Katzaniel

Katharine's voice registers shock. "Werewolf? I knew you knew something more than we did, Wil, but that is incredible. I must agree with what Ms. Christie has said: if you turn out to be wrong, there is little doubt of your guilt. But for now, for the plain fact that you must have known that when you made the accusation, we must all believe what you say." Turning to her son, Katharine shouts "Marcus!" in a tone shriller than she meant. "Fists have never been the way to solve things. Get away from the boy, and if there's a reason, a good defensible reason, to disbelieve what he says, you tell us all, please tell us right now. We must get things out in the open." "Lady Galanodel," says Katharine in a somewhat calmer voice. "I have suspected you from the start. What surprises me is not that you have the meanness of heart to commit murder but also the physical capability to do so. I have an inkling, though; given that Wil has shown us another pair of shoes, it may not turn out, but if it does it will condemn you beyond repair. Will you show us the soles of the shoes you now wear, Lady Galanodel?" OOC: Saying it OOC doesn't necessarily guarantee truth - the wolf could just as easily have done the same, though we should avoid saying things like that OOC in future. At any rate, my vote: Elwen - Lady Emily Galanodel. Edit: fixing actions to be more IC

"No," Katharine said rather quickly. "I have been pondering about that, and I must say that the assassins would not draw attention to themselves that way. It would not be that obvious, not even to make us think that it wouldn't be that obvious when it was. Time and again we have all gone for the obvious." Katharine shakes her head. "I think that it can't be Sir Peterson and probably not even Wil. On the other hand, if Wil doesn't explain to us what it is he thinks he knows, I may have to begin suspecting him."

"Two more deaths!" sobbed Katharine to no one in particular. "I don't care what kind of scandal they think they're avoiding, it's not worth it. They should send for the police immediately and quarantine us all." If anyone thought to look closely at her glass, they would notice that Katharine had allowed herself into the rhubarb wine after all. Five deaths in three days was clearly too much for her to handle. "Can't trust anybody anymore... everyone suspicious and testy... No one can see the clues right in front of them, either, and keeping it to themselves when they do. Oh.... God help us all!"

I loved it. It made me immensely interested in the family and the background that you presented, and it made me cry (at least tearful) at the sad spots. I got very wrapped up in the story and although I did get a little confused trying to piece together everyone's relations to each other at first, I don't think it detracted from the piece. For example, in the first section I was trying to figure out how old all these people were supposed to be, and then whose funeral it was, and then how he had died. But it made me want to keep reading. I also like your style of prose. I can't think of a proper way to describe what I like about it. I feel a sort of intimacy with the protagonist at the same time the writing seems detached... whatever it is, I liked it. I look forward to reading more from you.

Katharine nodded her head. "Yes, at least Mr. Norfolk will be safe from the rest of us. But I think that there are some of us here who know information that they will not share." The elderly lady turned to Wil. "Forgive me for prying, Wil, but you've got a look in your eyes like the one you always used to get on days that your homework sat in your bag all night. I know it, and it means you've made up your mind to hide something. I also know that you're not a bad enough sort to have anything to do with all of this, so you'd better be out with whatever it is you think you know before people start suspecting you just for that look."

Katharine is at the girl's side, trying to help her regain consciousness. "All I can say is that I think it must be someone with something to gain. Very few people here could gain anything from it, but among them are the nobles, who might feel that the family is some sort of competition. Among those, you seem the least stable, in personality as well as position. I'm sorry, Lady Galanodel. I guess it's mostly just a hunch, perhaps I should not have spoken it out loud. But even with all you say, I see no one more likely among us. Please wake up."

"Good" endings are a matter of opinion - I think this would make a great story. You had me worried when you said it didn't end, but it does, very completely. Call me morbid, but I think you should dress this up a little more and post it as a story in the Assembly room. You've been blessed with this awesome inspirational dream - use it! If you don't want to, may I? All it needs is a little character development, some locational refinement & description, and ... that's it. I think that's all it needs .

