Vlad

I sat alone in front of the computer. It was late at night, everybody else in the house was already sleeping. A gentle whirr from the processor, and my fingers rattling away at the keyboard were the only things breaking the silence. I looked at the monitor, and pondered, my face reflecting in the pale glow. I wrote what came to mind, my soul reflecting in the words that appeared. My thoughts focused on the story, which I needed to tell. My thoughts focused on all of the events that had culminated in my life up to this point. As I continued hammering away, my resilience wavered, and my thoughts drifted. They raced aimlessly, darting from one point to the next, all coming out through the words on the screen. My body followed the path of my mind rather quickly. I couldn’t sit still, the nerves were getting to me. My hands stopped obeying my brain. As my fingers hit the keyboard, they came to an unnatural halt. I took a deep breath, tried to focus the chi within me. It doesn’t matter how long this takes, something this important needs to be let out. My hands remained blocks of ice. I couldn't do it. The story of my life needed to be let out, but something was stopping me. God, or Fate, or my subconscious didn't want this to happen. I tried a final shot of nerve impulses at my fingers, but nothing overpowered the supernatural within me. Conceding defeat, I decided on taking a break. A long stroll would be good, and I could avoid human contact. As soon as I stepped out the door, a chill gust hit me in the face. It felt like a brush of razors, but was surprisingly refreshing. While a windbreaker hugged my frame, I looked around the neighborhood. As my eyes flowed from house to house I mentally identified each resident. My feet were moving before I noticed them carrying my body away. As I walked, a neon sign grasped my attention. It was by the side of the road, perhaps a bit lonely. It was there, and it fit with the surroundings, but it still seemed unnatural. As I approached, the gentle curves began to form letters. Most everyone who walked past saw the bubbly "We're Open," but it began to be more and more out of place. I could have easily ignored it, but the sign had an ominous presence that kept tugging back at me. Continuing along the sidewalk, I saw a building peek out from behind the trees. My pace quickened with my intrigue, as did my pulse. A dimly lit facade of tan brick emerged into view. The whole building was a paradox of existence. It was menacing in its antiquity, yet humble and inviting all the same. Reaching out and grasping the iron handles, a warm presence washed over me. The door opened at my touch, revealing a candle-lit room, no lighter than the street. I could see no windows, or any other doors. Walking into the central chamber, a heavy scent assailed my nostrils. Very medieval, but not unpleasant. The room was flooding with sporadic whispers, and an all consuming melodic tune. Rows of benches were relatively empty of people, but a great number housed a collection of books. A dozen figures, at most, bustled around keeping busy. They were dressed in long brown robes, with hoods that completely covered faces. These men reminded me of a cult, and I had stumbled onto their secret abode. For the first time, my jeans and windbreaker seemed unnatural. I lost track of the hands of time while watching these members flip through tome after tome. They all worked silently, and I felt insignificant, and unimportant. As I looked on in awe, my life felt like it had a gaping hole. There was something missing. I felt it was time to leave, but was out of the door before I consciously made an effort. I didn't notice when I started to go home, when I passed the glowing sign. I didn't notice the houses next to which I had lived my entire life. I walked inside my own house, and seated myself at the computer. The words wouldn't stop coming. The next day, I told the girl of my dreams I loved her. I told my worst enemy that I couldn't care less if he died. I told all my teachers thanks, told my mom and dad good-bye. I finally left my small town forever. I found meaning unto my life.

Good short, rather very short story. How the hell did *I* inspire this?

OOC: Couldn't get to the comp, and already three votes on me? Part of the game I guess! (IC:) Slightly worried that everyone was accusing him, Ishikawa tried not to show it. He decided that if he was to live through the day, he should make answers quickly. "You ask of the golden buddha statue Washima-sama? I am afraid I have not been to the Kaga province yet, and now it seems I may not have the opportunity to ever go. "I am traveling through the lands during this cherry blossom season in hopes of discovering the true secrets of... anything that lends itself to be discovered. I was just passing through the Tasuna province and was told that there is a very beautiful garden in this region. "Unfortunately, it appears I came at a bad time. And who would think that such a being would unleash itself during this, of all, times. Regertfully, I cannot trust Kinjiru-san. "It does not seem earthly to me if one can remain as calm after seeing his kin so brutally slaughtered." OOC: Kinjiru-san (MeThinksUFoolish)

I was going to write a poem... But you'd just write a better one. Enjoy your day!

