Peredhil

[Elladan] As he often did, he patrolled the borders of their acreage in the lee hours of midnight, silent as a shadow, using Ranger skills he'd never let rust. Really, fighting over this miserable piece of land was absurditiy in the extreme, but where Peredhil went, he followed. He no longer questioned why this was so, just that it was one of the foundations of his reality. And this wasn't as bad as other places they'd been. Peredhil used the secret Portal in his Library to come and go to the Pen Keep, and left him in charge. All the lovely blood, washing rage away. He loved the smells of the battles, the screams of pain and terror underwent alchemical transformation enroute, becoming pleasures and pleadings for more. Besides, everything except the undead flesh was good fertilizer. He'd allowed his perceptions to stretch here, honed by his fathers ridiculous limitation that he only counter-attack, never strike the first blow. It was as he thought. The storms of battle were brewing in the cauldron skies of Terra. The sounds of earth tortured under armies tickled his ears, the smells of greed and fear wafted to his finely-bred nostril, and almost he smiled. A magnificent time of blood was coming, coming. Death, the only lover fit for him, was about to be wooed again. In battle, all restrictions cease. ... Looking out over the curtain wall of the modest donjon, he laughed aloud as he assessed that with which he had to work. The research rooms and library were matched only by the Healing Halls for size. The Arch Angels understood the evil of Magi, for they stood their lonely watches out by the borders, outside the concentric ring after ring of Treants, carefully tended by their Dryads. (What had happened to old Fangorn anyway?) In their pools, Nymphs and Slyphs danced attendence on each others. There were an unValared amount of Faerie Dragons sleeping everywhere, small glimpses of rainbows and happy moments - he enjoyed playing tag with them when the occasion arose. With a sour look, he looked over to the Barracks. For every ten Archers, his oh so loving Daddy had hired a Hero. Other Heros from Other Kingdoms led their troops to battle. These sometimes had to be pointed to the battles. With a happy sigh he contemplated their impending demise, all these Heros of the Eighth and Nineth Orders, whom Daddy always hired because he felt sorry for them. Looking out over the curtain wall again, he realized that all this would wither burn and die soon. All the auguries pointed that way. It gave him a warm happy feeling, like when he'd poisoned Elrohir for the first time, for having humiliated him in public, that contented feeling watching him turn blue and struggle to breathe, as he, Elladan, had had to struggle not to cry, before Dad had healed him. Seeing his Father's healing powers in that moment, he'd realized that at three years of age, his vengeances would have limits. He'd made sure he'd set up the situations to kill the rest of them that had seen his shame and weakness, when Elrohir had taken his toy dwarfs and broken one of the heads, he'd made sure he killed the rest of them away from his Father. All these troops, all these armies, were going to die. He'd have to see about lining up some of the automations he'd heard about, the ones that were cheaper and better than the Iron Golems. Having large toys break instead of people should please Peredhil. He no longer bothered to wonder why keeping his father was so important to him. [Elladan] [Peredhil] With a hefty tip for the barmain, he left the Tavern at the White Rose place. He loved wandering around, listening to how others felt and thought. The excellent company, food, and drink. He nibbled on some AoA chocolate, and considered where to go next. A quick trip to see if he could weedle some Seventh Gate cookies, then by the Armies of Darkness place (he fingered the matches he'd found, for he'd promised to let them burn him at the stake again,) and then swing by the Pen. After that, he'd go see how Elladan was doing. [Peredhil]

Cheers Thank you Canid.

Okay, long day here. Just to be sure I understand this completely. There is the Fall Ball thread, and it's OOC Thread. There *will be* a Show thread, and this is its OOC Thread. We post freely on the Fall Ball thread, but don't post on the Show thread until we are introduced. Where do we look for the emoticons that say we're okay to post. In here? In the Show thread? Rubs his nose and thinks of sleep. Sorry to be obtuse.

