Gyrfalcon

Go Falcon! You have a career as a songwriter ahead of you, I think.

I think this is excellent- I can really get a sense of her growing up through the piece.

Yes, you can- in fact, if you want your titled change after a time, just request it. Our/my patience may wear thin if you start changing your title every day/every few hours, so create one you plan to stick with.

Gyrfalcon hands Tralla a riding crop, then darts back when she tries to smack him with it. "You need some way to herd the smily!" the half-elf protested, laughing as he dodged another swipe.

Whoot, pretty good, Jonathan.

The first paragraph was rather... out of style? I'm trying to think of the right words... jarring might work the best. Instead of gently sinking the readers into a suspension of belief, you jar them with 'this is fantasy!' "Emperors, Conquerors and Warlords had been known to run away screaming for their mommy's at the mere mention of Its cursed name..." a bit unbelievable, better that they should turn pale in fear. And after all that buildup, you won't tell us the name?! Gyrfalcon screams in frustration! Otherwise, an excellent story. Good job.

Hm... since my group is 'The Elders', then I suppose my title can be... 'Bard'! Failing that, I'd like Spoony Bard as a title, with the additon of '& Elder' if neccessary. Anyway, greetings all.

Hmm... Ooo, now I'm tempted. I'll have to see about entering.

Gyrfalcon slid through the barrier, and the mist-monsters closest to the half-elf, hands outstretched eagerly, waiting to grasp his warm flesh and take that warmth for themselves. The mist-monsters did not know the significance of the soft white glow his blade gave off, nor the meaning of the slight curve of his lips. Gyrfalcon spun his katana almost negligently, trimming the hands from two of the mist creatures. Then he snapped his blade into a guard for a brief second, blocking another claw. The half-elf carefully watched the first two mist creatures reel back, stunned at the sudden loss of their ‘hands’. Seeing that the holy enchantment was effective, and knowing that such enchantments usually had a limited duration, Gyrfalcon decided to make the most of it. The half-elf charged forward suddenly. He attacked full out, catching the monsters by surprise as his sword spun full circles in his hands, the blade always finding mist-like flesh, cleaving the creatures in half as easily as the katana’s fine blade parted silk. Minutes past, and as the glow faded from Gyrfalcon’s blade, he came to a halt, little curls of mist wafting up as the remains of the mist-creatures around him reverted to their base component and dissipated.

Thanks for posting the poem, Tralla- I'll reset the bitching clock to six months. Wow- good use of imagary, Tralla. It's a good poem. (I planned to say more, but I'm not good at explaining what I like or don't like about poetry. *shrugs*)

I'll take the spot after you retype your piece. It's not dying- this is sometimes normal, especially with school starting again at some colleges, which mean people getting back to school and getting their computers/connections up and running.

Gyrfalcon stood stock still. "Vincent, are you pointing a finger at my head?" "Ye-er... NO!" Vincen replied, trying to drag the half-elf away from the rest of the group but failing. "Vincent, you have five seconds before I do something you won't enjoy." Gyrfalcon said calmly. "Hah, I have the gun!" Vincent said. Gyrfalcon paused and said curiously. "What's a gun?" Vincent decided to skip the long explanation "Somethat that can kill you that I'm holding in my hand." Gyrfalcon paused and went over this a few times. Coming to the conclusion that Vincent didn't have anything in his hand, and thus couldn't have one of these 'guns' unless it was something very small, he commented "You realize that even counting very, very slowly, we're now at minus three seconds." Peredhil looked concerned. "Try not to hurt him, will you Gyrfalcon? It'll give the Pen a bad reputation if the Elders are known to seriously harm the members." "I'll try." Gyrfalcon assured Peredhil before dropping to the floor and sweeping Vincent's legs out from under him.

"What are we going to do about this... discontent?" a voice asked, Vincent heard a voice ask, identifying it as the newest of the Elders, Gyrfalcon. "What do you mean?" another voice asked, not an Elder but no less respected- the Ancient, Peredhil. "It's gotten to the point where Daryl is currently not talking to me because he wasn't promoted." There was a long silence before yet another voice, Gwaihir, spoke up. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but he's not even a member." "See what I mean?" Gyrfalcon retorted. The silence descended again. "How bad do you think it's gotten?" a voice hissed nervously- Wyvern. Vincent rubbed his hands gleefully- three Elders to Eldernap, at least! "Most of them are just grumbling, but a few really thought that they deserved promotion, and aren't that happy that they weren't." Gyrfalcon said flatly. There were a few sighs. "We'll just have to be careful- it'll blow over." Orlan said. "I hope so." Came the fervent agreement. (OOC: Let the Eldernapping begin! ;P)

Hey, pretty good Falcon! A question: is this meant to be a poem or a song? It can work either way, I'm just curious if its meant to be sung or not.

I agree- good poetry from both you, Blondemoon, and you, Annael. Wyvern'll be by soon... at least, once he evades the authorities again. Please be patient with him. I think you'll like it here at the Pen. *grins* Especially since you've already been here a while and have posted some. Now you just get access to a few more forums.

*Gyrfalcon bows to SoaringIcarus* Enjoy your haitus from the hustle and bustle of the Internet, but please remember us and return. We'll be here and waiting. (In between disasters, quests, and random ends of the world) *Wishes you luck in getting into the college of your choice*

Tamaranis isn't in charge of the Weenie award. (You'll notice he has one himself.) Unfortuantly, I haven't seen Gwaihir (who is in charge of the award) for a while,and I don't know if anyone else has. This is probably why your title hasn't disappeared. Wait patiently, and hopefully it will be dealt with soon.

