The PenT-shirt contest

[Nyyark]

The ex-closet looked splendid. Atleast compared to its former broomy self it did. It'd taken the elephants almost a day to knock out enough walls to put the stage in, but better late than never. Now, with the elepants recaptured and penned in the back, the room was ready to open. Nyyark gave the initate VIP seating one last check over, then flipped over the the sign labled "CLOSED" on the front door. It read:

 

 

OPEN!!!!

This area has been designated for the Mighty PenT-shirt Contest. Initiates are all invited to come and watch as the members bearing the rank page and above, submit, live for your pleasure, a story and poem. Initiates, when the final curtain falls, you will be called upon to choose the best prefomance, so that the winner might recieve the very first every PenT-Shirt.

 

Please refer all questions Here.

[Katzaniel]

OOC: Sorry, this isn't taking place on your stage... it was hard enough for me to find a reason for Dennor to be telling a story, never mind be at the Pen. And it was nearly finished before you put this post up. Anyway, while I'm in OOC, I wanted to apologize that a lot of this will probably not make a lot of sense to anyone who... well, to anyone, I guess, since it's not even quite explained yet in The Ten, the story that I've taken Dennor from. Anyway, I think I've put in enough explanation that you'll understand what Dennor's motives are, if not why. And for me to explain why, well, that would take a long time and ruin some suspense from The Ten. Suffice to say that this takes place before that story does, and you don't need to have read any of that story, just as long as you realize that this isn't entirely standalone. Thanks.

 

IC:

The room was large, with clean white walls all around. There were no windows, no paintings, and only one door. It was furnished only with chairs and one table, just long enough to comforably seat the five people who lined it, expressions blank. Three men and two women, they watched carefully as Dennor entered, closed the door behind him, and stood facing them. His cheeks were smooth, his mouth set just so, avoiding any expression just as effectively as they. Neither did his posture give anything away; his arms were neither crossed over his chests, nor his hands wringing, nor even clasped behind his back. He stood, apparently at ease, either hand to either side. But his apparent lack of emotion did show something about him, whether the judges noticed or not. It was indicative of his fierce personality, his unwillingness to cooperate or let them know what he was feeling. For Dennor would be the most stubborn of any they would interview, and he fully intended to make them work hard for any information they wanted from him.

 

Unfortunately for him, the five-person panel was quite clever. The test they had devised for today involved the telling of a story, made up on the spot. This would be ensured by the fact that it had to include certain elements. This precluded one-word answers or terse responses of any sort, and would guarantee showing something of the person who told it, if only by the words they chose, the beginning and ending of the story, and the amount and type of creativity involved.

 

Dennor's already-thin lips pursed involuntarily when they told him his task. His green eyes flashed, though he resisted the urge to frown or gulp or brush a hand through his short black hair. Instead, he spent a moment to watch the panel, not wondering what story to tell so much as how to twist it so that they would judge it as he wished. His quick mind had already come up with a basic plotline upon hearing the elements he had to include: it had to start with a rabbit, involve the colour red, include a rhyming poem at least 8 lines long, and end with a sword. He knew just the thing.

 

"There once was a girl named Sanda," he pronouced, intentionally starting off with the least creative statement he could make, and with one of the least creative names he could imagine. He pretended to stall before continuing, "She, uh, she had this rabbit. Its name was... Whiskers. One day, she was cleaning Whiskers' cage, and she had just finished, and she turned around and he was gone." It was actually very difficult for Dennor not to use longer words or more verbose sentences. But this was one contest that he did not want to win. Nor could he afford to make it obvious that he was trying to fail. So he plunged onward.

 

"Now, Sanda was really very attached to her rabbit. She loved him dearly. So she knew she had to do anything she could to get him back. She hurried to put away the cage and then rushed out of the house. She looked every which way. Finally she saw some footprints. She hurried off after them, knowing in her heart that this was the way that Whiskers had gone.

 

"Eventually she came upon a group of soldiers. They were gruff-looking men, unshaven, and disgruntled." Dennor cursed inwardly. He had lapsed and described the men the way he was thinking of them, and not in the childish prose he was trying to accomplish. "When Sanda saw them, she was scared. They were in a clearing in a forest, and they were fighting each other with sticks. She didn't realize right away that they were only practising, but still she didn't run. She felt strangely attracted to what was going on. She wanted to see more.