<|V|> So there was this king * YuiSleepy turns Alzorath into a teddy bear and grabs him. "Ah... a nap is always best with a teddy bear." <|V|> and he had a prety good kingdom * YuiSleepy listens to Vlad's story and closes her eyes to sleep. <|V|> and the reason it was a good kingdom <|V|> was because it had a tree <|V|> yep, a tree <YuiSleepy> Only one tree? <|V|> only one <|V|> but it was a magic tree <|V|> and every leaf of this tree was made of pure gold *** Alzorath is now known as AlzTEDDY <|V|> and every day, the king would count how many leaves the tree has <|V|> because he thought people might steal them <|V|> but nobody did <|V|> and the king would take some of the leaves, and give them to the people <|V|> for being such good people, and not stealing the leaves <|V|> except one day, the son of a poor farmer got greedy <|V|> and decided he wanted more gold <|V|> and this made the king very angry <|V|> at first the king thought that the theif would be happy with just a few leaves <|V|> but more dissapeared every day <|V|> the king wondered what he can do to stop the theif <|V|> because, after all, it's a pretty valuable tree <|V|> the king called all of the wisest men from all four corners of the earth to his court <|V|> and asked them, what can I do to stop the theif <|V|> the first man said: <|V|> "set up guards, to guard the tree" <|V|> and the king tried that, but the guards fell asleep <|V|> and leaves kept dissapearing <|V|> so the king had the first wise man killed <YuiSleepy> Those're bad guards. <|V|> then he asked the second wiseman what to do <|V|> who replied <|V|> "build a wall around the tree, and around the wall build a moat" <|V|> and the king built the largest wall the kingdom had ever seen <|V|> and around the wall, he build the largest moat <|V|> and for a few days, all of the leaves stayed on the tree <|V|> but a fortnight later, a tunnel was discovered that lead <|V|> under the moat <|V|> and under the wall <|V|> and to the tree <|V|> so the king then had the second wise man killed * YuiSleepy sleeps. <|V|> (my story's not THAT bad, is it?) <|V|> then the king asked the third wiseman what he should do <|V|> and the wiseman said <|V|> tear down the wall <|V|> fill up the moat <YuiSleepy> (It's a bedtime story, right? I'd think putting me to sleep would be a good thing. ) <|V|> and say that whommever find the theif, will be the heir to the kingdom <|V|> (forgot, hehe) <YuiSleepy> (It's a good story. ) <|V|> so two fortnights went by, and nobody had comeforeward <|V|> and the king was about to set the order for executing the third wiseman <|V|> but a man ran to the castle <|V|> and said that his father, a poor farmer, was the theif <|V|> "if you search his house, you will find all of the missing leaves, your majesty" <|V|> then the king asked the wiseman what to do <|V|> and the wiseman said "he has evil on his tongue" <|V|> "no man would turn his father in" <|V|> "this is your theif" <|V|> so the king had the young man killed, and everyone lived hapilly ever after! <|V|> (end.) <Tyrion> good story <Tyrion> but I have a better one <YuiSleepy> ...zzzZZZZzZzZ * YuiSleepy mumbles, "Good story." * |V| bows <Tyrion> there was once an IRC channel called #thepen <Tyrion> and in that channel there was someone by the nickname of Tyrion <Tyrion> and one day Tyrion was handcuffed and chained <Tyrion> and from that day forward he would yell at the top of his lungs <Tyrion> GEEEEEEEEEEEEEEET THHHHHHHHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNSSSSSSSSSSSS OFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE <Tyrion> until someone freed him * |V| unchains Tyrion <Tyrion> the end * YuiSleepy jerks awake. O_O <Tyrion> finally * |V| gives Yui some Nyquill so she goes back to bed <YuiSleepy> Mm... nummy...zzzzzzzzzzzzz... [Editted for better readablitiy]

Is it already too late to join? I'd need a japanese name from your generator, btw. Or can I be a tourist? Tourists are awesome! I could plead ignorance to all of the customs of the village, and stuff like that... *shrugs*

Isn't it time for an annual roll call thread? The new "Ranking" part also makes it possible and efficient to hand out Weenies! Just a thought.