"It is so very difficult to know what is going on. But I find it in my nature to try to solve the puzzle. The American... if it was a clever ruse, then it has partially pulled me in. I still don't know who would be capable of murdering either Sir Garnavon or his daughter, but it is clearly someone with a vendetta against the family itself. Mr. Doyle has no such motive. He went into the room, but he made it quite obvious. Would he ask us all to search the room, then failing that, go in full view of us all, to steal an object from the room which he would later use to commit another murder? Especially after seeing how we all jumped to accusing Mr. Cuthbert for an obvious connection. Perhaps he thought he would use our guilt in coming to that conclusion against us; but surely a wily killer would rather keep all attention off of himself." Katharine looked carefully around the room. "Lady Galanodel, you spoke well yesterday, but then someone with your background is trained to speak well. Especially given time to practice your own defense. Perhaps you hired Mr. Cooper; perhaps you hired someone else. I still think that you are the only one in the room with the motive against the family as well as the lack of respect for others that it would have taken to go through with murder. Forgive me, but I rather suspect you had something to do with all of this." OOC: Elwen - Lady Emily Galanodel

"Good morning Ms. Christie." Katharine takes in the clues of drunkenness somewhat distastefully, but notes her own strong desire at the moment for some good rhubarb wine. Spying Marcus coming toward them, she decides not to indulge. "It sure has been an eventful couple of days. I can't understand why the assassin would still be killing, surely they would want to lay low." Voice dipping a little, Katharine cannot resist adding, "Someone with the temperament of the American might not, though. Perhaps he is smarter than he looks. He sides with the chemist, knowing Dr. Watson will soon rule out his involvement. Once Dr. Cuthbert is deemed innocent, we all assume that his largest supporter was, too." "I am smarter than I look, Mrs. Horton," grins Edwyn, striding toward her. "But perhaps that is only in contrast to someone who knows there is a murderer around and still gossips to anybody who will listen." Abashed, Katharine looks down. "We must help Dr. Watson as much as we can. If we all work together to figure out who could have done it, perhaps more evidence - proper evidence - will arise."

The Breath of a Tree The magnificence of a tree, In all its splendour... How can such a thing be? So might yet so tender. Some have been growing For hundreds of years. They are strong and all-knowing, Yet know no fears. Some trees are tiny still, When compared to their mothers. But grow up, they will, And they'll rival the others. Some are old and withered, Their barks a proof of age. Still, no one dares draw hither, Fearful of their pow'r and rage. A sick tree moans sadly, An axe in its side. It must be hurt badly - Not its trunk, but its pride. Every tree is different, Every branch unique. Of any weakness, no hint, Is it knowledge that they seek? The sun sets behind a hill, Basking the forest in night. All goes quiet, all is still. Something's wrong, yet all is right. Silently a figure Steps out from a shadow. Then out comes another, Soon the forest is full. One figure is small, His growth not yet done. But he's quicker than them all, His walk is faster than their run. Another walks with a cane, Her hair a shade of white. But while some things wane, Wisdom doesn't lose its might. A third clutches at a wound, Unable even to walk. It might seem that he is doomed, But he's not that easy to balk. Every one, as you can see, Is powerful and rare. In their manner is the key, Mighty as the eagle, humble as the hare.

The Unwritten Story The spirit shivers in the chill, The cold blows right through its heart. Yet what is there, no skin, no hair, A soul like an uncast part. It huddles in the corner, Trying to forget what is past. How did it die? When, and why? What made that moment its last? It looks at you, its face forlorn, Seeing beyond what can be seen. It closes its eyes, looks down and sighs, Thinking of what it had been. As the soul stops and remembers, Its eyes take on a look that could kill. They focus past you, but on what, or who? And time seems to pause and stand still. The mem'ry done, it turns to leave, Giving you one last look. What could you say, not to scare it away, But to ask 'bout the years that Time took? In the moments you pause, The wind howls and blows. The ghost, like a yawn, is away and gone, To a place of which nobody knows. Many years later you ponder, Unsure that it wasn't a dream. But not many things are, up close or afar, Quite just as much as they seem.

