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.

Summary:

 

The Beach of Silent Waves is not, in fact, a beach, but is instead a lonely mountaintop in the middle of a Plane of Air, the gentle movements of the constant winds hissing across the mountain, teasing the snowdrifts and causing the ever-present clouds to lap back and forth, advancing and retreating like the ocean waves, covering the lower flanks of the mountain.

 

Full:

 

The Beach of Silent Waves was created by an eccentric wizard, one who desired the solitude of a hermit to leave him the peace to continue his research and studies unimpeded by outside contact. He moved further and further away from civilization, but no matter how far he went, adventurers and curiosity-seekers followed him, drawn by the lure of his immense knowledge and desiring his guidance.

 

Eventually, he settled himself on the forlorn peak of a far away mountain, and bent his mind to his greatest research - finding a way to separate himself from humanity for the rest of time. Despite his remote location, visitors still arrived, interrupting his concentration as he worked on his delicate magic.

 

Finally, his greatest piece of research was complete, and as another band of do-gooders approached the mountain with more inane questions, he smiled a serene smile as his spell took effect and most of the mountain disappeared, leaving behind a crater and his staff of power, steaming at the bottom. The heroes took the staff with them, never guessing as to its new purpose.

 

The staff is the portal to the Beach of Silent Waves. By holding it thrust forward and shaking it vigorously and chanting the phrase 'Darn whippersnappers, leave me alone already!' the portal is opened, taking you to the Beach of Silent Waves.

 

There is a cave midway up the mountain that the portal deposits you in. This is the remains of the hermit's cave, and various artifacts of his life are scattered around the cave, from an old pile of blankets to various bits of broken crockery. Of the old wizard himself, there is no sign. Perhaps once the portal was found, he moved on to another place, but no one really knows.

 

Once you leave the cave, The Beach of Silent Waves resembles a normal mountain, though among the lower clouds it eventually cuts off cleanly, and stepping off the side would leave one falling endlessly through the Plane of Air, though given the dimension's small reach, you will eventually fall past the Beach of Silent Waves and might be able to guide your way back towards it, though impact after building up enough speed would be painful or fatal.

 

In the new plane the wizard had created, the mountain floats in midair, surrounded by clouds and with bright sun shining down, though occasionally the sun is obscured by a passing snowstorm, depositing more fresh snow on the mountain peak. The Beach of Silent Waves has four seasons - a short spring and summer, a longer fall, and then a long winter, much like any normal mountain. During the spring and summer, the sun shines more brightly and the snow turns to rain, feeding the spring grasses and causing fields of brightly colored, aromatic flowers to bloom. In the fall the leaves of the few deciduous trees turn golden and orange and then fall, while the evergreens remain green throughout.

 

A mostly evergreen forest carpets the lower reaches of the Beach of Silent Waves, with the clouds hiding the lowest reaches. Above the tree-line are meadows and slopes with vibrant green grass in the spring and summer, splashed with the colors of countless wildflowers. In the winter, the slopes give way to endless expanses of pristine white.

 

There is a population of squirrels and rabbits, along with a small herd of deer that has continued to breed true and a small wolf pack that regulates the local herbivores. There are also a number of jays, bluebirds, woodpeckers and other small birds, as well as a small colony of owls. Near one of the lower outcroppings is an eagle's nest, with its unfortunate prior occupant's bones collapsed in a heap within it, the remains of the only a solitary eagle having made the transition with the mountain.

 

The Beach of Silent Waves makes an excellent place to get away from it all, somewhere to enjoy the peace and solitude of nature without interruption, and it is also a great place to go hiking in the summer and fall, or skiing in the winter.

"You knew. Always."

 

Her eyes turned towards the ground as he spoke, watching a tiny crab as it struggled its way out of a grey dune. The crashing waves seemed to fade to faint echoes as she raised her hand to the copper conchshell that hung around her neck. The grains of sand itched beneath the fabric of her flowing beige dress, speckling it from the patterned bodice to the hem. The Ocean tides were receding.

 

"I can't."

 

The crab limped its way across the sand with five legs, trailing over imprints from where they had rolled earlier, across each other, the fabric catching sand through caresses. His shadow stretched over the crab's path as he turned, and she knew then that it would never find the Ocean. It would circle endlessly before drowning in sand.

 

"And you know."

 

She heard his steps on the sand, but waited until he was gone before accepting his words. The roll of the waves was thunderous under the last specks of Sun, and his lasting silhouette had vanished. She raised her hand in silence, and waved.

