Tralla

Ronaye

~ ~ ~ It seemed so real. Someone was singing. The melody was soft, just a barely audible crooning lullaby. A pair of slender, milk-white arms cradled her limp form, rocking her slightly in time to the song. She was wrapped in a blanket of warmth, and felt, for the first time in conscious memory, total comfort. She floated for what seemed like forever in that pleasant maternal cocoon. Eventually, the nonsense-syllables resolved themselves into hauntingly familiar lyrics. “Kaj-ya laanyei do-va sinue lerri damae-” She screamed as the words brought with them a flood of long-forgotten images: fire, roaring high above the smoking trees. Pain, terror, and darting night time shadows. Curved blades glinting in the shifting light, and shouting figures on horseback. Screams answering her own, and the scent of burning flesh filling her nostrils, causing her to gag. Blood pattered against the dark earth beneath her as a horseman loomed over her, lifting his wet blade high, ready to plunge it between her terrified green eyes. In the background, the song droned on, and the arms around her tightened possessively, banishing completely her hope for salvation. The sourceless voice turned raspy, nasty, hatefully hissing the words as the arms squeezed the air from her lungs. Her mouth gaped wide, and she claws scarlet streaks into the milk-white vice around her throat. Can’t breathe, can’t fight, have to flee, have to… have to… Have to kill… the voice hissed back. ~ ~ ~ Lilac eyes travelled intently from the child's face to her Dreamer. The child's eerie green eyes were open wide, but didn't see the waking world; her body vibrated and twitched slightly, but that was all. The Dreamer was another story. His eyes were half-closed, and only the whites showed beneath. A film of sweat covered his body, and he emitted a sound that slid from low moan to shrill keen and back again. What it was that he saw, the watcher couldn't tell, but she had never observed quite this reaction in him before. The Dreamer's keen rose suddenly into an agonized shriek, and his body arched completely off the cold stone slab to which his arms and legs were fastened. Muscles straining, eyes wide open, he screamed, and screamed again, holding that piercingly high note of absolute terror so long she began to suspect he might pass out from sheer lack of oxygen. No, this particular reaction had certainly never been observed before. Zermaterix blinked her impassive purple eyes, then strode quickly between the twin stone slabs which supported her subjects. She lay on cool palm on the Dreamer's sweaty forehead. "That's enough, Iain," she commanded gently. The Dreamer relaxed back onto the pedestal with a relieved sigh. His eyes rolled slowly forward and focussed on some shadow-obscured point far above. Which particular point didn't matter, really; those pupil-less silver orbs could never see the waking world, no matter where he directed them. "Mistress," Iain moaned, his voice raspy from misuse. "Fear. Death." "Bad dreams, Iain?" Zermaterix crooned, stroking his filmy forehead with no evidence of distaste. Iain nodded wordlessly. She removed her hand from his forehead and held it, palm up, beside his own. "Show me." "Mistress," he moaned again. Tears welled up and overflowed his sightless silver eyes, carving moist tracks through the sweat and grime coating his face. He began to weep pitifully. "Please..." "Iain," she replied, her voice uncompromising. With a resigned sob, the Dreamer clasped the Mage's hand firmly and sunk back into the child's tortured mind. ~ ~ ~ When Kaolin finally woke from her long slumber, she decided she'd never felt worse in her life. Well, almost never. She shuddered as the recently stirred memories rose up to haunt her, regardless of he fact that she was now conscious and could suppress them. Evil things, memories. She'd come so close to eliminating those ones. So close. Exhausted by her seemingly endless battle against those ready demons, Kaolin attempted to push herself wearily upright. If she were awake, it must be morning. Meri would be coming soon, to be sure that all of her lazy sluts were up and ready to work. But something was wrong; her hands weren't responding. By the Gods, if Te'ag had left her tied up again... Faint recollections began to seep through the haze that lay heavily over her mind. The Blue Palace. Callin. The High Mage. And a dark place, where a man lay screaming next to her... Oh sweet Jahkaeva, no, no, nonono... Without even realizing what she was doing, Kaolin pushed her mind outwards, seeking what she could not see, for her head didn't seem to be responding, either. To her surprise, she could see, not with her eyes, but with her slowly unfolding mind. There were people in the room, she knew. A woman, and a man. Her senses recoiled from the man's mental presence: a voracious, almost mindless need to seek out and destroy all creatures Gifted saturated his just-inaudible thoughts, and she somehow knew that this disgusting creature must be Callin. But the woman, the woman... Kaolin screamed silently as an incredible surge of pain struck her right between the eyes. Gods! She hurriedly drew her wandering mind back within herself. "Ah, the child stirs," a low voice purred, somewhere off to her left. "See, Callin? She's a resilient little thing; I knew she wouldn't keep us waiting long." "Yes, Mistress," came the whining response, off to her right this time. "Well, child, you've led us on a merry chase all these years. Do you have any idea how much you've cost me in time and resources? Callin alone has been nearly consumed with the need to find you for over ten years now. Well, no matter now. We've found you at last, and after what I have seen, I think you shall prove very useful indeed." Kaolin felt the light rustle of clothing, then felt the High Mage's presence cold smooth hand touch her forehead. Her mind recoiled with a silent shriek. Now it would come, the moment she had dreaded so long. When a High Mage caught you, they killed you. They took your power as their own. It was over. I'm sorry. Zee, Javick, Rhib... I'm so sorry. We'll be together soon, and we'll sing until the end of time. A tingling sensation washed over her body, and, to her astonishment, Kaolin realized that she could move again. Tentatively, Kaolin flexed her fingers and toes, preparing for the fight of her life. "Kaolin." The sound of that voice speaking her name went through her like a bolt of lightning. She gasped, and her eyes shot open as the pain danced up and down her spasming limbs. What did she do to me? Lilac eyes met her own from a few inches away, and a lock of inky hair brushed her cheek. The faint scent of lavender, and something huskier and vaguely unpleasant, teased her nose. This close, Kaolin could see the incredibly fine, almost invisible, track of wrinkles around the edge of this woman's eyes and mouth. Her skin was pale and thin. Although she looked young from afar, she was obviously much older than her outward appearance suggested. "Do you know who I am, child?" the High Mage asked, her eyes gazing impassively into Kaolin's own. The Mage's breath, as it washed over her face, was strangely odourless. "High Mage Zermaterix." "Yes. How do you know this, child?" "You killed my friends." Her expression tightened slowly, whether from irritation, anger, or something else, Kaolin couldn't tell. "Mm. Well, we'll address that sometime later, perhaps. Do you know why you are here?" "To die." A smile touched the High Mage's mouth, hinting at a mocking sort of amusement. "Interesting. And why do you think this?" "I'm Gifted," Kaolin stated resignedly. "The High Mages kill Gifted to strengthen and diversify their own powers." "My, my, aren't you a knowledgeable little thing." "Some lessons are learned young." "Indeed." Zermaterix straightened, brushing out an imaginary wrinkle in her flowing violet-coloured gown. "Well, child, you are right, but you are also wrong. You will not die today, unless you perhaps say a few of the things I know are dancing on your lips at this particular moment. Please, get up, and follow me. We have much to discuss. Callin, help her." Moving slowly, Kaolin pushed herself slowly upright and swung her legs over the edge of the smooth stone slab on which she'd been laying. There was a matching slab several feet away, but it was empty. When Kaolin slipped off the slab, her legs were strangely strengthless, and she would have collapsed into a little heap if Callin had not appeared and wrapped a completely unpersonal arm around her waist to catch her.

