Three Word Game

[Ephemera]

The crone's eyes twinkled as she gazed upon the surface of the moon, as if it were a crystal ball and she meant to scry the future for the foolish man-child who stood uncertainly at the defining edge between forest and her warm, shadowy cave.  Her voice carried on tendrils of hearth smoke, with a rich, velvety timbre entirely unexpected from a woman who looked to have walked a hundred years on this soil, "Are you sure you can tell with your own eyes, young warrior, the difference between ghoulish and beautiful?" He stammered and stuttered, the poor young soul, as his clueless tongue tied itself around the thought he'd up to now believed absolute truth, "Yes, I... uhnnn.... I believe I.... I don't know."

feather, weather, leather

[Mordred]

Gazing through the soft fibers of the feather, the ageless one whispered in such a soft sound, it seemed more like her words were part of his own thoughts, "The weather for you, my optimistically foolish seeker of truth, is saturated with such storms to thwart even the sturdiest of souls." As her words trailed off, the strange woman took a long, slow lick of the silky thing of black and white, "Yesssss.. I highly suggest you purchase the Iron-Cloak 311.. it's our top seller and a bargain as it's made of the highest quality leather in the realm and can be yours for the meager price of twelve silvers."

Coiled, Foiled, Soiled

[Dovel]

The rusty wire that coiled closed what I hide
Finely broke, foiled this attempt to keep it inside
When you are ready to talk we will sit
By the fire and discuss a bit
The soiled mess I made of our lives

obsession, abandoned, murky

[Mordred]

Would it be true to suggest that each and every moment, the brain of an individual is consumed with an obsession? For truly, when one thought takes hold, it's fair to say the prior dweller of that particular mind is abandoned as it's pushed aside to make full room, wouldn't you say? Ah, but to make such a general statement about what lurks between ears that are not my own.. that's treading into murky territory, I suppose.. one that I am probably not fully enlightened enough to make.

Question, Infestation, Lamination

[Grainne]

Often in life I've found that the question of ultimate truth will eventually come under scrutiny by even the hardest of skeptics. This can come after horrible personal tragedy or a build up of loss of many and sundry kinds. This thought then finds it's way deep into the human psyche as a sort of infestation of what is commonly known as 'the God question.' This one thought has had people from all walks of life and indeed in every culture known to humanity, throughout history, divide upon the most minute of minutia, when all that really happens is that we exchange lamintation for lamentation.

suited, booted, footed

[Mordred]

Some minds, it seems, aren't quite suited for the paths of believing in more than what is proven by science and what the senses can truly decipher. In such creatures, both the traditional and more surreal pathways of thought are booted far and wide to make room simply for that which that entwines within logical thought. In these ways, I can say I find myself happily footed.. wiggling the toes in the freedom of having not a freakin' clue.. yet always and forever speculating.

Indent, Invent, Invest

[Ephemera]

The antique typewriter was the young poet's pride and joy, although she was currently frustrated at the malfunctioning TAB key and the way it screwed up her ability to indent for new stanzas.  She couldn't help lamenting for a moment, the fact that no one had been able to invent a time machine capable of transporting her back a few decades, else she could have the thing repaired in no time.  As she wiped the ink smudges from her fingers, and gave the sticky key another test tap, to no avail, she sighed accepting that it was time to invest in some WD-40 and hope for the best!

billow, willow, pillow

[LilySweetheart]

With longing in her dark eyes, the young woman stared out into the night.  A warm wind from the Gulf gusted through the open window, causing her diaphanous skirts to billow out behind her.  Below in the gardens, a nightingale perched in the swaying willow, calling to its mate.  How she longed to do the same, longed to call home the one she loved.  Turning from the dark night, her heart aching, she slipped into bed and clutched to her a soft feather pillow.  Tonight that would be her bedmate, a poor substitute for flesh and blood.

Gallows, hallow, yellow

[Zandra]

He found himself staring out the small, barred window at the Great Gallows and wondered how long he’d stood there.  He moved away slowly shifting his barely acknowledged attention to the cracked and pealing yellow walls surrounding him, knowing it would be the last home he’d ever know. How had he come to hallow the cause that asked so much of him?

hairy, fairy, merry

[SaturnCeleste]

It was a merry day for all and the celebration was in full swing.  The great hall hummed from the buzzing of gossamer wings as everyone turned to listen to the speaker each with a bearded face and hairy body.  “Let us rejoice and sing for we are the ones that put money under a child’s pillow, we help the flowers bloom, we keep the waves in the ocean—yes, celebrate all for we are the fairy!”

tasty, hasty, pasty

[Mordred]

Way back when the dark creature was still just a regular bundle of life doing what such things do, he could never have guessed at how wildly tasty he would eventually find the sweet red syrup inside the human vein to be. Sadly, he was also never hasty in his need to do too much under the warm sun that sat high up in the blue sky, having no clue that some day he'd think back farther than any human mind could fathom in trying to recall exactly how it felt upon his skin. Yet the idea of feeling it's burning rays in his present form sent his imagination hurtling towards what he expected a pasty cooking on high within a brick oven might feel like, which always brought a wistful longing to run out and feel the moon's comforting gaze.

