Completed Story Exercises.

[Salinye]

This is for your completed works from the story exercise listed in this forum. :0) Can't wait to read them all!!!

 

~Salinye

[Finnius]

Zool's Day Out

 

"... and anyway, it wasn't that big a deal, right?"

 

Zool slowly shook his head as he spoke, almost as if he didn't believe it himself. In fact, had it not been for the frame of his picture and his currently nailed-to-a-wall state, he'd probably be gone by now.

 

The Ancient screwed his face up, so that anyone walking into the room would think that half the Elders of the Mighty Pen were sternly addressing an authentic Picasso.

 

"C'mon, guys, pleeeeease don't lock me in a storage closet or force me to take over applications or babysit Minta... I can explain..."

 

----------------------------

 

The day before, somewhere outside... yeah with trees... and birds... you get the idea.

 

"It was early spring, and a young... errr... well, anyway, a reasonably-not-old member of the Pen had decided to spend the day... um, communing with nature. Anyway, this Ancient, who I will refer to as 'Zool,' was happily sitting under a tree, minding his own business. The squirrels were singing, the birds were gathering nuts... The sweet sounds of nature hummed all around the forest as though harmonizing with his thoughts.

 

It was bliss.

 

And then, out of nowhere, disaster struck. It started to rain! Just little sprinkle-drops at first, but then they got bigger and bigger, until the little shower had turned into a deluge! Zool was dismayed, as he hadn't even started on his packed lunch yet...

 

Did I mention he had a packed lunch? Oh, well, it was a wonderful lunch, made specially for Zool by his good friend Wyvern, who happens to be an excellent chef, if Zool didn't say so himself, and... what? Why are you looking at me like that, this is Zool's story... fine, fine, back to the point...

 

Anyway, the only thing Zool could think of was to get under cover, making sure to take care of his wonderful lunch. This was a bit of a problem, see, as Zool was how-shall-we-say... 'trapped in a painting' at the time. Luckily, Zool had thought to invite several ambulatory rubber chickens along.

 

The chickens happened to be sufficiently strong to move Zool's painting back in-doors, but were sadly not able to save Zool's lunch. Zool lamented that lunch for near an hour. It was a thing of beauty, tuna and olives and pickled ham and deviled eggs and fresh bread and jello and baked ziti and cornish game hen and half a roasted pig and about a million other scrumptious things that Zool's wonderful friend Wyvern had packed for him.

 

A moment of silence for Zool's lunch.

 

...

 

Ok, so anyway, the rain let up eventually and Zool instructed the chickens to take him back to the Cabaret Room so that he could get some decent food. The chickens lugged him over there and propped him by the bar, then went on a smoke break. A waitress was soon with Zool; pretty and with dark hair, and blushing furiously. Zool was soon to find out why.

 

The waitress took Zool's order and brought Zool's snakebite in record time, then made off with Zool's money and was never seen by Zool again. This dismayed Zool, as he had heartilly looked foreward to hitting on her. For several minutes, Zool drank in peace, only being interrupted when a somewhat naked mage, whom I will refer to as 'Tzimfemme,' entered the room and began furiously beating Zool over the top-frame with some kind of fish. Zool's memory is a bit fuzzy on what kind of fish it was. He does, however, remember that it hurt like the dickens.

 

In any case, it was at this point that Zool realized that:

A. He had been wearing an oil-based suit; and

B. It had not had time to properly set.

 

Zool was, of course, dismayed. He now knew why the waitress had been blushing, and why Tzimfemme was pelting him with seafood. It was, as a certain Peredhil, whom I will refer to here as 'Polite Ancient,' would say, 'Not in good taste to rip off someone else's shtick, unless you do it better than them.'

 

After Zool was finished being beaten, he was dragged into the Assembly Hall, rudely nailed to a wall, and left alone over-night to think about what he had done. The next morning, he was given a stern talking-to by half the Elders of the Mighty Pen, and maybe let go with a warning, if he was lucky?"

 

-------------------------------

 

 

The assembled Elders stared at Zool in blank silence for a moment. Tzimfemme snorted loudly after a moment.

