Gwaihir

Moving is evil, but having places to move into is good I wager. May the rest of your move go easily and good luck .

Hitting a peace elf who was not seeking it on the head with a good thump. "OUCH" Gwaihir said and crumpled to the ground, but all the same he grabbed at it. 'Yeck, what is this thing, it's covered in...animal matter of some sort.' Here the crowd of people who were all obsessively seeking the Nimball™ began to descend upon the confused and headache filled elf. He shrugged and stumbled off to the bathroom. "That crowd is giving me a headache and maybe after I wash off this messy thing I'll know what it is. Struggling the Nimball™ resisted being cleaned, but Gwaihir was a curious fellow, so the two wills fought as he made his way to the bathroom, horde following. It might have gone well, but suddenly as Gwaihir entered the bathroom, the sight of water and the idea of having the spleen washed off of it sent the ball gave a violent jerk and the normally clumsy elf was thrown totally off balance. *crash* he lurched and fell draped across the bathroom. Swoosh the Nimball™ slid out of his hands, but it was not caught yet. It wanted revenge first, so it catapulted across the floor towards Gwaihir. He yelped and jumped onto the toilet....or would have if the seat had been closed. As it was, he jammed his feet into the hole, bruised his legs. There was not room to stand up straight and his feet were stuck, so he fell over backwards and managed to knock his head out on the bathroom. Satisfied, the Nimball™ began to bang on the closed bathroom door, because it was ready to be let out.

Happy Birthday

Just leaving a note here to let you know that I also am reading this and enjoying. Looking forwad to more.

Well, the cabaret room is for things that are related to the people of the pen or writing (the purpose of the pen.)

I recommend http://www.patrickdurham.net/themightypen/index.php?showtopic=10619 from the FAQs at the top of the board.

Completely agreed. In the end, one of the most important things is to be thinking of each other's feelings. Posting carelessly suggests a lack of regard for others. A too-harsh post does too.

Unit of Time: split second Name of City: Cowtown (yes, that really was a real town) Name of River: Muddy River Location: By the avocado that is refrigerating on the windowsill Adjective: like the inside of an old trashcan Plural noun: Silly desert songs Verb ending in ing: slurping Adjective: depressive Type of Family relative: uncle's cousin's baby sibling Noun: life's shadow Plural Noun: multiplication tables Name of street: Pterodactyl Street Emotion: Purple passion Verb in past tense: upended 3 initials: PEN Type of animal: manatee Plural noun: ventilator Junkfood: grease-nuggets Adjective: lacadaisical Liquid: cooling lava

Happy Birthday

The lady in grey shook her head slowly. She was one who had seen too much of the sickness of the world to be surprised, but it depressed her nonetheless. She want into the privy and threw up. "I suspect we're more dangerous than the damn werewolf."

Don't worry Zariah, we'll be here when you come back, and if you want it, the quill quest will too. *hugs*

The use of images in this poem is incredible.

A woman who has been sitting on a bench at the side of the hall raises her voice "Pff, I myself am rather suspicious of that M guy in the back who didn't even want to come to the meeting. Maybe because he has something to hide, neh?"

I was coming back to edit this post, I didn't mean to sound rude, but you're the five thousandth person to do it.

Stop multiple posting. I know you got an error, so does everyone else, but it posted anyway, so please check before you spam.

So now it's past midnight even for me--Happy Birthday Fishy Sal!!

'ello, I bet you don't remember me, but 'ello and 'ello to Matt too. I'm game, count me in.

Congrats everybody, you all deserved it.

Myth peered ahead of her as she walked on. After all the ridiculous things that had been going on around here she was as on guard as possible, and for her that was saying something. The others were taking forever and Myth internally groaned as she slowed her pace once again. They were still carrying the weird guy, so she didn't want to leave them, because she'd want to be carried if she herself got hurt, but it was high time to be out of this place. She was deeply looking forward to getting back to the cities, where she belonged. It was cold and damp here and her armchair was nowhere in reach....and hell, she even missed the fights. There was just nothing rewarding about fighting archangels...Hell group fighting in general was no fun. She missed her network too. It was hard to keep up with what was going on in the street when you were under some god forsaken temple on a magical island in the middle of nowhere. It was worth it when she was going to get the huge bonus for bringing back these magical waters, but now that she got little more than mileage this was lame and she was deeply ready to be home. Occasionally she turned to glance at the others when t hey weren't looking and they all looked tired and hurt. It wasn't that she didn't feel these things too--the stupid angel had certainly given her what would be memory aids for a while...until they healed. Reall though, it was the grit and pain that she liked about this. The grit and pain were the only thing about this horrendous experience that felt like home. Grit and pain she knew how to handle...and how not to show either. That realization added an unconscious bounce to her step and she turned to beam at the others for a moment.

Up in a writing room in a very cold and drafty part of the tower, Gwaihir was trying to focus at a little writing desk. He chewed on his feather pen as he thought...well he was chewing until he got distracted and started sucking on it. Suddenly Gwaihir was spitting ink all over the room. The stuff tasted absolutely awful! He grabbed the ink pot and his paper and ran quickly to a fountain to wash out his mouth. *thump* In his hurry, he'd run right into somebody, namely Aardvark. *splash* Yet another person was covered in ink. He looked extremely indignant, but the elf didn't even notice and rushed off with a muttered apology "Sorry, but I Must finish this and put it up before Aardvark comes around here. "Well there doesn't seem to be a great deal of time for that." said Deg as he came around the corner. Gwaihir scratched his head with the tip of his pen. "Oh oh! Well I really must brush my teeth and get this horrible ink taste out of my mouth and I fear my teeth are stained quite black. So, um, would you just post this in a public room where everyone will see it?" he said and handed the ink stained paper to the nearest person--Aardvark. Deg shrugged and Aardvark shook a bit of the excess ink spill off himself and then opened up the note. 'Quite a while ago Aardvark started a project which he intended to become his Quill Quest, but he never considered it completed enough for his tastes and he never submitted to be considered as such. However, it has come to the attention of (Ink blot), wise persons, (so of course not me) that Colonies highly deserves to be considered a QQ. Clearly, (here such a mess of ink had spilled that nothing was visible until the bottom) So Welcome to our newest Herald!' OOC: It's high time you're a Herald, Aardvark and I always enjoy your stories.

You're the best

So, O, did it work? Celes, multiple reasons includiing issues of downtime

Schedule is the first of every other month

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