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Vincent Silver Viewer (3/11/02 3:24:06 pm) Reply *Bows* Second try -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- godguyver@yahoo.com note ojoro is just a char. I made up I decided I use Vinnie to much...this is an rpg/interative fiction so help me!! __-__-__-__-__-__-__-__-_-_ In the small elfen village of Trento,lives Dojoro, the greatest elfen theif in the world.(and some one Wyvern would take to heart) He has stolen everthing from piano's to priceless art,and enjoyed ever minute of it. Dojoro also is a theif for hire and stealing isn't his only job. __ "Mr.Dojoro I have heard you are one of the best theives in the world" A man in a balck suit spoke to Dojoro in his darkly lit room "Yeah I'm ONE of the best...and don't call me Mr. Dojoro It don't sound right" "Right,I have a job...In my town,Los Dulos,there is an election for leader,and I have to win if you catch my drift" The man grinned "How much" Dojoro said grimly for he hated killing people. "2 million gold" "SAY WHAT!"Dojoro's eyes almost poped out of his skull,"y..you must really want to win" "There's more to it than that ,but thats all you need to know...for now"The man murmered something under his breath that Dojoro didn't hear,"You will meet up with some other people I have hired on the road to Los Dulos leave by nightfall...see you in Los Dulos...Mr. Dojoro" The man stood up,left Dojoro's home,and climbed into a buggy and was off. _____That Night____ Dojoro back his bags taken a large amount of gold some food(for Los Dulos was a weeks trip away),and some other suplies. He grabed is two elfen daggers and exited his humble abode. The cold night greeted him as he quietly left town tward Los Dulos. ____-----____ Hope this works!

Yui Temae Visitor Posts: 3 (7/5/01 1:01:56 pm) Reply Re: In the Pregnant Hours of the Night -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ((The first of two stories which comprise my petition to be granted the title of Quill Bearer. In addition, this will be my entry into Wyvern's contest, including the rather poor, old sketch I have linked. I hope it pleases the members. ))

Yui Temae Visitor Posts: 2 (7/5/01 1:01:20 pm) Reply In the Pregnant Hours of the Night -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- My beloved Aegon, In the pregnant hours of the night, when dawn lurks just over the horizon yet too far to be sensed, the silence always lays thick over the grounds of the castle. I suppose that, in my mind, it is like a fog, an invisible mist that deadens the senses in consideration of those who are asleep. As usual, of course, I am not one of them, and the silences serves only to chill me. My restless mind refuses to quiet, refuses to let go of the thoughts and memories that are its sustenance, leaving me sitting here in this window casement, writing a letter to you. Most likely, it is a letter you will never even see, but still it keeps my questing consciousness occupied at a time when I suspect that idleness would drive me mad. Sometimes, I wonder that I have not already reached that point, so loud are the imps that tumble through my brain. Some would call them muses, spirits of inspiration, but when my body is weary and still they will not be still, I cannot give them the honour of such a title. Imps, instead. Pesky little creatures full of voice and mischief and impossible to silence. Were they not figments of my own mind, these innocent beasts that haunt my nights would be enough to awaken the Darksoul. ... strange. All it takes is the thought of her existence to feel that slightest stir of her influence. Ebon Frost was always a powerful presence, and in those first days, when we fought constantly for dominance over our shared being, she came very, very close to being more powerful than I. I remember those days, still, with the clarity reserved for events that change your life and essence. Justifiably so, for I am far different from the scared, young assassin who first entered the Tavern of Old. My mind’s eye draws the image of those moments so vividly that I fear words cannot do justice to the truth. I can still feel the amused curiosity I felt when Lord Snoop brought his vial of evil essence to prove that it had been removed from his soul. I laughed at his childish exuberance and the way he showed it off as if it were a new toy. The fond warmth of the moment was only increased when Lord Shivan smiled and joked with the salamander-morphed Snoop, engaging in the banter that they used to show their familial love for each other. I remember what joy I took from that thinly-veiled affection between them and the slight tinge of jealousy that accompanied it. The fascination rings clear in my memory when I held Snoop’s vial of darkness, accompanied soon after by the burning pain of the accidental slice from his too-large Mythril blade. I remember watching the waters of the lake tinge just slightly red with my blood as I washed the thin wound clean, distracted by my thoughts from the realization that I still held the vial in my hand, that the liquid mirror below me was darkening. To this day, I know not how that vial came open, whether by accident or malicious design. All I know is that the essence of darkness from Lord Snoop’s soul found its way into my body from that insignificant wound. And from that moment, I was never again the same… My memories become unclear at this point, a part of the delirium of impregnation. It is not until I lay on the floor, cradled in my dear friend Shivan’s arms, that I was once again aware of myself. I am told that Lord Snoop used his magic to draw the poisonous mass of darkness from my body, though the cost to him was that it once again took its natural place in his. I suppose, given his sacrifice, that it is especially tragic that he was too late to prevent the Darksoul birth that had taken place within me, the creation of an evil consciousness that is as much a part of my being as the light that those who know me have seen. Ebon Frost. Now you know how she came about, my love, this dark, angry self that you have seen in me on the rare occasion. The struggle that ensued for control, and the people whom she tried to hurt in the process, is a story best left for another night, another time when my demons will not rest. For now, though, the gift of words seeks to abandon me, and I find I do not wish to express myself in that way any longer. Instead, I am drawn to another means. Let us both hope that my inspiration is accompanied by passable skill… … the sun has just risen, my love, and I can hear the soft sounds of the castle staff awakening. My muse has finally left me with peace, and I find that my eyes are weighted with what can only be pure, dense gold. I must sleep, now. I look so forward to when you will return from your diplomatic mission to the Circle, for I miss your presence in my day and the soft sound of your sleeping breath in my night. If you wish to know with what I filled those candlemarks between the expectant darkness of the night and the joyous birth of the morning, I have included the poor exercise in this letter. I hope that it will draw for you the moment that my words could not. All of my infinite love, @-/--- Yui

