Peredhil

She camped without a fire again, cold rations and water. The forest was much thicker than legend had it, and old. Every night was cushioned on gnarly humped roots, trees so grimly competing for space that they erupted above ground before plunging down once again. It was ankle-twisting travel if one was unwary. The look on Patches face when she’d left him stabled at the Last Town on the Edge (a peculiar name for such a small hamlet,) had nearly broken her heart. They’d been through much together, and moved in unison as a team, in travel and combat. She knew he’d worry about her, but nimble as he was, he’d have broken a leg by now. She was just so lonely without him. She shuddered hearing the eerie distant howl of a wolf and pulled her blanket tightly around her, staving off an unnatural chill. She had no fear of natural wolves, pack-friends and playful, fiercely territorial. But these howls had no echoes, and there was no music in their sound. Each howl bleakly spoke of despair and anger, and the need to quench both with blood. Even rabid wolves had a certain dignity. These lacked even that. There was blackest sorcery bound into those tormented howls. And they had followed her for three of her four days travel. She’d been careful to stick to the winding animal tracks and traces, leaving them only when they bent too far from true east. The animals were wisest in their homes, linking water and clearings with a skill no human possessed. Although even the animals were hard-pressed to make trails in this overstuff forest! With such old growth as this, there should be rotting corpses of giant trees clearing out long stretches for new growth. Even bushes couldn’t grow under the vast canopy which made her travels a perpetual twilight. It was as if the only things which died in this area were the animals. Her thought was answered with another mournful howl, calling despair. Two days later she was staggering forward, doubled in pain. The cramps were coming closely now. Leaning weakly against one of the great boles that towered into the unseen sky, she gritted her teeth against the waves of pain washing her. “Not as bad as birth, but close,” she thought in sour amusement. She’d been stupid to have eaten the berries, and doubly stupid to have washed them down with unboiled water. She’d just been so GRATEFUL to find a clearing, an open glimpse of the sky! She should’ve known there was a reason the trees didn’t compete with the low dark-green bushes and their crimson berries. The pain eased and she sipped water before staggering forward again. If she was going to hurt, she might as well travel. It was nearly an hour later when the cramps finally knotted her lower back and groin. She was barely in time lowering her breeches to clear the way for the damnable berries to pass blood-clotted seeds onto the ground. The surges dwindled. Sighing relieved, she thinks, "That must NEVER happen again.” That thought was chased with an amused, “I hope your seeds are eaten by tree roots!” Using some of her monthly cloths to clean herself, with nose wrinkled against the stench, she discarded them as unsalvageable. She silently thought dark curses on the berried bushes and their tasty trap, but was too wise to risk attention by cursing aloud. One never could be certain who was listening. She was low on water by the time she found the clearing. It had been a hot frustrating time, as all paths lead away. She’d ended up fighting through dense trees with inner-twined limbs much lower than such tall trees should have. It made no sense; there was no light down this low to support such branches! At least the wolves had stopped following her when she took the plunge to head due east, true East, making a way where they trees would deny her. The setting sun shown from behind her, as the trees cast grasping shadows far out into the clearing. The marble temple in the clearing’s center glinted pinks and reds in the light of the dying sun. Looking at it, she decided to camp on familiar roots again tonight, and explore it in the morning. She was up before the dawn could glint into her eyes. She’d heard bad rumors about this place, but intriguing teases of wealth within the warnings. Removing the false leather bottom to her pack, she drew out the ribbons of fine ring mesh, and began the laborious process of binding it into a long sleeved shirt. Not terribly strong, but light and able to turn a blade if one was quick enough. The chain shirt took most of the morning. Wrapping her legs was the work of a moment. She hoped to avoid scrapes, but she’d had one bad experience with what a wizard could do with life’s blood and its bindings, and was leery of giving the opportunity to another. Her hand crept to cover her barren womb. She snatched it away trembling when she realized what she’d done. Although if there was any truth at all to the rumors, she was hesitating on the edge of earning a chance for pay-back. She’d not lament being the instrument of justice for he or his demon-spawn. She ate and drank deeply, and voided herself. Waiting seemed forever, but at last the sun was high. She plunged into the clearing and jogged lightly, her shadow directly below as the sun was directly above. She made rapid progress toward the temple, feet whispering through the brittle yellowed grass. The sun was just moving her shadow before her as she reached the open arch into the temple. Looking at the smooth curves and joins, the graceful lines of the white marble, she had the sudden thought this place had been designed by a woman. The thought was strangely reassuring. Pausing to catch her breath, she unslung her light mace and drew her sword. Not many fought two handed, and even fewer women. She’d worked hard to be able to use both weapons, and they were lighter than she’d wish, but the combination worked extremely well. The mace was solid for blocking, and its blunt force crushed bone and armor that the sword could not pierce. She closed her eyes for a moment, and then opened them wide as she plunged into the temple. The interior seemed dim after the noonday sunlight. She was in a short hallway which curved gently to the left, allowing just a small glimpse of a larger room. Moving forward she was pleased to come onto a dome-covered room. Ceiling apertures pierced the dome and let in indirect light, enough to see the passage opposite, and two others heading to the other cardinal points. She was surprised that the sunken altar with its encircling barrier weren’t directly under the dome’s center. The irregularity was oddly disturbing, nagging at her attention. Ignoring it firmly, she moved forward on cat’s feet, testing each tessellated tile step before committing her weight to it. As