cryptomancer

Cryptomancer slips silently into the room, looking at those discussing the finer points of the last writing exchange. "This sounds interesting. I would love to take part, if it is not too late to join?"

I spent a few days trying to find lines that would work when repeated. But although I am happy with them, I feel the rhythm of the piece suffered because I let them restrict me a bit too much. *grins* I am working on another, we see if I can get it to flow any better. Oh, about those exercises, yeah I have looked at them, (some of them anyway) I just need some time to devote to doing them. My next task I think is going to be writting sonnets. I tried one a while back, and was not sure if I got it, so I gonna work on it some more.

Donovan walked in silence for a short while before he raised the subject of the meeting. "Thomas, you are a good man, strong in your faith and support of the church. I fear that this is a time of trail for us all, to test our resolve, and our faith." Donovan's spoke quietly, as if he feared to be over heard. "Our discussion tonight needs to be kept in the strictest of confidence. To do otherwise would alert those amoung us that have strayed, and we shall find it harder to destroy this evil that has rooted itself in our midst." Thomas nodded, still keeping his silence, his mind playing over his own suspicions. He knew the books well, and had found nothing. What more could be found? They reached the store, and Donovan entered, holding the door untill Thomas had his hand on it, then leaving Thomas to close the door behind them, taking off his cloak and sat by the fire that burned already. Pouring two mugs of cider, Donovan invited Thomas to sit. "I wish to know if you have already looked to the accounts of the church for anything that may reveal the witch to us. How deeply have you scrutinised the patterns of donation and support?"

Sorry, no title to this. I had enough trouble trying to make my caffeine filled mind conform to a very set style. Lost to the wind, in silence I sing, My soul longing for you, I empty my heart. In the darkest place, light takes wing. Brighten my eyes, the horizon lighting, Calling me again to seek the part, Lost to the wind, in silence I sing. Emptiness in my heart fulfilling, In stone kindled, a flame does start, In the darkest place, light takes wing. Dawn of blue, an ocean living, Washed clean again, work of art, Lost to the wind, in silence I sing. Memories, love, life re-giving, Shadows of forgotten fears depart, In the darkest place, light takes wing. Fire of life in my soul burning, Cleansing the pains of a lonely heart, Lost in the wind, in silence I sing, In the darkest place, light takes wing

Mr historian sir? *grins* Hey Vahktang, Mr Parcel and the Govenor need to have a chit chat. (I am still getting use to the methods of play in these games, so tell me if this sort of request aint allowed) As treasurer, you will have some account of donations by the towns folk? If so, I feel it an interesting method of finding a witch. Your thoughts?

Govenor James sat by the hearth, feet on a stool, drawing thoughtfully on the end of his pipe. 'Time to seek the path of leadership in full again. With the reverend dead, these people are turning into a mob. Time that the office that I have been appointed to by the King be used to lead them.' Donovan's thoughts dwelt on the best approach, and on the ones he could turn to for support. 'The church would have records of those that donate well to its coffers, no witch would donate to the house of the Lord. I think it is time I talked to the treasurer.'

Cryptomancer moves silently from group to group, thanking all for the honour, and the congratulations, enjoying the celebration. Soon his aimless wondering through the gathered crowd shows that it was not aimless, and at a table in the corner he stops and sits, watching the merriment, enjoying the atmoshere of the room. Sipping slowly on the coffee, he lets his thoughts wonder. 'I need to learn, the bar has indead been raised, and it is time i start truely testing my gift.' [OOC: Thanks to all.]

‘Love is like a toothpick’ The sign at hand spoke. Its neon shimmer reckoning, With my mind, as it did provoke. My thoughts it did capture, With its brightly lit simile, Prompting the discussion Of my mind and me. Of all comparable things, To say it is this way, Makes not sense to my heart, The thoughts not going away. Toothpick? Wooden shard? A small stake to skewer The ever fragile heart Or hold it to another? The chef my thoughts did read And hence approached my seat ‘It is never appreciated, Till it is held between your teeth’

Smells like the colour purple Burned into the sky, Twisted upon the cloth of clouds, As the sun causes the day to die. Tastes like deepest blue Fading to the night A sky of radiance fading To the caress of darkness bright. Fade to black My heart still sings Of all I have received My day is gone My time goes on But For now Joy lets my heart Taste the colours Of this day

Words wrap my heart and hold Voices steal away the cold. Spoken silence of your eyes Steals my breath, mesmerise. Heart layed down, open. Offered love, sacred token.

First lines for the rest of you...... "Silence stole my shadow, softly slipped away" or "Intricate shells of tansparent splendor"

Donovan Stood silently watching the towns people mourn the loss of their beloved Reverend. His thoughts and eyes tracked each one as he weighed the possibility of each as a suspect. His mind dwelt on only two, Silence Whitney, so young as to be still weak in the faith that these people held to so tightly, or Samantha Bones, Widow, who lost her husband to this place, could she have any cause or bitterness towards the people. Turning he walked slowly away, his thoughts shifting to the possibility that either there are many witches in this town, or they hanged two innocents yesterday. As Donovan walked the street towards the town hall, his mind settled more and more on the possibility of one. Regardless of the error of youth, Silence had a strong role model in her mother. The widow Bones however had the years of life to teach her to hide secrets and mask actions with deceit. Samantha is the most likely, from the sake of logic, but it could be any, even those that seem strongest in faith. [OOC:I accuse Samantha Bones] [edit, spelling]

Like a new day dawning her being responded to my touch. Lighting the path of searching fingertips As I caressed the supple skin of her neck. My teeth gently pressing, sensitizing, teasing. Our kiss alight with dew soaked desire. Time flows around me, Friendless to my eye, Taking from my paradise, Her presence, Her love, My life.

