Sighani's Characters

[Sighani]

[bg=ffffff][atrb=width,524,true][atrb=border,0,true] "Next time, Master, do tell someone where you are going before you disappear. Do you think it fair that I should assume your duties as king--you're a king now, Master, or have you forgotten?--while you're out chasing flights of fleeting fancy? Consider yourself blessed that none attempted to breach the borders in your frivolous absence." At the words, it was with a wry sense of self-mocking amusement that Vergilius Patroklos, High King of this nothing place lost between worlds of time and kingdoms of golden sand, realized that he had no true concept of fairness. Trained a scholar, his mind a fine instrument crafted by the steadiest and surest of hands and played now only to the tune of angel hymns and midnight requiems, the ivory patriarch knew what it meant, of course. But as many abstractions in this life and the next, the concept of fairness was an ideal that was inlaid like a bland gem in the dirty rock of experience. A man could not fully understand love, death, fairness until he had experienced it, after all. Similarly, Virgil supposed that for one such as himself, he did not, cannot, want for what he had never known. And so the High King wondered exactly what it spoke of his character, that he knew now in the dawning of the sixth year of his life that he had always, in the innermost sanctum of his bleeding heart, envied the boy he had named his dearly beloved, and yet he did not resent him. He watched his pupil's approach with an observant eye: the flame-spun glint of sunlight off a pelt as black and forbidden as oceanic depths, the unearthly grace in each long stride, the angular lines of manhood so freshly carved into soft features, the glacial chill in those sky-kissed eyes. Cleitus Mavrokardia was not so much his student as his masterpiece, a work of art he'd begun since before the boy could scarcely recall, one that he had refined with careful touches, bold strokes, unspoken wisdom, one that was nearing completion but would never truly be finished, not in Virgil's lifetime. A private smile stealing across the king's regal features, he knew that this boy was so integral to his sense of self that he could not resent him. He knew he might as well attempt to resent his need to breathe. "Calm yourself, Eromenos." It was a name that meant beloved, a name that Virgil's own tutor had bestowed upon him those many years ago, and one he now spoke with burning pride. He noticed the change in Cleitus's features at the calling--subtle, but there, so very there--and his smile broadened. He was quite accustomed to the complaints of his pupil; try as he may, he could not cleanse the young man's mind of its hapless worries. Even in spite of his argument's futility, the king continued, much to the obsidian brujo's chagrin. "Nothing ever came of concern but more of its own kind. Everything in the Cosmos has a time and a place, and your worries do not belong in the here and now. Besides, how ever would I gather my wits about me if I couldn't have at least one afternoon free of your incessant balking?" They shared a harmless laugh, and then silence descended upon the two brute's on dovegray wings, and the wolves, black and white, a shadow and a thought, cherished the fleeting peace. Cleitus settled down alongside his king in the pale beach sand, two pairs of eyes drifting seaward, blinking against the spray of sun-warmed salt and seafoam, listening to the gulls cry and the earth breathe with every hissing wave. The silence registered as vaguely odd in Virgil's consciousness, for there was an orphan girl running rampant through his lands, but he knew as well as any that it was in the nature of children to disappear, and he encouraged the whelp's independence. She needed a firm paw, not a watchful eye, and Virgil was happy to provide. Swinging his muzzle towards Cleitus, Virgil caught sight of the younger brute's secretive, ironic smile that managed to hint at an invitation for forbidden sweetness, so much that and more. He did not quite recall why or when the first invitation was, for something more than mere companionship, but he couldn't bring himself to care. The whole situation proved quite, quite barbed, and Virgil wasn't too suprised to suspect, beyond all rational notions of coincidence and probability, his own careless mark at the bottom of it. How Cleitus quite prefered it when his king sleeps on his left side, his right, unscarred profile faced to the moonlight, in the otherwise unprecedented nuzzles and nips. How he growled so, as if in warning, when in the moments of desperate heat Virgil let slip words in the thicker dialect of his worlds-away homeland, out of his customary scholar's accent. How he never gave voice to Virgil's name, no matter what the High King might care to try; not even within sun-sight of the traveling day. Virgil never asked. He thought of it, once, but Cleitus seemed to guess, and he gave voice to a shuddering, choking breath of old pain, so at odds with his usual outrageous self-confidence, that Virgil could do nothing but kiss away the sound. Virgil knew it is quite foolish of them both: himself, to allow his heartstrings to be played in such a way. Cleitus, for the naive substitution, for in something false as this there could be no reward that did not taste bitter. It must, however, have been infinitely better to have than to have not--and in the sun-cracked deserts to the south of Cthonia, watching Cleitus's unearthly grace, even wilting beneath a withering tree under the desert sun and complaining vociverously about the sand, the flies, the sun-bleach, the absolute indignity of walking and the baking heat--he realized just as wryly that even as he wondered why he could not resent Cleitus for having someone to love him so unconditionally, he had never been more glad for it. There was value even in fool's gold. The High King's shoulder pressed against that of his companion in a comfortably familiar way--for within these new lands, so warm and so golden and so unlike home that he had lain awake with sickness the entire first night, familiarity was a blessing of the gods--and the sound of lilting giggles rose up from somewhere along the beach, swelling with each ebb of the glassy-green tide. "Are there so many ways to love, Master?" Cleitus whispered into the seabreeze, his voice that of a ghost, carried away into the winds to far-off realms and forgotten places where other lonesome souls were asking themselves the exact same question. Virgil laid his head upon his outstretched forepaws, drawing in a great breath and remembering the first time he had asked the same of his own master. Virgil's sunrise orbs alighted upon the frolicking form of the girlpup, watching her chase the waves in and out, in and out. This was a new experience for all of them. "The world would not have you think so," Virgil replied at long last, just when Cleitus was wondering if he had heard the inquiry at all, "but you must never let that interfere with what you feel in your heart is right." Momentary hesitance in the boy, and then a reconsideration. Instead of further persuit, the obsidian brute merely said, "I expect our lands will see new faces before the morrow," and to that, the High King only replied, "Then let them come to us, Eromenos. Each man must find his own way through life. We must act not as monarchs, but as shepherds. To those seeking guidance, I give it freely. But I will not lead the blind." ________________________________________________________________ count xx 434 words. tunes xx "The First Cut is the Deepest" - Cat Stevens comments xx No worries, Reika--this will be an actual character list when I get around to it. For now I just want to see how Virg's lovely table will look with stuff in it. These paragraphs are huge! Really gotta remember to start breaking them up now that it's obvious how blocky they are.

