Katzaniel

Erm... it's on its side if it's got 1 white wall and 3 green ones. Or rather, 2 opposing green ones and a green roof, with possibly stucco or tiling or something on the wall opposing the white one - and probably also white. Er. Yeah. PS. Somehow I suspect that introducing anything would do more harm than good. If we humans have learned anything from our multiple past mistakes, we should know that.

Teq watched his son as, through three days of travel, his spirits slowly sank. The man realized that Llassar had, until now, been altogether too excited about adventure, and that it was a good thing that reality was beginning to sink in. But he didn't want to see his son's weary eyes as he kissed him good-night, or to see his jaws set when he turned away from something interesting and suddenly remembered his mother. Teq almost wished that Llassar could keep his boyish innocence forever. The night the bandits attacked, Llassar regained some excitement. But though the fight was short, as the dozen or so skilled fighters made quick work of them, it caused two things. First, one of the non-fighters lost an arm, and he and his two friends realized that they were dangerous to themselves and the others. They took some of the provisions with them and headed back to Tel-Reth. Secondly, Llassar sustained an injury. Not a big one - it didn't even bleed - but it made him less able to move quickly, and made him less deluded about the nature of their adventure. Teq wrapped up his son's side, feeling his heart sink as Llassar grew grim. "I know that maybe I shouldn't be here either, dad. I see now that all this walking, and this fighting, I'm probably slowing you down too. But for mom's sake, I have to try, you see? I have to do what I can to avenge her." Of course Teq didn't want his Llassar in any danger, and he saw their surroundings and knew where they were headed. But neither could he send his son home, to scarred Tel-Reth, nor could he abandon his own need. His dear wife was dead because of this Gyrfalcon, and even if he died, too, he would die happy if it meant Gyrfalcon did not live. The thought of danger to his son slowed him down, made him worry, made him wonder if he was doing the right thing. But he could not conceive of giving up, and his own son's grief and determination made leaving him impossible. He had to watch over him as best he could, Teq decided, and they would grieve for Wellin together. Grieve, and destroy the evil man who had done this to them. He was still thinking that a few days later when the demons came again.

... And choice #2 is the winner. Many thanks to the writers, 1: Wyvern 2: Gyrfalcon Might as well start the auction right here. Your own "Beach" for geld 10, anyone?

And the winner is choice #1. Thanks go to: 1: Sweetcherrie 2: Quincunx In the interest of conserving space, I'll do the auctions in the same thread this year. So... 10 geld for the Library, anyone?

Choice #2 it is. The writers: 1: Wyvern 2: Katzaniel And... I suppose we could just as easily start the auction right here. Anyone for 10 geld?

Er... sorry if there's a double-post here but I think I closed the posting window. My PM box is full, and I don't have the time at the moment to remedy that, so I don't think I can recieve PMs. Plus I'm going away for 4 or 5 days tonight, internet access uncertain. Anyway, if you have something to add to this, please PM another guildleader (Patrick, Mynx, Gryphon, Mira, Cryptomancer) or other mod-type. Oh, and I guess I may not end the poll until I get back. Maybe. Don't count on that though.

If you're looking for the poll for the Beach of Silent Waves, you're in the right place. Rules are here if you need them. The descriptions follow.

If you're looking for the poll for Watcher's Hill, you're in the right place. Rules are here if you need them. The descriptions follow.

If you're looking for the poll for the Library of Lang-thii, you're in the right place. Rules are here if you need them. The descriptions follow.

Okay, I can't wait any longer. Those that PM'd me saying there's a description on the way: it's going to have to be late, after the start of the voting. The rules: The polls will be on for approximately a week. (Maybe more, but not less). Everyone and anyone who can read the descriptions may vote, but only once per poll. Decide which description was written the best, or the most amusing, or best describes a location that you would like to bid on at the auction, or any other criteria you wish. No changing of votes, please. When the week is up, we'll move on to the auctions. That's where everyone gets the chance to bid on the locations that won the polls. These locations may be used however you wish: during your date (the bachelorette auctions, or even later down the road...), as a week-end getaway for your character, as a challenge to overcome, as something in your origin, or more. We only hope that they provide good inspiration. Okay. Let the polls begin. (Questions may be directed here, please.)