Jade is a she. You wouldn't make that mistake if you knew her in real life either. Congratulations! You're in! Told you you'd make it. *hug*?

...the fountain of youth. Not the real fountain of youth, mind you, but an artistic imitation set up in the center of the Pen. The real fountain of youth was made of stone, and unfortunately this copy was just cheap plastic. The entire contraption collapsed from the force of the Nimball hitting it, while the hazard to all life on this planet flew off in another direction. Vlad was the lucky pennite to get hit in the gut. The gods must be smiling upon me, he thought. I've gotten this accursed thing twice already. After getting back to his feet, the vampire rushed off to try an consolidate his gains, but instead felt a strong arm grab him by the foot. Vlad tumbled forward, and cursed himself after dropping the Nimball. After clearing his head, he looked up and saw a figure running directly away from him. After some examination, he recognized the anterior as that of ...

It snowed, and school got dismissed an hour earlier. Which allowed me to make this post right now. ^.^

Is this about ... I'll ask you on IRC. You've fared well through this time; I like the rythym that it makes. The rhyme scheme is fine, and I really like the line *Hugs*

While today may still seem Like any other day that you live- Or you might know what it really is It's your special moment Nobody can ever take it away- Keep in mind that one can believe On this day of all days You will never be truly alone- Somebody is thinking about you For true happiness I'll go to ends of this earth- And I want to see you that way

To get up in the morning requires a certain amount of skill. Perhaps you even need some innate talent to do it. And every day over six billion people manage to do it. They are, of course, staggered twenty-four times, but it still makes for an astounding number. That means a quarter of a million get up at the same time as you do, give or take a few minutes. When that quarter of a million people pop out of bed, most engage in some form of hygiene, maybe have a breakfast or two, and then head off to wherever they need to be. If we discount the elderly and very young, then there are only two hundred thousand left doing the things you do. Now it becomes necessary to zone in on specifics. It is a well-known fact that only a little more than four out of every five people brush their teeth, and out of them, a bit more than half use Crest. This lowers it to a mere eighty thousand that mimic each other on a daily basis. Looking even deeper, a hefty portion of the populace works a nine to five job in a cubicle, so lets make fifty thousand have the same morning routine as you. Fifty thousand mimickers is still a bit high though. After you take into account the most obvious factor, the false you are down to half of that. Gender invariably proves to be a valuable factor in deducing who can be a victim of this sort of identity theft. Statistics like these obviously warrant a cause for concern, but fortunately, many will fail to notice them. Should everybody report this massive breach of identity, the vastly under-worked governments of this world would all find themselves swamped with paperwork. Fortunately for the bureaucracies of the world, not many have caught on to this greatest of all scams. All products can be easily manufactured in bulk. You have the same pant size as twenty-five thousand other people just like you. Every complaint you have, and problem you face, can be fixed en masse for twenty-five thousand people. Only one of them will have any difficulty in life, and I'm sorry to say that it will probably be you. Now the true question arises. What can you do to find these social twins of yours, and what should you do to warn them about this global conspiracy? The most practical method would be to simply do nothing. Don’t give in to the system. Hope that one of your alter-selves will become the victim who gets faced with problems. Maybe even disappear from this world completely. Disappear despite the fact that twenty-five thousand depend on you to idiot-proof their products. Go ahead and take the coward’s way out. If you’re still reading this, then obviously you are curious. It is the question that drives us, and you know what the question is. To find at least one of your twins, we must go back to the math. There are twenty-five thousand candidates out there, and six billion false leads. That means one out of every quarter million is your friend, ally, and compadre. It’s much easier to find your target if you live in a big city such as New York, where the head-count numbers slightly over eighteen million for the tri-state area, so consider moving if you’re in a dinky little suburb. There should be a good seventy chums for you to find. Fortunately, people of like ethnicity tend to live in the same region, which means you have roughly a hundred opportunities waiting. The method you chose of searching is completely dependant on what your purposes for finding your targets. When worried about the risk of losing individuality, a hitman becomes a feasible option. If corporate monopolies are your concern, running through the streets screaming would work well enough. Just weigh the options, and chose what comes naturally, I’m not here to help you with that. Now for the intriguing part: what to do when you discover your twin. Most of the time he or she won’t accept this possibility, and neither should you. Who would want to give up any meaning they thought their life had, anywyas? But everything depends on the reason you had for searching in the first place. Be advised though, showing them this writing could be potentially hazardous, after all – twenty five thousand authors will claim to have written it.

