Yui-chan

Katzaniel, If you look under your name on the left-hand side of the screen, you should see the brand-new Citrus Crooner Shiny. Congratulations. Wear it with pride until your heart tells you to pass it on; you've definitely earned it. Yours, ~Yui

(2) Voyeur __________ Elvigar leaned back in his chair, kicking his feet up on the table before him. He scratched his belly and let out a massive belch that had another table of men laughing and cheering at his prowess while he bellowed for the barmaid, Winelda. From her hiding place across the room, Adreina watched him through the thin gaps in the slatted wall, her eyes traveling from the top of a half-balding pate of oily hair down his dirty, barrel-shaped body to the well-worn soles of his dusty boots. He was a large man all around, tall and broad in both shoulder and gut, the kind of massive bully that was a leader among men not for his charm or ability, but for his simple, hot temper and boulder-sized fists. There weren’t many like him among her more-diminutive race, and she was very glad. She’d had the chance to watch him ‘settle a dispute’ with another patron last week, and she didn’t like to remember what the miner’s power had done to the man’s face. “Getcher scrawny little arse over here with my booze, Winnie. I ain’t gonna wait fer Shortday fer ya,” he roared even as the harried, middle-aged serving woman was rushing to his side with a frothing mug of ale. Despite his atrocious manners, Adreina found herself pleased as she watched the interaction. After an initial few days of frustration and confusion, she had finally come to a point where she could understand the strange language of the north, and not for the first time, she thanked the great god for her innate affinity for patterns. It hadn’t been as hard as she’d feared to comprehend their speech, and she had even started practicing speaking it for herself. She sincerely hoped she’d never be near enough to a native to have to use what she’d learned, but if she were, at least she would be ready. Winelda set the wooden mug on the table with a loud rap, staring her tight-mouthed disapproval at Elvigar’s attitude. “That’s fifteen copper ye owes us, Elvigar Meksim. Fergal says ye’d better pay up by week’s end, or ye won’t be suppin’ here anytime soon.” The rotund little woman accentuated her words with a shake of her head and folded her arms under her ample bosom. The miner scowled back, looking significantly more threatening. “Izzat so? Well, you just tell that little weasel husband o’ yers that I’m good fer it, an’ if he’s lucky, I may just pay him fer this swine piss he serves ‘round here.” A boisterous laugh from the backroom cut off the witty retort that Winnie had opened her mouth to give him, and they both turned their heads to the far right of the building, beyond the thin strip of room that Adreina could see. She could imagine, though, and she knew that deep, bellyful sound to herald the arrival of the tavern’s portly owner, a man she only knew as Fergal. He was a short, messy-haired little man, one with a round belly and at least three chins. She could just imagine him, striding out from the cookroom, or perhaps from behind the bar, wiping his meaty hands on a threadbare towel. His cheeks were always a jolly, ruddy red, and he unfailingly had grease on his partially-singed chin hair. It was a little hard to comprehend how it had happened, but sometime in the past few weeks, Adreina had decided that she rather liked Fergal. He smiled a lot when he was within her line of sight and had a tendency to hug people when he was greeting in the main room. It was a strange custom, true, but his young observer thought it looked rather… pleasant. It wasn’t a practice with which she was familiar. “Elvie, you big, dumb brute! Don’t you be talkin’ such big words when we both know you’ll be paying ‘afore you leave tonight.” His voice came closer until he stepped into view from her left. Sure enough, he was just finishing the process of slinging his kitchen rag back over his shoulder. “You’re a powerhouse and a handy man with that pickaxe, but you got too much honor to steal a bit o’ rotgut from me, an’ we both know it. You’re just after rilin’ my Winnie.” His brilliant smile didn’t seem to be the least bit tarnished by the angry glare his massive guest shot at him, and he only chuckled again when Elvigar couldn’t think up a suitably grumpy reply. The ox wasn’t sure whether he’d just been insulted or complimented, and his mouth opened and closed again impotently. His face flushed red with embarrassment as the rest of the tavern’s half-dozen patrons joined in the laughter. As the noise died back down to the normal chatter and Winelda and Fergal returned to their duties, Adreina continued to watch quietly, listening to the snippets of conversation that reached her through the comforting crackle of the fire. She knew the pattern; soon the evening visitors would start crowding in, many of them travelers and local workers looking for some good conversation and the pleasant haze of alcohol. There were a few regulars who would come in late, drink for an hour, complain about something called ‘themissus’ and leave again with a sense of satisfaction. She’d been a little disappointed to learn that most of the tavern’s patrons were men; her education on northern women was limited to Winelda, and she got the impression that the tavern’s mistress was a little out of the ordinary. The woman got some strange looks, especially when she stood up to Elvigar. With a shrug, she shifted around to give her legs a stretch and watched as the tavern door opened to admit the evening’s first guest. She noted with idle curiosity that this man, whoever he was, wore clothing that was slightly different from the local style, a bit sharper and more plainly decorated. He was a traveler of course, probably from some city or distant part of the republic. She had heard vague references to a region further north called Verives and a city somewhere or other that they called Sorin. Perhaps he was from one of those places, and she could learn more about them from him. She nodded to herself, making a mental note to be sure to pay attention to his conversation through the evening, but even as she thought it, she was disappointed to see him walk out of sight to her left, probably going to sit at the bar. Adreina frowned but could only shrug as she watched the next few people to enter, recognizing each as occasional patrons. Soon, the bustling tavern was downright crowded, and the hidden voyeur struggled to make out any one conversation amongst the hubbub. She did her best, resting her forehead against the splintering wood as she peeped out at them, and over the course of the evening, she managed to learn a few new words -- most of them curses -- and a few new facts. By the time the tavern had started to empty, it was nearly midnight, and Adreina was drooping, dozing where she’d leaned back against the stone blocks of the outer wall. The relative quiet and the pleasant heat of the fireplace wrapped around her like a cozy blanket, lulling her towards sleep. It was then that the wooden wall in front of her burst inward with a groan and the snap of breaking wood. Adreina shrieked and shoved herself tighter against the outside wall, instinctively shielding her face from the flying splinters of wood that filled the tiny space, too surprised to even wonder what was happening. She felt something slam into her chest, knocking the wind from her, and before she could struggle, she was being hauled through the gaping hole in the wall by the front of her filthy tunic. The jagged edges of the wood bit into her, cutting and scraping her arms and legs, and she was thrown to the tavern floor with bruising force. Stunned and hurting, blinded by the sudden light in the bright main room of the tavern, Adreina Pelin gasped for breath and squinted up her attacker, all the while praying to her god that hers would be a quick and painless death.

