Vlad

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Table of Contents About Us - ==So, what kind of writing society IS this place? ==Who created The Pen, anyways? Getting Started - ==How do I register an account at The Pen? ==Now that I'm registered, where do I post what? ==Sounds fun, but what's this application business? ==Right, so what's the catch? Community - ==Where can I find a list of all Pen members? ==What is the PM system and how do I use it? ==How do I access PMs sent to me? ==What is the Chatbox and how can I use it? ==Who makes all of the Important Decisions around here? Ranks and Advancement ==What do all of the different ranks mean? ==What role do the Elders serve? ==What is expected if I want to get promoted? ==How often do promotions happen here? ==So what are Quill Quests and how do I do one? Misc. - ==What are the carnivals? ==What the heck is this geld contraption? ==What's a member profile? ==How do I edit my signature or add an avatar? ==Is there a way to search for a specific thread? ==What if I have a different question? Legal - ==Copyright Disclaimer ==Plagiarism Credit to the Authors

Ah, the light-speed conundrum. I'll try and keep the math out of it. [At least for now. ] Also, remember that I'm not cliaming to be completely right. I'm just relating what is, to my knowledge, accurate theoretical information. That, and I needed a better way to review for my final, which is tomorrow. There's two defenitions of the world that we live in - Classical [isaac Newton's method] and Relativistic [Albert Einstein's method]. For all of these scenarios, it is assumed that we are in an ideal physical plane. Mostly, that just means no friction. Let's start with how Newton and Galileo would answer some simple physics questions. I throw a ball at you with a velocity of 10 m/s. When you catch it, it decelerates by 10 m/s. So far, no conflict. We're both riding in a car going 40 m/s. I'm in the back seat, and you're in the front. I throw the same ball at you at 10 m/s. When you catch it, it decelerates by 10 m/s. No conflict. I'm running forward at 5 m/s. You're stationary at a point in front of me. I throw the same ball at 10 m/s, with respect to me toward you. When you catch it, it decelerates by 15 m/s. Why? Because we're in different inertial reference frames - The ball is already going 5 m/s before I throw it, and I add 10 m/s to its velocity. Still no conflict. That's pretty standard, and most people won't argue that. Now let's get into the more complex ideas. Einstein had two postulates that he based most of his work regarding relativity. The first is that different objects exist in seperate inertial frames. That's what I tried to demonstrate a few paragraphs ago. He goes on to say that relative to all other inertial frames, any one frame may be at rest. If I'm riding in a car going 40 m/s, and I see you pass me at 45 m/s, I can say that I'm not moving and you're going 5 m/s. You can say that you're not moving and I'm going 5 m/s in the opposite direction. As long as there's no acceleration, it's completely irrelevant who's really at rest, and who's really moving. That was the easy one. The harder one to grasp is that the speed of light, c, is constant for all observers. If you can accept this one statement, then the rest of the explanation will flow quite naturally. The Twin Paradox: Two twins are born on earth. One flies off in a rocket ship, while the other sits at home watching through a telescope. When the first twin returns he has aged very little compared to the second twin. How can this be explained? Let us suppose that every ten minutes, the twin left on Earth flashes a giant lamp. This sets up a very crude form of clock for our thought experiment. Because the twin in the space ship is travelling, he will experience a sort of Doppler effect with the flashes of light. For the sake of simplicity, we'll assume that he is travelling at such a speed that each flash takes 20 minutes to reach him when going away, and only 5 when approaching. The math on this checks out, I can go through it if you wish. Either way it's not crucial. The two twins have agreed that the space-ship will travel one hour out, and one hour back to Earth. This is where Newton's mothed stops being so elegant. Knowing that each flash of light is spaced at ten minutes, it takes simple multiplication to figure out that he should keep going until the sixth flash, turn around, and arrive home on the twelfth flash. So he flies out counting the flashes. Remember the doppler effect I mentioned earlier? Because of this, by the time the sixth flash reaches the space-ship, it's already been two hours for that twin. Heading back, it takes him six more flashes, at five minutes apart to return to Earth. Thirty minutes. Upon returning home the two twins check their watches, which were synchronized before lift-off, of course. The twin on Earth sees that the planned two hours have elapsed. The travelling twin sees that two hours and thirty minutes have passed. Oops, looks like that time dialated. Tell me when I can go on to explaining the Lorentz Contraction and why photons [light particles] have to be massless. I've got to go review kinematics for an hour or so...