 

"Sanda sat down as quietly as she could, behind a tree, and watched. When she saw that they were practising, she began to cheer them on. Quietly, of course. In her mind. The big man with a beard, a short red beard, he looked sort of friendly. He seemed, I mean he almost seemed to be cheering on the rest. Teaching them, maybe. Maybe he was the captain. Anyway, Sanda watched him and she wanted very much to join them, to be taught by him too.

 

"But Sanda knew that there was no chance of this. Women were not allowed to be soldiers, and never mind a child like her. Still, she wanted it so much. Finally she got up the courage to go up to them. She would kill two birds with one stone.

 

"'Please, sir,' she said to them, which grabbed their attention very fast. 'Please, I've lost my pet rabbit. Can any of you help?' She looked right at the man with the red beard as she talked.

 

"'Why of course,' he said, throwing down his stick. 'We'll find your pet in no time.'"

 

Dennor paused again, here. He took another moment to catch his breath, eye the reactions of the judges, and pretend to be wondering how to go on. He even wiped his forehead as if he had been sweating.

 

"Sanda was very happy. Not only was one of them going to go with her, but it was the red-bearded man himself. He introduced himself as Ragn" - again, he used a very common name - "and she was so happy, she made it into a little song."

 

Dennor bowed his head, making it seem as if the pressure was really getting to him. In truth, it was an effort even for him to make up a rhymed poem on the spot, but he wanted it to seem like more of an effort. The average person, he knew, would crumble under this sort of pressure.

 

"'Ragn, Ragn, what a wonderful man,' she sang, hopping along.

'He helps people out whenever he can.

He... he lives in the forest and ... and fights with a stick,

He really is cool, he's really quite slick.

Ragn, Ragn, he's going to find Whiskers,

Er... he'll do it whatever the risk is...

He lives in the forest and helps people out,

He's such a great man we should all do a shout!' Sanda did, indeed, end her song with a shout. Ragn's whole face went red, but he kept smiling as they walked along. He was much quicker at finding Whiskers' tracks than she was, so they went along very quickly. Er, very fast." Dennor realized that he had probably overdone it with reusing words. He scolded himself and resolved to do better.

 

"Anyway, they followed the tracks for a while, and eventually they found Whiskers. He was just sitting under a bush, chewing on some leaves. Sanda became very happy and she went and picked up the rabbit and cuddled him. Ragn watched for a moment, then turned to leave.

 

"'Wait,' cried Sanda. She grew very embarrassed about what she was about to say, but she knew she would regret it her whole life if she didn't ask. 'Sir, I saw you practising, fighting...'

 

"Ragn nodded. He had no idea what was about to come next.

 

"Sanda paused for a moment, then finally blurted it out. 'Will you teach me?'

 

"Ragn's eyes widened. This was unlike anything he could have expected. 'You?' he said, unable to hide the surprise.

 

"Sanda hung her head. 'Yes,' she said. 'I'd like to learn, very much, sir. I think I could do it.'

 

"Ragn thought it over. 'I don't suppose I see why not,' he said. Sanda grew very excited. 'Wow, really, sir? You won't regret it!' She began to sing her song again.

 

"'If you keep singing,' said Ragn laughing gently, 'I will regret it.'

 

"And so Sanda returned with Ragn to the camp. It took years before everyone else accepted her for who she was, but by that time she was one of the country's best sword fighters. And she defended the country many times in wars before she died, of old age, having ushered in a new age of equality for men and women alike."

 

Dennor watched the judges very carefully as he finished, but still they refused to show much reaction. The one in the center dipped his head once to acknowledge that the story had been heard. "Thank you, Dennor. Your next test is three days hence, at the same time. Do not be late."

 

 

OOC: If you're like me, you're itching to get at Dennor's story with a red pen and make it better. Go on: I challenge you!

[Nyyark]

Nyyark smiled happily at Katzaniel.