Zool47 Elder Posts: 11 (7/20/01 9:12:54 am) Reply The Young Prince -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- *Without introduction, the Painting on the wall begins to speak...* A long long time ago, in a place far far away, there lived a young Prince. The young Prince was a princely fellow, who presented himself in a princely way, and always shouldered his responsibilites in a princely manner, loving his country and future subjects as he did in such a princely fashion. As was the custom, when of age the young Prince entered the military, to train in the ways of representing his country with authority and respect. His country was a seafaring nation, so he entered the navy as a cadet officer. His father, the King, was a serious King, who understood that the foundation of wisdom was humility. Therefore, he gathered the officers of the naval academy together and warned them that the Prince was to be treated no different than any other cadet officer, that he must start at the bottom and properly work his way up, without any special treatment or consideration. This was done unknown to the Prince, but being like his father, he would have had it no other way, and naturally undertook his new tasks with no other expectation. Being a bright fellow, things went well anyway for the Prince, until one day when out to sea, walking down a corridor of the ship. The corridor wasn't very well lit, and he saw and heard nothing until suddenly he felt a severe kick to his rear! He was so surprised he simply stood stunned as his mysterious annoyer ran off. The Prince was a bit miffed at this, not being used to such indignant treatment. He stood in the corridor for a moment considering the train of events. His attacker having gotten away, and not wanting to appear a crybaby, he decided to let it pass. Things went fine until a few days later, when again he was caught by surprise and was kicked in the rear. Again his annoyer quickly escaped. The next day, he was kicked twice, and the day after that as well. The Prince was really getting annoyed, and he had been unable to catch his mysterious attackers. He was sure he had not pissed anyone off to deserve such treatment. He was loathe to report such behaviour, however, as to do so in his eyes would be very un-princely. With grim resolve, he determined to take care of it himself. The next day he got his chance. When his duties demanded, he headed below decks, his senses on full alert. He didn't have far to go before a small sound caught his awareness just as he turned a corner. He whirled around and caught the leg as it was coming up, throwing the uniformed figure to the floor in a painful hold. "Ow!" whispered the attacker hoarsely, who appearently didn't want to attract attention. "All right mister, you're going to tell me what I did to you to deserve getting kicked!" The young Prince tightened his hold as he spoke, making the other cadet squirm in pain. "Well, I, I..." started the cadet, obviously stalling. The Prince exerted more pressure. "Okay! Okay! You did nothing! You did nothing." "So why am I getting kicked?" asked the Prince, tightening his grip for emphasis. "Because you're the Prince! All us cadets figure we will be important officers one day, and we will never have another chance to be able to boast that we kicked the king!" It suddenly occured to the prince that that it wasn't because they thought ill of him that they kicked him - it was because they thought he was important! It reminded him of something his father had told him once. "There is no such thing as a disinterested interest," he said, "If people truly didn't care, they wouldn't be there." ~Zool~ Elder of Elders, The Pen is Mightier than the Sword. Bard of Terra, Patron Saint of Aspiring Bards. Elder than dirt, more foolish than a jester, able to trip over the smallest logic in a single step. It's... Oh, you know.

gwaihir1 Page Posts: 3 (7/27/01 11:49:47 pm) Reply Myth -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- She was young, and she was beautiful, but nobody would call her either. Her face was pale, her eyes large, her hair so dark a brown that you could hardly tell it from black, but her cheeks, shoulders, and arms were all marked by scars. Literally she was only 24, but no one could speak to her and think it. It had been five and a half years since she had started thinking of herself as old, and though she didn’t talk about it, one could feel it. She was Myth. When you walk down an empty street, and wonder if you see a shadow at out of the very corner of your eye, but later you find you’ve lost your wallet, Myth’s been showing off. She didn’t usually, she didn’t have to, but sometimes it was fun. She wasn’t really cold-blooded, she just didn’t care. So what if you were suffering over a spouse she’d had to kill, she felt sorry for you, but she knew that she’d gone through worse five and half years ago, so she continued to do what she felt necessary regardless of your pain. She was Myth. Myth grew up in probably the worst neighborhood in Terra, so fighting to survive was sort of a way of life. It wasn’t until she was sixteen though that this fight became formal. Myth wanted to be on of The Elite. What were they? Well, I guess Myth saw them as mainly a street gang, and they were, but it was a much larger organization than that. To say that would be almost as silly as to call the Mafia a street gang. So, what did a chance in The Elite mean to Myth? It was a chance to every once in a while get enough food, it was the right to walk down the street instead of living your life huddled in the gutter, but most of all it was there was the possibility of someday getting out, of living in a place that Wasn’t poor and miserable. One trained for two–three years, and then you were set a task. Rumor was that if you lived through it, you were in for life, but no one knew what their task would be. You might have to fight a member or a dangerous Terran beast, steal a treasure, kill some well guarded person, or … or anything. Sometimes some minor member would be set teaching trainees, from him or from anywhere else you would learn spells-anything useful from Invisibility to Double Time. Also one spent hours improving one’s skills with arms, mainly knife but some sword too. Myth was determined to succeed, and to somehow find the means to leave that ghetto, so she honed her skills until finally it was time for her to be set a task. Every hour of the day or night was a good time to find Myth and Salen (her brother and best friend) out practicing something. Six fellows who ran things locally met to decide what her task would be. Myth hoped that hers wouldn’t be too bad because she’d been doing all kind of things to make Tom, one of the more important ones, feel that he owed her something. She waited. It seemed to take forever, and not just because she was nervous, there were two members accused of treason to The Elite, who were to be tried before her task was contemplated. As she waited she fell to thinking: For all her hatred of her life thus far, it really hadn’t been all that bad. So she hadn’t always gotten fed, so, who did? Hell! She’d had a mom until she was 12! After that her older brother Ryan and his buddy had let her tag around for awhile. She’d been on her own, but they’d not let her get beat up too bad. In fact, Ryan wasn’t just a better big brother than most, he the best. He’d always known where she could hide from the cops after she’d stolen something from a nice neighborhood, and he’d even killed the guy who raped her. Yeah, he sometimes gave bad advice and was a bit too impulsive/violent, but who’s perfect? As much as she cared Ryan though, she loved Salen, (her other brother and her younger by one year) three times as much. Until almost a year ago the two of them had been inseperable. They’d done everything as a team. Myth smiled as she remembered the time Salen had gotten the job in the shoe store. He’d snuck hundreds and hundreds of dollars out before he finally got caught, and even then he’d gotten out in time. Or… the time when they’d jumped out the window of the general’s house (in a mad rush to get out)-straight into his fish pond. That too had worked out though, matter of fact, Salen Had had his screwups, but in general he’d always been precocious. *sigh* That’s why he’d gotten into The Elite ten months ahead of her. Since then he was too cool to hang out with her, now he hung out with Ryan. She’d hardly seen either of them since then. Didn’t have Any idea where Salen was. Word on the street was that Ryan was running from someone powerful. She heard a noise inside the discussion room (an empty warehouse), and lapsed back into worrying about her trial. Finally the door opened, and Tom came out to bring her in. *I wonder where the accused are? Weren’t they in there? Why aren’t they coming out?* As he approached Tom whispered her an apology. *Uh-oh, must be Hard* When she went in there were two live bodies on the floor, both tightly swathed in black cloth, and with their heads in pillow cases. *That’s where they went* First she was told she would practice her aim by throwing knives from 100 feet into various targets on the bodies. *If you don’t think about it, you can do it* The people were conscious, but gagged. Next she was ordered to demonstrate spells. They kept her at it until she was exhausted, but all the same she did pretty well. Finally one of guys told her that after one small thing she’d be done. *Here come the hard part* “Kill them” *Killing in cold blood Is horrible, but it isn’t hard. Why such an easy task?* Then someone ripped off the pillow cases. The bodies were those of Ryan and Salen. paging pen person