Congratulations, everyone. You've all done great work towards improving our community, and we really appreciate it. Yours, ~Yui

Um... I don't suppose anyone will believe me if I say I got it all along but just didn't get the chance to post anything up? ;; Well, really... I was very pleased to be able to see what you were doing with this, Buddha, and I really enjoyed the poem because of that dual nature and the hidden meaning you put in it. I am very fond of subtle poetry, as I think that's a large part of the art of wordcrafting that makes the genre so fascinating. Thank you very much for the challenge, and great work on the poem. I'm glad I got to read it. Yours, ~Yui

Xaious, Hmm... This one is really hard to read, both because of a healthy spread of typos and incorrect punctuation and because of its very stream-of-consciousness flow. Beyond trying to portray some dark, depressed feelings, I'm not sure I can quite glean where you were trying to go with this. What was your purpose? If all you were after was feeling with no concrete comprehension of the source/reason, then I think you've done a great job, because this is certainly a piece full of emotion. However, if you wanted to tell me something, then you might want to go back through it with an eye towards ironing out the flow a bit and filling in a few of the vague details. It's a very interesting piece, so don't let me discourage you. I enjoyed reading it. Thanks, ~Yui

Congratulations, Katzaniel! And similar congratulations to everyone who participated. I got a good laugh out of some of the entries and simply enjoyed those that were more serious. Not a one of these was anything less than top-notch. Katz, as the official Citrus Krooner, I'm going to have to see to it that you get a shiny to wear under your member title. Don't forget, when the time comes, that it falls to you to host another contest and give the title away to some other worthy soul! Yours, ~Yui

Mira, There's no small amount of artistry in these words. They're evocative and yet subtly so, and though I can't claim to understand the work in the context of poetry, I can say that I love the -way- you've said what you've said, here. It's ... deceptively deep. Sorry, I'm not good at articulating my feelings on poems. My only critique comes from my strict sense of form when it comes to poetry, and you should take it as such - purely the first instinct of a rigid poet. I wish that the first and last stanzas mirrored each other a little bit more in terms of line length and syllable-count, as I feel that would really solidify the 'poetry' aspect of this piece. As it is, it simply looks like a strangely laid-out story piece to me... Still, it's really enjoyable. Thanks for sharing! Yours, ~Yui

Falcon, I'm afraid the musical score stuff went right over my head. (What can I say? I'm short. ) I do love the visual nature of the lyrics, though, and I think the stanzas are beautiful in their flow and emotionalism. The only place where I wasn't quite as content with the words was in this stanza: That 'please my dear' really felt like it just stood in the middle of the flow like a dam, utterly disrupting it. I'm not good enough with poetry to know whether that might have been on purpose or not, but I thought I'd mention it. I have enjoyed this one. Thanks for sharing it. Yours, ~Yui

