Message 29 from *Storylines (#5236):
Date:     Tue Aug 26 21:50:43 1997 EDT
From:     Dwight (#20455)
To:       *Storylines (#5236)

A man sat in a small room, holding a vial in his hand, "Ahh.. sweet it is..
the fruits of my labor.." he glances around at little children hunched into
the four corners of the room. "Very well, if you will not cooperate.." he
smiles dryly, punching up a small map of the room, he slips on a gas mask, and
taps a key. >>> Halon Systems Activated.. <<< and within seconds, a hazy cloud
formed over the room, draping the children in its icy embrance. One by one,
they gasped in unison as they tried to suck in breath, but found cold,
emptiness.. devoid of the precious elements of air as they turned pale and
fell to the floor.
The man tapped another key,  >>> Ventilation systems.. Activated <<< and a
loud Woosh of air followed, sucking the gas away, replacing it with oxygen. He
slipped off his mask, "Computer, Life Support Systems Maintenance report,
Designation Password Dwight Laurence 331-4. Initiate" and He sat down, tapping
a key on a monitor, showing a small 3d map of Ghostwheel Plains. Once again, a
dry smile crept across his blood red lips, "Very Soon.. oh so very soon.."

--------------------------


Message 30 from *Storylines (#5236):
Date:     Tue Aug 26 23:59:15 1997 EDT
From:     Rathe (#14172)
To:       *Storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Following

Is extremely large. Few pages, in fact. Its an account of Devon's last
minutes. Enjoy it or else.
--Rathe (apologizing in advance for any of his typos/ect)

--------------------------


Message 31 from *Storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Aug 27 00:02:16 1997 EDT
From:     Rathe (#14172)
To:       *Storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Endless darkness

Flicker. Fade. Blackness
It was a new moon, and dark clouds swirled above, obscuring the stars. The
heavy odor of rot and decay filled the air, and the chill, biting wind
whistled through the mostly dead foilage on the sparse trees -- some sort of
mobid windchime. The rattle of dead leaves. Death was everywhere.
Flicker.
A faint light was visible ahead, sparking for mere seconds. Rathe crouched
low, his right palm touching strangely moist earth. He glanced over his
shoulder, his eyes catching those of his partner in this endeavor. Coreen
nodded once, and the palable energy of magick began to form around her body,
casting a faint aura of flame and blackness around her body. Like an angel,
thought Rathe wryly. Like some kind of twisted angel.
He rose smoothly, the black velvety robes cloaking his body swirling briefly.
In this darkness, the swirling blackness of the garmet served almost as well
as an invisibility spell. Rathe hardly intended to sneak towards his enemy,
however.. He knew Devon was waiting.
"Devon," he whispered, a faint, cold smile gracing his lips. His voice rose,
amplified throughout the graveyard by a simple cantrip. "I have come." the
simple statement echoed throughout the graveyards, bouncing off mosoleums and
grave markers, seeming to come from all directions at once. The light ahead
grew brighter, light of dark crimson visible only to the eyes of a mage.
Flicker. Fade. Blackness.

Abrubtly as it appeared, the energy ahead vanished. There was something in the
air, however. A taint vile enough to make almost any person grimace in
disgust. Rathe smiled. The taint was oddly familiar.
He closed the remaining distance to the mosoleum, eyes widening in surprise.
Clouds of blackness swirled around a ... tear.. in reality. His eyes fell to
the floor, catching the points of a pentagram - drawn in a red that could only
be blood. His target, Devon, stood beside the portal, an almost mischievious
grin on his face. He scuffed dirt onto one of the pentagram's points, knocking
over a small candle, and destroying one of the lines. The circle that would
otherwise hold whatever was to come through was gone. He heard a faint gasp
from behind him, and quickly looked towards the portal. -Something- was coming
through.
Rathe stumbled backwards, bumping into Coreen. A suckered tendril like the arm
of an octopus stretched out of the portal, thrashing in the air. Rathe and
Coreen both distanced themselves further from it, as the creature pulled
itself through the gateway. Its body mimicked that of a sort of large, twisted
porcupine, spines covering the body completely, to the point where no
discernable face was visible. Six tendrils sprouted from points along the
creature's body, four acting as legs while the other two probed at the air. A
shrill cry, like that of a bird of prey, echoed throughout the graveyard as
the creature realized it was not imprisoned. A crow's maw erupted from the
center of the spines, complete with beady black eyes - eyes which focused on
Rathe and Coreen. The creature's beak seemed to twist into semblance of a
smile.
Devon was nowhere to be seen. The time constraints.. One of them would have to
die before dawn. He looked to Coreen, who now balanced a ball of fire in her
hand. The question went unasked, but Coreen nodded, grinning slightly. "I'll
take care of it. Just don't kill the Adept without me." Rathe grinned back,
and gave a terse nod, setting out at after Devon.



