Slam Quest

[Mynx]

Mynx jumped slightly at the explosion, both from the sudden noise and the stabbing pains in her shoulders as her owls tensed.

"What the -" was all she managed, before she saw the pair of flying crows and the abunance of soot.

With a soft sigh, Mynx continued with her work, knowing it would eventually be her job to clean up the remains of the kitchen.

[reverie]

Revery and Sweetcherrie made their way back to the Conservatory. They walked along the tree-lined path in the comfort of the cool night… As they approached the entrance, Revery could not help but notice a small column of smoke billowing out into the night. “I wonder what’s been happening, Sweet…”

 

Sweetcherrie, shrugged, “Who knows?”

 

Fountain burst through the door stopping the two… The lad motioned wildly as he tried to explain, “Revery, don’t get mad, see there was dynamite loose on the floor… Then Red Pepper started exploding everywhere… and Falling Mistrals upset Dyna-Cart™ which sent Crow Children flying about just after the kitchen exploded..."

 

 

Revery waved him off, “Whoa there, Fountain slow down…” The boy then composed himself and explained how the hissing bag had started all the commotion. Revery started to flush a little, but Sweetcherrie gave him a supportive squeeze on the arm… The dreamlost sighed, “Well, I guess it doesn’t matter really, so long as no one was seriously injured…right?”

 

Fountain replied, “Well the kitchen’s looks like a hurricane blew through it, and Thomas may walk with a limp for a while... and Nyyark and Zariah are a little singed, but none the worse for wear.”

 

Revery nodded, “Well, okay I can fix some of that…but after I make the announcement.” And with that the three, proceeded into the Conservatory…

 

Revery walked straight over to the microphone and made a call for everyone’s attention… They’ve had to wait long enough, he thought:

 

Ladies and Gentlemen of the Pen, if I can please have your attention. I know things got exciting there for a few minutes, and I apologize from my brief absent. However, I have good news. The judges have reached a decision.

 

He looked over at the judges’ table for conformation: Vlad gave him slight nod of approval, Ayshela titled her coffee cup up under a weary smile, and Sweetcheerie just smiled warmly.

 

But before we proceed, let my once again thank all the Slam Poets for coming out... Will the poets please stand and remain standing as I recognize them.

 

Loki, your words engaged the mundane and turned it towards inspiration. Always a pleasure...

 

Mira, your Muse in contemplation delighted us with her fickle nature and you illustrated how a moment freedom sometimes is just a matter of perspective…

 

Gabriel/Horace, you charmed us with the briefest of lights, then left us wanting for more…

 

Drummodo, your straight forward and honest freestyle approach reminded us all just how thirstily we are as writers…

 

Cryptomancer, The timelessness of lovers snatch at dreams lost at edge of day: Lovely. Then setting the simple blight of a runner to the beat of a small epic… Wonderful. I have tried similar, but never managed to pull it off, cheers.

 

Let’s give them all a round of applause. Revery waited for the applause the die town and the poets to reseat themselves.

 

Yet, there can only be one winner this evening. Ladies and Gentleman: The winner and champion of the first Annual Dreamlost Slam Quest is none other than the Co-Guild-leader from the Articulate Artisans of Alliteration: The poet and wordsmith:

 

Mira

 

Take a bow Mira, you've earned it.

Edited June 20, 2005 by reverie

[Peredhil]

Untangling themselves from Peredhil, Guido and Nuncio were standing in time to hear the announcement. Immediately they started cheering and stomping their wingtip shoes.

"Youse guys all rock!!!"

 

At their feet, Peredhil caught his breath and crawled up into his chair, applauding lightly as he wrestled with his own verse.

"Mira was a poet and his award did show it, he called on his Muse and she cut loose like a moose."

He sighed and sunk deeply into contemplation yet again. Time was running out.

[Sweetcherrie]

Sweetcherrie leaned with her back against the wall, and watched as Revery announced Mira to be the winner. She smiled at his words, he might be nervous, but still he had a way with words. Each poet had been great tonight, but he was right, in a contest one had to be the winner. She looked around and saw that even Mynx was temporarily standing still and was applauding Mira. She walked over to the winner of the eveing. Mira was already being congratulated by different people and she added her hugs and congratulations. Sweetcherrie hadn’t often seen the Conservatory Room such a mess, and she started picking up empty glasses so Mynx wouldn’t have to do it all on her own.

