I fractured my wrist last Saturday.  Fell off my bike.  Yeah, it was pretty brutal.

So now, typing is quite a chore.  I won't be doing a lot of writing with ol' lefty in a cast, but since I really don't do a lot of writing in the first place, there really won't be much of a noticeable difference.  Truth be told, I've been spending my time writing Lyra the Large, switching to Batman's POV for chapters 2 and 3.  Oh boy, I just have so much fun writing this!  Once I commission a piece of cover-art, it's set to publish.

I suppose I should provide you with good news.  I graduated High School and have nothing to do but work and sit on my butt.  Hopefully, some of that butt-time will be filled with clacking away the last couple chapters of Name's Ellis.  I know I shouldn't neglect my first and most popular story, but I don't want to peter out on the end like some of my other works.  I'll be sure to put my heart and soul into writing the ending, or, at least, what's left of my organic heart and soul.

That picture's from Batman #509, by the way.

I was brainstorming some characters to add to The Uncanny Adventures of Lyra the Large and this is what I've come up with.  Lyra's own little "Rogues Gallery" of sorts.  These aren't all villains, though, and they may not make their way into the story, but lemme share a little information with you.

Far Country

Real Name: Keith Falhark

Appearance: Approx. 5’ 7’’.  Wears red plaid hunter’s jacket, fingerless gloves, John Deere cap, black balaclava, jeans, and heavy boots.

Powers and Abilities: Not a metahuman, but has superb reflexes and tenacity.  Extremely apt with a trusty under-over shotgun and a few homemade “trick shells”, which include, but are not limited to, bolas, grapple, harpoon, flechette, incendiary, and explosive slugs.

Personality Traits: A carefree demeanor ill-fitting of his apparent penchant for small-time crime.  Displays a prominent southern accent and is generally polite and friendly.  Despite this, however, he seems to be unable to grasp the concept of remorse, making him willing to do next to anything.  Loves to “hunt”, especially if his quarry is costumed vigilantes.

Bigfoot

Real Name: Unknown or N/A

Appearance: 10-foot tall iron behemoth.  Bipedal with a wide-shouldered, Hulk-like frame.  Displays red, glowing eyes.  A long “mane” of sorts decorates his head, comprised of razor-sharp arrowheads.  Talon-like fingers.

Powers and Abilities: Super strength--which is expected from his appearance--nigh-invulnerability, and unlimited stamina.  Able to expel directed energy from his body in the form of lightning.  Can reattach dismembered limbs seamlessly.

Personality Traits: Is fully capable of fluent english speech, but prefers to remain mostly silent.  And, despite his brutish appearance, he is very deep and thoughtful.  Prone to fits of rage.

Logik

Real Name: Cyrus Insilico

Appearance: 6’ even.  Left half of skull is plated with metal.  Right half has vestiges of wispy, grey hair.  Thin frame with pale skin.  Wears an intricate robe of green and silver.

Powers and Abilities: Able to calculate nearly all possible outcomes with perfect logicality.  Master technologist and hacker.  Proficient in hand-to-hand combat when necessary.

Personality Traits: Due to having the left half of his brain replaced with circuitry, he is absolutely emotionless and calculating.  He speaks concisely and only when he needs to, without any flair or flourish.

Obsidian Sentinel and Smoke Banshee

Real Names: Unknown, Richard Manna

Appearances: Obi is approx. 7’ 2’’.  Body is made of glossy, black rock that is shaped very much like plate armor, albeit more jagged and natural-looking.  Right hand is twice as big as the left.  Smoke is a formless mass of sentient smog.  His primary appearance is a vague humanoid with white eyes, snaking “dreadlocks” from the back of his head, and a cheshire smile.

Powers and Abilities: Obi is capable of feats of enormous strength and geomancy.  Carries a shield and a large “sword” edged with red crystals that can be superheated and can cut through nearly anything.  Smoke can shapeshift reflexively, become solid, change his color, and take on just about any appearance.  His strength is limited and cannot exceed that of a normal man’s.