I would like to apologize. I haven't been a very good Pennite for a very long time. I never seem to have time to read, or comment, or promote my fellow Pennites' awesome creativity. I pop up from time to time, post a post or two, and drop off the radar again for long months at a time. Sorry. I'm hoping I can become a little more active within a week or two. Life is going very well for me, and I can't wait to share that positive energy with some of you. Good Day and Good Writing. - T

~ ~ ~ Zermaterix watched impassively as the girl’s incredible eyes finally closed and she toppled over onto her side. The High Mage nudged her with a toe, and she didn’t even stir. Out cold. Delightful. Surprisingly good constitution for such a frail looking thing – there was enough jarra root in that water to down a large bull. Sleep induction, unfortunately, was not among her Gifts. Yet. She examined the child's face intently. Delicate features, fine cheekbones, straight nose, and large, faintly slanted eyes. The plain brown hair, poking out now from beneath the elaborate headdress, was ordinary enough, but didn't really seem to fit with the exoticness of the rest of her. Still, the resemblance was strong enough. It could be her. Regardless, if her Gift was that strong... The High Mage exhaled suddenly. It was time to go. "Callin." Although the summon was soft, he heard and moved immediately into the room. He didn't even glance at the child lying unconscious beside his feet - his job was to find them, not to worry about what happened afterwards. As soon as he was within the room, he dropped into another low bow. "Your lowly slave humbly begs forgiveness for his unspeakable behaviour." Zermaterix blinked emotionlessly. "He made a grave error in... in arguing with his Mistress before an outsider. He merely grew excited upon finally capturing the strongest Gift he has ever found. He was excited for the asset it might become for his Lady." "So you've come to beg for mercy?" "No! No, Mistress, never mercy! I deserve whatever punishment you choose to dispense! I merely wish to know if I am forever cast from your favour, or... or..." She rewarded him with one of her exceedingly rare genuine smiles. "Your unwavering devotion to protecting and furthering my interests is a source of great pride for me, Callin," she told him, laying a surprisingly gentle hand on his bowed head. "You are one of the most valued slaves among my entire staff. However, you did make a grave error in speaking so forcefully against me." Small glittering motes of light began drifting from her hand to his head - an unfortunate side-effect of this particular Gift, and what eventually exposed the unfortunate possessor to her watching eyes. "You are too valuable to have your tongue removed outright, no matter how fitting such punishment may be. Therefore, I will simply remove your ability to speak. It shall not be returned until I deem you worthy." Callin opened his mouth to agree fervently with her decision, but no sound issued from his lips. Snapping his jaws shut with a now-inaudible clack, he nodded his head instead, and bowed even lower. Zermaterix leaned with her power again, and Kaolin's prone body rose slowly from the floor. "We are leaving," she declared. She passed a simple black ring to Callin, who instantly slipped it onto one of his fingers. "Pack up our belongings, and return when you are done. Do not be long." Without waiting for a response, Zermaterix summoned the image of her fortress within her mind; black half-tumbled walls surrounding a tall central tower, with a multitude of turrets clawing their tortured way skyward like the gnarled arms of a disease-ridden tree. Perhaps two-thirds of the way up the jagged north-facing wall a balcony jutting out like a single fungal shelf, sheltered protectively in the shadow of one of the lower, more massive turrets. Moving her mind’s eye closer, the High Mage wove together the details of the half-hidden balcony: a waist-high, intricately carved handrail, a matte black stone floor, and a shimmering purple gauzy curtain shielding the inner sanctum from any spying eyes. Laying a hand on Kaolin’s forehead, Zermaterix willed herself to that balcony, smiling as she felt the Gift surge within her and the chamber rapidly fade from view. ~ ~ ~ Scorching fire ignited dulled senses, and he came awake with an agonized cry. Scrambling pathetically away from the hissing straps that caused so much pain, he clawed his way upright and staggered from the holding cell where they’d left him for the last… how many days? Too many. Similar cries arise from his unwillingly cellmates as they, too, were roughly herded from the room. Beyond, other unfortunates were shuffling from other cells, all headed towards the daylight invading the end of the corridor, far to his right. Passively he joined the rising tide of broken labour, goaded more by the rare promise of sunlight than by the whips still hissing warnings behind him. The sunlight seared his eyes, but he plodded forward, quietly revelling in the clean warmth shining down upon his shoulders. What I would give for a day in the Fallik gardens again… Rough hands shoved him under sputtering water spigots, roaring for him to scrub quickly and move onward. He scrubbed at his matted hair with calloused fingers, watching the water turn yellow, then brown, then almost black as it sluiced down his almost-naked body. The dirt had barely begun to wash away when more rough hands pulled him from the shower, thrust a ragged overtunic at him, and sent him reeling into the other slaves pressing to pass through a gateway to the food they could all smell waiting beyond. The lukewarm gruel was slopped into outstretched hands as the slaves were herded