Edited June 20, 2005 by Sweetcherrie

[Vlad]

After Revery finished his announcement, Vlad sat for a moment contemplating. Rising from the judge's table, he walked over to the each of the poets and offered his congratulation. Taking longer than necessary with his small talk, the lich slides away from the commotion around the poets.

 

Finding his companion from earlier in the evening, Vlad takes a seat once more, and prepares to wait for the Special Guest.

[Nyyark]

From the corner down which the slid Nyyark writhed about until he could lift an a slightly blackend from which a tattered and singed black sleave hung.

 

"Congrats Mira," he panted, "you deserved it."

 

Zariah propped her elbows on Nyyark's back, pushing him into the floor as she drew herself higher.

 

"Yes, congradulations Mira." She said, almost managing to keep a level voice. "I can't beleive you blew us up."

 

"Me?" asked Nyyark, cheek smooshed against te floor, "it was the curse! I told you we were cursed! This just pro-Oofff"

 

The rest of Nyyark's tirade was muffled out as Zariah collapsed on his face.

[reverie]

Meanwhile, in the Dreamlost Relm

 

:~~~Excerpted from Decoy a.k.a. the Mighty Lawn Dart

Offical Duty Log/Traveling Companion Diary~~~:

Last Entry: Made on 201218 JUN 05 Pen time

 

Thank the stars, Castle Dreamlost has finally quieted down. The whole day had been one crisis after another. Thankfully, the various Captains of the Guard, and Vice-lords still adhered to a strict chain of command... It took some doing, but the Old Steward was finally able to convince the Military that we were not, in fact, at war or that, there was no insurrection clamoring outside the gates.

 

Still, no one inside the fortress seemed convinced until the old stone structure finally stopped shaking... Brave words and pronouncements may bring a small measure of order, but there's just something unnerving, about being inside a "Living" castle, when it's shaking itself to pieces... Oh, well Commander Quest did a fine job of keeping the spirits up. The Dreamlost should be pleased on his return. Already half the treasury and food stocks had been recovered...though a small contingent of peasants still refused to leave the inner keep. They mumbled something about solidarity among fellow proletariats and squatter's rights...

 

Anyway, we just received word, from the Slam Quest. The Master writes that things are going well, and he wishes we were here. Well actually not so much as wishes as Commands...and turns out by 'we' he means 'me.' Apparently, I'm supposed to transport this package to the Conservatory. Rather small thing, really. Oh well, off to the Conservatory...

Edited June 21, 2005 by reverie

[reverie]

After the considerable applause had died down, Revery once again took the Stage:

 

"Ladies and Gentleman, let us not forget the prize. As our the first ever Slam Champion: Mira will be recieving a very special multi-part critical analysis from the Pen's very own Cyril Darkcloud." Revery paused, as a few people applauded and hollared. "...but wait that's not all, As our first ever champion, Mira will also be recieving his very own unique item born right out of the heart of dreamlost lore..."

 

Revery motioned forward as Decoy a.k.a. The Mighty Lawn Dart presented himself with package in hand.

 

"Tell him what's he's won, Decoy."

 

Decoy broke the binding on the small box and then lauched into his description:

 

**O.O.C. heh, i decided to rewrite in one my old bits. Original can be found here***

 

That's right Mira, You not only recieve a first-rate critique for the reknowed Windbringer, but you also recieve this very fine role of medical tape. Yes, medical tape. The Dreamlost himself designed and modified this one role specifically for this event to be Everlasting.

 

Why Medical Tape you ask? Well, why not? You can never have enough of it. Oh some may swear by duct tape, electrical tape, or god help us scotch, but none have the funtionability or adaptability of a good OLE roll of medical tape. Just think of the possibilities, they're endless. And with this roll being Ever-Lasting you can pursue each and every last one of them... It's perfect. Need to stop a leak on a fuel injector, slap some medical tape on it.

