Merelas

"Thank you very much, Ropku... not only were your photographs beautiful, but the message behind them was even more-so. I appreciate you taking the time to come here and show us your album, as well as telling is about the photos. Your submission to the tournament is definately accepted, with many thanks! "And now, if I may, though it will be hard to follow up that inspiring message, I shall give a demonstration... not a submission, but an example of an entry, if you will. Please, bear in mind, as Ropku has so fluently and expertly demonstrated that anything can be considered a submission. "And, without further ado... my simple demonstration... I hope you all enjoy it. If you all would give me a bit of room... thank you very much." Merelas stepped into the courtyard with everyone sitting on the benches around the tiles, or standing near them. Merelas drew his sword from the sheath on his back with a flourish, and held it before him. Then, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and froze. He stood there, stock still, for a long time, not moving a muscle, and holding his breath. One hand held his sword pointing out before him, with his elbow pointing out from his side. The other was held lower, almost waist level, with his fingers together, and pointing outward. Eventually, the pause became so long that people began to worry. Everyone knew that Merelas would never joke about something like this, but he had been standing so still for nearly a minute now. Suddenly, just as someone began to step forward, Merelas moved with the speed of lightning. The half fire-elf thrust his sword forward, and brought his other hand (now clenched into a fist), back, with his elbow thrusting backwards as if to catch an unseen enemy. With a 540-degree spin, he changed the sword into a blur of silver, out at his side in a deadly arc. Facing the other way now, he brought the blade to point straight up, held before him with his other hand resting on the flat of the blade. Moving quicker still, brought the sword down in front of him in a chopping motion. Following this move through, he thrust forward quickly, bending at the waist to nearly a ninety degree angle. With both hands on the hilt of the sword, he leaned slowly to his left, then jumped, rolling in the air, his body completely horizontal. Merelas landed on his feet in the same position he began in, and brought to his left, and up, in a swift arc. Now, he changed tempo completely. Previously, he had been moving quickly in the obviously agile moves of choreographed training… but now he was performing something else altogether. His sword spun vertically twice, in a slow, graceful motion, and he began to chant. The half fire-elf brought the sword out before him now, in a sudden thrust. Just as suddenly, the sword burst into flames, the fire licking at the blade continuously. With a cat-like movement, Merelas brought the sword up around his head, with the point downward, and circled himself with it. The flames seemed to blur as he did so, perhaps wanting to stay behind, and doing so… the half fire-elf was now cloaked in a flame shield, which moved in unison with him, moving as he did so. Quickly, he performed several battle maneuvers, dancing around the courtyard, and fully circling the fountain. Abruptly, his movements ceased. If the spectators had known no better, they would have thought it a coincidence that he was in exactly the same pose as he had begun in. He paused for a long minute, and held the stance—a fighting stance, as it were. Just when the audience began to applaud, he moved again. With speed that awed them, he sheathed the burning sword, and the flamed upon it were extinguished, however, those around him remained as they were. Almost reflexively, his hands formed into fists, and met near his chest. The performer’s eyes closed, and he exhaled. Opening them again, his eyes had changed to a brilliant red, and the flames about him grew brighter. And his right hand opened again, and he pushed it downward, slowly. His left hand likewise shifted from the fist it had been, and moved upward equally slowly. As a response, he brought his right hand up to his chest, and then pushed it out to his right side. He did the same with the left, and now appeared to be a human “T”, with his palms outward. Moving in unison now, both palms slowly moved, until they were facing up. With a swirl of flame, he brought them back to meet at his chest, until he thrust them back out again, and the flames extended this time out to his side about six feet. Jumping back to the elf, the flames were growing more brightly now. He brought his hands back in near his chest again, and his two index fingers and thumbs formed a triangle. He pushed this outward, and a fireball emerged, and flew straight towards part of the crowd. Some of them gasped and screamed, and jumped out of the way, but before it reached them, it shifted courses, flying upwards towards the open-air roof, and streaking towards the rose that capped the bubbling fountain. But too late… another fireball had been launched, and performed the same thing exactly opposite the crowd on the other side, and met the fireball in mid-air above the fountain, making a large explosion above it, with a shower of sparks everywhere. Merelas quickly snapped each hand at the same time, clapped, and thrust both palms outward towards the fountain… And the water itself burst into flame. The water that bubbled down from the rose at the top was on fire, and it made a spectacular sight. The flaming water coursed through the two basins of the fountain, and more continually fell from the top. It was an anomaly, and everyone recognized it as such. And as suddenly as he had started at the beginning, he stopped. He paused to let the image of the fountain sink in for a while, and then made a motion like a conductor who wished his orchestra to cease playing a note. In reply, all the flames stopped immediately, and the fountain began spilling water again. The audience all applauded, and Merelas staggered, out of breath and tired. He smiled raggedly, and took a drink from the flask of water at his hip. When the crowd had quieted down, he spoke. “Thank you, my friends… thank you. But this is more than just a showy battle-display. What I have just shown you is part of a ritual from my race… it was the beginning of the flamedance, which is… well. You could say that it’s a “fire-summoning” ritual, which gives the dancer nearly full control of the element of fire. “The point is that this is a ritual that our race believes in deeply, and with their whole hearts and beings… a condition of the flamedance is that you must believe in it, and in your own ability to perform it. This belief is what sustains our race—that we can use fire as an aid… it is a gift to our race, that we might better the world with it, and use it to help others as we see fit. This belief is what we hold true, above all else. “And because we believe this, we exist. What is truth? Is it not in the eye of the beholder? I believe that it is, and that any person can see anything as truth… and this is beautiful. Everyone on this glorious planet may have their own beliefs, and not infringe upon others’ being, and their right to believe. I hold this above all else—my right to believe.” And with that, Merelas took his seat on the stone bench. “Another demonstrator?”

