The death of a poet.

[Under the moon]

On wandering the endless expanse of the realm of the dead, an unknown traveller came across this leather bound journal filled with random poems and thought. The traveler was not much interested in poetry or words, being that his many trips to the Death realm had corrupted his mind to have only the want for fighting and looting. However, the leather was fine, so he pocketed the book as loot in hope that it would fetch a good price. In this instance, he was right.

These are the last entries in that journal you had just purchased. The rest is lost to mildew and grime. But it is the ending that matters to you more than the beginning anyways. You start reading the pages.

~~~~~~~~~~~

[date smeared and unreadable with the dark brown stain that can only be blood]

Oh wondrous day in this wondrous city! There are so many things to see! So many people to meet! The very stones ask to be written about in prose. I can hear them calling to me. OH, this is where I am meant to be! I am home at long last. I am home.

[continues on in a random poem about the grandness of stones that even the stones would be bored to death of. You skip it for later when you think you my need a nap. The next page is missing, as well as the half after that. You read on in mid thought.]

?a rather frightening event, if I do say so myself. I do not know who it was who gave cry to ?murderer? but it chilled my bones. Could this place be so dangerous? It may seem so, as I met this Menki chap who looked at my ears as if they were his next respite. He even called them ?tender? For ill?s sake! Oh, I get ahead of myself. I should write it all down properly so as to remember it just as properly. I had just walked up these rather nice stairs when I encountered these two Menki, I happened to overhear, quite by accident, a bit of their conversation. I do hope I remember it right.

?Cadoras is no longer here? the first Menki stated with little emotion in his voice.

At first, I had thought he addressed me, so stopped. The second enki has a rather sinister look to him as he gazed upon me. I looked back rather shyly, being new to this city, and not knowing his intent. His intent did become all too clear as his eyes locked onto my ear. Clear to me, at least.

The Enki who had first spoke turned to me with a simple stated ?Hello? and a wave, but my attention was on the creature that looked as if I was to be his next meal. Warily, I asked, ?Sir? Is there something wrong with my ear??

To which he responded most frightenly so, ?Mmm, they look so...tender.?

I could not help but shudder. For everyone knows the Dermorian ears -are- very tender, and we don?t like them touched by any but the gentle hand of?well, that is for another poem. I fear I responded rashly without much thought.

?You would not bite a simple poet, would you?? I asked with more than a little fear in my voice.

The sinister enki seemed to shake himself, pulling his eyes away from my ears. ?No,..of course not.?

I was quite relieved, but not convinced. The other Enki had a puzzled look about him.

?Poet?? he asked, at that moment his eyes turning a baby blue. I was astonished to see such I sight, but thought I should answer out of courtesy to the man who was not going to try to eat me.

?Oh yes.? I said, glad to talk of my craft. But the sinister man was not finished with his shading of my mood.

?No more than I would a bard,? he said, I assume talking of the biting. His entire standing made me feel nervous, so again I blurted out the first thing to come to mind.

?Oh dear me. A bard? not my worthless self,? said I, meaning every word. How could I be a bard? The very thought was ridiculous. ?Just my words and a few scraps of paper is all I have.?

The frightening enki spoke once again. ?You are a poet yet cannot sing?? His voice had a tone of mockery to it.

The other chuckled. ?What?s writing for??

I was shocked! Could this poor creature not know the beauty of words? Could he not feel their embrace as they left your lip, or cast them to paper and ink? I could only respond one way.

?Words....That is where my heart resides. I wish for no more.?

The sinister enki looked at my chest where my heart is. ?I see,? said he. I do hope he took my meaning, and was not just thinking that my heart would be another tasty to nibble.

The more friendly, yet oddly distant enki seemed to disagree. ?Hmm, no. The heart is here,? he stated as he tapped his chest. A slow smile spread across his face, almost as if fighting itself. ?But you?re funny.? He chuckled to show it was not an insult.

While the sinister enki lost his attention  on a passing lady, I continued my talk with the blue eyed man. I thought perhaps I could make him understand. ?Ahh, but to give life to a word. Have you never done this??

