And next on my interrogation list is.....

….Meh, of course.

Ohayo to all. In real life I am known as Stacy, "the compulsive perfectionist, overworking overachiever"; but in my RP world I am simply - Phi. ^^

Once upon a time, when pencil, character sheets, and 12 -side Di were the norm, I emerged with the simple belief that I could create epic charries and act them out in worlds unseen except through my mind's eye. I can clearly say that that was an fantastic run for me, breaking my secluded box of study and work as a full time student, and the deeper one I'd caged myself in, to mingle with friends in odd places, act and create for the sheer pleasure of just - living anew.

Now, after the years had passed by, a happy marriage of 11 years - going strong, three goofy girls, and a career going under; I've returned to the worlds on which I'd grown. I'd return to the wwRPw, since my old AD&D group had gone digital, and played around with VTHogwarts for a while. Made a pretty good run of the place too; became a Moderator and soon Assistant Global Admin. Fortunately, the site died due to funding, but it sparked that once forgotten love I held for the written word and the art of creative action.

Yea, I miss writing so much.... But, am I good enough to run with these dogs? This is a whole new generation of popcorn, busting out amazing, kickassery characters, outstanding and well thought out plots and worlds..... I'm a NooB!!!!

I tend to fall into a depression when it comes to my simple minded verses. Every now and then I can channel a winner and type out something out of this world, but - when did that happen? I'd forgotten. It's not like I can count those times out, carry the ten. Maybe on one hand.... It's not a daily thing, ya know, but I'm growing still as a writer, a lover, an artist, a musician, a creator. This world is still foreign to me, but I do love the challenge.

Anywho, DJ MacHale's Pendragon RP Forums was where I'd become somewhat of a icon; one of the many. I'm still skeptical, but my whole purpose in signing up there was to test my skills - how dusty and dried out they were; to see if this generation could relate to my imagination. Well, if I'm going to be writing and illustrating for a living, someone better like it, right; or I can't live.

I've been RPing, GMing, Co-GMing there for about four years now; and it's been a joy. The young writers I've met there have become like my own kids to me. They have so encouraged me to write, as well as pursue my new future retirement dream - to build another small publishing house for youth writers and RPers. I've run across some epic stories - all RPs - that deserve more than just a life online with the possibility of being completely lost in cyberspace.

So, after the death of the RP forums on Pendragon - God rest its soul, my wonderful RP pals and I have started wandering out and about to find a new place to write. One of them, forgotten who, had whispered in my ear about this place. So, here I am. So far, I'm extremely impressed. I'm so out of my league. But, that’s the point! Now, I have a new place to grow. *YEA!*

So, give me your all, slap me with two week old mackerel, give me the cold hard truth about my works – then grace me with lots of tender lovin’ care and show me how to improve. I like being told the truth and the challenge of improvement.

“Drink up, me hearty; you’re home!”

I almost cried. I love you already! xD WELCOME, Phi!!!
Such a kindred spirit.... Let's be buddies! xD

You're NOT a n00b. You're a Newbie. BIG DIFFERENCE!
And you're not even that much of a newbie, if you have all this RPing experience.

I DEFINITELY want to role-play with you sometime.

You're definitely in the right place, for passionate, eliterate role-playing.
Welcome, welcome, welcome, to the FOG!

:p How could you forget about me, Phi?

*Huggles* Love you too.

You're the friend that brought her here?
That explains a lot! xD Great minds flock together!
,..something like that, anyway.

Oh DG, I'm so sooorrrryyy. No, no, no, there's no WAY I can forget about you. Yes em, she's the sweet that lead me here. Thankie for that one.

And thankie to you Kalon for such a warm, heart-fluttering welcome.

*I almost made you cry?* THAT statement almost made me cry.

Oh, Happy Holly to everyone here as well. I'm almost falling under a food-induced coma, so rushing my holiday greetings online real quick before I pass out; waking up Sunday Morning, is my plan.

I will be scanning the RPs here, and will only chose one. Just one...

Why, because I have devoted so much to so many RPs from the past Pendragon site, many of which I'd hope to help blossom into publishable works. DG knows my history. When I fall in deeply with a worthy RP, I never let go until I see it to the end it dreams of. All stories dream of many eyes of all shapes, sizes, colors; open to the pages they hug and reading their history, soaking in their purposes.

It'll happen...one day...some day, for me, for everyone. God willing. But, for now I'm trying not to over tax myself in more than my eyes can handle.