As the People gathered into the Rose Courtyard, Merelas stood up on the bench opposite to the entrance. "Friends! Members of the Pen! Welcome. I am glad to have you with me on this fine day, and I hope you enjoy the beautiful surroundings. First, I would like to welcome back our very own Balladore, and thank him for his help in reparing the damage that neglect had done to our Courtyard," he said, and before people could start speaking in hushed tones about Balladore, he plunged on with his speech." "Friends! I issue each of you now, a challenge! As the scenery I have introduced to you is very beautiful, so is this celebration to be! I challenge each of you to display beauty here in public, and to celebrate it! Let us not dwell on the terrors that life has in store for us, at least through the duration of this celebration. "Yes, let The First Annual Tournament of Roses begin! The winner shall be determined by myself. I shall judge each entry by its exemplification of beauty! Any and all may enter, and the winner shall be rewarded! Let the Tournament begin!" OOC: Alright, everyone. This is your chance. The tournament rules are as follows: 1. If you wish to participate, submit an entry that exemplifies beauty in some way. It should be posted here on the thread for everyone to see. I ask that you keep the entries moderately short, so that I can judge each of them. 2. Your entry can be anything, from poetry, to a story, to a single authored RP. The only requirements are that it must (if you want to compete seriously, that is) contain or describe beauty, that it must be original, and that it must be posted here. I will be posting an example entry (not to be considered) soon. 3. HAVE FUN!

Merelas mounted the last bracket into the space where Balladore had cleared the roses, and stepped into the room. "All right, Ball... all we have to do is announce what this has all been for, and we're ready to go. "I suppose so," replied the druid, a little glum. "What's the matter?" "I don't know... it's just... this place has been such a blessing for me, while I was repairing it, and meditating... I just felt such peace... and now others will be here." "Yes... but we must share the beauty, don't you think, Godfather?" "Yes, of course. Of course you're right, Merelas. Do you have the post ready for the bulletin board?" "Right here," he said, patting the pocket of his shirt. "Good... well... I suppose you ought to go put it up." "Right... I'll be back in a flash, Balladore," and with that, Merelas departed, and headed over to the community bulletin board in the tavern, as well as anywhere else he could plaster copies. The announcement read thus: TO ANY AND ALL MEMBERS OF THE PEN: Please join us for a celebration of Beauty in The Rose Courtyard. All members are encouraged to come prepared for entertainment, and to entertain, themselves! Please dress as you see appropriate-there is no dress code. Again, everyone is welcome, and directions to the new Courtyard are below. Below each announcement was pinned a map, with directions to The Rose Courtyard.

