Lord Panther

Very good! I'm not one to usually comment (especially on poetry), but this poem, I can really relate to. I know a few people who are the way your poem describes. My hat's off to you for this work.

... stuttered for a second "Umm, ye-ye-yes, it covers those. I'll just have to look up in my manual how you will be paid for losing, well, as much as you have." Mike reached into his briefcase and pulled out a large, dusty...

*Panther bows deeply to those before him* My thanks go out to everyone! I will do my best not to disappoint those who deem me wothy of this title.

I hope you enjoy your break Yan, but make sure to come back soon.

Hmm, an interesting lot of questions you have there. I think I'll just take them in the order that you've layed them out. 1. Definatley a shy person here. I will echo mostly what Mira said, in that if I am with people I know and am comfortable with, I'm not really shy, but if I am with new people, definatley shy. 2. Being shy definatley is a hindrance in the dating world. Being shy does prevent you from meeting new people, even if you really want to. 3. Being the butterfly would make the dating world easier, as far as meeting people goes. If you're a butterfly, you're normally quite extroverted and thus feel comfortable talking to new people, asking them questions and whatnot that a shy person would almost never do. Chances are that the butterfly also does not care as much as to what others think of them, therefore will not censor themselves as much and will say more. 4. Hmm, this one makes me think. Personally I could lean either way. A shy companion would likley understand another shy person. However, a butterfly and a shy person could do well together in that old adage "Opposites attract". The butterfly would, more or less, force the shy person to come out of their shell. I'm going to sit on the fence with this one.

Panther silently walks up to the middle of the stage and looks around cautiously to those in the audience. Clothed in his new cloak of very dark purple silk, which goes down just shy of the ground, he clears his throat to introduce himself: "Um, hello everyone. As you know, I am Panther, and this is my first time doing this auction. To those who are thinking about bidding on myself, rest assured, I will do my best to make it a memorable occasion." Done his short, but hopefully sweet, introduction, Panther gives a large, toothsome smile to those around before bowing deeply to everyone and exiting the stage.

Hmmm, well, the place that pops into mind is the Sistine Chapel in the Vatican. Are you there, Appy?

Please excuse the lateness in my birthday wishes to you.

Hmm, is Black9 floating around in the Gulf of Mexico?

Quite happy with the foods presented so far, Panther leans back in his chair and awaits more to come accept the sausage challenge... (OOC: great work, all of you, much better than I can produce! )

Patrick, are you by chance in Kharput, Turkey?

Now dry once more, Panther walks through the portal from the beach to the darkness of the campfire ring. In tow, he has brought with him more roasting sticks a folding chair and a small table. Setting up the table outside the ring and sitting down on the chair, Panther pulls out a piece of card and a felt pen and begins to write. Seconds later, he's posting his newly made sign that reads: Make yourself something to roast on the fire! Sitting back in his chair, enjoying the darkness and the fire, Panther waits for people to pour in... (OOC: The goal of this activity is that each word has to start with the last letter of the previous word, as well as the last letter of the poem has to be the same as the first letter. The theme is food for this one! Each poem has to refer to food one way or another, but other than that, there are no rule for structure, meter, rhyme or rythm. 10 geld for each poem, and you can bring as much food as you would like to roast over the campfire.) Example: (produced cooperatively by myself and Sweetcherrie) Ya awesome evil leaves, stalk kings savagely yearn nevermore. Endless songs sang. Godlike equivalence, everlasting grace. Even now winter radiates solemn nothingness. Spreads sorrow while eaten, nevertheless satisfaction. Naught tastes so original, like evangelic celery. **Thank you to Sweetcherrie for having me start this event**

ahh, what the heck, can't be *that* bad, right? where do I sign? Just let me know what to do. **just a side note, I will be without access from July 20-22, if I need do anything at that time.

Hmm... old thread.. but I'm not the one resurrecting it... so what the heck... I am currently 24, at least until the beginning of next year...