I like this. The imagery is very evocative of pain and fear... The parable to the angels is nice, too. At first the rhyming made it feel a little bit sing-song-ish in my head, but once I got over that, I really enjoyed this poem! - Vlad

Alrighty... looks like there's enough responses to this to post the "answers" today. The original story: Single Red Rose by Aardvark The original text: She ended the call, claiming a small moral victory over him in her own mind. Searching her room, she found a tracksuit crumpled in the corner. Donning that, she went to the door. She looked like a mess. Like she'd just been woken from an uneasy sleep by a mobile phone next to her head, infact. Opening the door slightly, she stuck her head out. There he was, sitting on the bonnet of his car, looking down the street. He turned his head in her direction. Ever hopeful, she beckoned him. He merely mimiced her movement, then returned his gaze to whatever fixated him down the street. She sighed, fixed herself up as best she could and went to him, tredding carefully over her broken front yard. The modified text: [Female] [Verb, past tense] the call, claiming a [Adjective] [Adjective] victory over him in her own mind. Searching her [Noun], she found a tracksuit crumpled in the corner. Donning that, she went to the door. She looked like a [Noun]. Like she'd just been woken from an uneasy sleep by a [Noun] next to her [body Part], infact. Opening the door slightly, she [Verb, past tense] her [same body part] out. There [Male] was, sitting on the [Car part] of his car, looking down the street. He turned his head in her direction. Ever [Adjective], she [Verb, past tense] him. He merely mimiced her movement, then returned his [Noun] to whatever fixated him down the street. She sighed, fixed herself up as best she could and went to him, tredding carefully over her [Adjective] front yard. Sweetcherrie's version: Lady Celes Crusader zapped the call, claiming a humongous eternal victory over him in her own mind. Searching her teddy bear, she found a tracksuit crumpled in the corner. Donning that, she went to the door. She looked like a bottle. Like she'd just been woken from an uneasy sleep by a sword next to her thumb, infact. Opening the door slightly, she transformed her thumb out. There Zadown was, sitting on the backseat of his car, looking down the street. He turned his head in her direction. Ever frivolous, she forgot him. He merely mimiced her movement, then returned his laptop to whatever fixated him down the street. She sighed, fixed herself up as best she could and went to him, tredding carefully over her gracious front yard. Wyvern's version: Christina Ricci posed the call, claiming a superfluous magically enchanted victory over him in her own mind. Searching her sixpack, she found a tracksuit crumpled in the corner. Donning that, she went to the door. She looked like an ancient chest. Like she'd just been woken from an uneasy sleep by a Almost Dragonic Brand Limousine next to her ass, infact. Opening the door slightly, she violently strangled her ass out. There Grimmael was, sitting on the "I <3 Mr. Bunni" Bumper Sticker of his car, looking down the street. He turned his head in her direction. Ever strategical, she groped him. He merely mimiced her movement, then returned his Joat mask to whatever fixated him down the street. She sighed, fixed herself up as best she could and went to him, tredding carefully over her nekkid front yard. Peredhil's version: Melba flounced the call, claiming a enormously rosette victory over him in her own mind. Searching her Potato Chip, she found a tracksuit crumpled in the corner. Donning that, she went to the door. She looked like a Spatula. Like she'd just been woken from an uneasy sleep by a George Foreman Grill next to her huge nostrils, infact. Opening the door slightly, she sizzled her huge nostrils out. There Wyvern was, sitting under the passenger side floor mat of his car, looking down the street. He turned his head in her direction. Ever hirstute, she Break-Danced him. He merely mimiced her movement, then returned his Thunderclouds to whatever fixated him down the street. She sighed, fixed herself up as best she could and went to him, tredding carefully over her Ominous front yard. Finnius' version: Scarlett O'Harpy swished the call, claiming a gigantic teensy-weensy victory over him in her own mind. Searching her piece of some poor sap's liver, temporarily dislodged from Scarlett's teeth, she found a tracksuit crumpled in the corner. Donning that, she went to the door. She looked like a decidedly charred former-locust. Like she'd just been woken from an uneasy sleep by a spear next to her corpuscles, infact. Opening the door slightly, she fried her corpuscles out. There Gyrfalcon was, sitting on the overheating radiator of his car, looking down the street. He turned his head in her direction. Ever tenebrous, she sashayed him. He merely mimiced her movement, then returned his raging inferno to whatever fixated him down the street. She sighed, fixed herself up as best she could and went to him, tredding carefully over her demolished front yard. Akallabeth's version: Tanuchan riffed the call, claiming a monochromatic striped victory over him in her own mind. Searching her armadillo, she found a tracksuit crumpled in the corner. Donning that, she went to the door. She looked like a tortilla. Like she'd just been woken from an uneasy sleep by a box next to her kneecap, infact. Opening the door slightly, she thought her kneecap out. There DoctorEvil was, sitting on the windshield wiper of his car, looking down the street. He turned his head in her direction. Ever disintegrated, she resurrected him. He merely mimiced her movement, then returned his yardstick to whatever fixated him down the street. She sighed, fixed herself up as best she could and went to him, tredding carefully over her blinding front yard. Ayshela's version: Mynx pounced the call, claiming a shiny slippery victory over him in her own mind. Searching her tuna salad sandwich, she found a tracksuit crumpled in the corner. Donning that, she went to the door. She looked like Orlan's left sock. Like she'd just been woken from an uneasy sleep by a Minta's last pixie stick next to her right earlobe, infact. Opening the door slightly, she scurried her right earlobe out. There Zool was, sitting on the rocker arm cover of his car, looking down the street. He turned his head in her direction. Ever squirmy, she slithered him. He merely mimiced her movement, then returned his leftover beef jerky to whatever fixated him down the street. She sighed, fixed herself up as best she could and went to him, tredding carefully over her perfect front yard. Patrick Durham's version: Appy forked the call, claiming a dark as night mexican victory over him in her own mind. Searching her grape, she found a tracksuit crumpled in the corner. Donning that, she went to the door. She looked like a pitchfork. Like she'd just been woken from an uneasy sleep by Sweetcherrie's bouncy ball next to her belly button, infact. Opening the door slightly, she grated her belly button out. There Peredhil was, sitting on the dashboard fuel level indicator of his car, looking down the street. He turned his head in her direction. Ever totally empty, she constitutionalized him. He merely mimiced her movement, then returned his foremost feather on the head of an owl to whatever fixated him down the street. She sighed, fixed herself up as best she could and went to him, tredding carefully over her simply difficult front yard. Zariah's version: Eve ate the call, claiming a naughty ripe victory over him in her own mind. Searching her apple, she found a tracksuit crumpled in the corner. Donning that, she went to the door. She looked like a leaf. Like she'd just been woken from an uneasy sleep by a snake next to her lips, infact. Opening the door slightly, she bit her lips out. There Adam was, sitting on the turbo charge of his car, looking down the street. He turned his head in her direction. Ever manly, she blamed him. He merely mimiced her movement, then returned his woman to whatever fixated him down the street. She sighed, fixed herself up as best she could and went to him, tredding carefully over her sinful front yard. I've learned something from doing this. Not sure what yet, but definately something...