What is more beautiful than a Rose? Merelas asked himself. He wandered through the Verdant Gardens, containing nearly every specimen of flowering plant imaginable. And, though many were beautiful, most were seemingly insignificant next to the gorgeous, elegant roses that grew on the trellis near the wall of The Mighty Pen Keep. The rose’s splendor outshines even the most beautiful competitor. In any color or variety, it exemplifies beauty. The beautiful Red rose, being sent to one who’s affection you desire, and who already has your own. Yes, the Red rose was chosen to represent love for its loveliness. Such beauty can be found few other places, except in the recesses of a kind heart. One that is open to love may have beauty to rival the rose… but it cannot be seen as quickly. Merelas continued along the wall, examining the different types and colors. A canary… yellow as the sun as it rises. A rose I would send for sympathy… that someone’s grief may be comforted by the elegance and prettiness of it. It would seem to say that, though the times may be dark, beauty still exists in the world, and will continue to do so. There is no problem in this world that cannot be made better by roses. White… Merelas puzzled for a moment. What would a white rose be sent for? What could it serve as? Red was for love, and yellow, sympathy, but white? And then it came to him. A white rose, a token of thanks. Thanks for a gift that was given freely, whether it is tangible or otherwise. Indeed, friendship, as a non-tangible gift, could be rewarded by the white rose… a truly good, pure friendship should be rewarded with a rose that is beautiful in its simplicity… white is for gratefulness. Pink? The shade makes me think of champagne, somehow… and champagne always means celebration. Indeed, the Pink rose should stand for congratulations. For, as the hue is that of Red and White combined, so celebration is that of love and thanks for a blessed event. The birth of a new son or daughter would be such a rose-worthy event. Love for the new life, and celebration that that life was created. Beauty… so few people, as the saying goes, “Stop to smell the roses.” More beauty is needed in this world… but somehow, I doubt that planting more roses would entirely do the trick. So often, people dwell on sadness, and bring others into their despair. But what can we do to stop it? Bring them beauty. All of these qualities—Love, sympathy, thanksgiving, and celebration are beautiful in their own respect. Merelas continued along the path near the wall, one that he had truly never followed before. Perhaps he was guilty of continuing along, obsessed with his own sadness to stop and revel in the beauty of this place before. And, somehow, he was absolutely certain that no one else had been down this path that still lived. It continued for some ways, until the Pen Keep was nearly out of sight. There was a decline, then, and the path lead him underground, but the roses continued to grow. Along the walls of the underground passage he followed were the roses, growing in vines. Like a myriad of beauty, all four of the colors he had seen before grew along the walls, with even more colors, as well. Now there were Oranges, as though the reds and yellows had crossed somehow, and created a shade that made him think of sunset. Also abundant were roses that he knew from his own homeland—Fire and Ice Roses. It was a cross between red and white, the two colors existing, with mainly white petals with orange tips. Reminded strongly of his heritage, he reached out to remove one from the wall of the underground passage, and picked one. Carrying his new item, he continued on down the passage, and he could tell that it was getting dark. His elven senses needed no light, but he considered briefly turning back anyway. He continued for a few paces, and was about to return to The Mighty Pen, when he saw light up ahead. Curious, he trekked onward, finally coming to the end of the tunnel. What he saw there was nothing less than astounding. There was no ceiling to the underground cavern, and thus, the golden sunlight of the day seeped in freely, giving everything a heavenly glow. The floor was of shale cut into square tiles, alternating light and dark, and it was perfectly flat and even. Stone benches, reminiscent of park scenes, adorned the edges of the rock tile, and looked on into the center of the well-lit cave. In the center of the tiled area was a fountain made of stone, round and simple, with three tiers. Each basin was circular, and smaller than the one previous, with the water flowing into the one below it. At the top was a rose, elegant and beautiful. It seemed that this rose was supposed to pour water, but either the valve had been closed, or disconnected over the time that this grotto had gone unvisited. But what awed Merelas the most were the roses. Outside the benches, the creator of this place had stopped laying tiles, leaving about a yard between the wall and the stone tiles. Rose bushes grew in this space—the flowers alternated colors, with as many different varieties as you could imagine. The roses grew up the walls, as well, covering the walls in a multicolored array of beauty. Finally, he looked down to the floor below him, and was startled to see a small pool of blood. Wondering how it had happened that this place (which had obviously been untended for a great amount of time), he examined it, and found it to be as he had thought—fresh. Suddenly, Merelas realized that the blood had to have come from him. He looked down at the rose he was holding. Upon closer examination, he found that a thorn had cut his palm, and was still stuck into the flesh of his hand. As he bled, he removed the rose thorn, but looked around the room. Why didn’t I notice that I had impaled my hand on a thorn? He wondered… But that was silly. He already knew why. When we see the beauty in life, we miss the pain. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ A week or so later… Merelas stood on the steps outside the front entrance to The Mighty Pen keep. He shivered… it was getting colder, and the snows were coming soon, he could tell. Where is he? He promised to be here by sunset on the fifth day after his message reached me. Merelas watched as the sun started to descend over the hill nearly a league away from him, where he stood, and he started to turn around, to go back into the warmth. Something caught his eye, however… a glint of something bright caught his eye, and he stopped. It was on the hill, and it appeared to have reflected the light of the setting sun. Merelas squinted, and his elven sense revealed to him the shape that was indeed approaching quickly. The light slowly diminished, painting everything around him a darker shade, almost blue, while the sky itself exploded into a myriad of oranges, pinks, golds, and purples. It reminds me of the wall of the Courtyard… beautiful, he thought, as the shape drew nearer still. Slowly, the half fire-elf’s eyes changed colors from his usual red, to green, as they always did when he was happy about something. As the sun sunk lower in the sky, the landscape it had painted in the sky dimmed, losing some of the boldness and brightness of color. Still, the shape drew nearer—less than a hundred yards, now, probably. Eventually, only a sliver of the sun remained, barely peeking out above the far-off hill. Just before this fragment, too, disappeared, the shape of a horse, unsaddled and riderless cantered up in front of the stone porch before Merelas. Steam rose from the chestnut’s back, as it had sweat profusely in the journey. It jogged up to the stone, and shifted before the half fire-elf’s eyes. First, it’s back bent, bringing it upright, and its nose shrunk back into its face. The hair appeared to fall off of its body, and became a cloak around the body of a human or elf. Not missing a step, the shape-shifter continued walking throughout the transformation, and just as it was complete, started up the steps towards Merelas. “Merelas, I haven’t seen you in ages! How have things been? How is The Pen?” Merelas laughed, in true humor, like he hadn’t laughed in a long time. His Godfather had come to the pen, just as he had asked, and was happy to see him and be here. He did need his “Expert Opinion,” although there were plenty of druids about, if he had really tried to find them. Somehow, though, he had thought that Balladore just needed a visit to his old stomping grounds. “I am fine… all the better for catching sight of you, you old druid!” “Aha, humor, you always were witty, Mere! I’d give you a hug, except I’m all sweaty, and such—“ “Oh, hush!” Merelas said, and rushed over to hug the “Old Druid.” The two went inside together, and were careful to let no one see the druid… it would be a surprise to the pen that he was here—that had been part of Balladore’s conditions that he had sent on ahead. He would reveal himself… in time. For now, he cloaked himself again, and shifted into a raven. Quickly, he perched on the half fire-elf’s shoulder, and rode with him to Balladore’s old room. They came upon the oak door with the letter “B” carved into it, and the Raven hopped off of Merelas’ shoulder. “Until tomorrow, old bird,” Merelas said with a chuckle. The raven cawed at him in response, and double-checked to be sure that no one was around. When he was sure they weren’t, he shifted back into himself, opened the door, and stepped inside. Home. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ The next day… The next morning, Balladore flew out of his window (in raven form), and into the Verdant Gardens. He met Merelas where they had decided, right at the beginning of the path that lead to the cavern Merelas had discovered the previous day. Looking around at the familiar gardens, where he had spent much of his time, Balladore hesitated. He so wanted to stay, to run amuck in his true home—these gardens… but he had promised to help Merelas. And this time, there would be no breaking of the promises. He was still in bird form, perched on Merelas’ shoulder, as they came to the entrance of the underground passage. As they made the slow, gradual descent, the raven threw himself into the air and flew on ahead, reaching the tunnel entrance before Merelas, and shifting back into his human form. “Quite dark down here… we’ll have to do something about that,” he said. Although both Merelas and Balladore were part elven, the non-elven participants would need the addition of light. Suddenly realizing his surroundings, Balladore gasped. He looked at all the roses on the walls—all of the different types, and was filled with joy. “It’s beautiful!” he said, and stopped for a moment to admire. “Wait until you see the main room,” Merelas said, chuckling. Balladore gaped at the half fire-elf, but followed him, with interest. Eventually, they came to the cavern. Again, Balladore was amazed. Here, with the sunlight, there was no need of the fireball, so Merelas banished it, and watched his godfather examine the place. Balladore moved about, first to the fountain, then to the benches, then to the roses, and back to the fountain. Eventually, he fell to his knees, with tears in his eyes. “What’s wrong,” Merelas asked, rushing over. “Nothing,” Balladore said, “Absolutely nothing.” And he sat there and cried for a while, happy to be back to his old home, though he had never known this place when he was here before. Eventually, the druid composed himself, and gave Merelas a brisk set of instructions. This is the Balladore I knew, thought Merelas, and he smiled inwardly at the thought of it. “Go to my chambers. I believe I had a spare at the foot of my bed, on top of the hope chest. I will need for you to bring it to me. I shall work here until your requests have been finished, as well as a few touches of my own. I ask for a small amount of food to be lowered in to the base of the tunnel a few times a day, though I will not eat much. Please let a fireball hover above it to guide me to it… the halls are dark, and I have no touch for fire. Finally, I must make a request you may not wish to comply with. If you do not, I will not help you,” he said sternly. Merelas smiled to himself yet again, but asked him the request. “You may not enter this place again until I am finished. Go now, or I shall,” he commanded, and Merelas hastened to do his bidding. He had thought something like this might happen, and so he had been prepared to obey this strange wish. Over the next few days, the druid mediated, ate, and worked… he never rested for more than an hour at a time, and mostly only twice a day, when Merelas brought him food. The rest of his time was spent repairing the damage that neglect had done to the cavern. Although it was still beautiful, there were some logistical problems with the underground courtyard. The halls were dark, as he had said, and so Balladore would have to think of a solution for that. In the meantime, he tended to the main room. The slate had been overgrown with the vines, reaching across the entire room, and had to be cleared. Lovingly, the druid forced the vines to crawl back into the dirt perimeter of the room, but he never killed any of the plants. Slowly, but surely, the slate was cleared. Mercifully, there had been no sorts of landslides, or anything that would cause rocks to fall into the cave, and so the slate had been left in prime condition, although it was extremely dusty. Balladore conjured a small wind, which functioned to sweep the tiles, and clear them of dust. He did the same with the fountain, and, with a great deal of surprise, he realized that the rose that capped the fountain was fashioned from gold! Next, he looked above the door to the tunnel. It seemed odd to him, somehow, and he examined it more closely. Quickly, he realized that right above the tunnel, there was a piece of stone, which obviously prevented further rose growth above the entrance. Curious, he pulled the roses and their vines back from the stone block, and found that it was actually a name-plate of sorts. Chiseled perfectly into the stone were the words “The Rose Courtyard.” This gave him an idea of sorts. Since the hallway was so dark, they would have to find a way to light it. Perhaps, if I pull back the roses from a hole big enough for a bracket, we can install one and have torches light the tunnel… hmm… Balladore did this, but wondered how he would ever be able to make torch-brackets. The obvious answer is that I won’t be able to make them… but Merelas… wasn’t he a Blacksmith? Or a silversmith? Or something? Putting the question aside for now, he returned to the courtyard. It’s open-air. That simply won’t do, and I have an idea of how to fix it… but I’m not sure that I have sufficient power to do it. The druid pondered, for a moment. There must be some system for keeping out the bad weather as well as foreign materials. His immediate response was a shield, and that would do quite nicely… except for the fact that he couldn’t create one, and neither could Merelas. This also meant he would have to reveal himself earlier than he had planned… Drat my cursed, incompetent, exhausted body! the Druid thought, as he pondered whom he would trust well enough to reveal himself to before he was quite… composed enough. And then there was the matter of the fountain. The blasted, beautiful thing wouldn’t work for anything. He crept over to the bottom basin, and looked at it. Hmm… he thought, and he kneeled down next to it, placing his hand upon the stem that held the second basin and the rose. He placed his other hand on the tile he knelt on, and tried to look into the earth. It was more difficult because of the slate, but perhaps… The druid found the water source that had fed the fountain before—a spring. The reason the fountain no longer functioned was because the spring had been disconnected with the fountain. Its water now bubbled up to the surface, around the courtyard. Easily fixed, he thought, with far more confidence than he truly had. Balladore reached out to the water, mentally, and willed it to return to its original course. The water slowed, briefly, and almost stopped, reversing its flow. However, just as he was sure he had succeeded, the water resumed flowing. Bah! Praying to the Lady Nature, Balladore asked her to feed the fountain, that its beauty might increase, and that people might see her splendor through it. A little flattery of the Gods and Goddesses never hurts, he thought. He heard an audible, female cackle, as though his patron goddess had heard his thought. He was about to give up hope, when suddenly, as quick as lightning, the water switched its course back, and the fountain began to bubble. YES! The druid celebrated briefly, until he was started when his stomach growled at him. Looking at the sun, Balladore realized it was nearly three in the afternoon, and Merelas usually brought him a meal around now. As he walked down the hallway to the open air, he felt oddest sensation he had ever experienced. It was as if the walls were moving around him. Immediately, the druid thought of an earthquake, and he braced up the earth around him. Lady Nature! If it falls now, I’ll kill myself! I’ve worked too hard! But it wasn’t an earthquake. It was nothing of the sort. The shadows themselves had moved in the dark tunnel, and Balladore had sensed reality bending a bit, to allow Yui Temae to stand before him in her ebony cloak. “I never noticed this place before. I scanned the shadows around the pen, and I saw something that shouldn’t have been here… you.” “Yui! You nearly scared the life out of me! Lady Nature! Oh, my. Well… oh!” Balladore said suddenly, realizing that she was seeing him for the first time in several years. “I’m… I’m sorry, Yui. It was… it was all a mistake, and—“ “I know it was, you big lump!” She sprinted the distance between them, and threw her arms around the druid, dropping all pretense of harshness. “I’m so glad to see you!” “As I am you, Yui… as I am you.” He said slowly, wiping tears from his eyes. As they parted, Yui asked what he was actually doing here, and Balladore explained the entire ordeal… how he had traveled here from Xavier, again, and what Merelas had asked him to do. As they retrieved his food (Merelas had simply left it, and gone off someplace else), and returned to the Courtyard, Yui gasped. “It’s beautiful,” she said… and it was. It was even better after Balladore’s efforts, and he was almost finished. The sunlight shone in brightly, but clouds were beginning to creep in from the east. It smelled like rain, to Balladore, and druids are rarely wrong when it comes to the weather. “Yui… you wouldn’t know how to set up a… a type of shield, now, would you? To keep out rain, and other objects? Covering that hole, I mean.” “Hmm…” The huntress pondered, and thought quickly. “Well… I don’t believe that I can provide the mana necessary to keep such a thing up… but, I do believe that there’s an item in the vaults of the keep that would do nicely,” she explained, excited. “Is there any way you could fetch it, and help me connect it to a shield?” “Of course. I’ll walk there, and be right back, she said.” Yui gathered her ebony cloak about her, and walked out into the hallway (where there were shadows), and disappeared. More quickly than Balladore had expected, she returned, and revealed to him a crystal that she had found. “This used to hold open a permanent portal from the pen to another village… but we started getting all sorts of unwanted visitors, so we took down the portal and saved the crystal,” she said matter-of-factly, and looked around. “Perhaps, since you are the one who, I assume, will be tending this place… you should be trusted with the crystal?” “Oh… well, yes, I suppose that would be right.” “Of course. If you would let me see your staff, for a moment?” Balladore provided the mage with the staff. Narrowing her eyes, calculating, she held the crystal on the top of the flat staff with one hand, and held her other in a fist. Quickly, she began to chant, starting an incantation that became increasingly more complex. Eventually, she opened her fist, and gestured towards the hole with her palm. A brilliant blue disc seemed to float out of her hand, expanding quickly, and fitting into place around the hole. It stayed blue for a moment, then became invisible. Immediately, Balladore noticed there was no longer any wind in the room. Yui handed Balladore his staff back. Balladore looked at it, and realized that the crystal had been fused to the top of the walking stick. “And this will maintain that shield?” he asked, glancing at the Mistress of Shadows. “As long as the crystal doesn’t break,” she said, with a wink. “Yui, thank you so—“ “Think nothing of it,” she said, walked out into the hallway, and left via the shadow paths. The druid collapsed onto one of the benches, exhausted… And so, it is finished.