 

"Thank you so much for helping start up the Almost-Dragonic-Telopscopic-Holographic-Stage-Improvement-Set." Nyyark said. After recovering his breath he went on, "I couldn't make beaks or claws of the remote. I think this one is a lizard eating a geld peice, or maybe a really, shiny cookie. I don't know... Anyways, it seems to be working now...!"

[Sweetcherrie]

That morning, before the contest started...

 

This was definitely the most boring morning little Sweet had had since she had come to the Keep. Already she had knocked on Appy’s blankey, but her friend was probably out to play somewhere else, and all the other places the little girl had looked the doors had stayed closed. Her magic pens lay scattered on the floor around her, and she sat on her half-finished drawing of Moose; she couldn’t get the nose right anyway.

 

With a bored gaze she stared through the room, and suddenly she heard a soft voice singing. The words were unclear, but it was very clear that whoever it was had great joy in singing, but sucked at it. Curious now, and because she had nothing better to do any way, Sweet got up and followed her ears to the singing voice. As she glanced around the corner into the Conservatory she saw an unfamiliar kid dusting off the chairs and tables in the room. Her first instinct was to bounce over, and introduce herself, but a little voice in her head said to wait and see first.

 

As the kid turned around Sweet could see that it wasn’t a child at all. The person cleaning the Conservatory was a woman, a woman as tall as herself, but clearly a woman. Perky little breasts peeked in the girl’s top, and her whole figure was rounded at different places than Sweet’s. Little pointy ears stuck out from under the bonnet the elf was wearing over her brown golden hair, and as she rinsed her cloth she resumed singing.

 

Cleaning is our pride and joy

Dusting cloth our favorite toy

We will not complain or grouse

While we’re cleaning in your house

 

Wipe all dirt off

And you’ll see

How we’ll come to clarity

Sweet giggled at seeing someone so obviously enjoying themselves with cleaning, since this was unthinkable for the curly haired rascal. The elven lady put down her cleaning cloth, and walked over to the bin on the corner to take the full bag out. As she tied it together she continued singing.

 

Cleaning is our pride and joy

Rubbish bin our favorite toy

We will not complain or grouse

While we’re cleaning in your house

The elf changed melody, picked up the full bin bag and her cleaning cloth with bucket, and walked with them

towards the door, when she looked up.

 

Spic and Span

Spic and Span

All belong to the big plan

Of Spic and-

The bucket almost slipped from the elf’s hands as she noticed Sweet, and froze on the spot with a shock. Her lower lip started quivering, and her voice sounded scared as she spoke to our little red bouncy ball.

“You’re not going to tell, are you?”

 

Sweet flashed one of her kindest grins at her, and for a very short moment she thought about not telling in change of a clean bedroom, but then she shook her head.

 

“I won’t. But, who are you?”

 

The elven lady put the bucket and bin bag down, and walked over to Sweet with an outstretched hand.

 

“Shanai, household elf, nice to meet you.”

 

Sweet shook the hand wildly, letting out her canned up energy, and bounced around the elf.

 

“Why are you here?”

 

Shanai looked slightly taken aback by the direct approach of the little girl, but recovered quickly, and smiled widely.

 

“I’m here to clean, but it’s a long story, and I’ve got more cleaning to do.” She moved to pick up the bin bag and the bucket again, but was almost knocked out by the force of a Sweet huggling her.

 

“I love stories!” The bouncy girl explained, “Tell me, tell me, tell me, please?”

 

Shanai giggled. With her 177 elven years, she was barely a woman herself, and the giggling Sweet had gotten her giggling as well.

 

“Alright then, but only if you help me clean after.”

 

The smile on Sweet’s face disappeared and was first replaced by a big frown as she was thinking, and then by a grin as she decided that the cleaning work would be worth the story.

 

“Alright then,” she said, and plopped down on the floor, ready to listen.

 

Shanai neatly folded her green skirt under her, and sat down across from Sweet. With a soft voice she started her story.

 

Stretching his hands far above his head, stifling a long yawn, Lewis walked from the bathroom to the kitchen. The scent of coffee and freshly baked bread hung heavy in the air. Lewis loved his morning rituals, and as he spread a thick layer of butter on a slice of warm bread, he reached out and pressed the button of the dishwasher.