His response was most startling! He walked over and poked my ear! He then said, ?You look funny.?

I jumped back with a gasp. ?You startle me sir.?

He looked confused, saying ?Hmm?? Which in turn confused me. Was this a greeting hereabouts? I had to ask.

?It is kind or ill to poke ones ear??

But the blue eyed , well, I think I shall call him Cadoras, for lack of a better name. It is the first thing I heard him say after all. Anyways, his mind had wandered quickly back to what I had said before, as if he had never poked my ear in the first place. I wonder if he even knew he did it. ?Whatsa word?? he asked.

The devious and hungry looking enki had finished ogling the lady and tried to sneak around me from behind, his gaze never leaving my ears in a most distressing way. I tried to ignore him as I answered Cadoras.

?You speak words now.?

Cadoras made a small noise that could have meant anything before laughing almost childlike and saying I was funny. It was odd. Almost as if?.for a moment I was talking to someone else. It couldn?t be though.

The hungry enki glanced off down the way and bowed  with a quickly stated, ?I better go. Too much temptation here.? I was glad to see him go.

I decided to try once more at convincing the man still with me. ?Put to paper in prose, they are magic.? I said, meaning words.


Cadoras just shook his head. ?No they aren\'t. You are just funny. I\'m off as well? With that, he nodded and left.

If I am to meet either of these [the paper is again darkened beyond reading by long dried blood. The next two pages are stuck impossibly together by the same disturbing glue. With a little work, you figure you can work in a wetted knife blade and loosen the pages with little damage. There may rest another clue to as who this poet was. But tomorrow. You are tired now, and wish a good ale and a rest.]

[Shooree]

Rather nice and amusing. I\' found the lightheartedness of the hero much unusual and to my liking. I have no knowledge of Cadoras in character, and can therefore act as a total newb in respect to your description of his shifts- which are the best part of this short story, in my oppinion.

A big plus is the sudden pull of the reader into the story, which was done marvellously... \"...the journal you had just purchased...\"  worked wonders for immersion. Suddenly I was in and there was no way out. Good one.

As to the style, I must say that I was somewhat confused [I wrote somewhat, not completely.] as to what had exactly happened during the conversation. After the second and the third read, the picture became graduatelly clearer, though. I do believe that the confusion was induced by somewhat odd puctuation and sentence structure at points.
i.e.
To place the \"...?No more than I would a bard,?... reply in proper context, I had to reread the entire story, since the original statement that caused it was six lines above, concealed in descriptiveness.

the sentence structure here: ...The hungry enki glanced off down the way and bowed with a quickly stated, ?I better go...\"  got me rereading the line several times, just to make sure I got it right. Which I did in th first place. Really.  

Luckily, these lackings are inherent to texts adapted out from an roleplay session. Therefore, it cannot be taken for a serious flaw. You did well enough for me to await the sequel.

Well, there\'s my two dinars anyhow... of to the gene splicer!

*edited for clarity. yeah right.*

[craftsavvy]

I\'m afraid I\'m not much of a critic when it comes to writing... however, I do find that anything I\'ve read so far, of yours dear moon, has kept my interest. I think I\'ve just become a devoted fan... and feel that I must read more of what you write, as well as explore more of the Communitive Storywriting from here on out... Thank you for sharing.

-Celithralia

[Under the moon]

(Thank you folks for the comments and reading, even though I did order you to read it. As for the oddness of the text, he -is- a poet. Have you ever listened to a poet speak? And yes, this is adapted directly from an RP character I have secretly been playing. Though I did have to muddle a few of the ordering to make it more readable. Here is the next part.  )

 After much hard work and a little harsh language, you have managed to peel the next two pages apart. It never  really occurred to you why you felt the need to do so, nor even why you had bought the book in the first place. It was merely the cast of journal of a dead man, was it not. But still?as it sits open before you, you know you have to read on. Something pulls you in, deeper and deeper. It calls to you. Unable to resist any further, you scrape the last few loose flakes of dried blood from the pages and begin reading.