Foe Calibur Visitor Posts: 3 (8/8/01 11:47:40 pm) Reply Re: Shadow's Bane -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The blood, and carnage of the previous battle looped relentlessly in my unconscious mind. The screams of the men I had killed and the slipping grasp on what sanity I had contained weaved vigorously in and out of the horrid memories of my past; and the bodies scattered carelessly across the burning fields… flooding my thoughts with incomprehensible images of terror and pain. I stood in the meadow, blood soaked and shaking. I looked about me only to see the ghostly images of my dead kin floating, wounds gaping on their terrorized bodies. The looks of astonishment and pain etched forever in their faces. My thoughts raced, my blood boiled, so much fury and hurt I had never felt. Falling to my knees I gripped my skull in hand and squeezed my eyes shut; the rush of emotions had grown so much that it literally hurt to bear it. Sitting on that dreadful grass, I struggled to gain control. To control my thought and to settle my emotions… At last I won the strength to open my tear filled eyes and there before me lay the very epitome of my pain. Before my blood and tear ridden body lay the gasping figure of the only parent I knew. The thoughts and passion of that dreaded day flooded my mind as I reached for the ghostly figure. My fingers gingerly touched the cheek that, to my astonishment, was cold as ice and hard as stone. I moved to hold Kendra in my shaking arms, ignoring the icy embrace. The longer I held, the colder I became, until at last the very lack of heat became more than I could bear. Gently I set my loved one back on the ground. As I did, her image faded into the earth’s selfish core. My head raised to examine the other ghostly figures, I saw the clouds darken. They began swirling viciously overhead as the suspended animations of my lost kin took an ungodly life, a life of pain and torment. The agonizing shrieks of my once-living comrades took reign over my senses. Their images swirled as the clouds unbound vigor raged on, creating a whirlwind of undead screams. Their wails of terror and agony increasing, I turned my head up in kindred spirit… “Ahhhhh!” A cold sweat dripped from my bare skin as I sat bolt upright. This… dream, this horrible dream… had it been real? I felt my sweat laden body for the bruises I must have endured earlier in the dream, and found none. Letting myself relax, the panic slowly drained as I surveyed my surroundings; to the right of the bed I now lay in was a strangely familiar nightstand, on it sat a small candle and a match with which to light the tiny torch. At the foot of the bed, only a short distance from the base board, was the tightly closed door which, if memory served well, would lead to the main hall of my home. The remainder of the room was quite in the same fashion, small and orderly. A dresser stood by the wall to my far left and displayed quite an array of clothing at my disposal. One such pair was the clothing I had fought in; folded neatly on top of the hutch it bore no signs of the previous battles. My thoughts swirled vigorously in my head. There was no way that all that had happened was a dream… my life, my reality. The emotions I felt were so real, my love for those that had adopted me, and my hatred for those that had slain them. How could this be? This room… it felt so familiar… yet the life I led before awakening seamed far more… real. I removed myself from my prison of tangled sheets and stood dumbfounded in thought, staring at the clothing on the dresser. “You’re awake.” The soft voice came from the no- longer closed door at my back. “Yes… I…” I could not think of what to say, there was so much confusion, so much agony. I didn’t know whether I was dreaming or not. I couldn’t understand. “What’s wrong Matthew?” Matthew… Was that my name? I hadn’t thought about it. When I was alone I had no need for a title. The small elderly woman who spoke earlier stepped further into the room. “Who… who are you?” “You don’t remember your own mother?” “But, you’re dead…” I trailed off as my voice began to waver. Tears came to my eyes as I searched for words. “Dead? I’m very much alive… that is, as far as I can tell.” My “mother” sat down on the abandoned bed. I stood at the dresser and continued to stare into the mirror, gazing at my unfamiliar reflection and wiping tears from my eyes. At this point, motherly humor was of little importance. Though it did help ease my grief. “You… things are so unclear! This is all so familiar… but I can’t put a finger on any of it! I know there’s a hall out there,” I gestured exasperatedly towards the door, “but I can’t remember where it leads… I can’t even remember what this place is!” I was pacing frantically about the small room by this point. Saying it out loud only seamed to enhance my irritation. “Now Matthew, calm down and maybe we can work this out…” She sounded sincere enough, but here eyes said otherwise. I know she was only going to play along. “No… this can’t be helped by simple words, it is my memories that serve the confusion. The memories of my past… the past that I know! Not the one that I may have lived here…” My pacing was slowing as my thoughts cleared. “What past is this?” The look in her eyes was almost mocking. This could not truly be my mother; no mother would mock her child in such a time of need. “A past that you know nothing about.” My attitude changed as I noted the look in her eyes. I was no longer desperate, but angry, angry at the uncertainty in my “mother’s” disdain. “You did take quite a bump to the head. That’s why you were asleep, you were unconscious.” I know this was not true. Earlier when I had felt for the bruises, I took special note of my head; there were none. There was very little I could do though, this room I stood in became more and more of a prison the more we spoke. The only choice that seamed reasonable, within such confusion, was to leave this growing “prison”. And so I decided to play her game until I had the opportunity to flee. The hesitation in my “mother’s” responses was growing, I knew she was swimming in lies, having to dive deeper and deeper to get the answers she did not have. “Leave me be for a while… I need to get dressed.” I had stopped pacing by now and was standing in front of the dresser watching the elderly woman in the mirror; she nodded as she rose to her feet. As she left, her face displayed utter relief, but her composure showed concern. I know which of these was false. * * * The light the moon offered was more than enough to travel on, for once again I was on the road, my memories of the life I had lived slowly fading, like a dream oddly enough. Though pictures faded my feelings remained. These feelings were quite the cause for concern, for though they were not totally overwhelming they were omnipresent. These feelings transferred over into my gate, I was lost in the world and in my mind, it seamed. I had to run, I had to get away, so I tried. I ran for hours. I did not know where I was going nor were I was, I only knew of the dizzying thoughts and violent reminiscences weaving webs of uncertainty inside of my head. But no matter how long I ran, I couldn’t outrun the confusion. Exhaustion was beginning to take its toll; a toll I had not the energy to pay. And so my confusion ended, on the step of an unknown building; the menacing silence of the unconscious world reigning high in my numbed mind.

