Nice entries so far, everyone! I'm working on mine right now!

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This set was made by Nurrantiel, thanks!


Banner by Limwen - Villya

Sorry, I'm going to have to drop out. I've got writer's block too. lol

I havn't seen this! How can I be so stupid? If I get it in in the next few days, can I still be in it, or is today the deadline?

I'm going to be extending the deadline again, so yes, you can still be in it.

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Okay, well, here's mine. It's slightly shorter than two pages on Word, I hope that's okay! (It has no title, by the way yet, that is)

Night was falling. Clouds scudded across a dark sky, creating shifting patterns of shadow and light, as the sun sank below the horizon with only a few faint rays poking up as a memento of its sojourn on the Island of Raen. The moon was eagerly rising, probing the clouds almost suspiciously and casting a very different light than that of the sun on the coastal city that perched on the edge of a rocky plain, on the westernmost point of the island. The red-brick buildings no longer looked warm and solid, but cold and forbidding, great structures of icy stone that would not have been hard-pressed to be unwelcoming to almost any visitor.

Almost any. For as the sun's last rays of light disappeared and the world plunged into eerie night, one of the shadows around the meandering city walls seemed more mobile than a shadow had any right to be. It seemed undeterred by the looming walls, and if anyone had been watching - someone with extremely sharp eyes - they might have been able to spot this particular shadow slink up and over the wall, and disappear into the blackness that was Y'grynor, the largest city on Raen.

Shattering the unnatural stillness, a child's cry pierced the night air and the shadow froze, creeping closer to a brick inn and crouching at its base, as if lying in wait.

On the second (and top) floor of the inn - which went by the name of the Leaping Dolphin - a young mother rocked her a restless small girl back and forth, singing softly. Their room was nothing to look twice at; bare walls enclosed an unremarkable bed and a small wash-stand, and in the corner stood a cradle that looked as though it had long been out of use. For indeed, on closer inspection the little girl was no longer a baby, but had the appearance of a toddler of perhaps three or four years.

Then why, thought the silent wraith as it glided through the air up to the window - whether it flew or climbed the rough walls was impossible to tell - did the cradle remain in the small room? For surely the mother and her daughter had not been staying in this inn for the time it took for a baby to grow to toddlerhood. Or had they?

From a worn trunk in at the foot of the bed, two dresses lay half-in, half-out. Though not remarkable by most standards, they were of decidedly higher quality than normal commoners' clothing. And - was that a sapphire in the discarded necklace on the wash-stand? Half-dry clothing hung out the window as though the pair had made this their home for at least a fortnight or two, and easily a few unremarkable years.

The wraith's cloak rippled impatiently. It was almost convinced that it has located its target, and watched keenly as the mother crooned a lullaby to the little girl. She was a remarkably pretty child, with long black curls and green eyes - or were they brown? They did not seem to have decided, quite, and as the wraith watched her eyes flicker and close, it could have sworn they were now bright blue. Her thumb was firmly in her mouth. The creeping shadow realized that its master had said nothing about a child, only a woman, but dismissed the thought. Stay on task.

As the child grew increasingly drowsy, the young woman put her down and went over to the wash-stand, fingering the sapphire necklace there contemplatively. The girl stirred and with a glance over her shoulder she murmured, “Shh, Myth…” to calm her, leaning on the windowsill with the necklace dangling from her fingers. The moon broke through the clouds, shedding silver light on her face.

As soon as it retreated, the wraith struck from his perch overtop the window, a gleaming knife clutched in a gnarled fist protruding from the dark cloak. A muffled cry escaped the woman but in an instant, her body lay limply over the windowsill, lifeless. The black shadow disappeared. But even the quiet cry had been enough to wake the girl, and she clambered off the small bed, thumb still in her mouth, murmuring “Mama?”

With increasing panic, the child tugged at her mother, and if anyone had been watching they would have seen her eyes go rapidly through a rainbow of colors – first a sleepy light blue that darkened to navy, and eventually to an alarmed amber-red.

But nobody was watching – the wraith had fled and now was having a whispered conference with a tall, forbidding figure who lingered in the shadow of the walls inside the city.

“It’s done?” hissed he to the wraith, thrusting himself out of the shadows anxiously.

“Shhh, yesss, it’sss done, but -” came the sibilant reply, quickly cut off by the other.

