Vlad Posted January 18, 2003 Report Posted January 18, 2003 Visitor --(apply)---> Initiate ----> Page ----> Quill-bearer Then it gets complicated. As a quill-bearer you must complete a "quill-quest", after which you are promoted based on our area of ability. Storytellers become Troubadors(?), Poets are Poets, and RPers are renamed as Heralds. After attaining proficiency in two areas, one becomes a bard. Then Elder if you are really good and helpful or bribeful (sp?)... And when you get inactive from Elder, they turn you into an ancient... There are exceptions, but you don't need to know them. Yet.
Kasmandre Posted January 18, 2003 Report Posted January 18, 2003 Vlad, I don't think you need to worry about the spelling of "bribeful" as it's not actually a word. Although, I will find it useful... Other than that, perfect description.
Vincent Silver Posted January 18, 2003 Report Posted January 18, 2003 (Decides not to rest of post due to lack of internet time) Vincent walks into the room,his silver hair trail behind him making a barrage of colors dance across the walls and the other pen members. He walks through the groups of people,they people move out the way as if the mythrill armor's red glow had some sort of power that caused them to move. He walks directly on to the stage and grabs the mic,the gaurds stay behind sencing some sort of auror of power around him. He taps the mic making a loud screching noice so whoever wasn't looking at him was now looking. He speaks in a cold voice,"Vincent Silver,Warrior of Time" HE drops the mic and walks back out the door (I'm starting to be more serious)
Zariah Posted January 18, 2003 Report Posted January 18, 2003 Thank you, I appreciate the clarification. Iplan on interacting with members... I have really been in the background so to speak, sorta "gettin the feel" for the membersand their RP characters, etc. This i just a notice I guess to say hello, and I hope to meet everyone at some point! --Maybe, if I scruffle up enugh courage- I will even create and interact with a RP character of my own...
Impostor Posted January 18, 2003 Report Posted January 18, 2003 Right, right, I might have forgotten to choose one at the time. So I'll take troubadour if nobody minds, and I believe my post count was at ninety-four. Now I better think of something for my title Impostor in my desert place
Judicator Posted January 18, 2003 Report Posted January 18, 2003 lol....reporting in after gawd knows how long...just stopping by and saying hi. As for a title..your guess is as good as mine
Valdar and Astralis Posted January 18, 2003 Report Posted January 18, 2003 Keep of the Mighty pen, Terra Prime, Present date. It was a new age, for the land of terra. An age long past, an age of ice. For over ten million years now, the war of Archmagi raged on, leaving verdant and lush lands a charred landscape of dust and death until the apocalypse came to give rebirth to the land. Again, and again, the cycle repeated itself, life and death, power and loss. At the end of each age, a circle of Archmagi would rise above themselves, and rend the world asunder to show their power, banishing the souls of a billion people into the fires of hell for ten thousand years, while the world mended. Until now. A deathly wind blew through the remains of Valdar's empty quarters in the pen keep. A final bastion of sanity in the last days of the mad uprising, the elegant structure alone stood relativeley unmarked in the barren wasteland. No, This time, the world wouldn't be made anew. This was a place of dead gods. Outside, crows pecked futiley at a long dried skeleton. All traces of the terrible magical battle at this place were long gone, now. The wall of fire a mile high leaving but a bare scar on the earth. Dusts of decay blew down the mightly main hallway, where dimpled initiates once stood anxiously waiting for their teachers to make themselves known, or to see the response of the mighty Wyvren to their applications. The howl of the wind picked up to a wailing cresendo, rattling the empty pieces of armor lying about the floor near the central courtyard. The soot-gray walls turned black with blood, at this point. Every step forward had been paid in blood a thousand times by the desperate attackers. Heroes and villians rose and fell, in these sacred halls, their blood mingling with that of every nation. The central courtyard was a frozen visage of the most horrifying bloodbaths in the known history of the Archmagi. Shattered Guardian golems lay in a ragged circle around a marble fountain, their mighty animating magics dispelled by force of blades or word of power. Around the broken servants, a bloodwashed pile of armor twenty feet deep lay. Here and there, about the courtyard lay the uncorrupted bodies of angels mingled with their nether kin, mute testimony to the divine nature of the battle during the last hours of terra. The fountain, no longer functional, was a work of art, the dedication long since eroded away by the elements. The centrepiece was that of a man and woman reaching towards each other, one bearing a sword, the other a quill, tips touching. Their free palms facing each other as though indicating the emptiness between them. Here, the presence paused for a moment, taking in the scars of the once mighty pen keep before resolving itself out of the ether. Valdar flicked his ears, partly in irritation, partly in sadness. This world, which had been his home for many a turning of leaves had finnaly passed into ashes while he was away. He turned. A flight of birds flew screeching out of the shattered window as the ghost of the planewalker strode through the hidden door into the rooms he had once called home. He frowned. 