Foe Calibur Visitor Posts: 2 (8/8/01 11:46:31 pm) Reply Shadow's Bane -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Shadow’s Bane Somewhere, buried deep in my subconscious lay the truth to my past, the reason I was different from the others. My tribe embraced me; my family loved me, yet somehow I didn’t fit in. Kendra, my Caretaker, claimed ignorance on the subject and dismissed it at the soonest possible opening. I sometimes questioned whether or not I was part of the tribe… not to seam ungrateful; the people there treated me well… it was something inside of me, something I couldn’t identify. When I was a child, my playmates seemed hesitant to embrace me. As I grew through adolescence I was stared at, merely because of my darkened complexion. For ages hence I had learned to keep to myself, only to abide in those I trusted. A short list though it was. For many years after, my life consisted of training with my tutor, Gowain, and practicing various techniques in the forests surrounding the village. Little did I know how drastically my life was about to change. On the day of my three hundredth birthday, a large band of marauding Ogres slaughtered the village and pillaged our homes. They killed mercilessly. Nothing in our power could stop these… beasts. I stood in fear, at the sight of my home burning, listening to the screams, and heeding their calls for help, yet unable to grant them their wish. For hours I stood paralyzed by what lay before me. I had been trained, and trained well. But nothing could have prepared me for this. I was spared because of their fear… their fear of me. When alas the Ogres left I sat for hours at Kendra’s side, thinking, watching the life drain from her, my tears dropping softly on her blood soaked tunic. There were so many questions I had yet to ask… so many questions I would never get answers to. I grew angry, the sight of the body, of Kendra… it disgusted me. Why would she do this? Why would she leave me? I hated her for it; she left with so many questions unanswered, so many things left to experience. I knew, though, that life must go on. Things do not stop because of death, they are merely delayed… the delay was over and I had many gruesome tasks ahead of me. The body of Gowain lay by the roadside twisted and torn. He had been long dead; the body was nearly black with flies and crawling with maggots. Through all of the hardships, through all of my pain, this was the most agonizing. Why couldn’t they have killed me? What were they afraid of? The question ran over and over in my mind. Then I remembered the task ahead... The bodies had to be tended to. The more I worked, the deeper the questions burned… why? I began to wish that I had been killed also, after all, everything I had to live for had just been destroyed. Hours later I stood by the burning bodies of my friends and family. The sickening smell of burning flesh and the sound of sizzling tissue engulfed me. I could not bear to hear them burn… let alone see and smell their corpses melting. I left. I walked North into the forest, no destination in mind; I just had to leave. I had convinced myself that I would not… could not stop until I had rid myself of the horrible sounds... of the stenches that overwhelmed me. In my mind I could hear them… pleading as they were put to their gruesome death I walked for days oblivious to the outside world, unscathed by famine. My mind was in turmoil. What now? Where do I go? How will I live? And through all these questions lay the thought of what had happened, of the horror I had witnessed. Years passed in that wood, I had no reason to leave… I had nowhere to go, if these ogres were so scared they could not kill me, even after they destroyed my home and loved ones… what would other people think? I trained in the art of shadow magic, something I had been practicing in private. It was more of a skill than magic... it came from within. I honed my skills, learned to control the damnable power that set me apart from the others. After years of contemplation I had come to rest over the subject of my differentness. It was the way I thought, the way I felt, the way I moved… the way I am. That aside, my mind was open to do as I pleased, to hone my skills, to train. I trained in both the conscious and unconscious world. Always making new challenges, always adding new techniques. Creating new weapons became a good way to pass the time. Though my supplies were limited, my mind was not. I created a sort of crossbow. It fit on your fore arm, like a gauntlet, and folded back for easy storage and concealment under a cloak. Though I had no swords, I was still able to train with the aid of staves. These staves I created were made heavier than the average sword. They were made as such, so that the transition between stave and sword would be much easier. Seeing as how the stave is heavier, the sword would be light and easy to wield. As the days turned to months and the months turned to years, I became more content with my own company and less concerned with the outside world. Sometimes as I slept at night in this hovel I had created, I found myself dreaming of that god-forsaken day. The carnage still reigning high upon my omnipresent thoughts. I would awake in a cold sweat, startled greatly. It took quite a while to calm the terror I experienced night after night. As the years turned into decades, it became apparent to me that I must venture outside this hole in reality. I must unearth myself to meet new people, meet new challenges. There is only so much I could handle and after eighty-four years in the woods, alone. The problem of keeping my sanity became too heavy to bear. I set off in search for people, none in particular, just company. Something to pass the time, someone to talk to. Perhaps even an opponent to fight with. Being alone in the woods, that was one thing that I lacked… a sparring partner. Or an enemy if you will. More than anything I longed a new challenge, a destiny, something to strive for. Though I had convinced myself that I could live without companionship, the one thing I needed was just that. But I was afraid of what might happen. Every time I though of this the horrid memories of my last celebrated birthday spring forth and destroy the need. I didn’t want to… I couldn’t go through that again. Losing your loved ones, losing your home… losing your life. No! It would not happen again. I would make sure of that. Though long, my journey to civilization was somewhat less interesting than I had hoped for. Though companionship was what I needed, a good fight is what I longed. These I found in the plenty. As I walked men would come out to great me; this I found was not always a good thing, for of the twenty that greeted me all but one were trying to kill me. And even at that, the one who wasn’t trying to kill me was closely followed by more traveling mercenaries. Fortunately for me, they were inexperienced and fell by my staves. By the end of the first week, I had acquired quite a nice selection of swords, only two of which I kept with me. The blades I kept were extremely well made (considering where they came from) the unfortunate soul that wielded these before me must have had quite a bit of money. Though I had two swords, one of the first things I wished to do once entering civilization was re-equip myself. To rid me of the weapons and armor I had acquired, and to start anew. * * Alas I peaked a hill near the roadside, to look out over the valley below. The sun shone brightly on the horizon. I looked into the seemingly cloudless sky, in the broad open sky lay a faint trail of campfire smoke. I peered down into the valley frantically trying to find the source of this long lost commodity. I looked bellow to a clearing, the most obvious place for a campfire, and there it lay, surrounded by mercenaries of all types. I had no idea who these people were, but by then my longing for companionship was overwhelming. I moved quietly down the opposite hillside as not to attract any attention. Even if these people were friendly, I mustn't let them have the upper hand. After all, there must have been a score of them and only one of me. As I entered the clearing it became clear to me that these people were not friends. Upon my entering a few of them drew their swords and turned to face me. I was reluctant but alas I was left with no choice... I attempted to confer with them but to no avail. I drew my arm bow (the small crossbow on my forearm) to meet their approach. Of the thirteen that stood before only seven were standing erect when they reached me. By this time they were running flat-out, I had only enough time to draw my sword before I was attacked. Swing after swing, slash after slash I dodged and deflected. It became apparent to me that I could not just defend; I had to fight. I willed the shadow powers within me to come forth and aid me in battle. My blade burned with a shadowy flame... not hot, not cold, just there. When it was an opportune time I let my guard down and took the offence. The blades of my unwieldy opponents passed through me like air. The shadow powers made me impossible to hit. As the foe’s blade to my right passed through my mid section, I drew my sword down fast and hard. As the blade hit, a flash of shadow streamed forth, from my blade. His torso was cleaved in two, from the shoulders through to his abdomen. The odd black flame cauterized the wounds. As he lay dead on the blood soaked earth; the other bandits realized what they had just witnessed. I realozed what I had just done. “I...It...It can’t be!” “No! It cant... ugh.” “My god!” The expressions were few, but clearly stated their disbelief. “Now you see, I am not here to kill... merely to befriend. If you had not attacked this would not have happened.” I tried not to sound harsh, but at the same time it was hard not to finish off the rest of my attackers. Their numbers were now few, few enough for me to take them easily. “We... I... I had no idea one man could be so powerful! Please forgive us... what’s left of us.” By now it was clear the remainder just wanted to live. I decided it best to limit the carnage. “Alas, I do not wish to fight any longer. Please, take these satchels and heal your wounded. And head my words... If you come across one like myself, don’t fight. It would be your last. I tossed a couple of my satchels of herbs to the bandits and left the clearing, I did not wish to kill in the first place, and now that I had, I had to at least try to remedy it. Through the fight, I felt something inside me grow. Something strange and dark, for when I called upon the shadow power, I was almost unable to harness it. It grew as I fought; now I sat hunched in the bushes, just out of the clearing, struggling to restrain it. I knew I had to harness it, at least to the point of absolute control. Today was a mistake; killing was not intended. This could not happen again. The shadow was a strong power, known to overcome its unsuspecting wielders. I was not one of those people; I had harnessed the power... but did not expect it to grow so rapidly. The shadow is never totally dormant, it will protect you with its evade techniques all of the time, but is only put into true action when it is willed to do so. It was as if it had a mind of its own, bent on the glee of battle. It had been strengthened not because of its use, it had been used many times before, but because of the magnitude of the battle, the power I exerted... the power I drained from my attackers. Finally with the shadow power at a dormant (so to speak) state, I moved on, in search of more manageable companionship. Once again my journey took me ever farther from my destroyed home… to think that through all of these years, through good and bad alike, the memory was still prominent in my mind. Even over the recent happenings… in fact the recent events only triggered my need for companionship, and the memory of that which I lost. * * As days turned to weeks my longing became almost unbearable. My search so far had proven fruitless. If I didn’t find friends soon… I knew these thoughts would be the last I was going to comprehend. It was night, the moon rode high on the velvet horizon, it was all I could do to keep my sanity. The strain was becoming unwieldy and heavy on my mind, so much so that the sound of my own thoughts was deafening me. Alas my vision blurred…