Still, if there are a few RPs, just starting or about to start, that anyone can recommend, then by all means - inform me.

Weeeelll... if you're only going to join one for now, you could always join mine!
It's quite advanced literacy and depth. But I definitely think you're up to it, if that's your cup o' tea.

Sephiris: The Price of Peace

We've got a great group so far. I'd be honored if you ended up joining.

We shall see.

Happy HOLLY!!

Truthfully, I've read through your intro a few times now and have been trying to think of something witty to say ever since. Sadly, it doesn't want to come.

So, I've just decided to do it the old fashioned way.

Welcome to FoG Phi. I really do hope to see you around. Oh and, if it's still the 25th in your time zone - Happy Holly to you too!

How ridiculous...

It is a new generation. There are many talented writers sprouting left and right, creating those amazing characters and plots, just as you said. Still, if you look around, you'll notice that there are also the ones who don't truly understand what it means to roleplay. Some are misguided, so shrouded in the mist of self-indulgence that they can't see the value of writing to please an audience as opposed to pleasing themselves. Others simply lack the foundation that will grant them a solid foothold to climb upwards.

What they need are the experienced elders to guide their way. Writing, as an art, has changed very little since ancient times. There are those who write to deliver information, and there are those who write to capture the creative minds of any who come upon their literature, no matter how far in the future it may be. Fear not. You have not stepped into a den of young wolves, seeking to dethrone their elders to fulfill their own ambitions. You have merely come upon a nest of hatchlings who want nothing more than to be taught how to fly.

Alas, the holder of my leash! Rejoice in the presence of the Wonder-Phi!!

*glares at the humility, remember the PURE POETRY of Souls Forbidden, laughs uproariously* Oh what wonders you will unleash upon this place....

@Weiss: Um...wow, that was pure ART. I'm not even gonna try to follow up on that one.

I loved reading your intro, Phi! And I don't think you need to worry about feeling out of your league or not being good enough. In fact, having such a sense of humility is a wonderful strength because then one doesn't take anything for granted. Such people are aware of both their strengths and weaknesses and are more open to constructive criticism and growth. It is my sincere desire that you find that one RP that you can dedicate all your creative energies toward making it the best it can be, and that you also find those opportunities for learning and growth in your writing abilities.

Welcome to FOG!

Thank you to all.

Please, mind you, you're speaking to someone who would knock herself down before allowing herself to stand. It's a curse, I know, but also a strengthening tool to push myself to overcome personal weaknesses in spite the wonderful people around me who continuously remind me that I'm not that weak.

Case in point, Sevens.

You're one of the few, like Shojau and Mavrick, who's seen my muse alive and open to a fresh story. Rarely she'll emerge, mostly frightened to show herself in mixed company, or just too worn to care to put on her makeup. (Don't ask me why, I just live with her); but when she's alert and frisky...as you said Sevens - Pure Poetry.

I just really wish to be more consistent, more precise, and more fluid with this beauty. I'm tired of fighting her, finding for the words she knows, but refuses to announce. It would be rather nice to not bicker with my inner heart and to just dance upon the keyboard perfectly - every single time, but perfection does not reside on earth.

Still, I'm fighting this cause. That's the reason I feel below and not equal to others I see. I'm still learning how to be freer with the lovely song and dance number my muse and I have. No more tantrums or stepping on each other’s toes... that's my goal. And yes, one day I will find that special story that will drive me crazy every day, keep me up at nights scribbling new steps. (I miss those kinds, the fluffy ones with the flaky outside crust and the cream filling....Oh, I'm still hungry.)

Don't fret everyone; I'll break out of this pity funk before it infests others. Optimism will prevail!

(@Sevens, you're the one holding my leash for I've learned more from working with you than you'll know. Thankie. ^^)

Bwahahahaha! Oh dear Phi, I fear Beauty is merely a treacherous mistress who holds all of us in her thrall. No worries, we can share leashes.

Well Phi... don't loose yourself in the shuffling struggle for that muse, it alights only upon the hand that does not grasp. *insert more platitudes*

Gah! What an odd pair, one desperate to find the rhythm of heaven and dance to its vibe, and the other so caught up in the dance he struggles to remain... coherent.