 

"I think you and Wyvern went out and got drunk, then played strip poker with Canid's fuzzies."

 

The picture on the wall tries, and fails, to look innocent.

 

"Still, nailing you to a wall overnight seems to have sobered you up a bit, so we can let it slide." Sighing relieved, she thinks, That must NEVER happen again...and thus a new proclamation was posted in the Cabaret the next day stating in bold black letters: ALL Pen initiates, members and especially Elders, MUST remember that failure to remain fully clothed when outside your personal quarters CAN be detrimental to your health.

 

----------------------

 

OOC:

Finnius covers his head and begs for Zool not to hurt him.

[Peredhil]

She camped without a fire again, cold rations and water. The forest was much thicker than legend had it, and old. Every night was cushioned on gnarly humped roots, trees so grimly competing for space that they erupted above ground before plunging down once again. It was ankle-twisting travel if one was unwary.

The look on Patches face when she’d left him stabled at the Last Town on the Edge (a peculiar name for such a small hamlet,) had nearly broken her heart. They’d been through much together, and moved in unison as a team, in travel and combat. She knew he’d worry about her, but nimble as he was, he’d have broken a leg by now. She was just so lonely without him.

She shuddered hearing the eerie distant howl of a wolf and pulled her blanket tightly around her, staving off an unnatural chill. She had no fear of natural wolves, pack-friends and playful, fiercely territorial. But these howls had no echoes, and there was no music in their sound. Each howl bleakly spoke of despair and anger, and the need to quench both with blood. Even rabid wolves had a certain dignity. These lacked even that. There was blackest sorcery bound into those tormented howls. And they had followed her for three of her four days travel.

She’d been careful to stick to the winding animal tracks and traces, leaving them only when they bent too far from true east. The animals were wisest in their homes, linking water and clearings with a skill no human possessed. Although even the animals were hard-pressed to make trails in this overstuff forest! With such old growth as this, there should be rotting corpses of giant trees clearing out long stretches for new growth. Even bushes couldn’t grow under the vast canopy which made her travels a perpetual twilight.

It was as if the only things which died in this area were the animals. Her thought was answered with another mournful howl, calling despair.

 

Two days later she was staggering forward, doubled in pain. The cramps were coming closely now. Leaning weakly against one of the great boles that towered into the unseen sky, she gritted her teeth against the waves of pain washing her. “Not as bad as birth, but close,” she thought in sour amusement. She’d been stupid to have eaten the berries, and doubly stupid to have washed them down with unboiled water. She’d just been so GRATEFUL to find a clearing, an open glimpse of the sky! She should’ve known there was a reason the trees didn’t compete with the low dark-green bushes and their crimson berries. The pain eased and she sipped water before staggering forward again. If she was going to hurt, she might as well travel.

It was nearly an hour later when the cramps finally knotted her lower back and groin. She was barely in time lowering her breeches to clear the way for the damnable berries to pass blood-clotted seeds onto the ground. The surges dwindled.

Sighing relieved, she thinks, "That must NEVER happen again.” That thought was chased with an amused, “I hope your seeds are eaten by tree roots!”

Using some of her monthly cloths to clean herself, with nose wrinkled against the stench, she discarded them as unsalvageable. She silently thought dark curses on the berried bushes and their tasty trap, but was too wise to risk attention by cursing aloud. One never could be certain who was listening.

She was low on water by the time she found the clearing. It had been a hot frustrating time, as all paths lead away. She’d ended up fighting through dense trees with inner-twined limbs much lower than such tall trees should have. It made no sense; there was no light down this low to support such branches! At least the wolves had stopped following her when she took the plunge to head due east, true East, making a way where they trees would deny her.

The setting sun shown from behind her, as the trees cast grasping shadows far out into the clearing. The marble temple in the clearing’s center glinted pinks and reds in the light of the dying sun. Looking at it, she decided to camp on familiar roots again tonight, and explore it in the morning.