 

Running out of stickers to label you diskettes and file folders, throw some medical tape on it. Got a cut: medical tape. Just had an arm blow off and don't have the heart to cauterize it: Lots of medical tape. Run out of white-out to forge you doctors notes via a copying machine. Aided by good ole ingenuity and a little know-how, medical tape can help.

 

But wait there's more: its water resistant, user friendly, and it comes off in easy to tear customizable strips. Our reseachers had the foresight to create it in the happy neutral color of white: STANDARD. It’s becomes what you make it. You can write on it, draw on it, color on it, and not to mention, create all manner of mummy constructions. The dreamlost swear by it and you will too. And because of your stellar performance it's all yours, absolutely free. So count yourself very fortunate indeed.

 

Decoy placed the small Tape Canister in Mira's hand as ackward silence seemed to fall over the crowd.

Edited June 22, 2005 by reverie

[reverie]

Picking up on the confused silence, Revery took the microphone back from The Mighty Lawn Dart.

 

"Ahem, Ladies and Gentleman will you please direct your attention towards the Stone Balcony above." The lights of the hall dimmed some as the Balcony was spot lighted. A spotted Owl hooted in protest... "Hooot HooOOOTT!" Revery quickly had the spot light turned back off, "Oh sorry about that my friend..."

 

Recovering the Dreamlost began again, "Our Special Guest will now be preforming a 'specially prepared Poetry Show Case...Will everyone please rise and give a warm welcome to our Featured Performer: The one, the only Cyril DarkCloud."

 

The thunder rolled and boomed againts the walls of the conservatory as a small swirl of wind descended around those in attendance. Revery quickly seated himself as the Poet rose from the Balcony's stone bench.

 

This should be fun, he thought...

Edited June 22, 2005 by reverie

[Cyril Darkcloud]

At the turning of heads to look upward to the balcony, the owl takes flight. It glides downward into the Conservatory following the path marked by the edge of the beam from the spotlight. A respectful silence had settled into the large chamber in the wake of the shouted congratulations that had attended the Dreamlost’s announcement of the winner. No words are spoken into this silence from the balcony, however. There is only the silent flight of the owl whose movement draws the eyes of many behind it. The wind has fallen still once more and a cold rain falls adding a damp note to the air that drifts inward from the open balcony, a dampness that only emphasizes the comfort provided by the fire in the great hearth. Whisper glides upon this mingling of damp and fire-warmed air to the platform from which the poets shared their work. The small owl circles the mic stand once before perching upon the barrel of the microphone.

 

The formalities must, of course, be observed. And a presence at the microphone would seem to be required at an event such as this. Those within the chamber have fixed their gaze upon the peculiar sight of the owl whose own eyes are studying the microphone with such curiosity. He sits upon the railing of the balcony and smiles as the rain strikes his upturned face. Any literary character worth the name must, after all, conform to that law according to which his tale is written, and the writing of his own tale precludes his entry within these stone chambers. It is perhaps better this way, he thinks, for the true focus of this night should be the words spoken by those others who had stood at that microphone and the labor of the Dreamlost in organizing an event such as this......

 

Whisper leans forward, her beak over the bulb of the microphone. With a tentative movement of her dusk colored wings the owl expels her breath:

 

HOOT!

 

Startled by the amplified sound of her voice, she takes sudden flight upward to the rafters of the great chamber. There is the nervous rustling of owl’s wings and the shifting of startled bodies within their chairs, and then a new silence settles within the room following behind the echoes of the absurd thunder of Whisper’s amplified call.

 

And silence is the ground of speech......

Edited June 22, 2005 by Cyril Darkcloud

[Cyril Darkcloud]

His voice is no louder than a whisper, small within the silence and yet direct and clear, his words borne along the air within the chamber directly to the ears of those who have gathered.

 

“For all of the words which have been so well spoken within the air of this place, there are others, more perhaps, that remain unbreathed and unsaid – not for lack of willingness on the speaker’s part, but for the falling silent of inspiration’s voice. One, at the very least, among those who have gathered here has labored much and without apparent fruit in seeking to compose a piece for reading. Yet labor such as his moreso even than polished text is the true mark of a writer, and it is his struggle after words which has given rise to the composing of these:

 

There is a speaking deep

beneath the silence of the muse,

hidden in that stillness

that stands sure as stone

against the clawing desperation

of thinking flailing after words.