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[Sighani]

Sheeeeit, I really suck at keeping this thing updated. XD I'll try to do better from now on. Anyway, have the start of Cal's profile, yaaay! I love this boy.

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Formalities

Full Name: Callisto Lugare ut Caelum.
Name Meaning: Callisto: most beautiful. Lugare ut Caelum: to bind to heaven.
Aliases: He has earned many titles throughout his life, despite his young age, not all of them pleasant. The only name, besides that which his mother bestowed upon him the day of his birth he responds to is Cal, though this affectionate monicker is generally reserved for intimate friends, not mere acquaintances. His surname is the first in a long line of names he earned later in life, "Lugare ut Caelum" marking him as a man bound by a sacred oath. He has been called many things since earning that title, most notable among them Merchant of Death, Shylock (meaning heartless), and The Leper Prince.
Gender: Male.
Age: 4 years.
Breed: Timber wolf.
Alignment: Though he has been deemed evil and cunning, the brute is possessed of only the purest intentions. However, motives do not define a man as singularly as deeds, so while he remains pure of heart, his past actions indicate that he walks a darker path, though admittedly not by choice.

The Body

Height: 36 inches at the shoulder.
Weight: 145 pounds.
Pelt: He is covered predominantly in the most lustrous shade of umber, marbled throughout with streaks of rich mahogany and night-stricken ebony. In stark contrast to the earthy darkness of his coat, a mask of flawless ivory stretches across his face and drips down to the hollow at the base of his throat.
Eyes: His eyes hold the cabalistic sanctity of harvest moons and the fleeting beauty of autumn sunsets, striking orange orbs flecked with shards of copper. His mother often told him that he had the eyes of a gypsy, secretly smiling and seeing through the world's shadowed veil, all aglow with some cryptic inner light and lending to his otherwise soft features a fierce and cunning edge.
Scars/Markings: He is defined by his scars, the most formiddable of which causes him constant pain and serves as a life-long reminder of his ultimate failure and a brand of his treachery. His chest is a gnarled mass of scar tissue over which his coat scarcely grows, slashed through to the ribcage, webbing out from a hideous pit in the left side of his breast that marks the location of his cowardly heart. Claw-tracks, silver and twisted by age, trail up his neck and down the soft vulnerability of his belly, stemming like horrid tendrils from that one central crater above his heart. As a warrior, he has also sustained many, less greusome injuries, the momentos of which lie buried beneath a thick pelt, a noble war story for every gash and puncture.
Form: His mother was not a woman possessed by silly romantic whims, and she did not deem him most beautiful out of the sheer goodness of her heart. Although Callisto has been crippled and worn by unspeakable trials, the ghost of his beauty is clearly evident behind the brute's every step and gesture, from the noble cant of his crown to the elegant fluidity of his movements. His right foreleg is the extremity that bore the brunt of his torture, and the muscle there is twisted into crude knots around bones that never quite recovered from multiple fractures, leaving it weak and in chronic pain, giving him a slight, stiff-legged limp. His underside, particularly his chest, is a mangled mess of poorly-healed scars and breaks. He has suffered from many broken ribs, one of which nearly killed him when it tore his lung tissue, and although his lung has since repaired itself, his ribcage never truly recovered and neither did it regain its proper structure. It is impossible to fully detail every scar that mars the man's hide, but in spite of everything, his face remains virginal and untouched, handsome features never sullied by claw nor fang, his eyes bright and byzantine, his muzzle gently sloped, his bones well-defined and finely crafted. Apart from his old wounds, Callisto remains a strong and capable warrior, carrying his formiddable form with pride, each muscle toned to its finest fighting edge. His head is large and framed by an impressive mane of mahogany tresses that spill down and protect the graceful curve of his neck, daggering into hackles across his shoulders and along the ridge of his spine. His paws are broad but he remains remarkably light on his feet, mitts equipped with battle-roughened pads and razored talons, lending him excellent traction, dexterity, and nimbleness.


