PenelopeLightMoon

1) No. Personality is the way in which we react to events or things, based on how they make us feel. Realism is seeing those same events or things in a subjective manner, based on fact and not personal feeling. 2)Yes, it is possible but difficult. It requires taking a realistic view of something, before giving your thoughts on the manner. Even simple things can be difficult to view realistically. When going to a new place we often may think it is: ugly, pretty, imposing, dingy etc. Not many people can take in the factual before forming some kind of opinion.

I like it. It a page like the statement of battle philosophy, that at my present rate, I will never get. It's nice to think that one can be recognized for things outside of battle. It's also very interesting to wonder what the player phsych file will look like. I'm for it. It's always nice to have a new goal.

Greetings to you, Lady Renae. It seems sometimes introductions can be difficult. There are few ladies here of such refinement as we two. It is both a pleasure and an honor to intoduce myself. *curtsies* Quite pleased to make your aquaintance. As to the above, 1)Salutations have previously been issued 2)*snort* we'll not bother with that 3)Loreroot is lovely this time of year. I find it calms my nerves.

She notes his smile, but her eyes turn quickly away from him and back to the parchment pinched between her slender fingers. She studies it, a serious expression on her face. The Sun shines off her dark red hair, as she chews her lip perusing the tattered paper. She looks up and a strange smile curls her mouth, "Wynken, you say? Seems familiar....but you Sir, do not." Her eyes travel up and down his figure, noting the careful and curious design of his garments. She rubs at the skirt of her blue gown as she does. Though cleverly stiched, and made of fine fabric it pales beside the glory of his own. "In any case you are well dressed. It's a pleasure to meet you. My name is Penelope LightMoon, you may adress me as such." The hand that holds the fabric reaches toward him in greeting, the one holding the note remains at bay. He takes her hand in greeting, akwardly shifting the tome under his arm. "Miss, my paper if you will," he says, gesturing again to the ragged scrap of parchment. "Penelope," she says, patting her chest with the paper in question and squinting curiously at the book under his arm. She meets his eye. "Have you not enough papers, Sir?" Winken's brow crinkles, and huffing in exasperation he points to the note again. She smiles and offers it to him. He takes it quickly. "Winken, take your paper and think on this ending: What if I am still in the box? Look for the Moon, Winken, and tell me your answer." She grins and walks off, leaving him no time for a reply.

What about one of those Glazbenos in the MDA gardens....if I recall there is a lovely empty one. It's a beautiful place already, and a fitting site for a historical monument.

It would be really nice to see some of the new RPCs and buffed players introduced now. Afterall, this being festival time, isn't that news?

welcome!

I am so thankful for the uniqueness and beauty of this game. The art work is amazing. The concept is amazing. The fact that I am encourged to make my own path and contribute to it, is an honor. I'm so sick of kill this guy, get that prize, now on to the next bit. There are so many things to do in MD that have nothing to do with slaying the montster on level four. Lastly, and this is the important bit, I get to rub shoulders from time to time with the owner/creator. I can send mail to the manager and not a spam bot. The players and the forum for the most part are kept on an elevated level. Manu, you are the only God I've ever had the pleasure of getting sloppily drunk on. You are the only game creator who ever took the time to teleport random folks to pointless parties so that they could beg you for techno. The game is work of art. The guy who can make it, and still manage to walk among us from time to time is much more impressive. He may be busy, but he's available, and that is the most important difference in this game to me.

Well goodness. How could no one have said hello yet. Hello Dragoonus, I would offer my help, but have already (with my thanks) taken yours. A tardy welcome to you.

Some of the music is great, some is not. A lot of people want to know the name of the tune in the shop now. I wonder if those playing DJ could give some credit where credit is due, and let us know the names and artists of the various soundtracks in game now?

*Flutters her lashes at Orange*

Happy Birthday to Jonn and DiKira!

@ Glai I have always thought it would be a good idea to be able to view a players information/papers from their mail. If you get mail from someone is there a way to link those things? A lot of RPCs don't answer mail, but that would be helpful for those that did. Also....why not have a quest page link from the RPC list?

