody wishes to be a Planet
Rather to be a star with the influential power of gravitational force
The assertive rays overpower the passive soul
The passive soul becomes confined in their mind

The white flash of energy flows through all of us
Hope and compassion often elude you
If all humans are confined in their mind
Each trapped within
Then the gray clouds fade away
Allowing for a bright blue day
For our uniqueness is what makes us human
All confined in our mind
All lonely souls
Creates the most radiant unity of all.

[PancaKe]

I liked that I liked the part about nobody wanting to be a planet. It just struck so true to me, something I'd never really realised before. We really do spend so much time trying to be the center of our world, the sun of our solar system, but nobody ever spends their time just revolving around another sun... Usually...

[Leon-IH]

I reread some of my old work in this topic; it's interesting to see how much I've changed between 15/16 and 20...

Just a short one -- I added the last line later..


For just one brief moment I feel so good
Even so I need you with me to share the high
To split the low..

..Too much is just not quite enough

[Deadwood_Zen]

Stumbled upon an old torn up piece of paper that was in my wallet for the past few years, only to realize it's m old songwriting sheet of almost songs. Yay! Most of it sucks, to say the least. I'm a shitty musician, and an even shittier songwriter, so please bear with me.

This is one of my favorites, and is my theme song(since there's been a single song that's defined me for good).
I have the bass, guitar and drums/percussion parts all done, just never presented it to any of my bands because 1) it sucks and 2) i only ever got to the first verse. I've tried for years to get a second or third verse down, but never felt that sure of myself to make it feel right. Here goes nothing...

"I always walk to my own rhythm,
I always dance to my own beat,
I don't listen to mainstream music, and I don't eat meat.

I never do what I'm told to,
I'll never wait in your lines,
People call me different, but to me, that's just fine.

'Cause I don't give a shit what you think of me,
And I don't want to be who you dream me to be,
I'm own damn individual, with my own damn mind and soul.

If you don't like me, the doors out front, why are you waiting?
I'm doing perfectly fine without 'cha hating."

It starts to rapidly decline in quality after the first stanza, in case you couldn't tell. That's about it, since the paper's cut off. If I can get my 'official' songwriting book back from my ex-lead singer, I'll see if there's anything near bearable for you guys, but don't count on it...

Thanks, Chris! I rarely dabble in poetry (much more of a fiction man, myself), so when I do I try very hard not to do what's expected of the form.

Why I’ll Never Be Successful:
Because I suffer from a terminal case of awkward
Because I've had Senioritis since the second grade
Because my bedtime is 4 AM
Because I always procrastinate
Because I'm clueless and uninformed
Because my room is a mess
Because I’m a bassist
Because I majored in creative writing

I'm quoting this in my signature's, now if you don't mind.
But you should get money for this. And bassist's are waaaaay too underrated as an instrument. I'm a guitarist/drummer/screamer/saxophonist and even I say that.

[Shadow Wolf]

I really don't know what to say about the next piece, except that it is a décima and it's inspired from a spanish décima I made a few weeks ago. Since the contents have little variation, the title is the same for both.

Supernova

English Version

Just a sparkle of ilussion
is required on your entity
to give meaning to your destiny
and ignite your fiery passion
As you shine with such compassion
you are overwhelmed by fear
since its luster is so real
that you lose sight of reality
and the source of your vitality's
now the one you hold most dear.

Original Version

Un destello de ilusion
ilumina tu camino
da sentido a tu destino
y enciende tu pasion
brillas con tanta emocion
que te llena de temor
pues tan grande es su fulgor
que te priva de la calma
y te entrega en cuerpo y alma
a la fuerza del amor.

[Duellist Royal]

Previous story: Queen of Games 2: Bloodaxe.

Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters is the property of Kazuki Takahashi and copyright Konami. Any original characters are the intellectual property of the writers. No profit was made as a result of this story.

THE FORTUNATE ISLES

A Queen of Games adventure by
Scott D. Harris & Hikari

Chapter 1: “French Follies”

The Caliban was dead; a corpse built of wood the colour of decomposed flesh and beset with sails like freshly spilt cruor from its blackened twin masts. The brigantine bore no flag to show its allegiance, and its wretched body seemed held together only by sheer force of will. The staled wind of the Western Ocean pushed it on its course, the screeching breezes and rattling boards joined with silent screams to form an orchestra of dread. It was crewed by the poor, enslaved souls who lost their freedom to its satanic mistress, doomed to rot in servitude for an eternity as punishment for their own oblivious gambles. In short, by the damned. The captain’s black lips parted in words audible only to the disembodied as down below, the overseer drummed a mute rhythm for his galley-slaves to row by. To the only four people onboard who remained alive, this was a place of peace, of concentration, of work. Such was the opinion of the lanky Athenian seated at the table in his workshop below decks, tinkering with the latest in a long line of prototypes.

“Automacles,” said the woman who stood by his side, “how goes your invention?” The Athenian pounded his fists down on the table and gazed up at her, the telescopic mask hooked across his upper face extending to its optic windows to full length like the eyes of a snail.

“I am close to perfecting them, Lady Lombardi,” he spoke in a high voice, “so very close. I have finally discovered how to link my device’s movements to the wearer’s nerves. The only problem remaining is how to power it!” He hefted his machine - a brass network of pipes around an elbow-length gauntlet beneath a flat plate the shape of an olive leaf, which presently hung open in two halves, one on either side of the flexible sleeve – and displayed it before her.

“My automatric capacitor is fine for carrying commands from the nerves in the wearer’s fingertips to these transceiver tubes, but if I increase the charge to make up for the lack of generated energy like so…” He shifted something beneath one half of the plate, and was tossed across the workshop by the resultant small explosion. The woman was quick enough to step away and shield her face, protecting her skin from the rapid burst of sudden heat.

“Automacles?” she asked, looking at the smoking, human-shaped hole in the wall of the room.

“I am all right,” croaked the Athenian as he pulled himself back and dusting himself down. “Oh, dear, no I’m not…filthy, filthy, disgusting…I shall have to burn this toga post-haste. It’s probably infested with woodlice now. Oh, my poor creation, I only expected it to run out of power in a matter of seconds, not to explode in such a…violent, chaotic fashion.”

“Actually, I came down here with a possible solution to your dilemma,” said the woman called Lombardi, brushing some strands of golden-blonde hair out of her face, “you may be the, as you so frequently put it, genius among us, but your acquaintance Sir Maxwell Wyvern was not the only one to express interest in what you’re doing…before deciding it wasn’t worth the cost.”

“Of course he wasn’t,” the Athenian scoffed. “Lady Subtle actually appreciates my superior intellect, as well as the risks that come from new endeavours. I will of course be constructing four of my beauties as part of our expedition commemorations once I’ve finished working out all the flaws.” Lombardi rolled her eyes. Nobody on the ship, aside from their mistress in a strictly peripheral sense, actually had any true interest in his crazed project, but the obsession was an effective way of keeping their Greek comrade from otherwise making a nuisance of himself. She held out a small, obsidian-coloured marble, flecked with shimmering purples and greens in the light of the flickering candles illuminating the room.

“Take this,” she said, “it’s a piece of that material used in Wyvern’s brooches. It could provide you with the – what did you call it? – generator energy your Disk requires.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, girl!” Automacles protested. “I am a man of the sciences, I do not believe in such superstitions as magic stones from a fictitious country!” Lombardi growled and grabbed him by the sash of his toga, pulling him towards her until their noses practically touched.

