Katzaniel

"Sir?" says the underling, looking timidly at his prince. He was weak and a fool, and if Ra'laerin had been longer in power and had had more followers, this meek boy would die for his arrogance, to address his superior - the superior - in that way. He settles for a tongue lashing. "Yes, I am listening, boy! But you have no right to stop your report and inquire that of me. You will finish, and you will not say another word to me that is not part of your report. And you will go to the Chief tonight and request a punishment. Do not be too lenient on yourself, as I will know." Well, perhaps he did not settle for a tongue lashing. That particular servant had had it coming for a long time, anyway. Ra'laerin sits on a gold-plated throne, ruby jewels set strategically upon it. It is not comfortable, but none of the others can be allowed to see softness. He comes as close to lounging on it as majesty allows - but not the other way around, as a lesser prince might have done. The report is the most boring part of his day, but a necessary evil. He waits patiently as the now red-faced vampire child in front of him stutters to a close, nearly trips over himself bowing, and skitters out the room. Then he stands and watches in satisfaction as the others in the room scramble to get up. At least they show the respect due him. Well they should, as most of them helped put him here only a few months ago. Especially Gorant, whom Ra'laering had appointed Chief. A good man, trustworthy. He alone could be forgiven any disrespect, but he never showed any. "As I'm sure you all heard the boy say, two separate incidents occurred this week of humans nearly discovering this refuge. This state of affairs cannot remain. Have the guards doubled." Of course he knows that they can ill afford to double the number of men on guard duty, but it is all political manouevering. Be harsh at first and they will learn to respect you. Later, be gentle and they will grow to like you. Ra'laerin would give it a day or two and then release most of them. Of course there was a risk that some would think he was admitting a mistake, but risk was politics. The newly-crowned Treme prince surveys his Throne Room as he lets the words sink in. Then he continues, letting his voice take a tone that will carry all the way to the decorative fountain tricking at the far end of the room. "Eight days ago I was brought word that the snivelling coward that is my predecessor was still alive." Ra'laerin spits out the word in distaste and continues. "Apparently he escaped, and apparently he had been in hiding for over two months before we discovered this grievous oversight. That is bad enough. Today I find out that he is still alive. How can he be eluding us? The Royal E'tai-old have failed us, and you, my E'hon-iat, must carry the burden." The prince uses the formal names of his guard and his elite force in order to get their attention, but he knows that that is not enough. He cannot afford to let the other vampire live and plot. "Bring him down within the next eight days, or one of you will be demoted." Ra'laerin sincerely wishes that it will not come to this, because in addition to sorely needing his worst enemy dead, he does not want to also begin throwing away his closest support group. But demotion is the worst threat he can make to them, and surely Fer-tas will not be able to avoid the now highly motivated E'hon-iat for long. Ra'laerin moves now to leave. He will let them ponder that while he gets some rest. As he nears the door, however, the weak boy - the one who had talked back to him - pushes them open and runs headlong into the prince. Opening his mouth to degrade the foolish child, Ra'laerin stops as the boy folds himself almost in thirds in the most defensive bow he had ever seen, then fearfully announces his purpose. "Terrible news, Your Majesty." Opening his mouth again and closing it, the prince is glad that he is standing so that no one can see him. He considers telling his underling to stand up, but decides that he cannot handle that just yet. The news must be terrible indeed to cause the servant to come back into this room just minutes after angering his prince, and obviously before having served his penance. "Speak," he finally manages to say. He has nearly emptied his resources for dealing with bad news. He feverishly begins thinking where he can tap more manpower to handle whatever catatrophe has now arisen. "A half-human, half-cat creature and what appears to be a human have apparently magically arrived downtown. We don't know the details of their appearance, only that they caused a major commotion. Five humans were witnesses, and the two were apparently heard saying the word 'Treme'." The boy said all of this from his crouching position, kneeling with his head on the floor and his hands both balancing and protecting himself. Ra'laerin wonders idly who sent the poor fellow to make this announcement, then wonders again, angrily. Someone who had seen this firsthand, yet could not face