Cheye69 Initiate Posts: 12 (8/10/01 11:34:57 am) Reply Re: The Road not taken (yes I am a Poe fan) -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I am still a member but have given up my robes of honor. I no longer lead that mob nor ever wish to lead a guild again. AM had been the one place where even though I was aware of deceit I had not been privy to the beast. During the last reset my natural trust of people got me and my guild into waters that were far over my head and it seems I forgot how to swim as well. I didn't lose my love of the game but I lost my love of the people as I have a hard time putting trust into something that has burned not just myself but mages I call friends. The only reason I haven't quit playing completely is due to promises I made to the mages that have stayed. Once reset is over my AM days are probably going to be over as well. With the trust gone the joy went as well. I am glad to hear you are doing well. Some time past I wanted to sit and speak with you on a number of things but didn't want to intrude as I had heard from Brute how hectic your RL really is. Let's just say you have been in my thoughts for some time now. It is good to see, hear and feel the energy and vibrance coming thru in your writings.

Yui Temae Quill-Bearer Posts: 43 (8/10/01 11:08:19 am) Reply Re: The Road not taken (yes I am a Poe fan) -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "As always, as ever, I'm quite well, thank you. At this second, I am only avoiding making these lines rhyme through supreme effort of will." Yui grins in amusement, her eyes twinkling. "It seems my poetry is leaking even worse, today... " "It seems like ages ago since we met and (sparsely) spoke. So much is different, now, for me. I suppose time has a way of doing that." Her eyes grow distant at the intrusion of a moment of nostalgia. "Anyway, I hope that you are well, also. I take it you still involve yourself with the distant progeny of the Hall of Justice? I hear things, now and again, about yours and Brute's Seekers of Babylon over in the realm of Blitz Guild..."

Cheye69 Initiate Posts: 7 (8/10/01 10:31:09 am) Reply Re: The Road not taken (yes I am a Poe fan) -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- *Smiles* No problem, it has just been so long since I have gotten to read the poems I so dearly love that I can no longer keep them straight....But yes, I see you are now correct, back at SOB headquarters (light years ago it seems) we had a dicussion on this and I believe it was Cyrilla (although I believe she had to *Shudder in Disgust*) Who pointed the same thing out to me then. Thank you for the reminder. As it turns out, I have a hand written copy of "The Road not Taken" that I did when I was in AP english studying to become an english teacher that I incorrectly put as Poe (That was in 10th grade) I recieved an A on the paper as it concerned symbolism and I went on to interpret how the poem affected me and what I thought the author way trying to convey. This Handwritten version is still on my wall, hence the reason I still don't get the author's name correct. My teacher did not even notice.... Btw, how have you been? It has been a long while since we last talked.

Yui Temae Quill-Bearer Posts: 40 (8/10/01 8:26:31 am) Reply Re: The Road not taken (yes I am a Poe fan) -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Yui smiles at an old acquaintance/friend, considering carefully the illuminating words the other had spoken. She finds no response that can convey a good sense of what is now tumbling through her mind, but manages to assemble a weak nothing. "Very thought-provoking, Cheyenne. There are more levels in those few paragraphs than I know how to plumb, but I intend to work towards them. "I do have one comment to make, however. I wanted to clarify that it was actually Robert Frost who wrote 'The Road Not Taken'. Now, that doesn't mean that you can't be a Edgar Allen Poe fan, too, but I thought some members might get confused by the title of your post."

Ozymandias the Elder Founder Posts: 15 (8/9/01 8:26:49 pm) Reply Re: The Road not taken (yes I am a Poe fan) -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Wow. And no, I've never tried it. I say again, wow. Ozymandias The Pen is Mightier than the S Ancient I am Ozymandias, king of kings; Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair! -"Ozymandias", P.B. Shelley

Cheye69 Initiate Posts: 4 (8/9/01 6:40:06 am) Reply The Road not taken (yes I am a Frost fan) -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Running from nothing, yet always on the move, it is hard to find the time to sit and reflect on what is most important within a person’s life. Existence is nothing without a life, but how does one truly decide if they are living or just existing? This has bothered me for some time yet like a true procrastinator I have never delved into why it has bothered me. The fine line between happiness and just being content, again the roads not take for fear of fear itself. Unknown territory is hard to venture into, as you don’t know what is going to happen next. Now this doesn’t mean that I have taken the easy road all the time it just means I have taken the one traveled. The road where I already knew what lay at the end of the line. No surprises, no unexpected danger, no unexpected thrill. It has left me with an unexpected feeling of emptiness. What could I truly have accomplished if I hadn’t been afraid to take that chance and wander down an over-grown path? Having had the chance to pass one of these less ventured avenues four years back I paused in the passing and looked as far as my eyes could see. The shroud of darkness seemed to permeate every essence of the area; no sign of life could be seen. Yet, I could not just walk on by. I kept looking, sitting down and camping out for what seemed a month of Sundays. For some reason I could not let this chance slip by me as I had let all the others, the risk of letting it go by outweighed the fear for once in my short life. A curiosity I did not know existed in my being had me taking the first few steps, leaving all that was familiar behind me. Having taken, what I perceived to be only two or three steps, I turned around and a wall of pitch black was behind me. There was no going back, good or bad I would have to take this road now. Old nursery rhymes of ”Curiosity got the Cat” started chanting thru my mind, bringing back all the old feelings of uncertainty. Curiosity was now gone, all that was left was stark unnerving fear. I am ashamed to say it now but I spent about 3 weeks with just my foot in the door unable to move for fear of what would happen next. The possibility of not being able to go back had not entered my mind. What other unexpected happening would occur with just a short little jaunt down a weed infested path? Finally though unable to stay any longer as food was running low and there seemed no store in sight, I knew I needed to move. At this rate anything was better than staying here. Walking slowly with the grace of an elephant I started down the path, moving one branch aside just to get slapped with another one that I hadn’t seen. Luckily these just stung but did no real damage. It seemed I had been walking for eons when ahead in the distance I could see a glimmer of real light. Not the light that flickered thru in broken beams along the path but real unadulterated rays of pristine sunshine that beckoned me ever closer with their welcoming warmth. Now of course I could not feel their warmth from this far away but I had known sunshine before and it was warm, I was sure of it. I could already feel it upon my skin even if only in my mind. Walking with more assurance and ever growing happiness I picked up my pace and before I knew it I was actually running toward this light. Using no forethought of what may be ahead I missed seeing the vines that lay across the path and like all that did not stay true to a course but ran blindly into things I tripped and fell just inches from my destination. Reality came rushing back to the front with the breath knocked out of me. What actually lay beyond this canopy of trees? Turning onto my back I looked to where I knew the heavens should be. With a gasp of surprise I saw a sight that did not just amaze me but filled me with unknown feeling, one I like to now term “experiencing life”. All this time just a few yards above me was the most beautiful canopy of flowers. Strewn along vines that crisscrossed in the tops of the tree. Everywhere I could see had shades of gold and blue, violet and red. One large bloom of orange caught my eye; it was both impressive in size and color. So heavy it seemed that the vine it was attached to actually hung several inches lower than all the others. Standing up, I tried to think of a way to take this token of life with me. This thought did not last long though. I knew somewhere down the line someone else would travel this path. Maybe they would be just as scared and nervous as I. Who was I to take away the one thing that may give them the needed push to walk into the light and experience life, not just live it? With this new found feeling and a fresh out look I started forward those last couple steps. Stepping out of this tangle of trees and vines that once looked scary and forbidding I saw what I had come looking for. A new place to call home that was light years away from the past. A place where new experiences are an everyday joy not to be feared but to bask in and feel with every fiber of your soul. I am no longer just content to watch the world pass me by just because I am safe. Safety is a trap that lets you grow old and die without knowing what you are missing, but knowing you are missing ‘something’. A trap I can now see and avoid. **Anyone into sky-diving?**