~~~~~~~~

Day three in this wonderful city. I have been too most places now, though it does seem a bit deserted at times. I find it odd that most people run in rush and hurry from one place to the next, weapons brandished for battle. Why would they need to do this? Could not the arms be kept in their sheaths where they are more comfortable anyhow? I have asked several of the weapons, and though they are beautifully crafted, they do not with to be seen. They dispise themselves, and what they were created for. How I wonder that their carriers do not hear their cries of anguish as they are plunged into an enemy . What an awful existence. But on to happier matters. As I was walking?[a great black smear obliterates what was written for the next few paragraphs, leaving only a few words here and there. You only hope it was nothing of import. Casting off doubt you read on.]

?He asked?show me the sewers???.
?great fireballs spewed?. fingertips?.laughed together?
?a dagger? Why?
?quist?s hammer had not much to say about?
[The one clear space jumps out at you and you give a chuckle of amusement.]
?Sir Harnquist! Are you drunk again?? I asked, to which he gave no response besides stumbling off to the bar yet again?
The paper  is clear for the rest of the page. You congratulate yourself on a fine job of separating the papers and read on]

I was wandering the plaza, just happy to be amongst people who were not running randomly and hawking their wares. Some odd fellow the crowd named as Proteous found it absurdly necessary to toss swords all about the plaza. This, the swords did seem to enjoy, but their joy faded as warriors swooped in to claim new weapons. I would have written a poem for them, but their sadness was so great. But I should just stay to the course at hand. I do not like to feel sad. Oh yes, Cadoras.

I met my friend Cadoras again. But it was not him, but it was. Hmmm. Let me explain as it happened. I am not so great a storyteller, so I shall just repeat it as I remember.

?It\'s the one with funny ears,? I hear the softly growling voice of a Menki. They all seem to have that growl, though in their female counterpart, it is as such as to make one ears twitch.
(
?Oh dear,? I responded, a little startled, ?I have funny ears??

?mmhmm? He responded with a nod.

?But, I have had no other.? I said, still not sure what to make of him. He was the enki I wrote about before, though I found out that his name is not Cadoras. But why do I still feel that it is? Something is rather odd about this fellow.

Anyways, his response was blunt and to the point as always. ?Yeah, but they are funny.?

?I am glad they bring you a chuckle,? I said, truly glad they did. I do so like to see people happy, even be it at my expense. It is a small price to pay for a smile.

?Hmm,? he grunted, the slow fighting smile coming back to his face. ?You are nice.?

Those words made me quite happy. ?A simple poet must be, or who would he give his words to?? I told him with a smile.

The man looked confused again. ?You can give words??

?You.....do not know words? How can this be?? I blurted with out thought to his feelings. I should really learn to control my outbursts. However, he didn?t seem to mind, or should I say didn?t notice, by what he said next.

?Umm, hi. You are funny.?

It was as if we had just met! Could he have forgotten me in mid conversation? Taking his lead, I suddenly realized I had not given my name.

?Oh, I have been rude and not offered my name,? I said quickly, ?Untar Demune.?

He gave a little nod and answered simply, ?I am Nurahk Threesouls.?

Before we could continue our bander, the most lovely Fenki lady strolled up to us, her movements full of grace and poetry that which only the females of their kind can achieve. I found out later her name was Maelgwyn. A lovely name.

?Hello, how are you?? she asked, her voice more of a purr than growl.

Nurahk gave a simple, ?Hi.?

But myself, being the incorrigible poet, could not help myself but to put her coming to prose.

?Hello, my dancing lady.? I said, trying not to make grand gestures.

?Umm, how am I?? Nurahk asked, his eyes slanting towards me as he gave a little chuckle at my words.

?Indeed,? Maelgwyn said, her own eyes going to me with a twinkle of amusement.

Both of them staring at me, Nurahk continued talking to the lady. He seemed to not miss whatever I would say next. ?How are you??  he asked her.

?I?m fine but I believe I asked first.? she answered, putting her slender arm on her hip.

I could not contain the poet in myself let words flow forth from my lips. ?You move like liquid music,? I recited in my best Voice.

At the same time, Nurahk said, ?I\'m fine.? He seemed to take note of what I said, though, asking, ?Music? Liquid? You are funny Mister Untar.?