Nathaniel pats Miranda on the shoulder, with a vehemence in his aged eyes that had not been there in a while. "Salads are like soo grosssssss!" the blond one said, and with a fury that was unexpected (and that probably gave the old man some pains) he stood, and walked quickly over to the Inspector and Georgia. "Gross? You want to know what's gross? A man being slaughtered by a werewolf!" Georgia gasps suddenly, her glazed and empty eyes wide, "A werewolf? Like, freaky!! I'm totally out of here!" Nathaniel moves quickly (for a man his age), and steps in front of the Volleyball player as she attempted to leave. "Not so fast," he said coldly, with a voice that would chill wine. She stopped suddenly, looking up at him with (surprise, surprise) a blank stare. "Georgia, I accuse you of being a werewolf, and I suggest that the party lynch you immediately to remove the threat!" There was an immediate uproar around the room, with people saying things like "She's too... BLONDE to be a werewolf!", and, "I knew it all along!" Nathaniel waved for silence. "One at a time, we must all vote. My vote has been cast for Georgia... who will follow me, and dispose of this threat?!"

Well... hmm... At first, my first reaction was to play it cool . You know, it's all about the writing, and ranks aren't important, you know? That's what I should be like, right? But then... another part of me is like... WOOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! So, thank you all. I greatly appreciate it. I shall do my best to earn my rank, and be a contributing member to the pen. (WOOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!)