Everyone has mentioned that the dojo is a community supported effort. I agree and support a list of regular offenders there. I think the actual official placing of a bounty or bonus on the player is wrong, however. That's game support, not community support. Let's make a list. One that is cleared by dojo staff, not by random people who dislike so-and-so. Let's put it up. The members of the community can decide for themselves whether or not it's worth their time to track those people down. If you don't, fine. If you do, hope it makes you feel good.

That's kind of funny. Elsewhere, I have heard dst referred to as "The Closer". I'm surprised he hasn't yet, but what the hay, it's neat seeing all the ideas people have.

In another life... "Make haste, little one, we must hurry to fetch our water before the sun goes down," said the tall woman as she hurried, pulling a reluctant girl. In her other hand a rough-hewn bucket bounced off the plain dark material that covered her from neck to ankle, accented only by a splash of red below the collar. The well was just in sight steps ahead, when in her haste the little girl tripped on the cobbled street. Swiftly, her mother gathered the child before she could fall, and swinging her to her hip turned back to her goal. She did not notice the figure before her her until it was too late, and collided with the man. "I beg your pardon, Goodman," she said, and tucked a stray bit of hair into her cap. The man turned round from the well to face her, and her cheeks turned pink as her eyes lit with recognition. The child tugged at her mother's hand, eliciting little more than a "shh, child." "Good day," he said softly, "I hope this day finds thee well." His eyes did not stray from her face. Behind him, the setting sun started a slow descent, silhouetting him. As her hand rose to clutch her breast, the tips of her fingers felt red embroidery beneath, and she drew them abruptly away as if burned. Days seemed to pass as they gazed as each other, until at last she lowered her eyes and spoke. "Aye, well." She made a hurry with her bucket, and still pulling the child stepped closer to the well. As she neared, she felt the minister's shoulder brush against her. His grasp overlapped hers on the handle. The breeze was cool but the touch was firm and warm, lingering a moment before taking the bucket. Again they stared at one another as he fixed the bucket and lowered it down. His arm turned the handle slowly, making no haste, his eyes fixed on her all the while. He glanced down a moment at the child and smiled. Giving the bucket back to her mother, he studied her face. There was a deepness in his look as he tried to fix her in his mind: drinking in the look of her face, her lips, her star-filled eyes. She did the same: noting the tiny marks of his razor that morning, the tips of his ears, the deepness of his pupils. Hearing footsteps approaching, she took the bucket closer to her, and blushing lowered her gaze. "Goodday, Sir Priest. Many thanks to thee," she said, and child in tow walked deliberately back the way she had come. "Farewell, Goody Prynne," he offered whispering, as she walked with their daughter into the rising moon.

Hi Darknessness, it took me awhile to find the forum too, but I sure do like it. It's almost as fun as the game (well, not quite). It's nice to see you here! Say hi sometime.

omg, I did not realize that I had been flagged. My apologies to you, Chewett, and thank you for letting it remain. its all in good humor. thats why it remained. but please remember to keep such sentences under spoiler tags - chewett

@Suuljin, You are mistaken I think. While there is indeed a flame atop of the gate of ages, I took it to be more of some sort of magical or sybolic flame. The figures atop the gate are some sort of mermen, you will find if you study it closely. Each figure has a tail that curls and meets to form the center of the gate. Each clutches one hand to his cheast (an oath of fealty? to someone, something?), and each holds a trident. I think being that these are both clearly water creatures, the flame is more likely to put phrog's fire out, than rekindle it. With that in mind, perhaps it is his location that is the problem? Golemus is a land surrounded by the sea, gaurded by mermen...not a good place for a firestarter to sit. Perhaps he should be moved to a more firey area.

I think they seek to allow phrog the power to make fire again, Bootes. Not light phrog on fire.

