Akallabeth

"Gah! Firefox crashed about halfway through my post!" Akallabet runs off for a while to think and get some sleep.

/me gets into an evil mood and goes off to post and cause further havoc.

Zarek watches insolently as Darth Salakin makes his announcement, stopping short of sneering contempt at the mention of Darth Revan. That so-called Sith Lord had been the one whom had sent Zarek to this miserable academy. Academy, bah, he hated the word. All these bloatedly pompous Sith trying to instruct all these other younger ones, none of which was possibly his equal, at least at piloting. He knew that the only way to learn was though experience, not this classroom rubbish. And these drills the they were forced to go through - bah! What was the use of only going half way? These other students had much to learn of the ways of the Dark Side. Disdainfully, he looked over at that Bothan. What was the use of learning at a place with non-humans? Everything they stuck a paw in was changed for the worse. "Aliens," he muttered quietly, as if the word was deadly poison dripping off his tounge. Standing with great abruptness, he walked out, following the path taken by the others who had left. Taking no notice of the many students who had suddenly reached for their weapons, he left, leaving the students be, save for one fool who had actually considered shooting him. Angrily stopping, he projected a thought, and the student moved his hand back from his blaster, as though scalded. Continuing the thought, he amplified the heat, until the student cried out in pain, attracting the attention of the headmaster and his assistants, at which he released him. Moving on with a smile, he moved towards the hanger, easily eluding the grasping thoughts of the angered student. Nodding mockingly at all he passed, he continued on his way to the hanger, where he might check on his modified Sith fighter. It would be just like some of the students to sabotage his craft, and he didn't want to lose his ride off this place. . . . EDITS- Added to post before any replies, fixed minor probs, and changed ship type to a more accurate model (again))

http://www.legion.net.nz./cgi/irc.cgi I used this for a while as an online irc client. It's not fancy, but it may work. Just change the user name and channel name. The server's good. Also, here's another galaxynet server, one that i've found to be reliable. online.be.galaxynet.org EDIT: I stand corrected. That IRC server will automatically send you to a different one which is quite reliable, at least for me. Thanks Deg.

I'm ready. And patient.

Ah, well. Congrats to all, and perhaps good shall triumph next time.

Rhys paces throughout the abbey, trodding on the deserted paths. Why wouldn't they listen? Why wouldn't any of them listen? Rhys looked to the west, where the sun was setting behind the mountains. He fears that this is all too likely the last sunset to fall for one of the residents of the abbey. For night approaches. Rhys takes a path back to the Scriptorum, where he turns to the Lord's Holy Word for comfort. As he is turning through the book of Psalms, he sees Psalm 91, versesfive and six, and knows that he can sleep in peace tonight. For what is life on this earth but a passing moment? You will not fear the terror of night . . . nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness. Satisfied, Rhys turns to the church, to say prayers for his deceased and departed brothers, and for the souls of those still in the abbey. He then returns to his cell, and immediately falls into heavy sleep.

(OOC: Glad to be here Wyv. Perhaps I shall learn more of Almost Draconic merchandise) Akallabeth feels a smile growing upon his face, and stands up, walking over to help Tanny out from under the various appendages that have buried her. Arms and legs fly through the air, only to land on top of a nearby bookshelf. By the time Tanny is freed from the tangled mess of limbs, there is a large, teetering stack on top of the bookcase, waiting for the next violent opening or closing of the door. Carefully and quietly, Tanny and Akallabeth leave Wyvren's office to the next applicant, as the assorted mannequin limbs teeter precariously above the desk.

Happy Birthday, my recently deceased Brother !

Name: Zarek Thraus Race: Human Planet of Origin: Corellia History: Realized Dark side within at early age, killed parents shortly afterwards, and left planet shortly afterwards to find fortune elsewhere. Came to Sith Academy after wandering galaxy for several years, where he is now pursuing his calling as a Sith. Is somewhat versed at piloting, having learned in a stolen craft of yet undecided make when fleeing to Yavin 4 before then proceeding to Korriban. No Sith Lord has taken on the burden of his teaching yet.

Edit: Misread setting. Probably not a good idea to have a Jedi in a Sith academy. Hmmm. New Name TBA.