The old man heaves a sigh of relief, and sits down beside the peasant woman... Thank goodness! "I'm Nathaniel Darling... no jokes, if you please," he said, with a sly grin and a wink to the (much younger!) woman. "And you are, miss?"

ooc: I FEEL TERRIBLE! I completely forgot! Drat the luck! If I'm no longer welcome, please have an appropriate person deleate my post immediately... but if not, I'd still LOVE to participate! BIC: The aged man couged desperately, as though he had been coughing half of his life. He was obviously older than most at the party, if not all... and he walked slowly, although competently. Slowly, but surely, he walked into the party, and looked around for somewhere to sit. He was dressed plainly, but definately not poorly. His cloak was grey, and his hood covered his face. Seeing the peasant woman near the fire, he stepped over to her, and spoke, "Would you mind if I sit?" His voice sounded old, but merry, as he waited to hear the woman's reply.

Well now... If you're an elf, you'll be expected to whip out the fully coordinated pronunciation-- Mehreylas-- tiny, miniscule roll of the "r" and the "ey" is very lightly said... en'Belluh If you're not an elf, you can simply pronounce it thus: Mare(as in the horse)-eh(as in the Canadian "huh")-lass en-Bell-uh. -Merelas en'Bella... P.S.-- I knew how to say Gyr's name... lol

Merelas claps his hands thrice, with a shower of sparks from the action at each clap! Delightful! I'm definately in!

mmm... If I were a smarter man, I'd have something to say to that... but I don't, lol, so I'll just say it was touching

Merelas' 5 Easy Steps to Living with Your Past 1. Acceptance 2. Confession 3. Receiving (or not recieving, in some cases) forgiveness 4. Forgiving yourself 5. Learning from the Situation It's hard, but worth it. Even if you weren't at fault entirely through the situation, it takes two to tango, and I've found that even the littlest things done can be the straw that breaks the camel's back... Good luck, kiddo.

Merelas steps forward, surprised, but beaming. "Thank you so much, Gwaihir... I just wanted to say that while the prize is precious, I've earned something much more valuable in the process of the contest. The Writer's Workshop is full of excellent threads, which are not only very well written, but display the editing/revising process very well. I have learned a few things, and changed my revisions process a bit since then, and I know I'll be visiting the workshop much more often now. I would encourage many others to do the same. I'm also going to be posting the sumarries/critique that I gave to the various threads in my contest entry." Gwaihir had been graciously smiling and nodding throughout the very long and arduous speech which had been made by Merelas, and was grateful when he finally finished. "Merelas," Gwaihir said, "If you would kneel..." "Oh! Yes, of course," the fire-elf said, and did so. "As is your right by winning the contest, I award to you Chrissiania's Jewel. May you use it well." And at that, the Deputy Loremaster placed the silver chain over his neck, and the crystal with the swirl of red through it came to rest on his chest. Half fire-elf, We urge you to take heed Of what awaits the sin of greed. We shall help as is required-- We shall lend fuel to your fires. For you know our history, and what's come before-- We warn against ignoring this ancient lore. As we fell from ignorance and waste, Such a fate could come for you to taste. So listen well to our request-- We want, for you, only the best. You are worthy to bear us now, But do not make us regret our vow. With a start, Merelas returned to the present, having recieved the warnings of Kushel and Chrissiana... somehow, he knew their names, and the events that had taken place for the jewel to be created. Suddenly becoming aware that he was still on his knees, the half fire-elf stood, and bowed once more to Gwaihir, as well as the assembly, who were all looking at him with strange eyes, now. Quickly, he said "Thank you," once more, and left the room, wandering off to the Writer's Workshop in order to post the critique on the pieces he had chosen for the contest.