ever-onward by an endless supply of eager whips. They in turn hurriedly shoved their filthy hands into their salivating faces to prevent any of the precious gruel from being wasted. They were fed sporadically, if at all. Chains were fed through the rings on their slave-collars, and the slaves were led away in groups of a dozen or two by several well-armed masters. They radiated out from the massive central slave holding facility to all corners of the city, to sweep streets, till outlying fields, maintain the stinking run-down sewers beneath the streets, haul the materials horses were too expensive to waste upon, or perform any other disgusting menial task that no one else could be threatened or coerced into doing. They were the drudges, the dregs of the slave supply, the human sludge too useless even to be sold to the mages as test fodder. Once or twice a week, whenever the city got a little too shabby around the edges, they were hauled from the lightless cells where they had been left to rot and whipped into servitude. And, when the day of brutal labour was over, they crawled gratefully back into the darkness. It was, quite simply, the lowest possible level of hell. A single human creature could fall no farther in this city-state than he had fallen. How had it all gone so wrong? They were being taken into the nicer districts. To shovel horse-dung from the cobblestones around the palace, he discovered by focussing on their masters’ idle chatter. Ah, well, he’d done far worse in the last year or two. Or three. How long has it been? I don’t want to know. They reached the area where they were supposed to start. Slaves could be given nothing so dangerous as shovels or pitchforks, so they had to scrape the dung from the cobblestones with their hands, heaving behind them into the wheelbarrows propelled by one of their fellow drudges. He was placed on wheelbarrow today, but quickly grew to envy his mates as the day trudged onward. A full barrow of dung was heavy, and very difficult to wheel up the rickety planks onto the collecting wagon all by himself. Every muscle in his body burned by midday, and still they prodded him onward, ever onward, dousing him occasionally with a slosh of water from their canteens when he might have collapsed under the no-longer pleasant sunshine. He sunk gradually into the self-preserving daze he had developed over the years, until he wasn’t conscious of the pain, the incredible heat, the overwhelming stench, or anything else by the unceasing drive to push at the rough wooden poles clutched in his sweaty hands. Day marched determinedly into early evening, and early evening into later evening, and still they laboured. The afternoon exodus was come and down, but they worked on, ever onward, goaded by the tireless whips of their unfailing masters. It would never end. By the gods, please, please let it end. The spell was shattered and all his agonies rushed back to him when a man walked by. A simple man, somewhat young, in the company of another man of similar dress and age. There was nothing exceptional about him. How could he penetrate the haze of one drudge’s broken mind? Nothing exceptional. And yet, and yet… There was a slant to the smirking lips, an active intelligence behind the laughing eyes, a familiarity to the motions of his hand as it waved to emphasize some point he was making… Dead, dead, gone, so long, dead, deaddeaddead… His breath seemed to be having trouble escaping his lungs. It wasn’t possible. After so many years, it just wasn’t possible. But there he was, so unmistakeably there. And, behind him, slipping from the shadows of one of the many side-alleys, was the cutpurse, dagger screaming his hand, who had trailed such a tempting target for blocks. Silently creeping up behind his preoccupied prey, so close, so close… The drudge couldn’t think, or speak. He’s dead. He’s already dead. Move. Suddenly, he was. Uttering a wordless, haunted wail, he bowled his master over and hurled himself at the assailant, who had turned at his cry. The knife slid home, and a great shouting rose up as slave and thief tumbled to the unforgiving cobblestones. The gentlemen turned and stared, astonished, at the filthy wretches so dangerously close behind them. Up close, there was no mistaking that face, changed but not from its almost-adult state so long ago. The drudge felt an almost forgotten sense of triumph wash over him, gloriously tinged with joy that this apparition was alive and well. He gazed up into those astonished eyes, which grew even wider as recognition dawned, peeling away the layers of mud and dung and long years of abuse. The agony which washed over him when the man knelt down and personally removed the cutpurse’s knife from his chest was manageable; the hands on him were firm and warm. They were real. By the gods, he was real! His breath gurgled strangely in his chest, and the pain became less bearable. Oh, shit. His dung-encrusted hands clutched at the bloody hole in his chest and he panted pathetically. He could hear his master bellowing, and heavy footfalls pounded up to his prone form. He flinched when the whip was raised, but the gentleman surged to his feet and wrenched the device from the master’s astonished grasp. He looked back down at the drudge, helplessly dying at his feet, and their eyes met again. The drudge smiled. Sweet, tantalizing darkness tickled at the edges of his vision. It would be so nice to slip away. He’d waited so very long for it. Prayed for it. Maybe the gods were listening after all. Maybe Jahkaeva listened to pitiful souls lacking one orphan’s bewitching green eyes. Maybe. The gentleman knelt and touched his shoulder gently. “Javick,” he managed to choke out. “Eli.” With a blissful sigh, Javick died.