 

Lewis happened to have a load of rituals. First thing he did, after he had slammed his alarm clock to silence, was to put on the coffeemaker, while the bread machine was already baking bread. He had bought one of those handy timer clocks, and had set it so that he would have exactly twenty minutes after getting up, to get his shower, shave, and get dressed. Once he would’ve gotten dressed he would walk over to the kitchen counter, slice the warm bread, and this would be the exact moment where his coffee maker would drip the last drips into the pot. Then as he was spreading butter on his bread, he would put on the dishwasher, and while he ate his bread and drank his coffee the dishwasher would zoom softly in the background, cleaning the dishes from the day before. Lewis loved this morning ritual, and he regarded the day his coffee machine had broken down as the blackest day since his dear mom had passed on two years ago.

 

He put his knife down, and as he transported the buttered bread to his mouth with one hand, his other pressed the button of the dishwasher.

 

Click.

 

Nothing happened. The hand with the slice of bread in it floated halfway in between the counter and Lewis’s mouth, and slowly he turned his head to look at the dishwasher. Again he pressed the button, but with another dry click the machine told him that it was really not going to work today. With a trembling hand Lewis put the buttered bread back down on the counter, and sunk down on his knees, coffee damping forgotten in his mug on the table.

 

He leered at the various buttons on the machine and pressed several on them as his heart started beating faster. Frantically he tried a few other buttons, opened the machine to check if all was ok in there, a tiny spark of hope it had simply gone ubersilent, but the machine was still dead, or at least pretending to be dead. His heart had started to beat so fast by now that he had to sit down or he would have fallen over because of the speed it was pumping blood through his brain. How would he be able to go to work today? And how could he eat his diner now, without a clean plate to put it on.

 

His eyes shifted restlessly through the kitchen, over the pile of porcelain plates he never used, since his nan had passed them on to him, passed the crystal glasses his mom had left him in her will two years ago, and came to rest at the dishwasher again. No, this was simply unacceptable. He probably hadn’t woken up yet, Lewis decided, and with a staggering movement he got up to check if he was still in his bed.

 

He swayed, and the next moment the steaming hot coffee was biting through his trousers into the skin of his leg. Lewis yelped and realized that, if this was indeed a nightmare, it was about the scariest one he’d had since he was a little boy of ten years old, and had heard Santa falling off the roof. Of course, he had discovered the next morning that it had only been his dad and that at least it was him with the broken leg, and not Santa, but still it had been awful. This was at least ten times worse.

 

With lead in his feet he realized he would have to go to work to stay at least half sane so he would at least be able to follow his arrive at work ritual, and walked to the coat rack. He slipped his arms into the sleeves of his winter coat, and discovered that this would be much easier if you would take the coat of the rack first. Then he spent at least ten minutes trying to fit his left shoe on his right foot, and with his mittens pulled deeply over his ears he pulled the front door shut behind him. Today would be a horrible day.

 

~~~

 

As soon as the door clicked into the lock, Shanai peeked out from her hiding place in the kitchen cabinets under the sink. With her pointy ears directed at the door, listening if he really had gone, and her large, blue eyes widened she shuffled further into the kitchen, and giggled softly as she decided that the man was really gone.

 

With a pair of nail-clippers in her left hand, and a short piece of electric wire in her right, she danced around the kitchen, cheering that her plan had worked. She hopped over to the bin, and then looked at the spilled coffee with a big grin on her face. Her eyes darted over her masterpiece, the dishwasher, and her grin widened further. Finally, she would be needed again.

 

She giggled, and duck back down into the kitchen cabinet where she kept her equipment. Ever since the lady had died the young man had bought more and more equipment, and Shanai had been withering away in the cabinet. Her joints getting rusty with all the rest she got, and finally she had decided to take things into her own two elven hands. Shanai was a modern household elf after all, and she wasn’t afraid to do some handy jobs as well. So during the night she had taken Lewis’s toenail clipper, and had crawled into the wiring system of the dishwasher. It had not been difficult to cause a small defect in the electrical wiring, and when Lewis had left this morning without having done the dishes, and even leaving her a brilliant puddle of coffee to mop up, Shanai had almost cried with happiness.

 

The little elf neatly put the clipper under her pillow, and took out a small dishwashing brush, and a cloth, and set at work. Humming to a merry elven tune in her head she cleaned the coffee from the floor, and started washing the dishes. It felt great to be back.

 