From what I hear now, there is currently a ban on PWR players getting into the adventure log. For obvious reasons. I think there are a lot of people who go out of the way to do neat things in the regular course of the game though and aren't noticed or remarked there. How does one get into the log?

I used photobucket. You have to use the link from the little picture in your album though, not the big one when it blows up.

I had been in my scroll for days, reliving the nightmare that first brought me here. My mind was cluttered and foggy; full of ghost girls, cramped wooden boxes, and the most terrible blackness I had ever encountered. Suddenly, I was released from the vision and set loose into the Park and the blazing heat of the Sun. I had only one intention. I had someone to find. While still in my reverie, I had received a message. Its contents told me there was another in this land that questioned the neverending glare of the Sun. One who dared question even the Gods themselves. I had little to go on but a name: Tarquinus, and a hope that he was one who might help me in my quest to restore the Moon. I had little enough to go on, the only clue in my search a name. It echoed in my mind: Tarquinus, Tarquinus, Tarquinus. With each step I heard it again. I set straight for the sanctuary, thinking perhaps he might be found there. It took little time to find he was not, and I left hoping to purchase new souls for my army at Wind's Crossing. My greatest thanks to the most glorious and strange custom of this world: the name tacked to the form of each player. If I had seen only the scruffy black hair and butchered barber's job done on his chin, I confess I would have crossed to the other side of the path and continued on quickly. He stood by the water, a far less pretty sight than my eyes can see now. The glint of the sun caught on a gold earring as he stood gazing out over the river. Hearing my steps he turned. A scar on his face bent as he spoke, "Penelope LightMoon? I've been looking for you everywhere." Above all, you must remember I was surprised. I knew few those days, and expected fewer to know of me. While I knew that I sought him, I'd never a moment thought he might be doing the same. It is always a disappointment when the pretty little speeches we prepare in our minds are rendered useless in a line. I was off my footing then and tried not to show it. "I look for you as well, Tarquinus. I've only just left my scroll a moment ago." We studied each other. His eyes were penetrating, and sought something in my own. His garments were ragged and stiff with the sweat of battle. It was a petty detail in comparison to those eyes, though. I was drawn back to them again, finding them still staring, seeking my own. There was the customary pause as we perused each other's documentation. The crossing was quiet, and the rustling of our papers did little to enliven it. His words told me little enough of the Sun, less of the Moon, but a bit of the man. A confused bit. Peeking at his face as he read, I recall thinking he had the face of a practiced gambler. It told me little of his thoughts. "I was told you have interest in the Sun, and find it as unnatural as I do," I said. "I seek to restore the Moon to this land. I seek to make myself your apprentice." He looked up, finally something of an expression coming to his face. I was pleased to find I could surprise him as well. "You, Lady Penelope, wish to become my apprentice?" His eyes met mine again, and my heart quickened. They seemed familiar and not only from the moment before. They seemed too deep and far too knowing not to have met mine before that day. They held an understanding I did not comprehend at the time. "Do you remember me? We have met before," he said. Seeing my confusion he continued, "Not in this place. I think you are one I have known before in other lives. We have seen many worlds together." There was something in it that felt right. I believed him then, but I could not agree. I could not feel it myself. "I....I am not sure. I think perhaps....my memory is poor," I stuttered, a poor way for one who might call herself leader to act. I can't fully explain my feelings. I only knew that he spoke the truth, and that surely he knew more of it than me. It was clear there was more I could learn from him than matters of the Moon, alone. My obsession with him was begun in that moment. "Let us go someplace more quiet, and talk," he said. A quick exchange of notes, and we soon met in the forest. We spoke under the gaze of a strange statue that no doubt marked our words, but kept them quiet just the same. It was the first of our many secret spots, though we gave that particular bust no reason to blush. We spoke there often of secret things, the forms we had inhabited, and the plans we had to make ourselves a place in this new world. Only a few days later I am sure, we