The exhausted, those whose

spent thoughts lie limp and bruised

before the cold and unmoved weight

of inspiration’s stern refusal

to bend to vagaries of will and whim,

are those alone, should they but rest

their heads upon this stony pillow,

who might chance to hear

the humming of its secret song.”

[Cyril Darkcloud]

There is a shifting in the movement of the wind as he removes a sheet of paper from the leather bound journal he carries. As he begins to speak the words of a second poem, he releases the page into the free and living air whose gusting motion carries it across the inner court of the Keep to the tower which houses the Writers’ Workshop. The breeze slows to a more gentle movement and the page drifts downward to rest on top of the scribbled leaves upon which were penned the previous drafts of this same poem.

 

Held

 

The smile,

of course,

is all too real,

and so is that

which it conceals

beneath the sweeping arc

of reaching arms

whose circling grasp

glides forward under

reassuring breath.

 

Negation stiffens

halfway up my throat

and far beneath

my stumbling tongue

knuckles glisten white

with pressure’s rime.

 

But

fists are numb

and impotent

that mutely hang

on listless arms.

 

And graceful words

and graceful limbs

pregnant with a

graceless hunger

that will not be refused

snap closed

as fingers

weave together

behind my waist.

 

Brushed aside

to be embraced,

I am held.

Imprisoned.

[Sweetcherrie]

The tables were almost all empty of glasses for the moment, and Sweetcherrie had made sure that she had a good spot before Cyril began. He had just finished reading his second poem, when she smelled smoke. She looked around to see what was happening and saw that one of the tables was on fire. Nobody seemed to have noticed yet, but moments later she saw a second table starting to smoke. She wondered what was happening when she felt something rubbing against her hand. When she looked down Troy, her phoenix, was loyally looking up at her.

 

“What are you doing here? Uhoh…” Sweetcherrie realised what had been the cause of the fire, and as she said it she saw Troy hopping off towards Mynx’s owls. Images of curiosity appeared in her head, and she ran after the bird before he would set half the room on fire.

 

“Troy! Get back here!” Sweetcherrie tried to order him back, but it was too late. Troy ran straight to Mynx, who stood with her back turned towards them, and happily tried to jump at her owls to say hello. When the feline bent over to pick up some glasses, the phoenix finally managed to jump on Mynx’s back, his flaming wings spread widely to keep his balance. He had already managed to set the tip of her tail on fire and was enthusiastically talking to her owls in some bird language. Mynx surprised by the weight on her back stood up straight to try and get it off. This caused the phoenix to grab hold of her clothes with his beak, in order to prevent himself from falling off.

 

It was really a comic sight, if it wouldn’t have been for the fact that Troy’s wings had now set another table on fire. Sweetcherrie got hold of Troy, pulled him of Mynx’s back, and quickly put out her tail. It was now looking a bit burned, but luckily it had only been the fur that had been singed a bit. With the phoenix in her arms, she apologised to Mynx and glanced around. Three tables were ablaze, and she had no idea how to put this out and make sure Troy wouldn’t start new ones at the same time.

Edited June 23, 2005 by Sweetcherrie

[Mynx]

Wincing at the claw marks in her back and the reek of burnt fur, it took Mynx a moment to become aware that it wasn't just her tail that was smoking.

"Mynx?" Sweetcherrie asked nervously, eyes on the blazing tables. Mynx looked around and swore softly to herself.

 

Just as she began trying to think of something, Thomas came running in with a bucket of water.

"Don't worry!" he cried at the same time that Mynx yelled "No!"

It was too late. Tripping over a stool, Thomas yelped as he fell forward, the bucket of water soaring in the air only to land on Mynx, soaking her and her owls.

 

Trying not to hiss, Mynx spoke quickly to her owls, who immediately took off and flew to the kitchen, returning briefly with three large blankets.

Taking them, Mynx hurredly began to mutter a spell, enchanting the blankets to become fireproof.

 

As each owl took one of the blankets, Mynx picked up the third and flung it over the table, suffocating the flames until they finally died down.

Coughing through the smoke, Mynx managed a rueful grin to the rest of the room's inhabitants, before conjuring a towel for herself and attempting to fix up her dripping, smoking, somewhat clawed form whilst Fountain and a very sheepish Thomas set about opening windows to dispell the smoke.

