Yui-chan

Cheye, Just a hint from someone who didn't get it until told... The capitalization in the last line is not a typo. It's the clue to 'who' the poem is speaking about. Does that shed some extra light? ~Yui

As he sits quietly in his two-dimensional world, pondering the weight of the title that hangs heavily on his neck, a familiar figure slips silently from the darkness of the hall, gliding into the light that streaks his painted surface. Elder Zool, I find your modesty inspiring and tragic at once. That single dot, in all its perfect pixel-driven symmetry, inspired visions of the very infinite reaches of the universe, encompassing all that was, is, and will be in a moment far more eloquent than the longest soliloquey in the most expressive of tongues. And yet you claim that you wrote nothing? You hide the fact that your great wisdom and untempered biting sword of brightest evil laid out for all the unwashed masses the greatest mysteries of the multiverse? Are our peers so blinded by convention that they do not see what generous secrets you have laid out before them? I cannot believe it, for truly, your period did amaze me. In the midst of madness, a moment of perfect clarity, immutable sanity, infinite tranquility. I came near to weeping at the beauty of your inspiration. Thus I do in vain protest your self-depreciating denunciation of your own genius. You cannot be worthy of the Weenie award, for the Weenie award is not worthy of you. It is as far below you as I am, a mere shadow to a glorious and wise Elder. May its colors tarnish and the oil-paints of its presence about your exalted neck feel the vicious bite of turpentine justice. The Dot was brilliance, St. Zool, and let none convince you otherwise... She bows low before the sunlit Elder-painting and steps back to fade sadly into the shadows.

Dawn's Reverie {Published, Fall 03} The sharp-slanting light bears the warm touch of dawn. Its power tints the rough walls with fire. The fast-dying shadows mourn night’s sovereign gone, o'erthrown as the sun hurries higher. And there, on the threshold of daylight’s advance, far away in a bright world of dream, you curl in the comfort of sleep’s circumstance, immune to the morning sunbeam. The hard-yet-soft lines of your sleep-slackened face, that pillow-tossed mass of soft hair, the sweet, serene mien that you wear with such grace, wipe away any thoughts of despair. Instead, I am left, in the silence of morn, with my love clearly writ in my eyes, to drink in your warmth, dream of futures unborn, and bask in the breeze of your sighs. And then, in that breath hung ‘twixt old day and new, in the midst of my dawn’s reverie, is the soul-searing truth. I exist just for you, and you, love, own all that is me. *note: I don't believe that this one was posted in the Pen, before, so don't be surprised if it doesn't look familiar.

In the Old Way Feel. Love and Care. Live. Learn and Act. Laugh. In the Old Way. Hurt. Fight and Hate. Die. Teach and Rest. Cry. In the Old Way. Hope. Trust and Give. Breathe. Share and Take. Sing. In the Old Way, The only way. Find your way, the right way. Never their way, the locked way, the stifling way. Only one way is the true way. The Old Way was your way. Live that way. A bit of very random poetry-looking stuff from yours truly. Please don't lynch me.

Shards Apart Blow the shards apart, Shards of heart. Let them burn where'ere thou art. Cry freezing tears, For seconds, years. Flowing like thy bleeding fears. All, then, be still and rest and die, For better that than choose as I. Better that than shattered naught. Better purged of rancid thought. Better eternity's blank sleep Than bladed hurt that runs soul-deep. Scream wrending pain, A shrill refrain. That shard-sliced bound'ries shan't contain. In suff'ring wrythe, 'Neath Fate's cruel scythe. Surrender all thou art as tithe. All, then, be still and empty lie, For better that than choose as I. Better that than hopeless fight. Better blind than tortured sight. Better oblivion's delight Than miswrought life of venom'd spite. Weave tearful prayers, filled all with cares. Sent winging high 'pon faith-built stairs. Hold tight thy hopes, Those hanging ropes. O'er silent time, belief elopes. All, then, let fall and crumbled lie, For better that than choose as I. Better that than hope distraught. Better walls than risk love caught. Better never first begot Than end in spilt blood come to naught. Blow the shards apart, Shards of heart. End all that is, all that thou art. Give up and cease and fail and die, Or live and fight and choose as I...

Don't mind me. I'm just creating a thread of my old poetry in anticipation of writing a new piece or two that have been floating around in my head. I am going to start consolidating all of my non-prose works into one thread so as to take up less space. Thank you, ~Yui Upgrade! Yui's Poetry v2.0: Since this is starting to get long, a list of happy links to take you to specific titles. Most recent to most ancient. Narcissist Anarchist Little Words EAY (Edgar Allan Yui): from the Shoutbox Telecon Perfectionist Haikai - Memory Stranger Swim the Pitch-Black Sea A Never-Life Melody These Words Arrow Frantic Blade Dance Masochist Mad Merlin Cobalt Dreams Lament Dawn's Reverie In the Old Way Shards Apart ______________

...

