What's in an Ancient Tradition?

[The Portrait of Zool]

Well hello! Welcome to the February promotions announcement! Curious about who is getting promoted? Wondering if it might be YOU? Weeeell, you're just gonna have to read the announcement to find out. In fact, I think it might be fun if we could all imagine we might be the one getting promoted.

 

As we all know, the Pen is a magical place, where anything might happen, at any time - you just never know. It could be something epic and dramatic, it might be something subtle but with the implications of a fifty megaton blast. What do I mean? Read on, and discover....

 

 

* * * * *

 

 

It is rather quiet in the Cabaret, as usual at this time in the evening. You come in after a hard days work thinking to find a seat, have a refreshment, and relax with a good book, some dinner, and whatever entertainment presents itself. A good plan - if only it had a chance...

 

You head to the back corner of the room, where the lighting is softer and the low noise lower. With a sigh you plop yourself into one of the comfy chairs - only to feel something under you.

 

"What the..." you start, and reaching around, half standing, pull out a thin leather manuscript before plopping back down again, regarding the object in your hand with puzzlement. "Someone has left something here," you think to yourself, but looking around you see no one with any interest in where you are sitting or what you might be holding. Curious yourself, you look closer at your find. It is a well worn leatherbound manuscript, of odd size, thin, but of some heft, bound with a strange silver cord through four holes in the left edge. Artfully crafted and stained onto the leather cover is the likeness of a writing Quill, and a strange quill it is. It shines with an iridescent silver swept with rainbow hues that change as the light strikes it, while the shaft from about halfway up to the tip of the nib appeared to glow with a soft internal white radiance.

 

Not knowing quite what to expect, you open the cover. The words are in a strange, archaic script, but are easy enough to read, and pleasant on the eye. There are a few flourishes here and there which decorate the pages, which are few. You notice that the pages themselves appear to be some kind of high quality though clearly hand made vellum, are fairly loose, and that the page numbers begin at XXVII, indicating they must have been taken from a much larger book. Thoroughly intrigued now, you commence to read:

 

The wind outside howls and claws at the tightly closed shutters. Inside, a generous fire roars in the fireplace, yet my father shivers and labors to breathe. My mother and I kneel next to him. Behind us is the doctor, and behind him is his valet and our servants. All have come to ensure his every comfort at this most difficult time. Long has his road been, but all roads must someday come to an end, as his does now.

 

"Rest yourself," I said. "Long have you loved me, nurturing me as one of your own. You have asked nothing of me for your love, but gave as the fruit tree gives, and the river, and the very air I breathe. You were simply yourself, sharing your essence that I may suffuse it with my own and live, nay, flourish, made strong by your strength, and learn to love by your love."

 

He smiled at these words, and weakly reached out to me. I grasped his hand, which had no strength of it's own. He spoke to me, saying, "Do you remember my first great adventure?" I nodded, but he went on, his eyes no longer upon me, but appearing to look out over the horizon, far beyond the stone walls and expansive grounds of our home, through the fierce weather and out into the bitter night. "I was gone for three years. Our family fortune was made, allowing all our other adventures and happy days here in this house. I have regaled you on many nights of that time, of how I had set off with only a legend for guidance, of the many foreign lands I crossed, high mountains I climbed, and vast seas I had sailed. Of how showing a crazy hermit at the edge of the great desert simple compassion, sharing our dinner, while entertaining him with stories of our travels, was the final key to the final lock of the goal of our journey."

 

He said 'our', though it was only him. He often spoke like that - such was his view.

 

"I have not told you everything," he confessed. "Now, I think, is the time to tell all, as before you might excuse what I have to say as the ravings of a lunatic mind, but now..." His voice failed him as his body was wracked with another bout of coughs, then he rested. Sensing the end was near, I dismissed the servants, then resumed my place. We said nothing, only waited, each with our own private thoughts. I was not too concerned with what he might say, but prayed only that he be allowed to find peace before leaving this mortal coil.

 

After several minutes, his eyes opened, and he resumed. "The hermit was not the end of the journey, but showed the way to my desire. His gift was not the item irself, but the knowledge of it's procurement. "To open the heart is to open the gate, the hermit told me..." he spoke cryptically, then lapsed into silence again, his eyes closed.

 

Again we waited, hardly daring to breathe. We didn't have long to wait this time.

 

"It was finally at the great Library of knowledge, at Akasha, that I found my goal," he said.

