Before, I did not fear the reaper Alaisy. There was little to be afraid of. The poem below, a special rendition of Edgar Allen Poe's the Raven, I feel, signifies my character's new fear of her Elder-level powers. But before I get into it, I want to congratulate you on reaching this massive milestone!
Since her last promotion only just at the end of January, she's participated in a staggering 389 competitions and organized another 112 on top of that; with 9 roleplays as a participant, 3 as a DM, with a near-combined 50,000 words almost. From those competitions, she earned 187 crescents; 195 clusters of graphite, and 101 Clusters of Ice; with 2.2 million credits earned for the clan as well! That also includes 17 society rankups, and a good chunk of time as my Magistrate and a Ruby Scepter. Phenomenal, phenomenal work!
This promotion is extremely well deserved. Now, enjoy the poem, then the perks and CS redesigns that come along with it.
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door —
Only this, and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; — vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for her lost friend —
For the rare and radiant pecan whom the Chiss named Anders —
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door —
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; —
This it is, and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"— here I opened wide the door; —
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Anders?"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Anders!" —
Merely this, and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice:
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore —
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; —
'Tis the wind and nothing more."
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Alaisy of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made her; not a minute stopped or stayed her;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door —
Perched upon a bust of Renatus just above my chamber door —
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then was Alaisy beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no fallacy,
Ghastly grim and ancient Alaisy wandering from the Nightly shore —
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Kasiyan shore!"
Quoth the Alaisy, "Nevermore."
Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning— little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with Alaisy above her chamber door —
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust of Renatus above her chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore.”
But the Alaisy, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
that one word, as if her soul in that one word she did outpour.
Nothing farther then she uttered—not a feather then she fluttered—
Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—
On the morrow she will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”
Then Alaisy said “Nevermore.”
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till her songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of her Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”
But Alaisy still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of her, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous Alaisy of yore—
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous Alaisy of yore
Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the Alaisy whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, me thought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels she hath sent thee
Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Anders;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Anders!”
Quoth the Alaisy “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”
Quoth the Alaisy “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Caelus,
It shall clasp a sainted Chiss whom the angels name Anders—
Clasp a rare and radiant Chiss whom the angels name Anders.”
Quoth the Alaisy “Nevermore.”
“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Kasiyan shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
Quoth the Alaisy “Nevermore.”
And the Alaisy, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Renatus just above my chamber door;
And her eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er her streaming throws her shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore!
Sage Cassandra Oriana Taldrya, 2024-07-10 01:32:04 UTC