Wyvern

Wyvern Wyvern begins walking to the correct castle, his mind on Willamina all the while! Wyvern, and his faithfull companian, StMichael, walk for about 2 hours and have not yet found the castle. StMichael, who has followed wyvern all this way, begins to have his doughts. "Are you SURE we're going in the right direction?!" he asks. "Shut up!" says wyvern, "I know my way around these kingdoms! Oh...Willamina! How I long for... O.K StMichael. We should be reaching the mountain on which the tower is positioned now..." But StMichael didn't see a mountain. StMichael saw a lake...

Zool Actually, I thought it was pretty funny. Anyway, onward to the castle!

Wyvern StMichael, I just want you to know that when we get to the second castle on the right, only one person's going to climb Willamina's hair, and thats ME! (Sorry about your goatee) Wyvern snatches a flying monkey that is still pestering him and eats it.

Zool Did I say second castle to the left? I meant second castle to the right! Fortunately the Monkey King, who is in the doorway, is laughing so hard at St Micheal's goatee and the look on Wyvern's face that he can't order his flying monkeys to attack. Wyvern gives the fax machine, a relic of the age of science, a sting with his tail, and StMichael escapes minus most of his goatee, which they both quickly climb down in search of the correct castle.

StMichael Wyvern scrambles up the hair. As it turns out, its not a damsel in destress, its StMichael and his goatee got stuck in the fax machine. "Help me!" he cries as flying monkeys begin to circle the tower.

Zool Wyvern strains to see up the sheer side of the tower. A brilliant golden light dazzles his eyes for a second. When his vision clears, he sees beautiful sweet smelling golden tresses flowing down to the ground for him to climb up.

Wyvern Wyvern rushes to the second castle to the left (more specifacly the upper right-hand tower of that castle). Willamina, Willamina, let down your hair...

Zool Well... Go get her!

Wyvern Now THAT's more like it! I didn't like the part were I poured water onto myself and got hurt, but my very own damsal in distress?! ALLRIIIIGGHHTTT!!!

Zool Suddenly Wyvern jumps up and grabs a pitcher of water from a nearby table, and pours it over his head. "My God! My jacket was smoking!" he exclaims. He then hears the unmistakable hiss of an incoming arrow. He falls to the floor just as it flies in the open window and 'thunk's into the wall where he had been standing. Retreiving the message he reads: Help! I am a damsel in distress, and am being held against my will. I had a dream that you saved me, though I still can't figure out what the chipmunk was doing in the accordion. Please save me. I'm in the second castle to the left, in the upper right hand tower, the one with the long blonde hair flowing out the window. Signed, Princess Willamina

Wyvern I agree with Runamuck. That story is TERRIBLE! There is to much attention devoted to Zool and not enough to me! O.K, let's start over... Wyvern is sitting in his quarters in a smoking leather jacket...

Zool Zool is contemplating his predicament. Bound and gagged in his own castle, our hero struggles with the rising pressure in his bladder... Suddenly a cloud of smoke appears. It's Dr. Evil! Saved! Laughing maniacally, Dr. Evil cuts Zool loose, then lights another smoke bomb. Zool looks around wondering why all the smoke. Are they under attack? The smoke begins to clear. Dr. Evil is standing there, obviously waiting for Zool to get with the program. Zool draws his sword. "Thwack!" The sound of the ugly stick on Zools cranium resounds in the small room. He falls to the floor stunned, his mind swimming in blackness. Some time later he begins to regain consciousness in the empty room. There was something else, something urgent, but it is gone now...

Dr. Evil ---I, for one, rather enjoyed that story. Dr. Evil appears in a cloud of smoke and then tosses the still-going Party Smoke Bomb into the corner. He then cuts Zool loose, lights another smoke bomb, and tosses it on the floor. "Now it is time to make my exit!" says the doctor. "Bwa ha ha! Bwa ha ha ha haaaa! " The smoke dissapitates. Dr. Evil stands exactly where he was. "Hmmm. . .Zool looks up and draws a sword to kill this intruder, but before he has a chance, Dr. Evil beats him with Tesla's Ugly stick and runs away.

