Venefyxatu

Venefyxatu stirs a bit, muttering about how this story is so good it almost feels illegal reading it without having bought the book

Rhapsody, I know what you mean about being pride to have bought off your award... When (not if ) I get a weenie award I'll be proud to buy it off myself

I am tempted to reply to this if only because you made me curious as to what your crazy ideas are I'm willing to put up with them if you're willing to put up with my absolute lack of ability to arrive anywhere on time.

After splitting up with Travis, Samantha slipped along the city walls, a mere shadow moving through the darkness. She still didn't know how she did it or why it felt so... so right, but moving through darkness had become so easy that sometimes she could just skip a length. And even though it was still strange to see everything so clearly in black and white, she was getting used to it. Suddenly she stopped; she saw a building a little higher than the walls wich would hide her from any guard partolling them – if there would be normal guards. Part of her hated not knowing what to expect but another part, her adventurer's spirit, loved it. There was no match for the thrill of getting out of an unforeseen situation without a scratch, except maybe getting into one. But even unforeseen situations were not always unpredictable – if this truly was a city of assassins they'd more than likely catch her sneaking around. From experience she'd learned that if you could take out one guard without apparent effort, the others would be so surprised they'd give her all she needed to get away – a few seconds. She slipped a paralyzing dart between her lips, ready to launch it should it be necessary and then she calmly started climbing the wall. She'd almost reached the top when she could vaguely hear some commotion at the main gates and despite herself she smiled – she hadn't known Travis for much more than a day and yet his timing was perfect. When after a few moments she still didn't hear sounds of movement above her she decided to risk it and hoisted herself up on the wall. Not seeing anybody, she quickly climbed up to the roof she'd seen earlier. As soon as she stood overlooking the area though, she felt a sharp metal point pressed against the small of her back and she could hear a voice whisper next to her ear, ”The reason why you have no idea how many have tried to enter the city like this is because none of them lived to tell.” Clenching her teeth to stop the dart from falling from her mouth she whispered back, ”Then they weren't well-prepared enough.” As she spoke, though, she made herself shift through the shadows, reappearing behind the man. Even though her unexpected relocation and the strange effect this had on her voice must've been a weird sensation he moved immediately in a way that would've blocked an attack coming from her. ”I can see why they didn't survive.” As she spoke the last word, she spat out her dart. The man tried to dodge it but either it was too dark or she was standing closer than he'd expected because moments later he slumped to the ground, unconscious, where she decided to leave him – minus one dart. By the time he woke up he'd probably be missed anyway and the city would be alerted to her presence. She'd have to hurry and hope that they didn't put her actions on Travis' bill.

Aaaahhh... Venefyxatu rubs his hands and tries an evil cackle which becomes a wheezing cough If you'll excuse me, I have some plans that need working on now that I know this... Venefyxatu leaves the thread, so lost in thought that he doesn't even notice he bumps into YanYan and apologizes.

In spite of there being only the faintest of light from the stars, Samantha caught the flower and sniffed it, using the gesture to mask a moment of private thoughts. Since the party from her hometown had split up she'd tried to remain solitary as much as possible, especially when she had a task to complete, but she had the idea that the company of this... warrior poet wouldn't stop her from completing that task. Besides, if his fighting skills were as good as his poetry skills he'd be able to take care of himself, as long as he didn't get himself into trouble in Rahkir. When she looked up, a glint of starlight reflecting off her eyes, Travis noticed that they were completely white. Before he could say anything about it though, Samantha spoke in a slightly reserved tone. After all, she hadn't forgotten Finnius yet even though it was years ago. He'd had such a nice way with words... ”A beautiful flower to go with a beautiful poem. Let us be well met, sir Travis. What brings you to this nearly-deserted area, if I may ask?” With a big grin, Lotus answered – apparently he was good enough to make her believe his story. Even though he was curious about her eyes, he decided not to ask anything yet – he wanted to be sure first, and it was as though the little light there was was avoiding her completely. ”Of course you may ask! And what better reason would a travelling poet have to go anywhere but to gather stories? When I learned that there was as good as nothing known about Rahkir, I decided to see if I could figure out the reason for that. Since you're here, would you happen to know anything about the city?” She'd gone through a lot of trouble for it, but she did indeed know a few things about the city. It was amazing how even some trivial information like what she knew could be so hard to come by. She knew that the city was very well-defended and that it was virtually impossible to enter for someone who wasn't welcome, that being about every outsider. Also, the inhabitants of Rahkir were rumoured to be extremely good with weapons. When she told him this, Travis seemed to be genuinely interested and worried about how he himself was going to get in then. “I suggest you try the gates... they seem to value their privacy so I imagine that anyone caught sneaking into the city is going to go through some extremely unpleasant experiences.” “And what about you, m'lady? Surely there is nothing else of interest in this area?” When Samantha answered, Lotus had the feeling that she was looking straight at him even though he couldn't quite make out her face. “Me? I'm going to sneak in, kill somebody and sneak out again.” Because her answer surprised him somewhat it wasn't really hard for him to act surprised. “But... did you not just say...” Samantha laughed, still holding the Lotus in her hands. “Don't worry about me, sir Travis. I have no intention to journey to the next world anytime soon. Say... what is this flower called? I've never seen one like it”