As they poked and prodded, the Avian scholar fidgeted unhappily, mumbling objections to the worst of the painful examinations. Had he been a bit less worried, Timothy probably would have been amused by the contrast between the woman’s reckless bravery and her apparently-low tolerance for pain, but as it was, he was a bit too angry to notice. She’d nearly gotten herself killed! With her back (and wings) presented to him, Kaleyra was spared his brooding scowl, but Gyrfalcon didn’t have much choice but to notice it as he walked up. His frowned mirrored the human’s, and he resolved to speak with him when there was a spare moment. In the end, they determined that their companion had not broken any bones, but had severely strained a muscle in her right wing with the rough impact of the water. The pain as Timothy bound her injured wing to her back was great, but at Gyrfalcon’s suggestion, Kaleyra distracted herself by speaking to them. “I count myself fortunate that I only injured the supracoracoideus rather than my pectoralis muscle,” she commented, wincing as the human pulled the knot tight on the first binding strip. “The former is far smaller, and heals much faster than the latter, and since we will reach the Pool of Eternal Reflection soon, I will need to be able to fly.” Timothy smirked a bit, wrapping another piece of torn sailcloth around her ribs. “You’re confident, aren’t you? What makes you so sure we’ll find it?” The woman frowned, “Well, I am relatively - ouch! - … relatively assured of the accuracy of our information, and certainly we have come a long way. Why should we not find it? Certainly, our causes are worthy, and we have each worked hard and traveled far to earn the knowledge. Whatever intrinsic forces control our fates and fortunes should see that, shouldn’t they? The gods that created the Pool will guide us there. Won't they?” She craned her neck to look at the cynical human, but he merely shrugged, uncertain yet of where his doubts came from or why they consumed him. At Timothy’s skeptical expression, she looked at Gyrfalcon, her face uncertain. “… won’t they?”

"Um... Gyrfalcon?" The soft sound of the Avian's voice very nearly didn't carry over the din of the water around them, overshadowed as it was by the slap of another wave against the back of his neck. "Hm? Did you say something, Kaleyra?" With a few flicks of his hands and his usual grace, the swordsman-mage turned in the water until he fully faced the young woman, and there he bobbed, his curious expression deepening into a worried frown. "What's wrong?" "I just... uh... I ju-" An illtimed wave interrupted her, and Gyrfalcon put out a hand to help steady her as she spit the salt water back out. She managed a small smile in thanks, though her pale features and drawn expression were not lost on her companion. Gyr's frown only darkened in response. Something is wrong. "I wanted to thank you, Gyrfalcon." She would have bowed humbly, but in the water all she could manage was a slight nod of respect. "I owe my continued existence to your bravery and attention." The half-elf nearly gave her his usual smile and simply brushed away her thanks, but something in those steely-blue eyes of hers warned him that her honor rode closely with her words. Instead, he nodded back with a grin. "I'm just glad that I found you. You had me worried there for a minute!" Again, he only managed to evoke that thin hint of a smile. "Rest assured that... I had myself quite amply concerned... as well. I have determined that... I am unfond of swimming." His chuckle was cut off by a curse as he surged forward, grabbing her elbow to keep her from sinking once more. The winged woman's eyes had drifted shut, and she moved only sluggishly, leaving him no choice but to bring her closer so that he could better support her weight. Without her effort, though, he found himself uncomfortably close to submerging, and he knew his tiring limbs wouldn't support the both of them for long. "Come on, Kaleyra! Don't let go on me now!" He shook her slightly, evoking a wince and a garbled protestation from the scholar. Her eyes blinked open to regard him blearily. "That's better. Are you hurt?" For a moment, he feared that she wouldn't answer, her glazed eyes starting to drift shut, but she nodded, forcing her hands into the small motions he'd taught her to push against the water. "I... My wing. I-I'm very sorry, Gyrfalcon, but ... but it hurts so much. I... I cannot- " "You can! Just a little longer, Kal. Timothy will be back for us any sec--" " GYRFALCON!" The man's voice was the sweetest music to their ears. " Where are you?" Sharing a quick smile with his Avian companion, the half-elf turned his head toward the sound. " Over here! Hurry, Timothy!" Not three seconds later, a dinghy bearing the historian and three of Captain Wallace's crewmen crested the waves that formed their horizon, and Gyrfalcon raised his arm, waving it until he'd gotten Timothy's attention. As the prow swung towards them, he was trying hard to convince himself that he didn't want to kiss the man. ...