Runamok Booo! You have certainly reached a new low in storytelling, Zool. A red smoking Jacket? Disconnected dream sequences? ‘Drums of Mirth’? Yeeaach! Also, I’ll take my side-kick back, thank you! Grimmael disapears in a cloud of blue smoke. Bound and gagged, Zool struggles in his chair, his eyes widening in alarm. “Mmmf, mmmf, angh mmf!” he says. And sometimes a cigar is JUST a cigar. -Runamok

Zool Rich wood paneling, shelves of books, and dramatic tapestries hanging from the walls reflect the warm light emanating from the fireplace. In the center of the library is a table laden with pictures and artifacts from far off times and far flung places. In front of the fireplace is an overstuffed Victorian chair. In the chair is Zool, wearing a large red smoking jacket, black pajamas trimmed in red, and slippers. He is reading a large Tome and smoking an ornate wood pipe. He looks up from his book and puts it down. “Good Evening. We have a special surprise for you tonight on Magepiece theater. To give credit to all the literary genius represented in the halls of the conservatory, I shall endeavor to lend them a little perspective with this contrasting piece. It has no plot, no point, and no theme. Will it be bad enough? Will it rivet your attention with a sense of horror at what you are witnessing? Will anybody care? Watch tonight and see, Something – Different. Tap tap tap. “Zool?” Grimmael knocked softly. No answer. He opened the door and entered anyway, carrying a silver tray with Zool’s breakfast. “Get up, get up, it’s time to get up in the castle!” A familiar figure lay in bed. Black leather trimmed in red, an enormous head of matted black hair, and something new, cool black sunglasses. “I’m not here,” he said. “You slept in your armor again. And you know Wednesday is the day it is sent out to be deloused. Eat this, you’ll feel better.” Zool didn’t move. Instead he said, “I had another dream last night.” “Really? You know, you should forget those silly dreams…” *Insert wavy ‘dream sequence’ visual effect. Zool’s voice narrates the scenes shown before you.* “I dreamed about a child riding his bicycle in the park. I was there with my parents. The child is just riding along, when suddenly the bicycle sprouts a propeller out of it’s back. It starts spinning at a tremendous speed. It makes a lot of noise. The bicycle heads into the pond. The child only goes about 6 feet before it spins out of control and dumps her and the bike into the water. The child cries out in shock and alarm, the bike flopping around madly, spraying water all over. It seems the child loses a finger in the propeller, but it’s hard to tell. My father and I jump into the water. He grabs the child, but has to wrestle the bike to keep either of them from being injured as they try to get away. I find a large wooden beam and run over. My father steadies the bike as I apply the beam to the madly spinning propeller. Wood chips fly as if from a buzz saw. The propeller begins to slow, eating the beam like a breadstick. My beam had been whittled down to a stick, but we have the bicycle up on shore now and the blades of the propeller are nearly gone. With all the strength I can muster, I jam the stick down onto the battered propeller. It buzzed like a mad bee, then slowly stopped. The danger passed.” *Wavy lines dissolve you back to the bedroom.* Grimmael said nothing, only eyed Zool with his one good eye, contemplating his prospects of finding a sane Mage. It didn’t look good. Zool continued. “Reminds me of a dream I’ve had several times before. Want to here it?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I’ve had several dreams about large machines. In the dreams, I get the impression they have great power. I usually hear a loud hum emanating from within the machine. Great electrical connections run into it, and massive sophisticated apparatus dominate the internals. Somewhere deep inside is a chair, which seems to be the focal point of the apparatus. As I sit into it, I feel the machine surge, building up power. But then, it stops. Something is missing.” “Some screws?” interjects Grimmael. “No,” said Zool, unperturbed, “Some small but crucial bit of the apparatus. I can see where it plugs in. It is there that the dream ends. Rather silly, don’t you think?” Grimmael didn’t answer right away. After thinking it over he said, “Beautiful day, isn’t it,” indicating the open window. As Zool looked out the window, Grimmael drops the grapefruit from his tray onto the floor and scoots it under the bed. “Poor Zool,” thought Grimmael, “Citric acid has eaten his brain…” Perhaps I should ask an expand,” said Zool. “A what?” “An expand.” “A what?” repeated Grimmael. “An expand. You know, I could tell him my dreams and he could tell me what it’s about.” “Oh, you mean a shrink!” “Good heavens no! Why should I call a shrink when I want an expand?” Ba-dump bump! “Did you hear a drum?” asked Grimmael curiously. “That’s the ‘Drums of Mirth’. Remind me to stock up.” Grimmael made a note of that. “That reminds me!” said Zool, leaping out of bed. “I have something special to give you. Zool searches under his bed. He pulls out half a dozen moldy grapefruit halves before producing a white T-shirt. He held it up for Grimmael to see. “What do you think?” Grimmael eyed it suspiciously. “It’s a T-shirt.” “I made it just for you, Grimmael.” “You made it?” “Well, the message.” Grimmael said nothing, but inspected the T-shirt closely. It was an ordinary, blank T-shirt. “Message…?” he said meekly, almost afraid to ask. “Oh Grimmael, don’t be such a block head! This is the ultimate message of infinite possibility!” “But it doesn’t say anything…” “Exactly!” Grimmael froze for a second before shouting out, “Cool!” and then CLANKed Zool over the head as hard as he could with the silver serving tray, mangling the poor tray ruthlessly. ‘This is for your own good,’ thought Grimmael as he ran to get some rope. THE END. We sincerely apologize to anyone who took the time to read this. -The Management Sometimes a cigar IS a phallic symbol. -Grimmael I smoke a pipe. -Zool