his own Prince to tell him? Perhaps someone who simply knew they had to get back to important duties, while this boy had nothing else to do. At any rate, no time for that. "They know of the vampires, even worse they know specifically of the Treme, and they are bringing attention to themselves. A poor combination." Turning to a man from his elite force, he orders that two guards be taken off duty and told to find and interogate the human witnesses. They could use the blood magic to erase their memories or simply kill the humans at their own discretion, but they must do it fast. The E'hon-iat runs out of the room to give the orders. They would know to find whomever had initially brought the news, and hopefully before sundown the humans would be dealt with. The other two creatures, though, were a major problem. "Do we know the current location of the intruders?" barked Ra'laerin to the messenger. "Yes, sir!" For the first time since entering the room, he looks up. "What should I do, sir?" "You? Nothing aside from what you were already told. Leave us now." He waits until his instructions are followed, then turns to his force. Mentally tallying their strengths and his other sources, he makes a decision. Of twenty E'hon-iat and some hundred E'tai-old, he needs as much as can be spared from the other urgent tasks. It is terrible that this happened today, adding to all his other concerns, but mysterious and magical travellers who speak of the Treme in front of humans... it is almost worse than the fact that Fer-tas is not yet dead. "Three of you," he says. "Twenty guards if you can find that many. Danger piles up on us. We will not fail." The vampires in the room repeat in unison his last words. It is a mantra of the Treme. One or two do not seem to believe it, though, and Ra'laerin takes note of which and promptly turns on his heels and leaves the room. So much to reflect on, so much to do. And he must not fail. --------------------------------------------- Katzaniel and Sardin, having reached a consensus of action, head out of the alley. The tigertaur, in tomcat form, silently reflects on her new partner. Extraordinarily quiet, she would have assumed him incapable of speaking except that he had sworn aloud earlier. Well, if he wanted to communicate with sign language, so be it. She wouldn't let the lack of speech between them bother her. Padding along beside him, she thinks forward. Where to find a suitable inn or tavern, and how to fit in there? Those thoughts, however, are forcibly interupted by the arrival of the vampires. They appear human, but are dressed in some sort of uniform, and are sneering. Of the two dozen, three or four are baring fangs. Sardin assesses them while Katzaniel, unable to express herself any other way, allows the fur on her back to stand up. These guys are obviously here for the two of them, and they obviously mean to kill first and ask later. Barely even thinking about it, Katzaniel jumps forward, shifting to a more dangerous form in midair. She opts for her favourite, a tiger, choosing thick muscles over flexibility or speed, and letting instinct take hold. Katzaniel barely notices Sardin in the ensuing fight, except to avoid hitting him. She is dimly aware that he is using magic and that it seems to be working, as the number of vampires is falling faster than her kills can account for. She quickly finds that the creatures are tougher than she expected, requiring a lot of ripped flesh and torn ligaments before slowing down. She also gets hit more often than she is used to, but ignores the pain, joyously clawing at one and then another of the enemies. It had been some time since she'd had hunting this good. The fight, for the tigertaur, is a mess of limbs and brief images. The face of one vampire, slashed wide open, as he falls backward, his scream frozen in the moment of death. Sardin dashing in and cutting down two at once just at her left, his face stony and dangerous. Another of the Tremes, obviously higher ranking, interupted in the middle of casting some spell, intestines spilling from one of her attacks, fear and anger fixed forever on his features. Sand flying everywhere as Sardin appears from its midst and slices at one, who grabs at his throat and falls, his head lopsidedly rolling away. And then, irrevocably, the victorious grin of the Treme who delivers her death blow. Blinding pain shoots through her and she realizes that he has used something like the weapon that the man in the carriage had had. Magically enhanced, probably. It explodes inside of her and she can feel nothing but the urgency of the wound, see nothing but his grinning face, dispicable and doomed. She would get better, somehow she would survive, and she would track him down and kill him. That face is unforgettable. But the pain is domineering, and she does forget. In the instant that is forever, Katzaniel forgets the image, forgets the fight, forgets the mission, forgets everything. There is only the agony that defines her very being. She lets go.