Maelgwyn simply stood there grinning. She turned to Nurahk.

?It would seem you have some competition Cadoras.? She said, her smile taking me in also.

?I only can say what I lay eyes upon.? I responded, just realizing I had made a fool of myself again. She must have noticed my blush, for she smiled again. Though not as attractive as the other races, Fenki?s smiles are quite nice. Now had it been a Diabolia who had given me that smile, I fear I could have melted through the stones.

After a few moments, Nurahk spoke, his voice oddly different. ?Cadoras? I am Nurahk.?
Maelgwyn hmmed, her eyes turning worried.

Nurahk looked at her. ?Who are you? The voices say Maelgwyn,? he said with a frown, ?But I don\'t trust them.?

Maelgwyn answered with her head tipped a little to the right, studying the Menki. ?Well they would be correct in this.?

A silence started to stretch between the two enkis. I piped in to break the tension. ?I am the simple poet Untar Demune.?

Nurahk?s manner changed abruptly, almost frighteningly so. ?Untar is nice,? he said, a large grin coming to his face.

Maelgwyn gave a slight bob of a curtsy. ?My name is Maelgwyn.?

[The next two lines are unreadable, due to the fact that your hand had been resting on the damp paper while you were reading the rest. With a muffled curse, you tell yourself to be more careful. You never know what tidbit of knowledge you may be damaging. You continue on, keeping your hands well away this time.?

?and pretty lady\'s eyes.? I said, to which Melgwyn gave another smile. ?Words must flow, to be heard.?

At my comment about a lady?s eyes, Nurahk look at Maelgwyn\'s eyes doubtfully. He shook his head. ?You are a funny poet, Mister Untar.?

Caught in the moment, I continued my little speech. Words are my passion, after all. ?A stutter is a wall in an unclear path.? A thought struck me. ?I .....can teach you words.? I said shyly, never being one to teach before.

Nurahk held up his hand suddenly and pointed at a passing woman. ?Be quiet Untar and Maelgwyn...that one is mean? I never learned why he said this, but did learn the woman?s name to be Dylia. Perhaps I will meet her and find out someday.

Seeming to forget what he had just stated, Nurahk turned to me and said, ?I want to learn words.?

?Do you know letters?? I asked. Maelgwyn just stood to the side, watching Nurahk oddly.

?Umm, I think,? Nurahk answered, as if trying to wrap his mind around what a letter was. ?I can have books speak to me without a voice.?

?Words flow from letters. Yes, those are words,? I told him. This was turning out to be a fine day. I think I will continue writing about it on the next page also.

[However, as you turn the page, you find that there is not one legible word out of ten. Completely unreadable. What clues may have been missed in these vanished words? Disaponted and weary eyed from depicting the smudged words, you decide it is time for a brake. Perhaps after lunch, if you have the time. Getting up, you think you see a passing Menki?s eyes flash red for a moment. Shaking you head, blaming you imagination and the journal, you tell yourself that it may be better to wait till tomorrow before picking up the book again.]

[Shooree]

ah, yes. Now you are your true self. I had no trouble in keeping up with the flow this time.
Just this one thing: ...I think I will continue writing about it on the next page also. I think that the point I was trying to make is fairly obvious... And just a wee bit polishing in the first passage, when he talks about talking to weapons.

Keep it comming!

P.S. Oh, and if you want me to stop criticizing you head on, just say so. Or slap me.

[Under the moon]

[You sit down in the tavern next to one of the crackling fires and start reading again, but see that it is just a bit of bad poetry. You skip to the end of the poem.]

The life of a simple poet for me, it is.
No drinks nor swords were meant to touch these hands.
Only the ink of the quill.
And words to sooth the lands.

I sit upon this chair of wood.
The tavern abuzz with flickering sound to my ears.
The fires crackles abond.
I have but a wish and drink to settle all my fears.

I seem to be at a loss for prose today. I think I shall go outside for a walk upon the plaza and write as I go. Perchance I will find something that wishes to be heard by my pen.