 

Asferes' Outskirts, also known as the Beach of Silent Waves, is located on the small isle of Asferes, a thirty minute boatride North of New Ferrin in the Tri-Nation. The beach has gathered fog since its early days of hosting romantic retreats, but still has a luring atmosphere of mystery that draws travelers. It's rumored that many lovers have spent their last night of passion there before departing from one another, a tradition that began after the tragedy of the "conchshell maiden" who drowned herself in the Ocean. It is said that if you look close enough, you can still see her phantom waving silently through the banks of fog, tiny crabs flowing out of her eyes and ears.

 

A mute Pen Portal leads directly to the shoreline of the haunted beach, and opens only to couples.

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.

Watcher's Hill is located directly to the east of the small town of Rockwell, so named because it was original little more than a well beside the hill. The townfolk of Rockwell are much like every other small town scattered around this world: detached from the larger section of commerce, they pride themselves on being self-sufficient. They have a school, a police and fire station, a hospital, a hotel, a grocer's, a cafe, even a library. It's smaller than the average town, but because it's the only one for miles around, the townspeople have to work hard to cover all the responsibilities that sustain themselves.

 

The people of Rockwell are also much like the stereotypical small-town people in that they like to gossip. One such topic of conversation recently has been the man they dubbed "Watcher". One day he just showed up, built a cottage on the hill, and began watching them. He deterred all attempts at being friendly, not speaking a word and generally just ignoring anything that was said to him. Nevertheless he appeared most mornings in the window facing the village, not speaking, not moving, just observing. The townsfolk threw out many speculations as to his behaviour, but never came up with a reason that satisfied them. They kept speculating even when, years after first arriving, he stopped appearing in the window. Eventually they switched to wondering why he'd stopped. It took them a long time to realize that he must have passed away.

 

When the people of Rockwell invaded Watcher's cottage, they found a plethora of watching instruments: binoculars, telescopes, even microscopes, and a large number of magical tools, mostly unidentified. Among the ones they recognized was a crystal ball - and they realized that Watcher had watched them even when they were in their homes.

 

They also found a bound notebook that contained detailed accounts of everything they did, from eating to talking to using the washroom. From it, a careful reader might discern the way in which Watcher used his magical equipment, and possibly make some use of some of it. The townsfolk tried to burn the book, but it would neither take the fire nor suffer to be torn or cut in any way.

 

The weirdest thing, of course, is that they never found a body.

Binoculars, telescopes, magnifying glasses, used security cameras... these are only a few of the components that form the majestic heights of Watcher's Hill. Standing over a hundred miles West of the Pen Keep, this famous pile of rubble is always visible to the naked eye, regardless of weather. The Hill is made entirely out of scrapped visual devices, and stretches upwards at an easy-to-climb angle. It hosts the Sang-thii Observatory at its peak, and offers a magnificent view of the Starlad Forest and Mirki's Marshlands. The rubble is easy to climb, with a sturdy staircase of telescopes ascending to its top... no elevators, sorry. The Sang-thii Observatory is open for touring on Fridays and Saturdays, with the small fee of two geld and a mandatory vision test.

 

"An eyeful of a tower." - 8.5/10, The National Onlooker

 

Watcher's Hill is a manmade monument that formed naturally over the course of many years. It first began to be built when Sang-thii, the lesser known sibling of Lang-thii, decided to build his own Observatory under the pretense of wishing to "find a pie in the sky." It was later discovered that Sang-thii's true intentions were to spy on the Calzoo Observatory to the far East, in the hopes of stealing the genius astronomical discoveries of Master Calzoo and claiming them as his own. With them, Sang-thii hoped to become rich and famous, and to purchase a lifetime supply of giant bananacream pies. Unfortunately, he found it difficult to create a spying device strong enough to reach even Calzoo's Observatory, and one after the other his experiments were discarded. Watcher's Hill stands as a testament to Sang-thii's steadfast, hardheaded perseverence.

 

"Vacationing? ... spies had better keep an eye out for this one." - **** stars, Sightseeing Weekly

 

So come on down to Watcher's Hill - 'Where you ain't seen nothing yet!'™

 

"The bananacream pie served on the Observatory tour was to die for." - Reader's Indigestion

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.

The suction through the sandy floor tugs on your body with all the gravity of a second planet; it's easier to lie down than to walk and disturb the entries in the Library of Lang-thi. Lie down, and all your hair and loose adornments slide down into the sand, along with any sweat and scent. You will feel cleaner than you did after the pre-entry bath and change of clothes and not even mind that the suction has already erased your footsteps from the sand. Look up once you become comfortable, and already one transparent crane will be unfolding its joints and lowering to you an oval suspended on a thread of spider silk. Perhaps it is large, perhaps small, if your mouth is not shaped like mine, but you will take the sensor into your mouth and think of your subject; the subconscious motion of your tongue, the flow and content of your saliva, will tell the Librarian what it needs to know. The Librarian tugs on the thread when it has enough information, and when you let go of the sensor, it spools back up into the ceiling and the confusion of glassy, jointed limbs. Another will descend; take that into your mouth, and it will flood your mouth with taste. No other reference in all the worlds has such a taste library as Lang-thi.