 

She was up before the dawn could glint into her eyes. She’d heard bad rumors about this place, but intriguing teases of wealth within the warnings. Removing the false leather bottom to her pack, she drew out the ribbons of fine ring mesh, and began the laborious process of binding it into a long sleeved shirt. Not terribly strong, but light and able to turn a blade if one was quick enough. The chain shirt took most of the morning. Wrapping her legs was the work of a moment. She hoped to avoid scrapes, but she’d had one bad experience with what a wizard could do with life’s blood and its bindings, and was leery of giving the opportunity to another. Her hand crept to cover her barren womb. She snatched it away trembling when she realized what she’d done.

Although if there was any truth at all to the rumors, she was hesitating on the edge of earning a chance for pay-back. She’d not lament being the instrument of justice for he or his demon-spawn.

She ate and drank deeply, and voided herself. Waiting seemed forever, but at last the sun was high. She plunged into the clearing and jogged lightly, her shadow directly below as the sun was directly above.

She made rapid progress toward the temple, feet whispering through the brittle yellowed grass. The sun was just moving her shadow before her as she reached the open arch into the temple. Looking at the smooth curves and joins, the graceful lines of the white marble, she had the sudden thought this place had been designed by a woman. The thought was strangely reassuring.

Pausing to catch her breath, she unslung her light mace and drew her sword. Not many fought two handed, and even fewer women. She’d worked hard to be able to use both weapons, and they were lighter than she’d wish, but the combination worked extremely well. The mace was solid for blocking, and its blunt force crushed bone and armor that the sword could not pierce.

She closed her eyes for a moment, and then opened them wide as she plunged into the temple. The interior seemed dim after the noonday sunlight. She was in a short hallway which curved gently to the left, allowing just a small glimpse of a larger room. Moving forward she was pleased to come onto a dome-covered room. Ceiling apertures pierced the dome and let in indirect light, enough to see the passage opposite, and two others heading to the other cardinal points. She was surprised that the sunken altar with its encircling barrier weren’t directly under the dome’s center. The irregularity was oddly disturbing, nagging at her attention.

Ignoring it firmly, she moved forward on cat’s feet, testing each tessellated tile step before committing her weight to it. As her eyes adjusted completely, she could see motes of dust swimming lazily in the air. A trickle of sweat tickled slightly as it slid down her chest and dove into her navel. The air was developing a heat and pressure as she advanced.

She paused at she reached the barrier, unbelieving it had been this easy. Suspiciously she looked at the open passageways, the smooth featureless dome, and the altar. The low wall before her was the only color in the chamber. Where all else was white marble, it was carved obsidian, a thick circular bar on stout wooden pillars, encircling the altar without break.

She caught her breath. There was no sigh of any dust inside the barrier; no layer of dust marred the altar. Perhaps power slept her after all.

Backing up a few steps, she sheathed her sword and drew coins from her belt pouch. Tossing the first, she wasn’t surprised to see it flash as it cleared the obsidian. Not even molten silver remained. She tossed her next coin under the bar. It bounced and clattered loudly before coming to rest. She shook her head at another example of carelessness. Even though it benefited her, it annoyed her when people cut corners when setting wards. With a wry grin at her contrary nature, she replaced the remaining coins in her pouch and drew her sword once more.

Easing herself to the floor, she crept forward, only her elbows and the insides of her boots touching the floor. At times like these she was glad not to be busty! It was after her head was inside the barrier that she realized she’d been holding her breath. She released it with a laugh, and wiggled the rest of the way in and retrieved her coin.

Standing she looked at the altar and wondered if all this had been worth it. It was empty.

She circled it three times, careful to move widdershins, before she noticed the misplaced shadow. Kneeling, she and squinting, she found the level, subtly hidden in a narrow slit at the base of the altar’s side. It took two tries before she maneuvered the leather thong over the level, using her knife to guide it. Perhaps she was too suspicious, but –

The drop blade severed the thong AND the knife blade as the lever snapped to opposite end of the slot. She wiped sudden sweat from her hairline as the altar began grinding, pivoting, rising like a wall before her.

She barely interposed her mace in time to catch the first blow as she bounded eagerly around the altar’s end to see what had been revealed. Foolish foolish stupid girl not to have expected a guardian after all this!