had to move our spot the first time. Our spot had been discovered and taken over by students of battle. Imagine, in those days there was no dojo, and those who wished to learn the arts of fighting were forced to do it secretly in the woods and outlying lands. So naturally, we took to the privy. Though we rarely meet in that place now (it having been discovered long ago), there is now a fondness for privies in my being that defies description. I think happily on the days we spent closeted there discussing how to make our fortune, plotting to escape the indignities of this prison, and more and more often, gazing on each other with no reason at all. There is a joy I feel now in the sight of cool porcelain and rusted taps; it is the symbol to me of girlhood left behind on the chill tile. I remember one day most clearly. Lucius and I sat in the privy sneaking glances at each other, and stuck stubbornly to topics that had little to do with what was in mind. Lucius was still the filthy barbarian I had met, but I could see less of that as the days passed. To me he was only what a man should be, and whatever flaws there were I could only see the ideal form before me. "This damnable place," he spat. "Running water, and nowhere, nowhere have I found a proper bath. What manner of barbarians are these?" I giggled. While I'd always found Lucius to be a bit on the...well, the dirty side, I'd no idea he known it. I had always seen men as rough creatures, and as a Lady, there was no way I could see to point out his hygiene while remaining polite. He was quite agitated, and I was quite happy. A tiny bathroom is no place to be trapped with a man who sorely needs bathing, and it was a problem solved easily enough. "There is, silly. Let me take you to it." It was then I showed him Marind's room, a place hard to find but easy enough to access. Her bathroom was quite different from the one we usually hid in, and much more public. No secrets were told there, but I found in the course of that bath that the more of him that was revealed, the less my heart could keep silent. We chattered; he naturally, I nervously, while he disrobed and ran his bath. I remember him laughing as I turned my back to him, mocking my "modesty". Truly I tell you, I was much less than modest. I still remember the blush that crept into my cheeks as I watched him stand naked a moment before stepping into the tub. I doubt he knows it still, but even as I turned away I kept my eyes glued to the mirror. It was not until I saw the muscled form behind me descend into the steaming water that I could turn back again to speak. He seemed, despite his manly form, boyish to me then. The happiness he found in that tub! If I live a thousand more lives, I do not think ever again I will find a person who takes such delight in hot water and soap. He was not one to pamper himself, though. He was almost businesslike in his washing. Despite his obvious joy, he soon stood up again and drained the tub. He, of course, ignored my (feigned) modesty until I offered up a towel. The poor man asked what it was for, thinking it a way to cover his more distracting areas. I had to point out it would also serve to remove the water that dripped from him still. After all the time I had spent as his student, and all the things he had taught me even of myself, I finally felt myself to be the one who held some knowledge. He dressed quickly, and in a flash we were back to our little privy, ready to get to more private business. There was a strange tension in the air when we returned. I knew that other selves of ours had shared more than talk, but to me, in this place, it was something new. I also knew I was greatly attracted and fascinated with him, his bath only having increased the feeling. I felt a mixture of embarrassment and shame at my own weakness, and throughout everything a persistent flutter of silly girlishness pervaded. We stared. It was like the first moment we met. It was the first moment we had ever met, anywhere. In his brown eyes was a longing that matched my own, a question, a daring. How scared and silly I was then. Lucius always was proud and bold. Matters of sex and concealment were nothing to him. I was sure he was far more experienced than I. And I? I was a silly little girl, unsure of everything, hoping for anything, panicked and elated...waiting to be kissed. So it happened. In a moment he leaned in and pressed his lips to mine. I had no idea something so strong and rough could be so soft and sweet. My heart beat so fast and loud in my chest I was sure he would hear it. I closed my eyes and tasted his lips for the first time, with the scent of clean soap in my nose, and the steady (beloved) plop of the leaky tap in my ears. We grew closer after that, but let me assure you: Lucius was never less than a gentleman for a moment. Our wanderings took us to further places and