her eyes adjusted completely, she could see motes of dust swimming lazily in the air. A trickle of sweat tickled slightly as it slid down her chest and dove into her navel. The air was developing a heat and pressure as she advanced. She paused at she reached the barrier, unbelieving it had been this easy. Suspiciously she looked at the open passageways, the smooth featureless dome, and the altar. The low wall before her was the only color in the chamber. Where all else was white marble, it was carved obsidian, a thick circular bar on stout wooden pillars, encircling the altar without break. She caught her breath. There was no sigh of any dust inside the barrier; no layer of dust marred the altar. Perhaps power slept her after all. Backing up a few steps, she sheathed her sword and drew coins from her belt pouch. Tossing the first, she wasn’t surprised to see it flash as it cleared the obsidian. Not even molten silver remained. She tossed her next coin under the bar. It bounced and clattered loudly before coming to rest. She shook her head at another example of carelessness. Even though it benefited her, it annoyed her when people cut corners when setting wards. With a wry grin at her contrary nature, she replaced the remaining coins in her pouch and drew her sword once more. Easing herself to the floor, she crept forward, only her elbows and the insides of her boots touching the floor. At times like these she was glad not to be busty! It was after her head was inside the barrier that she realized she’d been holding her breath. She released it with a laugh, and wiggled the rest of the way in and retrieved her coin. Standing she looked at the altar and wondered if all this had been worth it. It was empty. She circled it three times, careful to move widdershins, before she noticed the misplaced shadow. Kneeling, she and squinting, she found the level, subtly hidden in a narrow slit at the base of the altar’s side. It took two tries before she maneuvered the leather thong over the level, using her knife to guide it. Perhaps she was too suspicious, but – The drop blade severed the thong AND the knife blade as the lever snapped to opposite end of the slot. She wiped sudden sweat from her hairline as the altar began grinding, pivoting, rising like a wall before her. She barely interposed her mace in time to catch the first blow as she bounded eagerly around the altar’s end to see what had been revealed. Foolish foolish stupid girl not to have expected a guardian after all this! She attacked herself in her thought even as she parried arm numbing blows. She was slightly taller than the skeleton, although its sword was heavier. Her mace already hacked to the point of useless as she used it to delay long enough to recover her balance, mindful of NOT touching the obsidian barrier. While she twisted away from the attack, she assessed her opponent. Some type of gum attached long silver thread to the polished skull. Garish makeup rimmed the sockets of the eyes, and the cheekbones were rouged. A graceful proud arch to the neck that disappeared into the sumptuous robes, so heavily embroidered with gold thread as to serve as armor. For all the weight her opponent must be carrying, she moved lightly. She settled in to the match and fenced. Deft flickering movements of her blade shed attacks; occasionally she swung the mace in attempts to beat the Guardian’s blade out of line. Sweat built as they silently fought. The two blades attacked and parried rhythmically while not one drop of blood had yet dropped to the pristine marble floor. But her sweat was beginning to fall as she tired. The skeleton fought on tirelessly. The heavy sword discovered her armor when she twisted too slowly. She had yet to lay a blade on it! Moments later, the Guardian laid open a shallow gash on her thigh. She felt the windings capture the trickle of blood. She also felt the inevitability of her fate approaching. With a wild flurry of blows, she finally broke through the Guardian’s defense and thrust through its robe into its heart. Only to discover skeleton’s have no heart, and to nearly lose her sword as the ribs tried to trap her blade. This was NOT going as she’d envisioned. She fought a retreating circle, breathing deeply and trying to catch her breath. This thing had to have some weakness. An interior voice sneered at her naivety; why should life be fair? Her armor deflected another blow. That would bruise, she thought, and then laughed at her optimism that she’d survive to bruise. With the thought, her humor returned. I’m going to die. But I’m going to give it my best! I’m not strong, I’m quickly becoming slow, and so I’d best be smart. She fought carefully, shuffling patterns of attack and defense as she conserved her waning strength with minimal parries. Her muscles ached and burned with every beat of the swords, and she was beginning to grunt with each contact. She hated it when she grunted, she sounded like such a piggy. Piggy for the slaughter on the altar. She laughed aloud at the stupid jingle winding through her mind. Her eyes narrowed with a sudden thought, and she took a deep cleansing breath. With a spin to build momentum (forget the sudden streak of pain as the Guardian’s sword rakes your back) she swung down and up and DOWN, her sword knocking the Guardians down and out of line long enough for the mace head to meet Guardian head. Both head and mace burst into Light. The explosion blew her to bounce off the open altar. Lucky fate, not going the other way to burn in obsidian fires, she reflected later when she awoke. The sun had set, and the only light was a residual glow from the Guardian’s robe. Binding wounds, she considered her situation. Offering thanks for her life to whoever ran the temple was prudent. She considered pillaging the bony body, but on noting the way the slivers of bone were twitching and inching across the floor, thought better of it. Let the dead lie undisturbed. She was no common thief, she was vengeance. It took her precious minutes to still her shaking hands enough to light a twist of rope, and even longer to use its smoky light to find the Orb. Clever of someone to have hidden it in the lid of the altar, with so many treasures in the altar’s grave-shaped well to tempt the eye and hand. Leaving the hacked shaft of the now headless mace as a mute offering and apology, she sheathed her sword to have her hands free. Crouching she seized the Orb and uncoiled in a shallow dive under the obsidian railing as the Altar snapped closed behind her, biting in anger and catching the heel of one boot. Running unevenly she sprinted best she could for the passageway and burst into the cool night air. The forest loomed darkly ahead of her.