Personality Traits: Obi is a mute, so Smoke speaks for the two.  He is a compulsive eavesdropper and regularly spies on people for no reason other than to observe what they do when they think no one is watching or listening.  He sometimes uses this information for playful extortion.  Seems to be constantly giddy.  Obi is rather indifferent to his partner’s actions and demeanor and considers him to be the “leader” of the duo.  Very aloof when it comes to any sort of social interaction, but he is brutal and relentless when it comes to combat.  The two are inseparable; Obi allows Smoke to take shelter in the crevices of his armor.

Well, I've finally realized that I am not actually superior to the rest of humanity in every way.  In fact, I am dreadfully far from that mark...

Anywhoozles (I stole that word from a guy), I am in need of someone to check over my stories for grammatical errors.  Since my latest chapter of O.i.E., I've grown frustrated of putting so much time and effort into picking out these mistakes on my own and having scads of them get past anyhow.  As it turns out, editing, for myself, is quite impossible.

I'm not asking for much, just your email address so I can share the chapters with you on Google Docs and a little bit of your time (I would prefer people with Steam account so communication would be that much more convenient).  In return, well, I suppose you'll get another buddy to talk to!  I may even share some of my secrets...

BUT NOT MY MACHINES!!!

I think it's an alien.

Lets call him Morf.

This is segment of the first chapter of The Uncanny Adventures of Lyra the Large (working title).

We begin our story during the nighttime, in a dark alley.  Quite dank, too.  The recent downpour upon the grimy city had filled the air with moisture and sent the gutters running with foul water, disturbing the inebriated bums who made their perch there.  They stirred and gripped their paper-bag-wrapped bottles tighter, pulling their ragged garments closer to their bodies, away from the unforgiving cold of the concrete jungle.  In the distance, sirens sounded.  To a resident, this sound was not uncommon.  In fact, it would be quite jarring to go at least an hour through the night and not hear one.  Their far-off wail was like a lullaby, a nocturnal birdsong for the resting populace; a soothing ambiance for the waking.  The smell of motor vehicles hung thick in the air.  Fetid.  Choking.  Unbearable.  Yet, not one seemed to mind.  They were born breathing the stink.  They lived in it.  They died in it.  Even as it coated one’s skin and left an uncomfortable, unwashable feeling crawling over one’s flesh, it was just another thing they bore without a thought.  Clouds, both natural and of smog, listed over the night sky.  They glazed over the tall skyscrapers of the city’s center, where all the beautiful people lived and worked and partied and partook in every hedonistic venture under the moon.  The people on the ground, the gutter scrapers, the bottom feeders, the jobless, the homeless, the hopeless... they are left to look up and dream while writhing in their needles, their powders, their own malodorous pleasures.

        There was flash within the aforementioned alley.  Not a particularly bright or blinding flash, though.  A blip, like someone flipped a switch and a light bulb went dead in a more-brilliant-than-usual flair of white, leaving only a darkened room.  No loud sounds were heard.  No crack of discharging energy, no gunshot of deafening power.  Just a small, strange whistle, accompanied by a low buzz.  No one witnessed it.  No one considered the perplexing image of a small, young woman suddenly in a place where she was not before.  Nobody saw her stagger on all fours through the empty alley in a severely out-of-place yellow sundress.  The garment itself looked homemade: nice enough to look good and function as clothing, but carried telltale signs of hand-stitching and, in some places, poor foresight and tailoring skills.  The dress was probably not the best choice for the weather, either.  Summer was quickly turning into Autumn.  The air was getting colder, the wind harsher.  Soon, rain would turn to snow and the citizens would don whatever winter clothing they have as they went about their business.  If witnesses were present, one could also note the strange color of this girl’s hair as she shakily rose to her soft, bare feet.  Mint, with a stripe of white across the top.  Its stylization was nearly immaculate, firm without a hint of hair product, as if it was tediously cared for every morning and subjected to unknown maintenance rituals that the average fashionista would do questionable things to obtain.  The girl stumbled backwards a bit, her arms stretched in an attempt to balance herself or, at the very least, catch something to hold onto.  She did; her grasping fingers found purchase on the side of a dumpster.  She breathed heavily.  Then, the girl sniffed the air, made a face, and concluded that this object she was leaning on was not something she wanted to be around.  After backing up, she seemed to have gotten a feel for standing upright and paused for a moment of silence.