One of the things that adventurers and assassins have in common, besides the first letter of their profession, is that they don't grow old if they don't sleep lightly – especially if they have gained some renown, and doubly so for those who are both. Samantha was both and she'd made some enemies as well, both of the common races and some darker, so she'd picked up the habit of sleeping light very quickly. Therefore, when someone stopped near the thicket she was in, she instantly awoke without moving. Knowing that, even though an ordinary human wouldn't be able to see her, there were other things out there, she quietly let Fir'nae slide into her hand and tensed her muscles, ready to move instantly. While she was listening, Lotus finished his little speech and cautiously approached the thicket, for even though he knew he would probably survive whatever he'd find it never hurt to be cautious, did it? As Lotus quickly searched through the ticket, Samantha decided that he couldn't “feel” her presence like some creatures would've been able to, and probably wouldn't be able to “feel” her jumping either. With a mere thought she vanished, and reappeared next to her horse, Fir'nae still in her hand. Not really hiding anymore, just standing really quietly, she watched Lotus go through the brush she'd been under and had just the time to think that if he could see traces of her having been there, he must be really good when he turned around. “If you're thinking about using that dagger on me, I suggest you start thinking something else.” Samantha slid the dagger up into her sleeve again, knowing that it was still ready to slide back into her hand. ”If I'd wanted to use it on you, sir, I would've done so already. But one can never be too careful... From your attitude I would say that, had you wanted to hurt me, you would've done so already. If I had a campfire I would invite you to join me at it, but for lack of one I'll just invite you in general.”

What ^^ they said Get well soon!

I heard those symptoms can be pretty nasty Broken computers are no fun - think it can be fixed? I'll cross my fingers for you!

I also stumbled across this website - it was logged on a very popular Dutch weblog. As is usually the case, there are those who think things like this are ridiculous, and there are those who fully agree with the website. Personally, I was actually rather impressed by how concerned Americans are with politics - most people I know here seem as if they couldn't care less about who's governing them (probably because the parties are a ) too complicated and b ) most people think that politicians are all corrupt, so it doesn't matter which one you get. I don't think (hope) it'll be as bad as it seems when looking at this website... I also found another website, logged on the same weblog : clickety click. It's a kind of condolance register ... don't think I need to explain any further? 243 pages of it... Also, it's actually counting down ("Only 3 years and 352 days until Bush leaves the white house"). Methinks this to be slightly exaggerated...