Snow was slowly falling outside of the Cabaret Room. Most pennites were sitting around, idly chatting. Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Peredhil, being the polite mage that he is, gladly got up and welcomed Vlad in from the cold outside. After a few murmured greetings, Vlad made his way to the stage and waited for everyone's attention. Eventually the chatter died down, And Vlad began his announcement. "I have travelled far and wide in search of a valuable item. Many of you are familiar with it, some unfortunately are not. Many here remember an old war known simply as the great war. It dates back to the time before Armageddon. This war was done for the pleausre of some gods, but the specifics of it are not why I stand before you today. "During the war, many mages gathered together for the possesion of a rare and valuable item. I am proud to say that I have recovered it from the ruins which are left." A soft chatter rises up in the audince, most are wondering what the vampire could have found. A few of the Elders think they know what is about to happen, so they take a step back in unison. Vlad waits for the chatter to stop once more before continuing. "The item which I have found is fabled in many worlds. Many have died in their quest for it. It is of course, the Nimball!!!" Having finsihed talking, a great uproar of disbelief strangled the onlookers. Vlad, however, reached into his cloak and pulled out the legendary Nimball. His success was short-lived because as soon as they saw it, over a dozen people jumped up and tackled the vampire. Vlad instinctively tossed the Nimball into the air where it was caught by ... ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ So now a bunch of you are wondering what the heck a Nimball is. The answer is quite simple really. A Nimball is the cause for an extremely addictive, fast-paced, and usually bloody game. Rules and Explanations

Some terms of necessity Nim: A three-eyed drow elf, who is sometimes tied up into the shape of a ball for the purposes of sport. Nimball: A game where teams of mages attempt to kill each other while trying to gain possesion of the Nimball. No-one's ever gotten past that stage as far as I know... Nimetiquette: The proper form of posting in a Nimball thread, which is "Always start your post with you gaining possesion of the ball, and ending it with an anonymous person getting the ball." There is only one Nimball If a person forgets to put the symbol after Nimball then the ball in their possession immediately becomes a Fakeball and the person is blasted precicely 0.9 miles from their current location. As explained by our very own Tzimfemme: If you actually want to know what the point is, Culex explained it as: (All references are from the old UBBs) I hope this explains it well enough, if I forgot any rules please fix my memory lapse.

As always, wonderful job Aardvark. I really enjoyed the time by minutes, when it got broken into seconds. Though that was pretty neat. It was especially cool when you broke it down into hundredth of a second. It made me think back to the all-time best movie ever - The Matrix. The last paragraph seems out of place. Probably because it leaves so many questions open. The first time I read through this story, I simply ignored it, but then it started bugging me. I hope that it means there's another plot in the works behind those beady little eyes of yours.

I don't know if I can Do something such as this. I never bother trying For anything like this. My life has never been enough To prepare me to face this. Not once had I thought That I would see this. Looking at my options I really can't decide What is the move to make. Looking at the choices I cannot really pick Which is the one to take. Everything surrounds me Yet I only feel alone. All of the paths compounded Yet I don't know where to go. Edit: Not once had I ever thought became Not once had I thought That I would have to see this. became That I would see this. Thanks Sorcerie!