Oh. I see my friend Nurahk. At least I think he is my friend. Sometimes his mood swings scare me. There is something about him. An ?otherness? for lack of a better word. He has spotted me. Let us hope he is in good spirits today.

Now that was interesting. The first thing he said was ?Funny ears!? with great gusto. A good mood it was then. It tickles me with joy to know that someone finds my presence so entertaining so as to holler out to me. ?Funny Ears?? I think I am starting to like that name. Maybe my ears are funny, but they bring friends attention also.  I am off to the iron temple, so I may as well put the events to ink as I walk. I am glad to put that statue behind me anyways.

So, so that I don?t forget what happened?well?here is what happened.

After Nurahk named me funny ears, I greeted back with, ?Hello, my learning friend.?

?How?s you?? he asked, his voice slightly childish today. Why can I not hear his voice properly? Not his vocal speech, I mean, but the voice that follows every rock tree or beast. His voice?is muffled. I dither. Back to the day.

After the standard greetings, I found that Nurahk had been touched by the spirit of prose. As I was telling him how the spirits of everything call out to me to write about them, he burst forth with poem about a tree he was looking at with wonder. Here is what it was. I hope I remember it right.

The trees in the plaza;
Oh what wonders they have seen;
The building of a city;
the realization of a dream;
Many lives have seen this tree;
And it has seen many more;
 It stands in the middle of the city for a hundred years;
and hopes to see many more

The tree agreed that it was a nice poem, but asked me to tell Nurahk it was not that old. Trees can be picky about their age. But I felt something odd in the poem. Something familiar. A quiet whispering voice that followed the Menki seems to smile at the words. I wonder what it is.

Oh, I wonder how these fires are kept burning. I see no means of flame. They also have no voice. Maybe it has to do with the statue. Oh yes, the statue. I had told Nurahk that the statue made me nervous. We decided to have a closer look. My friend said it may be Laanx, but who knows. As I came to look closer at it, I felt as if it was looking back. I could feel its eyes. I asked Nurahk if he could feel them, but he said he could only feel its power.

?It reaches from the past.? I said. I could hear many voices coming from it. They were trapped. I wish I could have understood what they said.

?It turns it\'s back on the temple? Nurahk responded. The voices cried at this. I don?t think he was right.

?Or perhaps comes forth.? I said. The voices quited for a moment, just long enough for me to listen to the statue itself. To my surprise, it spoke not a word.

Nurahk looked doubtful ?Perhaps.?

?I do not like it.? I said, ?The gods....they know not words.?

?Perhaps,? Nurahk repeated, then tiped his head to the side. ?I like it?

We talked a bit about~

[You stop reading and squint at the page as the pen seems to have been removed suddenly from the paper. Below it, the words are lard and ill formed, as if written in terror by a shaking hand]

Make it leave me! The temple screams! No! No! Woe the suffering! Why won?t you leave my eyes?

[The rest of the page is blank. Frowning, you turn the page. The words seem normal and no mention of the previous page is made. You shake you head. What had happened to the poet at the temple? You read on.?

Today was rather dull in the city and the nice Menki in the Kada?el?s seemed to be growing tired of my poems. Hyuken, I think he said his name was. Or should I say what his nametag said? He kept talking about ?the boss? but wouldn?t say who the boss was. Not the brightest chap, but nice.

[You look up from the book at the Menki trying to balance a mug on his nose behind the bar. You can?t help but smile. Not the brightest chap indeed. You read on.]

So as I was writing, I decided to talk a walk to Oja, as everyone calls it. I think it is an Enki name. Nurahk is looking at some odd thing over there. Oh yes, I should write that I am in the magic shop, else I forget. An odd place with many voices. The room downstairs had many voices also, but there was this chair that would not speak. It just stared at Nurahk in a grump. On the other hand, the cage seemed to like him very much, and greeted him like an old friend. Too bad the Menki couldn?t hear it. It had some of the best jokes. Oh, and the barrels under the stairs! The stories they could tell. One had held pickles for the orphanage. He liked the children. I like them too. It is odd that I have not seen any so far. I should ask someone about it.