As We Travel East The roar of the plane, As it goes down the runway. The zoom as it passes you, Then soars like a blue-jay. ...Take your seats, now, passengers. The plane will leave the ground shortly. Be sure to buckle up, and our first in-flight meal will be served in two hours.... The engines are functioning, The gas tank is full. Compass pointing due East, The flight is verging on dull. ...If you'll look to your right, you can see, way in the distance, Jamaica and all the islands around it. You're in for a treat today, as flight plans have changed slightly and we'll soon be passing through the infamous Bermuda Triangle.... Somewhere on the plane, A passenger sits up straight. The fateful words are a shock, There isn't any time to wait. ...We're in for a long ride, now. Eight more hours across the ocean and not much to look at. You may take off your seatbelts if you wish, and walk around, and... hey ma'am, you shouldn't be up here.... The woman is frantic, Sure that they will all die. The pilot is calm, He knows they'll be fine. The engines are working, The gas tank almost full. Compass pointing straight East, As they fly over a seagull. But the woman, she knows best. She's heard every story. She know's they're going to crash, They're going to be sorry. The engines, they're fine, There's a full tank of gas. But the compass, it's moving, Are they now going to crash? The woman, she screams, As she faints on the rug. The pilot turns to the steward, And says with a shrug: ...We're flying at 1400 feet and everything is going normally. We have just passed the Triangle and are completing a turn. We go North-East now, toward Europe....

I wrote this a few years ago, but I thought maybe by posting a few old poems here, I could get into the poetry style again enough to write some new ones. For anyone who saw my Writing Exchange a while back (please don't look it up) you'll know that my recent attempts have been pretty horrible. So... The Deed of Quath The sound of hoofbeats echo in the air, As the horse trods down the path. The flank of the horse is totally bare, Despite the armour worn by Quath. Quath the knight sits on his steed, Looking full of mirth. He rides into battle without any need Just to prove his worth. Many a rumour had circled the town 'Bout a dragon, big and strong. Quath, feeling bored and a little down, Jumps on his horse and sings a song. "I'm going down into the valley, Gonna hunt me down some dragon meat. I don't care that he's ugly and smelly, 'Cause I'm the knight that can't be beat!" As the pair rounds a curve in the road They spy something big and dark green. Quath jumps and rids the horse of its load, And the look on his face becomes keen. A fight enues between dragon and man, It's quite a magnificent quarrel. To get out of the way, everyone ran, Even his trustworthy sorrel. In the last moments of fighting, Quath got a lucky break. He distacts the beast by biting And makes the dragon's heart ache. The dragon spins round, Quath thrusts his sword in its heart. Its fall shakes the ground, Breaking three trees apart. Quath stands there, real proud, Looking down at his deed. His horse's sign is bowed, A fateful sign he does not heed. The horse knew more than Quath About that dragon so lean. Not about friends and their wrath But the fact this dragon wasn't mean. The creature was killed for no reason at all, It had fought only to live. Quath knew naught, standing tall and proud, Uncaring what the dragon had had to give.

Wyvern: I enjoyed the show as much as I did last week (which is approximately immensely ), but I'd like to note: in my opinion, it could be even better if you spent a little more time each show talking, about why you picked a track, or like a certain group, or anything. It would just add a little identity to the stream of music, making it more uniquely your own. Just a humble suggestion. I don't know if anyone else feels the same.

I'd like to add my good luck wishes. *carts in two trucks full of cardboard boxes, full of hope, but light as ... well, cardboard boxes*

I'm not sure if I should venture my own guesses on the subject because I've been trying to figure out what exactly it is I feel for a while now - I think that I'm in love, but the whole image of love is hard to whittle down to what I feel. Instead I'd like to add my own subquestions: Isn't wanting to do things for other people also a personality thing, meaning that a greedy person would rarely feel it, and a generous person would feel it for lots of people? Does that mean that loving someone might just be liking them, liking being with them, knowing that you could be with them your whole life, and being willing to put in the effort to do so? Also knowing that a person challenges you to be better? Or is it possible that by finding someone you "only" feel that about might be risking finding a real-life version of the romanticized love? The media claim that "you'll know it when you feel it" but I don't think that's true. I've never been certain of anything, so how could love be obvious? Why would anybody risk something as great as the above just because there might be something better? And if there was something better, wouldn't it be cruel to the person you were with to stay with them? I guess what I'm saying is, I have a guess, and I wish I knew for sure that it was right.

Horrified by the day's events, Katharine knelt and said a prayer for the two men before excusing herself. Two deaths in one day was more than she could stand. In passing she spoke to Marcus, telling him to have faith, that God knew what he was doing even if they didn't, and that there was a clean bed set up for him if he decided to stay at her place when he was ready to come home. "Just don't be noisy when you come in," she said with a smile, trying to add some humour to the day's dour events. Then she turned without waiting to see if he'd follow, already lost in her own thoughts. Gossip and accusations were flying everywhere, suspicion on everybody's lips. Marcus would be an easy target for many, and some were probably suspicious of herself. It was hard to know whom she could trust. Someone, after all, had killed Sir Garnavon, and no one was beneath suspicision, with the possible exception of Dr. Watson alone. Edit: fixing titles (as in Mr. -> Dr.)