        Lyra Heartstrings looked down at her hands.  Her hands!  A smile crept on her new face.  The spell had worked!  It had turned her into one of them!  Exactly the way she had envisioned it.  She brought them up to her flat, human face, drawing a mental image of what she looked like with her fingers.  She brought them down, tracing the curves of the rest of her body, down to her exposed shins.  Her new, hairless skin was light, soft, tingly to the touch.  In fact, she felt tingly all over.  Weird.  Must be the aftereffect of the magic.  It had, after all, simultaneously transformed her into a human and transported her to the human world.  Quite a magically taxing accomplishment.  Speaking of which, she twisted around, fumbling her footing a bit, taking in the sights and smells and sounds of this grand new place.

        It was... not what she expected.  The place looked a lot like Manehattan, but it was somehow... darker.  Perpetually darker.  And smellier.  The acrid smoke that wafted into her nostrils made her want to sneeze and gag at the same time.  There was a constant blanket of noise going on beyond the surrounding walls.  Rumbles, honks, and squealing of unknown origin... it put her on edge.

        But that was not going to deter her.  Even as her bare, smooth feet were suffering from the cold and the jagged surface of the wet alleyway, she kept her head level.  There was no turning back now.  Her hand drifted to her forehead, where her horn was a moment ago.  It was no longer there.  She was no longer capable of performing magic, no longer capable of returning to Ponyville with Bon-Bon and Twilight and Derpy and all the rest of her friends-

        She bit her thoughts back and shoved them out of her mind.  She was no longer Lyra the unicorn, no longer a citizen of Equestria.  She was Lyra the human, ready to make her way in this human-filled world!  She would be brave, stalwart.  She would find her place in this city without the use of magic!  She would...

        Where was she, anyway?

        Her arms shot out, perpendicular to her body, as she gracelessly tried to keep herself from falling on her face.  Back bent and flat footed, she walked down the narrow alleyway.  She needed to get this walking upright thing down before somepony--correction: someone--saw her.  What a sight to other humans she must have been, she thought.  Staggering around like a newborn foal.  Not a pony foal, those can usually walk seconds after birth.  A human foal.  She learned that they need to develop that skill over a year or so.  She couldn’t blame them!  This was hard!  How they ever found out how to do this is a mystery to her.  But, after a few more step down the frigid corridor, she was able to establish a sort-of rhythm.  Lyra tried stopping.  She bent forward a bit, her arms circling in wide strokes while she attempted to catch the air and prevent an unwanted faceplant.  Fortunately, she succeeded, and stood upright.  Next she tried walking again.  It was easier than last time and she didn’t have to hold her arms out too much for balance.  She stopped.  Again, it was easier.  Euphoric from her progress so far, she tried walking backwards.

        “Oof!!”

        That didn’t work, she thought to herself, cautiously pushing herself off the ground while rubbing her tender rump.  She wasn’t going to try that again for a while.

        Something on the wall caught her eye.  It wasn’t hard to notice, as it took up a good space upon the wall.  Sheets of paper plastered over one another.  She stepped closer.  They were all the same: weathered, slightly soggy, all containing the same... unnerving collection of things.  Robots, a tentacle, fur-covered bipeds, some regular humans (one with a beard and a really tall black hat), a... decapitated head with snakes for hair, a scaly large-eyed thing... was that a minotaur on the left?  How strange.  Each of them had large, stylized lettering that took up a large portion of the poster, as if it wanted to shout it to all passerbyers.

        “CLUTCH: Live in Gotham”

        What was a “Clutch”, she wondered, and “Gotham”?  What were they?  Then, it dawned on her.  She felt like kicking herself for not drawing the conclusion.  The human world was a lot like her world.  Either inhabitant could point out that this was a concert poster!  A live performance by Clutch in Gotham.  Was that where she was?  Gotham... she kinda liked the name.  It sounded... fitting for the impression she was provided so far.