Nurahk is starting to look impatient. I better write this down quick. We have a long way to go yet. And we have to pass that poor mindless man. I should write about that. Oh, I have time now. Nurahk has found something shiny to look at. Back to the man. He appeared amongst a group of three armed folks. To my surprise at the time, the folks suddenly attacked with out warning. I was so startled I didn?t see the bubble the first time. Nurahk didn?t seem to believe me when I said I could see them. Voices, hundreds, no, thousands of voices came through at once. The odd thing is, they all seemed to be the same voice. That led me to ask Nurahk if he knew of the time loops created by the creation of the Portals, and the power of the Crystal. He noded, but I don?t know if he did, or just liked listening to me talk.

Oh, that reminds me. The librarian of the Great Library on the Third level said only one other person had ever looked at that book that she could remember. A dwarf named Cook, or Krook, or something. I should have written it down. She said the he said he was from the first level, and was studying the ?Time bubbles? near Hydlaa. She had laughed when she said that, like she didn?t believe a word of it. I wonder if he is still about. I should ask. It would be nice to meet someone with an interest in the loops.

Oh yes, the loops, or time bubbles, I could call them, since Cook coined the phrase. After watching the poor soul being tossed endlessly into that bloody trap, I began to see that it -was- the same man. And it wasn?t. It was almost as if they where all copies of each other. I read another book that told of planes of existence paralleling ours, populated by nearly the same people. That would be rather odd meeting myself. But I would not want to go though one of those bubbles. The man who came though not only lacked any sense, but I could not feel a soul in him. I think, perhaps, that that body is matter, while the soul is energy, so they can not travel together in the bubble. But then, I am just a simple poet.

Nurahk is looking out the window and smiling. Oh, I think he is looking at that boulder and tree. Such a sweet tale there. It seems the tree and boulder have fallen in love. He is waiting very patently while the tree stretches her roots to reach him. Too bad the other tree is so jealous. Such is love. It looks as if Nurahk is ready to go now.

[The rest of the page is missing. Tired of trying to make out the water stained  words, you get up to find a mug of ale. Perhaps Hyuken will be able to tell the ale from the washwater this time. You?ll surely not ask for one of his ?quests? again.]

[Under the moon]

[You come back with a mug of actual ale this time. Hyuken seems to be getting better. You brush a wayward scredge (roach type bug) off the journal. Odd that. The little beasts normally only like the darkness and warmth of a dead corpse. The eight legged creature instantly rushes back to the middle of the page. Irritated, you shove it aside and crush it under your mug with a satisfying crunch. Foul creatures anyways. You start reading passed a long brown smear, forgetting the insect.]

?can?t understand these creatures. They are here, yet not. The bubbles, drifting portals, I guess I should call them, seem to only allow one at a time. Only one of this poor creature? but many more to come. They come endlessly while the bubbles still drift. I think that this is a clacker, but am not sure about the creatures of this level. He has killed  it so I can get a closer look at it. I can not believe what I hear. The thing is actually -glad- to be dead. Before it died, I felt nothing but anger and hunger. Now?I just don?t understand. This is beyond a simple poet such as me.

Nurahk has spotted something he wishes me to see. An Ulber, he calls it. He just told me they are not friendly at all. But I wish to see it closer.

What a horrid beast! It was not worth the climb to see it. That clacker had been bad, but this?.this is pure wrong. I can?t even describe it. It hasn?t seen us, so I think we are safe. And those other beasts that had chaised me when I tried to cross the path. I never wish to be close enough to feel them again. If I do?

[Your mug scrapes a finger?s width towards the book. You pause in reading. That little beast is persistent, you?ll give it that. You lift the mug to give it another good crushing?but stop with the mug in the air. There is nothing left to the scredge but a few bits of blue-black shell in a mangled pile of slime and broken legs. It could not have moved your mug. The hairs on the back of your neck raise and an involuntary shiver runs down your spine. You carefully put the mug back down on the remnants. Just your imagination. You go back to read, but find two more scredges sitting still as death on the center of the page. They face you?almost as if watching. You swipe the bugs off the table and move over to the bar. They shouldn?t be able to get up here. Hyuken smiles at you and continues cleaning. Keeping one eye on the floor for the two creatures, you read on.]