I know you said that as a joke, but it sounds really cool. I'd be willing to mod that, if you don't want to.

Mira's is undoubtably Wheel of Time. Or, if it is not, a ripoff of it! Mynx's was one of those "Gee whiz, why didn't I get that?" I knew the movie, but did not recognize the signs! The rest have me baffled. As for PMing answers, probably people can just decide not to scroll down until they've figured one out or given up. Mine: Be captured by pirates. Fight a giant, a master swordsman, and an evil genius. Die and be brought back. Bluff your way to victory. Or watch the film. These are harder than they look. I may write another later.

Joseph, like so many around the monastery recently, could not sleep. He kept seeing images of the first dead body, a peculiarity Joseph had thought. Something that he had never seen before, and therefore something interesting and - dare he admit it? - cool. Francis had not thought like that. Francis had had only respect for the emptied body, making them pause for long enough to close its eyes. What was the significance of that gesture? There was no soul remaining, so why the need for respect? Of course, Francis had not believed in souls, so perhaps that was it. But Joseph felt like there must be something more, something almost sacred about the action. But now Brother Venancio, and Brother Thibault, and Francis himself were dead. Joseph wondered vaguely to which sphere Francis had gone, but made himself stop thinking about that. And so many had left them. Filipe, for whom Joseph had always harboured a great respect, had been given the ultimate punishment. Anyone who watched closely could see that all the monks were only so used to punishing the novice that they did it without thinking; he wasn't really all that bad. Joseph lay for a long while feeling sorry for Filipe. Suddenly he realized that he could help. No servant was ever looked at askance for wandering around at night, or in strange places, because it was assumed that they belonged wherever they were seen. Servants had to clean even the remotest of locations, after all, and servants did not necessarily receive the day shift. Joseph cringed at that; he had had to clean the lavatories only last fortnight, and the week before that had been scheduled from 3 am to noon. Joseph got up and dressed quietly, then stole away to the kitchens where he prepared a few small meals, nothing that would quickly go bad. Then he grabbed a mop and pail (for further disguise) and headed off toward the imprisoned Filipe.

Oops, I missed copying: ~Physical Appearance~ Grasshopper is above average height and very lean. Specifically, 5'10 and 150 pounds. All of that extra weight is muscle, and anyone is is not looking closely would put her at 110 or 120. She has dark green eyes and medium brown hair, which she wears cropped closely to her head. Nowadays, Grasshopper dresses normally for a member of the confederacy. She leans toward browns, blacks, greys and occassionally greens, and rarely wears anything cumbersome, preferring short-sleeved shirts and pants for their freedom of movement.

~Other~ Shumidan Monks are known for two things. They travel, and they fight. The religion was born post-magic and is based on the idea that a few clean hits can prevent a war. It trains its members in the arts of fighting and of course healing. They want to spread their religion, but they strongly believe that anyone who does not want to be converted will not be and is already doomed. They do not condemn these people but rather trust in God to judge the nonbelievers. There are twelve levels of monk, which are treated equally within the sect, but it is commonly understood that the higher ranks equate to a higher standing in Heaven. The first contains anyone who has just joined the group. The second is for anyone who knows the basic information contained in their bible, the Seun. The third equates with a higher knowledge and a certain sort of understanding. The fourth is considered the first major milestone and means that a person agrees with these beliefs and wants to stay. After that, the notable levels are eight, for those so committed they will forswear sex in the ten years immediately after reaching level seven (this is rare, but not so rare as one might think), and twelve which involves starving oneself until you either die or are accepted by God while still in the flesh. The Shumidan believe that those at level twelve can commune with God at will; nonbelievers assume that these people are only pretending. Roughly two in three people who attempt level twelve survive it, but only one in ten who reach level eleven ever try to advance, and extremely few reach eleven in the first place. Edit: Spelling, and levels.

~Items~ Grasshopper carries a staff and pouch. The pouch contains some of the more common (and a few of the very rare) healing herbs, a slingshot and some good stones, a compass, a knife, a compact notebook with a pen, and a bar of soap. If anyone were to read the notebook, (discreetly, for they might otherwise end up dead) they would find a combination of a handwritten reference manual an a journal dating back to her adoption by the Shumidan. Edit: Spelling.

