Gyrfalcon

Gyrfalcon bowed slightly, trying not to breath in too much dust and spoil the movement by doubling over and coughing, which would stir up yet *more* dust... “Thank you for letting us intrude on your sanctuary, Yui-chan. I think it will remain quite silent for the most part, affording you the silence you desire.” The half-elf smiled briefly. “As for the dust bunnies biting... if they actually start to do that, I think I’ll be very, very afraid.” Meanwhile... Daryl trotted silently through the shelves of the library in fox form, his small paws sending puffs of dust into the air at every step. Suddenly, he stopped as he was confronted by the strangest sight he had ever seen. The dust ahead of him edied and rippled, then slowly mounded up, smoothing out into the shape of a rabbit. Daryl blinked and twitched his ears in surprised amazement as the dust bunny took a tentative hop. Daryl took a step forward, and the dust filled his nose. With surprising force for a small fox, he sneezed, sending a wave of dust into the air. The dust bunny jumped and spun around to face the werefox. After a moment of inspection, it hopped towards the sneezing fox... and bit his tail. This wouldn’t have concerned Daryl too much, except he saw the dust begin to mound up once again... another dust bunny was forming. Minutes later, Gyrfalcon and Icarus look up from their chat with Yui-chan to see Daryl race by, yipping every other step, a pack of dust bunnies chasing him, intent on biting him for whatever reason dust bunnies bite...

Lost in the expectations and suspense of their attempt to unveil the Rainbow Vale, everyone, from Y’Tren to Kaleyra, Timothy to Gyrfalcon had forgotten one important fact- sailors were a nervous, superstitious group. One of their biggest superstitions was about having magic-users on board- the crew of a ship so cursed would face only misfortune for the rest of their careers. Only the royal navies of the great Archmage-ruled countries would take a mage onboard... and then only reluctantly and on express orders. Captain Wallace and the crew of the Lunging Lobster, however, were not aligned with any Archmage, and were more then a little put out by the sudden occurrence of magical events on their vessel, the sure sign of a mage. And the one holding the artifact and who seemed to be doing the magic was... the half-elf. Gyrfalcon slowly opened his eyes and blinked rapidly to clear the tears from them. He had been looking right into the crystal figurine when it had flared with light, and thus could see nothing but floating lights for the moment. However, his ears worked just fine, hearing the rasp of steel sliding from a scabbard in the sudden silence. “A damned sorcerer! We’ve been carrying a sorcerer!” The captain shouted, starting a babble of voices from his crew. The voices started confused but began to get steadily angrier. Myth immediately faded into the shadows, a slender knife coming to hand. She knew trouble when she saw it. Meanwhile, Timothy grasped the hilt of his bastard sword. He knew that to draw his blade would cause an immediate brawl, but he also recognized that one was in the offing unless someone could diffuse the situation. “Keelhaul him! Make him walk the plank! Kill the sorcerer!” various members of the crew shouted. Gyrfalcon calmly handed Kaleyra the figurine for safekeeping, then turned towards the crew, managing admirably to hide the fact he could see nothing in the darkness. Then a few of the crew helpfully lit torches, allowing the half-elf to see once more (and for the crew to see him.) “Yer for over the side, witch!” One crew member yelled, waving a rusted and notched blade. “Warlock.” Gyrfalcon said calmly, hands still at his side. “Wuh?” “I would happen to be a Warlock. Witches are only female.” The half-elf said coolly. There was a snigger from the crowd. “Oh, you’ll be a lady alright when you go over the side!” One crewmember shouted to their laughter, drawing a wickedly edged dagger as he said that. The half-elf’s eyes flared and then narrowed and became ice cold. “This is your last chance, gentlemen. If you wish to face the wrath of a mage, then so be it on your heads...” Gyrfalcon bluffed. In reality, much of his magic was fire-based, and he couldn’t afford to use any of it on the oh-so-flammable ship. Unfortunately, the crew had the same idea. “Hah! If you want a ride back, you can’t use any spells, sorcerer! Let’s kill him and his friends!” Emboldened, the crew pressed forward, waving their weapons. Gyrfalcon likewise stepped forward, stopping at the foot of the stairs leading up to the forecastle. To get to Timothy, Y’Tren or Kaleyra, the crew would have to go through him. The leading crewmen obviously thought that would be no challenge. Gyrfalcon subtly shifted his stance forward, standing on the balls of his feet. He crossed his arms at chest height and waited. The first three crewmen charged suddenly, the big one with the rusted sword leading. One moment, all three were charging, the next, two were dead and the third reeling back, leaving behind his hand. Gyrfalcon had drawn his katana, parried and struck more quickly then should be possible. To many, it seemed that the sword had appeared by magic in his hands. Only Myth and Y’Tren managed to follow the half-elf’s quick moves. Gyrfalcon brought his red-streaked katana to a more traditional guard and smiled grimly. “Just because I use magic does not mean I do not know the blade. Come, if you wish. Come feel death’s touch.” The crewmen stood back nervously. While they may want to kill the half-elf and his companions, they knew that the first ones to come near the gleaming blade Gyrfalcon held would die, and none of them wanted to be the first to approach him. One of the crew towards the back, however, had a different plan. He carefully aimed the crossbow he held in his hands and centered it on the half-elf’s chest. He knew that the half-elf wouldn’t see him, focused as he was on the man’s companions. The half-elf didn’t see him, but Myth did. The crewman slowly tightened his finger on the trigger when he felt cold steel slide through his back and touch his heart. “Silly man.” Myth whispered in his ear as he slowly slid from her stiletto and into the cold sleep of death. Coldly, calmly, Myth slipped back into the shadows and made her slow way towards Captain Wallace.