Guido and Nuncio rush in and begin arranging tables and chair. Party hats are placed, those little-unrolly-tooter-thingies set out, colorful napkins arrayed. Elladan runs in, eyes the room, and begins hanging streamers and banners. Happy Birthday Ozymandias! Founder and Loremaster! After setting up a few tables and laying out the table cloths, he heads over to the bar. Once at the bar, he opens a Portal and begins restocking it with drinks of a hundred worlds from a dozen universes. Elladan wanders in and observes the activity for a while. Rummaging through his pockets, he pulls out a list and begins ticking off items. Oops. They all stop and stare at him. I forgot to order the cake. With a shake of heads, they return to THEIR activities, confident that THEY won't be in trouble. Or even worse - disappoint Peredhil. Just picturing the mournful expression and the quiet, "It's okay 'Dan, I understand. We'll just figure something out, right?" followed by the same brittle smile that he'd managed since Mom passed to the Halls just put Elladan's teeth on edge. After looking around hopefully, he discovered nothing to kill. With a sigh, he moved over to the long table and eyed its emptiness. Sorting through the compartments of his mind, he realized he had only death and destruction, binding and cohersion, memorized spells. He'd have to do this the hard way... Raising his hands in the Gesture of Invocation that begins a Great Spell, he began chanting extemporaneously... Rapidly finishing their tasks, the other three fled the room, with Elrohir pausing only to cast hasty Barriers over the doors and windows. Barriers behind which Entities moved. Barriers that began weathering and crumbling in a way magical barriers should not crumble. He fled after the others. Through out the Pen, those with Sensitivity shuddered at the forces being brought to bear in the Cabaret. Deep within the Pen's bowels, the Dreamer's eyes shifted colors rapidly. THEY had found him! He delicately sent out the merest trickle streamers of powers... No! They weren't after him! He withdrew all but the smallest, most delicate probe and settled with grass green eyes to watch in amusement as they made a birthday cake. Repeatedly. To exacting standard. ~~~ Hissing twisting syllables shuddered reluctantly from Elladan's mouth as he was forced to call in favors garnered though a long long journey. At one point, the walls became jade and the floor a great emerald, at another time, only the bitter rivalry between Hastur and Cthulhu kept them from both turning on him. Sweat beaded his brow as he regretted momentarily not having drawn the Sigals first. He hadn't spent milennia watching his father's back to have his Will falter now. Props were for weaker magi than he! The Cake was done. Now for the Icing, writing, and a few candles. His face widened in his most charismatic smile as one of the Entities snarled in humiliation and turned on him in protest. At seeing the smile, the Elder Gods took the opportunity to slip away. They didn't want to be around if Elladan slipped his self-imposed bounds of Politeness. Oh yes... you want to PLAY? ~~~ Peredhil paused before the Cabaret, and frowned at the Barrier. How could all the party guests enter if there was a barrier? From the sounds of activity in their rooms as he passed, Elrohir and the Guinea Pigs were getting dressed. Which meant that Elladan must be inside, putting the finishing touches on the Founder's party. ~~~ Elladan sensed his father's presence outside and Banished one of his 'Helpers.' Most of the others gratefully lined up to be Banished too, careful to avoid the eye-twisting greasy spot off to the left. ~~~ This would never do. With an airy wave, Peredhil twisted his thumbs just So, and stepped through the doorway. ~~~ Everyone stopped and looked at Peredhil. A brief spasm of frustration at being caught flickered over Elladan's face (the Beings stepped back a step,) before he wrestled it under control as he turned. Hi Dad. Just a few last minute touchs. I was just telling some of our old friends that there just wasn't room for them at the Birthday Party. Nice of them to come out, wasn't it? Peredhil smiled happily and began greeting the gathered beings. Looking at his watch, he apologized profusely and promised to try to write more. With their willing compliance, it was the work of a moment for him to Banish them all. He moved over to look at the spot on the floor, then looked up at Elladan. It always was a bit Rude. I'm surprised you invited It. Do you think you can clean this up 'Dan? Party starts in 10 minutes. Beautiful cake! I'm proud of you! Ozymandias will be so pleased! Peredhil headed back into the kitchen area to mix the punch. Elladan looked at the spot on the floor, considered covering it with a rug, and began Chanting instead. Ten minutes later, the Pen is Mightier than the Sword's Cabaret Room was ready for it's Founder's Birthday.