“Listen, twerp,” she said, lowly and dangerously, “Lady Subtle has well enough proven the existence of the dark arts to us, and that those very same arts will help shape her New World Order, so don’t give me this drivel about not believing. Besides, she is the one who asked me to bring this to you, so accept it and finish your infernal work, or refuse it and I’ll let you deal with the repercussions. Do I make myself clear?”

“C-c-crystal, Lady Lombardi,” Automacles squeaked. “I accept, now p-p-please let me go, you’re b-b-breathing on me!” Lombardi crinkled her nose, as if only now realising how close they were, and let him go. She quickly tidied herself, re-establishing her blossoming, Italian beauty, and politely excused herself.

Filthy, unhygienic, uneducated trollop! the Athenian thought as he went to dispose of and replace his contaminated clothes, when we reach the Isles, she will be among the first of the unorganised masses I will deal with. Oh, the bane of being a beacon of order in this entropic world as I am! His mind soon changed from lamenting his isolation as an individual to the damage done to his silken wardrobe by the copious amounts of seawater leaking its way onto the decrepit vessel.

XXX

Francis II, a boy of sixteen years, was the darling of the French court, and his peers were deathly afraid to see him upset. In his fragile health, it may have been all too easy for one mistimed bad mood to shuffle him off his shaky mortal coil. He would often walk about his expansive residence at the Château de Fontainebleau, calling for others to entertain or share company with him. It was an overcast October day, and the young monarch had grown exceedingly bored on his own, and decided to stop in a hallway with a good view of the gardens through the wide windows.

“Fifi!” he called, clapping his hands. In an instant, a pretty young maid appeared at his side.

“Where are my stooges?” he asked.

“My apologies, sire,” begged the maid, “but they have left for England. They said you had given them your blessing to, ‘seek glory,’ as they put it.”

“My word,” the little king gasped, “either my memory is failing me already, or my royal concert troupe have been telling you the little fibbies, Fifi. We must retrieve them before they cause any foolishness. Quick, find my funny man in red, for he tells me his fiancée is in the English court.”

“The Seigneur d’Thoze is presently escorting your sister in the grounds,” said the maid. “I’m told he’s very good with young women,” she added quietly, her cheeks heating up.

“Well, bring him to me,” ordered the king without noticing, “for this is vastly more important. I have a special mission for him.”

“As you say, sire,” the maid said with a curtsy, “I will return with him momentarily.”

“Excellent,” said Francis, “and while you’re at it, be a delight and fetch me one of those little custard-y tarts with the crust on top, would you? I love those.”

XXX

The royal progress had returned early from Sussex, following their failure to locate their missing would-be host, whom the servants claimed had taken ill before vanishing without a trace. The confusion had left the Earl’s family in great distress, forcing a retreat to the Palace of Whitehall in order to avoid feelings of imposing. They were greeted by the staff, who had been practising for this all morning, and by the trio of Donovan Smyth, Arthur Pomeroy and Sebastian Blackwood, all of whom had been appointed to the position of Under-sheriff by the spymaster, perhaps working outside his jurisdiction but still holding enough clout with the city’s High-sheriff, one Lord Goodwin, to have his way in the monarch’s absence. In their first assignment alone, they had managed to apprehend three French courtiers for the crimes of arson, vandalism, causing a general disturbance in public and most distastefully, wiggling their bare bottoms at the clergy going in and out of Westminster Abbey.

“We’ve left them in Gatehouse Prison pending their trial,” Arthur was quick to point out once the Queen was back on her throne. Elizabeth sighed and rubbed her temples.

“Well done, all of you,” she said after regaining her composure, only to lose it when a messenger informed her that an ambassador from France had just arrived, demanding an audience. Oh, how convenient, she thought to herself, then spoke aloud, “Tell him that I am weary from travelling. I’ll speak with him tomorrow.”

“He was very insistent,” said the messenger.

“Well I am also very insistent,” the Queen snapped, “and in my kingdom, it is my word that overrules his!” The messenger squeaked and dashed out of the room. Deciding that she required some time alone with her thoughts, the Queen dismissed herself to her bedchambers and her ladies-in-waiting to go about their evening however they saw fit. Two of those ladies, Anne Craft and Mary Broadbent, went together to the palace kitchens to find savouries, then aimlessly walked the hallways.

“I haven’t seen much of Lady Gwendolyn today,” Mary pointed out. Anne chewed the apricock she had pinched from the fruit larder and half-considered the observation. The rest of her mind was occupied by the flattering new ensemble displayed by Under-sheriff Pomeroy. The memory of the previous Christmas when she had dealt him a strike across the cheek rose to the surface of her mind’s eye and she barely stifled a giggle at his stunned expression, preserved forever by her.

“Anne?” Mary asked eventually, her tones suddenly meek. “May I speak to you of a private matter?”

“Of course, dear Mary,” the older girl replied, putting a gentle hand on her friend’s shoulder. Mary hesitantly confessed to have been suffering from worrying dreams, of arcane happenings instigated by men in cloaks, of skeletal animals feasting on the light of the world, and the empire, their empire, falling beneath the conquering feet of otherworldly powers.

“Do you think it all means something?” she finished feebly. “What if our whole world is in danger?” Anne grimaced. She could not say anything. In her honest opinion, she had just heard the ramblings of a madwoman, but she was certain that Mary, for all her flaws, was still in control of her faculties, and simply told her that she was being silly.

“Dreams are merely dreams,” she forced a smile, “come, it’s beginning to get late, why don’t we retire to our respective rooms and re-accustom ourselves to our beds?”

“Anne,” Mary clung to her arm, “I know I am being childish, but may I stay with you for tonight? I’m not sure I want to risk sleeping alone, in case those dreams come back again.” Anne closed her eyes and nodded, slipping her arm all the way around the other girl’s shoulders and steering her down the next hallway, both quite unaware that their conversation was heard by Arthur Pomeroy, who was simultaneously melting with love for Anne’s compassionate gesture, and seething with frustration that his chance to be with her in private, to make up for his past indiscretions, was snatched away once more.

XXX

The evening was cool and dark, but the row of lamps which lined the outside of the palace wall provided sufficient enough illumination for sight and a tangential level of warmth. The horses snorted quietly as Jethro Marrack led them back into their stables to settle them for the night, aided by Gwendolyn and Sebastian Blackwood. Their journey had been long and tiring, and even the most unruly stallion was more agreeable. Once the animals were locked up and fed accordingly, the three friends started back towards the back door of the palace, which led to the kitchens. They talked actively, of Sebastian’s new role, of which he was very proud, and of Jethro’s new prospects as apprentice to the Master of the Horse, who was among the most important figures in the peerage. There was mention of rumours pertaining to plans for an international Duel Monsters tournament, meant supposedly as a gesture of good will and sportsmanship between the courts of Europe. Sebastian pointed out that the nations of Asia had also expressed interest in such an event, thanks in part to their regular contact with the West via regular business with the Pomeroy Trading Company.

Jethro put his arm out, stopping the Blackwoods from going any further.

“Jethro, what’s the matter?” Gwendolyn asked.

“You don’t smell that?” Jethro replied, sniffing the air. “It’s oddly familiar, and I don’t like it.” Both he and she stiffened their backs as a high, fluty voice crooned some French ballad.

“Oh, no, not him,” they both groaned, while Sebastian’s voice registered only confusion. The singing grew closer, and then a pair of long legs in rosy red breeches and black shoes came around the corner. Florentin Rise (Seigneur d’Thoze, romantic hero of prose and poetry, botanical genius, traveller and the greatest duellist in all of France) gave Gwendolyn a deep, deep bow, then lifted her hand and kissed it.