~~~

 

With the hardest day ever behind him, Lewis tried to wriggle the key into the lock of his front door. The key was jumping around the lock as if it had decided to turn into plastic, and finally claim its own life, but finally he managed to get the door open. Once inside he sunk back against the door, and his knees gave way to the terrors of that day. The moment his bum touched the ground, Lewis buried his face in his hands.

 

How everything could possibly go this wrong in one day was a mystery to him, but it had. The moment he had entered the office he had thrown over the large paperclip tub on his desk, and when trying to salvage those he had managed to get his tie stuck in the paper shredder. When finally a colleague he fancied for quite a while already had rescued him from suffocating he had managed to knock an enormous pile of papers from her desk to the floor ten minutes later.

 

Disastrous. It was the only word that could describe his day so far, and all he longed for was a bath, and then to bed. Tomorrow it was Saturday, and he simply hoped he would be able to get a repairman for the dishwasher then. He scrambled back up, and took off his coat. Sure enough when he wanted to hang it on the coat rack, it fell back off, but he only looked at it with a tired sigh, and walked into the living room.

 

Immediately as set one foot into the living room he felt the hairs in his neck stand up straight, and with caution he took another step. Something was not as it was supposed to be, as he had left it that morning. Lewis glanced into the kitchen, and though nothing appeared to be wrong, he still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was entirely off.

 

He sat down, back stiff upright, on the ugliest flowered couch you can imagine and that had still been his mom’s, but that he simply couldn’t sell. Suddenly he knew what was wrong. His whole appartment smelled like his mother, and from the kitchen the scent of her delicious meatloaf now entered his nose.

 

With a heartbeat faster than that of a racehorse just having run its race, Lewis got up to see if his nose was deceiving him. With fear numbing his body he entered the kitchen, and glanced at the over. Sure enough a warm dish was inside it, slowly going round as the grill above it was giving it a nice brown crust.

 

Slowly he reached out his hand to the button of the dishwasher to see if it was working again, when he heard a soft singing come from the shower. The voice sounded familiar, and in his heart a little silver bell tingled along with the clear voice. He hummed along, and wondered how he would know them, never having heard of the song before. Than he knew, and with a few steps he was in the bathroom.

 

“Mom!”

 

His heart sank as his mom was nowhere to be seen. Instead a little girl, looking like a woman, with pointy ears, golden hair, and clad in green clothes was staring frightfully up at him. Her lower lip was trembling, and the spray she held in her right hand now dropped to the floor.

 

“I’m sorry. I just wanted to feel useful again…”

 

Her voice trailed off, but for Lewis it was now certain. He had been sent to hell.

How else could he see little ugly critters in his bathroom? Though, on second thought, she wasn’t ugly at all. In fact, she was quite pretty, and somehow it felt as if he had met her before.

 

“Who are you?”

 

A careful smile appeared on her face, “Shanai, I do the chores in this house….or well, I used to,” her face turned somber, “before the timers and machines took over.”

 

The elf had hoped that he would understand, that he would even show a flash of recognition, but Lewis only shook his head, and closed his eyes. With a soft voice he whimpered, “I can’t…please, just leave…”

“And that is how I came here…”

 

Shanai pulled a toenail clipper from her pocket and showed it to Sweet.

 

“I’ve regretted it since, but here they hardly even notice I’m around to clean up the mess, and I do it with great joy. Especially the Conservatory gets nice and dirty at times, just last week we had a thing called Ugh Bah in here, and my oh my, it was such joy to clean up after him. He had left all these big slimey pats all over, and-“

 

She rambled on a bit, and together with Sweet she giggled about other cleaning stories. In the end Sweet even had fun cleaning up the bin bag, and as Shanai told more stories the little girl cleaned up her pens and neatly folded her half-finished drawing away. It seemed our rascal with golden curls had found a new friend.