Great writeups, everyone. I love the way each of you has caught the spirit of the character in just a couple of short paragraphs. Yay! I don't have any words for the project, right now, but I do have something I hope can be of some help. Every test has one of those nifty pictures to go with the text, right? So, here's one I made for Gyrfalcon. Keep your eye out for more from other Pen artists, as well. The gauntlet has been thrown! Anyway, here you go: Yours, ~Yui

It is moments like these that make me glad I stay on IRC and log events! Great poem, Finnie-kun, in your typical, amusing style. Thanks so much for sharing both the funny moments and your equally-funny tribute to them. I appreciate the gift of laughter in the midst of an otherwise-dull day. You have quite the talent for it. Yours, ~Yui

A soft, black boot pauses by Finnius' head, and above an expanse of deep folds and warm fabric, washed-out green eyes peer down at him. With a little sigh and a shake of her head, Yui kneels and pats his cheek, rewarded with a flutter of eyelids and a garbled mumble. She can only smirk, an expression from that razor-edge between amusement and concern, and rest her hand on his shoulder, giving him a jostling shake. "I'm not going to eat you, Finnie-kun. I already had lunch. Besides, you'd probably turn my tongue blue, neh?" Her gaze is warmly teasing as she helps the groggy man sit up to recover his breath and his scattered wits. Given the horror that is Scarlett O'Harpy, she isn't terribly surprised that the process takes him a good, long while... When Finnius finally recovers his clear-eyed gaze, Yui gives him a friendly grin and a pat on the back. "Happy unbirthday, Finnius," she says softly before raising her face to the rest of the room and repeating more loudly, "Happy unbirthday, minna-san."

Great comments, all three of you. I'll be sure to make some small changes, most noteably the INSTANT ERADICATION of dangling participles. >_). We farmfolk like to ask people where they're goin' to, an' what they're thinkin' 'bout. An' darn it if they ain't ruined me for writing proper-like. I'm trying to train myself away from that particular error, so please do continue to point out the ones I miss. I'll do my best to get over my insufferable need to leave them participles a-danglin'. To answer your question, Katzaniel, I'm American with English influences. No, truth to tell, I've used the spelling 'grey' for a very long time just for the pure joy of it. I have a number of little idiosyncrasies like that, but in the end it just comes down to the fact that I prefer the look of 'grey' to 'gray'. If no one objects toooooooo strenuously, I'm going to continue to use it simply because I'm me. What can I say? I'm strange. Good catch, though. Thanks to everyone for their input! You're all dears. Yours, ~Yui