OOC : Black and I have been talking about this and I was eager to get started, so here's the first post For now, I'd like to ask that you don't join without asking first. Thank you Before I start, I have an important announcement to make. The city this story starts in, and will likely continue in as well, was not created by me nor by Black. My friend DilaShu was so kind to borrow me a city she'd created for a roleplaying world and give us the freedom to adjust it to adjust it as needed. She did a mighty fine job creating the city, and that's something that should be known. Thank you! *heads off to the Greenroom to make an OOC thread for comments and discussions and such* ----- She'd seen it lying in the distance all day now, but she didn't hurry. She knew her victim wouldn't be leaving the city anytime soon and that even if he did she wouldn't have to wait very long for him to return. Now that she finally knew who he was and where he came from, she'd be able to find him back without much problems anyway. The real problem was how she was going to study his behaviour – normally she'd just enter the city and observe her victim in different disguises, but Rahkir was no ordinary city. It was situated on the coast of the Tehrassi Ocean and the docks was the only part of the city that visitors ever got to see, if they were even allowed to leave their ships. On the inland side, there was a single road leading through the open plains to the city, but nobody had ever used it to enter – at least nobody who still lived to tell about it. What could be seen of the city itself was darkly coloured and never lit at night. There were no buildings rising high above the others, nor were there any fancy shapes that caught the eye. It was as though the builders had tried to make the city as dull to look at as possible and succeeded remarkably well at this. As night started falling Samantha led her horse to a thicket near a small stream along the road and dismounted. She calmly took off her gear, the saddle and riding gear and took care of the horse before hobbling it. That way it could choose a good grazing spot without being able to wander off too far. Then she took care of herself – she ate some of the trail rations she'd brought and washed up in the stream. After that she sat awake for a long time, deciding to get a full day of rest before continuing to the city... at night and without the horse. When she finally went to sleep, she made sure to blend in with the darkness, hidden under some shrubs.

~Brief description~ Samantha Wilder – my favourite character, inspired by (coincidence?) my favourite song: Always a woman by Billy Joel. She was shaped through roleplay in many different ways : Ultima Online (most of her background story), roleplay in the Yahoo chat rooms before their decline (mostly her attitude towards magic), several other computer RPGs (details here and there), and pen-and-paper Dungeons & Dragons in the realm of Faerûn (the most important event in her adventuring life, I'll get back to that). Her being played in so many systems tends to leave gaps and inconsistencies, so I'm going to make a heroïc effort to put her on (virtual) paper the way she is – to say it with the words of Douglas Adams : “Anything that is put down wrong here is, as far as I'm concerned, wrong for good.” And to add my own words : "If I remember something I forgot, I'll add it so as not to make things completely wrong " Name : Wilder, Samantha Race : Human, struggling with her Shade side Gender : Female Age : 28 Edit : Added proper formatting and some details I forgot. Edit 2 : Reading through all that, it would seem that Samantha can now officially claim the title of "My most developed character." Even now I feel that there are many things that still need to be worked out, I just don't know what. Comments are always welcome.

Wow That reminded me of this exercise we once did in school where you had to write down what was crossing your mind for a few minutes. It's a kind of writing that's still easier to read than a runon, but it's a close call I don't know why, but I like reading things written like this... although too much wouldn't be good either

If someone gets me the "magical" formulas this stack calculator needs to be able to compute, including a description of what each formula does, I might be able to fix that. Of course, after receiving the formulas with their descriptions, I might continue bugging you with questions until I have every last answer I need, but I promise I'll try not to be too annoying

The Big Pointy One made some good points there... explaining why I sometimes find the word "civilization" to have a bitter taste. I often have the idea that being civilized means using complex and technologically advanced weapons instead of sticks and stones to kill people (it's an extreme point of view, I know, and I'm glad it only surfaces every now and then instead of haunting me 24/7 ). As for the big scale (read : politicians) there is that and the fact that power corrupts. I'm getting more and more convinced that in the end everyone, bar the odd one-in-a-century exception, would be corrupted if they had governing power over others. In the Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy I found, among all the hilarity, an interesting remark concerning that : the one who is least willing to rule is the best person to do it. Or : those who don't want to rule won't be corrupted by their power... until they start enjoying their leadership. Other than that, I would also say human nature is the best possible answer : nobody likes to be wrong, so if two persons have different opinions on something that means they are both "threatening" the other one's "being right". And that's where human nature kicks in and they start defending themselves... I hope that didn't sound too confused. I could always try making it more complicated if you like (j/k)

There are some pretty good points made in this thread... and I'm going to try and add some of my own point of view to that. When I read these two extremes, my impression is that "If your success is not on your own terms, if it looks good to the world but does not feel good in your heart, it is not success at all." sounds like the more "honourable" way of thinking, and that "It doesn't matter if you win by an inch or a mile. Winning's winning!" is the easy way out (although I can understand it in situations like the Fast and the Furious - don't know if you quoted that movie on purpuse). I, too, am not satisfied with a success if it doesn't feel right to me, although I will probably accept it ("give me the tenacity to accept what I cannot change") and learn to live with it, trying to get through on my own terms next time, as it was put so nicely before... In fact, to come back to that movie (it makes a nice example here) - "I almost had you!", for Brian that was a victory, for Domenic it wasn't (even though he won the race). I consider Brian's victory worth a lot more than that of Domenic... I hope that made some sense, and helped out some.