Elder of Indexes has been suggested to me before, and it'll probably end up as the title. *smirks* I only have the one index though! *grins* As for Elder of Cowboys... I'm a ranger, now some cowherd!

Gyrfalcon tapped Robby on the shoulder, then pointed him towards the still unnamed metallic dragon. “Be respectful and he’ll treat you alright.” Gyrfalcon advised Robby before taking a deep breath and starting towards the strange silver and black dragon. Steeping up her wing as lightly as possible, Gyrfalcon soon settled himself between her shoulder blades, aided by a few grumbled. “No, not like that you fool,” or “There, no, there... can’t you worms stop wiggling just once?” Once he and Robby were seated on the two dragons, the dragons moved out away from the trees, then crouched and launched themselves into the air, their riders holding on with all their strength to avoid falling off. The dragons soared up into the sky, and Gyrfalcon laughed, reveling in the feeling of flight, even if he didn’t control it. Kokuryuu just grumbled to herself about the strangeness of the earthbound creatures. Of course, it could be worse- she’d heard that a few of them just couldn’t stand flight and threw up all over their dragons. At least this one wasn’t doing that. Gyrfalcon leaned forward and raised his voice to be heard by Kokuryuu. “So, what type of dragon *are* you exactly? You look like a black dragon in the shadows, but a silver dragon in the sunlight.”

reverie- I'm the Elder who can't think of anything interesting to be an Elder of. Hm... that's an idea. Elder. Just Elder. Nothing else. Now get me my cane, whipper-snapper! Hm... really long for a title, though.

Hmm... well, if lumpen's transfer for Ancient to Elder is his own idea (which it was), then he can't really complain, can he? Peredhil- why do I sense a hint of evil laughter behind that smile of yours?

Daryl spurred his horse after Kasmandre’s, growling in its ear to make it go faster. The horse panicked and reared up, nearly unseating Daryl, then put its head down and galloped, trying to run away from the predator perched on its back. Grabbing the horse’s ears, Daryl pointed its head at one of the clusters of mounted brigands, knowing that he had a highly effective way to dismount them all. Passing by Kasmandre to the man’s surprise, Daryl let loose a war cry that sounded like a loud wolf’s howl, which caused his horse to go a tiny bit faster and made Kasmandre have to take a firm hand with his horse to keep it from shying away from the predator. The howl also caused the raiders to focus on the charging companions. They were disoriented for a moment, but then the cluster Daryl was charging cantered towards him, knowing that the unarmed fool was going to be an easy kill. They thought. A dozen yards away from them, Daryl fell into himself, and into his Change. It flowed through him, reshaping him from a human to a hybrid of man and fox. In the time it took for him to finish Changing, his horse had closed to less then a few yards from the bandits when it began to buck and scream, as Daryl’s scent spoke directly to it of a large predator on its back. The horses of the bandits, who were upwind of Daryl, likewise caught the scent, and their eyes rolled nervously. Then Daryl snarled at them, the sound all but dripping with malice. The bandits tried to hold on, but one by one, they were thrown by their wildly bucking horses or were carried away from the battle, cursing, as their horses panicked and fled. Daryl was likewise thrown from his mount, who bolted back the way he had come, but unlike the bandits, he was prepared and landed lightly on his feet. Most of the bandits rose from where they had fallen and pointed swords and axes, spears and daggers at the werefox in their midst. “Who wants to die first?” Daryl asked them brightly, flashing his bright white fangs in a grin at the bandits, who blanched. They exchanged looks, then attacked as one. “Oh good, a democratic decision - all of you!” Daryl said, shrugging off the hits from the steel weapons and lashing out with clawed hands to rake exposed throats, kicking at knees, groins, stomachs and chests, his lycanthropic muscles giving his kicks horrendous power. Within a few moments, the half-dozen bandits were all down, two dead and the rest clutching various parts of their bodies and groaning in pain. Looking towards the caravan, Daryl nodded in satisfaction- they couldn’t see what had happened. Grinning to himself, Daryl melted into the underbrush to go find new friends to play with - all of his old friends seem to have lost interest in the games...

Gyrfalcon considered the massive bulk of the dragon curled between Robby, himself and the forest, and then turned the katana in his hands and plunged it point first into the ground before stepping away from it, holding his hands out to the sides in surrender. Gyrfalcon looked at the pacing black panther that was Kokuryuu’s current form and smirked sardonically. “And I am to believe you, wyrm? Dragons in general and the dragons of the colors in particular aren’t known for keeping their word except when it suits them to.” Before Kokuryuu could respond, the half-elf shook his head. “Well, whatever you choose to do with us, I doubt we can get away, so lead on.” His expression was sour, the half-elf obviously not enjoying his helpless state. Kokuryuu growled at him, then seemed to forcibly calm herself. “You can keep your sword with you- as you seem to have realized, it will be of no use against us.” Gyrfalcon studied the panther, then slid his sword from the ground and wiped the blade on his cloak before returning it to the sheath on his back. As he cleaned his blade, he studied the wolf turned dragon. Hm... he’s either a gold or a bronze... but I can’t tell which. Whatever he is, its strange that he’s willing to work with a chromatic dragon.

*pokes Wyvern and whispers in his ear* "Unless you've talked to Diessl and confirmed this person as a sorceress, the person introduced him/herself as 'sorceror'

Very nice! *Gyrfalcon scribbles for a moment, then holds up a sign that reads 9.7* "Only 9.7?" Peredhil asked, and the half-elf nodded. "Off .3 for my jealousy factor that I'm not the recepient of that poem." the half-elf admitted with a wink.