The sound of Gyrfalcon's alarmed shout brought Kaleyra's blonde head snapping up from the texts she'd been pouring over, her eyes wide. Whatever she'd intended to do, the choice was stolen from her when the ship suddenly lurched, tossed to the side by the wake of a huge, silver-scaled beast. She'd have gaped at the creature if not for the suddenly-pressing need to gather her reading material and cap her inkwell. It was with great relief that she stowed her books and secured the water-tight bladder around her entire pack, all under the shouting and mayhem of motion that had erupted on the vessel. Only then did the rampaging sea serpent warrant her attention. The gaping commenced. Jutting from the water like a newly-shined sword, the monster's head stood even with the top of the ship's mast, its massive jaws open as it bugled another challenge into the clear air. And what jaws they were. Lined with two alternating rows of vicious-looking, serrated teeth, its open maw was of such size that it looked more than capable of swallowing the crow's nest in one bite. Behind its head three membranous, spined frills stood stiffly out from its skull in decreasing lengths, ringing it like an ornate lace collar. In contrast to its pure-silver body, the membranes reflected the bright sunlight in a rainbow of colors, almost like a pearl crowning a silver pendant. Sparkling in the fair weather, the creature was an impressive and beautiful sight. When it let out another blood-chilling roar, though, the Avian winced and reminded herself that this pretty 'pendant' seemed rather intent upon doing them all grievous bodily harm. To prove the point, the sea serpent chose that moment to lunge at a sailor rushing along the deck, its massive body slamming against the ship's port side. The vessel lurched, throwing her roughly against the crates stacked beside her, and she looked up to see the frightened deck hand scrambling to back away from the snapping jaws. At the stern, on the other side of their assailant's body, she saw Gyrfalcon notch another arrow into his bow. With an audible whoosh, it flew through the air and shattered itself on the creature's scaled snout. The doomed arrow had served its purpose, however, for it distracted the sea serpent's attention towards the half-elven mage, allowing the beleaguered human to scramble to safety. Unfortunately, Gyrfalcon found himself trapped at the stern of the ship with very little room to maneuver when the serpent lunged at him. With a hair's-breadth to spare, he leapt out of the way of the first strike, leaving the creature with a jaw full of planked deck, which it ripped away with a deafening snap. Tossing the debris into the ocean with a flick of its massive neck, it turned back to the mage with rage in its eyes and a broken tooth. Gyrfalcon looked around for his next route of escape, dismayed to find himself disastrously limited on options as the sea serpent reared back for its next strike. Recognizing his plight, Kaleyra reacted with a little less thought than was her usual, and leapt up onto the crates beside her. In a split second, she'd grabbed a small harpoon laying conveniently on top of the rotting wood and leapt into the air, her powerful wings defying the pull of gravity. Timothy felt the rush of wind against his head and looked up in surprise, but his shouts fell on deaf ears. Instead of heeding the man's warnings, the meek scholar drew her arm back and heaved the spear with all her might towards the monster. In all truth, it's a miracle she even hit the thing, but any chance she had of doing any real damage was ruined when the spear started spinning end over end in its flight. The wooden butt bounced off the scales on the side of the serpent's neck, and the harpoon splashed uselessly into the sea. Hovering in the air, the scholar winced, but the expression switched in a heartbeat as the massive head came to bear on her. She'd failed at doing any real damage to the creature, but at least she'd distracted it from her trapped companion. Kaleyra grinned and almost started to congratulate herself until she realized that she was about to be eaten. " YIPE!", she actually shouted the word as she threw herself to the side, feeling the breeze from the serrated teeth as they snapped together around the air she'd just been occupying. When the creature swung its head around for another bite, she was already moving, cutting through the air with the agility and grace of a falcon. The second snap of those massive jaws missed her by a much more comfortable margin, but she wondered with fright just what had possessed her to try such a stupid stunt. At least the aquatic serpent is no longer sabotaging the structural integrity of the ship, she rationalized, dodging yet another attempt to rip her fragile body to shreds. As it became obvious that her aerial maneuverability was superior to the creature's reactions, the scholar's confidence grew to replace her fear. At least for the moment, she could keep the thing busy enough for the others to find a way to defeat it. Nodding to herself, she swerved to avoid another strike and spared a glance at Timothy, who watched in alarm from the deck. "I can keep its rudimentary -- " With a flick of her wings, she spun left as the silver-scaled snout shot by. " -- attention distracted from you and the ship, if any of you can find a way to dispose of the creature!" A quick dive slipped her under the range of the serpent's strike, and she quickly circled around behind it, regaining altitude as it roared its rage. As the monster turned, she found herself staring into a pair of feral, slitted eyes and hoping that her companions would come up with something quickly...