Brother Rhys sits in a corner of the scriptorium, in the chair that was Brother. . . oh, who knows. Rhys has seen so many leave or die in the past days. And now. . .the one who probably knew had left. One of the servants just "happened" to have walked by the abbots door while Brother Gulzar was inside, and somehow heard that Brother Gulzar had been sneaking around in some secret passages, supposedly watching the other monks. If that was the case. . .perhaps Brother Gulzar had known the killer. Or was it killers. . . . bah, best to think of what I know. Rhys looks up from his work, and knows what he must do. Follow Gulzar's lead. (OOC: I accuse Brother Caire/ Gryphon) EDIT: Forgot the last bracket

(OOC: Hope I'm not too late) "Brother Thomas," Rhys said, "if you do not eat soon, your meal will become cold, and the cook's hard work shall all be for naught." Thomas looks up quickly from his notes, as if just realizing that he is not alone, and has food in front of him. He nods to Rhys, obviously expressing thanks for his words. He quickly eats his food, a delicious shepherd's pie, and returns to his notes. Rhys feels that there is not much time left. If the killer is not found soon, there may be no reason for there to be a cook. Sighing, he returns to his thoughts. Brother Caire, perhaps he could be the murderer? But it was truly impossible to know for sure. (OOC- Quick post and accusation of Brother Caire) EDIT: changed my mind

Watch the Assistant Pig Keeper grow to be King See the bauble lit, then extinguished forever Travel from the Hall of Bards to Annuvin Slay the lord of evil See a lesser evil die by his lord's iron crown Bid the Sons farewell as they sail across the sea Or read this last book of a series.