The Mind

General Temperment:
Positive Traits:
Negative Traits:
Fears:
Orientation: Heterosexual.
Beliefs:


The Blood

Sire: Ezzio Gerofilius, a nobleman in the court of his king. He is a strong man, and virtuous, but set in the ways of old and governed by a strict set of morals that made raising Callisto, his only suitable heir, quite difficult at times.
Dame: Acca Larentia, a fair maiden who never failed to shower her sons in love and praise. She is free in her speech and untamable in nature, a trait she passed on to Callisto in spite of the rigidity of her mate's childrearing.
Siblings: He is the larger of a pair of fraternal twins, possessed of a stunted, malformed brother named Lorenzo. Because of his greusome appearance, Lorenzo was banished from the realm upon his birth, living amongst a colony of similarly deformed varg in the shadow of the mountains where none may look upon their ugliness. Callisto's father, ashamed of the product of his seed, forbade him from ever traveling into those mountains, but he occasionally used to sneak thither regardless, joined by his heartbroken mother, in order to maintain ties with his only brother.
Love Interest: While he has never actually met the fae, he is deeply in love with the princess Alkestis, visions of this fabled maiden dancing nightly through his dreams. The mere notion of finding this woman alone gives him hope for a brighter future, but he loves only a shadow and a thought, not realizing that the woman he is chasing is likely one he will never touch. His feelings once ran deep and tangled for a brute named Bassanio, his best friend since whelphood, and although those feelings never evolved to romance on Callisto's end, it was a known fact that Bassanio was thoroughly and unrequitably smitten with him.
Offspring: He has never laid with a woman and therefore has no offspring. However, it is his hope that he will one day father the children of Princess Alkestis, lifting the curse from his name and furthering the royal lineage.
Other:

[Sighani]

[bg=Black][atrb=width,98%,true][atrb=border,0,true] This is Amadi's boring picture. It will become cooler later when I decide to work on an actual table graphic for him. And with a heavy sigh, the devil spake: "O Adam! all my hostility, envy, and sorrow is for thee, since it is for thee that I have been expelled from my glory, which I possessed in the heavens in the midst of the angels and for thee was I cast out in the earth." Adam answered, "What dost thou tell me? What have I done to thee or what is my fault against thee? Seeing that thou hast received no harm or injury from us, why dost thou pursue us?" The devil replied, "Adam, what dost thou tell me? It is for thy sake that I have been hurled from that place. When thou wast formed, I was hurled out of the presence of God and banished from the company of the angels. When God blew into thee the breath of life and thy face and likeness was made in the image of God, Michael also brought thee and made us worship thee in the sight of God; and God the Lord spake: 'Here is Adam. I have made thee in our image and likeness.' "And Michael went out and called all the angels saying: 'Worship the image of God as the Lord God hath commanded'. And Michael himself worshipped first; then he called me and said: 'Worship the image of God the Lord'. And I answered, 'I have no need to worship Adam'. And since Michael kept urging me to worship, I said to him, 'Why dost thou urge me? I will not worship an inferior and younger being than I. I am his senior in the Creation, before he was made was I already made. It is his duty to worship me'. "When the angels, who were under me, heard this, they refused to worship him. And Michael saith, 'Worship the image of God, but if thou wilt not worship him, the Lord God will be wroth with thee'. And I said, 'If He be wroth with me, I will set my seat above the stars of heaven and will be like the Highest.' "And God the Lord was wroth with me and banished me and my angels from our glory; and on thy account were we expelled from our abodes into this world and hurled on the earth. And straightway we were overcome with grief, since we had been spoiled of so great glory. And we were grieved when we saw thee in such joy and luxury. And with guile I cheated thy wife and caused thee to be expelled through her doing from thy joy and luxury, as I have been driven out of my glory."