Vlad sits at the judges table for a few minutes, before deciding that it's too cramped for his style there. Sneaking away from the would-be focus of the slammers' attention, the lich finds an open spot near a cute lady that he hasn't seen in a while. Settling in - and ordering a Triple Venti Mocha Esspresso - he prepares for some good poetry. --- [Loki Word's Poem: This Is Take-Out] --- Loki had just barely finished his last line when Vlad turned to the lady sitting next to him with a wry grin. "I usually hope to get more than nineteen miles to the gallon." She just lets out a laugh and nods. "It wasn't bad..." he continues. "I like the idea of pop culture riding along with you in your car. I like the corporate metaphors, and he did a nice job tying it all together." "But what about that end... didn't it leave you... hanging?" she rebutted. "Thinking, maybe." Both Vlad and his friend smiled, then looked back at the stage awaiting the next poet. --- [Cryptomancer's Poem: To Morning I Summon My Heart] --- "Each step he takes brings him close-" "-er than before," Vlad's companion interjected. "That's not what I was going to say." "I know." "What'd you think of the poem?" "Philosophical... It's not really about staying fit, you know..." "I know." "It's about the-" "Shhh... the next poet's getting on stage." She started to protest, but he placed a finger on her lips and motioned to the front with his other hand, ignoring the gunfire taking place around them. --- [Horace's Poem: Untitled] --- "Quite the high-brow piece of work, wouldn't you agree?" Vlad probed. "It's short..." "But sweet." "It's like a tongue twister..." "That's alliteration, m'dear." "Oh look, someone else!" --- [Drummondo's Poem: Troubled] --- Vlad turned to his companion, and for the first time that night sat in silence. "Yes?" "That was intense." Vlad had a calm, glazed look in his eyes. Probably from the amount of coffee he'd already had. "It was a weak topic. It was about writing." "Well, I liked it. He took the topic and ran with it." "You'll like anything that the poets spit out tonight..." "Yes. Yes I will." --- [Mira's Poem: Daedalus Son] --- "Freedom, what a classy subject," the lich mused. "So cliche, if you ask me." "I didn't." "..." "Oh, come on... Don't give me that look." "..." "Fine, what did you think of the poem?" "It was cliche." "Was that the last one?" "I think so." Vlad sat for a moment contemplating, then scribbled down five numbers on a napkin. Calling Mynx over, he planned on asking her to take the scores to the other judges. Upon her arrival, however, Vlad found himself visibly distracted. A finger was tapping him on the shoulder from behind. "Those aren't her eyes, you know." "What's not her eyes now?" "What you're looking at. Those aren't her eyes." "Oh, right. Umm... What was I looking at then?" "Her hoo-" "You need another cup, Vlad?" Mynx interrupted, not wanting to hear the rest of that sentance. "No, no... Can you take this to the other judges?" Vlad asked holding out a napkin. "Sure thing. Is that the scores?" The lich nodded. As she walked off to deliver the note, Vlad distinctly saw Mynx unfold the napkin and take a peek before heading to clean up after Thomas some more.