Considering a hypothetical situation, getting hit in the face hurts. It hurts in real life, and there is no difference in a story. Therefore after introducing a character in a story, he would be in great pain after taking a few shots at the noggin. It really hurts if you get hit with a brick though. The added force caused by the overall mass would inevitably make you forget anything scientific you ever knew. Brick accidents aren’t too common, except in Oklahoma. I can remember the great Oklahoma Brick massacre of ’73. Bricks were flying left and right, there was no end in sight. I had a nice and heavy one, but then something struck me in the back of the head. Next thing I remember, I was drifting in and out of sleep in the local hospital. Everything was the ugly white color that hospitals always are. Nurses bustled around, injecting various liquids into my veins. That was when the horrible flashbacks started happening. I dreamed I was in the middle of a brick fight. A brick fight in the middle of Oklahoma. You get the idea. When I was still at the brick farm, I could watch my little red beauties while they are out grazing. When all of a sudden, a stranger comes up to me asking to buy the whole farm. What a strange fellow he was, too. Nobody around these parts would sell a brick farm, so I did the only natural thing I could do. I whacked him. Now back to the hospital. In betwixt the nurses and ugly white walls, I found out that the guy who I had to share a room with was the same one I hit with a brick. He might want some sort of revenge, but I think he was too incapacitated. It might hurt just a tad if he was to brick me when I was asleep. Yes, when I was asleep. Sleep is a good thing to get in the hospital. I can dream about my precious brick farm. Nasty little strangerses, they wants our… wrong story. So about those dreams, I think mine have signs to interpret. I wonder what the large, rectangular, red one means. I’ll have to see a therapist when I get out. Even though this hospital food is pretty good. I just can’t stand this ugly white color.

Gwai - Fight fire with fire. Or don't, because all you get is one huge burning mass of pain. Oops. X-Sabre - You summed up what I was going to continue ranting about pretty well. Wyvern - I do not want this moved to the Minstrel Hall because there is enough behind those closed doors already. In fact, there are two threads about this very topic in the Courtyard. The are, of course, Mira's On Feedback Content and Valdar's Feedback and Commentary. Why you would want to hide it farther than the issue has already surfaced is beyond me. Actually, I have a theory, but it's more appropriate for the Minstrel Hall which you seem to love. (And now, folks... back to your previously scheduled rant) The biggest problem that I see is that people don't listen to advice that people tend to give. And those that do listen... well you're just preaching to the chior, then. The most dissapointing thing is that numerous times feedback has been discussed, yet I have not seen a noticable difference in the quality of it. Finally, people can put the requested level of feedback with the work they write. Or more generally, they can put it in their profile. I looked at a few poems with feedback, and the level did not coincide with the requested one. (I only speak for poems, because that's what I fell most qualified to rant about) Ok, I'm done.

Basically, I'm upset about the level of feedback I'm seeing on this site. Personally, I'd much prefer if people spent more time than it takes to load the next topoic reading a poem before commenting. I don't want to single out anyone, but I will ask this of everyone - if you're not going to spend at least 5 minutes on any of my work, don't bother commenting. It's save us both some time and spare the general populace from posts like this. I don't know how many people agree with me on this issue, and quite bluntly, I don't care. If you only read it once, and want to say that you have no time, that's a different issue. Basically what this comes down to, is be respectful of people's work. As a writer I can easily tell how much time somebody puts into feedback, and sometimes I wish that I couldn't. This was spawned from a look at the Banquet Room today; I was so dissapointed that I even saved a screenshot. I hope that this will be a wake up call for some people, and a pleasant reminder for others. I'll rant more later, but I'm mixed between anger and dissapointment to say anything more.

(Removed at author's discretion)

Regel - You're almost right, but not quite. I know I should hate her, but I haven't figured out why. Yuki - Yes, willful blindness is a good way to put it. I don't want to go into details too much about her, but I see life in a realistic view. It is not inherently worthless, it only is if we chose to not to lend it value. As for her, I can't really say because I'm not sure. P.S. - (This is directed to one person, and one person only. You know who you are.) If you read the poem and think it's about you, don't worry it's not. You can ask me later.

The only one who deserves respect The clear cut opposite of who I am The only one fate could ever select The clear cut truth of my life's scam One who is a genius of her own sort She denies the mind, and most reason too One who makes her life just a sport She denies the world that she sees through Creating her own intellectual voids Creating her own mental exploits A person who should not exist To loathe her soul, my mind insists It is her I feel destined to oppose It is for her that is this hate I chose A philosophy of life outside this world She can believe that it is all true A philosophy that life is mankind's pearl She cannot believe anything new Cast off the body into the wastes Her goal for being shoots down my own Cast off the soul into the wastes Her goal for being shoots down my own OOC: I feel a story coming on...

This gave me the idea that nothing can change the tranquiltiy of nature. The poem has an unnusually happy ring to it, a good thing to see once in a while. You showed that there is still hope to be had, despite everything that is wrong with the world. Good job.

I like this; my mind created an image of things getting tossed in the Windows "Recycle Bin".