Laughs and laughs. That's great. Turns to Salinye and whispers, "how much?"

Peredhil hesitates delicately. If this is done gently and considerately... No one excluded who wanted to play, that sort of thing. I'd prolly recommend a modified random assignment thingie, where no two people could write about each other. That would maximize the flow of information and introductions. Real Life presses hard, but I would like to toss my name in the hat to draw and be drawn - depending on how this will be done. I think the idea is brilliant. One question - Are we writing about Personae? Some of us have a wide separation between the Personae we play, and the people we are behind the roles. Just wanted that clear too. Peredhil hugs everyone, and wanders away.

Peredhil gives her a reassuring hug and a stack of books to read while waiting. That is just fine. It's an original work, it is well done, and you posted it in the right place. With a nod to Melba to make sure she's fed occasionally, he slips away again.

Heya Vince! Long time no see. Welcome back indeed.

Peredhil came around the corner, hands clasped pensively behind himself, eyes lowered in thought. Until he saw the Squirrel Duo, and his eyebrows raised in surprise. Looking at the shredded armor, and the slightly pitted floor, he sighed before squatting down and addressing the duo. Well met! I'd begun to think you'd become lost! Gathering the two up, he placed them on his shoulders and strode rapidly through the hallways. I've taken the liberty of having Guido and Nuncio prepare a room for you. I hope you don't mind?

Peredhil enters, dressed as Humphrey Bogart from Casablanca. I remember that hot time at the Game Parlour, where Honey ran the Gauntlet, You drew on the place mat, and Jechum entertained us all. Guido enters with a vial of blood for Tzimfemme. I remember the little friendly board you made for the Polite Magi... Nuncio enters with a Shiny 5-pointed Birthday Flashlight, the upper most point's wick burning brightly. I remember speaking spirals with you, and seeking understanding. Elrohir enters bearing a sketch pad and a pencil set for Rosemary. I remember being certified Cootie-Free, so that I could give you hugs on IRC. Elladan bounces in with a bright smile and a skellie made out of Pixie Stix. Done a few years on this joint we call the planet? turns to the piano player, Play it again Sam... you know the one. The sweet strains of piano fill the Cabaret as they all begin to sing, Happy Birthday to you... Happy Birthday to you... Happy Birthday dearest Quincunx... Happy Birthday to you...

Passes out in shock at seeing this forum used. Rah!

in the Shadow of the Butterfly You can feel your heart sing Her poetic talent, fresh and new Has appeared this spring. The Mind of a Butterfly Views life with a smile With 20 years of life gone by She'll be with us quite a while. Happy Birthday!

Peredhil winces at the innuendo he detects in Alaeha's gender statement, even as he hugs Small Scale Mind Games with a congratulatory hug. Welcome M'Dear... finally.

LOL! That's hilarious! In the background, Elladan speaks into his collar, "He know about the Agent Smith cover. Now we have to ...

Security is a fragile illusion of the world, and an absolute certainty for a Seeker.

