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Glaziers of Brightvale
By Concertogreat_8 and Wicked_summer
Sand from desert, sand from dunes.
Sand from dark places, hidden from sight, spun
Into crystalline orbs. Colourless -- pale.
Shattering glass. Pounded hammers enact
Scenes upon windows. Heroic events -- tales from
A shadowed past; who lives in the window's face?
Colours from a rainbow caught
And trapped in glass, like ice. (Brightvale rainbow).
Golden light that caught the sun
Bent into shape of light (of sand) of glass.
A Spyder's web of cracks spreads out. Fragments.
Pieces of shattered dreams. They cut like knives,
Leave a trail of bled pain, dark against the light,
Light that shines through and shows the pictures.
Making pictures out of sand. Crafting
Air to solid shape; spinning dreams of
A long-forgot mystery. In sand the tales
Live on. In glass the stories never die.
Eternal story, frozen in the window glass;
Butterflies caught in ice, motions caught in time;
Valiant Sir, brave King Hagan, frozen
Catch a falling star, run fast across the dunes of
Lost Desert, trail of tears across the diamond sky;
Folding in deepest sleep; Darkest Faerie in window
Glass. Falling to Brightvale. Through a window into
Glaziers. And glass falls. Glass shatters.
The Legend of Count Von Roo
Deep in the ruins lurks a menacing gloom,
Oppressive with the sense of impending doom,
An ancient terror dwells within
Playing dice with fools who will never win.
For this is the lair of Count von Roo,
The evil vampire Blumaroo.
Of noble birth with a heart of stone,
Cast out by his family to live alone.
Many years he wandered under starlit skies,
Doomed by his actions to a lonely life.
His only companions were fear and loathing,
Neopia feared his constant roaming.
Weary of travel, which had taken its toll,
He made his lair in ruins of old.
In his crypt he slept for 200 years,
Drifting from memories, disappeared.
But now he's back to menace the land,
Deadly dice grasped in his hand.
Tempting the weak with a fool's reward,
Count von Roo has returned once more.
The Rant of the Flotsam Chef
Oh sure, it's Mystery Island
A place of relaxation and rest.
Souvenirs at the Tiki shop opened,
Comfortable and colourfully dressed.
So why is it that I am stuck?
With the worst job, out of luck.
Mr. Mumbo Pango, a large appetite,
Needs a million meals a day,
And they must be cooked right.
Soups, desserts, and souffles --
Oh, here am I, the overworked cook!
Every day the same dreary outlook!
"Hop to it!" he says with a grumble,
"I'm obviously pining to nothing!"
All I can do is mutter a mumble
And fix the savoury crab stuffing.
Gathering the ingredients is quite a test --
You don't happen to want a quest?
I can offer you a reward to be true,
If you hurry and collect within time.
I need a Baked Juppie and Pizza, too,
If my culinary concoction is to be sublime.
Haste please! The recipe cannot wait --
Mango Pango is starting to get irate...
I wonder why I just don't quit!
This job is way too much trouble.
One thing is true, though, I admit:
Since Maraqua went to rubble,
No other chef job has quite the pay,
Since I charge a lot to cook for a day!
The Acara's Beach
A secret, most are unaware,
The question, where to start?
It's not the land, but ocean cool,
Within Acara's heart.
Few do know these creatures small,
Belong near crashing sea.
Upon the golden sands afar,
Lies haven, safe and free.
If one would dwell in silent wait,
On any given day.
They'll see Acaras, trooping quick,
Upon their merry way.
They seek the sacred hidden shores,
Of beach for them alone.
Location held within the clan,
That strangers are not shown.
Sprawling gold and glossy blue,
With jungle realm at door.
Rocks above the friendly waves,
From these, they leap and soar.
Most will say Acara folk,
Belong right on the land.
But hidden beach doth call to them,
Like waves upon the sand.
They dive within the aqua sea,
Recline near palm tree's shade.
Nearby Acaras gather 'round,
As merry games are played!
You'll sight them, if you wander near,
Or find the hidden road.
Acara beach is tucked away,
So secret, this abode!
Viridian, the boughs shall slope,
And haven shall they hide.
Acara beach, all tucked away,
Ruled by the time and tide.
Sun rises on the hilly plain,
As day begins in Meridell.
A Blumaroo waves handkerchief
And to her son, she bids farewell.
Young Rohane carries Father's sword,
And marches off into the wild.
His mother stands on front porch steps.
She worries for her darling child.
He's all grown up, though still she sees
That way his ears bend when he walks.
She knows each hair upon his head,
She knows the way he laughs and talks.
She's done her best to raise him well,
But now it's time to say goodbye.
She bites her lip and waves her hand;
A tear forms in one tired eye.
Rohane's mother cries for him,
And yet she's filled with so much pride.
Her boy has left, but now she sees
A man walks tall with measured stride.
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