kudos, Mynx. =) I know how stressful it can be applying for such a difficult program, and how absolutely ecstatic you are when you get in! Good luck! Edit: Dyslexic moments. How can you tell I just woke up? =P

Halloooo! As has been repeated numerous times by me: Sorry for the long absence. When in comes to actively contributing members, I suck the big one. Muchly apologies. Life strikes again. But for now I'm back, and may - *gasp!* - actually have a moment or two to breathe and WRITE, since I've shaved my credit load down to 8 instead of 12. Whee! Directly related to this idea of added time is the hint that I may - MAY - actually finally get my QQ up and running. Script is ready, story half-written, and I have one possible wistful request to post to the artists, semi-artists, and artists-aspiring in the community - anyone want to make a basic map for me? I think it would likely help ever-so-much to keep areas straight in people's heads along my many-forked tale... Hope holidays were merry and fruitful for all. Happy Writing! - T

From a gaming session with people decidedly odder than me: "YES! Black Pile of Ash has gained a level!"

*Ducks behind the too-attentively-waiting Ayshela and hugs Corp a long-lost hello. Making a shushing sign with one finger, she turns, creeps carefully up behind the still-waiting Ayshela, leans over her shoulder, and blows out 19 candles on the cake in one rush of exhalation.* hehe. Thanks everybody! =)

Um... what if you're on the edge of those spans? exactly? O.o *points to birthday listings for today*

~List of Works~ Prose Title Subtitle Status Location The Gift of Fear Warning: This will be a darker story. Ongoing Assembly Room Vignettes of a Vampire Writing Exchange: Vlad Finished Assembly Room Always claimed to be an author first... (Sneak peek of Study of Savages) On Hold The Applicants' Alcove Unseen If depressed, don't read this. Finished Assembly Room Poetry Title Subtitle Status LocationNo Regrets (Original App to The Pen) Finished Recruiter's Office Death of a Whisper N/A Finished Banquet Room Narcissism N/A Finished Banquet Room A Parody. N/A Finished Banquet Room Ordered Chaos (I'm Baaack) Finished Banquet Room Bittersweet (Lo and behold...) Finished Banquet Room achromo some N/A Finished Banquet Room fragmented, not broken N/A Finished Banquet Room Interactive Title Subtitle Status LocationWhat's this? The Eternal Quillbearer's QQ? A long time coming, but it's coming! In Development Cabaret Room About Me Title Subtitle Written By LocationWriting Exchange: Tralla, Is it enough? N/A Psimon Banquet Room Note: my Vignettes and Psimon's poem to me were part of a larger project run by Valdar, The Writing Exchange.

~Biography~ Another Placeholder. =)

~Introduction~ Tralla isn't actually a character. Actually, I'm probably one of the few writers here who doesn't operate behind or within a character. Tralla is merely a name, to protect my personal identity, and not even the name I write under to the rest of the world. *That* name is Victoria Jaimeson, which also is merely a name, and not the one I was born to. I've been writing at the Pen since 2002, and irl since, oh, grade 1 or 2, which was... well. Yes. =D Read on if you'd like to know a little bit more about the face behind the face. Although, with how personal a thing it is, you'd probably know me better by reading what I've written, rather than a few nonidentifying facts about a rather regular human being.

yeah, it has to be prepared a little better, because it's so incredibly lean compared to beef or chicken. and yes, they are actually a part of the ostrich family. and evil.

Emu was the weirdest thing I've ever eaten. It was excellent. It was ground and served like a hamburger, and you didn't really notice too much of a difference. Healthier than just about anything on the market, too.