“Ah, my petite angel,” he said in sultry tones as he drew himself up again, “it ‘as been too long.”

“Excuse me,” said Sebastian, superimposing himself between the two of them, “but who are you and why are you flirting with my sister?”

“Ah! You are zhe Lady Blackwood’s brot’er?” Florentin exclaimed with a second bow. “Forgive me. I had t’ought that perhaps you ‘ad been told of me…” In one movement he managed to slip past both men blocking his path and grabbed Gwendolyn, dipping his arms, and her, like the end of a ballroom dance. “…and our passion for one anot’er.”

“Can’t say I have,” said Sebastian, scratching the side of his head. “Could someone please explain what’s going on here?”

Gwendolyn cleared her throat politely and stemmed the blush creeping over her face. “Of course,” she said, breaking out of her captor’s amorous embrace, “Sebastian, this is Florentin. Florentin, Sebastian.” Jethro, who was not particularly fond of this visitor, roughly grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him around to face him.

“What are you doing here?” he growled. “You lost your match against the Duellist Royal.”

“Non, you little man who smells of zhe ‘orse-tails,” said Florentin as he removed the offending extremity and brushed down the puffy sleeves of his leaf-green shirt, “zhat duel was never concluded, if you would be so kind as to remember. As for your question, I ‘ave been sent ‘ere by King Francis II to negotiate zhe release of les Trois Imbéciles.”

“The Three Fools,” Sebastian translated. “There’s a fitting name for those hell-raising troublemakers. The Queen is feeling tired because of her long trip from Sussex, so I’m afraid negotiations will have to wait until tomorrow.”

“Zhat is no skin off my back, as zhe saying goes,” Florentin shrugged. “Zhey can wait anot’er night. In zhe meantime, as I ‘ave been reminded, where may I find the Chevalier MacWood? I would very much like to finish what we started on my previous visit to your country.”

“Sir Douglas is away on other business, Florentin,” replied Gwendolyn, “but if you would like to duel-”

“I’ll duel him.”

Though Jethro wanted to challenge the Seigneur and put an end to his annoying smugness, he was quite surprised, stunned even, when he opened his mouth and heard Sebastian’s voice instead.

“Oh, you ‘ave one of t’ese?” asked Florentin, holding out his Fairy Pin. “I t’ought nobody would mind if I kept this as a souvenir.”

“I do,” was the response as Sebastian held out his own brooch, which he had not used since the Whitehall Tournament.

“Seb, you don’t have to-” Gwendolyn began, but her brother dismissed her pleas with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“What’s a friendly competition between myself and the man who thinks he’s good enough to woo my little sister?” he asked, voice calm and friendly but eyes staring with burning intensity into those of the other man, who to his credit stood his ground with a smile of anticipation. “Jethro, Gwendolyn, please bring us four wooden stools from the stables, two to sit on and two for tables.” As this request was met, Florentin leaned closer until his lips were hovering by the other man’s ear.

“Your love for your sibling melts my ‘eart, Monsieur Blackwood,” he whispered softly, “but you will soon realise your mistake in zhrowing down zhe gauntlet.”

“We shall see,” said Sebastian, taking the seat provided for him and slipping his Deck from the protective pouch hanging off his belt, and Florentin did the same.

“Be careful, sir,” said Jethro.

“Good luck, Seb,” said Gwendolyn.

“Don’t fret about me,” Sebastian told them reassuringly, “I am not completely without skill. Ready?”

“Oui, I am,” Florentin nodded.

“Then let’s duel!” chorused both men.

[Begin Duel: Seigneur d’Thoze vs. Sebastian Blackwood]

“If you do not mind,” said Florentin, “I shall make zhe first move.”

“By all means,” replied Sebastian.

“As we say back ‘ome, merci beaucoup,” said Florentin, drawing his opening hand and studying it keenly. “I begin by setting one monster in face-down defence mode, zhen I play zhis Spell Card, the World Tree!” His Fairy Pin sparkled as a small section of the ground between the players rippled like water, and then everything behind him was swallowed up by a lush forest.

Though there was no sun, the trees were bathed in light, and right behind Florentin, a gargantuan yew tree grew from the ground with a thunderous noise. The branches stretched out in all directions, bedecked with ripe, red conifer cones. The roots wrapped around and melded into the legs of Florentin’s seat and table, stretching and reshaping them into a much grander-looking table and high-backed wooden chair with soft, leafy cushioning. Sebastian, who was still sitting in relative darkness and using a pair of aged stools, felt somewhat inappreciable by comparison. The warm glow of the forest had drawn stares from the streets outside the palace, as well as from the servants who peered down at the display through the lofty windows, and the horses in the stables reacted by shifting both nervously and longingly.

“You may go,” said Florentin, visibly much more comfortable now.

“Gladly,” Sebastian mumbled as he drew. “I set a face-down card, then I summon Gladiator Beast Andal (1900/1500) in attack mode!”

In front of Sebastian arose a mighty bear, covered in black fur from head to toe and dressed in purple-and-silver armour. Its one good eye glimmered and it opened its jaws to let out a battle-roar.

“Andal, shred his face-down monster!” the young lawman commanded, and the bear was all too willing to oblige. It lifted its clawed forepaws above its head and swung them down, slashing the air and leaving six thin trails of heat. From the spot where its attack landed appeared a small, orange creature with the face of a cat ringed with yellow petals, leafy arms and feet like roots, which released a little squeal before exploding into fragments.

Above Florentin, one of the branches on his World Tree shook and three of the conifer cones popped open. The one closest to the branch sprouted a golden flower while the other two, placed further along the branch, revealed a pair of fluffy, white balls.

“When Dandylion (300/300) is sent to my Graveyard, I get two Fluff Tokens in defence mode,” Florentin explained, “and each time a Plant monster is destroyed, zhe World Tree grows a single Flower Token.”

“Duly noted,” said Sebastian, “and now, because I control a Gladiator Beast, I can special-summon Test Tiger (600/300) to my side of the Field.”

To the left of Andal appeared a tiger cub with shining jasmine eyes and its legs inside four leather sleeves. Like its companion it wore armour, its own being red-and-blue and encrusted with large rubies. The cub swished its tail from side to side in the air behind it and the bear gave it an approving glance.

“Next I actify Test Tiger’s special ability,” Sebastian continued. “I can tribute him to send Andal back into my Deck and call forth another Gladiator Beast in his stead! I choose…”

Both monsters disappeared in bursts of white light, one of which flew back into its master’s Deck and the other depositing itself in the Graveyard space. In their place there now stood a creature with the frame and musculature of a human Olympian, but its skin was layered with purplish fur and its head was that of a buffalo. The new monster snorted loudly and kicked at the ground with its booted feet, stirring up small clouds of dust and cracking the cobbled paving.

“…Gladiator Beast Dimacari (1600/1200)! He cannot move yet, but when he does you will certainly feel it, d’Thoze. Your turn.”

“I do not even require a new card,” Florentin taunted as he drew, “for the pieces are in play for me to summon my favourite monster!”

“I know what’s coming,” Gwendolyn gulped, remembering full well the gruesome spectacle which was to follow.

“First, I summon this Tuner monster in attack mode. Come, Rose, Warrior of Revenge (1600/600)!” A strange wind whipped the ground, and when the resultant dust cloud had settled, a woman was crouched in front of Florentin. She had long, red hair pulled up into a high ponytail and wore a strange, body-hugging suit of some reflective, dark blue material. A white scarf was wrapped around her neck and fluttered in the breeze and she held an unusual sort of sword which Sebastian had only seen once before after Arthur’s last trip to Japan. It was a kind he called a, ‘ninjato.’ The woman narrowed her eyes in deep focus, holding her sword horizontally above her.