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[Sighani]

[bg=a8200v][atrb=width,534,true][atrb=border,0,true] Sherlock Holmes took his bottle from the corner of the mantelpiece, and his hypodermic syringe from its neat morocco case. With his long, white, nervous fingers he adjusted the delicate needle and rolled back his left shirtcuff. For some little time his eyes rested thoughtfully upon the sinewy forearm and wrist, all dotted and scarred with innumerable puncture-marks. Finally, he thrust the sharp point home, pressed down the tiny piston, and sank back into the velvet-lined armchair with a long sigh of satisfaction. Three times a day for many months I had witnessed this performance, but custom had not reconciled my mind to it. On the contrary, from day to day I had become more irritable at the sight, and my conscience swelled nightly within me at the thought that I had lacked the courage to protest. Again and again I had registered a vow that I should deliver my soul upon the subject; but there was that in the cool, nonchalant air of my companion which made him the last man with whom one would care to take anything approaching to a liberty. His great powers, his masterly manner, and the experience which I had had of his many extraordinary qualities, all made me diffident and backward in crossing him. Yet upon that afternoon, whether it was the Beaune which I had taken with my lunch or the additional exasperation produced by the extreme deliberation of his manner, I suddenly felt that I could hold out no longer. "Which is it to-day," I asked, "morphine or cocaine?" He raised his eyes languidly from the old black-letter volume which he had opened. "It is cocaine," he said, "a seven-per-cent solution. Would you care to try it?" ________________________________________________________________ count xx blah words. tunes xx "some song" - some artist comments xx Look at this fancy new table awwww yeah. Text taken from "The Sign of Four" by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I'm just a soul whose intentions are good, Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood

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[Sighani]

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[atrb=background,http://i750.photobucket.com/albums/xx141/sighani_album/cleitustablemiddlecopy.png] Rangers had a homecoming in Harlem late last night. The Magic Rat drove his slick machine over the Jersey state line. Barefoot girl sitting on the hood of a Dodge, drinking warm beer in the soft summer rain. The Rat pulls into town, rolls up his pants, and together they disappear down Flamingo Lane. "The maximum lawman runs down Flamingo, chasing the Rat and the barefoot girl. The kids round here look just like shadows, always quiet holding hands." From the churches to the jails, tonight all the silence in the world as we take our stand down in Jungleland. Listening to Bruce Springsteen la la la. The midnight gangs assembled and picked a rendezvous for the night. Meet 'neath that giant Exxon sign that brings this fair city light. Man, there's an opera out on the turnpike, there's a ballet being fought out in the alley, until the local cop's cherrytop rips this holy night. The streets alive as secret debts are paid, contacts made, they vanish unseen. Kids flash guitars just like switchblades, hustlin' for the record machine. count xx 000 words. tunes xx "Jungleland" - Bruce Springsteen comments xx Just testing a new table. This turned out better than I expected it to, yay.

[Sighani]