(Heh, thanks for coming to take a look, and for the idea to attract more people. )

*chuckles* For some reason, some song or other from the Beasty Boys popped into my head as I read your poem. Still, good poem, though why a cat is named Monkey... Yep, we missed you a bit. How are you doing?

*chuckles* For some reason, some song or other from the Beasty Boys popped into my head as I read your poem. Still, good poem, though why a cat is named Monkey... Yep, we missed you a bit. How are you doing?

Welcome back, Lord GeldrinHor.

...Psychadelic. *notes to himself to linger in the pain if he ever gets migraines... it's safer there!*

No! Curves are bad!... well, for some people at least.

Does *anyone* ever come in here? *coughs at the dust*

*applauds* Some fine arrows there, Zadown. I might even have appreciated them if I saw them on an arrow during an attack.

A beautiful piece, Annael. Unless I miss my guess, you're talking about love, are you not? *applauds*

*smiles* Congrats to all you newly-promoted people. I think those shiny new badges are all well-deserved.

Gyrfalcon smiled, a bit bitterly. “I try not to discuss religion very often, as it is a touchy subject.” He paused and sighed. “The gods exist- the miracles and spells of the priests and druids are proof of that, even if the occasional avatar of a god or goddess wasn’t enough already. However, New Muriska has risen *despite* the Gods, not because of them and their help. Personally, I could do without the most powerful of that lot.” Gyrfalcon said. Kaleyra looked at the half-elf in surprise. “But... why?” She said, shocked. “They’re cruel, capricious, greedy, self-serving, double-crossing, and grasping.” The half-elf said bluntly. “Their priests only dispense their blessings when vast sums cross their hands, and usually not even then. The money goes to the temple coffers and languishes there- it does nothing for the poor, the sick, the homeless and all others in need. Instead, it is used to raise more gaudy monuments, bedecked with jewels and gold to the point where the statue or alter loses all meaning as an object of worship to a god, but instead becomes an object of worship to wealth.” “What about the lesser gods?” Kaleyra felt compelled to ask. “I’m on better terms with them- they don’t demand a lot of money, they use what money they do get for good works, and are willing to wait for worshippers to come to them, not try to convert by threatening divine intervention if you don’t start paying them immense amounts of money.” Gyrfalcon said with a wry smile. “Really, the higher pantheon is like organized crime when you get down to it. Pay your protection fees or the enforcers will be by to make your life miserable.” He chuckled wryly, and Timothy laughed sourly. Kaleyra looked between the two and shook her head. “But the gods protect and guide us! If we live good lives, we will enter a state of grace when we die- or at least, that’s what the priests say! But both of you seem to think they’re wrong!” Kaleyra said, her passion for the subject giving her boldness and stopping her normal stutter. Timothy shrugged, his expression speaking volumes of his belief in the gods. Gyrfalcon shrugged as well. “Protect us? Perhaps. Guide us? I hope not. If we are guided by the gods, how much? Are our lives channeled to their whims? Which god controls each of us? Are we marionettes, spinning out our lives in an endless play to amuse these beings?” The half-elf shook his head, a fierce light burning in his eyes. “I am a free being. My life is my own while I still live. Once I’ve died,” the half-elf shrugged, “Once I’ve died, then the gods may do as they wish with me.”