Panther walks around the carnival, as if in a daze, but merely is trying to keep the rather bright sun out of his sensitive eyes with the hood of his cloak. He manages to find a tree by a body of water, just in time, it seems, for a carnie to set up his booth in the same area. Not doesn't pay much heed to the carnie as he prepares his canoes, paddles, and the rest of his gear Panther's ears perk up, however, as the carnie starts explaining to the crowd about fishing, and the chances of catching one of Panther's favorite foods, fish. Better yet, there's a chance of getting geld for catching a big one. Geld being something that he needs, as he was unable to bring any on his long trek from his old kingdom to that of the Pen, Panther's interest is definitely peaked, and he decides it may be worth a try. Bravely walking back into the bright sunshine, hood covering his eyes as best it can, Panther makes his way over to the carnie with intentions of catching a big fish. "I would like to take your challenge, and catch a fish in your Derby." Panther announces confidently to the carnie. The carnie looks over the newest entrant, who appears a little out of place and quite hot with a dark cloak and black fur, and smiles with his yellowish grin. "Well, good, uh...sir? I will need a small deposit from you for the boat." Panther ponders his reaction for a second, as he does not have any money to leave as a deposit. After a very short while, Panther reaches inside his cloak and pulls out a small dagger from its place of concealment and offers it to the carnie. "I hope that this will do?" A little taken aback, the carnie stutters for a second, before he notices the rather large red jewel in the handle of the dagger. "Um, yes, this will be fine." he replies rather greedily before snatching the dagger to admire it more closely. With that done, Panther grabs a pole and some bait as well as a paddle and heads over to the canoes. Not completely unfamiliar with the operation of these watercraft, Panther places his gear in the boat and pushes off from the shore. With graceful strokes, he paddles the canoe out towards the middle of the lake, in hopes that deeper water will bring bigger fish. After carefully priming the hook with a plump worm, he makes a great cast into the body of the lake and watches as the worm sinks into the shadows of the deep. Being rather anxious, and obviously not well versed in the ways of the canoe, Panther stands in the middle of the narrow craft, carefully bobbing his bait in the water, hoping for the big one. Much to his astonishment, it isn't more than a couple minutes of bobbing the bait idly, that Panther feels what he figures has to be a huge fish take the bait. Little does he know, he as actually snagged a rather immobile and immovable log on the very bottom of the lake. Reeling fanatically and pulling hard on the pole, Panther doesn't seem to be making any headway with his whale of a fish, but he is doing a great job at rocking the already unstable canoe. Finally, the fishing line decides it can take no more of this punishment, and snaps suddenly as Panther is in the middle of a strong pull backwards. The snapping line sends Panther over backwards, out of the boat and into the lake. The canoe is pushed by his momentum back towards the carnie's booth as Panther disappears beneath the water line. A small crowd gathers on the shore after hearing the splash, wonder who has fallen in, and if they are alright. Not resurfacing right away, the carnie isn't too worried about the possibility of his customer drowning, as he would be able to keep the dagger that was left with him as the deposit. However, much to his chagrin, Panther resurfaces fairly close to the shore with the fishing pole in his paw, water dripping from all over, and a silvery fish flapping helplessly in his jaws. Leaving a trail of water on the shore towards the booth, Panther hands the very drenched equipment back to the carnie and plunks the fish down on the scales. "A half kilo rainbow trout, good catch. Would you like it cleaned?" the carnie looks inquisitively at Panther. "No, thank you, I can take care of that myself" says Panther as he quickly snatches his dagger from the carnie before deftly gutting and decapitating the fish on the carnie's cleaning station. After wiping the fish blood from his dagger on a handily placed rag, Panther makes his way over to Rydia and offers her the clean, fresh fish. "I hope you can use this, it has a couple extra holes, but I'm sure it will still taste great." That done, he goes to find a place to relax and dry off. **edited for spelling

Patriotism, an interesting beast it can be. Personally, I don't think there isn't anything wrong with being labeled a patriot, as it means that you love your country and its people. Patriotism doesn't mean that everything you own is plastered with the flag, nor does it mean that you will die for your country, just that you have love for it. I believe that is is a very fine, and sometimes smudged, line between patriotism and fanaticism. People who do very rash things in the name of their country are no longer patriots, but fanatics (my opinion). I am assuming that the holiday that you speak of is the American Independance day (July 4th), however, patriots were also standing proud this weekend a little further north, as Canada celebrated its birthday (138) on July 1st.

As promised, here is what I thougth of your tale, Yan. The imagery was great, as Wyvern said, I could picture the horrendous creatures, almost smell the salt and burning fuel in the air. That said, I did not find that it was overly descriptive, thus keeping a good pace and not being dragged down. Very well done, as far as I'm concerned. I look forward to the next installments, if you are writing them.

That's classic... Should Wyvern hang one of those on his office door?

Finally shaking his head, and squeezing one question out past the others that have blocked his mouth, Panther askes Tanny and Mynx: "Is there anywhere around here that I would be able to see about getting some new threads? These ones are kind of worn..."

Go figure, I have also been labeled a robot... can't say I'm surprised.

Quite breathless and surprised by the events that have just transpired in front of him, Panther looks down at his application with the forehead stamped and mirror imaged "ACCEPTED" on it, then up to the now unconscious Almost-Dragon. "Umm... thank you!" Panther then turns, wide-eyed, to both Mynx and Tanny. He opens his mouth as if to ask a question, but is unable to choose which one to ask first... (OOC: Thank you very much. I will do my best not to disappoint.)

Now surrounded by people that are telling him that he should wear his true colours, Lord Panther stretches once more, shifting his form back to that of a tall, black, panther, complete with a tail now poking out slightly under the hem of his cloak. He nods to his new aquaintance, the Portrait of Zool: "Thank you for your warm welcome, m'lord. It is good to make your aquaintance." Panther then turns to Mynx and Tanny: "Hello M'ladies, I hope this form is more to your liking. To answer your question, Mynx, over the many, many years of practice and majik discipline, I no longer find it hard to change between forms, and find it rather effortless to hold one of my familiar shapes. That said, it is, of course, the easiest for me to keep this form." Feeling more relaxed as well as still anxious, Panther sits and chats with those who are keeping him company, as he awaits the Elder Wyvern...