But I'm telling you Phi, letting go of that precious maternal sanity is the key. Cast off that earthly reason and logic, and clothe yourself in the mantle of rapturous madness! Go outside and scream at the top of your lungs in a bath robe every once and awhile. Spend a full day just collecting, cans, or bottle caps, or dirty pennies. Sing at the top of your lungs in public in a horrifically off key voice! *flails prophetically*

... ... ... *continues to flail prophetically*

OR... if any of those are too scary... *shiver* ...you could take a walk in the park, making mental note of every sound, the temperature of every breeze, the exact colors making up each leaf, pond and bench. ^^ Or read a book about the horrors of medieval feudalism. Or master the muse by reading up on her in various mythologies. ^^ Or do a bit of sketching; do some doodles where you almost completely close your eyes, keeping them just open enough to where you can see where your hand is in relation to the paper, and then go: pick an image from your imagination and put it on the paper as quickly and as scribbley as possible; then open your eyes and start outlining. ^^ Or my favorite: just do it. Don't worry about getting the muse first. Write the post (or the story! xD) and let her sneak up on you and whisper gently in your ear. That's what she really wants, I'll wager. ^^

Aww. You're definitely not out of your league here, Stacy. Based on your posts in this thread alone, you'll thrive beautifully. In fact, I'm certain you'll enable others to thrive better just by playing with you.

I welcome you to the FoG, and I hope you enjoy your stay.

Based on how well you write in your posts this is a place you will fit into nicely. Welcome to FoG! I look forward to RPing with someone as skilled as you some day!

Just for Chainlinc3, I'm posting an example of my work.

For the sake of the story, I'm posting entries done by myself and a great friend and writer, ReWiredLoor. It just makes this part of the story fuller with her post remaining with mine.

The story is called Moonlight, originally designed by Mavrick. I love this story, yet it has not reach completion just yet.




Chapter 1: The Flower of Carnage

(Phi)

A melodic chord moaned at the pull of a slender bow across four taunt strings. The saddened voice, painfully remembering the loss of a forbidden love, due to indifferent times, vibrated deeply into the masses. A half-step down to a minor diminished fifth carried the character’s anguish into a more meaningful expression of morn; another octave down held his pitiful hopes for lesser woes. Once all the notes were executed masterfully by the young musical storyteller, the finale broadened fully to tell the end of a powerful epic: a tragic hero’s prayer for a swift death soon aided by his own hands.

Tears fell from the hundreds of eyes witnessing the telling of this tale, as well as from the one who told it. The storyteller, a hidden young woman who carried a talent for weaving tales from her musical loom, extended her bow completely across the strings of Orion, breathing fully as she stretched out the last words of the song…the final breath of a broken, dying soul. The note resonated across the open air amphitheatre, consumed by the silent audience, in their entire splendor, sitting attentively at the edge of their seats.

She could feel their hearts gorge upon the sweetly baritone voice her prized cello sounded, feasting on every harmonic sound like a famished child tearing into a fresh, juicy peach ripe from the orchard. They ate, and ate upon each note until they were so overcome, so glutted in desolation and sympathy, that their souls could only release it in tearful applause and standing ovations.

The thunder lifted into the brightly lit night, under a satisfied moon, twinkling stars, and hot stage lights. The amphitheatre, deeply surrounded by the tall assortment of trees within the local park, seemed to tremble from the hundreds of praising hands and shouts of bravado. Standing in their evening’s finery – black suits and sparkling silks, with big teethe grins and wet faces; the audience saluted the young musical poet’s debut.

The silent cello player did not move from her last position. Her left hand remained poised on the neck strings signifying the last note played. Her tiny delicate fingers still vibrated, fast at first, but slowed to a finish. Her bow stretched to its limits in her right hand, slow like a hot knife through butter, melting away the passionate sounds of poetry over music until the end of the line. Her head still hung low, covered by her long blue-black bangs; the better to hide her tears. ‘The Flower of Carnage’ always causes the young musician to release her pains, bringing more to her performance besides a meaningful presentation of an old classic. So much of the haunting tale read like her personal diary, their prayers were very close to the same; only the hero achieves what he prayed for…

She released her breath and allowed her worn body to relax in her chair, which sat before the violins stage right facing the audience beside her proud conductor. Shyly, she raised her head to finally acknowledge the countless smiles and awe-struck faces, blurred by her swollen eyes. She bashfully dabbed her cheeks dry with the back of her soft hand, and stood before them all, graciously curtsied low. The black folds of her evening gown happily shifted down the length of her legs as she moved. The simple halter crossed squarely over her chest and rounded low down her back, outlining her light olive skin brilliantly; a perfect complement to her delicate swan’s neck, garnished with silver, and uninhibited by her stylish short cropped hairstyle. In full height, everyone could truly see how remarkably beautiful the mysteriously talented musician was.