 

OOC: Thanks to Gwaihir and Mirrizin for randomly giving me a topic to write about, and for naming Shanai

Edited April 17, 2006 by Sweetcherrie

[yochva]

Evangeline finished her third rendition of "Angel of Music" in as many hours to the appreciative clapping of her audience, and fairly glowed. "Thank thee all, but my breath is fair gone, and my playing done for the night. Hast thou any requests in any other field but that of music? Singing permitted, of course." She winked, and several members of her small group laughed or giggled as was their nature, for it was well-known that her love of singing was rivalled only by her love of writing.

 

"Yah, tell us a story!" called a voice from the back, and the rest soon took up the call.

 

Evangeline waved placating hands at them, leaning back under the barrage of demands. "All right, all right, thou shalt get thy story!" She paused for a few minutes, gathering together her thoughts and ideas into a cohesive whole as the youngsters in the group at her feet wriggled in excitement. "All right. Please, all, forgive the informality of my speech, for 'twould not fit the nature of my tale to speak as I am wont to do." Ignoring the sniggers (she knew that she spoke in a mode far out-dated), she closed her eyes briefly and began.

 

 

It was a long time ago, in a future far distant and now lost. You see, the choices of man are ever changing the world around us, and what is possible at one moment might be impossible the next, all because of one person's choice. The future I tell you of was once the logical conclusion of the actions of humanity, until one day, all that changed. But that is for another tale, on another night. In this future, the Earth had been ruined by pollution, and greed, and war. Most of it was uninhabitable, many of the species were extinct, along with many of the once diverse environments. Deserts covered most of the land, and ice or scrublands the rest. The oceans were polluted beyond repair. People lived in carefully isolated and carefully monitored habitats, because people had learned that if they were set loose on the world, they would destroy it, so they were determined to inflict as little damage as possible.

 

 

 

Evangeline paused and glanced surrepticiously at her audience. It had shrunk by quite a bit even in the short time she had been speaking, as she had known it would, and the rest were nodding off - after all, she had been setting the stage for nearly ten minutes, and it was nearing the twelfth hour.

 

"I shall end the tale there for the evening, as it is nearly not evening anymore, and shall turn to morning within the hour. I bid thee all farewell and a good night, and may all your dreams be pleasant ones. I shall continue the tale two nights hence, with dashing heroes and aliens of powers most strange, and more interesting ideas to convey than those of this night past."

 

Evangeline gathered her skirts about her and left quietly, the only sound in the small room being the whisper of layers and layers of cloth brushing against itself. She paused outside the door, regarding the few intiates congregated there with a wry smile playing about her lips and one eyebrow smoothly arched the tiniest fraction. "Thou art all welcomed to join us two nights hence..."

 

 