A brief note before I begin archiving this ancient thread... this was originally a solo story written by Zool, but it evolved into a roleplaying thread that Zool hosted and several people participated in. The thread features some of my earliest internet writing, which was awful to the extent that it's seriously embarrassing... ;p Never the less, notice how Zool and others supported the writing despite it's mediocre nature. Their acceptance and willingness to play along with me motivated me to continue posting, and I think that I've slightly improved since then... ;p Anyway, memories of the thread still evoke smiles from me, so I thought we should have it archived here for safe-keeping.

I got to see "Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers" the other day on DVD. I personally wasn't a big fan of the first installment, as I thought that the plotline felt somewhat rushed and jumbled... I obviously wasn't expecting anything as good as the book, but the emphasis placed on over-the-top special effect action sequences greatly detracted from the film for me. Tolkein's brilliant uses of characterization didn't really seem to be present... Having said this, I feel that "The Two Towers" is a step up from the first film, though still not amazing. The beginning of the film suffers from the same problem as the majority of "The Fellowship of the Ring," as it feels extremely rushed and only concerned with action scenes. As the film progresses, however, they slow things down a bit and spend some time on characterization, at which point it gets much better IMO. Overall, it's a thoroughly entertaining (though not spectacular) film. On a side note, one film I would highly recommend is "The Hours," which is based on Michael Cunningham's biography of Virginia Woolf. Even if you're not a fan of Woolf's writing and philosophies, it's a brilliantly executed and well-acted movie...