*glomp* Happy Happy! *runs off*

...His evil smile inspired new kinds of fear in her stuttering heart. “The Lady will be pleased.” For the first time in her life, Kay’s Gifts failed her as he drew her up, up, into his embrace, into his eyes… ~ ~ ~ Pulling a silvery chain from a hidden pocket, he clipped it onto her collar while she stood numbly gazing up at him. Without another word, he turned and strode confidently to the exit, Kay having no choice but to follow on her glittering leash. The guards at the door moved to stop him, stammering out protests that the slaves were not to be removed, but a flash of the insignia on his collar and a disdainful flick of his hand were all he needed to pass them by. Continuing out into the hallway beyond, the man set a brisk pace through the dimly lit hallways. He tugged occasionally on the leash to be sure she kept up - and was still attached to it. He moved with the confidence and certainty born of long experience, and Kay began to silently wonder just how often his master had come to visit Felamorrell's successor. Why had they come? High Mages did not leave their respective territories often. If they had come here often enough for this man to know the maze of hallways, antechambers, and stairways as well as he seemed to, what were they looking for? You, silly. Little, bright-eyed, soft-spoken, incredibly dangerous you. Kay shivered. The walk down those long corridors seemed to last an hour or more, with the only sounds the rhythmic drumming of the man's boots and the fitful whispers of the magical illumination in the niches upon the wall. It was probably not very long at all, but that did not matter. Kay followed tamely behind him. This one would not fall for her tricks. He would not sleep. He would not forget. She was doomed. It came as somewhat of a surprise when they did finally stop before a door much like any other lining those hallways. Like the walls, it was smooth dark blue stone, with a gleaming black handle and no other ornamentation at all. Somehow, she expected something... grander for a High Mage's doorway. But then, she was visiting. She probably had a very nice door at home... SNAP OUT OF IT! Blinking, Kaolin shook off the trance she had lulled herself into. she wasn't doomed. She could fight. She could make them hurt. Make them suffer. Make them fear. She blinked again and shook her head. What's wrong with me? The man produced a gleaming violet-coloured charm from a hidden pocket and waved it over the door's handle, then reached for it and turned. The door swung open without a sound, and, tugging her chain to make sure she followed, he entered. The room within was large and dimly lit. Several long, low, couches lined the walls, piled high with silk pillows and brightly coloured throws. A thick rug softened the cold stone of the floor, and lamps provided illumination, rather than magical glows. A trio of servants knelt in the corner nearest the door, heads bowed, ready to serve. "Fetch the Lady," the man snapped at the slaves. "Be quick but quiet about it." One servant rose immediately and, with a low bow, swept silently from the room. Long minutes of absolute silence passed. The other slaves remained perfectly motionless, as did the man beside her, so Kay could do nothing but wait. Perhaps another half-hour had passed when finally the door swing open again and the Lady glided into the room, as perfectly poised as she had been ten years before when she invaded the Fallik Home. Zermaterix. Callin dropped to his knees as she entered, brutally yanking the chain so that Kay had no choice but to do so as well. The High mage proceeded to the far end of the room and seated herself with immaculate grace upon the plush sofa ready there. Taking a glass from the tray offered by one of the three suddenly attentive slaves, she eyed her manservant with only a trace of curiosity. When she spoke, her voice was just as coolly commanding as the girl remembered. "I left instructions not to be disturbed tonight, Callin," she stated calmly. Callin pressed himself lower into the carpet. "I know this, Mistress," he whined. If he had a tail, it would be tucked tight up between his legs, but the stupid mutt would still be attempting to wag it timidly. Shut up, Kay commanded the voice firmly. "Then you knowingly defied my orders?" It was more of a statement than a question, and her voice grew colder, harder. "With only the best of reasons, Great Mistress!" "And what," she demanded, dark eyes snapping with dangerous power, "could possibly be a good enough reason to ignore such a direct command?" "I brought you a gift," Callin hissed, tugging the chain slightly. Kay shivered. "Your whore?" the High Mage stated, her voice dripped with scornful venom. "There were far better available where I was, Callin." "Once, we found a girl," he began, his voice still vibrant with triumphant glee. "A tiny wretch, with plain brown hair, and bright, bright green eyes, who reeked of the Gift-" "And you've been chasing phantom girls with green eyes ever since!" Zermaterix snapped. "I tire of your obsession, Callin!" Hissing in frustration, Callin rose to his knees and yanked down the collar of