“Ah. Then I see I owe you payment.” Silver glinted in his hand – or was it a knife? “I can’t have you spreading news of this across Raen,” came his harsh, whispered voice as he lashed out, quick as a snake, and held the assassin choke-tight about his neck, “You boast about your lack of loyalty – you would betray me for the right price.”

And then the assassin that had previously been so cunning lay still and dead in the black shadows. The figure threw the body over his shoulder and disappeared, not to be seen again for almost a decade in Y’Grynor.

But he had made a mistake. There was now nobody to tell the mastermind that he had not triumphed after all – for a small girl with shifting eyes wept over her dead mother, who he had thought was the last of the house of the kings, and the line continued. And this child’s very existence was destined to change the world - forever.

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Since the deadline's been extended, I might be able to get something in, but if I don't have anything in in time, just mark me off the list.

I have my story! THe title is "Gingerbread"

Author's note: This story was inspired by one of you guts. That's right! I forget who, but someone had an avvie that read "Ginger bread men. Tasty holiday treat, or childhood segway into cannibalism?" Just as a warning.

Emmie skipped along the sunlit path, humming cheerfully to herself. She smiled as the sun caressed her rosy cheeks. Finally, she came to the ravine. Now this ravine was not like ravines in other stories, in which they are all dark and spooky. This ravine was actually quite pleasant, for it had a little brook that ran through it, babbling merrily. She leapt across for the 1000th time (it was in fact the 1000th time; Emmie had kept a very accurate record). She landed daintily on the other side, and continued to traipse among the many colored wild flowers that dotted the open meadow.

Emmie stopped as she spotted a little rabbit eating her midday meal.

“Hello Mrs. Flufftail!” she called gaily. “How is the grass today?” Mrs. Flufftail (or so Emmie called her. She seemed to like the name.) came over and cuddled against her leg. She stooped down and patted her on the head. Now you may think that rabbits are timid animals that don’t like humans, but Emmie was different. All the animals loved her. In fact, she was loved by all. She laughed just to laugh, and at the wonderful noise plants of all sorts burst forth into bloom. She shook her hair out of her face, and her hair caught the rays of the sun, and it shone with radiant light.

The day was perfect, her life was perfect, and most of all, she was perfect.

Emmie walked on, farther than she had ever gone before, which was a long ways. She came across a large coursing river. He chortled at Emmie in his own river language. Emmie smiled back, a smile so lively and friendly that light almost burst forth from that mouth.

“Mr. River!” she said “I am going to cross you now.” She waltzed over to a line of rocks that dotted the river from one bank to the next. Emmie hopped happily from one stone to the next, and in quite a short time she was almost to the other side. But what Emmie didn’t notice was the small covering of algae on one of the rocks. Algae were small, and often ignored. They didn’t like that. Emmie didn’t even say hello. So as soon as Emmie put down her foot on their rock, they tripped her, and she fell into the river. At once Emmie knew what she did wrong.

“I am sorry Rockclingers!” She wailed.

The algae were so full of regret that they died on the spot.

As so it came to pass that Emmie was washed down the river. Mr. River wouldn’t let her drown; he was much too nice to do that to such a wonderful girl, so she traveled the river on her back, quite at peace looking at the sky above. Then she realized that the sun was going down.

“Oh my! She exclaimed. “I must be getting back. Mother will be worried. I’ve never been late in my life!” And so Emmie swam to the bank, and climbed out. She sighed as she noticed her wet clothes. Every little thing around her was sad with her, and fluffy little baby animals died of heart break. But she soon recovered, and asked Mr. Sunlight a question

“Oh Mr. Sunlight!” Emmie pleaded. “Please, I know you are going to sleep, but as a favor, please dry my clothes.” And the sun dried her clothes, because he loved her so much.

Emmie grew frightened as she realized she had no idea were she was. Then, she found a path, rather small, but still suitable.

“I better follow it.” She said to herself. “If it leads to a village, I will ask for help. And so she followed the path, through thick forests, plains, valleys, hills, and then more thick forests. Finally, in the middle of a clearing in a thick forest, she saw a small town. As she traveled nearer, she realized something was strange about it. It was very rural. No electricity, no plumbing, and no air conditioning. The houses were also very small, and Emmie would not be able to fit through a door.

