[Kransha]

By troth, thy accolades gratified e'er is, lads and lassies of the darknened earthy mounds 'neath which those long of livelihood bereft keep conscience day and sumptuous nights in beds of spider silk and matter most grave...

In other words, w00t, you peeps like the poem. I.have.a.future (not so).

Really, I DO have bizarre pictures of all of you, mostly not human, or Middle-Earth related. I don't know, but I think that my being so dreadfully off topic must have reprecussions, but is the idea, since the other thread of similarilty is now deceased, like us. The following are those who, when I read a response or reply from them, I imagine some strange thing sitting at a keyboard and typing.

Fordim: Most realistic, yet most unreallistically, a balrog...oh yes, I've taken a very particular hint and followed the road it led to...A balrog stuffed into a professor's tweed jacket, a wide-brim fedora, sitting in a beige-velour lounge chair in his lavish estate with a whip of flame and leather at his ready hip. I believe his *ahem* 'appendages' are all carefully concealed by the aforementioned jacket.

The Saucepan Man: His avatar, of course. A cross between Bob Marley's Ghost and a shelf of men's cookware. A man, but hardly one, for what I see is a thing of tin, iron, aluminium, and other substances, mostly restricted to their master pots and pans. He has the residue of sauce upon him, and the smell of it, and sit upon a mighty thrown of recycled cans, colored a royal silver. His eyes and nose are all I see, and they are royal too. If one only saw that, one might mistake him for a past King of Olde.

Eowyn Skywalker: Eowyn, to put it mildly, or a cross between Miranda Otto and my vision of the nephew of Theoden King. A familiar fair hair and features rivalling those of many other false shieldmaiden's. I do not the presence of a lightsaber hanging idly at her side, or robes of jedi-reminiscent brown adorning her along with royal wears and those appropriated from Dernhelm.

Imladris: A cat...yes, a cat. Primarily because of Goldwine. I suppose this Pseudo-Imladris is sunny gold in color, with a regal, lion-like bearing and many fine cushion stacked on a plush throne chair as she taps each key carefully and nobly with her manicured talons. Probably writes with the same talon, with that ever-ready ink bowl, right beside that of the imported milk, that sits aside her fine feline monitor.

Eomer of the Rohirrim: An Eowarg...Eowarg sounds best. He has the body, stout build and regal, warrior's style and delicate yet flashy panache of a fighting king, but the head of a warg, and not those wretched Jacksonian hyena/lemmings. He has the head of a warg LORD, aye, a snout and muzzle that would put the best bread stallion's to shame, (but I do not doubt his bite and teeth behind those ever-pursed, kingly lips).

I have more...but, alas, I am falling asleep in my chair. Melpomene is not a kind one, she, oh no.

P.S. As there has been talk, in RPG's I participate in I try to stray from who I really am. Only one character so far has been like my true self...for those of you who read such things, or know them, I would compare myself in nature, both physical and mental, to jolly ol' Thrakmazh the Orc Captain. Otherwise, I have a touch of everyone, but that dashing, eeeeeeevil beast is the muse provided...