In the infirmary, Merelas dozed deeply, his sleep undisturbed (as yet) by the evil that permeated other parts of the hostel. Though the healers had been very adept in their efforts, his wounds were grevious, and some would have to heal normally, in time. Ice, of course, harmed him greatly (as a fire-elf) and he would be hard pressed to deal with the wound in the shoulder that the blue mage had given him. It was only when the tree outside fell with an enormous clatter that he woke, startled, and found both consciousness and pain. He hurried to the window that was near his hospital bed, and he saw the tree having fallen in the yard. People (some whom he knew, and some he did not) were fighting undead now, as they flew over, tunnelled under, or broke through the gate into the hostel. The alarm had been raised sometime during the beginning of the fight, and what had once looked like a sure defeat for the defenders of the hostel now was not so certain. Hostel guests and staff hurried to help defend the manor from the onslaught of undead which seemed to come from nowhere. The night aided the attackers, and Merelas realized with a start that he should be helping the defenders. Quickly, he donned his cloak, which had been laid on top of a chest at the foot of his infirmary bed. His sword belt and staff were both there as well, and he quickly placed the sword at its place on his hip, leaving the staff. It would be to cumbersome in this type of fight,he told himself, and strode quickly out the door to the infirmary. With a flourish that was improvised, he drew his sword, holding it firmly in his right hand. Brillemire (Brightflame), the sword given to him by his father, shone brightly in the lights of the hostel. He ran down the hall, and found that some of the undead had already forced themself into the main building. "And so it begins," he said, taking a defensive pose, and beginning to call his first spell. With a swift gesture, the first of several zombies burst into flame, and the smell of burning, rotted flesh filled the room. I hope Lady Salinye will forgive the stench...,he thought, burning another zombie to ash. By the time he had incinerated the third, it became clear that this method was going to be much too slow to deal with the amount of zombies that were pouring through the door of the hostel. Briefly, he considered calling an inferno in the middle of the hostel, but realized soon that the damage to the building would be far too unnacceptable to their hostess, and if he could dispose of the undead without resorting to such measures, it should be done. He set his face in a look of determination, gripped Brillemire with both hands, and charged. He only had a few dozen feet to run, as the Zombies had already advanced quite a ways towards him, and he covered it quickly. As he reached the first, it thrust at him, but the attempt was quickly blocked with a parry, and Merelas brought the sword up in an arc, decapitating the zombie. Allowing the arc to perform a full circle, he spun quickly, disembowelling several other undead around him, as they began closing in. Quickly, he realized that he was at a disadvantage, and began hacking his way out of the mob. A good corner will do nicely,he thought to himself, as he continued to spin, never allowing any side of himself to be still for too long. Catching sight of a corner that might suit his purposes, he changed strategies. Quickly, he stopped in mid-spin, and brought the blade around and up through yet another zombie, cutting him vertically down the middle. With a brief gesture and mental prod, the blade burst into flame, and he thrust it directly towards a zombie that had replaced the one he'd just cut in two. With elven sense, he realized too late that his back had been exposed. He attempted in vain to spin, but the zombie had had just long enough to bury it's weapon in his back. Luckily, the thrust had been performed clumsily, and had missed the vital organs it had aimed for, striking Merelas instead in the side, but creating a deep wound nonetheless. With a cry of agony and anger, Merelas turned suddenly, bringing his sword around as he did so, knocking the sword from the zombie's hand. Angry now, Merelas crouched low, before springing up onto one foot and spinning 540 degrees, performing an about-face in the process. Again facing his corner, Merelas hacked his blade back and forth furiously, making a path for him to exit the mob, while leaving a swath of undead in his wake. Finally, he reached his goal, and placed his back in the corner, providing him with a position of natural defense. He calculated quickly and correctly, and formed a fireball in his hand. He launched it into the center of the mob of undead, obliterating several of them, and incapacitating several others. Liquid fire burst in a ring when the fireball had detonated, but most of it had been absorbed by the undead-- that had been Merelas' calculations. His calculations were in haste, however, and he had forgotten the spherical form of a fireball. Molten lava had spewed upwards as well, and flame was now licking at the ceiling of the hallway. "Blast!" he cried, and he closed his eyes, reaching out towards the small fire kindling on the ceiling. He found the source of the flame, and extinguished it, as only fire-elves can. He heaved a sigh of relief, and opened his eyes, to see a sword making a wide swing at him by the hand of a zombie. The attack connected, and it sliced his left shoulder, severing tendons, and rendering that arm useless until some talented healers could attend it. Merelas thought quickly, and blocked the next attack. He rolled his wrist, then, so that his blade was atop the zombie's, and thrust. It caught the abomination in the throat, sending him spluttering to the ground. As another attacked, he deflected that as well, and concentrated on the zombie's person, which promptly burst into flames, and turned to ash within minutes. The fight went on like this for some time, Merelas dispatching countless undead, and suffering more and more wounds himself. Eventually, he lost his control of the flame, and his sword became a regular blade again. No longer could he engulf the zombies in fire, either... instead he would have to hack them away with his regular swordsmanship. And then he started to tire. There were twenty or so of the Zombies left here, and there was no way he could dispatch the remainder without dying himself in the process. "Help! Help!" he called, screaming at the top of his lungs... his lungs. They burned, thirsting for air, and his breath came raggedly. He was exhausted, not only from the current fight, but the one before this as well. "Help! Help..." he called again, weaker this time, and his arm slowed. He looked to the door, and saw (miracle of miracles) a forms that were not undead, and hoped that they were here to help. He needed it.

"Oh... I hadn't noticed... I'd be happy too, my gracious hostess," Merelas said, winking at Ayshela, and departing from her company. He wandered off through the crowd, making some brief small talk to some people, and making a point to compliment Tzimfemme on her outfit. Finally, he wandered over to the bar, and ordered a pair of glasses of champagne. This was a bit over-confident, perhaps... but hopefully Sam wouldn't be too offended with the gesture. Taking the flutes, he searched the room briefly, but finding Samantha Carmichael more quickly than he had expected to. Merelas noticed the simple but elegant gown she wore, as well as her dark, straight hair, and introduced himself. "Hello... I don't think we've ever met, but my name is Merelas en'Bella. I was hoping you'd join me for a drink?" He said, offering a glass as he did so, and waiting expectantly for Sam's answer.

Merelas dashes into the room, carrying a wrapped present, which contained a box with charcoal carved into tubes, as well as a knife for sharpening these charcoal pencils-- for her art Happy birthday! Merelas is about to dash out when, as a second thought, he places a pilfered spare invitation to Ayshela's ball next to his gift, quickly scrawling "Lyssara" on the envelope Hope you can join us!