Demoiselle Celles, there are lots of French words used in common English, boullion being one example. Another is deja vous or a maillot(sp?) style of swimsuit. I find it hilarious, especially since the clothing stores just call it a maillot swimsuit. Hello? A 'swimsuit' swimsuit?? o_O There are lots more, but I just can't think them up right now. I'll bet Wyvern knows some funny ones, since he knows much more French than I do. Hopefully not as confusing as she feels, ~Yui

Yui-Temae: "Breaking Point" The steep stairs were the same as they had always been, hard, cold, and drafty, unyielding and unchanging in the span of a man's life. Once, he had thought them the perfect representation of his existence, his role as the Slave to his lenient Master as immutable as the granite steps. Now he knew better. His memories, as they slowly returned, were showing him what he had been born to, what he had once been, and the knowledge was letting him finally Awaken. The steep stairs may have been the same as they had always been, but the young man climbing them was irrevocably, undeniably different. "Ayden?" The child's quiet voice rang loud in the stairwell, causing the young man to jump in alarm. With wide eyes, he crouched and placed a hushing hand over the boy's mouth. "Shhhh," Ayden whispered, "you must be quiet, Graeson. We are too close to the Master's chamber, and he might not like that you are here." The boy's steely eyes widened, fear flooding their depths until his new friend smiled softly and moved the muffling hand to stroke his hair comfortingly. "I did not mean to frighten you, child. I will protect you, and I am very strong." He didn't voice his worry that he would not be strong enough to resist the Master, but instead lifted Graeson up over his head in both demonstration and distraction. Wisely, the child muffled his giggles as Ayden whispered, "See?" Graeson nodded as he was gently lowered again, his smile fading slowly into a serious frown. When Ayden would have turned away to continue up the long steps, he tugged on a ragged sleeve and brought the man's attention back. "Ayden, you're nice. Will you help me find my Mommy?" Leaning down, the young Slave nodded to the boy with grave eyes. His newly-restored identity reminded him of the pain of losing a mother, and he vowed, no matter what other outcomes his actions would have, that he would find the dream-child's mother and reunite them. Firm in his resolve, he took Graeson's hand gently and whispered, "I swear it, child. We will find her." Boy and man regarded each other for a long moment, dark steel eyes exploring the depths of silvery-green ones until the Celestial Child saw what he wanted. With a smile and a nod, he bounced up to the next step, dragging Ayden's hand behind him. The man's grin matched the child's as the two resumed the long trek up the winding stairs. ******* The instances had lost coherence long ago, merging and blending and blurring into a sprawling mass of tortured emotions, soul-searing tragedies and shattering revelations. Her kingdom was burning, and she could hear the screams of her people as Thinas' undead troops slew and tortured and abused them. The darkelf, once her dearest friend, yanked cruelly on the chain about her neck, throwing her roughly into the animated corpse that had once been her brother. They both sneered hatred at her as the rusted dagger he held still in his rotting hands stabbed fire into her gut. Aegon smiled down at her cruelly as he turned the blade, shoving it ever deeper into her. 'Stupid cow, I had my use of you. Did you think I was yours alone?' Those eyes she loved so well shone bright with malice as he sneered, 'You've shared me all along, so why should tonight be different?' When he withdrew, she did not feel the pain of the wound, overshadowed as it was by the shattering of her heart as she watched him stride back to the naked woman awaiting him in their bed. 'He never loved you, anyway. How could anyone love a creature so weak and pathetic?' She turned slowly, almost beyond hearing, to face herself with eyes of ice. Ebon smiled cruelly as sounds unmistakable in their cruelty began to issue from the bed behind them. 'Let it go, pitiful little shard. Give in.' '... no... ' She covered her ears and closed her eyes, desperate for refuge from the ruination of everything in her life. If ever she had known that her tortures were nightmares, the knowledge had been lost beneath the weight of tragedy, and now she shuddered in helpless misery, curling herself into a ball. Darkness surrounded her, and in time the sounds of betrayal faded. In the silence, she cast her mind about, seeking something - anything - to hold on to, to fight for. She was still searching when a door opened into the darkness, and a broad-shouldered silhouette cut the light on the other side. Gasping for breath past her sobs, Yui tried to back away from the strange form, only to find herself suddenly hampered by a rough, wet, stone wall at her back and shackles on her wrists. She shuddered from much more than just the cold as she felt a chill breeze across her bare flesh, and fear such as she'd never known sliced through her veins. 'One. We are One.' The raspy voice rang through the silence as the stranger approached, his words taking on a chilling new meaning. In response, she did the only thing she could. Temae Yui, proud Huntress and ruler of a kingdom of thousands, threw back her head and screamed her terror into the storm.