Appy lazily lies back in her applicant easychair, sighing and twiddling a pen in her hands as she awaits the arrival of the infamous Elder of Initiates. The overgrown lizard had yet to show his face in the Office, and Appy had been waiting for an application response from him for the past few days... Though the eager applicant had been expecting a long wait after hearing numerous tales of the reptilian Elder's greedy and gluttonous ways, she was never the less rapidly growing tired of fiddling with her pen and doing nothing... Suddenly, as if to answer Appy's longing for a bit of excitement, the front door of the Recruiter's Office entrance slams open and Wyvern strides in. The lizard is wearing a pair of extremely cheap sunglasses, an "I Love (to Sue) Hollywood" T-shirt, some very unfashionable shorts and a layer of sunblock so thick that it makes him look paler rather than tanned. Dropping a few items of luggage on the ground and rushing over to his desk, the greedy reptile salutes Appy and hisses: "Ahhh... I'm back from L.A. Such a nice city, shame all the strip clubs were so damned expensive... otherwise, I could have spent another week there!" Briefly digging through his bags, the lizard pulls out several manuscripts and mutters: "Yeesh, the director's in Hollywood have gotten so damn picky.... they wouldn't even accept my script for 'Gyrfalcon the Movie.' I mean, sure, the script and filming only got halfway completed, but they're still way better than 'Terminator 3...'" Shaking his head sadly and crossing off another money-making scheme from his seemingly endless list, Wyvern raises a brow towards Appy and exclaims: "Ah, of course, you must be waiting for a response to your application! My apologies... lemmee see here..." The reptilian Elder then proceeds to shuffle through the ocean of papers flooding his messy desk until he comes across Appy's application. Plucking the sheet from the rest of the papers and reading over it carefully, the lizard grins and mutters: "A very good poem Appy, plus I notice you mentioned that you like to babble in your profile, which is always a plus. Just one question before I accept it, though..." Appy raises a brow, straightening up and listening carefully. "You wouldn't happen to be related to an application yourself, would you? I mean, your name's Appy and all... I tend to feel uncomfortable around applicants related to their applications, since the application sheets often hold grudges against me for the poor living conditions found on my desk top." Appy stares at Wyvern confused for a moment before slowly shaking her head "no". "Ah good..." responds Wyvern, sighing in relief as he stamps Appy's app ACCEPTED. ;p OOC: A good poem and an ACCEPTED application, Appy... welcome to the Mighty Pen! I apologize for the lateness of my response, and hope you find us a warm and acceptant community. Once again, welcome!

As old acquaintances enter the Cabaret Room to greet Immortalis and warmly welcome him to the Mighty Pen, Sorciere grumbles to herself and glumly sticks her hands into the pockets of her tunic. Her plan to make 20 bucks off of the Misunderstood Mammal had seemed so perfect, yet it had been foiled by the newcomer's excellent methods of calculating debt and major in Economics. If only there was another schemer who could help her... someone knowledged and experienced in the art of scheming, yet still insane enough to go for Immortalis' geld pouch... As if to answer Sorciere's prayers, a scaly claw suddenly reaches out from a dark aclove of the Cabaret Room and grabs the lady magician by the hood of her cloak. Pulling Sorciere into his evil niche, Wyvern quickly places a crimson finger up to her lips to silence her and quietly hisses: "Sssshhhhh... keep quiet, just let me do the talking..." Having said this, the overgrown lizard quickly digs into one of his pockets and pulls out the Fake Tear Tissue, an artifact that had been endowed to him by Sorciere herself. Dabbing Sorciere's face with the tissue, the greedy reptile then proceeds to straighten out the formal lawyer outfit he's wearing to make sure he looks presentable. Having finished this, Wyvern clears his throat and strides out into the public area of the Cabaret Room, pulling Sorciere by the hand and dragging her along with him... Approaching Immortalis in a very calm and business-like manner, it takes Imm and Brute a moment before they even recognize their old S.o.B buddy. "Wyvern!" exclaims Immortalis happily "It's so great to see you again! Brute and I were just-" The Misunderstood Mammal stops in mid-sentence as Wyvern suddenly raises a claw in the air to demand silence. "Immortalis..." hisses Wyvern "... before we do all the greeting stuff, let's get some matters of business out of the way, shall we? My client, Sorciere, has yet to be payed the 20 dollars you owe her... Why, look at her... you've made her cry!" Immortalis hesitantly turns towards Sorciere only to note that she does, indeed, have tears streaming down her face. "But I swear..." mumbles Immortalis "I keep perfect track of my debts, and I don't owe anyone anything." "Oh reeeeaaaallly..." mutters Wyvern evilly "Then how do you explain... THIS?!" The overgrown lizard rapidly reaches into his cloak and pulls out what appears to be a cheap napkin with a bit of writing scribbled on it. Proudly handing the "document" to Immortalis, the old S.o.Ber raises a brow in disbelief as he reads over the contents: I, Imortalllis, do owe the Sorceress lady 20 buckeroos. P.S: I also owe Wyvern 200 geld "Errrr..." mumbles Immortalis "... Wyv... you could have at least spelled my name right on this." "Yeah..." mutters Brute while glancing at the napkin. "... besides, we all recognize your nearly illegible almost dragonic handwriting... it's hard to miss." Nervously adjusting the collar of his suite and casting glances towards the spectators in the Cabaret Room, Wyvern briefly turns to Sorciere and whispers: "Hmmm... they're on to me. But don't worry, I have a back up plan..." The greedy lizard then turns back towards Immortalis and Brute and triumphantly hisses: "Admittedly... perhaps the scribblings on that napkin aren't 100% genuine. It doesn't, however, explain these pictures!" With that, the reptilian Elder swiftly pulls out a number of photos from his suite, each of which has been stamped with the bright red word "SCANDAL" Immortalis' eyes widen as he views the photos, which depict Hammel the Hamster and Mr. Bunny smoking cigars and gambling at an illegal animal produce convention... "It can't be..." exclaims Immortalis "... these pictures must be doctored!" "I agree!" exclaims Big Pointy One from the crowd "After all, Mr. Bunny would never gamble for raw produce... he has a 16-carrot standard!" Wyvern grits his teeth and curses before attempting to run and escape the room, only to find himself surrounded by Pen security, who happen to be weilding Anti-Wyvern Mallets. Turning once again to Immortalis and grinning as innocently as possible, the lizard meekly murmers: "Eheh... welcome back, Immortalis..." ;p OOC: Scheming aside, it's great to have you back with us Imm'