'This won't do' he decided, reaching out with his part of his mind to yet another hidden vault. The first real sound Terra Prime heard for a thousand years issued from within. A thunderous roar shook the fortress, causing streams of dust and motar to pour from the celing as the final guardian woke. The planewalker smiled. His dormant servant, far more powerful than many of the fallen golems below, lived yet. It was also hungry, hibernating for a millenia now. No, he couldn't leave so valuble a servant behind. His will was insufficiant for what he intended, Valdar knew. But he was prepared. A moment later, like dim reflections in a dusty mirror, seven more identical ghosts apparated. The first smiled. On this dead world, no one would feel his full might. *** Silently, the eight reflections marched down dusty corridors in an octagonal pattern. Suspended between them in a shimmering field of energy, The massive waterlily trashed against spectral bonds along with the Elf's meanger possesions. The procession entered the killing grounds, bits of bone and rusted armor flying out of their path. The ghosts stopped, and uttered a single word. The giant plant slumped unconcious. In turn, the shadowy images stepped into one another, becomming more corporeal as they did until at last, only one Valdar stood in the courtyard. The elf took a deep breath. It was good to be alive once more. To be. . .whole. Dirt scrunched under his feet as Valdar stepped into the dry fountain. Slowly, he stepped around it, examining the two statues for a full quarter hour. "Ah." His ears bobbed in delight as the face of the long gone pattern was made clear to him. Valdar angled an ear forward and spoke a single word. A sizzling bolt of white light shot from the eartip, connecting to the two statues exactly where the pen and sword touched. Firey lines raced out from that point, illuminating runes unseen for a hundred generations. The platform between the statues caught fire too, circle within circle within circle burning away accumalated dirt and grime. Finnaly, the centre pattern lit up, a rude map of the multiverse, on which a single point burned brighter than all others. He tsk'ed. It wouldn't do, he decided, to leave trails where one's enemies may follow. Fully powered now, the device activated. A slash of light illuminated the courtyard, and the portal opened to a neatly trimmed hedge. Warm air blasted through the rift. Valdar already decided what he had to do. He gestured, and the force field containing his servant and belongings floated through to the new world. They would be safe there. As for himself. . . There was a castle in the distance, he saw. And the sight of it took his breath. Designed without any of the war-like defenses of the old keep, the new home of the pen had grown artisticly, all rose quartz towers and sapphire domes. From afar, the elf saw a true wonder. Children, running free in the rolling meadows around the castle, something never thought safe in the old troubled lands. Already, his sharp eyes picked out pointed fingers and cries of suprise at the sudden activation of the portal. Enough. The portal rotated shut, and the beam of light connecting Valdar's ears with the trigger changed colour, from white, to blue, purple, red then black. The black fire spread throughout the pattern, until the two statues burned in an obsidian inferno. Mystic symbols and runes corroded away under the torrent of nether magic, and the Astral map melted into a puddle of molten rock. Satisfied, the planewalker seemed to bow, and the channel of black magic ceaced as the elf stiffened, and shattered into eight presice shards, which faded away without touching the ground. The statues burned on forgotten in the dead lands of Terra Prime, their translocational powers stripped away. Vultures circled in the hot plume of smoke, eyeing the ground for any prospect of a meal. There was none. Norrath The dream was strange, and Astralis woke up more fatigued than when he went to sleep. Abandoned towers, magical portals, what place did a gnome have in all that? Yet inside the inventor, a strange feeling of satisfaction arose that carried him out of bed. The memory of the glass-like castle seemed to cheer him. Yes, at least I know where I can hide now. At least they still live. At least I will have somewhere to go after all this is over. . .if it ever is. The shard inside him grew silent. Astralis shook himself out of the daydream and yawned. He had loads to do. First, boiler number fourteen had a leaky valuve, then. . .