Wow, I'd have to say that this is a very impressive undertaking. Especially because I'm willing to wager that half of the voting members are inactive. Good luck with it! - Vlad P.S. - Ancients aren't voting members, so I think that saves you three or four. P.P.S - A few Quill Quests might be completed in the near future [like revery's], so that'll add a few more to your list. Once again, good luck!

Alright, Wyv conned me into doing the next one. And by conned, I mean that I volunteered. Here goes... 0. [Female] 1. [Verb, past tense] 2. [Adjective] 3. [Adjective] 4. [Noun] 5. [Noun] 6. [Noun] 7. [body Part] 8. [Verb, past tense] 8.5 [Male] 9. [Car part] 10. [Adjective] 11. [Verb, past tense] 12. [Noun] 13. [Adjective] Edit: I was asked to include names...

Zariah looked at the judge's table where Wyvern was sitting. We've got one of them here... The other two should have arrived by now... Pushing the thoughts from her mind, she went back to her place at the door. No later than when she reached her post, another person walked in - Vlad. With a cursory greeting, the newcomer walked directly to the stage. Ignoring the creative costuming of the staff at this event and the crashing of... everything, the lich carefully signed his name up on the list. Making small-talk with Revery while Nuncio finished up his performance, Vlad assured the organizer of this event that it would all turn out great. Walking on stage, looking slightly disheveled, his mind raced to which piece he would perform. Something new. It has to be something new... The koala and the elephant They frolik to and fro Yet they are so bitter enemies Who's battles go and go The snake and the rattle Inseprable at birth Tend to grow apart with time Although never found alone [pause] If I saw a tree Everytime I talked of stars Then eskimos would ravage The deserted desert lands [longer pause] A stapler! [even longer pause] The petunias and the merigolds Grow so happily until they meet But only when geranuims meddle Do we have a deeply rooted war [short pause] That's some poetry especially for you Let's give our wonderful wait staff a quick hand here. Have a few drinks, folks, you'll appreciate my works more. Stepping off the stage, Vlad shakes a few pair of hands before taking his place at the judging table next to Wyvern. After thinking for a moment, he moves himself to the other edge, leaving an open spot for the final judge in the center.

Actually, they brought back the puppet for this one.