        Her brow furrowed as she realized that the tingling sensation all over her skin was still there.  Like countless needles lightly poking her, leaving no mark.  She would be lying if she said it wasn’t bothering her, but she forced herself to ignore it.  It’ll go away in time.  She was sure of it.

        Now that she had an idea of where she was, Lyra decided to press onward.  The alley she appeared in didn’t seem to have a clear exit into the open, so she picked a direction and--falteringly--began to march.  The scenery didn’t change much.  The tall brick walls still loomed over her, the ever-present racket beyond was still drilling into her eardrums.  She caught something new.  A soft, thumping beat somewhere close-by.  It sounded like... music?  It reminded her of what Vinyl Scratch would play in her home.  Loud, blaring electronic melodies that would shake her whole body and rattle her lungs.  As she inched closer to the sharp, 90 degree turn where it seemed to be emanating from, she started to catch some of the treble.  It was talking.  Lyrics.  Sounded... entrancing.  Catchy.  The deep, husky voice projected itself over the looping beats, rhyming, sometimes saying words she didn’t understand.  Before long, she caught herself tapping her foot, bobbing her head with the tempo of the song.  Another thought hit her: where there’s music, there must be people listening to it!  Yes!  She could hear regular voices talking above the bassy noise, but couldn’t make out exactly what they were saying.  Lyra smiled and walked towards the bend some more...

        She stopped herself, causing her to nearly lose the balance she had worked so hard to obtain.  She creeped up to the corner and flattened her back to the wall.  She couldn’t just go running up to the nearest human like a bumbling idiot!  “Hi, my name’s Lyra Heartstrings!  I used to be a magical unicorn pony from another world who got here via an ancient, possibly forbidden spell!”  Nu-uh.  She needed to think this through.  She needed to find a way to approach them with tact and dignity.  She...

        She was scared.  Heart-poundingly terrified.  The constant tingling seemed to grow slightly more intense.  What if they can tell she was not originally human?  What if they don’t accept her?  What if she insults them unknowingly through a bad greeting or an unintentional gesture?  Lyra didn’t know what to do.  She mentally slapped herself.  Get it together!  You’ve gotten this far, and there’s no turning back!  Take the first step!  She knew that, from this this point, there would be some trial-and-error.  So what?  That’s how we all learn!  She’d blunder through their customs, but she’ll learn them, too.  Before long, it would be as if she was born here!  With this new perspective, she felt a little better, but not much.  Her limbs were still paralyzed with anxiety.

        This tingling.  Celestia, this tingling!  She realized her hands were up, scratching both of her arms furiously.  She forced herself to stop, but her face began to twitch with discomfort.  It just wouldn’t go away!  Why won’t it go away?  Was it something in the air that was causing this?  Did all humans feel it, but were just used to it?  Dear Celestia, she hoped not.  She’d go crazy from this constant sensation, this aggravating pins-and-needles horseapples!  It felt itchy beneath her skin!  She just wish there was a bunch of hands all over her body, scratching every place at the same time.  So many writhing digits caressing her soft flesh all at once-

        No!  Dirty thoughts, begone!  Lyra needed a clear head to go and make first contact with these people.  First, she was dying to know what they looked like.  The young woman tentatively tilted her head around the corner, gingerly peeking over the brick-and-mortar surface to catch a quick glimpse of whoever was out there, listening to that catchy music...

        Her head whipped back into hiding.  Her chest was thumping wildly, threatening to burst.  She saw them.  She actually saw them!  Well, not much of them, but she now knew there was more than one of them.  Lyra caught some of their features, mostly their clothing.  Quite a lot considering the nighttime darkness.  They were dressed in mostly dark colors, with strange flairs of bright ones, like on a hat or shoes or an arm-band.  And wow, they wore a lot of clothing.  Jackets, shirts, pants, pants under their pants, belts, gloves, sunglasses...  Why all the clothes?  Maybe it was a status thing, how much clothing you had on.  If that was the case, she was staggeringly underdressed.  Only a simple dress and that was it.  Lyra was beginning to feel inadequate.