Yui-Temae: The spell was shattered with the cold efficiency reserved for those of Pure Evil, and the sparkling shards dissolved into dust. With an angry frown marring his wrinkled forehead, the Timeless Wizard opened his eyes upon the white-stone walls of his Chamber and stepped gingerly out of the glowing green Circle in which he stood. The Dark Dream had reclaimed the mortal, and not even his powerful magic could shield her, now. Chronos shook his head in disappointment. He had really wanted to spare the woman and the Weaver this particular path in all of the infinite possibilities, but he had known from the start that it was very unlikely that he could. He shrugged to himself, knowing that remorse was useless. Instead, he walked to the far wall, lifted his pointed hat from its place on a peg and gestured, opening a hole in the air. With a firm tug, he settled the cap on his head and disappeared into the Void. ******* For the first time in all of Eternity, the Dreamweaver stood away from her loom, watching as the weave warped and the threads of Dreamers' minds piled up at its feet. She should have been concerned, should have been pained to see her beautiful work being soiled by the stain of Darkness that was spreading quickly through the threads. She should have been fighting to control the chaos that threatened her domain. Instead, she merely stared, first at the collapsing Weave, and then at her own incorporeal hands. "The Dream consumes me." Her choked whisper carried itself into the Infinite, finding only emptiness. "How?" No answer came except the silent motion of the Darkness as it spread like a living puddle of tar up her fingers. Just as her Dream, the Weaver was being absorbed, her intrinsic essence being consumed by impossible contradiction. She felt it, now, too late - the Black Strand, the Dark Dream escaped that strove to become Real. She remembered the Weaving that had begun it all, the pained but powerful mind that had given birth to a work of poignant, ominous beauty. She should have realized, should have seen the danger of such an ambitious and driven work, but she had been blind. And now it would all be destroyed. The boundary between Dream and Real is a sacred, immutable thing. It can never, must never be crossed. Even as the thought entered her mind, she could feel that impregnable boundary cracking, straining under the force of the impossible as it happened. Too late, she knew the face of the time-lost Nightmare and the perversion that would soon make him Real. The process would destroy the boundaries between the Weave and mortal reality, between the subconscious whims and the conscious will, and chaos would reign over the world of mortals. A hand rested gently on her shoulder saved the Celestial creature from her despair, and she turned to regard a pair of young, blue eyes shining above a great, silver beard. "Graeson…" The word was a sigh of relief that was met by the crinkle of skin that revealed the smile hidden beneath his whiskers. Something in his fathomless gaze gave her hope, and she smiled in return. Soon, she sat again before the groaning, straining Loom, her hands flying. Chronos stood at her side, lending his power and support as she slipped the shuttle into the shed, drawing the crystal thread across the warp. What once is woven, eternal be, unraveling ne'er through eternity. Whe'ere good or ill, one remedy the only cure lay in clarity.

I believe the preferred method is broiling, but now that you mention it... >:} Edited by: Yui Temae at: 7/25/02 6:44:11 am

(Conversion Confusion, this is actually the third post in this thread) I agree with Zool, Wyvern. This is a lovely work, beautiful for its raw reality. The imagery is simple but striking, encompassing in a few short lines an entire neighborhood or type of life. I feel like the person huddled in the corner of the apartment, listening to all the sounds through the walls around her, and I think that's the sign of just how effective the poem is. Great work!

Hm. If Tzimfemme- sama hasn't answered your question, Milord Cullyn, then allow me to try. I thought you were worried that writing up a story idea that you've already been brainstorming might not be considered writing a work specifically for your application. I think I'm safe in assuring you that it would be quite acceptable as your application. You see, the rule was put in place to discourage people from cutting-and-pasting their old stories onto the board as an application. It's not because we do not appreciate past works, but simply that a specially-written application is a symbol of an applicant's dedication to being an active member to the best of their ability. If you write up something that's been rolling around in your head specifically for your Pen application, then it is, indeed, an original work. You're fine. Write!!

The Dreamer had disappeared through his door, the magical portal swinging shut with a hollow sound, before the Huntress moved. With a slight shake of her head, she turned to walk away down the hall, and her face slipped into an amused smile. Moments later, her mumbled words came echoing back to the glowing runes. " Kowakuteki na souzoubutsu da, nee...*" ((*"What a fascinating creature..."))