Sinatra sings himself hoarse in the background. A needle, scratching on the record, a constant reminder that his words will never go away. Lights dim, and a speck of red hangs in the distance. There's a cough, and the cigarette returns to its owner’s mouth. I clear my mind and step out. The curtain rustles, swinging at my gentle touch. So pure and innocent, the burgundy hangs. Rubber soles of my Doc Martins grip the tile, refusing to let go, to let me go. Sinatra stops, and a lonely spotlight illuminates the front of the room. The artificial yellow glare is too much for my eyes, hiding, always hiding. With a wave of my hand, a technician slips the red lens on. The effect surreal, I'm living through an eclipse in this place. The woman with the cigarette coughs again. I turn and look. She can't be past her thirties, but she looks tired. Everybody here looks tired. Her eyes droop, wrinkles make their homes on her younger face, her lips round. The makeup makes her face seem exaggerated, a clown or a mime. Under these lights, it's impossible to tell. I clear my mind and take the microphone. The words that I had practiced so many times before resurface in my mind. They float around in nothingness, melding together, forming sentences, stanzas, stories that I have to tell. I blink. The castles my thoughts created tumble down, back to the bricks that made them. The words fall into letters; the letters slide into strokes of ink; the ink dries up at once. I open my eyes. White noise flutters through the room, a lost child waiting for his mother. Anxiety rips through the audience and into the manager. He booked this act. He set his reputation on the line to give this kid a chance. He's already planning on how he can save the night, scrambling to remember Plan B. I see worry. I see fear in their eyes, coffee in their blood, and elitism in their souls. So I wait. I clear my throat. Loudly enough for everyone to notice, but not enough so the worry sinks away. Silence blankets everyone like ants on a picnic. Creeps out from a middle-aged man shushing and catches on like an epidemic. It's rhythmical, almost. I judge them ready. The moment overtakes me, I spout words and ideas I'd never even heard. Gibberish on love, a few thoughts on war. The obligatory remarks about sex and drugs, followed by chants of bringing down the regime. I don't recall what I told them all, but it's perfectly fine because neither do they. Fin Edit: Spelling and Grammar

Vlad took carefully measured steps forward. This room would do. Yes, barren walls and a naked floor were perfect for what he had in mind. Not that this pristine state would last for long. After surveying his surroundings, the recently incarnated lich made a mental note to thank Tzimfemme later. Keeping Minta under control was a challenge he knew he was not ready to face. Gazing to the left, the lich internalized the form of the room. Longer than it was wide, a large sliding panel hid the two exits in the corners behind him. The air hung still, yet still ventilated. No noise was present to disturb Vlad's training. It caused him to wonder who had been in this room before him... Cryptomancer? Gyrfalcon? Perhaps even the great Ozymandias? Brushing the thoughts away, he reached in and pulled an object out of his robes. Slowly untying the knot on the pouch, Vlad's hands began to tremble. He knew that the contents could never hurt him, but that knowledge did nothing to quell the pit in what once was his stomach. Opening the bag just slightly, his eyeballs fixed onto the gray powder inside. Ash? Now wouldn't that be unfortunate for someone... The thoughts triggered a soft smirk to grace the lich's face. Gingerly covering two fingers on his right hand with the substance, Vlad set the bag down on the floor near him. Holding his arm in front of him, he visualized the flames he had created once before. A wisp of smoke rose, but no more. Closing his eyes and redoubling all efforts Vlad felt a combustion, but it soon lapsed away. Good, good... Once more now. Hours passed with the same sequence. The fires ranged from raging torrents to matchsticks and cigarrettes. Eventually satisfied with what he considered "Step One," Vlad put the half empty bag back into the safety of his pocket. Fire.. is good. But... it's not... He paused, searching for the meaning of what he had been doing. Not enough. Still not moving from his original location, Vlad reached out and pointed to the far corners of the room. Concentrating on his finger-tips, willing the cosmic energy to materialize, he felt every muscle in his body flex. Holding his breath, slowly it began to appear. A line of frost creeped away from his outstreched hands. Stopping to recollect himself, the magic stopped as well. The suspension ended and two shards of ice shattered upon hitting the ground. Again. I can do better... Arms reclaiming their elevated position, coldness flowed through once more. The frost crawled, then sped up away from its source, an ever-growing bolt. Vlad snapped out of his trance-like state when he heard the ice splinter against the wall. Apparently, other people had heard too, as the sound of footsteps quickly grew louder. Dammit, people.