OOC: Careful - this is my second post in close proximity. If you haven't read this for a while, make sure to read the above post first. IC: The deposed prince grows frustrated. He still has a great many contacts, and though they can describe these two strange people and their magical appearance in the city in detail, none of them can tell him anything of real importance about them. They apparently have some connection with his former band - but to what "Treme guy and his book" could they have been referring? Fer-tas is not one to grapple long with indecision. He will locate them himself, and he will question them. Perhaps they can be of mutual use to each other. And, if not, he can not be put far behind his current situation. The longer he stays in hiding, scared to face Ra'laerin, the less likely his claim will have merit. He has to do something. The vampire draws his blade, and without hesitation uses it to open a vein in his palm. He lets the blood drip into a smooth wooden bowl before closing his fist and sheathing the dagger again. With his other hand, he swishes the blood around, then fixes the picture of his quarry in his mind, and chants the words that will show them to him.... --------------------------------------------- Sardin had felt Katzaniel's life-force slip away, the same way he had felt the loss of each of the nomads that had been under his protection. The near-Shaman cannot properly feel sorrow, for he was not made to feel, but he is chafed by his inability once more to protect one whom he had sworn to protect. He is disinclined to worry about the book that they'd been sent to retrieve, because obviously something had gone wrong, probably the others could handle it on their own, and Scarlot would expect him to return... but how? Should he even go back? Sardin continues to feel the urge to protect, and so he does feel compelled to find his way back to the Pen. At the very least, its members should be made aware that they have lost one of their friends, a strong fighter and a guildleader as well. Furthermore, as a member of the Alliance of Vagabonds and Vanguards, Sardin can do a lot more good back there than here. And so he wanders the streets, looking for some clue that might lead him back home. --------------------------------------------- There. That building was the inn owned by Mikil, a Treme still loyal to himself. Fer-tas grabs his cell phone and asks his friend to detain the shaman. It isn't hard to describe the cloth and leather in which the man is dressed, and he gives his current speed and location as well. Within moments he is watching Mikil pull Sardin aside. Luckily, his only response is a nod before following the vampire into the inn. Hopefully the man will continue to co-operate as much. As Fer-tas hastens to his car, he allows himself to wonder why his magic can detect only one of the strangers. What has happened to the morph? If he has died, then his body should have appeared. So Fer-tas concludes that either the half-man has gone back to his own world, or is somehow being protected from his spell. When he arrived at the inn, Mikil gladly handed over his charge and lent them a room. "Creepy bugger," he whispered to his liege, "Won't say a word to me. I wish you luck in getting some use of him." Silent, was he? Fer-tas ponders that, includes it in his calculations of how best to approach the man. He is clearly not unco-operative, as he follows with a mild curiosity on his face, and sits down in the chair that Fer-tas offers him. "As I hope you can see, friend, I mean you no harm. I only have hope that we can help each other. Perhaps, toward that end, you can tell me something of what you want from the Treme?" Sardin shakes his head, sadness registering on his face. He holds up two fingers, then uses his other hand to show one being knocked down. With the remaining finger, he points at himself. Then he shrugs, shakes his head again, and makes a gesture with his thumb pointing over his shoulder. "Your friend is gone? Back home?" The tan-clad man shakes his head again, and repeats the cutting-down signal. "Dead?" A nod. "No, not dead, my friend. If he were dead, then the magic that had shown you to me would have shown me his body." Sardin's brow furrows. He shakes his head adamantly. Dead, he is saying. I know that he's dead. He waits a moment, then repeats the thumb sign. I just want to go home. "How? A fight with the Treme?" Another nod. "They have magic, you know. Perhaps they did something to make you think your friend was killed?" Less certainty. Fer-tas ploughs in. "They must have captured him, then. Warded him. You want him back, right?" Of course. Uncertain, still - I wonder why he's so sure that he's dead? - but concession. Doubt clouded Fer-tas for a moment. Perhaps he had done the spell wrong? Perhaps his contact had improperly described the morph, making it impossible for him to find him? Perhaps the man was dead. "Look, I don't know what you know. And I guess I can't guarantee that your friend is alive. Maybe they only warded the body. Maybe my spell went amiss. But I think there's a good chance that he is ... and even if not, I can still help you. You want to get back to your world, right?" Agreement. "I have magic that can accomplish that. If I tell you where the Treme hideout is, will you go there for me? Find out some information if you can? Get you friend, if he's still alive. And then return to me, and I'll send you home." Hesitation, then a final nod. Fer-tas leans closer and details his desires to the stranger. He can only hope that he won't be betrayed. Edit: Tense.