 

The Library of Akasha! That was, of course, a legend, a myth. My mother and I exchanged glances briefly, not knowing what else to do. Did he really go there? Such outlandish words must be the ravings of a feverish man - yet he did not seem delerious. No matter - it was his moment.

 

"The wonders I saw with my own eyes, held with my own hands!" There was such a look of awe and wonder on his face - years seemed roll off of him, for a moment. "The Great Map of the World, The Ancient Book of the Five Magics, The Tome of the Seven Gods... All knowledge was there! I could have spent lifetimes there, just reading, absorbing the entire Cosmos and it's secrets - but alas, my time was short... " He began to cough again, and wheeze, and the shivering returned. He closed his eyes, the weight of his years again falling upon him. He rested again.

 

When he began speaking again, it was slowly and with great effort, without opening his eyes. "It was there, at the gate of Akasha, that I found it. The great Library is a wonder, but it can only contain what IS. The Quill - The Quill is the power of what could be... Just as the Cosmos imagines us, so we too can imagine... In my desk... the oak box..."

 

He motioned feebly, and I got up and walked to his writing desk. Raising the sturdy lid I saw a flat oak box which I had often seen, but thought little of. I brought the box to him.

 

"Open it," he whispered.

 

I did, and unwrapped the silk cloth I found within, to find The Quill. It shone an iridescent silver swept with rainbow hues that changed as the light struck it, while the shaft from about halfway up to the tip of the nib glowed with a soft internal white radiance. All in attendance stared in wonder at the thing of beauty revealed.

 

My father opened his eyes, and a little energy returned to his expression as he spoke again. "With this Quill I have written all of the successes we have enjoyed. With this Quill I have written all the fine weather for our vineyard, groves and crops. With this Quill I have eased our suffering, abated our anguish, and seen to our comfort and happiness, and now it is yours. Take up the Quill, and write. Write. Write..."

 

Again he motioned weakly, then seemed to fall into himself and collapse, speaking no more. I was torn, but followed his wishes, going back to the desk and readying ink and paper, not knowing quite what next to do, but in my hand the Quill seemed to take on a life of it's own, focusing my hand and mind. I put Pen to Paper, and wrote.

 

I wrote of the weather breaking to shine a beam of light upon our home, and indeed the newly rising sun did shine between our shutters. I wrote of the Gods collecting over the thunderheads to silently witness the passage of my father, and immediately thunder Boomed from overhead. I wrote of the astral sun shining forth from it's infinite domain to give it's warmth and energy to those remaining in their hour of need, and I felt it sustain me. I wrote of the Reaper's grim compassion in coming to relieve my father of his pain, and he did go with much joy.

 

And so The Quill did pass from one to another, and the position of Quill Bearer was maintained from one generation to the next, with the curious yet awesome power of manifestation in imagination.

 

 

There the story ended. You look up and slowly put the manuscript aside, then suddenly realize everyone is now looking at you, or rather above you. You turn your gaze above to see The Portrait of Zool looking down at you from his perch on the wall. "Congratulations Mardrax, on your promotion to Quill Bearer," he said.

 

The cabaret erupts into cheers.

[Wyvern]

From the uproar of the Cabaret crowds comes the ringing of single cowbell, shaken by a familiar claw that surfaces above the heads of the gathered pennites. Wyvern shoves his way through the bustling crowds, pushing a shakey wooden sales cart full of small flasks that tremble with every inch forward. The reptilian Elder curses when one of the cart's tiny wheels finally snaps as it rolls over cryptomancer's foot. He drops his cowbell and races to the slanting side of the cart as it tilts, compressing his wings in a struggle to save as many of the small bottles as he can.

 

"Innnnk Weelllllsssssssss!" Wyvern shrieks the words out in desperation, his wooden cart steadily losing more parts and dropping more bottles. He accidentally scoops his cowbell up with his tail stinger and begins ringing it again, louder this time. "Innnk Wellllssss! Almost *ack* DRAGONIC BRAND SEMI-AUTHENTIC AKASHAN INK WELLSSS™! Get'em *gack* while they last, act now - I mean NOW! Each comes with special *grunt* seal from the Aka- *ack* Askasha Library dumpstersss!"

 

Wyvern stares towards Mardrax with the largest innocent saucer eyes he can muster, looking more like a shocked gecko than any breed of sad puppy.

 

"No, argh, NO QuillbearershouldbewithoutthisoneofakindInkWell!" Wyvern grits his teeth as the cart begins collapsing more in his direction, the wooden planks splintering and sending bottles of ink sliding towards his horns. "Comes in *blaugh* transparent blank, transparent *clank* white, normal transssparent, or extra transparent. Act now, now, NOW!"