~Personality~ Grasshopper has a quick temper, believes absolutely in the teachings of the Shumidan, and does not easily accept defeat. She is not difficult to get along with but, once crossed, tends to hold grudges forever. She prefers clever ruses to direct combat but does not shirk from a necessary fight. She has no problem with authority and is even capable of following orders from a stupid or mean superior, though others have questioned her integrity on occassion due to this fact. In her world, many things are black and white: Magic is evil, everyone is where they are for a reason, nonbelievers should not be judged by humans for they will be judged for eternity in the afterlife. Consequently, she makes her beliefs known but never pushes them on anyone who doesn't ask. She is also a bit of a loner, and not exactly trusting.

~History~ Grasshopper was born on September 29th in the town of Lamoss, west of Carta Rise, with the name Jade Corripper. She has no middle name. She was raised in a poor family but had a relatively normal childhood until the age of 8, when a sect of Shumidan monks passed through her village. She grew very interested in their teachings, and her parents, expecting a fifth child and strapped as always for money, did not protest when the monks offered to take her into their fold. Although Grasshopper does not remember all of these details, she is the second-oldest of her parent's children. Her siblings are Denan (1 yr older, male), Laell (3 yrs younger, female), Kurt (4 yrs younger, male) and Nik (8 yrs younger, male). Grasshopper earned her nickname during her 13 years of training with the Shumidan. Her strongest skills were jumping and climbing, but she was also known for her speed, agility and determination. The monks taught her about herbs and healing, and though her ability with these is less than the average monk it is still greater than the average person. She fights with a staff and due mainly to long hours practising she has grown quite good. At 21, Grasshopper left the monks. She fell for a man in Belock, a village that they passed which is somewhat south and east of Salinsway, and decided to give up further advancement to live with him there. He was 23 and named Ash. However, only two years later she found out that Ash supported the cause of magic. She had grown up with stories of the horrors it had caused, knew that her grandfather had died young in an effort to quash magical resistance, and was floored to hear the man she planned to marry speak favourably of the Rebels. She snapped and beat him, leaving without even knowing if she'd killed him. She decided to make her way back to the monks, where she could still be part of them even if never higher than level seven. Her first stop, however, was a bar in Salinsway, where she planned to get information on the current location of the Shumidan. She found this information, but she also overheard stories of the Confederacy. She decided that perhaps this was a worthier cause for which to live, and signed up. She is now 28 and high in the ranks for a relatively new recruit. Edit: Linking. Adding/fixing locations.

~Introduction~ Grasshopper is a character created in application to Wyvern's Flight of the Zephyr. She exists in the Lymnor's Wake world. Changes may be made as necessary.

I think it has to have "Weenie Award" something or other in the title. Cool though.

I'm lost as to a second answer for the last riddle.

"Francis?" said James, wide-eyed. "Oh no." Both servants lowered their eyes. Jacob, the news-bearer whispered, "He was a good friend." James nodded. Though none of the monks noticed, the servants observed a day of silence of their own.

Haven't the baners learned yet that I'm prime choice for first/second night kill? I really need to do the statistics for this, but I swear since my first game I haven't lived more than a few days yet, and it's nearly always the wolves that get me.

I'm pretty sure it's just me, but I've appropriated four or five servant personalities other than Francis, and I'm beginning to name them. I'm not quite sure if I understand what you mean about the library. Correct me if I'm wrong: i) Entering the library is considered a sin for all but the library's keepers. ii) Every one of the PC monks, novices, copyists, gardeners, the blacksmith, etc. has tried to enter the library for some reason or another. iii) The library has a labyrinth around it, though no one who hasn't been inside would know that. iv) The abbot now knows that everyone has entered the labyrinth. Why would all the monks try to enter the library? Some of them are very devout. Also, the information of whether we've entered (for me) and why is to be PMd to you, RPed, or kept to ourselves?