She then gave the same curtsy to her conductor before stepping to the side with Orion. Raising her empty bow hand, she beacons the audience to applaud the Symphony Orchestra, so they can receive their share in glory for an outstanding performance. Then, once the clapping calmed, an uncomfortable, happy smile presented itself across the young storyteller’s face.

The soloist returned to her seat to prepare for her rehearsed encore…

***

(RewiredLoor)

Lips curled in final surrender, forming to a small, knowing, smile; the only applause given by a man who must have stuck out like a sore thumb among an audience that stood with ovations and wept from the beauty of the masterpiece that had been played. Most certainly he had enjoyed it, the notes still riveted within those long dancer limbs. Deep vibrations which had resounded from the strings teased his muscles, beckoned them to move to its beat. The song itself seemed to bid him to join it, become malleable, allow it to control him like some ventriloquist puppet and become swept away in a tangle of strings and madness.

Throughout the entire performance, he sat relaxed, eyes closed, body as casual as his dancer posture would allow. While everyone else sat erect and attentive, his exterior appeared calm albeit interiorly he struggled in a maelstrom of conflict against leaping onstage and giving a live image to that story she so expertly wove. What wonderful storytellers they could have been; a dancer and a musician. It took every ounce of focus to not surrender to it in mindless lust. At least up until the final notes, the silence allowing its blows to strike him harder, fiercer than it would have if someone had been shifting noisily. The song’s last words tugged at his chest in such a way that his soul felt broken as if he was dying. Such sweet bliss he was willingly ready to fall into…

Then the song ended. The audience erupted. Aiden opened his eyes, smiled in respect and devoured into hell. The emotions, body heat, sweat, shouts and breathless bodies nearly pushed him over the edge. Consuming him in such a frightful way that even the moon couldn’t reach him. But its silver glow did shine down upon him, gently stroking that beast that trembled within, the one that was no longer calmed by the cello’s notes and now begged for the sweet taste of flesh. A wave of nausea rolled through him. The time had come to leave, so swiftly and like a ghost he seemed to vanish through the crowd.

Sadly, Aiden hadn’t seen the woman player take her bow, revealing herself as the truly beautiful being she really was. Not that it mattered; he had found her, the one they spoke of; a rumor, now real. The soft glow that surrounded her body had given her away. Now that memory of his knew her scent, the sound of her heart beating, the pace at which her tears fell.

Jenascia Uewenill-Tinduu, just as the program had printed, a name he would never forget.

***

(Phi)

“Wow Jena, you should be very happy with how things turned out. At least nothing happened during the performance…Cheer up!”

Clase always had something to say uplifting, that silver lining was somehow stuck in his throat. Jenascia smiled towards his reflection in the large lighted mirror while she sat in the dressing room reserved for her backstage. Her gray, bloodshot eyes were still hidden behind her fine black drape of hair. She did not wish to see herself, even though she must in order to take off all the makeup she wore for the stage. Her bare shoulders were cold now, missing the warmth of the stage lights, and a chill ran up her back causing her to shiver on the spot. Clase, her ‘big brother’, stood up from the overstuffed couch and crossed the room to stand behind his friend. While showering her with constant reassurance, his tall form blocked the AC vent blowing cool down her exposed back and his warm hands helped to cut the chill from her shoulders; yet, the fact still remains – she was more nervous than cold. Tonight’s events went far too smoothly for her taste.

Her performance was a big success, but Jenascia was very uncomfortable when her life suddenly falls into place so well. It is an unexpected occurrence for a girl with unfortunate luck. And since nothing bad had happened while at the amphitheatre, she once again feared the worst would come soon. Easily, Clase could read her expression, and quickly tried to alter her thoughts.

“Okay, no worries please, just finish changing and let’s go. I’m starving, and you need to actually eat something besides salads all week. I’m taking my best girl out for a well deserved dinner; your favorite place.”

He busied himself collecting Jena’s things while she stepped behind the changing screen to finish peeling off her evening gown. She stepped out dawn a pair of black jeans, and a long sleeved black silk top. She slipped her sandals on her small size six feet, and grabbed her purse and her double canvas case holding her ‘babies’: the electric cello Orion, and her acoustic electric she dubbed Kikuchinatsu. She smiled while she crossed the room towards the door where Clase bowed low with a comical embellishment, like a doorman bowing for a princess. His playful dirty blond hair fell into his face, but his goofy smile remained vividly seen. When she reached the door, crossing before him, Jena quickly caught a look of sincere smitten wash over his face. It caught her completely by surprise, especially when her smile reflected the same.