our caresses grew more difficult to hide. Some began to remark on us, asking if we might be more than Teacher and adept. We studied the gates of the land for a time, noting their strange artwork and wondering whether the way they were wrought might give us clues on how to enter. I felt then that I knew Lucius well. He was my protector, my safety, even my memory. The lives I'd lived before were hazy to me, but with his help, I remembered more. I recalled my names, my actions, our love. Whatever anyone whispered about us, he always was my Teacher. I held him in awe, and I knew he could never do me harm. We met one day in the Hall of the Sun Balcony to discuss its strange design. The room was empty except for the two of us and Bootes, who lay snoring and snorting from time to time in his cot. "Do you see?" I said, pointing up. "It looks like an eye. I don't think it is to study the Sun. I think it magnifies it. I think it is a way for it to watch us." Lucius was silent for a time. "I think you are right." "I've told you," I chattered, excited. I wanted to jump and shout my discovery from the top of my lungs. "The sky is false! The Sun is false! Whatever keeps us here watches through that. I know it stares, but I am not sure. Tell me, Lucius, does it stare at us, or over our heads? I think its eye points back at the town of Marind Bell itself." "It stares where ever it wishes, Penelope. I have no doubt it can see us here. It can see all it wants. It is the eye of Yog-Sothoth Himself." My Teacher paused, staring up, and gave the window a string of curses I blush to remember. "Then it is simple. We must slay Yog-Sothoth and he will stare no more. He is nothing but a silly beast," I chittered, knowing little enough of what I said. "He is no simple beast. He is more. He is everywhere. He is nowhere. He is the clown, and the beast, and the damnable Sun itself." His face was angry, and he shook his fist at the window. I had never seen him that way before. "Tell me, soul, how do you kill something that is everywhere? How can you defeat something that always is, and never was?" "Anything that lives can die," I replied haughtily. "There is nothing that cannot be killed, nothing. Everything has a weakness, and I can kill it...only tell me where to point the arrow, Lucius." He took his head in his hands and let out a low moan. I watched him, confused, unable to understand. He seemed to be in pain, and I could not tell why. "Don't you know it by now, soul?" he whispered. "No. Tell me." I said. "You would not want to know. Do not make me say it, soul." He shook his head. A look of haunted anguish was in his eyes, but I could not resist it. I have always been one to bait, to tease, to know more of everything, especially those things that might be hidden. I grew angry and petulant, and stamped my foot like a little girl, hoping a tantrum might provide me the answer. "Lucius, you have promised always to tell me the truth and never to lie to me. I ask for it now. Tell me what you know." Lucius looked up, disturbed. "Don't you know by now He is your creation? How would you destroy Him? How?" "As he is my creation, surely it is easiest that I do it, Lucius. Only tell me the way. Where must I point the arrow?" I pleaded with him. I am torn now, looking back. I am still not sure the answer he gave is one that I wish to have heard. "Ah, soul," he sighed, shaking his head. He took a breath and looked into my eyes. I was lost in the sadness trapped there. Time held still as, staring, I felt his finger come to rest between my breasts. I shuddered, feeling truly wounded and deeply afraid. I stepped back from his pointing finger and stupidly asked for more. "Tell me it's not so. It can't be, Lucius." I waited, but found him silently avoiding my gaze. "Who, then?" I asked. "Only tell me who." He stared at the floor. "Do not make me, soul. Do not make me speak it." His features crumpled entirely as I watched. His shoulders caved inward, and he became a smaller man in that moment. "Who?" I insisted, fearing already I knew the answer. I was too brash and to dull to stop myself. He held his own hand out, and his voice trembled when he spoke again, "Would you have it from another, my love?" The glare of the Sun seemed to increase. A squeak rose from the cot as Bootes, mumbling, rolled over and commenced his snoring with more vigor. I turned from my love and wept into my hands.

Did you stamp it with your hooves? That might be the problem.

I drew the mustache myself! I think the tail was sage-woman's idea. I'm not sure about the pentagram bit...but it was someone interesting....Jonn maybe? Might I point out as well, that while Glai did the art, I rendered Manu immobile. Much easier than suspected too, I might say. He was the first to pass out though. I wonder why no archivists showed up to the party? Apparently they are more dry than we thought.