OOC: Uh.. Wyvern... the character Katzaniel is still away on that old AVV mission, and not exactly as you remember her.... I'd appreciate it if no one uses her until she returns. Anyway, sorry for the misunderstanding. I guess I'll just have to go back to finding it amusing. PS. I'm sorry if this sounds terse. I just can't think of any way to answer this IC, so I'm resorting to OOC for now. I'll let you get back to your extortions...

Aniel's breath sounds loud in his ears as the men enter the alley. He closes his mouth, discovers that he can breath through his nose, and then ponders the potential for quieting the beating of his heart. Odd, how I'm remembering things. Breathing should be natural - I must already have been doing it - and yet I had to think about before I realized I could breath through either mouth or nose. He looks at his hands, awed by the spiderweb of fine lines running down them. I may move my limbs, even walk, but my own skin is foreign to me. I swear by my god, but remember nothing beyond his name. And then I can't even remember my own name. The witch-doctor's reverie is broken by the voices of the newly arrived group. "Damn. Guess we gotta deal with the bodies, then." "Wonder how they died? Those freaks must be tougher than they sounded - and Ra'laerin won't exactly be pleased. Looks like the whole troupe didn't even manage to bring down one of them." "I suppose we'll have to be the ones to bring the news to him." "Yes, Xoam, and the sooner the better! Ma-kir'n, cast a distintegrate spell on the corpses. Since that takes a while to complete, Xoam, gather up anything that identifies these as Treme. I'll take care of the keep-away." "Yessir." The next sounds are footfalls, though thankfully none close to the garbage bin, and melodic muttering. Twice Aniel is alarmed by the sound of a dagger being unsheathed, but none of the vampires seems to have any idea that he is there, and shortly after a grey mist fills the air around him, Aniel can hear them leaving. He waits a moment and then darts out. Instinct tells him that he needs to get a tooth from one of the bodies. I have magic that can use that tooth for something, he thinks, I suppose that's why I wear a necklace of teeth. I wonder what I do with them? He kneels by one and tugs, cursing by the name of Ya'rr that it is so difficult, but securing one nevertheless. He casts about for something on the clothing that might allow himself to pass as a vampire if need be, but Xoam had done his task well. There were no badges, no identification at all. To the casual passerby, each of the corpses could just as easily have been human. He glances down at his own body - and realizes for the first time that he is wearing nothing but a loincloth. Well, normal human clothing would serve him just as well, then. He quickly strips the corpse and dresses. By that time, the keep-away spell is starting to have an effect, and Aniel is feeling the inexplicable urge to leave the area. He knows why the urge assails him, but it seems like a good idea anyway. And he has moved relatively fast - perhaps it isn't too late to see which way the vampires have gone, and follow them. It may be useful to know the location of their hideout. Shaking his head clear of the smoke that is thickening around his head, Aniel trots out into the street. Unfortunately, he trots right into the view of three men who, after observing their expressions, he determines to be the three vampires that had just left. He realizes that they must have waited to make sure their spell was working. Trying not to show that anything is up, he looks away and continues forward. Within a moment they are crowding him, though, one with a hand on his shoulder and another clasping his wrist, and all so close that he has no room to maneouver. "And who might you be?" one of them sneers. "The human? Why are you still here, and where's your friend?" "What do you mean?" Aniel stutters, unsure how to respond. "Oh, don't be a fool. You'll only make this more difficult for yourself." The hand around his wrist tightens, and Aniel winces with the pain. He cries out, pain of any sort seeming a new sensation. The vampires exchange glances, and the witch-doctor finds himself being steered into a second alleyway. He tries to resist, even tries crying out again, but most of the passersby ignore him. Only once glances toward the group, and him furtively, before deciding not to interfere, and scurrying away. Aniel is thrown to the ground. Immediately, one of the men crouches and ties his hands behind his back, then forces him down again and kneels on his chest. Looking into the man's thin black mustache and beady brown eyes, Aniel finds breath hard to come by, and chokes out the words, "What do you want with me?" It is an honest enough question, for even if were willing to concede to them that he was one of the "freaks" that they had mentioned, he still didn't know what they were after. The mustached one shrugs. "Information. Since you're obviously going to be difficult about this, you can start with why you were in that alley." "I was drinking," Aniel starts to say, but the weight on his chest is bearing down. He can feel his bound hands digging into his back, and the cords on his wrists cutting into his skin. He gasps a breath. "In an alley full of corpses?" "I ... I didn't...." A slap across the face brings a streak of darkness across his vision. More pain. "Answer me, goddammit! Who are you?" "I...." The darkness comes again, this time bringing silver dots, and a second streak, white inside of black. The vampire on his chest punches Aniel heavily on the cheek. Breath... Need to breathe.... What is all this searing pain? He coughs once more and passes out.