Vlad: I agree absolutely about both comments. I'll edit out the "just", but I simply don't know what to do about the other line. It stuck me as I was writing, and that was actually the best of the versions I considered. Regardless, here's another, this one inspired by the shoutbox. Hope I did it justice. Chocolate Caramel, mint, peanutty goodness, How many things go well with this, Oh delicious sensations, Cross my tongue, jubilation! Oreos, smarties, treats galore... Lovingly sweet, I long for more! All I desire is a larger ration, This mouth-filling passion, Explosions of melting flavour.

Francis rushed along the corridors. He had a message to deliver to Brother Joseph. Emanating from nearly every occupied room were whispers, speculations, accusations. Most were quite audible for the moment he passed. It was almost getting tiresome, all this gossip. "...knowlegable about plants..." came a snippet of Brother Adrian's words. Francis slowed, turning around again and standing quietly by the open door, just beyond sight. "...herbs and what is safe to eat." Adrian, still spreading suspicion of Gulzar. But voicing a tangible explanation. "We don't know that it was poison." "No, we don't know anything. The monk paused, as if thinking. Then added, "I heard the herbalist saying it was, though. And it's obvious the murderer must be strong." "There are many who are strong." "Like I said, I don't know any more than you. He is pious and, we have all believed, innocent. But someone has committed these murders. I simply observe that he had the knowledge, the means, maybe even the will. But come, let us get back to lighter matters." "You may be right. But yes, the wax. Why don't you show me what you mean?" There was the sound of someone standing up, and Francis immediately started walking again. His heart beat quickly. The other servant had told him Adrian had no reasons this time, either. Perhaps he hadn't. Perhaps he picked up other's explanations. Or perhaps he knew something this time. Francis shook himself. "It doesn't stop the fact that he was one of the first to accuse Benedicte, and then he had no reason!" he muttered. "What was that, young man?" Francis turned slowly, his heart jumping nearly out of his chest. What he saw, though, was simply one of his peers, grinning and shaking with mirth. "Yegods, James, you nearly killed me with fright!" Francis playfully punched his friend on the shoulder. "Come on, help me take this message. I've got some more information..." They walked along the corridor, taking the opportunity to chat. Speculation is much more fun when one is directly involved, after all.

Wow, only a year? We have moved so far in that time. I would hazard to say we've got 20 or 30 active members that were never at those old boards. We've instituted the guilds, the carnivals, and geld. We've promoted some 10 or 15 beyond quillbearer. (If anyone has actual statistics, ie not my fuzzy little brain attempting to remember, that'd be neat to see). The werewolf games, which I know not everyone likes, are nevertheless on the 14th game. Gaze of Eternity got finished. We have an ongoing Best of the Pen list. We've got smilies! I can't find the conversation we had when we all got here about the smilies, but I did find this. Anyway, I'll add my thanks to Valdar's. Cheers to the Mighty Pen! Edit: found it. It was in the roll-call. Also, I discovered WW-zero! (Pity the Romans didn't have a digit for zero.) Funny how no one ever mentioned this wasn't a new thing.

"Felipe seems to be suspicious of someone, but won't say who." "Brother Adrian is dropping the name of Brother Gulzar." "There are rumours everywhere of Brother Phillips." Francis shook his head sadly. "Adrian started rumours once, and is on his way to doing so again. I wondered the first time what benefit he would have to sowing suspicion, and I must wonder again." "You think it might be he?" "I do. He has no solid reasoning, does he?" "Not about Gulzar, no.." "He didn't about Benedicte either. I heard people questioning, and there were reasons given, but Adrian himself never explained the choice. And Gulzar? How much more innocent could you get? Are you going to tell me he snapped after too many people walked on his grass? No. He's capable of yelling, and not much more, to my estimation." "Well, maybe. But it could be Brother Phillips, too." "It could be nearly anyone. Think what you want - I think it's the Adrian fellow, if it's anyone here at all." OOC: Vote for Vahktang - Brother Adrian

Or highlight your text and click the "COLOR" dropdown box. * shrug * * grin *

Sounds awesome. My most prized program for my PDA is my Oxford Dictionary/Thesaurus. I'm not sure how many words it has, I certainly have run into the occasional word that I looked up and wasn't in it, but even with that and the fact it cost $60CD, I find it well worth it. It's my most-used and most-loved application. So useful to have one handy!