Eleanor walks slowly into a great forest of oak. It is springtime, and flowers are spread amongst the pillars of the trees. For as far as the eye can see, there is nothing except the great grey tree trunks, and the small flowers, which cover the floor of the forest in a medley of green, white, and red. As she glides amongst the oaks, she feels that there is something wrong, some discord disturbing the placid wood. No birds sing, and the forest seems to almost be in mourning. She moves silently through the trees, searching for this thing that darkens the entire forest. She softly walks amongst the trees, looking and listening for something. Suddenly she sees a glint! It is as if sunlight is reflecting off polished metal, yet somehow different, a more ruddy glint. Eleanor begins to rush, ghosting amongst the trees, for she feels in her heart that this must be the source, the base of the discord. She moves around yet another grandfather of an oak, and halts. For in front of her, a man lies on the ground, leaning against a tree. His formerly shining armor is dented and blood covered. His breath comes in gasps, and it is clear that he will not remain in this world for long. The man lolls his head to the side, revealing his face. Grey eyes, high cheekbones, and a narrow head. This is not a man of her land, Eleanor realizes. She reaches out to touch the traveler, to wipe some of the blood from his brow. As her hand reaches out, the man suddenly grabs her wrist by the man’s gauntleted hand. Startled, she draws back, and seeks to withdraw her arm from his grasp. He gasps out a single word: “Wait.” She stops trying to escape, and looks at him. There is a look of earnestness on his face, and he releases her wrist. In the same slow voice, which clearly is slowly draining the remaining life out of him, he continues. “I have a tale I must tell to you before I pass on. One must know why this occurred, why I am dying. Please say that you will listen, and remember my words.” Eleanor nods her head in assent, unsure of how she could respond otherwise to such a simple request. The dying man gives a weak smile, and begins his tale, speaking in the same laborious, life draining manner. I am from a town a great distance from here. In this town, I had been counted among the bravest and most noble soldiers from since I was young. Thus, it was no surprise to me when our town’s chief came to me with a request. He wished me to go to another town, not far from here, to deliver a message. There seemed to be something strange in the way he said this, as if he was suppressing some emotion, what emotion, I could not tell. And the message. . . was different. For some strange reason, it was enclosed, sealed within a glass tube, which had been embellished with green and gold vines, obviously glazed on by some of my town’s master craftsmen. There was certainly a paper inside, but having such a simple piece of paper in this ornate tube seemed illogical to me. Before I left, the chief instructed me to treat the paper with the utmost care, and to return immediately upon delivering it to the leader of the other town, with absolutely no loitering. He made this last part explicitly clear, and then wished me a good trip and a safe return. Though this did pique my curiosity, I had been asked to deliver various other trifles to other town leaders before. I made the lengthy journey, and personally delivered the message to the leader of the other town, a kind elderly man. He looked at me with wizened eyes, and bade me to wish the chief of my town well. The man seemed somewhat familiar to me, but I did not learn why until much later. He bade me a safe journey to my hometown, and I left immediately. My town’s chief had been anxiously awaiting my return for some time, or so I was told by other citizens. I reported that I had a safe journey, and that the message had been given to the leader in immaculate condition. I had nearly left his house when I remembered the message that the other town’s leader had given me, that I should wish the chief well. At my saying this, a great pallor spread over his face, and he bade me leave. The next morning, the chief was gone. No one ever found him again, living or dead. Evidently, I had been the very last person to talk to him, as he left without saying a word to his wife or children. A new chief was chosen, and life went on, leaving the matter of the old chief’s disappearance as a legend of sorts. Several years went by. Towards the end of summer, an elderly woman appeared in our village. Her skin was white and wasting, and she claimed to be the last surviving citizen of a town that had experienced a strange pestilence. She saw me several times, but somehow she recognized me the last time. Her eyes grew wide, and her mouth grimaced in hatred. ‘You! You!’ she said, ‘You brought it upon us, you and the cursed vine!’ After saying this, she fell into a coma, one which she never did recover from. She died that very night, despite the best efforts of the town healer. Needless to say, this proclamation by her did incite a great deal of shock in me, and suspicion in others. Several weeks after this, the chief ordered me to leave. No pity was on his face when he said this, clearly believing that I had somehow killed this woman, and if she was telling the truth, her town as well. She had never said exactly which town she was from, but now the message in the tube of vines returned to me, and the strange disappearance of the old chief. As I was left without house or home, with nothing but my horse, gear, and some food from a few kind souls to take with me, I thought that I might as well venture to the town where I had delivered the message. Strangely enough, the road was gone. While before there had been a fine, cleared path through a beautiful forest, now there was merely a spot where younger trees grew, with a few brave clumps of grass clinging to life amongst the overcrowding canopy of the trees. Soon enough even these disappeared, and I was left to wander blindly, always moving on in the direction that I believed to be correct. I had gone a good ways (several miles, at least) into the forest, when a light sound pulled me aside. I saw then a great basin of granite, carved out of the rock, into which must have fell a small stream, now reduced to mere drops in this large stone bowl. The drops, coming down one by one, sounded as though they were teardrops, endless tears. Sadly, this was all too true. As I looked up again, listening to the softly tinkling sound of the water, I saw that I was amongst many great hills, or so they appeared to be at first. With a great shock, I realized that this was not so! The hills were vine covered houses, stone houses. Most were so covered that the stone could no longer be seen, but here and there, the square, precise corners placed by the stonemason were visible. Some of the green barrows had holes in the sides, formerly occupied by windows or doors. As I moved on, farther into the town, I dismounted from my horse, to wonder at the beauty that the town still possessed in its covered state. As I continued to walk, entranced by the always audible tears of the waterfall, I saw that I had come to the town square. It was completely different from my memories, and yet not so. There was the fountain in the center, now a pinnacle of green leaves and snaking vines, and dry, with no more joyous bubbling water. Off to one side, why, there was the house where a small child had waved at the big man in armor passing by on his horse. Now it was armored also, in a thick leafy mat. And over to the side... oh, that was no tree there. One of the lamps still stood, appearing to be a weeping willow with the vines trailing off its four arms where lanterns had been hung at night. And wasn’t that the building that had appeared to be an inn? If only I had taken time to look when I had the chance! Indeed, if not for the vines covering all the structures and roads in the town, it would have looked as the same as when I saw it first, though devoid of human life. This drove into my head what the woman had said, that I had brought this upon them. How could this be? Where were all the people? Then I thought of the message. What had it contained? Foolishly, I thought that it still might exist. Of course it would be in the leader’s house. I turned, and began to walk across the square, the strange vines with green leaves, which actually hid the gold beneath them, seemed to crunch underfoot. When I got to the house, I could not find the door. I knew where I had entered, but I could not see any trace of a door or window. Indeed, this house seemed to be the most covered of all. I easily sliced through the first vines with my sword, and was immediately cut back, or so it felt. When I looked down at my chest plate, there was a line across it, dented in deeply, as though someone had tried to cut me in the same manner in which I had cut the vines. Startled by this, I looked up, and saw nothing except the vines I had separated, with some lying limply on top of those coating the ground, and the others hanging still, held up by their fellows. There was nothing to be seen that could have possibly made the dent in my armor, except my own sword. ‘Ah,’ I thought, ‘this is foolishness. You must have dented it at some other time, and only now became aware of it. Yet this did not comfort me. Apprehensively, I tried again, as I saw that but one more stroke should open up the door. Again, the vines parted, and again I felt the same sensation. This time, however, it had not only been on my chest plate, but also slipped between armor plates and cut myself as well. Blood dripped down from my wounded shoulder, onto the leaves, causing them to turn gold, and, strangely enough, grow wherever the blood hit. I did not wish this to deter me from entering the house, so I did my best to ignore the pain and the strange reaction of the plant and move on into the house. Once I entered, I was astounded. While I expected to see decay and mold throughout, due to the moistness caused by the numerous plants, I had certainly not expected what I saw. The furniture looked as though it was as good as new. Plates, paper, and all the paintings were just the same as when I left. Nothing had changed inside. I went to the room where I had given the leader his message, and there saw it just as if I had left. Except for several changes. There, upon the desk, was the vine covered tube, opened. The scrap of parchment which was obviously the message lay beside it. Also, there was another partially finished letter written, with the pen left upon the paper, as if the person had merely left to eat, or perhaps answer a door. Other than that, there was nothing different, save for the vines nearly filtering out the light coming through the old window. I picked up the scrap of paper that had sufficed for the actual written message within the vine encrusted tube. I was astounded by the words, astounded that the old chief could have said such things. Here’s what it said: Father- Do you realize what it is like to be your son? To constantly have to live up to your image in everything, whether it is something as simple as building a shelf, to being a leader of a town? I cannot ever seem to do anything that comes close to you! You do not seem to care about anything I do, from how my life goes to how my family is, and my town is doing. I want you to be able to feel what this is like, how harsh this cuts. In this vial, there is a type of seed, which creates a vine like no other. It will grow on its own at first, very rapidly. I do not doubt that it is now climbing your house as you read this. After this, it becomes far more interesting. All the energy that you use in trying to destroy this vine, or in any way harm it, will be used to injure you, cutting you back after all your hard work. This is to let you experience how it feels when hard work is done, and devalued, much as all my work is when it is compared to yours. After it has drawn blood from repeated efforts, it will slowly take over your body, making you become a part of it. It will kill you eventually, at least your body. However, this plant will keep your mind with it, allowing you to see and feel the hurt of striking at others who strike at you, just as I am doing by sending you this. Though this will grow on its own, it will be greatly accelerated by the hopeless efforts of your townspeople in trying to destroy this. For every person it consumes accelerates the process. I trust this will make you feel my pain, at not even wishing me well once, as I go through my separate life, soon to be freed of your influence. Your son “The other message was the father’s response, never finished, as a last letter to his son. I felt that he would not wish for others to read it. As you may guess, I escaped from the town destroyed by my old chief’s excessive pride and wish to succeed. However, I have fallen prey to the vine also, for I was mortally injured in my attempt to leave, and do not have long left. Please, I ask you for but one more favor: stay near me until I die, and then leave me, that the vines do not cut you also, as they have cut me, and these two towns.” Eleanor stayed by the man, holding his hand until his breath slowed, and finally stopped. She then left him as he requested, and pondered his sad story in her heart, as the green and gold vines grew. I'd appreciate it if you'd post or PM any suggestions or advice. I don't quite feel that this is a well finished work, but I hope it's good enough. (EDIT: Fixing indents, adjusting some things I didn't care for, and changed "restaurant" to "inn" in paragraph 15)