“Why are you always so nice to me?”

Clase lifted his head smoothly, “Because you deserve it.”

His words lingered in her mind for a moment, wondering why she deserved anything in the first place. She was just a freak of nature…nothing special there. Clase notice her smile deteriorate at her thoughts. He knew them far too well.

“Come on, let’s ditch this penguin park and have some fun.”

After weaving through the remainder of a captivating audience, shaking ecstatic hands, and shunting off shoulder pats of well-done's from grinning strangers, and supporting musicians alike, Jenascia was almost about to burst with all the attention. She was not known for being the brightest star in the sky; she was the one hiding behind the Northern Star. Therefore, her hand continued to grip Clase’s, grasping his arm with the other and pulling him closer to her as they walked to the parking lot – he was her security blanket, after all. He never refused his job, and diligently accomplished it well with kindly words and jesters displaying in his bold body language - get the hell away. After she accepted praise from her Conductor/boss, her cello instructor, and received clearance to take Monday off, the two friends finally reached Clase’s Miata MX-5 convertible.

For just a split second, while Jena slid into the leather seat and shut the door, she actually believed that this night would be different than all the others. Maybe she can release her guard and enjoy herself…maybe she can ignore her twenty year old demon for one night, and place her attentions on Clase…Why not? Everything has been so far - so good.

Why should she destroy this night with pessimistic thoughts, when there was that strong silver lining showing her that everything was just fine?

Maybe, I can be myself…without the consequences.

The breeze picked up with gusto through her hair as they drove away. Clase turned the radio on for a bit of ambiance while he maintained a steady 35 MPH down the avenue beside the park. He was always maintaining the limit, being a police officer, he always followed the rules. An announcement ended with the latest hit song taking over the air, Clase grimaced with a verbal grunt, and a hand gesturing harshly towards the radio.

“Ah, there you have it. The weatherman reports truth this time. There is rain in the air. Can you smell it?”

Looking up, Jena watched the dark clouds roll in with the winds, and there was a hinted blend of freshness reaching her nose. “Yes and its close. You better pull up the rooftop. Pull over.”

“Ah, no need. I’ll just let it run while we go. I don’t want you caught in what’s to come. You don’t need to get sick.”

Clase pushed the silver button to alert the computer mechanics to release the trunk behind them. A small, silver hard-top flew from it, separated into two sections and expertly maneuvered itself over their heads. Even though Clase has slowed his speed down in order to accomplish this feet, it made Jena very uncomfortable.

His eyes were not upon the road before him, instead they were above, watching the covering seal itself above, blocking the moonlight from their sight.

“Clase, you really should pull over.” Her voice shook.

The light at the intersection turned red before they notice. A blinding light and ear-blasting trumpet overwhelmed their senses to their left. Jenascia’s head whipped around to find a bright light haloing Clase’s frightened features, and all seemed lost to her.

“CLASE! LOOK OUT!”

He knew his mistake before he heard her call. His brow was marked with death’s call as he turned towards her, reaching his hand across her chest in the attempts to hold her in place, like a protective father. The realization that she forgot to buckle her seat belt rose in her expression, but her fear was not for her safety…

Then, the Mack semi truck violently T-boned them on the driver’s side, contorting the small convertible into a twisted bow tie upon its grill. Jena could feel her body float away from her protector’s hand. Like in a bubble of baby oil, time slowed all visible movements and muffled sound. She felt something hard against her head, and a stabbing pain was forced down her neck before a release of something behind her sent her floating once again. The night sky was so clear to her, that she was able to count the stars before her, every single one it seemed. She did not register anything else around her, no feelings – sounds – just a void, and the light kisses in the sky.

Jena’s rag-doll form landed at the edge of the nearby park, slightly lost in the foliage within, simply wrapped around a healthy oak where the daffodils swayed. Her grey eyes held the stars, and the willows swayed, singing a sweet lullaby for her as her world fell in shades. Her last breath leaked from her lungs in remembrances of breathing. Thoughts rushed across her mind: anger, hatred for her curse, and fear for what may have come…Jena hovered in her comatose state…waiting.

Chapter 3: Tragedy at the Base of the Oak

(RewiredLoor)

Great, more walking...just perfect.

All that he needed to accompany the dull ache that was beginning to form within his calf and thigh muscles, a pain just deciding to surface from the earlier strain of an intense dance rehearsal and probably from all of the tension his body held when it had fought against giving away to the concerto earlier played. Strides lengthening, Aiden slipped the cell back down into his pocket when it began to vibrate.