Loom and bend… contort, adjust Down many halls they file The shadows in expensive shades Their humans bright with smiles. Once empty passageways now throng With outlines cast on walls The shells that form them follow too Preparing for a ball. Through candlelight and curving bends The silouhettes won’t break Knowing that their source of light Rests on a birthday cake. And as Pen members greet fair Yui Conjoined in joyous cause They wish her all a happy day While their shadows give applause. ;-) Happy birthday, Yui-chan! While I could go on for ages about how your writing and artistic talent deserve threads of praise all to themselves, I’d like to use this thread to thank you for being a kind and caring friend as well as a devoted Pen Elder. I hope you have an excellent birthday, and that your wishes are realized… Having said this, Wyvern fishes through his pockets for the shadow giftwrapping paper promised in the thread title. Handing Yui what appears to be a large quantity of thin air, the overgrown lizard assures her that it's simply the light playing tricks on her eyes. Snickering to himself, the lizard then bows to Yui and dashes off to find an infared camera in the hopes of taking some pictures of shadows clapping and selling them to the creators of The X-Files...

This is a good poem that drives across the theme of mankinds destruction of nature in a succinct and effective manner. The short lines and stanzas work well and seem to add to the sparsity of nature in the poem. The one part of the poem that I don't think is quite as effective as the rest is the first line of the second to last stanza, where the reader is spoken to directly by the narrator. I think it could be made more effective if the narrator was speaking to a wider audience in that line... Good stuff, Mira.

