Pink Poogle Toy Forum

The candle guttered and went out, slamming the stuffy room into pitch darkness. Darkly muttered curses filled the room, along with shufflings and a loud thump before light flickered through the room once more. In the bubble of yellow light, mountainous stacks of parchment could be seen seeming to lean precariously toward the small flame. The girl seated in the midst of these piles looked at the mere milimeters left of wax and sighed. It looked as if she would have to emerge from the room in search of another candle.

"You really pick the worst times to go out," she said to the dying candle before standing up and stretching. "C'mon, Scruffy. Let's get out of this room." She whistled once, and a huge Saint Bernard came ploughing through the papers, nearly shoving a few into the candle's flame and skidded to a stop in front of her. "Oi. Next time don't do that or else Aary and all the nice manuscripts will burn to a crisp."

Jack bent his head as his horse, Zephyer, trotted through the woods. Jack had only learnt how to ride several months ago, but according to his friend, he was a natural. Jack did, in fact, find riding easy. Sit on a horse, close your eyes, hold your breath for the first five minutes, and then... then plain sailing. He did hope, however, in later days, weeks, months, or years, he would be able to get out of that irksome habit.

Jack mentally urged his horse forward, and, when that didn't work, gave him a little tap on his sides. Zephyer began to canter. He was a large horse, six hands or so, and ebony black. Something else Jack found quite annoying was the fact that his horse was allergic to mites -- whenever something vaguely scratchy brushed against Zephyer, he would rear and toss his head about, causing Jack to fall into the scratchy whatever-it-was, which wasn't usually very pleasant. Jack's face and hands were covered in scratches, as usually he fell into a thorn bush, or something of the type.

Breaking clear of the woods and trees, Jack pulled Zephyer to a stop. He placed his hand inside the brown sack dangling beside his horse, and dismounted. Walking in front of his horse, he moved to the other side and opened the bag. He thought of muttering a curse aloud, but held himself in. Zephyer looked at him imploringly.

"No water," Jack said to his horse, and looked around. "Looks like we're going to have to make a pit-stop... somewhere. Too bad we can't go back to the school..." Zephyer neighed. "It may be only past these woods to you, but to me..." Jack sighed. "Okay. Fine. We'll go."

Mounting Zephyer again, he wheeled his horse round. "Next time, you've got to promise not to drink so much water." Zephyer tossed his head, and made to rear, but before he could do so Jack, noticing a thorn-bush by Zephyer's side, gave him a kick. Together, they cantered off through the darkness.

Llywelyn silently crept behind Rhys. His father the lord of the land had ordered him to oversee the assasination of the thief. He almost scoffed at the though of a herbalist - a herbalist assasinating anything!

Though he wondered, he pondered why his father had told a herbalist to slay him, why not his son, Llywelyn ap Gruffudd! Even a common knight of the household would be suitable to the job.

Forcing these idea's out of his head, he continued to follow Rhys, slowly and silently.

Rhys continued his walk, his attention focused foreward. He was intent on finding this thief and bring justice from the gull to the cheek. However, being the type of man to take orders seriously, his thoughts claimed his attention once again; "My orders were to slice his belly open..but I carry no sword nor weapon of the like.." He looked at his Mace, sure he could clobber and bash the dirty thiefs brains in, but that wouldn't be customary and he had kind've wanted to bring the head of the thief in to show the Lord.

*crunch crunch*

His thoughts ceased and his arm was straight to the ready, something had creeped by, he was sure he had seen some creature crawl past him. tomfoolery of the eye or otherwise, he was not about to take anything lightly. Intent on smashing whatever was behind him was clearly in his thoughts..

Using his might he swung himself around with mace in hand and a strong grunt as well.

Flicking her slightly over grown fringe to the side of her face, Crystal bent down to pet her partner in crime, Mittence. He purred and trotted off to an area with tall grass, chasing a few small butterflies that were fluttering about.

Watching after him, Crystal took a seat on a mushroom shaped rock, and neatened her clothes slightly. She sat her small rack sack beside her, and took out of it a small slice of bread and a bottle of water.

A gust of wind blew, sending the butterflies west, along with Crystal's hair. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail, and stood up once again. She watched as the fallen leaves followed the lead of the wind, and stopped to gather at the end of this sudden change in weather.

"Mitten, we should head back to the school. Its getting late."

Mittence looked back at Crystal, and slightly nodded his head in agreement. Crystal gathered her things, and they both continued towards the school.