The public announcement done, Gwaihir leads the happy Annael back through the Member's Only door. Barefoot and for once not leaving a trail of black feathers, the newest Herald follows. Once inside, the door shuts with an ominous BOOM, making her jump, and the lights go out. In a moment, candles flair and then settle to a warm glow. All the Elders are gathered, and both the Loremaster stands before them. Vice Loremaster (and Elder) Gwaihir stands proudly at her side. The other Members of the Pen are standing in eager ranks to welcome Annael, who flutters and then settles, a bit nervious at being center-stage. "Who," booms Ozymandias' voice in regal intonations, "seeks admittance to the inner chambers of the Pen is Mightier than the Sword Keep." Everyone looks at Annael expectantly. A swirl of butterflies surrounds her momentarily, and their gentle kisses on her face wake first her brain from this unexpected shock, and then her lips. "Me." She blushes as her voice squeaks, but then thrusts her chin forward stubbornly. Before she can start speaking her mind, Ozymandias speaks again. "Who," rolls the resonant voice, "Will vouch for her worthiness to enter?" Gwaihir draws himself up proudly and replies, "I am overjoyed to present Annael, who accepted and completed her Quest, to our membership." An impromptu cheer breaks out from some of the more excitable members, but the other Heralds shoosh them to silence. The Elders trust the Role Players to keep order in a ceremony like this. Some of the Poets roll their eyes at all the unnecessary fluff, but settle back down, knowing it meets some type of need in the rest. "I am pleased to announce that Annael has chosen the rank of Herald." This time it's the Heralds who cheer, while the Poets gleefully remind them to keep order. Ozymandias waits with impassive face until silence returns. "Herald Annael, approach me please." Once she stands before him, he continues, "When Gwaihir told you of your acceptance, he took from you the Quill you'd been given when you earned the rank of Quill Bearer, the pinnacle of the non-voting ranks. "Today, I am proud to present you with this," He extends his hand and gazes intently at it. The Gathered Elders focus on the empty hand as well, and a whisper of power winds its way from the very walls of the Pen to gather there. When the final silent vote has been passed, a long slender case of ivory, of the peculiar ambient hue found only in the tusk of a behemoth, rests lightly on the Loremaster's hand. "Accept of me, given in my authority today, and representing the will of the Elders and the membership, your new Quill." Annael reaches forth and takes the flat box, as her butterflies dance intricately around her. In an odd sideways quirk of mind, she realizes her toes are rather chilled standing her like this. Forever she'll remember the smell of the candles, the flashing of their lights glimmering off the irredescent scales of her butterflies, and cold toes when she thinks of this moment. "With this Quill," Ozymandias continued, refocusing her errant thoughts, "You now have the ability to cast your vote and be heard on all membership issues dealing with the Pen is Mightier than the Sword. You now bear and share the responsibility of guiding the guild into the future. You may sponsor members, as Gwaihir has done for you today, create polls, and boldly state your opinions. You are eligible to join one or more guilds, in which the members focus on the deeper Arts of their crafts, and cultivate those Arts outside our walls. "Your Quill is unique to you, and irreplaceable. Care for your membership carefully, lest through inaction or cynicism it wither away." "Welcome." With that word, the applause and cheering erupts unchecked, and most of the membership surge forward to congratulate Annael. A few of the more Ancient or hungry ones head to the refreshments table to stock their plates before joining the line. Annael nods and smiles and says her "thank you"s automatically, while her curiosity itches to know in what shape and attributes her Membership Quill has formed.

Nods I think I understand what you mean, Regel, 'cause that's where I am now. I'm free to be strong or weak or whatever, because I know God has my back. And I know it from experience in my life, the last 20 years. But... I remember the first 20 years, when I thought I was doing the right thing, was mouthing the right words - but still failed. When I went seeking through many many religions and paths, trying a lot of things - and they failed. I even remember the times I was so low, and so suicidal - that I felt like such an outsider, that I didn't think anyone cared, even God. Or if God cared, it was because I was so screwed up, He didn't want me either. While I now know how wrong my perceptions were - that's what I felt then. I still can look at many of my friends and see them struggling without the inner strength and identity I found. Some of them, having known me for a long time, are willing to admit that God works in my life - but make it something special about me, instead of God, which is upsidedown! Because I've never forgotten how it feels to be an outsider, to feel rejected, to feel lost or worthless - when I read something like this instead of affirming my beliefs to them, unless I get prompted by the Big Guy, I usually just try to listen and let them know *I* care. I'm there, they can see me, test me, and see if I'm sincere and real. Remembering how it felt before I accepted God, I find for me, that preaching at someone this wounded is like telling someone depressed to just cheer up, or someone with a broken leg to just ignore it. I kinda view it as stopping the arterial bleeding before I make suggestions on not playing with knives. I wish everyone had the strength and certainty I've found. Not that the storms of life don't come, but that I have an umbrella and a rock on which I can cling, and I know that if I just hold on, I'm guaranteed to survive the storm. I don't know - maybe that's just me. I can look at my birth family and see other ways of sharing God's love, that work for them just as well as this works for me. Maybe you're more like one of them. Which is another nice thing I like - God is a God of individuals, and willing to work with each person differently. Umm, we know direct you back to your regularly scheduled poetry readings...

[Elrohir] Elrohir walked briskly, his thoughts in a brown study. He was terribly late, but there were so many last minute details to which to attend before pleasure. He trusted his dad, Peredhil, would represent the family politely until he could arrive to help. Seeing a missed, but familiar face, his words burst out in surprised pleasure, "Lady of Stars!" Blushing slighty, he stopped and bowed to her "M'Lady, nearly everyone is at the social mixer, the Fall Ball. Lady Ashela is hosting it to complete her Quill Quest. Considering the chaotic timelines of our residents, I had the foresight to ask for extra invitation. If you'll take this one, please take a moment, and do drop by. You should see a few familiar faces there, and perhaps meet some new ones. If you'll excuse me?" With another bow, he hurries off. [/Elrohir] (OoC: Welcome back!)

