Tanuchan

Intended PSA: I've been noticing (for quite some time) a problem with text formatting on dark skins. If you write your posts in some text editor then paste it here, or even copy from a post within the Pen instead of quoting, it seems to come with a code setting the font to "black". While it's not a problem with light skins, those using dark backgrounds (at least the darker SimplyPen skins) will see the text as black against dark blue, or dark green, or such. Illegible While I can shrug it off and just highlight the text while I'm reading, there might be others who also prefer these skins (and in general it's very weird to glance at a barely visible post anyway). So, if you're copying from some text editor/PM/other thread and then pasting it here, if it's not too much work I'd suggest clearing the formatting before hitting 'enter' (highlight the text then hit the second icon on the top, the one that looks like an eraser)... If the font is not formatted, then the skin will default it to the appropriate color instead of the original black (so, white in dark backgrounds). The problem being that you'll have to re-add any bolded/italicised/underlined text (and font, if you chose to use different ones). I've been quietly clearing the formatting of the affected shorter posts in the current ww game, but if they become longer and use more formatting (usually italics/mix of fonts), I won't do it for fear of missing something and thus changing the poster's intent. Just wanted to give a heads-up As I said, I can live with it and probably others with dark skins can, too.

Davey paused his current duty - mopping some undefined portion of the deck (he had actually no idea whether he was on the right spot) per someone's orders - to count the strikes. One... two.. three... huh... was that four or ... yeah, four... He liked the sound of the bell. Just the way the brass rang and echoed brought a tiny smile to his lips, reminding him of how different the sound of the school bell was. But then, that wasn't classy as this one... And as a consequence of his musings at any point when he heard more than three rings, he most likely than not lost count of them. Not that it mattered, unless he was on watch. Not that it mattered even if he was on watch... Davey actually never understood the call bell. Or the bell calls. Hm... reminds me of bell cows... or cow bells... something like that... He continued mopping the deck without much purpose, but shook himself back out of dreamland when someone shoved a mop handle on his back. He turned with a yelp, finding Carey's amused grin.

Davey Jones decided very early on his life that being the child of rich merchants was very boring; and as soon as he could make up his mind, he decided that running away was the best idea he'd ever had. That took, actually, about 14 years of his life. He left home with a nice bag of "essentials", and boarded the first ship he saw at the port that seemed ready to depart. That happened to be the Fat Slug. John York couldn't care less about whoever came aboard as long as they did as told and worked hard; Davey fit that bill, but there were times that John did wonder if he should have screened the boy better... even after a year on board, Davey had no idea what side he had to turn to whenever someone sent him starboard. Or that when one shouted 'bow' it didn't mean he had to bow... In time, Davey Jones is not his true name, but one he chose because it fit a sailor. Or so his babysitter used to say. And to anyone who asks, he'll say that he's of age - just small of build. [and a fair warning: I know even less than Davey does]

An intent to slaughter a gleam in the eyes - hands trembling in gleeful expectation Stalking and hiding observing unseen quiet breathing loud in the silence A light in the eyes a target in sight an intent to slaughter - a knife in the dark. New line: Dark is the night

Board games are fun! Rainy days: quietly at home with a good book, or out with friends for indoors fun?

Sorry, I don't have even the basic vocabulary for this setting... I'll sit this one out. Have fun!

Congrats to the wolves! :-) Next time I should listen to the mad... *chuckles*

Uh.. right... I suppose it's day phase o.O You know, ghosts don't need to keep track of time

updated

Not at alll, I'm glad mine's an inspiration! I'll add to the list of open activities :-) I will see how my muse goes once it's the weekend!