“What a queer little village! She gasped. She walked into the middle of the town, and the houses only reached the middle of her thigh. All the houses were made of organic material; thatched roofs, adobe walls, wooden doors. Emmie stared in wonder and awe.

“Hello!” she called. “Any body here?” Suddenly the sound of beating drums echoed through the clearing. Small beings, about as tall as her knee, came into sight out of the clearing. They were tan, but had stripes of color all over them. They were ginger bread men. But these were no ordinary gingerbread men. They were the most foul, loathsome creatures you will ever lay eyes on! Their grins were evil, and there eyes gleamed with a malicious light, different from the wholesome light that radiated from Emmie.

The ginger bread man that seemed to be the leader came forward.

“Who you?” he asked in a guttural voice. “I Koq. Who are you?”

“Why, I’m Emmie” She laughed. A shudder ran through the crowd as she laughed.

“Emmie, you disturb sacred ceremony. You pay!”

“I am so sorry.” Emmie said. “Is there any thing I can do for you?”

“Follow.” Koq replied. He led the whole band through a small path. Emmie was delighted to be walking with these gingerbread folk. Then, she suddenly stepped into another clearing. Here there were many other gingerbread men, sitting in a ring, some with drums in their laps. “Stay!” commanded Koq. Emmie sat down; ready to see what she thought would be a traditional dance. The drums started. Two ginger bread men leapt into the ring, with sharpened sticks in hand. With a quick flurry of movement, the two gingerbread men came together, sticks flashing. Then it was over. One of the gingerbread men fell over with a spear jabbed firmly into his chest. The cheer from the crowd was deafening as they all leapt to their feet and sprang to the fallen cookie. Soon they drew away and all that was left of him were a few crumbs.

Emmie gasped in horror. “What was that?” She yelled. “That was inhumane!”

All the gingerbread looked her way. “It is our way” said Koq. “When the child is born, the two parents fight to the death.”

“But....but....but... you’re all male, aren’t you?”

“Yes, we are” Koq replied

“Well, where do the babies come from? How do they come into this world?”

“We're talking cookies for crying out loud! WE can do quite a few other things deemed impossible” Koq said. “Now as for you.......”

And there was much rejoicing at their new found source of food, and they pledged to find a baker willing to make them some women.

That's the story. True, it is a bit morbid, but I like it.

I agree... disturbingly similar except for the focal characters and whether or not the child lives. Very well written, by the way

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All right, here's my entry. It's actually part of the prologue for my novel that I'm currently writing for NaNoWriMo. Obviously, there's more to the story, but this is about all that I can give, based on the length requirement.

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“I am not sure that I understand, friend,” said Balior, shaking his head slightly at his friend. “What is it that you intend, again?” He leaned against the wall to steady himself as he stood. His friend, Jonian, sat in a wood chair only a few feet away. He sat by a small table, only large enough perhaps for one or two, but hardly more than that. Balior would have sat, but he had earlier insisted that Jonian sit, rather. He was a fragile man, to Balior’s knowledge, and sitting down in his own home, at his own table, was not a privilege, but a right.

Jonian placed his hands on the table before speaking. “My intent is to leave for Avenndla come morning, and then on to wherever my road takes me,” he replied simply and calmly. He spoke with the same tone of voice that he used when he was crafting an item of value for the royal family.

“But why?” asked Balior, lifting himself off the wall and coming toward Jonian. “What reason has you for going to the city of the elves? Can you not find what you seek here?” He looked cynically at his friend, unsure of what he would hear.

“No,” Jonian answered, simply. “I cannot, I am afraid. For what I seek lies beyond the resources which I have here, in this place.” He moved to stand, but found that he would not, for he was rather weary of the thought. Instead, he stayed in his seat, unable to move.

“And what do you seek which requires you to travel to distant lands?” inquired Balior, now too curious just to be satisfied with simple answers.

Jonian turned his head away from his friend for a moment. He knew that this was far too complicated and deep for his friend to understand. Balior was simple-minded, as Jonian realized, though he made an excellent companion. Finally, however, his voice came through with an answer.

“I seek materials and secrets far too deep for this City,” he replied. “For these things, only the wisdom of the elves, and possibly of others, can be my aid.” At this, Jonian stood, finally able to gather strength from his words. He moved toward the wall where Balior had just stood. He moved his hand to his face, as he often did when in thought.