Venefyxatu smiles and opens his eyes. "Black, 't is good to see you here. I take it you are well?" Then, his smile still playing around his lips, he turns his attention to the wolf. "Seeing as how you read my application, I'm sure you can understand me. I take it that you are also a resident here?" He knew that he still wasn't very good at making idle conversation, but at least he'd tried...

Venefyxatu calmly walks into the office, carrying a few sheets of parchment in his hand and leaning heavily on his staff as always. As he walks through the office, shoving a paper aside here and a stray gold coin there... wait... a stray gold coin? From what I have seen here in the few days that I have been around that shouldn't be... better place it on the desk so it won't get lost. Hmmmmm... and if I place it on top of my application it's bound to be noticed! Venefyxatu places the papers he was carrying on the desk and puts the gold coin on top of it in such a way that it reflects the light falling through the window right to the door. Then he sits down and begins waiting, apparently asleep the moment he sits. But appearances are deceiving; he's actually thinking about how grateful he is to Black9, both for making him want to start playing with words again and join the Pen and for letting him use his character in this story... The papers read as follows : A Necromancer's journey A storm was raging over an unnamed world. The rain had been pouring down for several turns now, turning rarely-used sand paths as well as often-travelled main roads to mud. The lightning that flashed regularly lit up the ghostly shapes of dead trees and reflected distorted images of the clouds that were rolling across the sky in the puddles. With every flash, thunder cracked with the sound of vast magical energies being released. The storm was raging over dead forests, beating down on small villages and mighty citadels alike, filling the superstitious with more fear than the continuous warfare ever could, sending dogs whimpering to their masters to be comforted and filling mineshafts with more rain than they could hold. The storm was also raging over a small village called Ambar. In this village there were more superstitious people than in most of the big cities, because so far it had been spared from most wars. Every now and then an army would pass, but the village was so poor and undevelopped that the plunder that could be had from it was hardly worth the effort of stopping. Also, near the village stood a haunted manor. In a world where the undead have realms of their own, this shouldn't be very special, but this manor was different. It wasn't that there were ghosts there, or monsters that could hurt you. It wasn't dilapidated, although with the rain and the flashes of lightning it looked as though it could fall apart at any moment. No, the real reason why it inspired fear and superstition was because there was absolutely nothing there, sometimes not even the manor itself. It felt as though the world didn't really exist around the manor, as if you could just fall through into who knows what other world. Something like that was happening on this particular evening. Just when a particularly loud thunderclap shook the earth, a man appeared out of nowhere and was smashed into one of the manor's walls. As he hit the wall, he let go of a gnarled piece of wood he had been holding, causing it to drop in the mud only moments before he himself collapsed into a heap, next to his, for lack of a better word, staff. After that, the storm slowly raged itself out. When the sun rose the next morning, the man was still lying in the mud but the manor was vanishing, as if scared off by the light. The man didn't regain consciousness until late in the afternoon, and when he did, he immediately reached for his staff. Relieved at feeling the familiar piece of wood in his hand he slowly and painfully sat up. When he looked around, he realized that his staff was one of the few familiar things around. He rememered his own name and that last night, he narrowly escaped going back to Hell... wait, back to Hell? Had he been there before then? Merely thinking about it seemed to hurt his head, so he abandoned that thought, hoping that it would come back later. He decided to leave the past for what it was and, supported by his staff, got to his feet. Slowly, he limped off, trusting his intuition to bring him where he had to be. He wasn't really much to look at, especially with the way he was limping and leaning on his staff. His skin was pulled tight around his bones and was so white it reminded of marble. The thin hair that still framed his face was a grayish shade of white, and his tattered robes might once have been red but they looked more like black now. The only things that looked alive were his staff, twisted though it might be, and his eyes : as green as the brightest emerald, and seemingly burning with a fire deep on the inside. Those eyes were the first thing the people in Ambar noticed about him in the inn that evening. When they entered the inn for their usual drink after work the man was already sitting there, his staff leaning against the wall next to him, his hands folded around an otherwise untouched drink. He sat in a corner and didn't seem to pay any heed to the soft whispers that rippled