“Tuner monsters are a recent addition to zhe game,” said Florentin, “zhey are quite loved in my home land, but I will not bore you wit’ zhe details of how zhey work. It’s much better to demonstrate. I tune my fourth-level Rose, Warrior of Revenge wit’ my two first-level Fluff Tokens in order to synchro-summon…”

The two fluffy spheres detached from the branch and descended towards Rose, stopping inches above her head. She shifted her sword to point vertically upwards as the blade was suddenly engulfed in green flames. Her body faded until it was transparent, as did the Fluff Tokens. Four gold diamonds swirled about in her chest, while the Tokens condensed and re-coloured themselves into two more. Rose swung her sword in a downward arc and a column of green light shot up from below, engulfing all three monsters. Sebastian, Gwendolyn and Jethro all shielded their eyes from the burnished glare, lowered their arms only after it had faded.

“…my sixth-level Queen of Thorns (2200/1800)!” Florentin finished with a flourish.

A thick, thorny plant’s stem extended from the forest floor, terminating in a circle of large, pink petals. Growing out above the petals was a beautiful, pale-skinned woman with vines in place of hair, green lips and dark eyes. She was clothed in leaves, buds and winding creepers and wore a floral headdress. Instead of hands, her arms ended in vicious, snapping jaws, pink on her right and green on her left. The deadly dryad eyed Sebastian hungrily, running a sticky, amber tongue over her lips and snapping her predatory extremities. The air around her was pungent with pheromone pollen, and Sebastian had to fight back tears as her presence stung his eyes.

“My Queen seems to have skipped breakfast zhis morning,” Florentin tittered, “so I’ll allow her to satisfy her hunger wit’ your Dimacari!”

The Queen of Thorns laughed in a haughty voice and opened her arm-jaws, revealing a multitude of writhing, orange tongues dripping with purple saliva. Her stem bent forward as she lunged towards the buffalo, which braced itself for impact. A flowing mass of turquoise material came down from above and wrapped around the beast, scooping it out of the way and leaving the twin jaws to plough themselves into the paving. Growling indignantly, the monster wrenched herself free and nursed her wounded natural weapons by tucking them under her armpits. The mass returned Dimacari to his former place before changing into three bronze-skinned priestesses, to whom the Gladiator Beast bowed in respect and grunted his gratitude before they faded from view.

“My Trap Card, Waboku,” said Sebastian, “prevents my monsters from being destroyed in battle, as well as reducing any damage I may have sustained this turn to naught. It’s the end of your Battle Phase, so now Dimacari returns to my Deck, and I get to special-summon…”

The buffalo disappeared, and a powerful roar sounded from behind Sebastian, shaking the leaves and cones from the World Tree and causing Florentin, the Queen of Thorns, Gwendolyn and Jethro to all tremble. A great animal burst from the ground; it possessed the head of a lion and was adorned with gold-and-silver armour encrusted with emeralds and two crystalline wings which hung, shield-like, beside its arms. It roared again as it tensed protectively in front of its master.

“…the indomitable leader of my Gladiator Beasts, Alexander (2400/600)!”

“Do you ‘ave a snake in zhat menagerie of yours?” Florentin snarled, “because wit’ zhe way you just turned my move to your advantage, it would suit you. I end my turn.”

“Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment,” said Sebastian imperiously as he drew. “Alexander is the pride of his people, but a leader is nothing without his followers, so I’ll summon Gladiator Beast Equeste (1600/1200) in attack mode!”

Alexander clenched his fists and roared again, this time not threatening but calling. They heard the neigh of a horse and the trotting of hooves. A moment later, the valiant lion was joined by large centaur with plum-coloured fur on his equine lower body and pink skin on his humanoid upper half. He wore black and dark sapphire armour trimmed with silver and carried a shield. A chestnut mane extended from under his three-pronged helmet. Razor-sharp axe blades were attached to his back hips, and like his commanding officer he sported wings, though his were constructed of aquamarine rather than emerald.

“And in doing so, you trigger my Queen of Thorns’ special ability!” Florentin put in quickly. “Whenever a player summons a non-Plant monster from their hand whilst she is on zhe Field, zhat player loses 1000 Life Points!” The Queen of Thorns grinned wickedly and launched her arms towards Sebastian, over the heads of his startled creatures. Both of her vicious appendages snapped shut around his forearms, eliciting a short cry of pain from him. The dryad made a delighted noise in the back of her throat at the taste of his blood. She withdrew her limbs and exhaled in satisfaction. Jethro was forced to hold Gwendolyn back, unsure if she wanted to reach her brother or rip into his assailant like a wild dog. She called for her sibling, and Sebastian bit back his discomfort to tip her a reassuring wink, then his attention was back to the match.

I was foolish when I duelled Gwendolyn, he told himself, and it was true, for he had let his excitement overcome his rationality when he was caught up in the magic, and once he realised the pain was real he had quivered like a jellyfish, leaving him as a broken player following his defeat. It had taken him much time and self-consideration to return to the game properly. Now’s my chance to prove to both myself and to her that I’m better than I was, in every sense of the word.

“That was what they call a free shot, Florentin,” he said with a wolfish grin. “Believe you me, you shan’t get another. Alexander, dethrone his Queen of Thorns!” The lion growled acknowledgement. The emeralds embedded in his armour glowed as three arrows with curved heads and green, crystalline shafts extended from the frame of each wing. He roared and all six of these projectiles were loosed on the dryad, who screamed as her body was cut to ribbons, leaving only scattered petals, leaves and chunks of stem, which decomposed instantly in the soil of Florentin’s forest.

“Equeste!” Sebastian continued. “Attack his Life Points directly!”

The centaur reared up and lifted his free hand. Red sparks jumped from the skin of his palm and formed a glowing sphere, which Equeste threw with a great swing. The sphere exploded against Florentin, who gasped and clutched his chest above his heart while his World Tree’s branches wilted ever so slightly and the grass in his immediate vicinity turned hard and brown.

“I’ll end my turn,” Sebastian concluded, “but since Equeste battled this round, I can now exchange him for another of my monsters, and I choose Gladiator Beast Laquari (1800/400) in attack mode, whose attack score increases when special-summoned by a fellow Gladiator Beast’s effect (2100/400)!” The centaur’s space became occupied by a man with the striped fur and head of a tiger, dressed in orange armour patterned with a silver bone motif and a helmet with a large, golden horn on the front. A ring of flames encircled his waist, and above it were six orange spears which orbited him like moons. The two cat-like Gladiator Beasts roared in unison.

[d’Thoze’s L.P.: 6200 / Sebastian’s L.P.: 7000]

“Zhen it is my turn,” said the Frenchman, who was quite displeased to see the demise of his favourite monster happen so early. He drew. “I begin by summoning my Lonefire Blossom (500/1400) in attack mode!”

The freshly fertilised forest floor rumbled a little as the new monster sprouted. Its thin stem was yellow and brown in a spiral formation, and blossomed into a hard, round bud with a small fuse poking out of it. The tip of the fuse was aglow with a gentle, lime-coloured spark.

“Once per turn, my Lonefire Blossom allows me to tribute any face-up Plant monster I control in order to bring another out from my Deck. I ‘ereby give up my Blossom…”

The exotic flora’s fuse burnt away completely and its bud exploded, sending bits of hard shrapnel in all directions (Gwendolyn and Jethro ducked behind the stables to avoid being walloped) and reducing the rest of it to black ash. Florentin slid his desired card from his Deck with a sly smile and slapped it down on his table.

