This is Meep!

It's Meep!

Hello everyone, and say hello to Meep.  He’s over there on the right.  Don’t worry, he doesn’t bite.

Meep is Johz’s new mascot, and he’s going to be hanging around with us, doing cool things and adding his own opinion to what’s happening. I am very pleased that he has chosen to hang around here, and I hope you all make him feel very welcome. He doesn’t talk much, but don’t let that put you off him. Meep is going to get a lot of special privalages around here because this blog is equal opportunities , and we want to give strange semi-spherical beings chances that they may not normally get in life. Firstly, I plan on installing a micro-blog down the left-hand side, where a lot of my other failures have been. Secondly, he now has a special colour. Show them, Meep!

Yes!  I am Meep, and this is my colour.  How do you do?

Very well, thanks, Meep, what about you?

…

…

Okay. Meep doesn’t want to talk right now, but if you see blue writing like that, then that’s Meep’s very own opinion. He can also, I believe, do it in comments, so if you see a blue comment, than he’s replied to you himself, and you should feel very privileged. If anyone can draw better than I can, they are welcome to submit their own Meep-art, as I’m sure you lot are much better at it than I am.

So who actually is Meep? As are semi-spherical friend has run off again to find… What? A… Meep! Put that down!
Sorry about that. Yes, as Meep has run off, I’ll explain.
Meep comes from a planet of Meep-like creatures, known as Brongs. They crawl around the surface of their planet, looking for food and water in the barren earth. If they do find something, they are lucky, as Brongs are one of the very few things that can survive the dry conditions.
I found Meep as I was playing around using one of my space-rockets, called GIMP. We met, and just got on together, like you do on very rare occasions. I like politics, he like politics, I liked writing, he liked writing, I liked eating chips, he liked eating brussels sprouts. Okay, so it wasn’t a perfect match, but it was good enough. And so I brought him home, to show him my blog. He liked it, and so he stayed. And now we have Meep.

A Description of Death

A hooded cowl covers most of my body, although it is what I wear more than what I am the has created the legend. I carry a simple farming tool – my scythe – sharpened on silk, and made from a metal so thin that it is invisible. With it I can cut through the very air that we – you – breath,and even light falls broken on either side.
In my other hand, I carry life itself.
Who would have thought that time rushes so quickly? A big mass at the top of the hourglass, falling oh! so softly into the deadly base, every grain a second, a stream off time itself.
The eggtimer for your life. No turning back. Twist it this way or that, you can’t stop the flow. You can’t even pause it. Time moves too quickly to be caught.
And when the final grain of sand has fallen, fallen through time itself, what happens next?
Well I come, for a start.
A cloak made from the dying screams of a million nameless people. A hood sewn from every single last animal – last of their kind, that is. A scythe made from a million final words: the witty remarks, the sad truths, the final instructions. I ride a horse made from pure death.

I haven’t finished, I realise that, but I’ve lost the original manuscript, and I hate re-writing my own work. It doesn’t work to badly, I don’t think. More, better stuff in a couple of days.

Playing with fire

A large fireball hung in the air, bright in the murky gloom of the small stone room. A strand of it fell, like rope, and fell onto the boy’s outstretched hand. The boy whispered, and it expanded, and twisted round the child’s small hand.
Two Nissá looked on, faces showing no hint of reaction. For a moment, all three were motionless, as if captured together as a still image. Then one of the Nissá spoke:
Do you think you could do that using your Water abilities?”The child nodded, nervously. He waved his flame-free hand over its partner, and the fire died down. Slowly a trickle of water started to flow from the open palm, flowing from nowhere, going to nowhere. The flow seemed to cling to the hand, covering it like the flame did.
“Very good child. No, can we see you manipulate the Wind?”
Nodding nervously again, the boy flicked both of his hands. A rushing sound filled the small room. The boys long, flowing hair started to spin around his head – testament to the powere of the wind that he had created.
“And, finally, can we see you use the Earth?”
The child didn’t even nod this time. He knelt on both knees, and waved his hands over the cold, hard stone that covered the floor. Slowly, ripples began to form, until the stones were moving as though they were made from water. The boy looked up hopefully at his two examiners.
“Very good,” The Nissá smiled. He gestured towards the door, and the boy obediantly moved off into the outer courtyard.

The two examining Níssa had gone through to the main school hub. Lessons had restarted after the exams, and now the hall was silent. It was vast – the beams that supported the enourmous roof had had to be cut from the largest trees in the land. It was a masterpiece of engineering, design, and it was the home of the Níssa of Gúrran.
The Níssa were a race of mages who believed in the trinity of the world. They viewed life as the middle of the Triad of life – preceded by absolute evil, and succeeded by absolute goodness. As a peoples, they were generally tall, dark-skinned, and quiet. They rarely traveled out of their cities, and, were it not for the bravery of a small few, would have thought that they were totally alone in the world. As such, they had limited contact with the tribe of Erelings in the forest that bordered one of the larger Níssan cities. The two peoples would meet, once every four of five years, to discuss the state of their respective homelands. These discussions were mostly for show, as neither party had any particular interest in the other. It was just a tradition.