Nyyark

Gravity, blue, black and gray. Another drop falls from the sky Hits the puddle, merges, Then dies. Fading and falling Back into the rainswept mists Shadowed by the tires hiss My figure A lonley gray, going now, fading away. Lost in the sky My final cry Faintly follows Goodbye...

I'm so glad you clued me in on this. It is excellently written! I think I understand some of the meaning, but by the fact you used imagry to convey it, I completly understood emotion. Brilliantly crafted in form, message, and emotion. Absolutly great job! Thank you for sharing.

Reminds me of reading the Contents in a collection of Walt Whitman poems. Wouldn't have known what you did if you hadn't said so, so I guess you succeeded. Good job

The perfect sunset Our last dynasty eclipsed By the rising night

OOC First of all OOC stands for Out Of Character. This means anything written here doesn't actually happen in the story. It also means that what is being said is said by the author, not character. In an RP (role playing) thread (collection of posts) the Role Players (you) adopt a persona. Also when interacting you must make other characters act according to their persona. Many people doing this together to weave a story is the essence of an Online, forum based, RP. Crow's Investigation is different than other RP's here at The Pen so that it provides a better learning experience. I will act as a guide for the story line. Rather than play Crow, everyone will get to play her and another. She is everyone's character, so nobody will be offended if you have her do things. She should be good practice in keeping others persona's when writing for them. In about a month I will end the story by wrapping it all up. I will also add the necessary elements of plot to forward the story as we go along, but what everyone does is up to the players. For a brief description of Crow: Nyyark's constant companion, Crow is a giant female crow. She is very intelligent, but only speaks crowspeak, the language of the crows. She is kind hearted and dislikes conflict, however her sense of duty often leads her into trouble. She sighs a lot. As a final OOC note: OOC's usually go in the Green Room, a room in The Pen accessible to initiates and higher. This is to prevent cluttering. Please have long OOC discussions there. This one is here only because I know not everyone knew that. Good Luck and have Fun! PS: Here is a link to the OOC thread in the Green Room for Crow's Investigation: OOC: Crow's Investigation IC(In Character): Bearing in her beak a paper scroll, Crow climbs to the pavilion in the Cabaret Room. She sets the scroll down on the pavilion and clears her throat loudly. Coming to her assistance, a kindly servant of The Pen takes the scroll and reads it: The servant trails off the last syllable of the Crowboy's name as he puts the down the scroll. A hushed silence falls over the room, countered only by Crow's expectant eyes.

I think this is a good idea Crowgirl. Offline you were talking to me about having threads run with member moderating the acting as a sort of DM. They were suppoed to run for a set amount of time, like a month, and then the DM would wrap the story up. I think this would be a great way for people who haven't roleplayed to get a good start, because the threads will not be long enough to make people afraid of messing them up, and if they get out of control the DM can get them back on track. I want to try this to see how it works out. I think it'd be great if other people with more RPing experince would maker their own as DM's as well, because it might be fun for both new and experinced members. Hey if it works we get a system going. I'll start one when I get the time. Great idea! -Nyyark

Good personification, I really like it!

scholastic method: Clear lot, pave ground, start building. The processing unit comes after the building, so that the structure will always fit the blue print. When applying this learning technique to life, ignorance is the same as innocence. Most schools that I have experenced operate off of the principal that children must become functioning adults, and they cannot do that on their own. Thus they fix you up to take everything they say and consume it, weeding out opinion and personality later, so that you haven't a chance of going wrong. If they brought up the idea that ignorance and innocence are not the same, the general student body may realise that unquestioning acceptance of enviromental influence is not necessarily the best way all the time. That then would lead to much more difficulty than the school system is equiped and qualified to deal with. I'm not saying its a big conspiracy, as most teachers probably don't realise it. I have noticed, however, that this does hold true for plenty of topics. My solution has always been: look at what they give you, take the useful part, discard the rest. It's how I stay sane. I did and still do have trouble in school though, as my opinions sometimes get me in trouble. I tend to think the best place to voice them is in papers. Although... when they are well enough written no one seems to mind.

Nice job, you should post more poetry

hmmm Peredhil, sounds like the makings of a Pen tradition holiday...