Balior could see this shift in Jonian’s voice, and his thoughtful gesture. He moved beside him. “I see, my friend,” he said, softly. “And I shall support thee wherever you shall choose to go,” he added. Jonian turned to look Balior in the eye. Then with a change of expression, a smile emerged from somewhere within him, and he embraced his friend.

“I thank you,” he whispered. Then he pulled away, speaking again. “It may be that I return to thank you again, but if it be so, it shall be a date far in the future. This will not be an easy task.”

“Time matters not to me, friend,” Balior responded. “I shall await thee here, whenever you choose to return.” He embraced his friend again, and the two men stood there for a moment, nearly forgetting that anything else existed. At last, they pulled away from each other, and Jonian went to sit back down on the chair by the table.

“I’m sorry to leave now, friend,” Balior said, after a moment or two of silence. “But I had promised my wife that I would come straight home after speaking with you. She has something to tell me, as it seems.” He bowed to Jonian, and then turned to walk out of the room. But before he did, he turned, and looked back at Jonian. “Good luck, friend. I shall miss you.” Then he turned again, and with that, he left the house.

And true to his word, Jonian was no longer at his home when Balior went to see him the following morning. Balior had not expected him to still be there, but it would have pleased him to see his friend one more time before his departure. But he did not have that chance, and he returned to his home once again. Balior would not see his friend for many years.

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The capital city of Silvani Contar, the land of the Elves, seemed to fit every description Jonian had ever heard, surpassing his wildest imaginations. After only a short time among the Elves, anyone would have said that Jonian had always been meant to be there.

Some days, Jonian would sit in the gardens and gaze at the beauty of the plants that made up the beautiful gardens. The Elves seemed to have a very special talent for creating beauty in everything they did. The patterns, both simple and complex, created a design unlike anything anyone would ever be able to see in his home, the City.

But the majority of the time, Jonian’s efforts were concentrated in the area of research. He read through as many books in the library of Avenndla to seek information concerning the craft he was intending to build. When he was not reading through book after book after book, Jonian spent his time speaking with the more scholarly and knowledgeable elves of Avenndla, including some who were experts in the crafting of objects.

At first, he had felt that he had been a stranger here, as of course, he was. He had explained a multitude of times his purpose for being here, as it was strange to see a man, especially one of the City, here in the city of the Elves. However, as time went on, the elves and others there grew accustomed to his presence and knew well of his purposes. In fact, they often aided him in any way that they could find possible. Some found books of ancient secrets and methods and showed them to Jonian, while others offered bits and pieces of advice or stories of personal experiences.

The best of Jonian’s new friends were the elven craftsmen who could offer simple, or possibly complex, tips and strategies that Jonian felt exceptionally useful. One of these craftsmen called himself Sivendor, and he had worked for many long years in the same craft that Jonian worked with. He was a craftsman of fine objects, such as goblets, sword hilts, and beautiful mail shirts. Jonian found that his advice, accompanied by his occasional humor, provided a pleasant experience that Jonian would remember for the rest of his life.

And yet, with all the wonders and pleasantries of the elven city, Jonian constantly found his mind settling on things of his own home, and more or less, the people that he had left behind. For certain, he had left no family behind, for none were left. And his only true friend was that companion, Balior. But Jonian often found himself deep in thought over Narana, and though he tried to pull himself away from such things, it was to little avail.

However, after dwelling on such things, his intentions and purposes were renewed, and all thought of giving up vanished. He was pushed on by the thoughts of what awaited him upon his return.

And so, Jonian remained in Avenndla for the time being, at least a few years, though it seemed only a few short weeks. He learned much, and grew in his belief in all the good things of the world, including those things which most regard as fantasy and ancient legend.

Of course, Jonian could not stay in that place forever. In order to perform his duty, he must design and fashion the craft to which he aspired. And to do that, he would need more than just the elves could teach him. And so, he set out, at last, for other parts of the world, as had been his goal.

In the land of the dwarves, he lingered longest of all. The mines were rich, and the secrets were deep that the dwarves held in their grasp. Jonian found that his very interest in their craft was enough to encourage them to aid him in his quest, and that was comforting, at the very least. He was taught by many a dwarf how to find the gems he was looking for, and how to fashion them using the finest tools available in all of the world. Upon his final departure, he was given a set of the finest tools, a sign that the dwarves truly accepted his presence and purpose.