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[atrb=background,http://i750.photobucket.com/albums/xx141/sighani_album/dhanitablemiddlecopy.png] Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Fusce imperdiet urna at eros cursus eu rutrum justo ultrices. Donec molestie arcu tempus sem ullamcorper ac mollis arcu mollis. Quisque ultricies, sem eu gravida adipiscing, mi tortor gravida odio, vitae porta nunc risus in leo. Duis in mattis orci. Ut eu odio a felis porta pretium ac vel dolor. Vivamus eleifend erat a enim aliquam porta. In eget nisi sit amet purus fringilla posuere id sit amet orci. Donec porttitor, est quis pellentesque dapibus, velit orci consequat sapien, non consequat nibh nisl sit amet sapien. Ut velit tortor, adipiscing sit amet faucibus id, tincidunt a est. Vivamus quis lorem eget augue venenatis varius. Nam tincidunt ullamcorper mi, sagittis eleifend lacus dictum id. Praesent faucibus, nisl a consectetur facilisis, felis nulla laoreet lacus, ut consequat lacus est in odio. Mauris nec massa at sem ullamcorper ultricies. Vivamus quis sagittis ante. Nulla porta, odio sit amet venenatis pulvinar, neque diam convallis dolor, sed volutpat justo lorem id est. Quisque condimentum convallis mauris, id volutpat ante placerat id. Suspendisse non mattis tortor. Phasellus malesuada laoreet risus, quis adipiscing velit semper eget. Nulla blandit est eu nibh porttitor placerat. Nam eget elit neque, convallis porta mi. In libero dui, malesuada id aliquam in, suscipit et arcu. Sed ut nulla odio, quis commodo ligula. Sed nulla quam, mollis sed tincidunt nec, gravida quis augue. Mauris bibendum enim venenatis tellus volutpat eu malesuada mi commodo. Ut purus nisl, pharetra vel pellentesque a, lobortis ut lacus. Quisque eu sollicitudin felis. Ut egestas leo vitae nulla feugiat interdum. Aenean eu mollis nulla. Suspendisse a arcu quam. Class aptent taciti sociosqu ad litora torquent per conubia nostra, per inceptos himenaeos. "Donec porttitor luctus sem, vitae luctus urna dapibus pulvinar." Nulla aliquam nulla sit amet dui aliquet fringilla. Pellentesque porta euismod pretium. "Praesent tempor est eget leo pharetra ac pretium dolor malesuada." Praesent diam dolor, tempus nec adipiscing non, consectetur vitae neque. Aliquam velit nulla, condimentum at bibendum ac, suscipit nec ipsum. Sed nunc nisl, gravida eu vehicula a, porta vitae dui. Integer tempor, dolor rutrum iaculis adipiscing, felis enim eleifend quam, et congue sapien justo eu magna. Sed eleifend lectus id urna scelerisque et hendrerit leo pulvinar. Morbi iaculis ultrices lectus ac congue. Nulla ultrices erat et nibh fringilla molestie. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nam interdum enim quis ipsum semper et volutpat tortor aliquam. count xx 000 words tunes xx "Psychosocial" - Slipknot comments xx Why do I even have this song on my iTunes oh my God lol. More table fun! I should be posting...

[Sighani]

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[atrb=background,http://i750.photobucket.com/albums/xx141/sighani_album/altablemiddle.png] Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Fusce imperdiet urna at eros cursus eu rutrum justo ultrices. Donec molestie arcu tempus sem ullamcorper ac mollis arcu mollis. Quisque ultricies, sem eu gravida adipiscing, mi tortor gravida odio, vitae porta nunc risus in leo. Duis in mattis orci. Ut eu odio a felis porta pretium ac vel dolor. Vivamus eleifend erat a enim aliquam porta. In eget nisi sit amet purus fringilla posuere id sit amet orci. Donec porttitor, est quis pellentesque dapibus, velit orci consequat sapien, non consequat nibh nisl sit amet sapien. Ut velit tortor, adipiscing sit amet faucibus id, tincidunt a est. Vivamus quis lorem eget augue venenatis varius. Nam tincidunt ullamcorper mi, sagittis eleifend lacus dictum id. Praesent faucibus, nisl a consectetur facilisis, felis nulla laoreet lacus, ut consequat lacus est in odio. Mauris nec massa at sem ullamcorper ultricies. Vivamus quis sagittis ante. Nulla porta, odio sit amet venenatis pulvinar, neque diam convallis dolor, sed volutpat justo lorem id est. Quisque condimentum convallis mauris, id volutpat ante placerat id. Suspendisse non mattis tortor. Phasellus malesuada laoreet risus, quis adipiscing velit semper eget. Nulla blandit est eu nibh porttitor placerat. Nam eget elit neque, convallis porta mi. In libero dui, malesuada id aliquam in, suscipit et arcu. Sed ut nulla odio, quis commodo ligula. Sed nulla quam, mollis sed tincidunt nec, gravida quis augue. Mauris bibendum enim venenatis tellus volutpat eu malesuada mi commodo. Ut purus nisl, pharetra vel pellentesque a, lobortis ut lacus. Quisque eu sollicitudin felis. Ut egestas leo vitae nulla feugiat interdum. Aenean eu mollis nulla. Suspendisse a arcu quam. Class aptent taciti sociosqu ad litora torquent per conubia nostra, per inceptos himenaeos. "Donec porttitor luctus sem, vitae luctus urna dapibus pulvinar." Nulla aliquam nulla sit amet dui aliquet fringilla. Pellentesque porta euismod pretium. "Praesent tempor est eget leo pharetra ac pretium dolor malesuada." Praesent diam dolor, tempus nec adipiscing non, consectetur vitae neque. Aliquam velit nulla, condimentum at bibendum ac, suscipit nec ipsum. Sed nunc nisl, gravida eu vehicula a, porta vitae dui. Integer tempor, dolor rutrum iaculis adipiscing, felis enim eleifend quam, et congue sapien justo eu magna. Sed eleifend lectus id urna scelerisque et hendrerit leo pulvinar. Morbi iaculis ultrices lectus ac congue. Nulla ultrices erat et nibh fringilla molestie. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nam interdum enim quis ipsum semper et volutpat tortor aliquam. count xx 000 words. tunes xx "Lotion" - Greenskeepers. comments xx A table for a puppy that probably won't be introduced for quite some time. I just like playing around in photoshop. I'm caught up on posting and have nothing else to do.