(1) Stealing Refuge _________________________ There was only one place in the bustling tavern that was quiet and still that night, only one nook in the time-worn wooden building that didn’t ring with laughter and the click of wooden mugs. Nestled behind the chimney, it was a forgotten space filled with close, stale air and years of dust and cobwebs. Burnished gold light slanted through the hazy atmosphere from gaps in the planks that formed the meager interior wall, slicing the darkness with ragged, horizontal lines that scored the surface like the claw marks of a great, wild beast. The floor was rough and indistinct in the meager glow, and now and then a heavy step on the second story would loose a hail of dirt, grime and insect remains from the low ceiling. Still, it was blessedly warm and relatively safe, and the rotting blankets that littered the dirt floor made it pleasantly comfortable. The woman who huddled in the darkness there snuggled deeper into the corner and reflected with grim cynicism that it was probably the most pleasant place she’d managed to stay for months. Her mind conjured images of hard, half-frozen ground and precarious perches in the gnarled branches of strange, stunted trees. She had spent her share of nights with each, shivering from both fear and doubt under the intimidating expanse of the northern sky. Those shelters, such as they were, had possessed the safety of solitude that her current one lacked, but they had also exposed her to the agony of a relentless cold that had deepened and bit at her until she had thought she'd go mad with the misery. In fact, she probably had for a while, because she could barely remember the stumbling path she’d taken to find the homely inn, nor what had led her to the loose boards in the back wall or inspired her to slide them aside and reveal the forgotten storage space beyond. All she really recalled was the blinding pain from her frozen fingers and the ache left in her jaw once her teeth had stopped chattering, but the memory was enough to make her truly grateful for the tiny, dirty place in which she crouched. If it wasn’t the most luxurious ‘room’ in the inn, at least her secret haven kept her cocooned in warmth from the residual heat of the fire and sheltered from the wind and snow by the four walls around her. Sure, she slept in the dirt with mice and bugs for company, and she wasn’t able to eat quite as well as she had in the open lands (the owner of the inn had two dogs who often got to the scraps before she could), but she was enjoying the chance for some restful sleep, feeling safe and comfortable enough to relax for the first time since the day she had left home. Home. Adreina closed her eyes against the stab of longing she felt at the word, unable to deny the images that flashed across her mind’s eye. Mist-riddled jungles and tangled paths filled her thoughts, and the memories were so vivid that she could smell the sweet tang of the trees, feel the weight of the humid air on her skin. The music of the colorful birds and chattering tree-dwellers hummed so loudly in her ears that she snapped her eyes open, alarm making her heart thud against her chest as she wondered if the cacophony had become real. Luckily, only the normal muffled din of the tavern beyond the thin wall sounded in the dark space, and the young woman shook her head, chiding herself for letting her thoughts drift backwards yet again. There is no purpose to such musings, she sighed to herself, shifting around to sit on her knees in the dirt. This is home, now… this godless wasteland and all the places like this that you can hide in, every one a cozy little coffin for you and the other vermin. The thought seemed especially appropriate as her eyes dropped to the tiny, twisted skeleton that gleamed in the meager light. The brittle jumble of yellowed twigs and stiff, grey-brown fuzz had probably been a mouse once, but now it was barely recognizable as anything, just like the dirty, thin creature that prodded it with a roughened finger. She lifted her hand up into a ray of light, staring at the dirty crests of her fingernails, the dark smudges of bruises and cuts dotting her palms. Her feet were worse, still sore and prone to bleed from their brush with frostbite two weeks earlier. Her hair, her clothes, her dirty face – she touched each in turn, feeling her already-low spirits plummeting. Adreina had never been particularly vain, but each was a shocking reminder of all that was different from what it would have been three months ago. She had always been fastidious; she hated to be dirty, and in that life that was over now, she had washed so often that it had become a popular game among the villagers to be the first to chide her on the rare occasions that her hands or clothes were soiled. Now, she had been filthy for so long that she wondered if she could still remember what it was like to be clean. Scented soap and the warm waterfalls of her home seemed like nothing more than impossible luxuries, old dreams she’d long since woken up from. Father would be so ashamed to see me like this. She regretted the thought before it had even fully formed, shying away from it like a frightened colt. It was too soon to think about that man and all her jumbled feelings about him and what he had done. There was too much to puzzle over, too much uncertainty waiting there to attack the things she believed in. His stern face swam in the darkness before her, showing clearly those grey eyes that were so much darker than the silver ones he had given her, the thin lips that he had always held pinched with stress or anger or pious severity. The image was so clear that she could see the silvered strands that were just starting to pepper his black hair and the little scar that nibbled at the tip of his chin. With great effort, she snapped a wall of ice around her feelings and waved at the empty air, banishing him from her mind far too late to avoid an ache in the region of her heart. She sighed softly and rested her head on her knees. After a moment, Adreina gave herself a mental shake. She could not afford to be miserable and self-pitying, not if she wanted to survive; she simply didn’t have the energy to spare. Instead, she leaned forward in her little hiding place, her eyes glinting in the ruddy light coming through the gaps between the slats. Shifting around a bit more in the dirt, she peered out into the tavern, concentrating her wandering attention on the foreign people, language and customs that were plentiful in the room beyond. Information might not fill her empty belly, but it was the only resource she had in abundance, and with a grim twist of her lips, she vowed to use it to the best of her ability.

Katzaniel, Absolutely, feel free to be this picky! At this level, I have to reserve the right to pass on some of your suggestions, but I dearly love having you point these things out to me. (And catch my mistakes. A typo?! A dangling participle?! What's become of me??! *sob*) This is the level to which it needs to be polished, and you're doing me a great favor by examining it so closely. Thanks! Also, don't be afraid to make the more general comments if you haven't the time to do such detailed analysis. I really meant what I said... every little thought or complaint helps! Gratefully yours, ~Yui PS: I'll be responding to your particular comments in more detail later. You've got some really good points in there, to be sure.