Meet up at Tavian's place?; well he certainly did not expect that, especially, since it required more walking. The only short cut through the park in lycan form meant that people could possibly see him looking all rugged and misshape. That just won’t due, but it will be done.

There it lingered in the back of his mind, something that bothered him more than just a brisk walk. Aiden willed silently, struggling to push aside the memories that were growing restless at being locked away. Stumbling forward through the thinning forest, a disastrous melody of a crash fell mute upon him, simply joining the wreckage state of mind he began to succumb to. One hand holding his face in a cliché portrait of despair, the other clutched the tux jacket as he walked on.

Legs moving faster, covering more distance, becoming unaware of the surrounding world...until the scent of blood struck him with such a force that he actually stumbled back. Next, stripped metal, burned tires and gasoline washed over in a tumble of aromas. Frazzled, there was a moment taken to collect and arrange his thoughts, gather his sense of being. A quick glance informed him that he stood at the park’s edge, among the trees. Peripheral vision caught sight of a body, mangled around a tree.

That length of blue-black hair struck recognition within him, Aiden found it to be familiar. He knew that short, cropped hairstyle just as well as he knew her scent; the cello player from before, such a pleasure that star-crossed night would mingle their fates together. A pity her body was broken and wrapped around a tree, obscured by foliage, the frightening image caused him to flinch internally.

An impact such as that would have killed him in an instant, or if it hadn't, left him in enough pain that would have caused his heart to cease beating. The woman appeared dead, and if he did not see her earlier, with the faint shimmer around her, he would have thought the same.

Footsteps light as they touch the ground, Aiden approached her, expanded arms and reaching hands softly grasping the waist of her broken form, pulling that mangled body from the covering foliage and oak tree. For the first time he noticed how wildly his heart beat within his chest, pounding against the bones that caged it in.

The black hair, light eyes, and small form were all too familiar as he laid the body out on damp grass. A hand, only seeking to offer some comfort, stretched forward aiming to touch one of the cellist cheeks, the band around his finger shone dully as it caught light and Aiden pulled away before making contact. Once more restless memories began to stir and he tore his gaze away from the face of the cello player, searching his memory for something else to focus on… pale skin, high cheekbones, golden eyes; that face of a God... No, anything but that! Hissing between clenched teeth, an index of memories flashed across his mind before pausing on one ocean, one he had visited in Venice with his family, back at the age of ten.

Clinging onto that image, Aiden kneeled down and pulled out his cell, punching in a quick text to Tavian.

[no, my place. don't bring a party.]

Phone put away, he wrapped the tux jacket about the cello player’s form and gathered her small body into his arms before standing.

Chapter 5

(Phi)

*You foolish child! Take the beating and release your soul! Do not return to the era on which you stand. Come to me…bring me back! I am…you are, therefore, I do…you will!*

Jenascia’s lifeless body rustled in a frustrated jolt, then shuttered uncontrollably as her lungs inflated with force. Her broken back arched abruptly from the rude awakening, and visible rigor mortis seemed to just slowly melt from her grotesquely twisted appendages. Her tiny form craved the precious oxygen, consuming its life-giving blessing with each and every intake. Faster her lungs ventilated, enriching her clotted blood with O2, allowing it to flow lucid again and reenergize her stagnate heart. Soon her heart was pulsating musically with the smooth lifts of her chest. Unconsciously a short little moan fell from her blushed petal lips while she fought against a reoccurring nightmare, yet again.

It was the same strong haunting voice, the same demanding words cutting deeply in her mind. It's timing always to perfection, coming at her weakest moments. The vision was beautiful based on the image alone; the darkness brightening behind the figure, glossed by the silver light. The gracefully mature outline of a female’s curves was enhanced by the light glowing through her sheer clothing. Whoever she was, she was deadly beautiful. Just like Snow White’s unblemished waxed red apple, beautiful/one bite could kill. There were no other visible features to grasp at, no eyes or mouth to indicate expressions of joy or hate, just the odious articulations of authority, frustration, and a small mouthful of defeat.

In her depression, or in moments such as this, when Jena hovered between departure and renewal, the voice always returned to push her further over the edge, coasting her into giving up her morbid life – to die as she should have, on more than one occasion. It would be the answer to a lifetime of prayers, for Jenascia disliked her life, after life, after life. She wanted to be normal, or at least die a normal death. It was a waist to reach utopia, only to return to hell on earth, but there was a fear she held about the concept of leaving now…there was something she needed to accomplished before her true end befallen her, but what?