Cheye69 Initiate Posts: 13 (8/10/01 7:54:12 pm) Reply Dreams and their meanings... -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- You know that time I am talking about, that time between awake and asleep where you are never quite sure until afterward if you really are sleeping. Where everything seems so real that you can touch, taste and enjoy it but at the same time fear it with every fiber of your being. Walking along a wooded path cobble stones under your bare feet, birds chirping in the distance and a merry tune running non-stop thru your mind would seem the perfect get away until suddenly a Jason look alike steps out of the clearing ahead of you. That merry little tune stops abruptly and suddenly all you can think of is, “Oh @#%$, I really hope this is a dream.” One of the most recurring that I have had as far back as I can recall is a flying dream, it too has it scary parts but I have had it so many times that I know when it gets scary and am able to enjoy the dream to the fullest extent prior to falling a thousand miles per hour toward the hard concrete below. Luckily I have always woken up prior to hitting the concrete. I don’t think I have the stomach as of yet to find out if I die in a dream do I die in real life as well. Anyhow, this is the dream that I wanted to share with you all and since I have never been able to decipher if I was wondering if you all would give it a shot… Waking up I find I am unusually groggy, looking about for familiar sights as I awake standing. The air about me is warm and heavy, not like with humidity but with gravity it would seem. I can swim in this air, of course the first couple of times I had this dream I was unaware of this aspect right off the bat but as time went on I just had to regain my equilibrium and I was off and a flying. I am also keenly aware of being followed. I know not who it is but I feel as though I should know, like it is right on the tip of my tongue but I just can’t recall. A few slow breaststrokes and I start my climb into the heavens, forgetting about being followed as flying is just so damn fun. It is the most exhilarating experience outside of actually being awake and living that I can think of. The sky is a pastel color blue no clouds and there is no sun. There is no shortage of light just no sun with no apparent reason for there to be any either. The houses below me are classic comic book style all in pastel colors, mostly pink and oranges to be precise. They jut into the sky straight up in a box like fashion some large some small but no variation with style. Tall or short it makes no difference they are just boxes that are never entered or left as there is no life here. No birds, dogs, animals of any kind, no people. Just me flying and the man behind me. About this man…if he catches me he is going to kill me. I do not know why or how only that I will die. The catch is this, if I am not flying he is not behind me and if I am flying and I look behind me and see this man I will no longer have the ability to fly. Complicated I know. The strange part is I am aware of all this in my mind as I am going about the dream. I already know what is going to happen and there is nothing I can do to stop the chain of events from unraveling the way they always have in the past. It seems I have been flying for hours but at the end of the dream curiosity overcomes for a brief second in time my fear of no longer being able to fly and I look to see who it is. To have the answers that I have been searching for since I was seven years old. In that second I KNOW. The picture is so clear and I understand the meaning behind all of it. Once that brief second is gone, I am falling toward the ground; the only sounds are air whistling in my ears mingling with my own screams as I plummet ever closer to death. Then I awake, awash in sweat and breathing hard, glad to have awakened but unable to recall the most important element. Who is that man and why in the name of heaven does he want me dead?! To this day I have this dream now it is only about once a year when it first started happening it was every night. Gradually it became once a month, six months, etc. I have done a lot of reading about dreams. One theory is that if you are running from something in a dream you have a guilty conscious. I don’t think I believe that. I have done nothing in my life that I feel that guilty over. Not something that would span 20 years anyhow. What do you all think? Cheye~

Zadown Quill-Bearer Posts: 58 (8/15/01 9:25:40 pm) Reply Conclusion -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- His memory plunges deeper in his history. Pictures, sounds and other sensations brush him gently, but he feels like he is an invader, a stranger in his own mind. He has changed - these are memories of what he used to be, a different person. Sighing softly he rises slowly from the grip of the memories and emerges from the trance he was in, blinking. He stands up, eyes the deep blue of calm. Then he is gone.

Zool47 Elder Posts: 53 (8/13/01 2:50:24 pm) Reply Re: Anticipation -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Publish this. ~Zool~ Elder of Elders, The Pen is Mightier than the Sword. Bard of Terra, Patron Saint of Aspiring Bards. Elder than dirt, more foolish than a jester, able to trip over the smallest logic in a single step. It's... Oh, you know.

Zadown Quill-Bearer Posts: 55 (8/13/01 4:01:19 am) Reply Anticipation -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Deeper he goes .. and finds fading and crumbling memories from the time of Order, difficult to keep now, Chaos eating them away, memories of a different being... The planewalker floated in the Astral. Before him shone the crystal wall of the dream-god's plane, reflecting him and the distant lights of other planes beyond. He felt ... peaceful, standing there in the nothing, in his own element. The Lost Paths and the Void between - his playground, his home. He could've stood there for ever, if he wanted to. He let his memories take control, for a second, and blinked. ... running the Paths, young and carefree, halo of power all around him like flames ... >blink< ... a battle with a high arch-angel, a herald of some arrogant god ... >blink< ... getting in the crossfire of one the great Astral battles of the gods powerful enough to walk beyond their homes, wounded and bittered by the experience, receiving the first of the scars ... His eyes snapped open and turned to look at the sphere in front of him, and at the view of what lay past it. Dream fortress, semi-substantial servants, an intangible realm - the planewalker grinned slightly. He took a step and walked through the barrier between peace and war. ... back ... and back ... and back ...

Zadown Quill-Bearer Posts: 53 (8/8/01 11:47:31 pm) Reply The Last Strike -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- He walks deeper into his memory .. and finds the moments where the battle ended and the dreaming began. The plane was ruined. It had been a place of dreams and a stronghold of the god he was battling against - now, after days of fighting, all was torn, ripped apart, corrupted, changed by chaos, warped or burned. The energies that had been released here had spoiled it all, killed most of the god's servants and wrecked havoc even with the crystal spheres of the plane itself. The place was groaning and moaning in the pressure and streaming of the Astral around it, and here and there it even leaked, letting in the stuff of the Void. The Dreamer (known by another name, then), noticed all this in the passing, not really paying attention to it. He needed everything he had to survive the battle. Between him and the god lay an semi-invisible battlefield, the lights and colors of the magic showing, but the strands, words, runes and thoughts visible only to the second sight. A bolt of energy sprang forth from his pointing finger, only to be blocked by a shield conjured up by the god; meanwhile, another attack and counterattack was going on in the realm of the mind. Fighting by Order wasn't working, not with all the different ways of attack, all the different combats going on at the same time, and so he gave more room for Chaos .. and more room .. and more... His eyes changed color. And he drowned himself in Chaos, seeing that as the only way to win. One by one, he felt the restrictions imposed on him by Order vanish, and new avenues of attack and defence opened - his mind rearranged itself in mere seconds, and at the same time he let his magic flow by intuition, changing the field of battle in one wild surge. The god was thrown off balance, and there was an opening - a tiny hole in the shifting barriers, preternaturally difficult to use for any kind of advantage. But the planewalker wasn't thinking about difficulties, he just shifted himself, riding the wave of chaos, changing all to strike through that. He left gaping holes in his defence. His other attacks faltered. He should've died, there and then. But he did not, and the attack went through, a spell of vampiric draining striking the god's essence in the core. And the dreams came. ... back ... and back ... and back ...