 

;-)

 

OOC: Congratulations, Mardrax. ^_-

[The Portrait of Zool]

With a creaking clanking crash the disintegrating cart toppled onto Wyvern, spilling it's fragile contents all over him and making the main aisle for the cabaret impassible. "OUCH! OH! ACK! OW!" said Wyvern as every move he made brought him crunching down onto the lttle broken bottles which covered the ground. The 'ink' was all over him now, which wasn't particularly opaque as it was sticky and oozey. "YuUuCH! Anyone for sssome ink?"

 

The portrait of Zool chuckled from his safe vantage point up on the wall. "Wyv, Wyv, Wyv, when are you gonna learn?"

 

"Ah, help an almost dragon out Zool - I'll cut you in, 0.001% of the net profitss," said Wyvern with a hopeful gleam.

 

"Riiight - we'll talk about what you owe me later." Zool reached to the lapel of his leather jacket and reaching inside pulled out the rubber chicken. Whispering in his rubber ear, he pointed at the kitchen door, then gave the rubber chicken a toss. With a slight *Pop*ing sound the rubber chicken reached three dimensions and hit the floor running, heading under the tables to avoid Wyvern's mess.

 

Going into the kitchen, the rubber chicken immediately headed for the sink, where he put his rubber beak over the tap and was just barely to reach the handle. Giving it a spin, he was surprised to find a lot more water pressure than he had anticipated - a LOT more. Immediately his rubber body was distended, and expanding fast, leaving him unable to reach the handle to shut the water off again...

 

"...don't worry, we'll get you out of this - and we aren't going to have you set off any disaster like you usually do," said Zool, then looked up at the kitchen door as it popped open. "What the...!"

 

Spilling out of the kitchen door was what looked like an immense translucent yellowish blob. It filled the door completely, then got bigger, and bigger, and bigger - and still wasn't through the door yet. Finally it came through, and seemed to fill the entire back of the cabaret. Just discernible at various spots were tiny appendages sticking out of the immense ballon-like mass; two stubby little rubber legs, two stubby little rubber wings - and tiny head with dotted black eyes, a red comb, bulging cheeks and a clamped beak.

 

"It's the rubber chicken - and he's full of water!" someone screamed.

 

"Puk - GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAK!" said the rubber chicken. A tidal wave descended on the cabaret. The ink was washed away, and so was what remained of the cart, and so was Wyvern.

 

Zool saw something headed his way that could easily be described as the business end of Niagara. Thinking Quick, he whipped out a Quill. It shone an iridescent silver swept with rainbow hues that changed as the light struck it, while the shaft from about halfway up to the tip of the nib glowed with a soft internal white radiance. He dipped it into a nearby inkwell, whipped out some paper, and quickly wrote: The deluge quickly drained through the floorboards of the cabaret, leaving all neat and clean.

 

The water kept coming.

 

Zool's eyes grew large as saucers. Snatching up the bottle of ink, he read on the bottom: "DRAGONIC BRAND SEMI-AUTHENTIC AKASHAN INK WELL." Then, it was too late.

 

The wave roared to the far end of the cabaret and up the wall The Portrait of Zool was attached to, unhooking it and washing it in a torrent through the cabaret exit, carrying people, furniture, the remains of ink wells, and a rubber chicken with it.

 

"WYVEEEEEEeeeeeerrr..." Zool's cry was quickly lost in the roar of the rushing water.

 

[Katzaniel]

Mardrax. You've earned it. Congratulations!

 

And, I feel that you should know, the process of your promotion began - what, two weeks ago? Long enough that you can be assured that any comments about what should or shouldn't make a quillbearer, or about whether or not you should be able to see conversations in the member room, have had no bearing on this promotion. You earned it through your writing and your general activity. But, and bear this in mind too, your comments in that selfsame thread have only doubly proven your worth to us as a quillbearer, for you have shown many times over that you care about the Pen and have good ideas that should help it to flourish.

 

That said, welcome to the ranks of Quillbearer, and I look forward to seeing your choice of Quill Quest, if and when it happens. Cheers!

[GeldrinHor]

Ahhhh, Mardrax, A deep and hearty congratulations to you! I have had the chance to read quite a bit of your work here and must say you make it QUITE enjoyable to be the reader...

 

 

 

Great Work! and once again, CONGRATULATIONS!