Prologue - Shadow and Memory ________________________________ He walked in darkness. Head down, bare feet silent on the dark stones, he needed no light to guide him as he strode down the cramped, rough-hewn halls. That was how well he knew his path, how intimate he was with the damp corridors that led to his destination. He'd long ago lost track of how many times his fluid stride had carried him down into the darkness of his father's resting place. In fact, it had become a ritual with him, a journey of regret that he took every year in order to hold a one-sided conversation with dust motes and tattered cobwebs. He liked to think that his sire heard him share his worries and fears in those long hours. He liked to imagine the old man would grin that knowing grin of his at the tales of his siblings' petty rivalries and silly pranks. He liked to dream that, if he talked enough or shared completely, he might somehow reach out across the impassable rift that separated them and pull his father back from the oblivion in which he rested. Of course, the world did not revolve around what one grief-stricken son liked to think, and he invariably stepped back out into the light very much alone. Some boundaries couldn't be crossed. As the floor changed slope beneath his step, the man shook his head sadly at the false finality in the thought. He told himself that he'd accepted the truth long ago. He knew very well the reality of the situation and the limitations imposed on him, however, no matter how many times he stated the facts to himself, he couldn't quite conquer some last bastion of stubborn refusal within him, some silly corner of himself that still believed his love could be enough. Almost torturously, the mutinous voice always ended up resurrecting irrational hope, that silly bubble of false promise that made him wonder if this visit could be the one, if some miracle would occur that would give him back the only person who had ever fully understood him and his ways. It was nothing short of masochistic, but it was as unavoidable as the tides. That is the nature of love, he reminded himself calmly, running his sensitive fingertips lightly over the rough grit of the ancient walls around him as he walked. It makes us incapable of truly abandoning those we hold in our hearts, no matter what understanding our heads might weave. It is what makes the emotion beautiful and more powerful than anything in the mortal world or beyond. They were words his sire had taught him, pearls of wisdom once fallen from the old man's whisker-circled lips. He smiled to think of the look in his father's eye when he'd said them, the twinkle of joy that had danced beneath his shaggy, white brows and lit the impossible color of his gaze. The light through the open windows had birthed silver sprites as it glinted of his carefully arranged curls, and they had danced with the golden ones born off the intricate circlet on his brow. The old king had never had a moment in which his glory didn't shine forth from his kind face like a beacon, and similarly, he had never shown anything but the love he spoke of to his cherished children. Memories of the days spent with his father were as fresh in the man's mind as yesterday, and yet it seemed like an eternity had passed since those carefree days in the beauty of the court, when he had basked in the love of an adoring parent. The warm glow of that distant time struck him with a wave of regret, and he sighed as he fought against its unbalancing pull. Time flows like a river, he reminded himself, letting his azure gaze focus on the black distance. The horizon beckons it ever onward with a call that can never be denied. Even if I had the power to drop a mountain in its path, I could not save a beautiful moment, only watch it travel away on that relentless water's new path. He was intimately familiar with the concept, yet he often wished he could find a way to turn that river back on itself. Everything had been so much brighter, then... Shadows layered on top of the darkness drew the man from his reverie, and he raised his face to where a massive stone door ended the unpolished length of the tunnel. Carved and gilded, the portal was a marked contrast to everything he had passed thus far, as ornate and beautiful as the cavern and the hallways had been rough and unrefined. Each figure was perfection in stone, each rapturous face carved so evocatively that to stare too long brought an inevitable flood of tearful joy. Eyes of silver and gold winked at him despite the lack of light, and tiny hands reached out in stunning bas-relief, outstretched in greeting and supplication with such poignancy that he could almost feel them reaching into his very soul to stroke it with their comfort. The animals that danced amongst the figures were no less captivating, though some affected him with their beauty and grace while others made his heart race with the passion of their rage and the wild abandon of the freedom apparent in their pose. Some even had the capacity to frighten him, a truth that never failed to amuse a man who would otherwise have known nothing of that base emotion. Even in oblivion, his father managed to teach him important lessons. With a little smile, the man raised a hand to the magnificent door and touched the jade inlay that spanned the two halves, his thin fingers tracing the graceful lines of the symbol inscribed there. It was his father's, of course, an obscure sign of the man who lay beyond and a ward against those who had no right to visit his tomb. Especially in recent years, it would