And so, at last, Jonian finished the first part of his journey. And with that, he began the more complicated task of constructing the craft for which he had come in the first place. Using all of the secrets that he had found in all the places of the earth, from all the peoples of the earth, Jonian began to piece together a design for the most magnificent craft the world would ever see.

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Several years passed, and the time for the crowning of the new Queen of the City drew near. All the people of the City were still in mourning for the recent loss of the good King, who had passed away only a year’s time ago. He had been a gracious King, fair and just, though he could not live up to the great kings of the past.

Despite the sadness, the celebrations were already in the process of beginning for the coronation of the new Queen. All throughout the City, people decorated homes, buildings, and sometimes themselves in honor of the coronation. Parties were thrown, as well as debates, but those only among the very extreme folk, and they were few.

And the future Queen, Princess Narana, was nervous, to say the very least, above all other emotions. Her heart was ready to take the throne, but she had to admit to herself that her head still shook at the thought. She often paced about her room, wondering to herself why she was still going through with this. Of course, she had little choice. The throne had to pass to the heir, and she was her father’s only child. She would be Queen, and there was no way around it.

Still, in a way, she felt that she was ready. She had been a member of the royal family all of her life, a princess to be more specific. She had always been told that she was a natural leader, born to lead the people of the City in a bright future. And aside from that, she hoped to soon marry and therefore bring forth a King for the City. She smiled giddily at the thought, and then continued to think about the upcoming coronation.

But before she had any real time to think, she heard a voice calling her name. “Princess Narana! You have a visitor awaiting you down in the great corridor!” The young princess recognized the voice as belonging to one of the Elders, who had been ruling the City for the past year. This Elder, Paogin, had been one of her father’s closest advisors, and had also been especially close to the young princess.

"I am on my way,” Narana called. She slowly moved to the door, unsure how much she really wanted to see anyone at the moment. However, it was, of course, her duty to meet anyone who may desire to see her here at the royal household. She opened the door, and sure enough, Paogin stood there, waiting for her. He held out his hand, ready to escort her down to the grand corridor.

“Who is it, Paogin?” Narana asked as they walked down toward the corridor. The hallways were dimly lit, on account that the lights were needed for the main corridors and other places in the building.

“It is our royal craftsman, the man Jonian, who has been gone these ten years,” answered Paogin. “He says that he has need to speak with you before your coronation.” He led her through the long hallways all the way down to the door of the grand corridor. He let go of her hand only long enough to open the large wooden doors that separated the wondrous, and public, great corridor from the more private dwellings of the royal family.

As the door opened, light flooded the young princess’ eyes in contrast with the dark passages that she had just come through. She stepped, with the older man behind her, into the large room. Although she had stepped into this room thousands upon thousands of times, she still stood amazed at its wonder.

The corridor was long, yet wide at the same time. It was said to have originally been designed to accommodate the great meetings and feasts of the Creator, long ago before time began, but those legends remained too far back to fully comprehend. The walls were carved out of the finest white marble, built to match the majority of the City. The floor was carved of stone, but had slabs of gold and silver throughout, so it appeared to be of pure finery. Large stone pillars rose up along the walls, made of white marble but with gold trim in circles at the top and bottom of each. Stone torches were perched along all the walls, lit with bright flames. And, as of late, banners decorated the walls as well, due to the coronation in a few short days.

And, of course, at the end of the corridor, stood two large thrones, designed for a King and a Queen. The thrones were made of stone, and of gold and silver. They stood proud in their places, unmoved since the beginnings of time, or even before. Narana moved herself toward them, knowing that in a few days, she would sit in one and rule the City from their places of honor. Then, she caught herself, remembering that her errand was not there yet, but rather with the man standing in the corridor.

She turned and saw the man, whom she had not seen in ten years. It had been a very long time, now that she thought of it, since her father had given the man permission to take a long, perhaps undetermined, leave of absence while he journeyed to make a craft of some sort. Perhaps her father had known what this craftsman intended to create, but he had never informed his daughter.

“Jonian,” she said, finally speaking. The man bowed to her in respect, his eyes bent toward the floor as was the custom. “Rise,” she added. Jonian stood, looking at her, but not speaking. “It has been a long time, craftsman,” she continued. “You have been gone these ten years on a leave of absence, the likes of which my father, the departed King, allowed. Your services have been filled during that time. But tell me, what have you come to say?”