[Patrick]

Congratulations on your promotion Mardrax! I've been enjoying reading your writings for quite some time now. Please do continue.

[reverie]

ditto...congrats.

[Wyvern]

Wyvern's eyes turned to tiny specks as he observed the second enormous Cabaret tidal wave in as many weeks, backing away and repeating the mantra "no aqua no aqua no aqua no aqua." As the tidal wave cast its shadow over half of the Cabaret Room, Wyvern shut his eyes and turned to Zool's suggestion, imagining himself as the one being promoted. The reptilian Elder grinned at the thought of an entire harem of pennite ladies spearheaded by Signe being organized for the occasion, and opened his mouth in the hopes of being fed curly onion cheese doodles while getting his full body massage. Nearby, Ozymandias had so many prestigous "Salesman of the Century" awards stacked in his arms that it looked like he was losing his balance, and Zool kept harping on and on about ancient quill traditions. Wyvern let out a happy sigh and slid his tongue into a golden gold-rimmed chalice with gold sidehandles and a golden coaster, only to frown when he tasted water instead of Ol' Peculiar. And it was around that point that Wyvern snapped out of his reverie and found himself six feet underwater.

 

*Glargle* Wyvern struggled upwards against the tides, barely managing to surface his snout for a breath of air as the current pulled him along. He flapped his wings in a struggle to get his head above the surface. "Zoo-*gurgle*-ooooo-*glargle*-ool!"

 

As if on cue, Wyvern suddenly noticed what appeared to be a rectangular plank of wood gliding across the top of the water a few feet away from him. He scrambled his way towards it, with no knowledge of how to swim but just enough desperation to carry himself that extra yard. Wyv gripped the side of the plank, only to notice a familiar canvas painted on its surface.

 

"Errr, hey there Wyvern." Zool glanced up nervously from his painted position, looking very comfortable in his painted surroundings as the water rushed beneath him. "Care for a cup o' Joe?"

 

"How many timesss must I tell you Zool?! NO BATHS!"

 

"Hey! What're you-?" Zool flinched as Wyvern crawled on top of his canvas, dribbling tons of water from his scales and coughing up wet ashes. "Augh! Watch it, that's my face you have your foot on!"

 

Wyvern pulled his tail from the water and slowly stood on top of Zool, only to find that the picture frame still seemed to float on top of the water and supported his weight. The overgrown lizard spread his wings for balance as he surfed on Zool's portrait, his scales blowing back as the speed of the current steadily picked up.

 

"Geeze, could somebody get me a freakin' towel?!" Wyvern glanced around, finding only submerged furniture and pennites with exotic swimming techniques. Mardrax's frantic doggypaddling stood out in particular, with his lost quill ever-so-slightly in front of him in the tide egging him onward. "Nobody?! Can't a scaly hunk like myself get a little re-"

 

Wyvern's whining was cut short as the Portrait of Zool passed under an arched doorway. Wyvern's horns slammed against the top of the doorway, sending him into a triple backflip that ended face first underwater.

 

*Blarghlegurglegagglegurgle!*

[Sweetcherrie]

A young lady with a black attaché case under her arm walks into the room. She places the case on the table, takes out some papers and neatly arranges them on the table next to the case.

 

“Sir Mardrax if I may have your attention for a few minutes please?” Her voice is soft and polite as she places her hand on Mardrax's arm, “I was wondering if I could show you a proposition.”

 

Mardrax raises an eyebrow at Sweetcherrie, and the girl's cheeks turn red with a healthy blush.

 

“Well, I was wondering, I mean with all the talent around here, and Wyvern trying to claim all of it to himself, if you would consider working for..well me.”

 

“You? Sorry, but I only write for myself.” Mardrax turns around again, thinking that the conversation would be finished with that, but Sweetcherrie doesn't give up just that easily yet.

 

“I would make sure you get a decent commission of course. Like err...I dunno, what would you think yourself- oh durn I'm no good in this, I'll leave it up to Wyvern to scam people around here.”

 

Biting on her fingernail, Sweetcherrie tries to think how to rephrase what she was trying to say, and then decides that she should just forget about it. With a sigh she starts picking up her paperwork again and shuffles it back in the suitcase. She closes the attaché case, and with a smile she hugs Mardrax.

 

“Congratulations with your promotion, and I hope we'll soon get to have fun with your community project, or quill quest as they call it here. I've seen some good ones die because of the pressure put on them, but just remember that they're there for fun, and to have something for the Pen members to have fun with, together.”

 

OOC: Welcome in QB Ranks Mardrax