“…and in its place I summon Gigaplant (2400/1200)!”

The ground behind the World Tree erupted as a second, bigger tree rose up behind it. Its foliage, shaped like a mushroom’s cap, quivered as a multitude of thick branches grew out, each tipped by a massive, serrated, crescent blade, giving it an appearance that was as much insect as vegetation. The thing’s head was scaly and red, with six beady, blue gemstones for eyes and six rows of fangs wainscoting its maw. Long, thin vines grew out of its roots and trunk at random points, whipping the pests out of the night air. Florentin crinkled his nose as a blob of chlorophyll saliva dribbled onto his shoulder.

“Don’t suppose anybody brought pruning shears, did they?” Sebastian asked, gawking with his monsters at the towering timber-dæmon.

“I love zhe English sense of ‘umour,” Florentin chuckled. “So droll. So droll. Gigaplant, attack Laquari!” The tree hissed as its maw brimmed with saliva. It snapped its vines at Laquari, capturing the tiger-man by his wrists and ankles, dragging him into the air and throwing him into the gaping abyss of its oesophagus. The scaly lips slammed shut and Sebastian felt a stabbing pain all through his torso, as if he were the one being bitten to pieces by the tree.

“Your lion will make a fine dessert,” said Florentin, “but until zhen, I end my turn.”

Sebastian drew. I should have expected him to have powerful monsters like that in his Deck, if he’s truly as good as he claims, he thought, at this point my only monster is Alexander, and if he attacks Gigaplant it will only result in both of them being destroyed. I’d best build up my defences instead.

“I’ll set a card face-down and end my turn there.”

[d’Thoze’s L.P.: 6200 / Sebastian’s L.P.: 6700]

“Seems you are already on zhe defensive,” Florentin said with a shrug. Still, I’m concerned by his face-down. It could upset my whole strategy. He drew and studied his hand. “As you may or may not be aware, Gigaplant is a Gemini monster, which means zhat so long as I forgo my normal-summon zhis turn, I can actify its special ability. Now I can special-summon any one Plant monster I wish from my ‘and or Graveyard. I choose Evil Thorn (100/300) in attack mode!”

Yet another thin, green stem stretched out of the grass and split in half at the top. Growing from one of its extensions was a drooping, pink bud and from the other was a heavy ball made of what appeared to be metal, and jutting out of it at every possible angle were two-foot long spikes, bringing to mind a medieval torture device.

“Now I tribute my Evil Thorn to deal you 300 points of damage to your Life Points, and special-summon two more Evil Thorns straight from my Deck.”

The metal ball exploded. Sebastian and Alexander braced themselves against the aftershock as they were pelted with detritus, and by the time the smoke and dust settled, two more identical plants had taken root in the ruins of their predecessor.

“Zhe two new Evil Thorns cannot use t’eir abilities zhis turn, but zhat is not a problem. I’ll play zhis Spell Card, Fragrance Storm. I can destroy one face-up Plant monster on t’e Field and draw anot’er card from my Deck. If t’at is a Plant monster, I can show it to you to draw a second card…” The leftmost Evil Thorn disappeared in a small whirlwind, leaving the air smelling of yet another sweet aroma, and Florentin drew. “Ah-ha! Anot’er of my beautiful maids of zhe garden, Tytannial, Princess of Camellias (2800/2600). I draw again.” He did so and immediately set the new card face-down, ending his turn.

Sebastian drew, and in his head a new stratagem was forged. He cast a confident smirk across the Field to Florentin, in particular to his face-down card.

“I’ll start,” he said, “by playing this Spell Card, Bait Doll! It forces you to actify of your face-down. If it’s a Trap and the timing is incorrect, it’s negated and then destroyed!” A colourful straw doll carrying a wooden mallet far too large for its little body to wield floated out of the ground and hovered to the rippling spot in front of Florentin. It swung the mallet down and smashed a small crater into the soil. A wave of turquoise light flooded out in all directions, accentuated with the sound of a distant bell, but only reached a few short feet before fizzling uselessly. The doll pulled its mallet back out and disappeared from sight.

“Zhat was my Draining Shield you just disposed of,” Florentin lamented as he moved the card appropriately. “Proceed.”

“Afterwards, Bait Doll returns to my Deck, which I then re-shuffle. Next I’ll set a face-down card of my own,” said Sebastian, “then give Alexander a weapon that’ll chop your Gigaplant to salad, the Gladiator Beast’s Battle Gladius, which increases his attack score by 300 points! Alexander, charge, and may your sword strike true!”

The lion-man pounced into the air with another roar, his propulsion taking him higher and higher towards the face of the Gigaplant, which opened its jaws in waiting. Alexander stretched out one hand as a bolt of lightning struck his palm, solidifying into a golden sword. More bolts flashed against the surface of the blade as the beast cleaved his target in twain, spilling leaves and chlorophyll everywhere, dousing Florentin and his forest in a spray of sticky viridian. Alexander returned his spot and disappeared back into his master’s Deck.

“Like the rest of my Gladiator Beasts,” Sebastian explained, “Alexander can return to the safety of my Deck and switch places with another, providing he battled this turn, and Battle Gladius goes back to my hand. I summon Gladiator Beast Dimacari back into play, in attack mode!”

The buffalo-man’s expression showed his satisfaction as he appeared. He kicked at the dirt with his heels and snorted, already building itself up into a blood-frenzy.

[d’Thoze’s L.P.: 5900 / Sebastian’s L.P.: 6400]

“First you trim my Queen of Thorns, and now my poor Gigaplant!” Florentin moaned as he drew, resting the back of his hand against his forehead. “You, sir, should be ashamed for such blatant vandalism. Well, all I can do for now is set a monster face-down, and switch my last remaining Evil Thorn to defence mode, ending my turn.”

Yes, I’m dominating this game now, thought Sebastian. He drew, and played his new monster at once. “I summon Gladiator Beast Darius (1700/300) in attack mode!” To Dimacari’s side appeared a creature quite the reversal of Equeste. Like him, he was part horse and part man, only he walked on two hoofed legs and his head was that of a cavalier stallion. He wore brown armour and a helm with a long, silver spike sticking straight up from the middle. On his back was a silver, horseshoe-shaped extension which radiated with a faint, yellow light. He held a metal whip in its hand, pulling it taught as he steeled himself with a confident neigh.

“Since Dimacari was summoned by the effect of a Gladiator Beast,” said Sebastian, “he can attack you twice! Dimacari, rip apart his defences so Darius can sever his Life Points!”

Both monsters lunged through the air. The buffalo’s left fist bore a hole through the Evil Thorn, while his right punched the ground beside it, causing Florentin’s hidden creature to rise up and utter a weak groan before shattering; it turned out to be a frankly unpleasant little weed known as Grass Phantom (1000/1000). Darius snapped his whip around Florentin’s arms. The horseshoe extension on his back hummed and sent a spiral of offensive yellow light down the length of the whip and coursing through its captive’s body, forcing a long, choked cry of agony from him before it was pulled away and both Gladiator Beasts re-took their stances.

“I’ll complete my move,” said Sebastian, “by switching Dimacari and Darius for Alexander and my second Laquari, then actify my face-down Trap Card, Double Tag, to special-summon Andal and bring my monster-count up to three!” The aforementioned creatures materialised together and lowered their heads, as if their quiet growls were a form of communication, anticipating their controller’s will and forming a plan all their own.