be as meaningless to most people as the meandering lines of erosion in the cliffs jutting from the surface far above. At times, it was a sad thought to the man, but at others it was a comfort, a reminder that he did not need to fear for the desecration of his father's resting place. Time had flowed a long way since the last time anyone else had found their way into those hallowed halls. The thick doors swung inward without a sound, and he followed them into the stale air of the chamber beyond. Each step he took sent a whisper of liquid sound ahead of him to splash off the carved walls and pool at the base of a raised dais that dominated the space. His gaze followed the auditory droplets to the feet of the clawed throne there and traveled upwards until he met the dead eyes of the statue atop it. It was glorious. It was blasphemous. Life-sized and incredibly detailed, it was nothing more than a dull imitation of a radiant king, and despite the artistry of its creation, he hated it as much as he loved it, conflicted by the desire to see the sire he missed so much and the repulsion he felt at how little of the man was truly to be had there. In the end, it was an empty effigy, when what he wanted was the real man. "Father..." The whisper danced with dustmotes and shadows, its steps heavy with grief. Oh, how he longed for an answer to his call, but all he got was silence and stillness, not even a cobweb stirring in reaction to his intrusion. It was, of course, just what he'd expected, but thanks to his traitorous hope, it still hurt. "Father, I ... I think I finally understand," he continued, leaving no footprints to mar the thick dust as he made his way to the throne and knelt at its silver feet. "It took me a very long time, but I've finally seen what you spent so long trying to show me. I know why you did what you did, why you chose this path." Smiling sadly in the darkness, he reached up to his bare chest and rubbed at the ridged scar that drew a line from his right shoulder to the base of his ribcage. The ancient wound tingled in response, a shadow of a memory of the agony it had once caused him. "They really are magnificent, even now, after they've fallen so far from what they were. Their hearts, their wills, their faults and fears and beautiful courage - taken apart, they seemed so trivial and meaningless, but when they are a whole, they create a fragile, breathtaking life that is unique beyond anything else in creation." His words were so softly spoken that they did not even stir the air. "I would never have believed it had I not seen it for myself, Father. I would never have suspected that two plants grown from the same seed could differ so greatly." His handsome face split into a wondrous smile as he gazed up at the effigy of his sire and confided in a whisper, "I know, now, why you loved them so very much. I have come to love them just as you did, and I have decided to help them in your stead. I will not break our vow to you, Father, but I will do what I can to see that your faith in them is justified. The time is approaching when they cannot help but succeed, for the darkness is growing, tempering the youths into stronger steel and forging the long-lost bonds more tightly than ever. "Of course, my kin are unknowingly helping in that," the man admitted with a little sigh, rubbing a hand down the course, stone robes of his father's monument. "You would be so disappointed in many of them, Father. Without you, they have lost all direction, forgetting those who need them in favor of selfishness and sloth, ennui turning them to idle games and cruel amusements or leaving them lethargic and buried in the past. How quickly they forget the lessons you tried to teach them." "Bold words," a soft voice winged its way through the darkness from the doorway, chiding and yet warm at the same time, "from a brother who spends his time sitting at the feet of a memory." With a little smile, he turned to watch his sister approach, taking some relief from the air that moved around him with her every step. "Would you begrudge me the right to the comfort these short visits give me, dear one?" The woman smiled tenderly in response, scattering the thick dust as she knelt smoothly at his side. In a familiar gesture, she leaned forward to kiss his cheek and was drawn into the circle of his arms. "Of course not. In truth, you are too right. We have lost our way, and with the boiling poison our hot-tempered sister is starting to pour in the others' ears, I fear many will travel only further from what Father would have wanted." The lithe beauty rested her head against her brother's shoulder and looked up at the statue towering above them. "He would be the first to scold us for the dishonor we are bringing upon ourselves." "Aye," he agreed, resting his chin on the cloud-soft mass of her silver hair, "but I would give a lot to receive that scolding if it meant having him here to give it. I miss you dearly, Father." "As do I," she whispered in agreement, running a hand gently along his rough scar. They stayed there in silence for a long time, locked together in a comforting embrace as their thoughts swirled behind their gazes. Finally, she glanced up at his face, her expressive brows furrowing. "I can hear the plans forming in your heart, brother. What are you thinking?" His answer was a happy smile, and he bestowed it on his youngest sibling with enough radiance to lend light to even that midnight place. "I am thinking that it is time to take a hand in destiny, little sister. I am going to fulfill Father's legacy."