Random, Tandom, Fandom

[Grainne]

Some would say, that life is but a series of random events and we are powerless against them, but those might be called nihilists in my book. No, in my opinion, I think that the choices we make are more our own decisions combined, in tandom, with the options we are given in life. Therefore, philosophically and spiritually speaking, we are the decisions we make and how we respond, or react to them. So, one could say if a young person tries on fandom of a certain comic book for example, and goes to a convention, but then is dissapointed by the outcome, well they made their choice and now will have the option of choosing another path, or not.

vile, bile, revile

[Dovel]

Why, so vile do you speak
Of our love we had only last week
Your words are so full of revile
They bring up in my heart a bile
that a refuge from I seek

Joy, Happiness & Longing

[Ephemera]

I pondered long the task of using these three words, each in a sentence, for one of my favorite games; to be honest, I cannot say the task brought me an abundance of joy.  I suppose it's because I don't often write about concepts such as happiness; I tend to lean toward other emotions or go completely off the grid with something odd or peculiar.  So, after several moments of longing for inspiration, I shuffled a bit, adding to or changing a letter in each of the words, so I could leave the next player with something only slightly altered from the original three.

joey (as in the baby kangaroo),
hoppiness (it's a word, I just made it up...go with it.),
and lounging (because I got tired at the end)

[Grainne]

Joeys found mostly in plentitude in the continent and country of Australia, can be found, in the wild, clinging to their mothers both for safety and love. In fact, they may be said to love their mothers unconditionally, and when such love is returned it is termed hoppiness. Kangaroos, by nature are an active sort, and so will never be seen to be lounging, ever. They can be found most often hopping through the brush and trying their best to survive together.

time, total and unison

[Mordred]

Time, to one who seems to have lived forever, ceases to simply be a matter of forward moving events. The fabric of space, normally a transparent presence that fills the total of what is between all objects, starts to take on the properties of what can best be described as a breathing entity. Once the senses work in unison to absorb this unbelievable phenomenon, the attached mind can then and only then remove itself from the constraints of the grey matter of the brain.

Squeak, Antique, Unique

[Ephemera]

Upon said removal, one might imagine the mind issuing a barely perceptible squeak as it finally breaks free from the grey and tests its ability to ride the slightest vibration, the smallest gust of air, or the slope of warm and tingling flesh as it explores sheer possibility.  Like the irregular ticks and clicks of an antique clock struggling to mark time, that unattached mind will dart and fly, then slide ever-so-slowly, as if stealthily sneaking up on its prey.  It moves and adapts in a way unique to such creatures, which after long captivity learn that they are free of constraint and must not waste the chance to reach new heights of potential never imagined while still tethered to the brain.

punctuation, aberration, resuscitation

[WildCat]

To boldly go and boldly break the rules,
split infinitives, forgo punctuation.
They're there for us to use, valuable tools.
Obey unless you intend the aberration.
Usually correct, your rare breaks are more cool.
Like phoenix from a flame, a resuscitation.

eye, oh, ewe

[SailDaddy]

eye oh ewe nothing!

lock clock smock

[Mordred]

From across the hall of swaying forms, he couldn't help but lock in on the one who was the most exquisite thing that had ever graced his vision. Why did she constantly glance towards the clock, he wondered? And then.. the world itself sank in and forever changed.. as this being who would forever become his quest fled through the front doors of the ballroom.. leaving in her wake from under a smock of silk and pearls, a dainty slipper of glass.

Mingle, Tingle, Jingle

[Sybl]

He promised to Mingle with the crowd, In truth he just sent a Tingle across her shoulders and walked back out the door. His hand in his pocket tossing coins until he heard them Jingle.

Rat, Cat, Bat

[Mordred]

Harry the Rat found himself questioning his very existence, one breezy summer evening. Nearly reaching a deep state of meditation, the grumbling sound of the next-door cat Malcolm pulled with a hard bump back to reality. "You keep up that chanting bullshit and I'm gonna grab my bat and.. you my screeching little friend.. will become a pool of ratatouille."

Square, Snare, Stare

[QuirkyFelicity]

Fesh walked out of his square of the forest, padding along on his bare feet, keeping quiet in case the regulators noticed the change. He placed his hand on the catch of the string-loaded snare at the edge of the five mile area of his nearest neighbor, Loirey, checking for her latest catch, hunger crazing his eyes. He failed to notice the stare burrowing into the back of his neck until the hand-carved throwing knife buried itself deep in his lower back, leaving him a twitching mass on the forest floor, Loirey's pale green eyes the last sight seared into his memory as he floated into oblivion.

Book, Mechanics, Dragon

[Mordred]

Sometime ago back around the 13th century, a silly creature of the night decided he'd explore thoughts written in a book or two, in hopes that maybe he could cheat his affliction and perhaps once again walk under the sun that he missed so madly. Having studied the mechanics of the human body, and having delved into the alchemy of his own ancient blood, he confidently worked countless hours through many nights.. until the treasured drink sat before him in a small glass. "Blue Dragon", he named this concoction with a whisper as his icy glare remained transfixed upon it's cerulean inner swirls, "what shall be the outcome of you sliding down inside my lips?"

History, Mystery, Yesterday

[QuirkyFelicity]

"I don't understand, Ulfric; what the hell do you mean by Liuntancium, the history of the Contu people?" Astrid stared at him with a weirded out expression, catching the view of the leaning tower of Piza out of the corner of her eye. He granted that question with a glare, "You should know better that anyone, Astrid, that the mystery of the tower surrounds the elements created by the Contu people, their civilization." He glared back at her, knowing that the symptoms of Luntancium poisoning would continually keep her from remembering anything he'd told her about the place once they got so close to it, "I told you yesterday, sweetheart."

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