 

Lang-thi had no native, intelligent life; it was a planet of giant reptiles. Interstellar speculators turned the planet into an exotic safari tour and imported primitive intelligent life for versimilitude. While the rich hunted dinosaurs, the imported tribes fanned out into the wilderness and fought against the non-dinosaur populations. Some tribes died out when a species of venomous spider began to prey on them exclusively; another set of tribes ate cocoons of those spiders, and learned from the taste which other meats were available in the area. In time, the dinosaurs were hunted to extinction, and Lang-thi's ecosystem began to unravel. Devoid of minerals, too distant for factories, empty of promising farm land--the interstellar speculators wondered what could entice people to travel to Lang-thi. They decided upon knowledge, and enticed researchers to the planet with rumors. Most of the speculators didn't care for the anthropology reports, but one unfortunate researcher coined the phrase "taste library" for the cocoon-eating habit; the speculators detained him for thirty years, until the cultured spider population had been conditioned to produce cocoons on demand. The Library was open.

Bamboo waves softly in the wind, and in between their whisper a soft whistle can be heard as the wind catches a half-open sprout. Water babbles calmly under the wooden bridges, and the high trees cast long shades on this late autumn afternoon in the library of Lang-Thii.

 

Clouds roll through the open skies and alternately the library is bathing in clear sunlight or darkening slightly under the white shapes passing through the otherwise clear blue sky. The air carries a faint scent of freshly mowed grass and lavender and, although the sun is warm, it gently kisses the faces of those around.

 

Birds chatter merrily, and their songs mix with the whispering of turned pages. Scriptors and students can be seen studying the texts of the ancient tomes on the grass, on one of the many terraces, or simply standing at the immense archive in the centre of the library.

 

Since its creation this place has served as a library for the spirit world. The spirits of men and women of all races and cultures meet each other to discuss the ancient wisdom of the gods. Here they find the peace to finally learn about accepting each other regardless of who they were, or what they believed during their lives.

 

Not only adults are seen reading books on the soft grass of the meadows, also the enlightened spirits of children rest here to enjoy this haven of knowledge. Close by a butterfly can be seen landing on a little girl’s nose, and she turns her eyes inwards to look at it. A woman smiles at the child’s expression, and the butterfly takes flight again, followed by the girl’s melodious laughter. Around the central archive runes light up as a spirit enters a new request and the book appears from thin air for him to read.

 

The sun slowly hides her face, and the night shimmers in. Fireflies gather to let the visitors obtain their knowledge, and on the watersides small fairy lights start to shine with a soft blue glow. The runes light up a clearer blue with each new spirit entering.

 

Time is lost in this place, and each spirit waits patiently until they will be returning to their new task. Eternity is captured in one moment, and forever is merely a word around here. In the blink of an eye a soft orange glow lights up in the shimmer of the falling night, and a spirit smiles as he slowly dissolves. The book he was reading disappears back into the archives, and the spirit accepts his new task with a smile.

 

No mortal has ever set foot in this place, none but one. Lang–Thii.

 

She was a bright and kind person. With her good deeds she enlightened many children, and gave their lives meaning and their young minds the strength to carry the tasks they were given during their earthly presence. This woman understood her presence and given task, and gave back what she had been given herself, knowledge.

 

She knew that half the spirits sent down from the heavens were not ready to carry their responsibilities, simply due to a lack of education. Lang-Thii spent half her life trying to teach the uneducated on earth, but then realized that it were the heavens where they had to be taught first.

 

She humbly asked the gods if she could create a place where the spirits could be prepared for their stay on earth, and finally they granted her her wish. They made her promise that no mortals would ever be allowed into the spirit world, and then gave her the powers to create her library.

 

After creation she herself was banned from her peaceful haven, and not allowed back in until she passed over to spend her learning period in between lives herself. Lang-Thii, however was judged by the gods, and when her experiences were placed on the scales, a different task was placed on her shoulders.

 

She would be the teacher to those spirits passing too early, and she would be educating them in the short moment before they were sent back to finish their life on earth. These spirits are the spirits of people experiencing near-death experiences, and one could say that this would be the only way to enter the Library of Lang-Thii while still alive…

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....

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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.