3,1,4

Peredhil == pear-ed-HILL Tolkienian Elven, Per=="half" Edhil=="Elf"

Oh my! Congratulations on taking such a big step; in my mind that makes you a winner already. I'll try to make the time this weekend to review your poetry and post something more substantial.

Peredhil's mind is still a blank, But really there is little wonder- all know it's reality to thank. Distractions abound! Last night's thunder, The needs of family and friends, The aching remind of driving blunder. All these poetic twists and bends - If I may be quite frank? - Seem fitting for Pen's denizens. You're building knowledge with quite a plank And that surely isn't bad, But still I look to fill my poetry gas tank.

Peredhil enters dressing ill-fitting Salvation Army clothing, blacker than a Vampire's heart sunglasses, and with heavy gold chains. The Guinea Pigs look ill at ease out of their black zoot suits and with multi-dyed fur, but valiently back up on the refrains. Yo! Yo! Yo! Go Jakob! It's yer birthday! Go Jakob! It's yer birthday! Thirty-five ain't no SLOUCH He's in the world not on a COUCH Here's an Electronic Druidic SONG For our Herald that can't go WRONG! Elrohir begins scratching Marylin Monroe's "Happy Birthday Mr. President" as the other three cross their arms and nod to the beat...

You have a knack with words... I've been wanting to comment on your poems for a while, but given the quality of your work, I didn't want to contrast what you've written with a banal, "nice". But I've simply got to say something because you're posting some really GOOD stuff... Erm. Nicely done?

oh BRAVO! That was brilliant writing! You haven't lost the magic in your Pen. Looks around nerviously and loosens his collar a bit. Of course, I knew all along it was fiction. Erm, I'm an ANCIENT, not an Elder, and therefore have absolutely no power or influence in the Pen any more. Wipes the sweat from his brow. Heh, me taking an active role. Heh. heh. It's nice to have a humorous parody in a thread. Yeah, that it. Humorous. I loved the way you captured all the rest though!

Nicely done... you tricksy wench you!

Gratz on being published!!! Publish more. hugs

How to write to such an assignment I'm really at a loss. Creativity within confinement? But Alaeha is the boss. On the other hand I'm really stuck In trying to find a rhyme, I guess this time I'm out of luck - I'll try again sometime...

Looks, rearranges for the Acrostic, and writes... stuff. P - I would write in this contest but it is beneath me really, and dare I chance that I might not be best? If can be best in everything, my world is ashes in all. L - I want, I burn, I yearn, I consume, the fire inside burns away all limits and restraints for each height is just the target to exceed next time. It all exists to fill me for a moment, flesh, possession, people, power, money. I want. My want IS need. A - Damn them! Damn their eyes and all parts. Why? because I fear the chance of change of pain of balked will and I need the energy the certainty the simplicity of rage! Turn it out for the snarling beast once roused WILL be fed - and if I turn it away from you it will feed on me in depression's blackest anger. G - I want it cause you have it and I'm empty and need to be filled. You can't buy love but you can have enough that they'll pretend to love you and you aren't lovable but you can look around at all you own and know that you ARE the tops you've got the toys. They sneered and now you OWN them for every thing and every body has it's price. You know so well about selling out. If you can just get it all, you'll never be empty... G - I need love, and the pain in my belly tells matches the pain in my heart. I hunger for touch so I'll eat as if I hunger. Fat? It is the presence and the protection from rejection, I can blame loneliness on their inability to see past my shield, and not on my well-rehearsed flaws. flaws, no I can't face the horrible flaws in me cause I might have to change and I'm just not that strong. Someone said they love me? They'll just find me out and leave like the others. I'd better eat again. I'm so lonely... E - I could've done better, you're not so great. You think you're all that, but I should've been there doing it, I would've if you didn't have all the breaks. It's not my fault that I'm black, yellow, pink, female, male, young, old, rich, poor, anything but what YOU are because if I were you I'd have it easy too. I want what you have in your life because I deserve it, and maybe I'll be as happy as you must be. If I were just you. No, you but me in you because I MUST be better. Or I'm nothing at all. And I don't want to die. Nothing. S - I'll write this later. I'd write it now, but if I try I can fail. If I did try, I'm certain I could do a good job, after all, I talk such a good game. but I'm tired now, can't you see my situation? Any one else would be afraid, but I'm not like that. With me it's real. So you go on without me - I'll catch up. Until then, I'll just sit here and dream of how good I could be - if I tried. It's so much easier and better than reality. Reality is so... tiring.

takes the cake. Gratz! Happy Birthday. blows on a noise maker