through the crowd. “An undead, here!” “And the Manor is gone again... think that has anything to do with it?” “Undead!” It went on like that for the better part of the evening. The man didn't remember ever being an undead, but then again, he didn't remember not being one either. There was something with undeath, though, although it wasn't called that. It was called... neither? Nether, that was it! Nether Magic, or black magic as it was more commonly known. It had been an important part of his... unlife? He shook off the thoughts, knowing by now that they would come back when the time was right. By the end of the evening, when most of the other patrons had gone home, he was approached by a man completely dressed in black. Most people didn't seem to have noticed him – or was it that they didn't want to notice? “I sense an aura of death around you” A wheezing laughter escaped from the mages throat. “Your perceptiveness amazes me.” “Listen! You seem quite capable of dealing death, and I have the feeling that you are more than a mere miner or soldier. In short : this town needs a capable leader, and my guild needs an ally here.” Somehow, all of that sounded familiar to the mage; alliances, leadership... as if he'd heard it all before. After pondering that for a few moments, he replied. “I can do that.” “Very well. I suggest you take up residence in the manor just north of the village. Any messages you have for me you can address to Xanthor. The messengers will know where to take it. And you are...?” Both pride and arrogance crossed the mages face as he answered that question. “Venefyxatu. But tell me; is there a mage in your guild?” “Mages don't exist. They're fairy tales the elves and humans tell their youngsters.” With these words he got up and left, leaving Venefyxatu to wonder about the undead that seemed to be present in this world without the need for magic to support them. The next day, Venefyxatu gathered the townspeople in the market square. Even though he could hardly raise his voice, the entire town heard him announce that he would be taking the lead for even the wind seemed to try and be quiet. When he announced that he would go and live in the manor just north of the village, however, the entire crowd started talking at the same time. Venefyxatu let them and headed towards his new home without sparing a moment's thought for the fact that it hadn't been there the first time he saw that place. Over the next few days people started dying – and rising from their graves. Undead from many places swarmed to the village, attracted by something they couldn't quite define, and helped turn it into a mighty bolwarck. But even though Ambar became a mighty realm, Venefyxatu felt that there was something missing. Until some time later someone unexpected appeared at the manor. He just stood outside, a rather tall man with a black breastplate and matching cloak, armed with a leader class slayer sword and throwing daggers belted around his waist, raising his voice so that he could be heard inside. “Venefyxatu!” When Venefyxatu came out and saw his visitor, he stopped as if struck by lightning. Seeing the blue eyes of the vampire he had once known as the archmage Black brought back more memories than weeks of meditation ever could have. He remembered commanding armies that dwarfed several of the largest armies on this world combined. He remembered the feeling of magic flowing through his body, and the burning pits of Hell that were the price he paid for that feeling. But most of all, he remembered the face of Moon, the Light in the Night, his beloved goddess, and the world that was called Terra falling apart under his very feet. “Archmage... you seem surprised to see me here?” The vampire looked amused. “How can you stand living here, in a world without magic, fighting petty skirmishes with ignorant fools? Do you not long for real battles again?” “Now that I remember, yes. But I cannot just leave.” The vampire burst out laughing. “'I cannot just leave'? Sounds like a cheap way to cover weakness to me! I can't stand this any longer... you know where to find me... Archmage!” And before Venefyxatu had the chance to say anything else, the vampire turned around and left, never to be seen in this world again. He did leave his mark on the former Archmage though; now that he knew what was lacking, the emptiness became more obvious with each passing day. And as the emptiness became more obvious, Venefyxatu grew more and more distracted. Ambar didn't grow the way it used to, and the defending army suffered one defeat after another. Within days, the once mighty stronghold had fallen to ruin. Another world, another universe. It was a quiet night with the full moon covering the earth in a pale, white light. A soft breeze whispered through the trees and the last lights went out in the villages that dotted the landscape. Nothing moved, except... on the road that connected a small village with an impressive but beautiful keep a heap appeared. When it started moving, it immediately searched for the staff that had appeared next to it. Venefyxatu didn't look very different – except for the pallor of his skin that had gone and the almost dried-up blood he was covered in – most of it his own. Slowly and painfully he got to his knees and sat staring up at the moon for a long time.