She attacked herself in her thought even as she parried arm numbing blows. She was slightly taller than the skeleton, although its sword was heavier. Her mace already hacked to the point of useless as she used it to delay long enough to recover her balance, mindful of NOT touching the obsidian barrier. While she twisted away from the attack, she assessed her opponent. Some type of gum attached long silver thread to the polished skull. Garish makeup rimmed the sockets of the eyes, and the cheekbones were rouged. A graceful proud arch to the neck that disappeared into the sumptuous robes, so heavily embroidered with gold thread as to serve as armor. For all the weight her opponent must be carrying, she moved lightly.

She settled in to the match and fenced. Deft flickering movements of her blade shed attacks; occasionally she swung the mace in attempts to beat the Guardian’s blade out of line. Sweat built as they silently fought. The two blades attacked and parried rhythmically while not one drop of blood had yet dropped to the pristine marble floor. But her sweat was beginning to fall as she tired. The skeleton fought on tirelessly.

The heavy sword discovered her armor when she twisted too slowly. She had yet to lay a blade on it! Moments later, the Guardian laid open a shallow gash on her thigh. She felt the windings capture the trickle of blood. She also felt the inevitability of her fate approaching.

With a wild flurry of blows, she finally broke through the Guardian’s defense and thrust through its robe into its heart.

Only to discover skeleton’s have no heart, and to nearly lose her sword as the ribs tried to trap her blade.

This was NOT going as she’d envisioned. She fought a retreating circle, breathing deeply and trying to catch her breath. This thing had to have some weakness. An interior voice sneered at her naivety; why should life be fair?

Her armor deflected another blow. That would bruise, she thought, and then laughed at her optimism that she’d survive to bruise. With the thought, her humor returned.

I’m going to die. But I’m going to give it my best! I’m not strong, I’m quickly becoming slow, and so I’d best be smart. She fought carefully, shuffling patterns of attack and defense as she conserved her waning strength with minimal parries. Her muscles ached and burned with every beat of the swords, and she was beginning to grunt with each contact. She hated it when she grunted, she sounded like such a piggy. Piggy for the slaughter on the altar. She laughed aloud at the stupid jingle winding through her mind.

Her eyes narrowed with a sudden thought, and she took a deep cleansing breath. With a spin to build momentum (forget the sudden streak of pain as the Guardian’s sword rakes your back) she swung down and up and DOWN, her sword knocking the Guardians down and out of line long enough for the mace head to meet Guardian head. Both head and mace burst into Light.

The explosion blew her to bounce off the open altar. Lucky fate, not going the other way to burn in obsidian fires, she reflected later when she awoke. The sun had set, and the only light was a residual glow from the Guardian’s robe.

Binding wounds, she considered her situation. Offering thanks for her life to whoever ran the temple was prudent. She considered pillaging the bony body, but on noting the way the slivers of bone were twitching and inching across the floor, thought better of it. Let the dead lie undisturbed. She was no common thief, she was vengeance.

It took her precious minutes to still her shaking hands enough to light a twist of rope, and even longer to use its smoky light to find the Orb. Clever of someone to have hidden it in the lid of the altar, with so many treasures in the altar’s grave-shaped well to tempt the eye and hand.

Leaving the hacked shaft of the now headless mace as a mute offering and apology, she sheathed her sword to have her hands free. Crouching she seized the Orb and uncoiled in a shallow dive under the obsidian railing as the Altar snapped closed behind her, biting in anger and catching the heel of one boot. Running unevenly she sprinted best she could for the passageway and burst into the cool night air.

 

The forest loomed darkly ahead of her.

[WrenWind]

The sweet sounds of nature hummed all around the forest as though harmonizing with his thoughts. It had been so long since he had seen their faces, held them in his arms. Now he was free. Free to return home. Free to find his wife and the two sons he had watched come into the world. The boys would be grown now. He sighed and continues to walk with determination. He would be there for the birthday celebrations. Three days ..."Yes!" he would make it.