"Sleuth" Zadown, I wanted to let you know that I'm really enjoying following along on this Dreamer saga (with a Valdar cameo, no less! ). I love your descriptions in general, and especially what you've written recently to illustrate the world called Khârzalar. You used such meaningful imagery that I could almost feel the heat. So, keep up the great work. I can't wait to see where this goes. Thanks, ~Yui

Advertisement blurb (teaser and introduction): (This is not technically part of the story, but an introduction similar to what might be found on the back of the book jacket. ) There has always been division. There has always been strife. There has always, always been hatred. For the people of the great continent of Eud, these are the certainties in life and perhaps the only similarities that span the towering mountain range that splits the land in half. The Guardians stand between them, straddling the deep chasm that holds the raging river called the Balud Gaeis, ‘The Blade of God’. To the north, the mana-rich lands of the Kohlanmer are a great empire led by a duumvirate of the two most powerful of the magic masters. Theirs is a region of vast plains and rich minerals, booming industry and advancing technology. Under the firm grasp of Carisus Mezhor and Phime Jalkle, the Primes of the mage houses, information and education are the well-guarded keys to the upper echelons, and power – in whatever incarnation it can be obtained –is the most valuable resource. Theirs is a society that has been built on the sweating backs of the common-blooded, those for whom the knowledge of words and magic are forbidden by nature of their ancestry and breach of that restriction is cause for immediate execution. They are the ones who mine the precious ores that their government trades and who barely carve enough from the hostile land to feed and clothe themselves while their nobles live in luxury off the rich rewards of their toil. For these lowest castes, the only way to advance in life and in station is to climb over the bodies of rivals, whether through wiles, betrayal or crime. For the nobles, it is the expected and chosen method, made all the more dangerous by the power inherent in magic, money and politics. No matter one's birth, however, in Kohlanmer, the only duty is to oneself, and corruption is as common as air. To the south, the tropical lands of the Toi and their council of Devoted have developed into a loose association of villages, a place nestled amongst dense jungles and verdant farmlands, swift-flowing rivers and teeming lakes. Under the guidance of their most pious elders, they live in harmony with nature and with each other, quietly observing the obscure rituals and ways of the past in order to gain forgiveness for the corruption of their ancestors, a crime whose details are long lost to the mists of millennia past. All that remains is the memory of sin and the fanatical desire to display piety, thus, their society has become one where anything is forgivable under the auspices of ritual, and every citizen is expected to devote his life fully, even if it means spending decades studying the ancient arcane arts only to never get further than the ability to generate a tiny spark in their mana-poor region. Self-mutilation, abuse, and even ritual human sacrifice have become the norm in a perversion of the long-ago worship of the god Hirensus, and if the Toi are aware that many of their practices are cruel and wasteful, they consider it the price required for the true repentance they must demonstrate in order to prove their worth. In their society, devotion is the only path, and neither life, nor love, nor family should stand before loyalty to the father of the gods and the old ways that are his legacy. The only hints that Eud could ever have been different come from the unbelievable tales told by bards and jongleurs, tales that are received with skepticism at best, for the idea that the Kohlanmer and Toi could have been one race is laughable in light of three thousand years of conflict, death and envy. For each, hatred of the other has become a religion unto itself, and rationale, superstitions, and outright falsities abound to support and encourage that general rift between them. Those who know magic are bound to the land that cannot support it. Those who know hunger are bound to the land that cannot bear fruit. Those who hold tight to the reigns of power fear the knowledge of their enemies. Those who hold tight to the tatters of faith fear the truth that their rivals could expose. Their differences keep them at each other's throats, while the imposing boundary of the Guardian mountains keeps them from all-out war. Thus, the cycle is continued and perpetuated, and the two races travel along on parallel lines of vice, firm in their beliefs that there is no other path to take. However, the past that they have forgotten is about to awaken, brought into the present by unwitting pawns. This is the tale of a firstborn daughter of the south sent into the lion's den and a firstborn son of the north nurtured by ambition and dreams of power. Fate and a god's promise will bring them together, but not before their pasts and the lies of a thousand generations threaten to drive them apart. Theirs is a struggle against each other, against themselves, and against the powerful figures of both the mortal and immortal worlds around them, for the stories say that the reluctant Two will become a mighty One and set off a chain of events that threatens everything that they have known. It is a tale about hatred so strong that it grows without roots and devotion so deep that the light of truth has become dimmed by distance. It is about a people’s struggle with prejudice and distrust. But most of all, this is the tale of a young man and a young woman who must find their way through the mysteries of a forgotten past and the deadly intent of a world that fears change to rediscover trust and the legacy to which they were born. This is the curse of their duality, and in the end, it will bring them all to either eradication or an everlasting unity.

Hello, friends. I've been pondering how to introduce this thread for a while, now, but it's more difficult than it sounds. What I'm going to share here has taken up a large part of my time and a inspired a lot of wishful thinking in me since October of 2003, when I first developed the concept and began writing, so as you can imagine it's probably disproportionately important to me. Because of that, I have trouble finding a way to introduce it that doesn't seem either a) understated or melodramatic. So, I'm just going to give you the facts and let the story introduce itself. 'Duality' was created specifically for the serial fiction ezine called Keep It Coming and written on a contract with the editor there. I have since decided that it's in my best interests as a growing writer to withdraw from the young and not-terribly-successful business and instead use the story as an experience-builder so that I can share and get feedback freely. That is what I'm hoping for from you: Level 10, no-holds-barred feedback on every aspect of writing, story, plot development, pace and characters. Please feel free to be honest, even if that means telling me that you hate a certain character or the way I've treated certain elements of the story. At this point, as I start seriously dreaming of one day making a living as a writer, I need bald-faced realism. I'll thank each and every one who comments in advance right now, because whatever you have to say, from the two-word exclamations to the 500-word essays, will help me. Don't hold back. I have a thick skin. By the way, what I'm about to show you is still a work in progress. It's long, but I'll be posting it up here slowly and in small chunks so that it won't be intimidating right away. If you would be so kind, please put your comments in a separate thread simply to keep from making this one even more scary to anyone who might be keeping an eye on the size of the scrollbar. ;;; Thank you, ~Yui