Tapping his fingers patiently against the armrest of the applicant easychair in which he sits, Merelas glances towards the venerable grandfather clock ticking in the corner of the room and raises a brow as he notices the time. The weary applicant had been waiting for the reptilian Elder of Initiates for several days now, and had yet to hear a word from the greedy lizard... Though he had heard disturbing rumors about the evil and lazy nature of Wyvern, Merelas was never the less disturbed that the almost dragon's absence might be somehow related to the nature of his application. Raising himself from his seat and stretching for a bit, the eager applicant suddenly jumps in surprise as the front door of the office slams open. Quickly combing his hair and making sure his garmets look presentable, Merelas strides up to the figure who had just entered the room and smiles, shaking the figure's hand firmly and saluting him. The blood in the half-firelf's veins boils as he suddenly realizes that the person who had entered the office wasn't Wyvern, but rather the equally-despicable Cliche'. "Merelas ol' buddy!" exclaims Cliche' as his slow thought processes suddenly come to terms with his companion's presence. "Fancy meeting you in these halls!" "Cliche'?!!" exclaims Merelas in an extremely annoyed voice. "What are you doing in the Pen?! Dear Lord... this must be a nightmare... you're jeopardizing my application!" "Awww don't worry about it Mer'... that Jeopardy gameshow business was last week. I won't be getting in your way at all, I'm just here to slay a Wyvern. Have you seen any wyverns around these parts?" "Slay a Wyvern?!" exclaims Merelas while clawing at his pointy ears in distress. "Why did you choose the Pen to do this?!" "Well... I heard from my stereotypical all-knowing wizard information sources™ that the Wyvern that resides in the Pen is a cliche' himself... here, just read this pamphlet..." Having said this, Cliche' hands his friend Merelas a long sheet of paper labeled "Potential Enemy Cliche's" on which the following section has been highlighted: "Wyvern of the Mighty Pen: fits the typical greedy, perverted villain cliche'. Slay him, and yee shall gain the trust and respect of all the tax collectors in the land..." "B-b-but..." stutters Merelas uncontrollably "... you can't slay him, he's supposed to respond to my application..." At that moment, the office door swings open again and Wyvern strides in wearing dark sunglasses and a trenchcoat. Poking Cliche' on the shoulder and nudging him a few times, the overgrown lizard points towards the courtyard outside the office window and hisses: "Psssst... I think da Wyvern went datta way..." Cliche' nods to this and mutters: "Thank you kind sir... here's a gold piece for your services. Now, I shall be off! Best of luck with your application, Marelas my friend!" Having said this, Cliche' jumps out of the office window in pursuit of a wyvern while the trenchcoat-clad Elder of Initiates winks at Merelas and stamps his application story ACCEPTED. OOC: A very good application story, Merelas, certainly ACCEPTED! Welcome to the Mighty Pen, and my apologies for the wait! I hope you find the Pen a warm and acceptant writing community, and look forward to reading more of your posts in the near future.

These are some tight battle rap verses, Pestilence. I like the medieval and scientific feel that permeates throughout many of the punchlines... It kind of reminds me of Ikon the Verbal Holigram (of Jedi Mind Tricks') style, only more intelligent and better written. My one complaint would be that there was one set of lines that didn't flow as well and didn't make much sense to me: starting with "Leaving the ignorant mangled..." and ending with "... too dark and chaotic to defeat." In this section, there aren't many rhymes and the syllable count seems a bit off. Having said this, I really enjoyed the rest of the piece, particularly near the end where you started going beserk with some killer punchlines! The November Dallas, Sandman, and Dante's Inferno references were particularly brilliant. The effort you put into the piece shows... Dope stuff.

I like this poem a lot, Vincent. It's direct in it's message, yet creative and intriguing in it's approach. I also really like the major theme of the poem, as it's certainly important to make your own unique mark in life. My major recommendation would be to read the poem back over and correct for spelling errors, as they disrupt from the flow of the piece at times. Well done.

Wyvern frantically dashes into the Cabaret Room and happily shakes Arawn's hand while wishing the Mad King a very happy birthday. Noting that his Almost Dragonic canes are meant to fall apart when first held (as a special bonus, they also break into splinters when you take walks!), the overgrown lizard then proceeds to hand the legendary Mad King a birthday package of his own. Poking at the spherically shaped packaging curiously, Arawn opens the gift only to find his own head, which had previously rolled off his body and gone missing again... ;-) OOC: A very Happy 22nd Birthday to you, Arawn.