[d’Thoze’s L.P.: 4200 / Sebastian’s L.P.: 6400]

“Your brother’s skill is astonishing,” Jethro observed.

“I had no idea he was so proficient,” Gwendolyn agreed. Well, that was a lie. She had seen the level her elder sibling played at, and he had always been a force to be reckoned with. Still, something was different about him now. She remembered the manic glint in his eyes when those Gladiator Beasts ploughed her body into the palace floor. It was gone now, replaced only by – what was that she was witnessing here, focus, or simple determination?

“Rather wish he hadn’t used that lightning technique, though,” Jethro sniffed with mild disgust. “If there’s anything worse than a smelly Frog, it’s a baked smelly Frog.”

Florentin somehow managed to shrug off the crippling affliction as little wafts of steam rose from his cooked clothes and tenderised skin. He drew. “Zhat is not zhe only count I’ve been keeping my eye on,” he said, and pointed up with his free hand to the branches above his head. Six golden flowers decorated the World Tree. “Now I reveal zhe purpose of my World Tree. I shall tribute all six of t’ese Flower Tokens in order to resurrect two Plant monsters from my Graveyard. Welcome back, Queen of Thorns, in attack mode, and Dandylion, in defence mode!”

The ground cracked apart again to reveal the great dryad, dirtied by her brief burial and with a vengeful expression on her face. Beside her knelt her diminutive, cat-faced companion, like a bumbling sidekick by comparison, with his leafy arms crossed before his face.

“To celebrate zhis momentous occasion,” the French duellist sneered, “we’ll start wit’ a little bear-baiting. Queen of Thorns, devour Andal!” The dryad made a sound in the back of her throat, no doubt vocalising her agreement, and stretched out her limbs, clamping one extremis jaw around Andal’s right arm and the other around his left leg. The bear struggled as hard as he could, and his fellows held onto him with all their might, but it was all for naught, as Andal was ripped from their arms, torn in half with a hideous series of cracks, and swallowed alive. Blood and entrails dribbled into the dirt as the Queen’s arms expanded grotesquely to allow the halves of the dead bruin passage through her bizarre digestive tract. Sebastian and his warriors watched in horror as the shape of the bear bulged out from the stem before disappearing into the ground. The Queen of Thorns made a small, satisfied noise in her throat.

“Wasn’t t’at lovely?” Florentin cooed. “I’ll set one card face-down and end my turn.”

Sebastian drew, and was quite astounded by his good fortune. “I’ll play Bait Doll on your face-down card!” The colourful straw figure bounced out of the ground and struck with its hammer. Several long, thorny vines shot out in different directions, frazzling the doll before collapsing on themselves and sinking into the grass.

“My Wall of Thorns Trap Card,” Florentin clarified. “Your doll Spell was well-shuffled, Monsieur.”

“Now I re-grant Alexander his Battle Gladius,” said Sebastian, “and he’ll use it to avenge Andal by slaying your Queen of Thorns!” The lion-man hoisted his golden sword and let out an angry roar. He swung the blade horizontally from his left, and it seemed to extend as it cut the air until it dissevered the dryad’s stem. She screamed as she toppled over, her upper body exploding against the ground. Dandylion squeaked and trembled fearfully as he watched his sovereign’s second death. Laquari was on the offensive before his master even finished giving the command. He lanced its claws towards the tiny target, but the ring of fire about his waist incinerated Dandylion in a split-second (four conifer cones above Florentin’s head bloomed into Fluff and Flower Tokens).

“Finally I’ll swap Laquari and Alexander,” said Sebastian, “for Dimacari and Gladiator Beast Secutor (400/300) in attack mode, return the Battle Gladius to my hand, and end my turn.” The lion and tiger-men disappeared, and the buffalo returned, accompanied by a small, reptilian monster in blue-and-white armour. He seemed to be quite immature in comparison to the other Gladiators. His pink tongue poked in and out of his scaly lips and his amber eyes darted from one side to the other at a rapid pace, taking in the arena again and again and again. He appeared more than mildly disdainful of the heavily scented atmosphere. Two metal domes hovered just behind his shoulders.

“You gave up Alexander for a monster so much weaker than ‘im?” Florentin asked, befuddled. “What is zhe point of t’at?” Secutor hissed at the French duellist and Dimacari lightly patted him on the shoulder.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Sebastian replied, “but for now, I’ll end my turn.”

[d’Thoze’s L.P.: 3700 / Sebastian’s L.P.: 6100]

Florentin drew, bringing the number of cards in his hand to three, and all of them were Spells which were presently useless to him. He sighed and considered his options. He was not aware of Secutor’s abilities yet, but he remembered that Dimacari could attack him twice. The choice was simple.

“I cannot summon any monsters or play anyt’ing in my ‘and right now, so instead I’ll use two of my World Tree’s Flower Tokens to destroy one card on zhe Field. That card will be your Dimacari!”

A strong wind blew through his forest and carried the buffalo-man up and away into the oblivion of night still blanketing Sebastian’s unchanged side of the Field.

“If that is all, it’s my move!” Sebastian announced as he drew. “I summon Gladiator Beast Bestiari (1500/800) in attack mode!” He threw down the card and a small dust-storm corkscrewed from the earth beside Secutor. It parted to reveal a tall man covered in green feathers. His head was that of a handsome bird with a maroon crown. He wore dark green armour, with two large spear-heads on his shoulders, white tube-like extensions on his forearms and a pair of malachite wings on his back. His fingers ended in cruel, curved talons, which he eagerly bared at Florentin, who put a hand protectively over his throat.

“First, I choose to actify Bestiari’s special ability, which allows me to destroy a Spell or Trap Card of my choosing, so bid farewell to your World Tree!”

The bird-man pumped his arms down at his sides and his wings spread to their full, impressive span, then he raised both his arms again as the tubes glowed with emerald light. A stream of green fire spewed forth from above towards the mighty yew. Florentin yelped and ducked down, saving himself from another roasting, but the hairs on the back of his neck were singed as the winding inferno blazed on, engulfing the World Tree and then expanding out to swallow up the forest. It was beautiful and terrible to behold, as the nature which Florentin brought was reduced to cinders. When the Frenchman sat back up, his high-backed chair and grand table were once again simple, wooden stools. A few stray leaves fluttered to the ground before vanishing into floundering particles. The artificial sunlight was also gone, leaving both duellists in relative darkness. The two Fluff Tokens hung at either side of him.

“Such ‘orrid disregard for Mot’er Nature,” he repined.

“I’ll plant a seed in Epping Forest. She’ll manage,” said Sebastian sarcastically, attempting to taunt Florentin with his own hoity-toity mannerisms. “Gladiator Beasts, prime your weapons and destroy his Fluff Tokens!”

Bestiari reached for the spear-head on his left shoulder and detached it. The heavy item trailed a chain behind it, which the bird-man took in both hands. He swung the spear-head in the air like a lariat, then let it fly, bursting the first Fluff Token into soft, cottony rubble. He gestured politely to Secutor as if to say, “You’re turn, old sport,” and the reptilian youth accepted his offer with gusto. He crossed his arms over his chest and the two domes hovering behind him first swivelled up so their flat surfaces faced the French duellist, then telescoped into a pair of bell-shaped cannons.

“Oh, merde,” Florentin cursed. His voice was flat, but his wide eyes said it all. Secutor threw his arms out and the cannons belched out twin spheres of blue fire, which obliterated the second Fluff Token and gave its owner a shocking new dose of physical trauma. Gwendolyn and Jethro would swear to their dying days that they could actually see his skeleton flickering in and out of visibility as the attack surged through his system.