Ah... an interesting history. *bows* I haven't formally introduced myself, have I? My name is Gyrfalcon No'Dessu, though you can always call me Gyr, as you've already done. And yes, your e-mail address *will* be neccessary. Should you be accepted (and there is no reason that I can see right now that you will not) it allows Wyvern to send you your password. (That lets you get into the spiffy, secret places... Oh wait, they aren't that spiffy or secret, but you can still get into them. )

First of all, an interesting story. (Though I do note that you should try to avoid eating the other Pen members, or parts of them.) One thing that confuses me about your story is: are you a lion? a tiger? a leopard? in the story 'Mari' in the Conservatory, you go from a lion to a tigertaur. Is this shapeshifting, or what?

Whoo... Glad you're alright, Celes.

Walked home on a fractured leg? *winces* Ouch. *applauds* Good poem, Gwaihir- show it to your sister. (If you haven't already done so)

Heh, I have no gift for poetry (at least not most times) so I won't try to answer in rhyme. Good poetry, and sorry for not responding, but I'm not a good poetry critic. Still, people *are* reading, even if they aren't putting up their own works.

Gyrfalcon walked down the hall, not really noticing anything, at least until he came up to Zool’s portrait. He stopped as he examined the familiar portrait. “Zool, what the heck are you wearing?” he asked the painted Elder, who looked around quickly for Cheyenne. “Don’t blow my cover! I’m supposed to warn everyone at the party when Cheyenne is approaching so that we can spring a surprise on her.” “A party, eh? Where is it being held?” “The Ballroom- just head down the corridor, door at the very end, as if you already didn’t know.” Zool said. Gyrfalcon nodded and reached into his bag of holding, then pulled out an spyglass. “Here, a prop for your disguise.” He offered the spyglass to Zool. The two dimensional image shifted, a hand reaching out to the offered end of the hourglass. There was a moment of blurred vision, and Zool’s image was once again in the heroic pose, now clutching an spyglass. Gyrfalcon shook his head as he walked down the hall- he would never get used to the transference from three dimensions to two. So engrossed in his thoughts, the half-elf didn’t notice the tentacles until they had grabbed him and pulled him through the door. “Hey, what the- put me down, you damned plant!” The ‘damned plant’ didn’t bother to listen, but instead threw him into its mouth and swallowed him without bothering to chew. A short, uncomfortable ride later, and Gyrfalcon landed in its stomach- and on Wyvern. “Ow!” “My spleen!” After the two sorted themselves out, Canid made her presence known by nudging Gyrfalcon to the side so he didn’t sit on her. “So what, we’re all stuck in Waterlily?” Gyrfalcon asked. “It looks that way.” Wyvern said. “Wonderful.”

This passage was not for them. That, Daryl was convinced of as Prospero and he careened down the passage, tumbling wildly as it shook and distorted, twisting against their movement through its length. Suddenly, the passage... tore. There was no other word, and the furry pair tumbled out, yelping wildly as they flew. Bagghins(with optional sssss) was looking over his shoulder to gauge pursuit, and thus didn’t see a small rent in the air appear, opening up into the swirling colors of pure Chaos. He also didn’t see a small russet, black and white form shoot from the portal, though he *did* hear the loud yip just before Daryl impacted with his upper chest, unbalancing the lizard-creature. “What the, where did you-“ Bagghins hissed, then yelped in pain as the werefox dug his claws into the lizard man’s scales to halt his slide downward. Which was roughly when the rift opened wider in a final burst and hurled Prospero out before snapping closed. The hurtling wolf caught the lizard in the ankles, and with a squawk the mass of fur and scales went down, the lizard’s bag breaking open as it did, distributing the collected ‘precioussses’ across the ground. “My precioussses!” the creature said, frantically grabbing and stuffing them into the sack, knowing pursuit would be closing. In its haste, it didn’t realize that one ‘preciousss’ was in fact a somewhat irate fox until four sets of claws raked its hand and forearm as it tried to stuff Daryl into a sack. “Nasty preciousss thief!” Bagghins hissed before shaking Daryl off, sending the werefox flying into a bush. Distracted by gathering the various stolen items, Bagghins didn’t notice Prospero the wolf shaking his head to clear it of floating little purple fuzzy creatures of doom.