        Well, that can’t be helped, she thought.  She thought about rearing around for another look, but she decided she was done hiding.  She had to confront other humans, eventually.  She had to, so she might as well do it now.  It probably wasn’t too much different from meeting a pony.  Oh, what will they say to her?  What will they think of her?  These thoughts and more filled her with both excitement and trepidation.  She regulated her breathing and pushed the doubts from her mind, along with the cold and the tingling on her skin.  She bit her fears down and stuck her leg forward, past the sanctuary of the wall.  One bare foot after another, she rigidly forced herself out into the open, out where she could be seen by all.  She stopped, turned, opened her clenched eyes, and spoke.

        “Umm...  Hi.”

Like I said, a segment.  You'll have to wait a to see the rest after I finish Name's Ellis in a couple thousand years or so.  Har har har...

I feel like I've been abusing this blog for all the things I've been posting recently.  Eh...  Probably just making up for lost time.  As one person pointed out to me, I have not yet detailed my other crossover ideas, so lemme get that out of the way before I make another blog concerning the one I have already chosen, which is (and this is not the official title) Lyra in Gotham.

I had originally planned for three different stories concerning Lyra making her way in a human world of sorts.  I thought about detailing all three in one blog and choosing one from the feedback or comments I got on them.  But, since I've already started writing one of them, that's no longer an option.  I mean... I can't just stop right in the middle of it and start a completely... different... story...

Uh...

Nonetheless!  I shall put two short descriptions of these other Lyra stories in this blog and leave you to comment on them as you please.

Lyra of the Adeptus Mechanicus

This one... hehe... you probably all saw coming.  Well, those of you versed in Warhammer 40,000 and/or know of the premise of my persona.  Basically, Lyra confronts a lone Explorator.  Obviously, given her disposition, she is intrigued by this new creature, yet at the same time, she is taken aback by his thoroughly augmented appearance.  This Explorator's name is Dephanos Helvetica, and he is, to put it lightly, slightly detached from the iron-wrought values of the Imperium when concerning intelligent alien life.  Seeing Lyra's determination and willingness to know more about humanity, perhaps, strive to become one of them, he take her under her wing and teaches her the ways of the Mechanicus, modifying her body to give her a bipedal stance via means of augmetics if she is to have a chance of blending in.  He replaces her upper limbs for metal arms, her lower limbs for legs and feet, her spine is rebuilt to stand straight, one her eye is replaced with an optic...

I can just hear the Inquisition stampeding towards me now, screaming "HERESY!" at the top of their lungs.  That's good, because the story will involve the Imperial Inquisition.  NEXT IDEA!

Lyra in the PROTOTYPE Universe

Of the three of them, this was the least likely choice.  You've all seen the PROTOTYPE crossovers on this site.  Some of them, like Black Rain, are really good.  Others...  Well, you get the picture.  I didn't really want people to write it off automatically due to the less-than-stellar legacy of it all, but I'll detail the idea anyway.  The premise of this is similar to Lyra in Gotham.  She transports herself to the human world via magical means to find herself in the hellish city of NYZ.  The Red Zone.  So, you could imagine she gets off to a pretty rough start.  She's found by Alex Mercer who, taking interest in the unicorn (particularity her arcane method of manipulating objects with her horn), grants her shape-shifting powers a la Blacklight Virus style, giving her a human shape.  He plans to use her in his war against humanity, but considering that James Heller is out for his blood, he tells her to dispose of him first.  Naturally, there would be some moral conflict, some side-swapping, some turbulent thoughts as to what Lyra truly wants from herself and from this human world, as well as her attempting to come to terms with what she has become.  Really, it's almost identical to Lyra in Gotham,  and you'll see why when I post that preview.

So there you have it.  I have some other ideas that don't concern Lyra, but I'll wait 'til that chapter of Name's Ellis comes out before I drop that on ya.

I was also entertaining this idea that, if I do happen to make a story out of all these ideas, all five incarnations of Lyra (that includes regular Lyra and centaur Lyra) to get together and possibly have a huge, cataclysmic battle.

Or an orgy.

Perhaps both.

*crashes through large temple doors, dashing straight to the nearest cogitator*

*powers on its holy engines, begging its spirit for forgiveness of its hasty use*

*frantically lights incense and begins pounding the runes on the interface*

Jack the Giant Slayer!  DON'T FUCKIN' GO TO IT!