This is one reason I look through old entries. I wonder sometimes why some works get no responses? Horrified? No clue what to say? Just think the person wants attention? This poster is right - what they show isn't love. But... They went away from the Pen thinking no one read these, no one cared enough to even say, "ouch". On this as some of this authors other words, I find interesting almost hidden messages in the choice of formatting and line breaks, once I read past the pain.

One of the deadliest traps an abuse victim is taught is that they are worthless, no one will care, and if they go for help, they'll only be hurt more. Don't talk. Don't move. Don't speak. Smile to the world while you die inside because you deserve all this somehow. Can you consider the courage it takes to break the well-forged chains of abuse? For some victims, the pain and chains are the only thing holding them together. thoughts...

saying "love" and dispensing abuse is one of the hallmarks of hatred - redefining terms until they no longer have societal meaning snaps the trap closed on a mind. A wolf caught in a trap will gnaw its leg off. Some people gnaw at themselves until life ends.

When someone constantly carries the voices of their abusers deafening their ears - How can they hear words of love?

I would say something about investing one's self esteem in others (it over burdens them when carried with their own). I would say something about laying responsibility on someone else for one's emotions (but emotions are tricksy and circumstances can force choices). I would say something about the manner in which attitude filters perception until one can only remember what they expect - such as recalling nothing done right. But. When someone has no self-esteem, correcting them is a razorblade on wounded soul. When someone has been rejected, hostility toward the source is quite natural. When someone is in pain, all wisdom and sayings are platitudes. So I'll just say I hope tomorrow lends a brightness.

What a gem. I'm not sure how I missed this at the old site, as I like Shakespeare. Might want to try changing "about" to "of" - sounded better to my ear, but it's your work!

I like this. I haven't a *clue* what it means... But I like this.

Has an almost Nordic feel to it, but I think you might work on the meter. When I say it aloud, I just can't fall into a good beat, if you know what I mean. On the other hand, good usage of figures of speech to portray the scene.

[Elrohir] Elrohir trots by and stops to welcome the newcomer. Wonderful! If you'd like there is a Fall Ball going on in the Cabaret Room, a mixer to allow people to mingle and meet. Feel free to drop in and at least get some food. Tell them I sent you. If there's a problem with that, look for Miss Ayshela! In the Assembly Room, you can listen to short stories and works in progress. Over in our most popular room, the Banquet Hall, you can feast your ears on poetry. The Library has many curious works of antiquity, well worth passing an idle hour to peruse. And of course, the Recruiter's Office is where you'd go to apply for membership. Be patient with Elder Wyvern; he has many schemes going, ever eager for geld and gals. But when he's in his office, Melba, the Almost Secretary of Initiates does her best to keep him in line. There are other rooms and chambers you'll have to explore and discover on your own - I'm late and still haven't dressed for the Ball! He jogs out again. [/Elrohir]

Going through the Minstrel Hall, I found this old post on Freestyle Role Playing which lends itself to this topic. The context, in short, is that freestyle RPing at Archmage's Universal Bulletin Board's Conservatory has been dying out. The Freestyle threads were great vehicles for encouraging beginning RP writers.

Oh. OH! I thought Elder Yui told me not to do it. Let me work something up....

sweet. The Pen needs more thoughtful science-fiction. I, for one, would like to see a link to a picture. If you put it in thread, my poor little modem might choke on it every time I loaded the thread. welcome back! -Peredhil

w00t! :woot: I've always wondered... sits to listen, waiting for the very end when Melba arrives...

Ooh! Ooh! Can I write a pompous post for this too? Can I, huh, can I?

I can say with confidence that the Fall Ball is still open to anyone. It's an ongoing event that hopefully will give everyone in the Pen that wants to join a chance to somehow explain their character, either explicitly, through interaction, or through the eyes of others. Personally, I think I may link to some a couple of other threads that contain things I've already explained. Hugs Ayshela for a fun idea