As her body returned slowly from the afterlife, her sleeping nerves erupted with shouts of pain. Cramping convulsions surged through her body, causing her to lose control and gag on her own tongue. Her internal nerves were functioning, great – her clouded eyes opened wildly. Soon the fight was over and she was able to take in the space. The light was bright at first sight after darkness, mirroring the very first sight of life after birth. Jena blinked the fog away from her calming grays, and once they've adjusted; she started the process of connecting memories to clear her slight moment of amnesia…and to regain her control of movement.

The thought of what her body was about to do caused Jena to shed quiet tears profusely. She actually had a very high tolerance for pain, after many years of training herself to take this type of supernatural abuse. All the same, what brought on the tears was the sickening concept of having to put herself back together.

Taking a moment to shift her head, she felt her neck was intact… Testing it further, she was able to lift her head and turn it to pursue learning about her location. She was in some sort of room. It was not her special room at the cottage – hence, she and Clase did not make it home last night. She peaked down her form to find a dark suit jacket over her torso. She remembered Clase wearing his tuxedo, after the concert... Yes, she was at her concert last night. She tested her hands and arms, finding her right arm functioning. So, she pulled the jacket over slowly, and gasped at what she found. Jena’s clothing was tattered in various places, revealing far too much, and coated with a thick layer of matted blood and mud. And her worst fear - her left arm and legs were twisted in odd designs, just waiting to be readjusted.

*What could have happen to me this time? *, she thought while she forced herself to sit up.

Once again, pain stung her body, and carried her breath away. She fell back down, bouncing a bit while she fought against the cracking bones. Her back was broken, and had not healed quite as fast as she hoped. She slowed her intake until her lungs were satisfied, and she was able to move her right arm to wipe her tears with the back of her hand. Reluctantly, Jena proceeded to reset all the appendages she could reach, dealing with the powerful cries of complaining bones and muscles. During that time, the rest of her body regenerated until she was able to sit up – ever so carefully, and continue her nauseating job.

She was not in familiar surroundings.

Now, she could see that she was in someone’s apartment. The brownstone wall across the open window, glowing with the new colors of an early morning, was a dead giveaway. The room was nicely decorated, with hard wood floors and bold colors. Panic set in quickly, and she worked a little faster, and a lot quieter, hoping that the person who carried her dead body there would not get a chance to see her ‘alive’. All she could think about were her cellos...and Clase. If she looked like this, then what happened to her protector?

*They’re going to call a medic, or something. This is so bad. I can’t stay here….I’ve got to go find Clase, and get my cellos. I can't believe I left them.*

Thirty minutes of work and she was looking and feeling a lot better than before. Now, Jena was able to calm her thoughts to find a clear solution to her situation. Her back and hips sat aligned now, making it easier for her to sit up to complete her grotesque task. While she worked on her legs, her curiosity inspected the room further, hoping to come up with either a quick escape, or a tool to fight for survival, if needed.

From the window, she could not see a fire escape, but the view from across the way told her she was higher up than she once thought before. This was no second-story apartment that she could simply jump from, fix a few broken bones, and keep running. No, she felt at least four to five stories in the air every time she looked out the shapely window.

Jena was far too use to returning from death to just ignore the possibilities now simply because the room was high class. But the more she studied the décor, the wide spacious bedroom full of books on wall shelves, touches of musical influences, and bold colors in movement, she could only read a person whose passions were of the arts. Just like her, the owner here seems to be immersed in it, drowning in it daily. If she was not in fear of the unknown, or worried about what had passed in order to get her there, she would have turned the entertainment center on to a soothing voice, grabbed a collection of poetry, and curled herself on the window seat and lose herself in the images dancing on the walls.

As her daydream played around in the bedroom, her eyes fell upon each of the large canvases sleeping on the walls. Each one danced for her while she dove into their meanings. They were not registering to her as late works of the great masters, early works of the first Expressionist, or a new modern creation from a descendant of the style. They were personal, unknown to all except the hand who created it, possibly the owner of the apartment. She actually smiled at the thought. Who wouldn’t like for their lives to be centered on a wall, wrapped around them every day, to remind them who they really were, so as not to forget. Her dream carried her to her special room at her cottage, where she displayed her life, the way it should be. Such fantasies she dabble in looked better on paper, looked real and believable on canvas, or easier to obtain once in color.

Jena’s smile fainted.