"Yes, Commander. Our mission is of the utmost importance, and we must set sail with all haste." The old man, Y'tren, watched the leathery-tan face of the leader of the guard hopefully, quietly willing him to understand. "Hm. Aye, I'm sure ya think so." The man rolled his eyes, setting his fists on his wool-clad hips. "Let me tell you lot somethin'. I've got me a squad of patrolmen who cain't remember the first thing from last night, an' an officer found dead this mornin'. My men don't take kindly to being magic-waggled, an' I don't take kindly to murder. So. This dock is closed until I find me some answers, an' unless the fate of the world hangs in the balance, I ain't openin' it up fer the likes of you." Y'tren frowned, an expression closely mirrored by Gyrfalcon as he stepped up beside the old man, speaking up. "Commander, please be reason—" "Lissen, here," the Mefferian interrupted, his eyes narrowing on Gyrfalcon. "Can ya honestly tell me that the whole flippin' world is gonna end tomorrow if ya don't set sail right now, mister adventurer? Can ya?" Gyrfalcon was left no choice but to stare in silence at the human's angry expression. As important as the Pool was to his own kingdom, Kaleyra's people, and even to that mysterious Dreamer that had been with them before, he knew that their failure would not doom the world. Most people would never know of this quest, let alone whether they had failed or succeeded. The half-elf lowered his eyes, tasting defeat and a hint of despair. "Ha. I thought not." The unnamed commander huffed, his defiant gaze traveling to each member of their group in turn. The dark-haired human man glared back, annoyance and a sort of satisfaction in his eyes, as if he didn't like the answer but had expected it all along. The half-elf watched the cobbled street at his feet, thoughts whirling behind his eyes as he sought another way to convince the guardsman. The old man looked pained, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon where water met sky and his thoughts hidden in the depths of his old eyes. The human woman's gaze burned with rage, her fists clenched tightly. He thought that she looked as if she was considering the ways in which she could have him dead within ten seconds, but he shrugged the resultant chill aside. And finally, the quiet, winged woman standing behind the rest looked strangely at ease, her expression one of serene concentration. Intrigued by this strange reaction, the commander let his eyes flicker back to hers – and there they froze, caught in a trap of steely blue. To say that what happened next was 'against his will' would be inaccurate. More appropriately, it was against his will's initial state, for suddenly his thoughts were fluid, his conscious self-determination a soft, malleable thing that was being subtly and gently shifted, shaped by intangible hands. In the space of a heartbeat, in the eyes of a stranger, his mind was changed for him. Kaleyra released him, feeling her gorge rise. The horror she felt at herself, at the disgusting and abusive thing she had just done, was unaffected by the thought she kept repeating to herself in her head. It has to be done. It has to be done. Her distress was so great that, for a few terrible heartbeats, her throat closed and her vision blurred. As unobtrusively as possible, the Avian closed her eyes, one hand lowering to lean against the packing crates beside her as she silently forced air into her lungs. She prayed silently that anyone who saw her reaction would assume it was distress over the man's earlier refusal... During Kaleyra's reaction, the Commander had paused, his brow furrowing in a frown as his eyes returned to Gyrfalcon's lowered head. "Wait there. Look up, would ya, half-elf?" Surprised, the mage raised his gaze, a question in his eyes. His surprise turned to embarrassment as the Mefferian exclaimed in shock and pleasure, "Why didn' I see it before, eh?! Yer that famous mage, Gyrfalcon, aren't ya?" Taken aback, the half-elf could do nothing more eloquent than nod. "Well, why didn' ya say so in the first place? If you're along, then it's gotta be important, huh?" The man slapped him on the back of the shoulder so enthusiastically that he stumbled a step, wincing. He tried his best to respond. "Well, it –" He didn't get very far. "I know you lot didn' have anythin' to do with Mefferius' problems, that's fer demmed sure, so there's no harm in ya settin' sail. Gettin' a ship outta the harbor will take away a place fer the culprits to hide, too." Nodding, the Commander rubbed his chin. "Yeah, I got the perfect ship fer ya. It's a freelancer, an' the crew's been growlin' at me to let 'em set sail since this mornin'. She's fast little bird, an' tough as a nail. This way." When the leader of the Mefferian guards turned and walked off down the docks, he left behind him four very, very shocked adventurers. Gyrfalcon, blushing in embarrassment, glanced around only to find himself facing all the astonished faces of the guardsmen as they stared at him. He winced, and offered his comrades a pained grimace and a shrug. "My name gets around, it seems. Even down here." Timothy blinked and picked his jaw up off the cobbles. "I… guess so." A quiet voice sounded up from behind them. "We… have what we required. We shouldn't loiter here when we can be making the final arrangements." With a dead-blank expression pasted on her face, Kaleyra stepped from the back of the small group and started walking after the Commander, her eyes very carefully avoiding her companions. Y'tren and then Myth fell into step with her, their boots clicking softly on the stone street. As Gyrfalcon shrugged and walked after them, his skin only just now returning to its normal shade, Timothy found himself frowning, his eyes on the rigid line of the Avian scholar's back. He recalled the non-expression in her eyes and the dead tone of her voice, and his brow furrowed. With his first steps in his companions' wake, he muttered to himself, "Now, what was that…?"