 

The two blades attacked and parried rhythmically while not one drop of blood had yet dropped to the pristine marble floor. The men were a perfect match. Brothers, identical twins that have fought against and beside each other all their lives. Neither one would draw blood unless by accident. Once the practice was done they bowed to each other and then to the master of swords and waited to be dismissed.

 

Above the hall The lady of the house watched with pride. Her two sons have passed onto the level of journeyman . Then she will have to say good bye to them as they each leave to wander. It is time to let them be the men they have grown to be. She watches as the master dismisses the session and her sons fly from the room. Images of their father flash past her, taking hold of her and whisking her to another time and place where she is a younger version of herself. Stumbling though unknown forest lost alone and cold. A hand touches her shoulder and startles her back into the real world. "Ma'am Lord Param is waiting." Sighing relieved, she thinks, "That must NEVER happen again." She follows her advisor to council chambers fussing with her hair and dress. "I can't let memories take over, I can't!!!"

[Zadown]

The sweet sounds of nature hummed all around the forest as though harmonizing with his thoughts. He felt his awarness expand all around him like a huge balloon. Spiders .. a bear nearby .. wolves .. ahh, there it is! Aramye draw his sword and axe and started running forward to the direction he felt the disturbance in the nature's harmony. His movements were effortless and swift, and after a few steps he seemed to blend with the green colors of the forest and all but vanished from sight. Noiselessly, camouflaged, he glided forward like an owl that had seen a mouse.

 

When he got closer to his goal, even the sounds of the forest faded. Birds and small animals alike had sensed something wrong and kept well clear of the .. something that had invaded his forest. Hurrying forward to end this disturbance as quick as possible Aramye almost ran too far, but the whiff of corruption in the air made him stop before it was too late. He came to a halt behind a tall bush and peered through it to the meadow beyond with his enchanted eyes. There, ambling through his grass and turning it black and dead, was the disturbance, the evil he had felt - an animated mummy dragging behind it a gigantic sceptre. The mummy was cutting a gruesome path of decay through the plantlife, and the ranger winced in physical pain as he saw it. Not pausing to think any further, he muttered a word and gestured towards the undead menance. The weeds heeded his call and rose in a wave to trap the dead thing, only to die and wither as they touched the wrappings.

 

Uh oh.

 

Sensing the nature magic directed against it, the mummy turned and attacked with a wordless roar. Acting by pure instinct Aramye muttered a different word, made a different gesture, but the roots surging from the ground to stop the undead thing's charge met the same fate as the weeds. And now it was close, very close. Cursing to himself he gestured the third time and had a short moment of satisfaction when the brushfire he conjured scorched the mummy, then it was upon him.

 

The sceptre rose and whistled towards his head. Feeling a sick sense of despair flood him at the speed of the attack, Aramye nevertheless managed to fling himself aside, dodging the blow. It connected with earth instead, shattering a stone bigger than the ranger's head. Aramye took hasty a step back and drew a deep breath as his opponent rised the huge weapon up. Then the mummy attacked again without any noise or warnining, but this time he was ready. Twirling both of his weapons deftly he blocked the blow and riposted with lightning speed, striking the animated corpse with an endless stream of blows. Again the mummy attacked, only to be blocked and then riposted, not caring about the fact it was turning into tattered shreds. The ranger blocked a third blow with seeming ease, then surged forward hacking with both sword and axe, and managed to chop off mummy's right arm. Realizing it's defeat, the animated cadaver turned and started lumbering back the way it had came. Aramye, now covered with a sheen of sweat and trembling from the effort of maintaining the concentration blocking those attacks had needed, just threw his axe instead of pursuing. It spun through the air and time seemed to slow - then it connected and time sped up again, and he fell to his knees, totally exhausted.

 

A short moment passed before he got his breath back. Then he rose slightly unsteadily and walked to the corpse, noticing how dirty his axe had gotten in the fight. Grumbling he dislodged his axe from the back of the now limp form of the creature. Filthy undead .. I must go and find out what sent this to my forest. Frowning to himself he held both of his soiled weapons away from his nose and walked slowly away from the rapidly decomposing corpse. Once he had gotten away from the horrible smell, he started to clean his blades, whistling and started to smile - one more enemy defeated with no scratch or wound to show. And then his rising good mood made his realize he had almost forgotten his original mission! Hastily finishing the chore Aramye jumped up and ran away to find what he had been looking for in the first place.