his shirt. A livid red burn, blisters already rising from the tortured surface, was branded into the skin directly below his collarbone. Without a word, he turned out the inside of his shirt, displaying the misshappen lump of violet-coloured something that might at one time have been a brooch. "When she Reached for me, she infused enough of the Gift into your protective trinket to turn the thing molten," Callin explained, showing a complete disregard for the hideous burn in his driving need to convince his Mistress of Kay's power. "Great Lady, I have never forgotten a scent, especially one as potent and distinctive as that girl's! By the Gods, look!" With that, he grabbed Kay's jaw in that unforgiving grip of his and jerked her face upwards, exposing her eyes to her mistress. Those bewitching, damning, brilliant green eyes. "Enough, Callin," the High Mage commanded. "Release her, and leave us. You are pardoned." He pressed his face down into her carpet again, his expression one of sincere, incredible relief. Scrambling to his feet, he bolted for the door. Her voice stopped him like a brick wall. "Callin." Turning he bowed low. "Yes, Great Mistress?" "Although I appreciate your sincere concern with convincing me of the importance of your discovery, your tone was completely impermissible. You will not go far. We will discuss your behaviour when I am through here." Callin blanched whiter than the palest whores back at the Den, but he bowed lower and backed slowly from the room. "Yes, Wise Lady," he murmured, before closing the door behind him. Zermaterix immediately turned her formidable gaze on the scantily clad wretch still crouched on her carpet. Rising from her perch, hands folded sedately within her sleeves, she approached the child slowly. She scanned carefully for any signs that a Gift was being used - many of those born with the unique traits were little better than animals, and highly unpredictable. Especially, as she had learned well those ten years before, the pathetic wretches brought up in the slums and orphanages of the city. The perfect silence continued to stretch out between them, Zermaterix eyeing the child with unabated interest, the child eyeing one precise spot on the carpet a short distance from the High Mage's feet. It really was very nice carpet. "What is your name, child?" she asked suddenly, snapping the silence with her usual ruthless efficiency. The girl did not so much as wince. Impressive. "My mistress calls me Kay, Great Lady," the girl murmured respectfully. An invisible slap - the High Mage never moved - sent Kay sprawling several feet away, eyes wide in stunned surprise. "I did not ask what your mistress called you, girl," Zermaterix explained patiently. "I asked what was your name. Do not play word games with me, child. You will not win. Now," she continued, resetting her face into a falsely pleasant expression, "your name." "Kaolin, Great Lady." She leaned with her power, and Kaolin gasped and curled into a ball of pain at her feet. "Your entire name, girl." "Kaolin!" she shrieked. "I don't know any other name! The people at the orphanage called me Kaolin! That's all I know!" "That's better," Zermaterix commently amiably. "Now we understand each other. Are you thirsty, Kaolin?" The girl raised frightened eyes to her face, but looked away almost instantly. "M-my Lady?" "I do not repeat myself, Kaolin." "Y-yes, Lady. I am thirsty." Zermaterix waved, and a slave scurried forward to offer the child a tall glass of water. Kaolin took it timidly, but could not resist for long the precious fluid that she had been refused all day at the brothel. The tiny sips grew to hurried gulps, until the entire great glass was empty and returned to the slave's waiting hands. Kaolin turned her fearful gaze back to the floor, waiting. "I do not have to be a cruel mistress, Kaolin," Zermaterix stated finally. "I am one of the few High Mages who believe that reward promotes loyalty in those below you, and that true loyalty is not obtainable with even liberal use of the Gift. However, I also refuse to tolerate any disrespect or dishonesty in my people. A single disciplinary problem, poorly timed, could threaten my status on the Council as well as my reign of my territory. I cannot allow such a threat to exist. The Mages are a pack of rabid wolves, each waiting not-so-patiently to take down the others. I will not fall." A strange sense of lethargy was seeping over Kaolin's body, and she felt her eyes growing continually heavier. The dark dreams of the damned called to her, from the recesses of her fractured mind. The water was drugged, of course. Silly little fool. Now you're dead. You're supposed to shut up, Kaolin reminded the voice sleepily. Yes, you're doing a fine job on your own. "Felamorrell fell," Kaolin murmured finally, her eyelids finally winning the fight and drooping closed. "You're not invincible." The deepest, hottest layer of Kaos could not have melted Zermaterix's smile just then. "Now that wasn't a very nice thing to say. You will learn to guard your words around me, Kaolin. I think I will have fun teaching you." Make her hurt make her bleed make her scream make her- SHUT UP!