Perhaps it'd be neat to try transposing media? Why don't you pick a statue (or something else 3D) that you particularly like and turn it into a drawing? Try, for example, sketching Rhodin's 'Thinker' from above and to the right or perhaps Michelangelo's or Donatello's 'David' statues from some other non-standard point of view. That would make for both a challenge and an interesting juxtaposition, I think. Regardless of what you do, I can't wait to see it. Best of luck! ~Yui

This is sweet in a really gritty way, Aardvark. It's a very interesting juxtaposition of sensations, there, and I like the uniqueness of the way you've approached it. Good work. ... you just might want to watch your punctuation in places... Yours, ~Yui

I have a little issue with the way you've begun the story. Unless I'm misunderstanding, there seems to be a chronology problem with starting out by saying that Joe was confused but then going into him first discovering what the issue was. If you were trying to make it seem as if Joe's thoughts are the 'present' of the story and the subsequent dialogue between him, Stephanie and Jocelyn is in the near past, then I'd say you need to put the dialogue into the past participle tense to clarify. {i.e., Stephanie had asked. Jocelyn had responded.} If not, then I would rethink the first few sentences and make sure that they fit with the timeline you've established in the story. Corrections that I've put in parenthesis are items that I recommend deleting entirely. I have made a number of grammar and punctuation corrections for you, MeThinks... I'm not going to take time to go through them one by one, but if you need more detailed explanation, I can do that at a later date. I'd sum it up by going over a mistake or two that I noticed you making more than once... 1) there --> they're : Be careful that you know which form of the word you're trying to use. Twice, you used there as in the place instead of they're as in the contraction of they are. It's such an easy mistake to make; I struggle all the time to get my fingers to type the write form of the word I'm thinking of. 2) {Dialogue}, and: This is going to take me a moment to explain, but first let me tell you that as a whole, I was impressed with how well you did in using your punctuation around the dialogue. A ga-jillion writers out there slaughter the dialogue rules on a regular basis, but you did a very accurate job. Now, here's what I'm talking about with this point: While this is comprehensible and punctuated correctly, a line like this falls under my definition of 'bad practice' because it's an awkward use of the English language. A piece of dialogue is not designed to be an entire half of a compound sentence, and I believe that technically it's not allowed to be. Your dialogue has to be identified with a 'he said'/'she said' subject outside of the quotes if you want to use it in a compound sentence like this one. On a stylistic note, (and this is now purely personal opinion!) I recommend a smoother approach to thoughts like these. I think compound sentences tacked onto dialogue tend to be clunky and often disrupt the flow of the words. For example, I would probably write it as follows: "Oh, wait! You got one, too. Let me get it," she exclaimed, turning to run up the aisle of the auditorium. ____ Okay, all that said, I'm hoping we'll get to see more of this soon. From what little you've given us of the premise, I'm curious to see where you'll take it. Thank you for sharing. Grammar and Punctuation Nazi, ~Yui

This is an interesting glimpse at a pretty twisted logic process, DPI. You certainly managed to give it a slightly eerie edge and portray some of the frantic insanity he was hiding. I'd have liked to get more information on just why the boy thought that way and what might have happened to him to lead him down that road. If you ever want to expand this, adding that kind of information could be a way to go. Also, I might suggest that you take an editorial eye to the grammar and punctuation, especially around the dialogue. They could use a little work. Still, it's a good piece of writing. Thanks for sharing it with us. Yours, ~Yui

disizmrkent, This is interesting, though I find it a little contradictory for reasons I don't think you intended. Your use of double negatives and the occassional bad grammar and punctuation works well to support the sattire, but I keep getting stuck on the fact that your supposedly-ignorant speaker uses nonstandard words like 'barrier' and 'acheived'. Maybe it's on purpose, but I keep expecting to see a much more colloquial tone than the one you acheived. Still, it's an amusing work with an interesting theme. Thank you for sharing it with us. Yours, ~Yui

This reminds me very much of the hurt words you might actually say aloud to someone else, and I think that realistic edge helps it vibrate a few heartstrings. While 'evocative' might be too strong of a word, this is a piece that sets up a little dull ache because of the emotions it conveys. Good work. I think that this would benefit from some punctuation, too. Especially in the last two lines, I felt as though the careful application of a hyphen or comma would have helped guide the reading to more precisely match the stream of thoughts. Of course, not everyone is as fond of punctuation as I am. It's a very fine piece, purple_shadows. Thank you for sharing. Yours, ~Yui

Thank you very much for the clarification, Madoka-san. The honorifics are often very hard for English-speakers to conceptualize because they have no real equivalent in our language. However, they're so very important to a speaking grasp of Japanese as you said. It wouldn't do to insult someone in Japan just because you made a mistake in how you addressed him/her. I am grateful that you'd help us learn. Domo arigatoo gozaimasita, ~Yui