 

* * *

 

"Here, cookies can get you anything." Aramye smiled and gave the flowers he had collected to Malinda.

 

"Huh? What's so special about these flowers? You look like picking these up was some heroic deed." But she did smile back. And that was what counted.

 

Written in memoriam of all the rangers I have neglected to heal - next time use /disc weaponshield, kkthx~la!

[Ayshela]

Ayshela sat at her desk reading and re-reading the letter which had been forwarded many times, finally reaching her by nearly untraceable means.

 

“It is with deepest regret that we write to inform you of the death of your grandmother, Margarete Misthail. In accordance with her last wishes, we convey to you her love, her best wishes, and her firmest belief in your innocence. May the mighty Goddess guard your steps, as Margarete has blessed you.”

 

The tears which Ayshela had long denied herself filled her eyes and threatened to overflow. Grandma Mar, gone. The aching emptiness was unbearable. “Gran, oh Gran, how could you leave me to face this alone?” Though she knew it was unreasonable, she felt abandoned, alone, and terribly frightened.

 

As stifling her tears became harder, Ayshela realized that there was only one way left to ease her pain and send her love to her grandmother. Folding the letter back into its envelope and sliding it into a drawer, she rose smoothly to her feet. Unbuckling her belt and sheaths, she laid them on the desk and began to sway. “This, Gran, is for you.”

 

Swaying slowly to a music only she could hear, Ayshela began to hum softly, and then to dance. Stretching, turning, reaching and whirling, she seemed to draw the forest into her arms and gently set it free again. Anyone watching could see her spinning with fairies, leaping with deer, her love of nature and all the Goddesses creatures as clear in her dance as in any spoken word. Twirling round and round each graceful movement it's own work of art, she danced until the pain washed away leaving each fluid movement as the only thoughts of her mind.

 

As her dance wound down she sank gracefully to the floor whispering “Gran, I love you. Goodbye.”

 

A rustling noise from at the door startled her into full awareness of her surroundings again. Terror at being found again filled her heart as she saw Harvail watching and realized he’d been there some time. “What do you think you’re doing here?” she demanded. Harvail looked up from his crouched position with an insane look in his eye, coolly replying, "You will not win." “So you say” she retorted. “I have the proof, and even if you kill me you cannot prevent my innocence being proven.”

 

With a mocking laugh, Harvail spun and dashed down the hall. Racing after him, Ayshela cursed the impulse which had led her to disarm. With Harvail on the loose, she would need her wits since she did not have her blades.

 

Flying down the stairs after Harvail, she saw to her horror that he was heading into another personal hallway. Calling frantically for him to stop, she was contemplating a diving tackle when Salinye appeared in her doorway. Ordinarily, Salinye’s appearance to determine the nature of the disturbance would not be cause for concern. Unfortunately, she had just stepped out of the shower and was quite tastefully attired in a lovely blue… towel.

 

Harvail’s attention was caught by the lovely towel-clad figure, and after bouncing off the wall a time or two he managed to veer in Salinye’s direction. Ayshela looked about hurriedly for something to throw, while Salinye mumbled, waved, and did something just out of Ayshela’s line of sight – and a portion of the ceiling collapsed, burying Harvail in the rubble.

 

Unfortunately, the destruction of what was a portion of the floor in the hallway above did not go unnoticed. Wyvern popped his head through the hole to survey the damage and calculate the cost of repairs. His attention was distracted when he noticed that in the process of her flamboyant wave, Salinye had dropped her towel. For perhaps the first time in his career at The Pen, all thought of money was driven from Wyvern’s head as he stared, overbalanced, and fell through the hole onto the pile of rubble (incidentally ensuring Harvail’s immobility).

 

Ayshela looked at Salinya, eyebrows raised, and asked “don’t you think…??” Salinye looked down, blushed and wrapped herself in her towel again, and said “I supposed we’ll have to fix that.” Turning to look at the ceiling, Ayshela nodded and said “it’s probably best. And I suppose I’ll have to arrange for the quiet return of that lump of rubbish to his home, as well. Not that, in his current condition, anyone will believe him.” And she smiled at the thought.