Thanks for the note on history, I was a bit misleading on that piont... possible a bit brief in my explaination of it.. From the point of view of an outsider, the churches teachings were the main cause for accusing and condeming the 'witches' Even if it was the Civil authority, (in this case arranged through Governor Donovan James) that actually tried and convicted the accused, the main party in the prosicution was the Church. From my role playing the Character, I see it as the Church, Indirectly through the political and civil authorities (me), placing these people on trial. Character point of view. Sorry, I should Explain thoughs better.

A smile lights the face of the Cryptomancer, and removing his hood, he bows low to Gyrfalcon. "My deepest thanks Gyrfalcon, I hope I can honour the pen with my gifts, as highly as you have honoured me." Turning to Ashela, Cryptomancer's attempt to bow is halted by a tacklehug. Cryptomancer tentatively returns the hug before stepping back to bow. "Thank you. I am truely honoured." As Mynx grabs him into an embrace with Gryphon, Cryptomancer's smile broadens. "Well done my friends, Congratulations." Turning to Loki Wyrd, and BlackCagedHeart, "Congratulations, I am honoured to be recognised in the company of those as skilled as you both." And finally, turning to Jonathan Wolfe, "Congratulations, A well deserved honour, I look forward to reading your Quest." The smile still firmly in place, Cryptomancer replaces his hood, covering the blush that has finally broken the control and is now making his shaved head glow bright red. [Edit; Spelling]

Within the darkness no light is seen For it has no place where I have been. Darkness holds in its fist The lightless place, helplessness. Light found me there. Dreams beheld it in a vision, Opened my eyes to see, The windows of my soul did light The way from you to me. Soft illumination, storm's radiant blue, Your eyes that are my heavens Light my way to you.

For the line I gave Mynx.... "Upon the crest of supple wave" I wrote..... Upon the crest of supple wave, Softness in the peak, Gentle curves intoxicate Smooth in form and line Open to the lightest touch, The lighting of desire.

Here is the second one Mynx set for me. "The silver orb that is the moon" My scribbling...... The silver orb that is the moon, Guides my every turn, and trail, Looks upon the searching soul, The strength that will prevail. Light of darkness, night’s eye, Guide of searching dreams, Waxing waning entity Of emptiness unseen. How can I convince that silly cat she can write?

Ok... I like this when i cant start writting. You get someone else to give you a line, then, write a poem using it as your first line. Any questions? Please feel free to post a line for others to use... or to write a poem for any of the lines given. or just read and enjoy Mynx and I started this on msn...... Here is what we started with. ................................... Mynx gave me this, (from Calvin and Hobbes) 'Still and quiet, feline form' And here is the result 'Still and quiet, feline form' Curled in interwoven turns Upon my heart, as in the light Of early dawn, I dream again, Of still and quiet, feline form. Soft and warm, beautiful love. Woven in my hearts embrace The form of one so pure, so rare. Upon my arms, in sleep I trace, Soft and warm, beautiful love. Gentle and true, forever you, All my visions and dreams Truly blest, any place I rest For in them all you are there Gentle true, forever you.

Govenor Donovan James, sat in the meeting house, his mind working through the events of the last months. As the King'a appointed representative to lead the great Province of Massachusets he had his hands full. The trial of witches by the church, he had been appointed to arrange things, to ensure impartiality in the judgment of the accused. It was a troubling thing to have to do, He did not share the almost fanatical views of the towns people, although he was a religious man, he attended services through duty most of the time, especially here. The town rumor mill seemed to grind any that dared miss a service with or without explaination. It was that which seemed to have brought the accusations upon Peter and Elizabeth Mercy, or fueled the opportunity to accuse them. Donovan looked around the hall at the gathering crowd, (mob may be more accurate) sencing the fanatical frenzy that seemed to prevail. This trail will be a test of his diplomacy. This mob seemed to care little for justice, they seemed to want blood, innocent or otherwise, the accused have been condemed already by many of their neighbours, and even those they would have counted as friends. Waiting patiently with his thoughts, Donovan sat, 'Time to see the Mercy this Church has to offer' he thought, before his mouth twitched up at his next silent play on words, 'Well the Church has Mercy, on trial, both Mr and Mrs' [edit: word change, state for Province]

Happy birthday..... hope the year is kind.

You may like surfing using a big parafoil kite for additional speed... or ... if you ever windsurfed (sailboards).... put a wind surf sail on a skateboard...

Oh goody..... I get to work 6day weeks for a while!!!! Yay? um.... what happened to the idea of actually having weekends... can someone tell me why i work retail again?

Thank you, I enjoyed myself. Glad to know I did not mess up...

*grins* Ok this I like, its rhythm is so cool, and the image is given lay upon layer of clarity by the repitition. And, You just taught me more about poetic style........ I gotta try one.... *Grabs wand and looks around for muse*