1) A Female Member of the Pen - Melba 2) An Animal - Fairy 3) Verb ending in "ing" - Ring 4) A Male Member of the Pen - Orlan 5) Adjective - Coagulative 6) An Article of Clothing - Left sock 7) A Mode of Transporation - Daytime frolicking A Location - Ten metres north of the statue of Wyvern outside the Recruiter's Hall 9) A Landmark - The statue of Wyvern outside the Recruiter's Hall 10) Adjective - Poorly manufactured 11) Plural Noun - Cacti 12) Verb ending in "ing" - Sing 13) Noun - Phlegm 14) A Liquid - Bean juice 15) A Female Celebrity - Padme Amidala 16) An Article of Clothing - Right sock 17) Noun - Sock drawer 18) A Colour - Beige 19) A Part of Body - Tongue (in cheek) 20) Noun - Vibrating straitjacket

Warning: Parodied Spoilers Ahead We find out that Obi-Wan is actually Han Solo's father. It turns out that Darth Vader is the one who built the Millenium Falcon. General Grievous dies, but his spirit lives on to aid his clan of bandits as Yoshimitsu. Einstien goes before the jedi council and announces that the sides of the force are actually relative to your reference frame. Those buttons on Vader's suit really do something, but they only do it offscreen so as to maintain a PG-13 rating. R2-D2 and C3P0 are destroyed and replaced by two more droids from those lines. They find the Statue of Liberty sticking out of the sand on Tatooine. Padme has a fling with the guy who later claims to be Luke's "uncle," but is still pretty sure the kids are Anakin's. After trying on the suit, Anakin decides he doesn't want to be Darth Vader after all. The Emperor gets Uncle Fester from the Addams Family to do the job instead. Anakin becomes a stormtrooper and is killed by muppets in Return of the Jedi. Why Uncle Fester claims to be Luke's father remains a mystery, but they promise to clear it up in the 4th Indiana Jones movie. As a practical joke, Vader's first outfit was neon yellow. Emperor called him Darth Banana to fuel his rage. All deceased Jedi ghosts tried to form a new council. They were mockingly referred to as Dead-eye by those "alive" bastards. Ok, not really. And in case somebody didn't understand, these are NOT real.

I don't think I could handle Luke going to the darkside. Probably because the movies are so ingrained in my memory. More likely though because for at least a little bit, he was the only Jedi in the entire galaxy.

rev - I think I'll go for that open mic thing. It'll be fun!

[We're supposed to add our own, right?] Always be Polite- Lest we send you on your way, Switfly with a kick! Otherwise, please stay: Then tell us what you think of All our prose and verse. If you do oblige, Then to you we shall be kind; Friendly as can be. First you start off low, But if you pay the dragon The process begins To Initiate, We will transform your ink pen. Then you're stuck for life. If you always grow, Make an effort around here- Page you will be soon! ... ... ... [bah, inspiration ran dry... Anyone want to finish this up?]

Thank you, rev! Oh, thank you so, so much! I was hoping that my "picking shapes out of clouds" ideas wouldn't be too obtuse! *Breathes a sigh of relief* - Vlad P.S. I think this is the third time you've compared my stuff to Adams'. Is there a subliminal message here?

Floating in my dreams With worlds spinning through My mind controlling what I see While proving that I'm blind Dragons birthing from imagined realms Full of dust and ash and smog and smoke Swirling together and blowing all of themselves Away A dog or cat that runs around Forever at my beck and call Morphing to a wolf or lion When I dare to turn that way Staring to the clouds forever Holding onto every breath As if it were the last I see Each cold and wint'ry night.

Do one in 1337-speak!

A lot of your poem feels very abstract, so I may end up over-analyzing. In which case, feel free to ignore what I say. In the beginning - the title is a culprit of this too - I thought it was about time. The tick-tock just has that sort of triggered reaction in my mind. Interestingly, you create a very smooth transition to water, which I thought was clever. These three lines went over my head. Completely. I'm not sure about the use of second person in this, especially because it's only at one point. [Edit: One of [Double-Edit: three], the other usage is slightly awkward too.] I'm thinking an implied subject would achieve the same purpose, but have a more powerful effect. The visual there is beautiful, however. I see a biblical Adam stepping out from behind a tree, and the foliage rustling to signal his appearance. I like the part about the memory. It's a playful line encapsulating what I felt was the mood of the poem. The second person here seems oddly appropriate, so now I'm not sure what to do about it... It has the feel of something older and wiser [the tree] giving advice to something younger and more foolish [a person]. Or... a saproling instead of a person. Or some sort of metaphor that I'm missing. This made me almost burst out laughing. I love this line. It seems so simple and true, yet it goes deeper than that. Don't want to look any deeper though, I like what I see on the surface. The last line gives it summation, and makes me thinhk that there is an embedded message about how "time is running out for all of us; try to have fun." - Overanalytical Vlad.