[Cyril Darkcloud]

It is an admittedly unusual thing that one would bring an axe to a gathering of poets, but unusual though it may be it is no more out of the ordinary than the gathering itself with its shifters of form, its giant guinea pigs, its personified lawn darts and the attendant chaos that follows upon such a combination of beings in any one place for any significant length of time. Indeed, it is time to place the focus of this evening firmly upon that one whose has done so masterful a job of allowing the attention to fall upon others. His fingers tighten around the handle of the axe and life moves outward from his hand through the blade of the weapon to mingle with the free and living air that moves about him. The diverse eddies of wind entering the room through the open doors of the balcony shift in the nature of their motion, gathering the lingering smoke within the Conservatory and carrying it swiftly out of the great chamber.

 

As the noise in the room subsides he speaks, his voice still not raising above a whisper and still borne along the currents of wind to the ears of the many gathered in this place. “A word of thanks to that one called the Dreamlost, for great has been the effort in preparing and in executing so fine an undertaking as this. Awakening and celebrating the talent of others is often a greater feat than the simple exercise of one’s own gifts.” A burst of wind swirls about the spotlight, moving it to shine upon the figure of the Dreamlost. “And so perhaps, it is fitting to conclude with a few lines of verse penned as a reflection upon the notion of being dreamlost........”

 

Speak to me of dreaming

and visions of the night,

of the passing of angels

on ladders of gold

suspended between the

burning light of that whose

clarity blinds the eyes

and the steady pressing

of the overlooked

upon the soles

of tired feet.

 

Sing to me of seeing,

of that which eludes

the grasping of fingers

but sits in the sure

possession of sight,

of the forsaking of home

for the folding of tents

and of walking to lands

residing only in promise,

and of stars too many to be

contained between the

fences of the eye.

 

Whisper to me the tale

of dirt, too tiny, too plural,

of which dreams are made

and vain hopes are spun,

whose grit is brushed

from stepping sandals

to form those clouds

that betoken movement

forward under burning sun,

and whose itching dust is but

that sand beneath whose touch

upon closed lids is concealed

the darkness of both

the desperate and

the dreamlost.

 

He steps off the ledge of the balcony and into the free and living air which bears him silently away as those gathered turn their attention to the Dreamlost whose vision and labor gave rise to this event.

[reverie]

Wavering slightly in the light of such attention turned back towards him, Revery beamed a bright blush of crisom...

 

Raising slowing with a slight catch in his voice, he spoke, "Thank you my friends...I do not know if all have enjoyed what has passed this evening, but rest assured, I have enjoyed having you all here. I could not have asked for a more wonderful and talented group of people to work with tonight... So I thank you all again for coming: This concludes the Events of the Evening... Feel free to stay on and linger with your company as you desire. But, the staff and I shall be retiring soon. So, please show your appreciation to the your Hostress and staff who despite extraordinary circumstances managed to keep things running smoothly all night.

 

With that the Dreamlost pulled out his Quill. "With this Quill, I have written many words..." Holding his hand flat, the Quill rose into the air and began to glow and spin. Increasing in momentum it started to spin faster, giving off a golden hue. Soon bright letters started to stream out from the golden whirlwind. Words formed. Golden words alighting into the air, dancing about for the illumanition of all...

 

The Dawning

~ Bubble ~ Mr. Machine ~ Marker Clown ~ Jackie Boy ~ Patchup ~ Over ~ Alone, but only just so

Signe's Lament

~ Air ~ Long distance ~ Seldom ~ Satellite Star ~ Twilight Wishes ~ Christmastime ~ Owe

domina accipiter

~ Candle Bright ~ Michele ~ Bell ~ Neglect ~ Stay Awake

Aestas

~ Summercolds ~ Casey I and II

Friendship's Fast

~ The Dreamlost ~ Echo ~ Thirst ~ The Axe ~ Intro ~ Again ~ Castle Walls ~ Pass ~ Traveling ~The Sea ~ Once a time ~ Lighta ~ Remembered Stream ~ Stand ~ Talking to Joan

Streams of Things

~ Fate ~ Fell ~ Oh Tell Me ~ Walking ~ Wonderful sight you are to me.