Everywhere around me there is darkness. Have we turned from the sunlight forever? Only the elderly remember it And they have not seen, only heard we once did. The problems now are as old as the race: Greed, Injustice, Hate, The Lust for Power These all have, as their collective unit: Money, giving value to everything Like a warped grid for social placement. Why would the oppressed choose to remain so? What is money but imagination? I find the same when concerning power. Power results from the choice of subjection My Sun set when money became power. All that money was ever meant to do Was to tell how much meat was worth a coat Money should not give a human value. If everything has a limited worth. Then everything can be calculated. Love stops the process of calculation So they who love will fail and be worthless They who love will fail, and love is worthless. In that lies darkness, welcome to the Night. A man once decided: “I think therefore I am” And from that was spawned a tangible world. From pursuit tangible came love material And in that way was the Sun eclipsed It seems a losing prospect to resist, As all solutions give the same answer. Is then is not the equation at fault. If traditional rationality Leads to material values and thought How then should using it lead otherwise? Maybe there is another way to try, Maybe change is not a requirement. It must be self values that define worth. Where are the powerful without money? And, without belief, what of the money. Well there is one way to quit, That’s to stop. You must give up all worth material, My money is not how much I’m valued My possessions are not what I am worth I am only my thoughts and performance. Those that are still trapped might not value me But I know I’m more than green inked paper. It’s not the night when you look at the sun It’s only dark wearing dark glasses Take the shades off and let the eyes see free And perhaps now we can see our sunrise.

Life is like a Crow! Nyyark ducks out the room quickly in an effort to avoid all the hurled fruit

In case anyone was wondering, my entry was based off the fact that grasshoppers turn into locusts in bad conditions. Just thought I'd clarify that.

To Each Their Own Long ago there was a field enclosed by a stone wall. Age had long worn the old stones smooth, and led the only man made entrance to collapse effectively sealing the plot of land except at one point. After the fields abandonment a small stream had decided that another course would lead to its mother ocean more quickly, and changed course toward the old stone wall. The stream was able to seep through the long lying bonding between the rocks, and flowed into the field to form a pool. It was on that day of collapse that two groups of creatures living in the field came to power. The creatures of one race were tiny, but worked together for their common good to survive. They bored tunnels into the warm earth to survive the winter, and through cooperation efficiently transported enough water to survive the hot sunny summer days. The other creatures were almost completely different. They had massive square bodies and long spiny legs. Their backs could open into wings, which would support them in long glides after jumping. They were individualistic and lived only for enjoyment. In the summer they ate the overgrown blades of grass when hungry, and drank whenever they had need. As winter approached however this entire race died, leaving only their eggs buried in the ground and on the undersides of leaves as a testament to their existence. When the year again turned these eggs hatched a new pleasure loving generation to exist again. For a time, these two races lived in peace. However their innate differences eventually caused much bickering. The Small Ones were always advising the free-living Leapers on how to survive. The Leapers told the Small Ones to mind their own business, and that they wished only to live what life offered them. Watching the Leapers die year after year, the Small Ones began to believe them hopeless and stupid, thinking that the Leapers were naturally inferior and that the Small Ones would eventually out live their carefree counterparts as a race. Our story begins on a summer day like any other with an argument starting like any other but ending in a way not one lived to believe. There was a group of Small Ones under the command of Drone Helia. They had just spent the past two hours constructing passage over a runoff from the Pond and watched a Leaper effortlessly glide over it. Not to be outdone the Small Ones called to the Leaper in order to ridicule it. "Short-life!" cried Helia, "Why do you waste the day? Know you not that winter will fast approach and slay you for lack of shelter? Only a fool would leap its life away when it could be saving it!" At this all of the Small Ones laughed. Hearing this, the Leaper flared its wings and back-glided to a stop in front of the Small Ones. "Little One," said the Leaper, "You die when you when will; I will instead to live." "Fool!" spat Helia, "Your whole race would perish in wake of catastrophe! We Small Ones would work together to devise a solution to keep us alive, but you and you kin would be forgotten by all but the dust you would join!" "My small friend," replied the Leaper, "Though our way is different than yours, we would survive as well. We are one with the world and a way would show itself to us when we see fit. To each their own Small One. Farewell!" With that the Leaper leapt away, the matter clearly over. Helia, however, saw nothing but a challenge. She turned to her troop with a plan: "Did you hear that idiot?" asked Helia, "It thinks its abominable kind would live if threatened! I say we prove them wrong!" "How might this be accomplished?" Inquired one of her troops. "We will destroy the life-blood of this land." plotted Helia. "The Wall is weak and eaten with moss where the water enters, as a people, we will cause its collapse. Though we are small, as one, we can accomplish this feat. Then, as one, we will harvest and store the food we need, and burrow to the water beneath the world for drink. When the summer comes again we will see if the Leapers still think they can survive." With this plan in mind the troop of Small Ones returned to the home to present it to The Mother. That night Helia was granted audience. "Mother," said Helia, "A Leaper has challenged our people. We must show them that we command respect. Please grant me the work force complete my task." Helia then outlined her plan. "Your plan is bold and radical" Spoke the Mother. "It is fitting for the honor of us all. I grant you supreme command of all our workers to meet this challenge." The Mothers decree given, Helia wasted no time bringing the workers to the source of water. As she had prophesized, the Wall was weak with moss by the water. Under Helia's command, the workers worked all night weakening the Wall further. As the first light of dawn hit the Wall, it crumbled. "See that!" screamed Helia joyously, "We have done it. Now to harvest for the future!" The ants spent this day and the next harvesting all the seeds and good leaves they could find. The Leapers watched them with spite and pity, knowing the Small Ones had brought about their own doom. By the third day the grass was brown and dry, and the Pond was now a barren stretch of cracked earth. Most of the Leapers were gathered around the dried pond, feasting on the few, remaining greens. Helia and many other Small Ones came out to gloat at the Leapers fate. Before she could start, however, a Leaper screamed out. "You fool! Do you know what you've unleashed?" "What? Have you no intelligence at all?" asked Helia haughtily. "We have leashed the water, I suppose the only the thing we've unleashed is your stupidity." These leads to a long list of insults and advice, but the Leapers were no longer listening. Some were shaking, and a few were humming. Then a hiss like the wind began. Helia and the rest of the Small Ones fell silent as they noticed the Leaper's blank stares. The hiss rose in intensity until the Leapers all let out a sudden scream. Then something horrible happened. The Leapers began to eat. They ate everything that was near them, grass, Leaper, and Small One. The Small Ones all moved to the middle of the dead pond, eyes wide with fear. "They're going to eat themselves to death!" screamed Helia. But she was wrong. As the Leapers ate too much, their carapace cracked and healed larger. Their wings expanded and grew strength. Worst of all, their spikes and jaws became massive and powerful. After all of the living Leapers had completed their horrible mutation, they turned on the Small Ones. Helia was among the few who made it into the cracks in time. She hid, terrified. When the hissing died down, she peered out of the cracks to witness a wasteland. Everything had been eaten. She looked to the sky and saw the monstrous figures of the mutated Leapers flying off into the distance. Helia then knew that because of her foolish pride her race would die, as the field had. The Leapers would move on, and worst of all, survive.