Tell your friends!  Tell your enemies!  Allow no other living soul to be tainted by this filth, no matter how much you despise them!

How could I describe this Warp-damned thing that barely passes for motion picture?!  Where do I start?!?   Can its terribleness even be put to numerical value?!?!  All the great, ancient logic engines across the Imperium could be churning away simultaneously until I crumble to dust and still couldn't figure out just how much this movie SUCKS!!!!

It's as if the director had been lobotomized and programed with every trite, overused, awful cliche.  In.  The.  Damned.  Book.  Couple that with, oh Omnissiah help me, Jack was wearing a fuckin' medieval hoodie!  Nice machine-stitched shirt and jeans ya got there.  What, ya get that at Ye Olde Hot Topique?  And then there's bitch-face.  Boy, she can scream.  Can't do much else.  That includes acting.  The rest is poor attempts at humor involving stupid slapstick dumbfuckery coupled with disgusting bathroom jokes, plus bland, predicable characters with no interesting plot twists anywhere to be found.  Just a long, straight, two hour road that will leave you cringing until you puke.

*huff... puff...*  Sorry.  I had to get that out.

I learned from this.  I truly did.  I now know not to attempt anything like this ever.  I just... I still can't believe I paid for that...

Sorry to bother you.  I'll just go back to writing and have a little preview for Lyra in Gotham in a bit.  I'll be starting that after Name's Ellis is done.

Here's some old drabble I wrote in my spare time.  Thought you guys might wanna see it.  Or maybe not.  Maybe you're so sick of seeing me you just want to bash me with a pillowcase full of pennies.  Anyhow, here it is.

I, The Abomination

    Idleness would not dissipate it.

    Action would not deter it.

    The silent screams clawed the shadows of their throats.

    Soundless.

    Shapeless.

    Without color nor emotion nor origin.

    It was always there, yet never there before.

    Only the vague memories of what may or may not have been remain.

    Everywhere at once.

    Yet nowhere at all.

    There were other sounds, too.

    Laughing.

    Chortling hollering chuckling snickering.

    Crying.

    Wailing sobbing choking whimpering.

    They all bled together into a single mass of noiselessness.

    And then they stopped.

    And then they came back.

    But they never left.

    They were never there to begin with.

    The laughing and crying.

    They were only there sometimes.

    The screams.

    The screams were always there.

    The pure embodiment of fear and fury.

    Separated by a wall of nothing.

    Encompassed by everything and itself.

    It flowed through the veins of chaos as life-fluid.

    As poison.

    It heaved to a wild, erratic heartbeat, each thump sounded a voice.

    A screaming voice.

    A staccato of terrible agony.

    A blade piercing the heart.

    A claw rending the flesh.

    A hand breaking the neck.

    A fist crushing the bone.

    And they answer.

    The voices.

    Oh, the voices.

    They sang, they spat, they shouted, they screamed.

    Thousands of voices radiated outward like thunder.

    Like a drip of blood.

    You monster.

    You monster.

    You monster.

    “I know...”  Whispered Alex Mercer.  “I’m sorry...”

Night Sky

O, Nights, I do ponder,

Beyond the dark veil of yonder,

Retired are the dreams of hither,

Amongst the stars of wonder.

I don't know what came over me.  I... I just don't.  All of the sudden, I just had all these new crossover ideas that I really want to do!  It's an ugly thing, guys, to have so many ideas in your head, each of which could easily be turned into a multi-chapter, full-length fantasy epic.  It's pretty obvious from the way I've been using my writing time that I am not the most get-to-it guy, so some of these ideas will never see the light.

I will finish Name's Ellis and I will continue O.i.E.  After that, I may take up Grey Warden Gilda, but my ideas on that aren't so solid anymore.  So, for my next big story I need your feedback on what to do.  Here's some things that have been running around in my head:

Berry Punch in Pandaria

World of Warcraft may not be your thing, but let me tell you, Mist of Pandaria is just... just beautiful.  The story, the quests, the quirky races and characters.  So much vivid potential for a perpetually inebriated mare to stake her place in this crazy, brew filled world.  I'd have her start out in Stormstout Brewery, where she would declare herself in some kinda plane of heavenly existence and starts sampling every kind of beer, stout, and ale she could find.  Things would turn raunchy as soon as a brazen hozen gets between her and her bliss.  Big mistake.  Great big Pony-Fu clashes ensue, escalating to great heights as she single-hoofedly faces down the great big party animal himself, Ook Ook (this would make much more sense if you've played this dungeon).