Quickly reassured by the gracious hostess, Merelas puts the event out of his mind in favor of enjoying a splendid party. He bows once more to the hostess, and then departs, waving to Peredhil as he does so, as one of the only other party-goers he is familliar with, as yet. Merelas slowly circles the room, his garments shimmering as he walks, making small talk as he moves with those he recognizes, introducing himself to those he does not, and generally enjoying himself. Eventually, he makes it to the bar, where he orders a glass of (imagine this) red wine. As he sips the alcohol, he watches the room, the new appearances, and waits impatiently for more to visit. Eventually, the band takes up an old-fashioned waltz, and for a moment he watches the elegant dancers... Lady Celes in her garments that out-shone his own, even, Elrond Peredhil, simple, yet wise and majestic all the same. But in a moment, the half-fire-elf makes a split decision. Striding quickly over to the Lady Ayshela, he bows, and offers his hand, "May I have the honor of this dance, Lady?"

Merelas hastened to finish his appearance for the ball, smiling as he anticipated both the ball itself, and his "fashionable" entrance. Hopefully, the Lady Ayshela would not be too offended at the extravagent measures he had taken... but then again, it was worth it, even if she was. Finally satisfied with the half-elf staring at him from the mirror, Merelas prepared to leave. Quickly, he placed his hand into the air above his head, thumb and forefinger together, as though grasping something. In one swift motion, he pulled down to the ground, and a swirl of flame drew a line from his gesture, eventually expanding to be an oval shaped portal, with flames around the edges. "Best wait a minute for effect, I suppose," Merelas said aloud, to himself, knowing that the portal would also have appeared in the ballroom... he had carefully designated the destination, however, so that the portal would appear in midair, and away from any of the walls, the ceiling, or the decorations-- he didn't want anything to be damaged by his appearance... that could be disastrous. "There we are," he said aloud again, to no one in particular, and he stepped through the portal. Appearing in mid-air, just as he had planned, he fell a short space, and landed on his feet. The Half-elf's appearance matched that of his entrance, and it could be seen that he was excessively proud of his fire-elven heritage, through the warm colors he displayed. His robe was fiery-red, adorned with rubies at the seams, and sewn with golden thread. He wore an orange sash about his waist, which was evidently of fine silk, and was tied jauntily off-center. His cloak, of darker red velvet than his robe matched the other two pieces in splendor, being embroidered with a thread the exact hue of his robes. The embroidery created the illusion of flames dancing around the edges of this cloak, shifting mesmorizingly when he moved. And finally, perhaps the finest of pieces, he wore an enormous flame-crystal about his neck, easily the size of a small fist, and cut into the shape of an octogon. Indeed, Merelas' attire, if traded for food, could have fed a small country for several years. The other party-goers stared in shock for a moment at the man's arrival, and then the conversation returned to normal. Eventually, Merelas spotted Ayshela, and he walked slowly to her, bowing low with a flourish. "I hope my arrival has not created too much commotion, my Lady?" he asked, somewhat doubtfully... perhaps this wasn't a good idea.

I never knew that uber was a real word... hmm. Oh, and back to the question: I believe mainly what's been said about fortune tellers being out to make money... and Who knows, some of them may be legit... but I'm not going to plan my budget around one of them telling me I'm about to win the lottery, am I? On another note, I used to (still do, occasionally, but much less frequently as I'm getting older. [there's a thought... getting older, lol]) Have dreams that would come true... I mean, I would be asleep, and be in a situation at school or something, and then a few days later that exact scene would happen. I don't know if that is telling the future, or what... but It's happened before. My best friend once said the words I knew he was going to say (telling me that he was moving, as it sadly turned out) because of one of these dream experiences. I don't have many now... maybe once a month, max. It's sad, I liked it... Oh well

My word. That last story sounds like something that I would do. In fact, I'm in something of a situation like that myself, currently. Perhaps I should just accept that God will bring me to his intended destination, whether I like it or not?

Brings in a bunch of "LOL" for everyone to eat!" Oh, sorry... inside joke. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, EVERYONE!

Well... I edited the post above. If that doesn't work, give me a PM, and I'll send it to you, if you want.

Thank you so much to everyone who offered comments, especially Ayshela for all your help. Post edited with all suggestions applied, I think... It reads much better now... the rhyme scheme in the last mini-stanza is really weak, but I couldn't think of anything else. I don't often write poetry, and I was really surprised on how well (in my opinion) this turned out. I think I might be attempting it more often, if the muse smacks me about with a large trout more often, that is Thanks again for everyone's comments, and I hope to try a bit more

I don't usually write poetry, but in a sudden burst of inspiration, I did this. I hope you enjoy, and critique. The fighters rose, and slowly chose each weapon they would use. As they prepared, a fire glared, removing any attempt at ruse. For, in the fire, vast desire was seen between the men; And with each step, the fire crept, yet stayed where it had been. And deep inside, neither could abide the company of the other— If they had tried, they’d been denied—hatred does not smother. And at long last, the metal clashed—steel met the steel of their foe With ringing song, the battle raged on, blow by rattling blow. With rage they met, the pace well kept, as they continued to duel. If they were fatigued, they showed no need—hatred gave renewal. These two foes continued their blows, striking down upon each other, Until at last, the day had passed, and each could fight no further. Through the night, neither felt fright—the battle would come tomorrow. And through the pain, neither was afraid—neither felt regret nor sorrow. For though the blows had each struck home, the battle was just begun. Each had new notes, new words, new quotes—the debate would be won.

PEREDHIL, HAPPY BIRTHDAY! Words cannot express my extreme wish for you to be as happy as possible. Nevertheless, I attempt to convey these to you now. Hugs!