“Since your Tokens were in defence mode, your Life Points are safe,” said Sebastian once his adversary had ceased convulsing, “I’ll end my turn by swapping Bestiari for Laquari, and because Secutor’s special ability is that he can be exchanged for two Gladiator Beasts rather than just one, I’ll use him to call on Darius and my second Dimacari, who is quite eager to get you back for blowing him off the way you did.”

The tiger, horse and buffalo-men loomed over Florentin’s empty Field with murderous looks on their muzzled faces.

[d’Thoze’s L.P.: 3700 / Sebastian’s L.P.: 6100]

Florentin drew, and when he understood that his victory was not meant to be, he closed his eyes and spoke with the sublimity of a true gentleman, “I graciously accept my defeat, Monsieur Blackwood. It seems zhat my victory ‘ere was just not meant to be. I pass.”

“I recognise your gallantry, Seigneur,” replied Sebastian. “This was an excellent game. Gladiator Beasts…” He never finished giving his order, but his trio of monsters carried it out all the same. Assaulted by Laquari’s flames, Darius’ whip and Dimacari’s rib-cracking punch to his mid-section, Florentin tumbled off his seat and onto his back in the dirt. The enchantment of the Fairy Pins came to an end and the Gladiator Beasts faded in a shower of glittering flakes.

[d’Thoze’s L.P.: 0 / Sebastian’s L.P.: 6100]

[End Duel: Winner – Sebastian Blackwood]

[Mew Master]

This was written... well several years ago during my Sophmore year of High School for my Girlfriend's birthday present (which is still underconstruction --,). When I told my GF about my publication, she suggested I try to get this published as well.

The rhyming scheme sucks, I know, it's several years old, I know, and I'm not a poet.

So neah.

I stare, into the sky,
The clouds, floating, soaring by.
Light pours down, as they part,
The moon shining down from afar.
I stare, as the moon shines,
Memory takes me, back through time.
Inside the moon, I watch and see,
Its yellow glow reminds me of your beauty.
The smile on your lips, the waves of your hair,
I think of how much I wish you were here.
Your touch I feel, on the wind,
Softly, tenderly,pulling me in.
Looking up, spending my time,
Feeling your heart, beating with mine.
Staring into the midnight sky,
Your presence, I feel, closely by.
Watching as the moon floats high,
I know you are watching the same starry sky.

Yeah.... bash away.

[Deadwood_Zen]

I liked it. 'Twas just cheesy enough to be real and be romantic :]

[Deadwood_Zen]

Much of my songwriting as of lately has been more political in nature then before. Here's my latest piece I actually like. It does not have a title, much like most of my songs, but I hope its not too big of a waste of your time


We march blindly,
to the drums of propaganda.
We're killing all our brothers,
but that don't matter.
An eye for an eye,
leaves everyone blind,
So lets kill them all,
and then take their eyes.

Mindless slaves,
to corrupt leaders,
Preaching r their religion,
to all the wife-beaters.
Sex, drugs, and blood on the street,
but that don't matter if our oil demands our met.

Can't you see that we're pawns in a game,
to leaders who can't play,
So they send in the troops,
and throw lives away.

We need to change,
from these shameful ways.
A revolution, we'll have,
and burn their sins away.

I say rise against,
and above the rest.
If we want freedom,
here's our test.
We might not be great,
or even the best,
But we'll be better,
then the previous mess...

~Zen

[Metanoia]

Inspired by Keats.

Translucence
What stygian vintage is this
In which mists dance
Like wan droplets, on
The rim of my thoughts

And in whose blurred reflections
What can be, but won't
What should be, but isn't
What seclusion never ends

I ask in lucid tones, repeal
The bell that peals so early
That buries before the blush
Falls from the cheek

[Chris 2.1]

Plundered

A pirate
walks through the city
clutching very little shopping
at eight am.

Lucozade for energy
a paper to indulge in
while sushi feeds him
temporarily.

Smacked lips say 'salty'
and eyeliner smudged;
horrific,
the Walk of Shame.

[Chris 2.1]

Window Shopper

Scan the strangers
Up and down,
And sink another drink

Cheeky grin that animates the mannequins,
Those in shadows leap into a spotlight
Just to hear your song.

Two chords, maybe three? Specifics seem to fail me

But before long they follow your pied-piper eyes and off into the night you go.

Scratching letters into bedposts
Keeping the neighbors awake...
You know,
s
e
x
?

Well that would make the most sense.

But like a fox you outsmart with fantastic-wit
And let chiseled forms to lean like awesome buildings
Men fall at your feet

But you're just window shopping.

[Chris 2.1]

Deleting You

Just a little peek,
A glimmer of our life and the words we speak,
All the flashes of fondness
The subtext, the loneliness never came to call.

On the bitter eve,
I staggered a'board a train and let it leave.
So sleepy from what all the booze had done to me,
Brief decision
To meet you at 4am.
Carelessly.

How we smiled, with each day we smiled and we smiled
And nothing was heavy,
Not even denial.
Fingers clasped close when the eyes looked away
And more and more often we started to play with
Ambitions
Collective thoughts we would share
Smoking dreams
like cloudy pipes
And blowing fumes into the air

But don't smile any longer - for this was the past.
And your psyche tripped up so your love didn't last.

With a sigh and a sob you threw me to the streets

Choking back tears I was white as a sheet...!

A tragedy once, but you did it again!

And my heart grew fragile

My heart wouldn't mend!

With a thud my heart pumped emotion,
And my finger tips started to bleed,
And it seemed I'd been waiting too long
For you
to change your mind and come back to me.

And this was a test; a mere text about Twitter.
You failed it, you fool; I thought you were better.

You don't say anything if you can avoid,
For if Suzie were to learn that you once loved a boy.
Your life would burn quickly, dismay and destroy.
So at arms length you kept me, prod here and prod there.
But my short arms can't prod you back and declare
THAT I'M FINISHED!

Done with hanging like clothes
On a line in the garden of flesh decomposed.

You stay with her. And be happy. Be free.

But I say goodbye and delete you from Facebook.












Phew. Poetry is cathartic and then some.

[Gavin Luper]

No worries bud. And we'd never yell here, we're too nice! ^_^

I do have to excuse myself for not reading and replying to your story itself (time never seems to permit me to cruise the fanfic forum and just read fics) but even though I'm unfamiliar with the fandom you're writing about, I can tell you do have some solid writing skill. Your writing style is nice and sharp and fits well with the action-based piece. So, based on my overview, you seem to be a promising writer and I hope you stick around!

Feel free to post around the place - this main forum is used just for posting fics and short stories or generally any creative work; poetry goes in the poetry corner, stickied at the top of this main forum; and general discussions, polls, questions and queries go in the Writer's Lounge, unless it's a query you'd rather make privately, in which case you can PM one of us mods.

Cheers!

[Chris 2.1]

Valentime

8pm

All of the lights
Fill my eyes
And cause chaos.
We wander the streets
Like a team
Filling London air with cackles; the scent of youth

9pm
As my head spins like Saturn
I continue to pour
odd liqueurs
down my throat.
Gulp gulp.
A text from S
But I'll leave him waiting,
he leaves me waiting,
sometimes.
It's high time he knew
What distance can do
it sends power to the head -
- well, to mine.

10pm

Hi, who are you?
And what do you do?
We greet total strangers
Like familiar friends
As my contact lenses tighten and sting
How long have they been in
Since 7
Since 8
I had breakfast at 8, I could see my grapefruit
How long have they been in?
Since 8.
Since 8.