Chen Stormstout in Equestria

Another WoW crossover, for the same reasons mentioned above.  Chen is, by far, one of the more notable and likable pandaren of Warcraft.  A big, boisterous kung-fu master who is kind and polite, but not afraid to drink, be merry, punch someone in the snout, and laugh it off afterward.  As for why he's in Equestria, I've been working on a backstory where a human adventurer had found a way to absorb the power of the Sha, granting him immense abilities that he immediately uses for his own dark purposes.  This human gather's all the malevolent energy of Pandaria and becomes a Sha-King, razing the land and all its inhabitants.  After a climactic battle involving nearly every force on the continent--the Horde, Alliance, Shado-Pan, etc.--and heavy losses.  Weakened, this Sha being is banished from Azeroth by Rhonin Redhair (who, I suppose, happened to be there at the time).  Leader of the Shado-Pan, Taran Zhu, is outraged that he would do such a thing, handing off their problems to another world.  Who will be there to defend the innocent from these dark forces?  "I shall."  Says a somber Chen Stormstout.  "I will head after the Sha-King and bring it back to Pandaria, so no other world must suffer."  He had lost his niece, Li Li, in the battle.  He was inconsolable.  Despite the urgings from his friends and distant relatives, Rhonin agrees to send him on this quest.  This quest that takes him to Equestria, far from the pain of Pandaria, far from the sting of loss...

Of course, I'll have to read up on all the lore and add alter it where it may contradict.

Lyra in Gotham

I've already been working on the first chapter today, just to see how it looks on paper, but after a couple thousand words it looks like I'm summarizing Anthropology with a few tweaks here and there.  Bleh, no matter.  The important part is that, when she simultaneously changes herself into a human and casts herself into the human world, something goes awry with the magic.  It does not happen immediately, but minutes after setting foot in the dark, grimy city of Gotham, she finds her new human form changing.  Her body grows past amazonian proportions.  Her skin thickens and her bones harden.  Her muscles bulge and raw strength courses through her veins.  A small, mint horn, a vestige from when she used to be a unicorn, sprouts from her head, granting her powerful telekinetic magic on top of her already augmented brawn.  During this second transformation, she goes into a heated bout of madness, rampaging through the darker parts of Gotham, leaving Batman, the Dark Knight, to try and subdue her and figure out what to do with this reckless, delusional stranger.

I have other ideas, but I think I'll flesh them out at another time.  So, please feel free to leave comments, constructive criticism, the like.  I'll see you again with the next chapter starring everybody's favorite zombie-killin' redneck.

I haven't posted anything for a while.  For that, I'm... sort-of sorry.  I guess.  BUT, I've been working on this one-shot that I thought would be as long as The Day Ghost Shipped Rainbow Dash With Everything, but it turns out, it's going to be a bit longer and a bit more serious.  I've been doing to practice writing my fight sequences as I have not delved into that too much.  It should be done and posted within the week (and I mean it this time!).

In the meantime, I'd like to discuss a few thing with anyone who is interested.  I have a few brand-new ideas that have been running around in my head, even one that's not a crossover!  *gasp!*  Yes, I've been thinking of a few ideas for a Mare-Do-Well series.  Origins, villains, plucky sidekicks...  Superheros fascinate me, and if I were chosen to write for the official Mare-Do-Well comic book... well... I guess you better make sure you don't market it to kids.  Little kids.  Got this idea for an arch-nemesis named Occam's Razor, a pony who was horribly disfigured in an accident and sets himself on a murderous crusade against the bourgeois using knives and blades as his calling card.  Other villain names include Hemlock, Mastodon, The Theatrist, Doctor Pendulum, Doby and Neo, Bedlam...  I can really build on this.