Zadown Quill-Bearer Posts: 50 (8/7/01 9:32:14 pm) Reply The Awakening -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- He remembers the awakening. A creature blinked, a slow and luxurious blink, the first one for a long time. It rised itself from the ground and looked around, not really understanding anything yet, doing everything by reflexes - its complex mind was slowly bringing itself back to life, a part at a time, and so it did not understand yet what it saw; all was just shapes and colors to it. Nothing looked dangerous, and so the creature walked around, curious and restless, feeling the rising of intelligence inside it and the chaos that it was bringing along, but unable to stop that. It whimpered and whined, then snarled and growled, hugging its own naked body. Then it felt a cold emptiness where a piece of its awakening intelligence should've been - a missing idea or a dream. Everything else was coming back slowly .. and then another empty spot, and another, and another. He dropped to his knees, wailing, and tried to hold his remaining thoughts inside his head. But chaos was truly rising inside him, the chaos of all the dreams he had dreamed after the last strike in the battle, and he hovered at the edge of the darkness. From that blackness one thought emerged - find the lost dreams... ... back ... and back ... and back ...

Zadown Quill-Bearer Posts: 49 (8/6/01 4:54:05 am) Reply The battle of the Dreams -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Thinking on all the information he had gathered from the Huntress, still confused and nervous after the incident over at the Pen is Mightier Than the Sword Cabaret Room, the Dreamer walks to the middle of the small plane he is currently on and sits down to a lotus position to meditate. The great shifting blocks inside his mind (present, past, visions of future and dreams, plans and ideas, fears and emotions), move around in his head with giant steps, making his perception of the world change moment by moment; his eyes flicker and change behind closed eyelids and air itself swirls and boils around him as small pieces of spells and enchantments bleed away from the thinking mind. His outside demeanour is one of Chaos, but his inner world shows that he contains most of it, that his mind is strongly of Order but that the Chaos is even stronger in him. He absorbs the new knowledge, and goes through every moment that has transpired since he tracked down his lost pieces, wayward ideas given life by the excess of power he drained from the god of dreams. The battle and the summoning, the treachery of Spellbinder and the possible wisdom of Yui-chan - he looks at all of these things from many different directions, seeing them as they were, happenings in the stream of time, but seeing also the manipulative hands of the gods in it all, and the ever present forces of Order and Chaos in play. As he unravels the thread of the day, he walks backwards in the time, back ... and back ... and back...

Silexion Visitor Posts: 2 (8/10/01 7:58:00 am) Reply Re: Through a glass, darkly -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 2. The icy cold fingers that gripped his consciousness where more painful than anything else he had felt. Pushing into and then through his brain, probing for something; but he did not know what. Or why. This Cerulean looked at him with shock and anger and then this hit him. He felt only two things; confusion and pain! The cold blunt probing became sharper and more intense. He could now feel that She was reading his thoughts, searching for information. The dream came back to him, and she tore at his mind again. She felt him questioning, "Why are you doing this?" But her anger intensified and she lashed out with a scry of great power. Macon-Dor could do nothing, not even scream; he was defenseless as Cerulean focused her power. Just a little more and she would have what she wanted even if it meant liquefying Macon-Dor's brain. Suddenly, a feeling of remorse, as he felt in his dream but intensified by the psychic magic, filled his being. Deeply buried emotions, not understood by him, were being examined. The mental probe widened until he felt that his head would burst, but then withdrew. Suddenly and without gentleness. He was left with the following admonition, "You are a fool if you underestimate me. Did past events not warn you of this at least?" The mind-probe, upon removal, left him unconscious and he fell backward onto the stone floor. Cerulean, pulling her wrap tightly around her shoulders, strode directly out of the room. Scarlett and Wyvern looked at each other and then checked Macon-Dor for signs of life. He was alive, just barely. "Wyvern, get the healer. I have to talk the Cerulean." And she ran in pursuit of her friend. Macon-Dor heard the Healer come in and felt himself being moved to another room. His body could not respond, but his mind was responding. It was responding to the mental attack just sustained. There were memories long lost, buried so deep in synaptic knots that only a scry of this power could begin to bring these to the surface. Slowly Macon-Dor's mind began to put images and sounds of times long ago back together. Fleeting bits of color and image slowly congealed into snippets of another life and finally a full memory played out in his head... "My Lord, the battle reports have come in. I am sorry but we have suffered losses in two major battles to one enemy. And land was lost in the southwestern quarter." The WarLord seemed to blame himself, but Macon-Dor knew the fault was his own. The armies were not ready. Macon-Dor was new to this. He did not yet have the skill and knowledge to maintain a large Kingdom against aggressive and ambitious Mages. But now was the time to begin the acquisition of the qualities needed if he were to survive this harsh world. Macon-Dor turned back to the WarLord; "You will soon get your chance to recover what was lost. Organize the armies and order the Guild-Masters to bring the Magic to full. Then await my command." Macon-Dor hastened to the Library and poured through several tomes of The Battles and the Art of Eradication Magic. He had ignored the writings of the skilled Mages that preceded him; and in his arrogance lost part of his Kingdom and, more importantly, a number of his People. Ignorance would no longer be a factor to be held against him. Some time later, he emerged from the Library with at least the basic knowledge of warfare and armies. Using the Magic, he summoned, for the first time, Liches from the depths of The Hell and Dragons from the Caves of Fire. He completed his army with various fighting creatures from all of Terra. He then sent his armies to recover the land taken by this Mage of Phantasm Magic. From his vantage point, Macon-Dor directed the Magic that began the battles. The fighting was fierce and there were many losses. And as always the battle reports came in almost too quickly. "My Lord, We did not succeed in the main siege, we were unable to recover any fortresses. But we were successful in recovering some land and some villages. It is a small victory..." "...but one to build on." Macon-Dor interrupted dryly. "Set up good defenses and barriers. I believe that our warring days have just begun." The two smiled briefly at each other, and then set out to do that which was required. ----- In his dining chamber, Macon-Dor sat thinking. A noise or some sort of disturbance came from behind. He turned to see a Woman, a Warrior Mage, appear. The servants scattered like leaves in the wind. Her eyes were blue and mocking and she walked right up to him. She used words like weapons, glances were like the edges of a sword, smiles were like lances. She threatened him and then left in a shower of sparks... Although he felt fear for the first time in his life, he could not show it. He settled down the domestics and left the dining room, no longer hungry. He wandered through the halls of his Chateau, thinking. "Who was this Mage against which he decided to retaliate? This may have been a truly grave error. The power she seems to wield! How could she gain entrance to my home so easily?" Through the long hours of darkness, Macon-Dor searched his library for answers. All he learned was that he was fighting against an enemy that was resourceful. The Phantasm Magic was strange and difficult to fight against; especially as an Eradication Mage. But he took all he learned and ordered his army to establish these defenses immediately. The horizon was just beginning to glow with the light of a new day, but Macon-Dor lay down for a few hour sleep. His mind replayed the visitation of that Phantasm Mage. As he drifted into sleep he recalled her face, and especially her eyes. Why is it that someone so fair has become his enemy? Edited by: Silexion at: 8/16/01 7:57:56 am