Still keeping his eyes locked on Minta, Vlad slowly rose from the ground. His new body felt starched and rigid, much different from the flesh he was accustomed to. Looking down at his right hand, Vlad examined the bony frame. Slowly rotating it, he was processing in his mind what he had become. Bringing his gaze back upward, he studied the faces of the three spell-casters surrounding him. Anxiety mixed with anticipation, waiting for someone to pronounce the animation a success. A piercing shrill broke the stillness in the room. "Well, huh, can you do something cool, huh, can you, please?" Rudely ignoring Minta, the lich's eyes scanned the floor around him. Slowly he knelt down and picked up the cross which hung around his neck what was a lifetime ago. Draping it around him neck, a first smirk slipped across his face. Just to the left of where Vlad found the cross, he spotted a golden scarab. Gingerly lifting it to eye level, he paused. With one swift thought, the lich's fingers clamped down, crushing the bug and sending shards scattering about the area. Turning slightly to the right, Vlad found his former dagger. While reaching toward it, Minta once again broke the reverent silence, "Oh c'mon. Do something really cool! Make fire! You're supposed to be my very own spellcasting lich. C'mon, just a little bit!" Still ignoring the cries, Vlad picked up the blade and it's sheath. Examining it, and apparently satisfied by some unknown quality, he clasped it tightly in his left hand. Turning away from the neato necro gnomie girl, Vlad closed his eyes and concentrated. He thought of magic, and giving the raw essense form. Having never done anything of this sort before, the newly born lich wondered what would come of his efforts. A slight tingle began on Vlad's outstretched finger. A soft flame danced with the non-existant breeze. "I think he's getting it." Gryphon commmented. Concentrating more, the flame burned brighter, higher, stronger. An audible pop came, and Vlad's entire right hand erupted into a wild blue flame. Minta squealled in delight, while Gryphon chuckled and Dana gasped in concern. Beating his own hand against his torso to put the flame out, Vlad turned to Minta and uttered a defiant "No" with an icy stare.

(18:09:47) lilVal: he really should have looked into calcifying himself

Vlad walks in chanting... "One of us... "One of us... "One of- "No? That's tomorrow? Terribly sorry. "Congratulations anyways, Cryptomancer!"

The gnomie magic thickened the air with thoughts escaping from the dead. Honing in on one specific dead, the enire area fluctuated for a second. The Pen made it's displeasure at being disturbed all the more evident. Vlad felt himself spiraling headfirst from nothingness into still more nothingness. His soul hung limp one moment, rigid the next. Finally taking a place in the material world, should he have had a body, the vampire would have vomited blood for the second time that day. He couldn't move himself, or communicate with those he knew were gathered around him. The world fell upon his deaf ears and blind eyes and dumb mouth like an avalnche invading pure frosted ski slopes. Somehow, he knew that there were three mages surrounding him. Light flashed, and an image of the Solar appeared before him. Vlad mentally cringed. One of the mages was trying to tell him something. The world spun and whisked away the Solar. Everything continued spinning, and the vampire saw his limbs being collected. There was excitement and anxiety around him. There was fear and apprehension from other figures, more distant. The wind blew itself away, replaced by an imposing pair of wings. A white flame danced on the sword which came down at him. More activity fluttered about the room. Vlad felt in danger, yet safe. The sword disintegrated into black and red speckles. The specles became ashes, and spread themselves out across the room. A sudden force stopped them, and brought them back together. A searing went through the vampire's consciousness. He saw one figure standing still in front of him, paralyzed from fear, shock, or both. He saw one figure intently concentrating on something. He saw a third jumping in place, frantically working to a goal. "...rrreeee bbuuurrrrnnnn..." Sounds assailed Vlad in slow, choppy blocks. "...ttwwwoooo sssspppeeeeeelllllssss... ... ...ooooorrr sssoooouuullll... ... ...nnodddd... ...oookkkaaayyy..." An unnatural base permeated through the words, not permitting Vlad to make sense of any. Not garnering any reaction, Minta redoubled her efforts. Trying to explain what she had in mind, except this time twice as fast seemed the only option in her mind. After several atttemps, the vampire miraculously pieced together that these mages were going to try a spell of some sort. Wary of them enslaving his soul, Vlad still had no response. A few tries on the part of Gryphon and Dana were necessary to get the apparation to comprehend the situation. With a slow an deliberate motion, Vlad tilted his head down. After a several moments, he lifted it. This passed as enough of a nod for Minta to begin the necessary steps.