With no clients arriving so early in the festivities, the slaves had little to do but size each other up from across the room. The exotics clustered together in their respective groups, dressed in expensive, skimpy parodies of their people’s traditional garb. One group of pale-skinned slaves was costumed to imitate the desert harems of the south, but most simply wore high quality uniforms in the colours and particular design of their brothel. Blue was definitely the dominant colour, since Phallonomar chose royal blue as his signature colour when he succeeded Felamorrell almost ten years before. The pitiful attempt to curry favour was disdained by Drisla’s chosen; in an apparently uncommon exercise of imagination, Lady Drisla’s girls wore highly intricate costumes representing the various beautiful, sensual, or mystical creatures rumoured to exist in wilder places in the world. There were several greater cats, a unicorn, a serpent, a swan, a peacock, some sort of exotic sea creature, and a dragon. One girl even dressed as a faerie, with pointed ears and gossamer wings. Kay herself was a phoenix, with brilliant plumage and feather-light wisps of perfectly see-through fabric. If she had moved at any point, the pieces would have floated around her in an almost bewitching display of the grace that made her so special. But she merely sat on her pillow in her corner, waiting passively for whatever would come. She had been trapped years ago, and now she was here, in the very palace of a High Mage, and it was just a matter of time before they found her. After so many years of accepting her situation, her fate, her life, she found that she was no longer afraid. She had no reason to fight. Let them come. By the Gods, let them bleed for you, my love. Let them suffer. Show them what it is to fear. Shaking away her absent reverie, Kay felt her gaze drawn to the chamber’s entrance. People were coming. Let them come… Then they were there, in singles or pairs, the guests looking for some higher-grade pleasures. Many of the exotic slaves were claimed first, as a novelty that few would pass up, then they began to circulate among the paler-skinned girls. Several of Kay’s companions were selected, as well as a pair of the harem beauties. Kay herself was not, so she continued to sit with her eyes lowered obediently to her feet, motionless and unnoticed along one wall of the chamber. Perhaps an hour or two had passed – time was hard to tell, there – when a guest walked in that sent her skin crawling and her spine clenching with an incredible sense of dread. Oh Gods, not him, not him, not him not him not him… He was dressed simply, in a tunic and breeches of crisp black, with an undershirt of rich purple. No glittering embroidery adorned the hems of his clothing, and no jewels sparkled on his hands or head. His hair was a mousy brown, and his eyes a muddied hazel, but he radiated an aura of power that was impossible to deny. He was dangerous, and although she had tried so hard to block out that part of her past, she could clearly remember why. Her body almost vibrated with the iron control she had to exert to keep herself from leaping up and fleeing wildly from the room. Such a reaction could not end well. The guest swept his keen gaze once over the room, then began to pick his way slowly through the slaves. Each girl received the same intense scrutiny, but he did not so much as pause as he made his rounds. One enterprising girl sauntered up to him and murmured sultry promises in his ear, but the dismissive flick of his hand sent her hurriedly scurrying away again, a pout fixed upon her somewhat pretty face. He continued his search. As he neared, Kay had to fight incredibly hard to keep from weeping, running, shrinking back against the wall, or doing anything else that might attract attention to herself. She had never been so terrified in her life. Well, she had, but that was so long ago, and she was alone now… What happened to resignation? Make him bleed! Make him scream! Make him fear! The footsteps stopped suddenly in front of her. Closing her eyes, she murmured an inaudible prayer to a goddess she couldn’t remember. A hand abruptly shot down and grasped her jaw firmly, jerking her face up to meet his penetrating gaze. She didn’t open her eyes, but she felt like he knew. She could feel his stare, boring into her exposed features, perceiving the brilliant green orbs hidden behind such ordinary eyelids… “Do you play games, whore?” he hissed, his voice raising clammy goosebumps on the back of her neck. “No, my Lord,” she whispered, barely able to force the words past the brutal grip on her face. “Are you afraid?” “No, my Lord.” “Then why are your eyes closed?” “The Mistress taught that looking a Master in the eyes was offensive, my Lord. Our purpose is not displeasure, my Lord.” “Indeed. Open your eyes, slave.” Her lids opened with a snap, compelled by a will not totally her own. Instinctively, blind terror overwhelming all her conscious senses, Kay reached, seeking to charm, repulse, confuse- His evil smile inspired new kinds of fear in her stuttering heart. “The Lady will be pleased.”