Tennison blinked, sitting up. The silence was quite stunning, after the commotion that had followed her until she had the rope around her neck. She touched her fingers to her throat, trying to understand what had happened - she was quite sure that she had been hanged? The way the world wavered slightly, some points at distance seeming to be blanketed in mist, pulled at her mind. And the fact that several people seemed to be staring at her, while others had their backs turned and muttered something angrily. She heard Augustine berating someone - or more than one, she wasn't sure - and then the cleric came into view. His expression was one of sadness mixed with anger, and he knelt by her. Father Augustine? What happened - I'm alrigh- But maybe she wasn't... at least if she recognized correctly the cleric's whispered words; a quiet prayer for those who had passed, wishing them a peaceful journey Beyond. Tennison groaned, standing up and looking down at her body. Oh well... so apparently this isn't quite the Beyond of our beliefs? Maybe I should tell Augustine that his prayers aren't really helping any travel... She stayed there for several minutes, part of her listening to Augustine's prayer, and another part studying her surroundings curiously. Not quite she had expected, really - she had thought more of a gray plain completely shrouded in mist... but she was actually there, in the village. Just without a body. Shrugging, she stepped away from her body, tilting her head. On impulse, she jumped lightly - smiling when it sent her floating gently upwards. Well, this part seems right. What else can I do, I wonder?

Tennison rubbed her temples, willing her headache to go away; she had had a restless night, waking up almost hourly and wondering if it had been a howling she'd just heard around the inn. In the morning, Abercrombe's absence had been conspicuous, and she didn't need to hear the excited - and fearful - squealing of the barmaids to know whose life had been claimed during the night. With a sigh, she surveyed the mess room, this time making sure that there was space enough among the tables to avoid unfortunate accidents... like someone breaking their neck on a chair. But what do we do, after all, if the curse pursues this village at this time? Still shaking her head, Tennison went back to the kitchen. What is the use of accusing each other blindly... but how do we find who is to blame? Would maybe Augustine know something - a way to lure a werewolf out from the shadows, or to bar its access to the village? Maybe she should talk to him. Like half the village was doing, anyway. And still, a small voice in her head still muttered old lessons. Lessons on breeding, and inbreeding. It was really a shame that the voice reminded her too much of the twit that had wanted to marry her. But isn't that true... ? Bad family inheritance and all? ---- OOC: My braintwin says someone has to vote... so before she bites me, here it goes: again with John/Patrick (c'mon, give me some reason to not consider John has bad genes!!)

Ears perked up - hi-ho! Kicking the air - this is fun! Splat the ground - horse wins...

This might be cheating... Feel friee to skip my line if you prefer the previous one!! An emptied flame erases the reformed skull of time An engorged river erases the eroded bones of memory A cloud of dust erases the carved signs of life And the forces that come will leave with the same promise of oblivion rest peace. New line: Sacrificial maidens in search of evil

Bleeding rivers of fire from cuts deep into a body of stone Cascading down from the roots of mountains Scorching the sins of uncountable lives - and oblivious to the world of promised pain innocence grows, and buds, and blooms Feeding from the warmth of sacrificial maidens.

He was having fun. It had never been about flesh- or emotion-feeding, as tales insisted; it had always been about how long he could keep the fools running and screaming before sending their souls to his Lord. Mortals were gullible, and getting sacrificial maidens got boring after a while…

Why would a mod have an easier life than us on this life?

*giggles no end* I must say, Vene, that your ooc line for voting is the most amusing one I've read in quite some time!!!

Swords. Guns are too noisy Summer or Winter?

It was already past lunch time, but the mess room had nothing of the usual bantering and laughter that was common at the midday break in the village's labors. Instead of harmless jokes and the telling of the morning's doings and finds, the conversation was mostly hushed, and Tennison could notice at least a couple of dark suspicious glances coming from the tables. Serving the meals and at the same time keeping an eye on the kitchen, she found herself brooding as well, though in her case she tried to avoid the purely panicked reasoning that seemed to abound in the village. The curse of werewolves... is it really a curse, or is it something more? Something that comes down the line of a family for some reason? She had had her lessons in breeding a few years ago, when she had dated the son of a horse breeder - shame he had almost less sense than a newborn colt. Or maybe the colt had more sense, actually... Pushing the wandering memory aside, she glared at the chicken soup that was about to boil on the stove. Breeding. And there are some who have very strange ways of doing so, really... who knows what can be lurking behind generations of inbreeding? ==== OOC: voting for John/Patrick...