jonathan_wolfe Posted January 18, 2003 Report Posted January 18, 2003 Jonathan strides into the room, his beige and burnt sienna robes flowing about his feet as he arrives in the new Pen keep "I am that is." He coughs and clears his throat "I am that is, who I am... What?" With that, he strides back out. Jonathan Wolfe Group: Page Title: Dreaming Real 49 posts
Katzaniel Posted January 18, 2003 Report Posted January 18, 2003 Can I keep this guy? Katzaniel, Eater of Non-Members, and Chocolate. Page of a mere 60 posts, at your service. Chronically at a loss for time, I'm actually at one of those points in my life where I ought to have plenty of time to keep up, so someone whip me or something if I fall behind. I swear I'm gonna post on World Without End today. (BTW, I'm in the middle of reading the first Wheel of Time book and I saw that phrase in there. Kas, was this the inspiration for the title, or just a coincidence?) Yep, I'm gonna go try to find the greenroom now. See y'all later!
Tyrion Posted January 18, 2003 Report Posted January 18, 2003 I'm here. Maybe won't post a lot, but I'll be reading. And I'm gonna let lumpen decide what I am. Make sure it's creative.
Canid Posted January 18, 2003 Report Posted January 18, 2003 The wolf is flown in on dragonback and dropped from twenty feet as her dragon sees the unfamilliar colours and shoots directly upwards in terror. She lands on Scarlet O'Harpy with a noisy thud and extracts herself from the bruised pile in a fragile manner. "Away for a few days and I miss everything!" she exclaims, shaking the dust from her fur and darting rapidly out of the way as Minyex swoops nervously back in, nearly squashing her with a large, flat-topped boulder. The wolf licks the rock a couple times and watches as a lush coating of moss flowers into view. She lays herself elegantly on top of it and recites her vitals quietly. "Canid Phoenix Canidae Page 99 posts (this makes it a hundred. ) Can I choose a title at a later date?" PS: Would it be a fuss to get the older colour scheme back? Just a wee suggestion for the paperbin, but I really liked the warmer colours.
Gyrfalcon Posted January 18, 2003 Report Posted January 18, 2003 > Gyrfalcon hands Tralla a riding crop, then darts back when she tries to smack him with it. "You need some way to herd the smily!" the half-elf protested, laughing as he dodged another swipe.
Gyrfalcon Posted January 18, 2003 Report Posted January 18, 2003 Can I choose a title at a later date?" Yes, you can- in fact, if you want your titled change after a time, just request it. Our/my patience may wear thin if you start changing your title every day/every few hours, so create one you plan to stick with.
Griever Posted January 18, 2003 Report Posted January 18, 2003 Hiyas I was a member of the pen on the last boards, my user name was "neo madeen". Being a recent initiate I wouldn't think any one would remember me but to make a long story short, I had some problems in rl, y'know how stressful moving into your first house can be So would I have make another application to get back into the pen ?
Kasmandre Posted January 18, 2003 Report Posted January 18, 2003 No, you shouldn't have to apply again. Once a Pen member, always a Pen member.