OOC: How easy is it, really, to have read everything in all of the booths during the carnival? As hilarious as it is that you've managed to find a "loophole" (and I laughed for some time), I've thought about it and come to the conclusion that I don't even mind that loophole being exploited. I'm sure there's a few people around here who could judge between the booths, and they probably all deserve 50 geld. (Not that I would know whether or not they had, personally, since I certainly haven't managed the feat myself)...

IC (Spik from unfinished novel of the same name): A room? In a portable hole? Now, this was an interesting concept! I thought I'd seen everything after that whole illusion-escapade, but this... pretty slash. I could put my whole wardrobe in there, complete with make-up and wigs and whatnot. It would allow me to be anyone, anywhere, and without the use of the illusions. What more could any aspiring actor / adventurer need? OOC: 40 geld.

I could put up 10 geld for that. In fact, I'll put up 15.

I was going to put up the auctions today. But there wouldn't be much of an auction, what with 2 descriptions covering three locations. Any input on any of the three places would be greatly appreciated, but the second location especially since it happens to be the one lacking anything. If you've been considering sending something, please do it! I didn't mean to imply that you have to cover all or even most of the areas listed, by the way, those are only for inspiration, really, or to help those who want to be really complete. Leaving things out only means that the buyer can use their imagination a bit, which is perfectly okay. So don't be turned away just because you can't think of very much to say. PS. Thanks to those who have participated. Your time is appreciated.

So you're getting your taste of item bidding from Sweetcherrie's Item Auction booth. But what about your taste of describing the items and voting on which one fits the name? This year, since the theme is travelling and locations, we're giving you three places to describe. Read the names, let your imagination go wild, and PM me (please put Location Auction or some such somewhere in the subject) with anything that you think up that can fit the given name. You may write for all or none or anywhere in between. If you have more than one description for a given name, that's okay too. I will wait about one week and then start the polls. If you want to submit a description late, then fine, but no changing of votes will be allowed. I'll describe the voting process further once we start that, but for now, just read the names and submit a description. The Library of Lang-thii The Beach of Silent Waves Watcher's Hill Things you may want to cover: Outdoors: History, inhabitants (culture, language, etc), plants, animals, weather, reputation, geography, surrounding area Indoors: Location Both: All five senses What's it look like? Any interesting smells? And so forth.

I would tend to agree that "stacking" of anything is something to stay away from. Of course it's different for everyone, because everyone finds different things easy and different things hard. I know you mean no harm and are only trying to ask who of us finds which things easy, but it's too easily misunderstood as classifying one thing as more important, or those who do it as more skilled. It reminds me of the generally accepted stacking at my university: so many people think, for example, that engineering is harder than art, but most engineers find art just as difficult as any artist would find engineering. I happen to live in both worlds, I can write in English and in Java, but then again I know if I'd tried to study biology I'd have flunked out pretty quickly. Anyway, what I'm saying is that I always get annoyed with people who look down on the artists, or any other discipline, because it's different for everyone. Again, I doubt that you're trying to say that lyricists are useless, or that nearly anyone can do it. But tread carefully, because your words can be interpreted that way, and besides, how many of us have really tried each of those things enough to make an accurate stacking, even for ourselves? I just doubt that this conversation can go on much longer before someone, either poet or short story / novelist or otherwise, gets seriously offended because someone else said that their area of writing was easier than their own, whether that was the intention or not.