Madness images from a long-ago confrontation with the planeswalker flashed in the Huntress' mind's eye, visions of tall metallic buildings rising from a sea of swirling colors and jutting spikes of iron adorned with tortured undead. The decayed, desolate scene once shook her, but since then, she has found the thread of hope and stability within the memories of the Dreamer's mindscape. Trust in that, and watch carefully enough to be on hand when the stability is threatened. Yui nodded to herself slightly, reaffirming her resolve with regards to the resident demi-god. Dangerous is not evil, and this creature has proven in the past his good will. After a heartbeat, the young woman granted the planeswalker a polite but genuine smile. "I hope I will not disappoint you if I answer your question with 'Neither.' In truth, I am here for a very mundane purpose: to welcome you back." With that, the young human sunk into a deep bow from the waist, her hands steepled in the center of her chest. " Okaerinasai, Durimaru-san. Isashiburi desu nee?*" As she straightened, the wavering red glow from the runes in the door beside her turned her eyes to flowing blood, and the planeswalker felt the strangest tinge of foreboding. "You have been away too long, if you come back so suspicious of a simple friend. It's not as if I could harm you without the power of a god, after all, and that's not a very simple thing to come by, neh?" Yui smirked slightly, reaching up to tuck a few errant strands of hair back behind her ear."I hope your stay here will allow you to relax." Inclining her head towards the door, the Huntress stepped to the side, leaving the way clear for the planeswalker. ((* "Welcome back, Dreamer. It's been a while."))

The Dreamer rounded the last corner, feeling the thread of energy tugging him towards the door to his haven. His ever-changing eyes scanned the hallway, only commanding a tiny fraction of his attention as his mind sped along the streamers of mystic energy that connected him to his minions, but it was enough for him to stop, his frown deepening, as he noticed the diminuitive figure silhouetted against the fire-light of the glowing runes. A few yards away, Yui watched the Dreamer approach with a mixture of excitement, anticipation, and dread. Here was a creature of such mysterious nature that not a one of them could hope to understand it, and a creature of such awesome power that not a one of them could hope to combat it. His return was not only that of a valued member of the Pen, but also that of a potentially-deadly threat. That sort of thing always did worry her. After a short pause, the scarred creature continued his slow walk towards her, his face frozen in a worryful scowl. Temae Yui, for whatever reasons, stood between himself and his door... (( Okaerinasai, Zadown- sama. Regardless of Yui's protective nature, I hope you know that we all welcome you back happily. I share others' wishes that you will find yourself able to stay and rejoin in the storytelling. You've many more people to meet, now, and that many more characters with whom you can interact. Welcome back! ))

*blushes* Aiii... Merci beaucoup, Celes! You've made my day bright with your kind words. I'm only glad that you've stayed all this time and added so much to the Pen with your presence and your writing!

: Some people have too much time on their hands. *coughZoolandWyverncough* Watasi wa Temae Yui desu. Hajimemasita. Kore wa namae o kuru: 'teh-MAH-eh YOO-ee' *grins* In English, of course, the family name is written after the given name, so... Yui Temae. Of course, my friends and colleagues are free to call me Yui -chan, instead. 'yooee-CHAA(n)' I think I should spare you all the details of correct Japanese pronunciation, and so ... Mata asita. *waves and wanders away*

Heheh. I'm not sure that you're supposed to praise your own work, but I'm very glad that you're confident enough to do so! It's a very good story, 502. The idea of 'death and life' alien angels is very creative, and I hope you'll continue your plot. This is a teasing introduction, and I see a lot of potential for the characters you've created and the storyline. Well done! I kind of doubt that it will surprise you if I criticize your grammar, punctuation and spelling, though. I'm kind of a stickler for such things, (much to everyone's annoyance). Are you a student or a non-native English speaker? There's a bit too much to comment on in a small post, but if you're interested in learning, I'll be glad to help you learn and correct. Keep writing, and keep up the good work! I'm looking forward to seeing more of your story. Sincerely, ~Yui