[Peredhil]After taking a turn or two on the dance floor (what a pleasure to dance with a lady who could follow a lead), he set out to mingle again. Along with everyone else, he paid hommage to Orlan by stopping to look at the couple as they entered. He ignored Rapier's wink and just smiled back at her - For a Fallen Dominion who liked it, she'd been a really great conversationalist, once she realized talk was all that was on his mind. Noting Ayshela was doing well, he started over to greet Alzorath.[/Peredhil] [Guido]So I'm snapping my paws and jazzing to da tunes - dat kid wit da licorice stick could sure lay down a lick - when I sees da ceremonial Door Wardens takin' der job too seriously. Rent-a-cops. Sheesh. Anyways, Tzimfemme is *not* one to suffer fools gladly, or unhappily fer dat matter. I try to contact Nunce, but he's still pissy about da whole suit t'ing and not talkin' to me. Dis was an emergency, and I wasn't gonna interrupt da Boss. Not tonight, not a chance. I pops da FDR off and reach fer power, den opens a quicky Portal to Elladan, makin' sure dat it is away from me and pointed toward da window. Sure enough, the splurt of fire dat gouts out fryin' da glass. Then it almost faster than now goes away. That's 'Dan fer ya, a bit itchy on surprises, but pretty quick on da uptake. "Yes?" whispers da sweet voice, and I kin hear the smile, so like any smart pig, I starts sweatin'. I make sure I don't let da fear in my voice, why put blood in da wadder? "yo 'Dan," sez I, "Got a Situation at da Fall Ball door. Da Wardens look like der hasslin' Tzimmy 'bout no invite. And da Boss is on da floor dancin' and funnin'." Da portal pops closed and as I slips my Ring back on, I can hear Tzimmy's voice down on da floor. How even her voice kin sound nekkid, I doan know. Den 'Dan is at da door, and e'ryt'ings gonna be fine. Stupid Nunce shoulda been here by now. [/Guido] [Elladan]Humming a light Mozart concerto, from our time in Vienna, I Flashed into the hallway outside the Cabaret Ballroom. I know they think me paranoid, but having seed the Pen with pinhead loci jewels when it was constructed pays off at a time like this. Really I should've just let Tzimfemme deal with the guards, but if Dad was enjoying himself, however little, I knew bloodshed would upset him. So I rounded the corner and went into combat mode. Everyone slowed into a crawl and I took it all in, from the lines of Tzimfemme's body (she really *was* restraining herself) to the dialated pupils of the Warden on the left, lusting for her to the dialated pupils of the Warden on the right, afraid and falling back on mindless training. What a waste of space. I was tempted to salt them away and feed them to one of the vampires (perhaps Tzim'?) later, but knew that it would cause waves. Some times this place is so boring. At least in Terra I'd been able to kill effectively as Dad's General of Armies. By this time I was up to them all, and let time speed until they saw me. It's always a bit distracting when the voices doppler back up the scale, but I was used to it after all this time. I'd developed the skill to avoid getting blood on my clothes, since the time that idiot had got in my way and then had the gall to spurt blood on my favorite shirt Mom had given me. By the time I'd finished destroying he and anyone who might've seen my shame, I'd almost stopped crying over the shirt. It was nice of Nuncio to work so hard to get the stains out. I rewarded him by not destroying him for touching it, and he thanked me nicely. He's a very Polite pig, I have an almost affection for him. We understand each other, as much as that is possible. "The Lady," As my sudden appearance startled them into trying to hit me with their silly swords, I repeated it for their minds. Made a point of using small words as I slipped the blades in a Water-flowing move. "The Lady is as far above you as the stars above the heavens." I let their souls see into my eyes for the briefest moment to ensure I had their attention and then turned on the smile. Stun and charm definitely. I was rather proud of myself - I must've judged it just right as neither one fouled their pants. "Not only is this lady an honored guest and Elder her, as if such beauty ever ages," Tossed the smile to Tzim who ignored it. How anyone could expect to be charming with Orlan around I don't know, "and further, is allowing me to escort her in." I offered her my arm, making sure she saw it coming. That lady moves like lightning when she wants. She gave them a measuring look, then allowed me to escort her into the Ball room. Her touch was just a feather breath of fingertips but I had all my shields in place just in case. Made sure to walk slowly so everyone could give her the admiration she deserved, then released her onto them like urging a hawk into flight. I almost shook my head at the admiring glances - the mice had no clue. I flashed a smile and then set out to mingle until I could get my back to a wall. Hadn't intended on coming, too big a crowd, but I was here now.[/Elladan]

quietly creeps in with his popcorn and soda, so quietly as not to disturb the story in progress, but drawn by its excellent beginning...

Peredhil listens quietly and silently sighs. "But Kushel didn't abuse his power, he just used it for his own gains." In his experience, all abuse contained at its heart the selfish gain of the abuser. He started in surprise at hearing the Quilll Quest named a contest. He'd thought the Contest of Gwaihir was a Writer's Workshop quiz, not this rendition of forgotten lore brought from the ancient past into the present. He was glad he wasn't a Voting Elder, having witnessed the butterfly's trick. Would this count as fulfilment of the Quill Quest assigned? He waited silently to find out.

well, I liked it. As a personal standard, I try to never tease or joke with what I think might be true. Even if I'm not personally sensitive on the subject, I've found too many hearts have no defense against the truth - even when said in jest. -Peredhil