Found a post to put in. Now I need to knock some of that thinking out of me, and play a little Diablo II. I should have an application up by tomorrow at the latest.

Brother Rhys walked, dejected, through the garden once more. The day of his arrival at the abbey still clung to his memory. Seeing so many of the brothers gathered together at one spot, working together, had been greatly uplifting. And now.... his thoughts trailed off. Brother Felipe, locked down in the dungeons working on some pennance, probably due to the suspicions that many of the brothers, him included, had placed on him. And he'd just been at this very spot, not five days ago. Yet it seemed like an eternity. Brother Francis, murdered in cold blood, probably by the lunatic Adrian. And the poor soul whom he'd been escorting, poor old Brother Rabano, killed also. And this very path, why, he had been sweeping it on the first day. Brother Thibault, slaughtered as he prayed. He had seemed so cold at first to Rhys, yet after the first day or two of Rhys's presence he had warmed up some. 'Dear God!' thought Rhys, 'Are just me, and Brothers Mathieu and Gulzar the only ones who remain of this group that just was standing here less than five days ago?' Brother Rhys fell to his knees, and then fell flat on the ground, beseeching the Lord to remove the terror that filled this abbey, this abbey that now seemed to be an outpost of hell rather than heaven. As the hours lengthened, and the light of the sun rose to its apex, Brother Rhys still remained, praying fervantly for the safety of his brothers, for their protection and safety from the evil that seemed to fester in this place. Only when the church bell chimed that it was time for reading and meditation to begin did Brother Rhys stiffly rise from his lonely prayers, startling a passerby who did not see him facedown amongst the rhubarb. Slowly Rhys moved to the Aedificium, to study books in the floor of the copyists below the library. As he came in, he immediately found the Holy Word of the Lord, the Bible, comfort to all in dark hours. As he slowly turned the beautifully illustrated pages, he came to the book, chapter, and verses he had been seeking. Ecclesiastes Chapter 3:1-8 1 omnia tempus habent et suis spatiis transeunt universa sub caelo 2 tempus nascendi et tempus moriendi tempus plantandi et tempus evellendi quod plantatum est 3 tempus occidendi et tempus sanandi tempus destruendi et tempus aedificandi 4 tempus flendi et tempus ridendi tempus plangendi et tempus saltandi 5 tempus spargendi lapides et tempus colligendi tempus amplexandi et tempus longe fieri a conplexibus 6 tempus adquirendi et tempus perdendi tempus custodiendi et tempus abiciendi 7 tempus scindendi et tempus consuendi tempus tacendi et tempus loquendi 8 tempus dilectionis et tempus odii tempus belli et tempus pacis (Above is Latin from the Vulgate, official Catholic Translation of the era) (English version of Ecclesiates 3:1-8 NIV) 1 There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven: 2 a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, 3 a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build, 4 a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance, 5 a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, a time to embrace and a time to refrain, 6 a time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away, 7 a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak, 8 a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace. As Rhys read this, he knew what must be done. Though there had already been much sadness that had fallen upon the abbey, the true killer must be found. Otherwise there would be little hope for a future for any of the monks and servants at the abbey. Now was a time for war, a time to speak, a time to find those responsible for the deaths of his fellows.