There was one piece which still struck her as beautiful, but edged with a deeper meaning which she found – threatening. There was an odd transformation within it, a conflict, and an unwilling alteration from man to an abomination of some sorts. Awareness of danger trickled down her spine, outraging her senses to the limits. Violently, her adrenaline raised her blood, and the urgency to return to the auditorium rushed her actions.
Looking upon herself once more, Jena gasping now at the noted extent of the damage the gorgeous bed set sustained. She mentally noted that she would have to repay the owner for their sacrifice, that’s if she is able to leave there unshaved. Concentrating on her work, she tested her right ankle for stability, preparing to stand upright to re-teach herself how to walk. She did not notice the soft muffled patting of bare feet on polished woods, nor the relaxed turning of the door knob. So when it opened, Jena jumped alarmingly, dropping her loose foot, and automatically concealing herself modestly with the tux jacket.

Before her stood a man with a most striking appearance, statuesque in so many ways. He was a shade taller than her, with fire for hair and oceans for eyes. The conflicting elements represented there was very yin/yang, a similar conflict noticed in the painting which scared her so. This person leaning on the door frame was the artist, the owner of the apartment she’d found herself in. From the look of his attire, opened dress shirt, dark slacks which associated with the jacket draped over her front…she concluded that he was at her concert last night.

“You’re up.”

His smile was forever a mile long as he chimed sweetly, like she was just an old friend taking a cat nap at his place. Once again she noticed how nice he looked, and very angelic-like in his features. She blinked herself out of staring and returned to the room. He was not at all surprised at her actions, dropping her limp foot after piecing herself back together, knowing what he dragged in that night. His eyes held her solid, very much thrilled at his discovery. She started to fumble over a series of dumbfounded words Clase told her to say in a case such as this.

“I um…I was…ummm…”

If someone actually discovered her ‘gift’, she should just claim it as a seriously rare and deadly medical defect, but who was she kidding. He was not like the other people she has encountered in her life who witnessed both sides to her coin. There was knowledge beneath his oceans. He knows something she does not, therefore, she did not have a chance to weasel herself out of this one. Jena dropped her eyes towards her blood stained hands. Funny, as she looked through her dark bangs, preparing herself for plan B, she honestly did not feel frightened. At the moment, the only threat she felt was from the hidden philosophy behind that third painting.

(RewiredLoor)

Leaning in the seasoned hardwood door framing, he stared at her, gaze never wavering with that glittering amazement. A gamble really that he had gone off the aura that surrounded her, to discover who she was. The surname should have been a dead away, but nevertheless, she was alive, well, and here.

With a small gesture, the redhead motion towards double doors, already open, vertical to where he stood. “When you’re done, toss the comforter and bed sheets aside then get cleaned up. There’s a walk in closet in the bathroom, you may wear some of my clothes.” He said casually, the demand faint in his voice. “And hurry, we have company…” Pausing, he seemed to taste the next word in his mouth before speaking it, “…Jenascia Uewenill.”

Thank goodness for programs and there list of names.

Hi Phi!

Hey M&M!!! Didn't know you were here. Awesomeness at is finest! \

Are you here for HotelLima?

I am indeed. As of very recently.

Well...kinda. But not really. It's kinda weird. Me being here is Ice's fault. Blame her.

Just wanted to say thanks for posting that up. 'Twas a good read. Can't say I managed to learn anything about you from it, but hey, I tried. >.<

FOGS RESIDENT DARKLORD GREETS YOU.

Now with that out of the way, let me extend to you the warmest hand of greetings, which is not mine. Quite honestly actually shaking my hand would likely result in painful death as I drained the life and soul from your body. That is my good deed for the day not actually devouring you. Hope you enjoy your stay.

Sigh. As usual I am late to the party. Sometimes I get busy and miss new intro posts. Alas. Oh well. In a little break from format, I intend to give you a normal intro.

Yes, normal is a break from format. I'm known as Dio, and I basically have FoG's market on craziness cornered. I'm an avid gamer of ALL forms. If it was a game I have basically played it. Currently I am big into MTG, Battle Tech (which is a hex based mecha battle game-udesu), Heroes of Newerth which is basically WoW lite and as much of a time sink, Battlestar Galactica the board Game, DnD (3.5 is the only woman for me), Mount & Blade which is medieval horse mounted kingdom building combat, Star Craft 2, the list goes on.

Oh yeah, and all the roleplays I'm in.

I hope to see you around, and welcome to the boards. (That's my catch phrase).