Stale Posted January 19, 2003 Report Posted January 19, 2003 *The old evil assassin enters the hall through one of the windows, quickly hiding in the shadows. For a long time he observes the people, listens, then he moves and... stumbles.... kabooof!* Uh, heh... need a lil practice it seems. So anyways, the eternal initiate it still here, count me in
Cyril Darkcloud Posted January 19, 2003 Report Posted January 19, 2003 Having applied to the EZ-board version of the Pen with a roleplayed reflection upon words and spaces. it seems somehow right to begin posting here by reflecting a moment on the movement to this new space for words...... The posting has begun, the gusting of thoughts and words has shifted and the currents of its movement lead to another place. There is a curious excitement within these words that move past him and he notes that even syllables of his own speaking have found place and welcome in another clime. Again the blank and open space of the empty pages of his notebook holds its field of inviting possibility before his pen. And as this new wind of ideas and words moves about him he begins to write: Space, even of the virtual kind, is a curious thing – not something vacant and empty awaiting the presence of bodies and lives to fill it, but a reality brought into being by those very bodies and lives that are said to be its occupants. It is a paradoxical thing – a product of the separation of that which remains related and connected. Space, much like silence, is necessary for speech and the measure of the meeting of lives through words is not the yardstick of physical distance but that of the depth of possibility in the space created between them. And again, as on that distant spring day, he tears the page from his notebook and filling his lungs with the word laden air about him reads it aloud. He disappears as he reads, life and form falling into the spaces between the hastily scribbled words and soon there is nothing were he stood save a single scrap of paper adrift in the breeze. As it falls, the page is caught by the gusting motion of words and rides this current to a new place where it falls near the welcoming margins created by other acts of written speech. Cyril Darkcloud Initiate Untitled 27 previous posts
Justin Silverblade Posted January 19, 2003 Report Posted January 19, 2003 Would I post a story? I would. Would I post a poem? I would Would I post an RP? I would. For all three, I would. I should. But I shan't, For I am lazy. Lookin' good! Justin Silverblade here, Quill-Bearer, (at least for now - not for long with any serious luck, ) Post count doesn't really matter to me - in time I'll work it back up anyways. And some sort of title? Nah, I let my posts do the talking. (that, of course, is the fancy way of saying I can't think of anything cool). But, just a note to say I'm here. So.... Hi.
Lady Celes Crusader Posted January 19, 2003 Report Posted January 19, 2003 Lady Celes Crusader walks around with her pets nearby her. Cambronne, a rather tall black cat that could be easily called "the would-be-panther" sniffes and rubs the surrounding furnitures while looking at the people's behavior with his ever-curious yellow eyes. Carbone, on the other hand, decided that she's better staying nearby her mistress since the tiger-stripped grey cat havent found any decent place where she could hide but still be within Celes' sights. Celes thinks about what should be her custom title. Hum... Hum... I'm still troubadour, that's a fact. Now, for the custom title, I'd rather have something that have it share of history behind it. It is more valuable in my point of view. What would single me out from the other Pen members. The Lady starts to write a list of the following characteristics: 1. French is my mother tongue and I'm using either French or English in my works. 2. I'm one of the few, if not the only one, who translated my own works as well as other people's. 3. I'm the owner of two adorable cats who are also a part of the Mighty Pen's culture. 4. I'm mainly focus on prose rather than poetry or rpg, although that I'm at home while rpging as I am at wrting stories. 5. I've yet to qualified my style of writing, but I think I'm not alone in that basket. While I did wrote long stories, I prefer the short N' sweet appraoch. That's enough for that list... Hum... Well, I think that I'd rather have someone suggesting a custom title for me, that way, it could lead to some interesting results.
Orlan Posted January 19, 2003 Report Posted January 19, 2003 I swear...it's like letting a three year old dress themselves with these titles
Nyyark Posted January 19, 2003 Report Posted January 19, 2003 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.
Guest Hanna Posted January 19, 2003 Report Posted January 19, 2003 Can I choose a title at a later date?"Yes, you can- in fact, if you want your titled change after a time, just request it. Our/my patience may wear thin if you start changing your title every day/every few hours, so create one you plan to stick with. Hanna appears in a cloud of dust to mention that it is possible to change your member title via the "My Controls" in the upper right hand corner of the screen. She then giggles at the huge sigh of relief from Gyrfalcon as he realizes he doesnt have to change titles for ever and ever. Click on My Controls then on Edit Profile info.
The Big Pointy One Posted January 20, 2003 Report Posted January 20, 2003 Hm, well, here I am! Yay! ...well, anyways, I'm a quillbearer, last I checked as for title, well, Lord of the Stick or Trenchcoat Monk works for me... Happy to be here! Yeah!
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