Two questions: Are we to assume that all of the characters now know of Dean's innocence? And, does "no accusations" prohibit idle accusatory gossip, or just actual votes? (I imagine the former, and thus will refrain from it, but I'd like to be more clear on that).

Katharine was at the point of just shaking her head. "You make some good points when calm, Mr. Cooper. I really begin to change my mind. But Mr. Cuthbert's actions have thrown me into total confusion. What makes you each so vehement to protect the other that you'd offer your own deaths, unless you know something that we do not? Sure, the needle could have been put there to frame Mr. Cuthbert, but it could also have been put there to make it look like someone was framing him. That line of reasoning makes the so-called clue worthless. Your actions upon his accusation, and his upon yours, somehow ring wrong to me. I cannot say that I know anything about you, nor about a lot of the people in this room. For all I know, you all were in on it. For all any of you knows, myself and the rest were in on it. Only the guilty party knows otherwise, and nothing can be satisfactorily deduced or we wouldn't be arguing about it. All I know at this point, after everyone's excellent defences, is that my gut tells me there's more to you and he than meets the eye." OOC: my vote stands. And I probably won't be able to post for another 18 hours. If someone needs to control Katharine a little, go ahead. She's confused but holding firm.

Well, I must say I'm enjoying the stories so far. But, with three people (four if Tam ever gets a post in (I'm allowed to bug him, I know him in RL )) I'm not sure that this can get very far. I'd like to have five or six before starting. But, if no one else joins and the three of you still are interested, we could try. If all else fails, I could join too but I'm not sure if the mod participating is such a great idea..

"The butler said it well. We should be trying to use our brains. I hope we are all finished trying to provoke everyone else." Katharine glances at Edwyn but only for a moment. "Mr. Cooper claimed to be trying to provoke us into thinking. Well, I'm all for reason. What is your reasoning behind accusing Mr. Doyle? And Mr. Cuthbert, why do you suspect the butler? We are all in a mess, but I do hope we can sort this out before Mr. Holmes gets here, and I'm sure that will be presently. I really doubt we need to all become murderers to do it, either. That's probably exactly what the killer wants."

Katharine is visibly taken aback by Edwyn's remarks. "Mr. Cooper, I am shocked! No one has said anything about killing the poor chemist. Obviously you are much too used to this being a method of solving problems. I was just saying that of all the people in this room, it certainly looks to me like you had the means at your disposal. I'm sorry if I've offended you, but it was just speculation. If we don't keep our minds busy with something else in these terrible times, we might all go crazy. You yourself have made idle accusations." The elderly woman pauses for breath, but not long enough to give Edwyn a chance to respond just yet. "Which, by the way, was not the reason given by any of us for suspecting you. Ms. Christie mentioned that you spoke poorly of Sir Garnavon, and Sir Peterson was concerned about your origins - not that I think it's a good reason for suspecting someone, but valid given that most of us know each other's personality very well. Which brings me to your attack on "our butcher". Marcus would never hurt anybody! He took up that profession as a way to make money only. As for killing people for a living, no amount of money excuses that in my mind." Finished her spiel, Katharine looks patiently at Edwyn for his reply.

"My original thought still holds my attention," pronounced Katharine. "The Lady has good spoken well in her own defense, but I still think that there is only one with the proven ability to kill, even if the manners do differ. As for the chemist, I am surprised at you Marcus. Why would someone who openly deals with chemicals murder someone in such an obvious manner? Especially since clear and non-detectable poisons must abound in number, and one could have been slipped into his drink, no one suspecting murder at all. I thought I taught you better to use your mind. Probably it was an attempt to make someone else look guilty, but I won't believe it." OOC: Vote for Eyremon - Edwyn Cooper Editted to make vote clearer.