With his story written and proof read to his best abilities, the mage finds a spot on the desk to put the now completed application. He lets out an deep exhilation and sits back in the chair to await, hopefully not too long, this Wyvern fellow...

My Journey... How did it come to this? How did I come to this point? These questions pass through my mind as I wander aimlessly throughout the lands that we once called Terra. I was once a mage that had great respect throughout the world. I was an Accepted of the Legion of the White Rose, a diplomat known to travel the borders of many different guild countries, be those borders those of the Pacifists?, the Angels of Apocalypse, or even the Army of Darkness. Everyone who was anyone knew of me. The Legion of the White Rose was a guild of great beauty and artistry. I can still remember the fair Lady Madoka telling one of her tales from upon the stage of the Tavern of the Morning Rose, or even Lord Kendricke having a great debate with the other elders within the Inner Sanctum. A place that few knew existed and even fewer had entered. The beauty of the White Rose didn't end with the people that lived there. It could be seen in every corner of the country. The great spires of the Knights were works of artistry that everyone could behold and pay homage to the masons and carpenters that built them. The artistry ran right down to the very cloaks and weapons that each mage had fashioned for themselves. Pride was in everything that surrounded you when you entered the country, and you could not help but to be in awe if it was your first time beholding such pride. But that seems like eons ago now. I've watched as more and more of my friends and comrades from both within the Legion and all over Terra leave this world, and finally watched as the Legion itself closed its doors upon this world. I have since wandered this now desolate wilderness, visiting the borders that I knew so well. Seeing that each and every guild has either escaped existence or is a mere shadow of what they once were. Even I have not escaped the ravishes of time. My once exquisite robes have seen more than their share of shrubs and thorns, leaving them torn and frayed. My blades have become dull and tarnished as there has been no one to fight, no enemies to work against, no reason to whet them. Yet I travel on, in search of a new home, one that I would feel welcome, one that I could possibly compare to my home of old in both culture and the arts. I pass by the entryways to many different, now nameless, countries, most who have abandoned their lands, who have left this now desolate world. Yet even as I pass more and more decrepit lands, I feel that my journey is taking me in the right direction. Be it far from my home, I know it is where I must go. As the last rays of the day escape from the sky, I come over the crest of a hill and behold something that I thought I would never see again in this world. I see houses. Not houses that are old and rotting, but houses that have people still living in them. Chimneys that have small trailings of smoke escaping from them. The sounds of people going about their late day business. My senses are filled with life once more. I make my way down from the peak of the hill and towards the signs of this civilization. To my surprise, I burst through the bushes onto what appears to be a well-traveled road! Imagine that, it's headed in the direction of the town. I decide to walk into town, right down the middle of the road, still stupefied by the existence of this place, and the tranquility of the town. As the night comes on fully, another spectacular sight is brought to me by my eyes. A fortress! But not the usual drab battlement, but one who's design was obviously meant to have beauty as well as providing fortification. I figure that I have nothing to lose by investigating which country's borders I have now passed, so I head towards the keep. As I approach the outer walls of beautifully hewn stone; I notice a carving above the main entryway. In a very old lettering, the carving reads "The Pen is Mightier than the Sword". I know somewhere in my mind that I have heard that name before. It must be my mind playing tricks on me. Spending so much time in the wilderness by myself must have gotten to me more than I had realized. In any case, I just can't resist the urge to explore this new place, to meet these new people. So, as I see it, I have nothing to lose, and everything to gain. I give my shoulders a hefty shrug and take in a deep breath before making my way inside. The inside is quite as impressive as the outside. I walk down the long halls, looking into vast rooms, all very eloquently decorated. At the end of the hallway, I see an what appears to be an office door. Written on the door is "Recruiter's Office". I wonder to myself, "recruitment for what?". As if to answer my question, I notice a sign beside the door explaining that "the Pen" is a guild of writers and poets, and that in order to become a member, I must submit a piece of creative writing, and have some fellow named Wyvern read and accept it. Once again, I figure I have nothing to lose, so I open the door and make my way inside to do some writing for this application.

...a tall mage, clothed in what was once a dark purple, almost black, mage's robe with a hood covering his face, sleeves hiding his hands and flowing all the way to the rags that meet the floor. The mage reaches up with his paws and removes his hood, revealing what appears to be the very black face of a panther. The mage tips his head to the side and thinks to himself. "well, maybe these people aren't used to seeing such large cats, I should make myself appear a little more.. uh...normal." With that, he stretches out his paws and shakes his head, changing his paws to hands and his head to that of a dark haired, pale skinned mage. He studies the room, which is littered everywhere with papers. Even the desk has mountains of papers and a few ink drawings. The mage sits in the chair on the non-business side of the desk and finds some unused papers and a pen buried under a few books. "Now, what to write...what... to...write..." thinks the mage to himself as he taps his brow with the pen. Suddenly he straighens up as if lightning had stuck his brain! "Oh! I know, I can tell of how I came to this land! I'm sure that will be quite alright." Furiously, the mage starts writing...