Jonian looked at Narana, the beautiful young princess. He had not seen her in ten years, but it did not feel as if he had been gone that long. Her face still shone as much as ever, and he still could not keep himself from falling again for her. “I have come to offer my services again,” he said at last, staring into the princess’ eyes, which shone despite the shadows of their darkness. “And, to offer up my craft, to which I have dedicated the last ten years of my life in order to create it.”

“And what, pray tell, may that craft be?” Narana asked, rather curious as to what craft would require ten years of work. “Show me, now,” she demanded in a firm tone, making sure not to sound too mean or greedy. She stepped forward toward the man, holding out her hands to take the craft.

Jonian then took out a box from what seemed to be nowhere. It was a small wooden box, but it was decorated with jewels and carvings that seemed to shine in the light of the flames. He pulled out a key and placed it into the small lock, and with a quick turn, the box was unlocked. He opened the box and pulled out his craft and lifted it, for the first time, in the light of the grand corridor in the palace of the City.

And for the first time, Narana, soon to be the Queen of the City, beheld the Crown of Jonian. And indeed, it was a crown, the likes of which had never been seen on the earth, and would never be seen again. It was a silver crown on the outside, or so it appeared. But because of the great work on the Crown, it was not as it seemed. It was fashioned of a strange material, like silver in color, but far greater in value. It was as light as a feather, yet as durable as gold. Among the material, called Veiradonta by the scholars of ancient craft, lay jewels of finery. Sapphires dotted the crown, creating a blue glow through the silver color of the Crown, yet they could not be seen distinctly, so it was as if the blue was emitted from the silver material itself. It was a craft formed over years of work, and none could ever match it, not even if the dwarves, masters of the craft, were able to attempt to copy its wonders.

Even now, Jonian would not be able to hold the Crown if it were not crafted by his own hands; sculpted by his own love. His eyes looked over its perfections and felt proud to say that it was he who had created it. He held it toward the princess, almost unwilling to surrender it to another, yet all too happy to give it to the beautiful Narana.

Narana took the Crown and gazed in wonder at it. She could not believe the beauty of the Crown. It was the most amazing thing that she had ever seen, in all of her years, despite all of the wondrous things that her eyes had every gazed upon. She was nearly unable to speak out of awe of the amazing craft before her. But finally, she did speak.

“What is this craft that you bring it to me?” she asked, although that may not have been the question that really lay on her mind. She turned the Crown every which way to look at it from every angle, slowly stepping toward the craftsman without consciously realizing it.

Jonian smiled to see the amazement of the beautiful princess’ face. He was certain in that moment that his choice to create this craft was the best decision that he had ever made. “It is for you, my future Queen,” he said, bowing again, and then rising to look her in the face again. “I had hoped that you might wear it on your brow on the day of your coronation.”

At this, Narana blushed a little, though she realized it quickly and tried desperately to hide it. “Thank you, good craftsman, for this overly generous gift,” she said at last. “It will be remembered,” she added, though softly, as she doubted what she said. “But now, please, go, for I have much to focus on before that time.”

The craftsman smiled only slightly to see the princess’ blush, but worried when she began to speak in a more soft tone. However, he could not argue with her request that he depart. “As you wish, my lady,” he said, bowing one last time before turning to leave the room.

Narana looked down at the Crown again, after watching Jonian walk out of the corridor and into the City’s streets. The glow of the Crown was so beautiful. Yet, she wondered, would she be able to wear this on that fateful day?

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This set was made by Nurrantiel, thanks!


Banner by Limwen - Villya

(when is the deadline now?)

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Just became a college freshman; be on sparingly

good question. I think I PMed Raven but she hasn't replied yet.

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k...tell me when you get the answer!

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Just became a college freshman; be on sparingly

Yeah, and I bet mine turns out differently Knowing our different personalities. I guess great minds think alike, tho!

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Meldawen, are you writing a story right now?

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i tihnk she is...

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Just became a college freshman; be on sparingly

Well, I came in here to bump, and discovered I'd neglected to reply to someone. Why does this keep happening to me?!

My apologies, LDM, yes, I am writing a story. It's coming along slowly - I'm having trouble making the plot work together well, but better late than never!

And yeah, bumping this one...

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