If I do meet one again, I shall surely be running the other way. Nurahk is much braver than I. Look at the way he sneaks up on the Ulber. I could never do that. I should write a poem about this.

On hill, oh hill, you cast your gaze.
Through time and guise, and dust and haze.
From where you came, from where you go,
Standing---------

[The writing stops abruptly, the nib tearing a long stretch in the paper. You now realize that this page was not torn as you had thought. Not torn, for you recognize the pattern of the missing paper. Not torn, but bitten off by the crushing jaws of an Ulbernaut. You say a short prayer for the poet. Everyone knows that only warriors and fighters can go to the realm of the dead and return. You know it yourself. The gentle folk never come back. The next page is as blank as a picked clean skull, confirming your suspicions. So this is how the poet ended. Poor chap.

A scredge skitters onto the book and stops. You get angry at it for some reason you can?t fathom. Perhaps it because the little beasts have no respect for the dead. You have grown attached to this empathic poet, and this little bug mocks him. Growling, you cast your hand over it, dashing it to the wall. The page turns?]


Yes?the water makes me thirsty?

[You stop and stare at the page, full of the poet?s writing. Though of the same hand, it seems wrong. Not only in what it says. It -feels- wrong. The poet came back. But how? How did he come back? They never come back? You bend over the page to make out the faint words, the scredge completely forgotten.]

The water. It is good. But it makes my feet wet.

Why are my feet wet? Why does Nurahk stare at me so? I was standing in the fountain.

Nurahk is my friend. But he tells me things.

I died? No. I was dreaming. Nurahk had the same dream is all.

I like that statue. Laanx is quiet. The walls talk blood. Nurahk talks blood. I didn?t die. I write. Only the words. Words can?t die.

Did you hear the baby?

Nurahk is nice. He is my friend. Laanx is my friend. She talks to me without words. You can?t hide who you are from me, Laanx. The mask is too thin.

The walls talked in the dream. But life?life didn?t talk. Why was it dark? It is not dark in dreams. Who talks to me?! I can?t hear!

Blood talks,
The walls talk,
Death talks,
Screams talk,
Spirits talk,
The watchers talk,
Bones talk,
The rot can talk,
Whispers talk,
Oh, the whispers talk,
Dirt can talk,
Skulls can?t talk,
Why can they talk?
The air can talk,
Stones talk.
Life can
Life has no voice.

Why won?t the life speak to me? I like that poem. It is happy.

Why are my feet wet? Is water wet? It makes me thirsty. The statue wouldn?t talk to me. Nurahk talks to me. Nothing else does. Where are your words, little chair?

Yes. A drink. I shall have to thank Nurahk. Does water make him thirsty also? I shall have to ask his poet. Such a nice voice the poet has. He knows me.

Do I know him? Do I know me? Why is the voice?

Time to drink.

[The writing stops. You turn the page quickly to continue, but find the next pages torn out, or ripped. . So the poet had died. Did this Nurahk save him somehow? But no one can lead the gentle folk out of death. They just fade away. You have seen it. How did he not? You have to know. Nurahk would know. But how to find him?]


Thus ends this portion of the story. Look for the coming \"The Death of a poet [RP]\' thread later this week or weekend.

[Shooree]

I cast aside all that is inherently me and forfeit my god given right to criticize your work gramatically or in any other possible way. I say only this, as I go back to rereading:

You, my friend, are a maniac. I want your brain.

[Maelgwyn]

YAY! i finally found it.  Nice job, you got Maelgwyn down pretty well, though i\'m surprised you missed the fact that i knew \'Cadoras\' in game and seeing him call himself Nurahk was a bit confusing

To Shooree about your first comment, no offence but you\'ve never talked to Cadoras or even worse Nurahk in character and utm did an awsome job of deciphering what he said, talking to what seems like 4 people at once in the same body that used to be a 5th person is a little confusing at first

[Waylander]

3 people...the fourth has moved on, Maelgwyn, get with the program

And it is quite true, my character is hard to follow even for myself.  Seeing as you have never talked to him, I am not surprised it seemed a bit disjointed