This post is to commend a certain outstanding Pen Member. Throughout the history of the Pen that I know, there is but one member who makes brilliant, funny, and original posts dependably. There is a Pen member that has never shirked his duty to the Pen, even when the darkest tar of real-life is very sticky. This Pen member has been blood life to the Pen in the dry periods, and a welcome asset at the Pen’s height. For a truly outstanding and commendable performance I would like to award the Crow Feather of Reliability and Excellence to.... WYVERN! Thanks Wyvern for all of your wonderful acceptance posts. You have never failed us, in either timeliness or creativity. It’s often taken for granted that we have a wonderful Elder of Initiates, but I know that my first introduction to the Pen was great because of you. Thank You for showing so many new members how cool the Pen can be and keep up the good work.

I really enjoy your style. I think the removal of the word "fantasy" would solve would help the first paragraph without changing the meaning too much. Doing so would make the story feel like one told by a bard, or a father.

Well besides the line that says but yet I cook, you use some parrellel structure. That alonw makes it a poem

Nyyark stumbles in, obviously limping. Hoping behind him, as ever, is Crow. As the make their way into what seems to be a mass of non-descript puppet people broken up by a few members, Crow caws a sigh. Spinning around and almost falling Nyyark says "Look Crow, I know you told me kicking Nythtyrdal wouldn't make it want to move, but it COULD have worked." Crow looks down at Nyyark's injured foot. "Just because it didn't work doesn't mean you have to lord it over me. I guess I should have known a tower of carrion feeders would want to stay in a dead place." Nyyark looks to the registration booth. Wincing, he makes to the table. "I'm Nyyark, and I was a Quill-Bearer. I'd really like my title to be-" Just then the puppet crowd roars "CROWBOY". In the instant Nyyark is stopped shocked Lumpy inks the title down. Whirling in rage Nyyark looks around to find the puppet crowd whistling innocently. "Come along Crow" says Nyyark walking off with purpose, forgetting his foot until its to late. "Kaa?" she asks. "Why to build a time machine" he replies. "KAW!?!" Crow roars. "We're going to stop the invention of ink." Nyyark says matter-of-factly. Crow hops along after him, looking as if she is going to cry.

Awww, thanks, thats really sweet

I like you stuff Carlyan! You give great critism and seem to fit right in with the spirt of the pen. The poem is well written, if not a little depressing, so best of luck with your application!

I sent Gwaihir an email recently Vince, and if I get anything back, I'll be sure to mention you weenie in my reply

*hugs Rune* Very astute! I look at the internet as a social training tool. It is a really good warm up for the real thing, but useless if used alone. (well not entirely useless, as it is fun )

Ooooh that's good. It was really moving, I didn't just get your point, I felt it.

Nice job!

Did you give it to your mom? (did I interpret right?)