"Did you?" asked the boy at the washbasin, rubbing a wooden bowl with the cleaning cloth. "Yeah," replied Francis as he swept the kitchen floor. "What else could I have done? If one of the Brothers asked you to pray, what would you have done?" "Of course I'd pray," was the answer. The boy looked firmly at the bowl and murmered, "I believe in God, why wouldn't I pray?" "Oh yes, I forgot that you believed all that. Still, it was rude of him to ask. Surely he knew that not all the servants do? Surely he knew that none of us would dare to refuse the request? It feels so weird. I mean, if there is a God, I wouldn't want to ask him for anything. Seems a little selfish. He'll either forgive me, or not, and not be affected by any ramblings. Yet all these religious types, they ask God for things all the time. Do they think they deserve better, just because they're born with a fierce loyalty to an unseen force? Their certainty is not born of any holiness... they are not better than us in any way!" The other shrugged. "He is only trying to cleanse himself of his sins. And sometimes, it feels better to pray alongside another. I really doubt he thinks himself better than you, Francis, else he would not have asked for your company. Look, it can't hurt to ask God for forgiveness, now can it?" Francis fiercely attacked a pile of dust with the broom. "I keep forgetting you're like one of them. Why do I talk to you about these things?"

Brother Benedicte, the rumours said. Francis was in a position to know that Brother Adrian had started the rumours, and that seemed like a sin, for anyone believed in sinning. Francis knew better - there were things you did for yourself, which were usually classified sins, and there were things you did for others. Not very many people did things for others, and that included all these self-professed non-sinners. At any rate, Francis wondered what use Adrian could have for saying bad things about Benedicte. Perhaps Adrian had done something himself... but perhaps he knew something that he didn't want to say. Francis did what he could to continue the rumour among the servants, as well. OOC: I'm not saying Vahk's character started out to spread rumours, but I am saying it has *become* a rumour, at least among some people. OOC2: I accuse Cryptomancer - Brother Benedicte

Francis looks at the other servants as the five of them drag the dead monk's body back to the monastary. One of them is gripping the cloth, his hands white from the force, his eyes squeezed closed. Another is looking straight forward, mumbling some prayer in a frantic monotone. One is looking with morbid fascination at the bloody body, wrapped in rope and cloth. The last is also looking, walking backward holding the cloth around the man's shoulder's, but a furrowed brow belies his displeasure at the task. Francis steels himself and looks downward as well. "Stop," he says suddenly. He makes them lie the monk down for a moment and he gently closes the man's eyelids. Nodding to the others, they begin again the trip up the cliff. The servants travel in silence for a while, the fervent prayer having stopped. Finally, one of them speaks. "Even with those visitors, yesterday sure wasn't much different." "Nope." They continue on. Then, "Wonder what this'll mean for us." "Nothing," mutters Francis. "They believe everything happens for a reason. If someone dies, God did it, right? Ain't gonna change nothing." "God din't do it, though, did 'e?" comes the reply, the speaker opening his eyes and looking at his fellows. "Nope," says Francis, eyeing the body again. The sound of their footsteps is the only sound for a few minutes more. They are nearing the abbey. Finally, one of them breaks down and says it aloud. "Who did, then?" Francis shrugs. "How should I know? Oh - watch the grass, here." That brings them back to the moment. Carefully picking along the path, even though Brother Gulzar was not in sight, the servants each fall back to their own thoughts.

Across the page my pen does swirl, Copying notes, my mind awhirl. The prof he likes to teach so much, He talks of vacuums, speed and such. I like the novel way he talks, I like how as he speaks, he walks. His interest in this stuff is strong; He consequently goes along, Un'ware of minutes rushing by, Not seeing the end of class is nigh. Compared to clocks near speed of light, A clock unmoving won't seem right. But one who talks of time so long Should know that his own watch is wrong. OOC: Thanks, Z! Your challenge actually caused me to write a poem using those... stresses... that everyone keeps talking about. If anyone would like to go through this and tell if I'm using it right/wrong or suggest ways to improve it, I'd be thrilled. Up 'till now I was never able to get this concept - now I think I've got it right.