Melody's grasp

~ Strike a Light ~ You Do ~ Emerald ~ Artemis and Apollo ~ Paths ~ Hold ~ The Runner ~ Across the way ~ Flicker ~ Once

Protege

Protege

Crimson Kings

~ Sand ~ Grasp ~ Imperial Blues

Chapel

Davie Poplar

 

"These are the chapters I've written with the Quill of the Pen. I truely cherish the light which helped spark them, but it is now time to pass the inspiration on to others... So now I relinquish my quill's energy to the present and future Quillbearers of the Pen... May the inspiration it gives, be three-fold what was given to me..."

 

Wine Glasses suddenly appeared on every table. Taking up his glass and raising it, Revery toasted, "To the Pen..."

 

"THE PEN!"

 

 

...

Edited June 26, 2005 by reverie

[Peredhil]

The Pigs thrust to their feet, raising their glasses high.

"DA PEN!", "THE PEN!" Chorused their voices.

 

Peredhil had fallen asleep, worn out by his musing labors.

[Ayshela]

Ayshela drags herself back from where thought has drifted. She rises and adds her voice in toast to the Pen, sends whispered thanks to Cyril knowing he would hear, and turns to look for Mira to give proper congratulations for a job very well done.

[Mynx]

Mynx smiled softly as she joined in with the toast, before stepping into the background and beginning the slow but steady process any waitress will go through to clean up after a large event.

As she began clearing tables and wiping them down, her owls now asleep on her shoulders, Mynx was brought out of her thoughts by the quiet chiming of her earring.

I need to take care of that, she thought to herself. But not yet...

Mynx knew exactly how to take care of the noise - a simple silencing spell on the earring wouldn't be able to permanently sustain itself but the earring was so small that it would not take any effort to keep casting such a spell whenever it ran out.

Before she did though, there was one thing Mynx wanted to do...

The feline grinned to herself as she continued to work, softly humming a tune to herself.

[Sweetcherrie]

Troy struggled a bit, but Sweetcherrie kept him tight against her. A lump had risen in her throat at Revery’s last words, and the cheer of people toasting on the Pen had sounded like a mantra. She sent Cyril a thought of thanks, and walked over to Revery. She wanted to hug and thank him, but the phoenix shrieked shrilly and the last thing she wanted was to set the mage on fire. After a moment's hesitation Sweetcherrie carefully put the bird down, begged him with her mind to stay put, and hugged Revery, “Thank you for this fantastic event.” At that moment Troy started hopping to the exit, “Oh my, I guess I’ll have to go now before he starts setting stuff on fire again. I’ll see you around.” And with that Sweetcherrie quickly followed the bird outside.

[Ayshela]

Ayshela looked about at the scorched tables and assorted bits of wreckage about the room and smiled. "Really," she murmured to herself, "not bad at all for a Pen event!" Chuckling softly, she disappeared for a moment, only to reappear with her favourite broom. Beginning where Mynx had already wiped down the tables, Ayshela joined in the clean up efforts.

[Peredhil]

The large room had the slight lonely echo that follows an Event. The wisk of brooms on the floor, the clink of glasses being moved from tables, the quiet murmur of voices as the cleaning progress, the silent sounds of cleaning.

 

Guido and Nuncio were wiping down tables and stacking chairs. Other Pennites moved about their tasks.

 

Peredhil suddenly sat up with a bright smile.

 

"I have it! I've got my Open-Mike entry!" His smile made the room suddenly brighter.

He looked around. Startled eyes looking back.

He listened. Dumbfounded silence.

His smile slowly crept away from his face.

 

Guido shook his head, his expression filled with pity.

 

"Youse too late Boss. Dey closed Open Mike a long time ago. Back when youse was pulling yer hair. Mira won da whole sheebang. Dat was an hour ago."

 

Peredhil blinked.

 

"Over?"

"Over."

"Mira?"

"Yep."

"Well... good."

"Sorry youse missed it all. Der was some good stuff."

"Ah well then. Quite. I'll have to catch up on them. The echos linger for those with ears to hear."

 

Peredhil propped his chin on a hand and began Listening to the Slam.