Llywelyn barely had time to lift his shield to form some sort of defence against the mace. The mace connected with the shield causing a loud gong like noise, and caused Llywelyn to be physically thrown to the floor from its vicious impact.

He slowly stood up and cast his beaten shield to the floor.

"One would expect better manners towards your lord." he spat at the herbalist whislt grasping his shield arm.

A loud sound rang throughout the village and made xerai drop the wine that he was holding and it too made a loud noise. 'Damnit' he thought silently, quickly he snuck behind a large cabinet that was on the side. Loud footsteps were entering. But were gone within seconds they were gone. He slowly crept back out and kicked the wooden bottle away. There was a red stain on the straw floor, he crouched down and rearranged the straw. It was still visible but it looked older. He looked inside the the cabinet, inside lay a silver sword and a few smaller weapons. Being the modest theif that he was, or atleast, he thought he was. He left the sword and took the dagger and knife. Then he grabbed a piece of bread from the table. He peeked outside and noone was looking, instantly he broke into a run and escaped the circle of the village.

After running for a bit, and after breaking many twigs that lay lifeless on the ground. He stopped and caught his breath. He looked at the knife. It was made of fine steel. With golden inlay. A knight's knife. The finest for miles. Testing the sharpness of both, he simutanelously threw both weapons an oak that stood quiet stilll and innocently. They sunk in deep. Walking up to the tree he pulled them out, noticed two figures that appeared to be fighting in the distance, then he quickly ducked down keeping his silence.

"My Lord! Oh, dear, I thought you were that thief who had been atta-" He stopped speaking, they were being watched, he saw a boy, not far from them out of the corner of his eye staring intently upon them. he kept moving as if to of been graciously begging for mercy from the lord.

His body did not match what he had been saying: "Sir! he is there! Watching us. someone I don't recognize from the village at all. I believe that is the thief! We can get him now if ever! Now is our chance"

He was on his knees now "begging" for mercy from his lord.

"Go! apprehend him! my arm is injured, I am in no condition to fight today!" Llywelyn roared kicking the herbalist with his foot as if to encourage his movement.
"GO!"

Scrambling up, as he had been spotted, he ran, and ran far. Not stopping. Not caring about noise, he had to get away. Quick he sprinted into the deeper forest. Jumping down ditches and along the boulders. Frequently he looked behind him to check if he was still being followed. He ran faster; larger steps and quicker paces, but just as he was going to jump down one of the small banks where a river had once been, he tripped, flying into the thin air, spinning around uncontrollably, it seemed like eternity, seeing the flashing trunks of trees, he closed his eyes and a moment later lay there silently.

Madly chasing after the boy he jumped over the rocks and stones which lay in his way "I'm *pant* gonna *pant* get *pant* YOU!". He wasn't looking back the lords son but he was sure he was limping far behind.

"gah!" he watched it as if in slow motion, the thief went hurtlying into the air and smashed into a large tree deep in the forest. Rhys quickly stopped Running and climbed down to where the limp body had landed. he turned the thief over and checked for breathing.

The kid was alive but he needed some heavy medical treatment, taking some of his remedies out he poured them on what seemed to be a large wound, h sat there wand waited for it to regain conciousness

Llywelyn limped after Rhys and saw the thiefs body hurtle into a largw tree. Llywelyn gave a shout of triumph

"Well done!" He shouted at the Herbalist. he countinued to limp towards the herbalist and the unconcious body of the thief.

"Let's see what treasure's he has then" said Llywelyn, his hands delving deep into the clothes and retrieved a knife and a dagger, his own.

"The villain!"

[Another question--Destiny, being a white mage, does that mean you are also competing against both the reds and the blacks (because I see no other whites)?
Thanks.]

Jack rode at lightning speed back to the school. He pulled Zephyer to a stop and dismounted, before stopping. There had been a voice. "Who's there?" it said. "Who's there?"

Jack mounted Zephyer again. He had not been the one who was there in the first place, but he didn't exactly want to be the one who'd been told he was there, instead of someone else. Besides, someone could be lurking in the shadows, right now...

Jack stole a glance to his left, and sighed. He hated being this apprehensive. He gave Zephyer a gentle nudge with his heels; the horse trotted through the courtyard and into full view of a boy, who was also mounted.

Instinctively, Jack's hand moved to his silver-hilted sword, given to him as a child. He grasped it firmly, ready to strike if necessary, but only eyeing the boy -- he wasn't going to anything... the voice of his trainer echoed in his head... let your opponent make the first move... check for weaknesses... strike when you know you will ring true...

Jack sat up straighter on Zephyer, and stared at the boy.