... they found the formerly human octopus clinging franctically to Leviathan's tonsils. Vinnie wrapped all of his pseudopods around the precariously perched poker dealer, and Melvin in turn clutched onto him. As the three dangled from the heaving Leviathan's wildly swinging tonsils, Melvin cried, "Don't let go, Vinnie!" "I'll teach you to always marry the girls!" Vinnie shouted back, releasing his hold and plunking them down into darkness made all the darker by Melvin's terrified inking. When the ink finally cleared, they found themselves...

Happy Happy, girl. =)

Happy Happy. *Reverently places a box of the Happy Face Cookies (the best cookies in the world) among Tas' gifts*

I rarely think my stuff is, Kunax. That's my third rewrite of that bloody story, and probably not my last. I am an author to the last drop of my cold blue blood - I can't stand my writing being at anything other than its absolute best. But this lot seems to like it very much, and I have a few hardcore fans who threaten ritual sacrifice if I don't post an update in sometime shorter than six months, and I have to say, I'm rather proud of certain large chunks of the material. =) To answer your question simply: Yes. But then, many, if not most, of the works here are worth a read for some reason or another. That's what makes it such a pain in the butt. =P Ehhhh... So you're right. I could've sworn I checked that. Ah, well, editing time again... PS. Yui-chan ROCKS! :woot:

lol that's because the first post is the entire story, hun... I keep it updated so that people like you, who are just starting to read it, can read it all the way through without having to jump from post to post. =)

ooooops missed one. O.o =/ Hope it was a good one. T

BTW: Muses come from the Greek culture. Muses were goddesses devoted to creativity, song, inspiration, invention, anything that would further the arts, primarily. They were credited with the inspiration - or lack of it - that any author, poet, bard, or artist had (mostly bards, since song was still the primary form of entertainment and record keeping in early Greek times).

Note, too, that there's a lot more to the Pen than just RP'ing. True, a lot of the people here do RP, but I haven't participated in a single RP story in the 2+ years I've been here. There's poetry, single-authored stories (my forte) and just about anything else you can cook up that still fits in the category of "written words". If RP'ing is your thing, hey, go for it, but don't let your lack of experience in that keep you from joining the community. There's much, much more to see and do here, and everyone is always learning. =)