Tennison blanched as the news reached her, and she made a mental note to see if any of the Widow Katt's children - though they were actually young adults - needed some help. Werewolves were not unheard of in Derulian, but the last they had had to endure of that ancient curse was a generation or two past - she didn't quite remember, with the old stories being passed down from grandmother to mother to daughter. Her mother had never witnessed one, and her grandmother had died when Tennison was but a small child and, as such, unfit to hear those dark stories until much later in her life. Her next thought was about her fellow villagers. If there was indeed a werewolf around, then it meant that the time had come for them to unite and try to protect each other. Maybe ancient lore would help - maybe Father Augustine had some knowledge that could help? The stories she'd heard also mentioned herbs and preparations that would - in theory - keep a werewolf away. If they are more than embellishments, that is... Part of her thought that it was more likely wistful thought, and that Curtis' drunken breath had as much chance to keep a werewolf (or anyone) at bay than any mysterious herb. And the thought that came next to it was much more urgent - would that poor soul inflicted with the curse be one of their own? One of their neighbors, one who they talked to everyday? Or someone who had strayed into the village during the night, a traveler wandering the roads and paths that linked Derulian to neighbor towns? No sense in suspect our own, I guess... After all, why would the curse manifest only now? More likely it was someone new in town. She glanced at the registry book, counting the visitors who had come in the last week. Unfortunately, all of them were old acquaintances; the only one who was truly new to Derulian had left three days past. Oh well. Tennison looked pensively at Curtis, who was currently busy cleaning the floor of the mess room - helping with the cleaning was a small task she gave him every now and then, whenever he needed the money. Would it that he used the coin for better purposes... However, when sober, Curtis was a rather agreeable man, and she didn't dislike him. Maybe he has seen or heard something interesting during his wanderings. Maybe she should talk to him, gather what information she could. After all, sitting behind a closed door wondering if they'd be the next wouldn't help anyone to get rid of the curse.

Tennison greeted Father Augustine with a smile and a nod as they crossed paths, the girl coming back from the Markets with fresh vegetables and fruits for the local inn's kitchen. Her father would be already supervising the maids in their cleaning and getting the mess room ready for the first patrons, while muttering under his breath that his late wife - Tennison's mother, god bless her - would have a fit with the carelessness of the current generation. His daughter being the exception, of course - Gary had such pride in his daughter, that nothing would make him even think unfavorably of her. Once back to the Inn of Five Cats, Tennison proceeded to talk to the cook, planning what the meals served would be and how the best way to cook come exotic produce she had acquired at a good price in the Markets. It was her daily routine, and one that she went through with care and discipline; her father had trusted her common sense since her mother had passed away, and Tennison accepted the responsibility as part of her life. Once done in the kitchen, at least for the early morning, she went to the common room and sat at the front desk, scanning the registry book to see who had come in or left the night before. The Five Cats was not a big inn, but it had about a dozen rooms in the second floor, half of which were usually occupied at any time. Settling in the comfortable chair, she started then to fill the accountancy book for the week.

lol... maybe I should have made Tennison tending somewhat to being intoxicated too... might have been a lot more fun?

Take two Of future, he was the ruler of past things, mover in the present, just a user but in no event, a loser. Maybe in the past a looter, or maybe someone's trooper leaving later, rather than sooner - of time a skilled user. Once a shooter, hunter of pewter, his mood was looser his smile, cooler; but now, his fame huger his skills certainly newer, all he wished was to be neuter. Live a life that could be smoother, making of Time a respected tutor - the past, only a tumor and seeing ahead with humor. Of the future, now a suitor but at this time, only a junior.

I like this =) It has an interesting rhythm because of your use of commas, that forces small pauses in some places where I might not usually stop; it's an interesting emphasis, intriguing sometimes, but I really like how it flows. The end, where you suddenly use three very short verses and forces a break in the rhythm, made me stumble in the first reading; but I think that it adds some undefinable feeling of... maybe sadness? I don't really know how to pinpoint what it is, but I still like the effect. I generally do not go into the "meaning" of the words in a poem as, for me, they are something really subjective unless you're actually bulding a poem as a part of an exercise. But this part intrigues me a lot. Adds to some mystery, I'd say! I've told you that there's a natural music in what you write; my opinion holds ;-) Thank you for sharing!