11pm
Policeman, you say...
I'm tempted, I say
And we talk about paper and pens.
A connection, a spark,
One that lights up the dark
But his eyes don't shimmer like yours do.

Midnight
Laughter, laughter,
Powers the wheel
And dizzying, his scent.
He seems charming,
and I'm drunk.
Work will be fine...
Everything could be fine, in his arms

1am
The streets are lined with gold
And I can't even feel the cold
As we cross the town.
A smoke to calm the nerves,
Send smoke coils
They stink (who cares?)

1.30am
Once we arrive,
I drop my cards all over the table
Spade in my hand
Heart on my sleeve
Ace in my eyes
And it hits me, a lurch like no other
Have you ever hit turbulence?
Sinking in the pit of your stomach

2am
It's almost 2am
I'm running through the town
And I need you now.
I'm sorry to have called
But I feel a little drunk
And I feel like we've been shouting from the tops of mountains
different mountains
Unable to hear ourselves
I don't care how much it costs
Or how long I'm on a train...
I really need you now.

[Mew Master]

THis is something I was working on for Valentines and me and Sarah's Anniversary in March. It's campy and corny I know.

I know I always get these books for you,
Because of how you smiled when you drew.
When pen meets paper, subtle curved,
Defining expression, forever preserved.
The light in your eyes, your grinning smirk,
Sketching in the sidelines, instead of your work.
I miss the days of seeing your joy,
Still have presents you drew for this boy.
I want to see your smile again,
Encouraging because I'm your biggest fan.
Please, I beg, Take pencil, pen, paint and brush,
Easel, ink, frame, paper, there's no need to rush.
Accept the gifts, bring back that sparkle in your eye,
Put that pen to paper, and just let it fly.
Write down your thoughts, your desires, your dreams,
Every sketch and doodle, much more than it seems.
To paint and draw, with vibrant hues,
Symbols and meaning with hinted clues.
Even the greatest works take time,
The hardest part is always that first line.

[Chris 2.1]

so as the morning lights stains through the curtains
you look around, and finally you pull your head
out of the noose and step timidly away:
and as you blink and adjust your eyes, you start to wonder
was it worth it - the tears, the screams, the resigned silences
that followed from all those frenzied actions,
was it worth it when all you needed was a moment’s peace?

maybe this is what they mean by the good news -
the priests have stopped, the revolutionary has taken
pause for breath and the band’s finished tuning -
and when the fighting stops, you find a smile
appearing from the rubble as you walk up the pavement
softly humming a song you knew, rattling your change

and you hear her sing it too, as she did for you once
and you get hurt and lost and scared
but it’s you that’s singing now, you who knows them
and has arms for them all - and in a second now,
you start to harmonize, and that’s you set fre

[Shadow Wolf]

Just thinking about someone...

A new day

Thinking back, before I met you

I felt like an empty shell

Empty, worthless, feeling hollow...

with no reason to feel well.



I was walking through my life

like an old abandoned toy

Just one day after the other

with no reason to feel joy



But in spite of all the sorrow

I did not hang on a rope

'cause my heart and my mind struggled

for a reason to feel hope.



And the struggle was all worth it

I feel now like sunrise dew

cause my reason to feel happy

is my reason to love you.

[Shadow Wolf]

Sorry for the double post...

This short piece describes my situation right now. I haven't slept well thinking that I've hurt a dear girl friend of mine that I met just a month ago. She's practically my mirror image, since our lives are similar in many experiences we've been through, but for some reason, my communication with her has dropped. I haven't been able to talk to her and the fear of losing her friendship has left me with 4 nights of insomnia, headaches and an unknown pain which flows all over my body... hence the words of the poem.

Unforgivable

Just ashes remain
To hurt a dear friend so bad's
the worst kind of pain

Take care of your friends... let them know that you care and ask for forgiveness everytime neccesary.

[esspwebmaster]

i am glad to see and read this thread as i am a poetry lover

[Chris 2.1]

Angus

Angus, with your lacerations
Ribbons spill out from my chest.
Angus, with your declarations
nations would turn with impress.

[Shadow Wolf]

Insomnia

The core of my mind is now focused on you
With all the good memories we’re making as friends
With two dreams about you dreamt on this weekend
And also with thoughts of my knowledge of you.

While trying to see things from your point of view
My heart cares so much that he tries to pretend
That it has accepted to stay as your friend
While screaming in mute that it’s longing for you

This struggle has drained my body ‘of its bliss
Since it’s really tired and needs a night’s sleep
To gain the composure to withstand this pain.

My spirit’s convinced that only your kiss
Will calm down my soul and will make my mouth speak…
…but until that happens, just these words remain.

[Chris 2.1]

Mossy

Clockwork heartache, thing to see
To think of love is to think of me.
But what, prey tell, can one heart hold
When punctures til it's walls unfold?

When each part falters, weary, tired,
With inundated pain from
Liars, cheaters, beggars, tramps and thieves,
The time slips by, all sense deceived.

But hope, though solitary, beckons
Burning light and blissful reckon.
Here lies proof, the clock can tick
When certain cogs miss certain bits.

So when one hand is spinning free,
I hope, old friend, you'll think of me.
The little hand to match your bigger,
Grip the knuckle, twisted; winner.

[Oslo]

I don't generally write about my personal experiences so explicitly, but today has just been a very blah day.

Astray

You trudge over corn shoots
across a field in tessellations,
cracked with sun, and past
the flicking orange of flags
that map out the drain tiles
an acre from the barn.

Your tiring gaze is snagged
on every dark shape—
on the shreds of plastic piping
littered like accordion scraps,
on the shadows of birds
as they only flee from nothing.

Back into the bush
as you wind past life and decay
and the old ravaged car seat
with its stuffing spilled like a festering wound.

Here, every snapping twig
stops your heart.

Then, later,
as the sun slinks away
and colours the sky like a bruise
you return
with your tongue dry
as they say

I’m sorry, man.

or

He might still turn up somewhere.

But where?

Where else
if not at the pond’s brown edge
where you might scorn the cattails

or beneath the patio
in that charnel house of raccoon skulls

or by the back door
as you put out a cup table cream
with the porch light on
to guide him home?

Really, where else
if not at the foot of your bed
while you twist under hot linen
as his phantom weight
keeps you up
long into the first night?

[mattbcl]

...man, Oslo, I wish there was something profound or constructive I could say in response to that, besides the vague condolences or reassurances your piece already mentioned. But I will say that you've inspired me... I needed the writing gates to unlock and this may help.

-------------------

Find the Real

Seated on the bench, alone on either side
stared wordlessly past the menagerie of faceless heads
watched the screen while it shared
the secrets of the meaning behind existence itself
the man before it dared his audience to find
the reality, the beauty, the truth
situated somewhere within
the veil of lies and deceit they face daily

It was not pointlessness
to bear mute witness to the demonstration
he spoke the truth
and I know it... we all know it
even if we didn't bob our heads in agreement
even if we stood up and denied with one voice
we know it is real

"How did I get here?"
"Why am I here?"
"What is good?"
"What is evil?"
"What is truth?"
"What is real?"

He pointed out and rightly so
that even the least of us
will ask these most profound questions
questions the universe will not answer
and so we must for ourselves

He asked me to stand up
and I did, because he needed me
and perhaps he needs me
more than I realize

Now he sits at home, before his own screen
and his family has moved on to other things
and I wonder if he feels alone

He was close to giving up so long ago
and I wonder what drives him to continue now

Maybe he found what's real.