Welcome back!

(OOC: Sorry, low on time at the moment, realized i'll prob be in class at deadline. I'll post if i can still, but I'll also accuse Venefyxatu - Felipe)

LOL this is sort of funny. It seems like none of us wish to accuse one another, as it seems out of character!

I love these guides. When Zool posted them on the TR UBB, I knew he was interesting. Why? Because he knew of DoctorEvil, and his guides were interesting. It turned out that Zool also knew Jechum, spreading this interesting description over to him also. And, of course, when the guild Rabbits of Caerbannog was formed, it must be even more interesting, because it combined these two interesting persons into one location! And joy of joys! DoctorEvil shows up on the TR UBB -- *Note to the Doctor* this was the reason for my extreme suprise and joy when you appeared-- and shortly afterwards takes over the Rabbits, a unique and interesting guild devoted to the spreading of good war arrows through counters. I knew I would be joining them sooner or later (they were far too interesting to do anything else!) but until then I communicated several times with Zool (who wished to know the maximum number of characters that can be in a war arrow- btw, there is no maximum) and heard of the Pen! My first visit or two just consisted of me looking at the outside of the forums, and going back to the TR forums. After I died once in guild (note: I am not a very talented mage, esp with white), I created another mage and joined the Rabbits soon afterwards. Sooner than I wished, winter break and my excess of free time came to an end, as I went back to work on the farm at home. I deleted my mage, as I had no wish to leave an inactive mage in the Rabbits ranks. As soon as I came back to college (and the miracle of the ethernet connection), I created a mage. Unfortunately, Guild Armageddon had already occurred, so i could not join the Rabbits. Instead, I went solo, creating a mage 1 week before Arma, dying 2 days before arma after I used a counter on a guy and he went psycho. So i reincarnated again, finished most of my color's research, and did my best to assist Tanny in killing the mage who had killed me. I recieved a message from Tanny on the Rabbit's UBB, saying that she wondered if I would like to play in the latest WW game. Thus, I came here, and do not wish to really leave ever. To all those who finished my little Pen finding tale: I felt that I had to get this out of my system sometime, and this thread brought my memory back less than six months to the time that I first found out about The Pen. I plan to join as soon as I feel that I have an adequate idea for an application. Until then, I will hang around the public area much as I have done for the past few weeks. Thanks to all the friendly Pennites who brought me here, slowly but surely! Peredhil edit: there is a max on the characters in an Arrow... If a Mage sends another Mage the electronic text of Sun Tzu's Art of War, just Politely trying to help them learn to play better after all their boasting has failed, it cuts off in midsentence in the second chapter.

I liked this thread, especially the last post, about your deceased brother-in-law David. He sounds like he was quite a man. I like your posts dealing with experiences in life, they really seem to connect to me.

More Rabbits would be great! It's nice being able to provide terra with decent arrows (rather than the "random", "r", "disband", or " " that seems to come to most mages (and sometimes you even get some inventive arrows!). Sincerely, Komatsu (on Guild Server) Got Rabbit?

Map of Abbey (note: Aedificium contains library) Map of Library Floor of Aedificium Both images can be found in The Name of the Rose by U. Eco Images are courtesy of Tanny, edited by me. Here's a link back to more info on the Library: LINK

(few months late) After reading the various posts under RP etiquette, I decided that I had to read the Godmodding/God-mode example given here. This post got very interesting, at least after Akabar and Gohan stopped killing everyone in such unimaginative ways.