OOC: It won't be all that much longer that I need to have a new topic for it. Besides, I can't create a new topic in that room. At any rate I'd like to have it all right here. Rekkle was, understandably, very angry. Not only had some of his chemicals gone missing overnight, but so had Greeb, his kindly gnome guard. Sure, Greeb was a little clumsy, but his speed more than made up for it. No one could catch him. How then had someone gotten away? Was Greeb still alive? And how could Rekkle track the thief? Surely if Greeb had followed someone (and he certainly would have caught them and returned by now) then he would have left behind some sign. Rekkle had no experience reading tracks, but he made an attempt. He looked at all the marks in the dirt around his doorway and picked out the ones that diverged from directions he often went. Then he picked the largest ones, hoping that they weren't just some recent guest, and knowing that at least they weren't Greeb's footprints. It took Rekkle a few hours to make his way only a couple of blocks. He wasn't sure that he hadn't started following a different set of tracks at any point; four or five times, he had been forced to basically guess from two crossing sets. Not only that, but he had totally obscured the path, at least beyond his own limited recognition. Nothing for it but to just plug forward. Just then, though, he thought he heard a clanging sound over in the next street. Perhaps Greeb was locked up in there and trying to escape? Noting the general area he was in, even scuffing the dirt a little to make the location recognizable, Rekkle turned away. He was hoping against hope that this was not a false lead and if it were, he would be able to begin again from this spot. Easily tracking down the source of the sound, Rekkle finds that it is emanating from the basement of one of the houses on the street. Kneeling down near the window, he says in a slighly-over-a-whisper voice, "Greeb, is that you?" The clanging stops. "Is that my name?" Oh, dear. Rekkle was almost certain that he recognized the voice of the gnome. How had he lost his memory? "Your voice sounds like Greeb's. But why don't you know?" "Um. Wait, let me think about that for a second." Rekkle, confused, let the voice think. "I think... I do think that could be my name. It has a familiar sound. Tell me, what type of.. being.. was Greeb?" "What type of... do you mean, what race was he?" "Sure." "He was a gnome." "Hmm. Yes. Let me see if it can come back, now. I was a gnome..." Another long pause. "I could run very fast. And you must be... the chemist... Rekkle?" "That's right, Greeb. I'm going to help you out now." "I should warn you. Rekkle," the name was said unfamiliarily, "I'm not a gnome any more." "What are you?" "I'm... I think I'm a dagger. It's kind of dark in this bag. I think... he must have been a wizard." Oh, deary dear. He couldn't just rescue Greeb as it was, not with a wizard after them, and even if killing a wizard were easy, he couldn't just do that. How could they change Greeb back into a gnome without the wizard's cooperation? "How closely are you guarded, Greeb?" "I don't think I'm guarded at all. He seems to have left. I don't think he meant for me to keep my consciousness. Consciousness... something's coming back. Oh, yes. I blacked out just before he completed the spell. Maybe that's what saved me. I'm remembering you now, too, Rekkle. The chemical smell on your coat... my memory is coming back. Thank goodness you found me when you did. I was beginning to wonder if I was always a dagger. I think maybe the only thing that saved me was being in this bag - it's so dark, and at first I didn't know what I was at all. If I'd always been what I was, you'd think I'd know, just waking up in the dark. So even when I figured out I was a dagger I knew something was strange." "That's good, Greeb. Try hard not to forget again. In the meantime, we have to figure out how to get you out of here - and how to get you back to being a gnome." Rekkle managed to lift off the window and climb down into the basement. He was relieved to see that indeed, no guards had been set. Clearly the wizard had not expected Greeb to retain his intelligence. But they needed a plan for when the wizard came back, and they needed it pretty quickly. Rekkle helped Greeb out of the bag. Dagger it was. He lifted him up. A nice dagger. But poor Greeb, not being able to move or anything. And as quickly as that they heard a noise upstairs. Rekkle dropped Greeb in shock. OOC: One more should do it. Later though.

After the original group had dispersed, just a little later in the day, and it was already obvious that people were forming groups and gossiping quite readily. Katharine, never one to shy away from a good instructive dialogue, attempted to strike up a conversation with Gavin, who seemed like the most enlightened one here. "Well," she said, "I find I must wonder who around here could be capable of murder, and that Mr. Cooper certainly has the credentials for that. But how could he possibly have any motivation? Do you think this could be a team effort, Mr. Doyle? That someone may have hired him to do it? I cannot think of many around here who have reason to want him dead, but perhaps the young Lady Emily felt he was competition to her. She is very unpredictable. What do you think about all this, Mr. Doyle?" OOC: no guess yet.