Cerulean Visitor Posts: 9 (8/5/01 7:34:36 am) Reply Re: Through a glass, darkly -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- She had conquered him twice. If the victories came close, one after the other, what of it? Now this Eradication Mage had the temerity to fight back? Cerulean regarded the bloody evidence of his retaliation. He had not approved of her methods, nor she of his. The lands she held so dearly, bore scars of their warfare. Yet she would not let his assaults remain unpunished. If he wished for war, then Macon Dor would receive it. She had never shied from bloodshed, indeed battle drew her like a moth to a flame. "Clearly I need to visit him once more", she muses. "If that fails to teach him to fear me, then he can accept the consequences of non-capitulation." With the whisper of a smile about her lips, she prepares to leave her realm. *** Cerulean strides into his chambers, watching with wry pleasure as Macon Dor's minions humbly cower from her withering gaze. "So my Lord, you have thrown down the gauntlet? May I remind you that to tarry too often in the kingdom of Phantasm lore may be ultimately the downfall of your puny state. I rule to conquer the weak and ill-learned. If your armies cannot fight me with venom and passion, then I shall return again and again to plunder your land and massacre your cowards. Be a scholar and a hero to your followers, instead of wringing your hands so pitifully." She exits his castle, an impenetrable wall of darting blue sparks surrounding her. Her absence seems to cry out in her wake... ~You will not forget her eyes, her mocking blue eyes. For the first time in your young life, you will know what it is, to be truly afraid.~

Cerulean Visitor Posts: 8 (8/5/01 6:57:58 am) Reply Re: Through a glass, darkly -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- OOC - I hope the two preceding posts will serve as an introduction to the story Silexion and Cerulean have to tell. It has spanned five resets (I think) with a couple of hiccups. We both have literally hundreds of pages of messages of this RP collected over the last year and a half. The first in character message I ever wrote, anywhere, followed my multiattacking of Macon Dor's Kingdom after I had suffered his rather acid (and effective) retaliation. Thereafter an alliance was formed and a story developed - Now we'll try to bond these fragments into something cohesive. I hope you enjoy reading this, as we've enjoyed playing it out. Enough babble! And on with the tale...

Cerulean Visitor Posts: 7 (8/5/01 6:46:21 am) Reply Re: Through a glass, darkly -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- They had only seen her in peace time. She wandered the Conservatory, laughing with friends, sharing tales. She wrote songs of love, of skies, of sunsets and deserts. They had not seen her at war. Cerulean stands and meets the visitor's eye. She matches him for height and her gaze is unwavering. If her face shows pallor, it is the pallor of one suddenly caught off guard. She had not expected to see this figure again. Neither of them move, but she increases her concentration. If ever she needed focus, it was now. Drawing energy toward her, gathering in from the surroundings, she pulls force from the others. She can feel it pulsing through her body, twisting through her senses, consolidating where she urgently needs it. Cerulean's eyes narrow with effort, it has been too long, she has been lazy, peace brings with it a complacency which is dangerous. How had she not sensed his coming? How had it been possible for him to assume the advantage. She scoffs at her own incompetency. If this time she is to defeat Macon Dor, then she must act with cold precision. There will be no room for sentimentality this time. She allows the energies to settle into a pattern she recognizes and her mind responds almost automatically, sending out an initial scry to him. He takes a half-pace backward as the fingers of the spell invade his consciousness, but makes no attempt to block her. He sends an image of two people, of a fire, of an ending. She scries harder, the figures are too distant, the picture incomplete. She increases the pressure three-fold. The enchantment snatches at his thoughts. If there is resistance, it's too late for him. She will see what she will see. As if through a tarnished mirror, Cerulean's mind grasps what she has been searching for. She slides one thought ahead and snaps it at him with enough power to kill a lesser Mage. He hears her, though she utters nothing aloud. "You are a fool if you underestimate me. Did past events not warn you of this at least?"

Cerulean Visitor Posts: 6 (8/5/01 6:42:41 am) Reply Through a glass, darkly -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- (Written by Macon Dor/Silexion as an application to The Pen.) It must be over six months that this weary Mage had been wandering in that vast desert. Living, barely living, in the dry, hot, seemingly endless expanse of rock and sand. He has only one memory not of the desert. That memory awoke with him when he opened his eyes six months ago. *…there were two figures in front of him, some distance away, a man and a woman. The Man was dressed in Red and the Woman in Blue, they embraced. He stood, no, floated, as he watched them. Looking down at his arms and hands he saw that he was more spirit than physical, then he looked up again. A wall of fire, fire of incalculable power, raced toward them. It hit the couple in front of him, and they were gone…a feeling of remorse was his last impression of that memory. * Much had happened, and much had he witnessed during his wandering. He had witnessed many battles fought between armies of great strength. And he had encountered many People with strange and wonderful powers. These People would look upon him with a mix of caring and pity in their eyes as they parted his company. The departure was almost always accompanied with a gift of food and water. But there was something more that lay beneath this needy flesh; he discovered that he, too, had fascinating, albeit weak, powers. He was able to stop a running hare or bring down a flying bird by concentration. He could start a fire on a piece of dry wood with his thoughts. But beyond this there was only the thought of survival and of finding a more comfortable place to live. Just a few days ago he had noticed a subtle change in the desert. There was more plant life and it was not as hot. These changes continues as he maintained his course and soon the terrain changed into chaparral. He would have continued in the same direction, content in the gradual improvements to his environment; but then something caught his attention. It was a piece of paper, tumbling in the wind across the top of the thorny shrubs. He raced forward and snagged it. It was an application form to a place (?) called "The Pen is Mightier than the Sword." It explained that they in this place were looking for members, and it was signed by Jechum and Wyvern. On the back of the form was a map. It would require a deviation from his current tack, but it took only a few seconds to decide. From the ridge he got his bearings and picked up the path that led to this strangely named land. Soon the land became even more green and lush, meadows of grass and trees. And soon other established paths crossed with his, sure signs of community. This caused certain uneasiness as he had lived alone since… well, for as long as he was alive. Then as his path joined a wider road he saw the sign, a feather gliding on a scroll. This was it, the Tavern of the Quill. To the side of the main building, attached, was the Office. He readied himself, took the application form firmly into his hand and walked, as confidently as possible, to the door. As he reached the front door it was pushed open from inside and a man came bustling through. He seemed nice enough as he held the door open for the dirty stranger. Only a raised eyebrow gave away any apprehension. But the door, held open, gave the wanderer little chance to change his mind, and he entered. Inside were three individuals; a man-lizard (almost a dragon) was behind the desk; on his lap was a beautiful girl with copper-coloured hair and laughing eyes, and standing next to the desk was another pretty girl with blonde hair and… …the memory of that time before; when the couple was consumed by fire, came back to him; That was Her! A name came to him suddenly, from nowhere, but he knew, "You are Cerulean. Your name is Cerulean? No?" Cerulean's eyes focused when she heard her name. Her face lost all colour, her eyes widened, "Macon-Dor!"