Whoo, 200 posts! Keep it up, reverie. (and that's one heck of a post up there.)

*applauds a bit* Good poetry, hopefully Wyvern will show up soon! If not, hold faith- he has a lot of school things he has to do.

OOC: 1 Year? Dang... Well, let's get it done before we get a 2-year Annerversery! My appologies for the strageness towards the end, but I tend to weird out towards 1 AM. ;P IC: Gyrfalcon gritted his teeth and charged the vampires, katana held low. Just before he reached the undead, he reversed his grip and spun, his arm rising. His katana met resistance twice, its magically enhanced edge cutting cleanly through flesh and bone. The two beheaded vampires wavered for a moment, then crumpled, dead once more. Gyrfalcon nodded to himself, pleased that they were the weaker type of vampire- the truly powerful ones had to be killed, then staked in their coffin to truly die, and he didn’t think anyone had brought stakes with them. To the side, several vampires were screaming and rolling on the ground in agonizing pain, having been hit with the cleric’s beam of holy light. The rest surged to the attack, hissing and trying to latch on to either the cleric or Gyrfalcon, hungry for blood. They were met with the full force of Righteousness, which consisted of a mace to the face. The full force of Homicidal Half-elven Hatred (tongue twister, isn’t it?) was fairly brutal as well. The vampires quickly began to run away, a few deciding to try to kill the anthropomorphic rabbit. Usagi quickly dissuaded them, and the vampires broke and ran once more, a few having the presence of mind to turn into bats and fly away. Before the various heroes could congratulate themselves, the second wave of enemies attacked- ghouls slavering for their warm flesh, and behind them, several powerful liches. One such lich blasted Oblinich with a cone of freezing cold, only to watch in amazement (or as much as a corpse can possess) as Oblinich emerged from the cone and staggered into a charge.

Gyrfalcon shook his head and patted Cambronne on the head, receiving a semi-affectionate bite in return. Suddenly, a cry of “THIEF!” rang out, and Gyrfalcon sighed, expecting to turn and see Wyvern trying to make off with Minta’s golden sand castle, which he had been eyeing greedily. Instead, he was greeted by the sight of as strange a party as he’d ever see. Some small purple creature was standing on the back of a wolf, and sitting by the wolf with the air of someone saying “Me? Me? Metaphorically, I’m ten thousand miles away and I don’t know the people beside Me.” was a fox he knew quite well, as the freeloader was usually curled up on his bed back at the Pen. “Daryl, what the heck is going on?” Gyrfalcon asked. The fox looked up at him and cocked his head curiously, then yipped a few times. “You don’t have any idea. Gotcha.” Gyrfalcon said. With a sigh, he sat down by Prospero. “Heya, Prospero. How’s Canid doing? Who’s the rodent, and what’s this about a thief?”

Gyrfalcon slowly pulled his hands from his ears, followed by Prospero and Daryl. “That little creature sure has a set of lungs on it.” The half-elf observed. Daryl looked up at him and yipped, and Gyrfalcon repeated his comment slightly louder. The wolf and the fox nodded. They heard another scream of rage, and turned to watch a large boulder that was now in midair, heading for the other end of the lake. It splashed into the lake just short of the opposite shore. Little sides heaving, the purple... not rodent stood, glaring at everyone. “Did he do that?” Daryl whispered, and Prospero nodded. The creature walked back and Prospero seemed to have to brace himself to not shy away. Gyrfalcon and Daryl, on the other hand (or paw), took several steps back just to be safe. “I’m not a rodent.” It hissed, glaring specifically at Gyrfalcon, before burrowing into Prospero’s ruff and hiding from sight. “No, its a bloody psychopath.” Gyrfalcon said very, very softly to Daryl, who nodded vigorously.