Oh, certainly ranking is a criticism, Nyyark. But is it constructive criticism?? To me, our rank set is the equivalent of saying "Your writing sucks, but not as much as that sucks." or "Yours doesn't suck as much as his stuff does." or "Yours is good, but his stuff sucks." That is, and always has been, my (very publicized ) complaint with ranking. It's not individual; it's comparative. Rather than critiquing your work on its own, ranking you compares the lump sum of what you write to mine and Orlan's, Gyrfalcon's, Ozymandias', etcetc. Does all your work have exactly the same level of excellence? Do all your pieces have the precise same flaws and strengths? What do you learn from having it all lumped together, weighed, averaged, and then placed in a rank order with everyone else? Does that tell you anything about what works and what doesn't in Jester's Game or Day Dream? I don't think it does. I'm afraid it just says "Nope, you're not as good as {Member X}, since you didn't get as high a rank as he/she did." I find that to be counterproductive in the literary arts. How does that kind of blank criticism help you as an author? How does knowing that you didn't rank as 'high' as someone else make you feel? Are you the same kind of author as he/she is? For that matter, is it really fair to compare any writers? Who would deserve the higher 'rank' if you want to compare Terry Pratchett to Shakespeare? Stephen King to Robert Frost? Dr. Spock to Catherine Coulter? They are all completely different, apples and oranges and compressor pumps and rhodadendron (sp?). Each has a different style and method, and I'd say each is very good at his style and method. Because I like Shakespearian sonnets more than twisted English humor, does that mean that Shakespeare deserves the higher rank than Pratchett? Because I haven't the patience to read about child psychology, does that mean that Doctor Spock is not useful as a writer? Or that he's not as good as Ms. Coulter? No, I don't think that would be fair or accurate. Do you? Critique works. Critique specific lines, stanzas, spelling errors, paragraphs, plotlines, rhythm. Critique bland characters or dull settings. Critique a specific work with specific examples of specific strengths and weaknesses and specific suggestions of how to improve them. Don't critique the person behind the work. For god's sake, don't critique them in such a way as to make them feel superior/inferior to any of their peers. If the Pen requires ranking to function, then make them administrative ranks, and not skill ranks. Make them based purely on activity level, duties, responsibilities, or the like. Clarify that they are not a reflection on writing ability, because if they are, then the Pen is telling Member A that she is just not as good as Member B, and I don't think that the Pen wants to do that. I don't know if this brainstorm has actually given any useful information to our esteemed elders on the thread topic, but I think I have finally come to realize the solution to my age-old, semi-neurotic intense hatred for the current rank system. Maybe it's a question of perception or terminology, but I have always dispised the way it seemed to me to compare everyone's writing skill. I was once told that it was necessary for forum administration, and there the solution was, staring me in the face. I never saw it until now. If the Pen wants ranks, then please consider divorcing them from 'skill-level' judgements and instead making them 'administrative-level' classifiers completely. Use quantitative criteria for advancement, for example, number of posts, number of threads, time as a member, 'activity level' or something. Wow, this has become painfully long. I'm sorry. I hope I've presented something worth thinking about. *winces and climbs down from the soapbox*

Dawn broke over the small clearing in the woods, sending sparks of light dancing over the still waters of the small pond and bringing its warming touch to the blanket-wrapped figures of the sleeping travelers. Sitting silently beside the waters, Kaleyra watched as the red-tinged sunlight creeped over one stirring bundle, revealing the gently-pointed ears of a half-elf where they peeked out from under the fabric. With an amused smile, she lowered her gaze back to the journal in her hands to finish her entry as her companions awoke. … while we traveled yesterday, and so I have nearly completed the translation. Of course, I have already memorized the original Vishari lyrics, since it is unclear whether the artifact recognizes the words or tonal sequence of the song. I believe that my research will allow us to be prepared for any eventuality, provided that the Veil's key is indeed the Vishari Gebet des Mondes as indicated. I fear the consequences if I am in error. In the burgeoning light, the young Avian lay her quill carefully across the page, sparing a moment to pull her spectacles off and rub her eyes. The thought of failure, of dooming her entire culture to extinction, made her stomach roil in dread. So many lives, so many dreams, so much rich culture… all hinging on my actions. And that's just the Avians. Even Gyrfalcon's kingdom relies on me. He relies on me… Kaleyra closed her eyes against a sudden, intense wave of anxiety, biting her lip. Not for the first time, she wondered why she had been chosen, among all others. Heroes must be courageous and powerful and wise. Saviors must be special, charismatic, worthy of admiration. I am none of these things… Why was it me? The thought danced around as it usually does, bouncing from insecurity to insecurity with no answer until she determinedly shoved it away. She knew from experience that she had no right to be so important, but she knew too that she had even less right to fail those who needed her. Rational or not, she was the one given the burden and the knowledge to fulfill this quest. Like it or not, she could never allow herself to abandon that responsibility. With a sigh, Kaleyra swallowed the anxious nausea and turned her attention back to her journal. Time will reveal my successes and failures. Meanwhile, I find myself increasingly anxious to arrive at this human harbor city and begin our sea voyage. I have started to sense an irrational but compelling conviction that time is somehow running short… Far to the east, Jagon stared over the wooden railing of the vessel, his gaze on the distant horizon as the sun slipped free of the sparkling waters. He could feel his destiny approaching, Within the pocket of his grey cloak, his fingers gently stroked the cold surface of the treasure that would reveal it to him. … and that danger is closer than we realize… With narrowed eyes, Myth watched the winged woman scribbling in her book from across the clearing. She suspected that the information the scholar had on those pages could be very valuable, and she considered again the possibility of removing it and the statue from the dramatists' dead hands. I only hope that today's journey goes quickly and that we can reach the Pool before disaster reaches us. …