 

Salinye turned to look down the hall at the gathering crowd of Pen inhabitants. “Perhaps not” she said, “but will they believe us?”

 

Peredhil hurried up to ask “Is everyone alright? Is anyone hurt?”

 

Salinye and Ayshela looked at each other, then at Wyvern, and assured Peredhil that “everyone is fine, just a few bumps and bruises.”

 

“I… see.” Peredhil commented, looking at Salinye, then he turned to help Wyvern to his room.

 

And thus a new proclamation was posted in the Cabaret the next day stating in bold black letters: ALL Pen initiates, members and especially Elders, MUST remember that failure to remain fully clothed when outside your personal quarters CAN be detrimental to your health.

 

Ayshela and Salinye looked over the notice and giggled as Ayshela mumbled “and detrimental to the health of others, as well!”

[Wyvern]

Zool's Day Out Part 2: Wyvern's Cooking Fraud

 

Wyvern ducks with a grin, watching the shoe barely miss his head while thinking "a feisty woman with good aim... Could be worse... Could be several feisty women with good aim. Wait a minute... what the heck am I talking about?! Several feisty women giving me attention would be a good thing! Could be worse... could be something inhuman, like Melba or the I.R.S..."

 

Wyvern's thoughts are interrupted as a frying pan goes sailing directly into his face, emitting a metallic *clang!* upon impact and causing an almost dragonic dent to become embedded on the back of the cooking utensil. As the overgrown lizard collapses in a corner next to a quaint french cafe' table, his assailant lets out a cry of victory.

 

Happy about her good aim with the frying pan, Lady Celes Crusador briefly frowns and turns once again towards the havoc that Wyvern had started in her cafe'... The greedy reptile had raided several of her cupards of pre-packed lunches in his creation of Zool's picnic snack, and had tried to pass them off as his own in the hopes of Zool praising him as a good chef... Celes supposed that the lizard ultimately wanted to be featured in a cooking magasine and get profits from it, but now she had found him out! Sighing distressed, she thinks "That MUST happen again" as she turns to the form of the overgrown lizard and notices the impact by which the frying pan had hit his face.

 

As Wyvern slowly gets to his feet and desperatly tries to dislodge the frying pan from his face, Celes races to find more projectiles to aim at the greedy lizard. Managing to remove the frying pan from his visage, Wyv quickly takes Celes' lost shoe hostage in the hopes of calming the excellent Pen chef down. Holding the shoe above a nearby trash disposal grinder, Wyvern points to Celes and exclaims:

 

"Not one move, or the shoe goes down the tube!"

 

Celes Crusador suddenly stops her search for projectiles and grumbles curses under her breath.

 

"Th-there must be some sort of misunderstanding..." exclaims Wyvern "... I mean, it's true that I tried to take some of your supplies without paying for them, but I did give the credit where it was due!"

 

Elsewhere, within a certain Pen picture frame, Zool suddenly realizes that the napkin he had been using contains writing stating that the meal he had lost wasn't cooked by Wyvern, but rather by Celes... This saddens Zool even further for the loss of his meal, as he knew Celes as the better chef and Wyvern as... well... as the dolt responsible for the Macoroni Dinner Applicant Incedent.*

 

Pondering the greedy lizard's statement, Celes agrees to allow Wyvern to depart from the cafe' as long as she gets her missing shoe back. The reptilian Elder grins and tosses the Troubador her lost shoe as he swiftly departs from the cafe'... Celes grumbles as she listens to the lizard's evil cackles as he rushes out into the Hall, making note to charge the greedy Elder for the lost supplies later. Sighing relieved, she thinks "That must NEVER happen again" as she crosses off "shoes" from her list of "potential Anti-Wyvern projectiles..."

 

;-p

[Salinye]

BUMP, just thought I'd bump this in case people still wanted to do theirs. (I'm working on mine now. was afk for a couple months.)

 

~Silly Sali