[Sighani]

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[atrb=background,http://i750.photobucket.com/albums/xx141/sighani_album/niobetablemiddle.png] Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Fusce imperdiet urna at eros cursus eu rutrum justo ultrices. Donec molestie arcu tempus sem ullamcorper ac mollis arcu mollis. Quisque ultricies, sem eu gravida adipiscing, mi tortor gravida odio, vitae porta nunc risus in leo. Duis in mattis orci. Ut eu odio a felis porta pretium ac vel dolor. Vivamus eleifend erat a enim aliquam porta. In eget nisi sit amet purus fringilla posuere id sit amet orci. Donec porttitor, est quis pellentesque dapibus, velit orci consequat sapien, non consequat nibh nisl sit amet sapien. Ut velit tortor, adipiscing sit amet faucibus id, tincidunt a est. Vivamus quis lorem eget augue venenatis varius. Nam tincidunt ullamcorper mi, sagittis eleifend lacus dictum id. Praesent faucibus, nisl a consectetur facilisis, felis nulla laoreet lacus, ut consequat lacus est in odio. Mauris nec massa at sem ullamcorper ultricies. Vivamus quis sagittis ante. Nulla porta, odio sit amet venenatis pulvinar, neque diam convallis dolor, sed volutpat justo lorem id est. Quisque condimentum convallis mauris, id volutpat ante placerat id. Suspendisse non mattis tortor. Phasellus malesuada laoreet risus, quis adipiscing velit semper eget. Nulla blandit est eu nibh porttitor placerat. Nam eget elit neque, convallis porta mi. In libero dui, malesuada id aliquam in, suscipit et arcu. Sed ut nulla odio, quis commodo ligula. Sed nulla quam, mollis sed tincidunt nec, gravida quis augue. Mauris bibendum enim venenatis tellus volutpat eu malesuada mi commodo. Ut purus nisl, pharetra vel pellentesque a, lobortis ut lacus. Quisque eu sollicitudin felis. Ut egestas leo vitae nulla feugiat interdum. Aenean eu mollis nulla. Suspendisse a arcu quam. Class aptent taciti sociosqu ad litora torquent per conubia nostra, per inceptos himenaeos. "Donec porttitor luctus sem, vitae luctus urna dapibus pulvinar." Nulla aliquam nulla sit amet dui aliquet fringilla. Pellentesque porta euismod pretium. "Praesent tempor est eget leo pharetra ac pretium dolor malesuada." Praesent diam dolor, tempus nec adipiscing non, consectetur vitae neque. Aliquam velit nulla, condimentum at bibendum ac, suscipit nec ipsum. Sed nunc nisl, gravida eu vehicula a, porta vitae dui. Integer tempor, dolor rutrum iaculis adipiscing, felis enim eleifend quam, et congue sapien justo eu magna. Sed eleifend lectus id urna scelerisque et hendrerit leo pulvinar. Morbi iaculis ultrices lectus ac congue. Nulla ultrices erat et nibh fringilla molestie. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nam interdum enim quis ipsum semper et volutpat tortor aliquam. count xx 000 words. tunes xx "Murmurs of Middle Earth" - Pogo. comments xx I am out of control with this table making, omg. When will it stop??