 

~~~~~~~

Really, it IS nealy midnight, and I'm too tired to keep typing this. And I WILL continue in two days! ^__^

[yochva]

When the anxious group returned for the fourth night running and saw no trace of Evangeline yet again, they began to feel worried. A few of them went to Evangeline's room to see if she was there, and saw a note stuck to the dark mahongany door, right on top of the rose that was lynchpin of the whole design carved in the wood.

 

 

My dear friends.

 

I do sincerely apologize for leaving thee with no story, and thus no closure, but... laryngitis does that, wouldst thou not agree? Allow me to leave thee with this poem to soothe thy no doubt ruffled feathers.

 

Yours always,

Evangeline

 

On the back was the poem, penned in a beautiful calligraphic hand - obviously the result of much practice and talent.

 

For all the world has seen before,

It could not express true;

It hadn't life to live before,

Had no eyes to see through.

 

For all the world has heard before,

It could not have meaning;

It hadn't life to live before,

It had no cause to ring.

 

For all the world has had before,

It could not really own;

It hadn't life to live before,

Had nothing to be shown.

 

For all the world has felt before,

It could not really know;

It hadn't life to live before,

It had no blood to flow.

 

But you and me, we know, my dear,

All about the world's part;

We are the life it has to live,

It's eyes, hands, ears, and heart.

Edited April 25, 2006 by Evangeline

[madhatter]

Madhatter walked cautiously into the "ex-closet." It certainly wasn't the same as what he had seen before. The expansive chamber engrossed him. Nyyark bustled by, when he was stunned to see a drooling initiate in the entrance. But there was much too much to accomplish to pay any heed.

 

Madhatter looked around hesitantly. "I'm not so sure, I should have came here," he thought. "That little imp, told me this was where the birthday party was. He sighed as he took a couple of tiny, cautious steps. He stopped immediately and noticed several of the members of the Pen huddled in a corner discussing the latest performances.

 

He gulped. "There haven't been very many initiates in here... none at all in fact."

 

"Welcome, dear. Well aren't you glad to be the first, madhatter?"

 

He jumped as he realized that that last part had escaped from his lips.

 

"Don't worry, you're more than welcome to stay and watch. Go read that sign Nyyark posted on the door."

 

"There was a sign?? That certainly would have helped," thought madhatter. He managed to mutter a thanks before bustling to the sign.

 

Ahhhhhh. That clears things up.

 

He crept back into the room. Hmm... pulling out his cobweb-ladened wand, dusty from disuse, he summoned a bag of popcorn and seated himself comfortably in the front row. Now this wasn't so bad.

 

"I just can't wait for the next performance!" exclaimed madhatter.

[Nyyark]

It took Nyyark longer than a moment to realize that Madhatter had arrived. Later he would blame his over-dependence on "electronics" for the stage set up. The salesman had explained that anyone could operate "electronics" even if they lacked the ability to manipulate magic. Nyyark had thought that "electronics" would suit him perfectly, but the outlandish dials and unhelpful symbols covering the things caused them to be as unworkable as any spell Nyyark had ever encountered.

 

Fortunately, Nyyark had decided not to use any untested technology for his extremely important initiate guests. What he had decided upon was an artifact the crows had found lying around the keep labeled "Servants." Well technically it said "Secret Servants of the Seventh Hell” but as usual, who ever ran the keep before he did was just being wordy.

 

Unfortunately, Nyyark did not consult Crow before deciding on this artifact.

 

"Come'onCome'on” Nyyark chanted as he rapidly rubbed the interestingly shaped orb atop the mechanism. With a hiss and out-pouring of darkness the artifact started.

 

"Massster" purred the seven shadowy beings before him, "How can we sssser-"

 

"No time for that” interrupted Nyyark, "We have our first initiate! See to it that he is well cared for."

 

As the figures contorted their way over to Madhatter, Nyyark couldn't help but wonder why the artifact had called exclusively female servants.

[Sweetcherrie]

*bump*

[Nyyark]

OOC: The time for entries has closed. Initates please pm me your votes so that the lucky winner can recieve their shirt

[Nyyark]

So after further dead silence I have a new announcement to make. Pages and initaites may vote for the winner of this thread. Send me a PM listing who you think should win the first ever CoreWarez minted Pen T-shirt

[Nyyark]

Votings over....Mynx wins.

[reverie]

t-shirts?

[Sweetcherrie]

it's great to see how much attention this has gotten since some people have actually spent time on this....

 

thank you Nyyark for doing this, shame it ended like this

[Disco-neck Ted]

My guess is that a fair number of people read and enjoyed this, as did I. The time and effort spent here was far from wasted. Very nice, verse and prose both.

 

The underwhelming response may largely be due to a number of minor things, such as the link to the rules being broken (that could put off posters and voters both) and the fact that initiates don't stay at that level very long. So the contest gets logged in memory as one they are not eligible to enter initially, and then aren't allowed to vote in if they should remember to check up later (last minute changes notwithstanding).

 

Also, on the surface, the contest seems a good plan: the rules ensure that the t-shirt will go to a contributing member and not some write-in or newcomer, and the initiates are made to feel less excluded by having the power of the vote. But if you will pardon my saying so, those elements aren't necessarily the most obvious, and that may not be the first interpretation people put on an exercise that has such strong class restrictions, regardless of the original intent.

 

Anyhow, congratulations to the winner, and thanks to Nyyark and the other contributors who made it happen. Good job.

[Nyyark]

i do apologize if the contest left a bad taste in anyones mouth. I hope the pen is able to enjoy the T-shirts despite of this.

 

On an odd note, the link works for me, so I would never had known was broken except except Rev said something.