----------

The wasteland. The figure in robes almost identical to his own splayed his
hands before him, shards of humming blue crystal racing forth. Rathe, now
surrounded by the ruddy black of hell magic, hit the ground in a dead roll,
cursing as one of the shards tore a chunk of flesh from his shoulder. His own
hand raised, fingers twisted into an arcane gesture, and a small ball of black
flame rushed forwards, slamming directly into Devon's chest. He snarled in a
sort of primal defiance, even as violet flame began to eat away at his chest.
The flames were somehow extinguished, and Devon once more vanished from sight.
Rathe remained crouched, surveying his surroundings. He waited for any sign of
movement, the weavings of magic that might reveal his quarry. Nothing. A
beeping sounded from Rathe's rucksack, and he reached in, withdrawing the
statlink. A single light flashed rapidly. One transport heading back to
N'orleans. He smiled, reaching down and putting up the antique headphones
which dangled around his neck. His hand pressed a button within one of his
robe's hidden pouches. An ancient CD player clicked once, music filling his
ears.
"Falling down I am a psychoholic. Erratic and sure I cannot fail. Replay slow
smooth and automatic..."

----------

- End of part one -

--------------------------


Message 32 from *Storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Aug 27 00:03:31 1997 EDT
From:     Rathe (#14172)
To:       *Storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Endless darkness, Part Deux



Metal still blaring, he stepped out of the transport, and closed his eyes. The
still-booming bass did not interrupt his concentration, it never did, and his
mind's eye locked on Devon's location. He was waiting beside the portal.
Coreen was nowhere to be seen.
"Yeah - shadowplay I blur the technicolor - Stain a holy bed - a diamond way "
the bass was a relentless force, almost seeming in time with the pumping of
Rathe's own blood. Rage boiled at the corners of his mind, music that would
seem native in hell echoing throughout his skull.
Rathe smiled, and slipped through the streets of N'orleans, the music flooding
his mind as he set foot on the grounds of the cemetary. The gate swung shut
behind him, the wind causing it to rattle violently, and as it's catch clicked
into place, a flash of red caught the edge of his vision. Leaping forward,
heat washed over him as a terrible wooshing sound filled the air. He hit the
ground hard, grunting with the impact, and glanced behind him. The spot where
he had stood seconds ago was scorched earth, the gate mangled by white-hot
flame. He regained his feet, and scanned the surrounding area. Devon was not
nearby.. It had been a terribly simple trap. An almost effective one.

He shook his head slightly, and headed towards the mosoleum he had been not
thirty minutes before, spipping from shadow to shadow towards the portal, the
familiar taint reaching his lips once more as he
grew ever closer. Rounding the final bend, he smiled. Devon stood facing him,
his hand already raised as the words of magic filled the air. Rathe drew his
guards hastily, the familiar black energy crackling around him just as
numerous tendrils of crimson energy rose from the ground about him. He
growled, a blade of black-violet fire springing to life in his hand, and
attacked the nearest, magic blade cutting magical tendrils as they slowly
closed in. There seemed to be far too many, each growing more difficult to
destroy. He realized that Devon had gained some skill since their last
encounter of this sort. The wound in his shoulder still throbbed, a dull ache
slowing him down ever so slightly. He raised his sword to strike at another,
and the world erupted in fire.
Staggering back from the blinding burst of flame, Rathe felt his guards fail
as the fire quickly died out. Coreen stepped from the nearby trees, further
energy swirling around her body. Rathe grinned at her, then locked his eyes on
the still startled Devon. Rathe traced a single sigil in the air before him,
and a burst of negative material energy met Devon head on, sending him hurling
backwards, directly into the still-present smoky portal. Rathe smirked, and
leaped through after the other adept.


"i Zombie crucify i Zombie do not die ..." the music continued. A soundtrack,
he thought to himself. A fuckin' soundtrack.
Swirling blackness surrounded him as he stood on an island of stone amidst the
blackness. The way back to his world flickered with quickly diminishing
energy. He still wasn't sure how Devon had opened the summoning gate, or how
he had left it open.. Perhaps it was another mistake. A smile crossed Rathe's
face again. A fatal mistake. The eagle had no reach here.
"Witness the kill EXPLODE! Never die. I think I will."
He reached into his robe, saying nothing, and produced a single cage of gold
wire with a strange crystal hanging at its center, and held it in the air
before him.  Rathe's boot came crashing down on Devon's chest, and the other
adept's eyes flung open as blood welled up from his mouth. Rathe smiled,
Devon's soul energies flushing outwards as blood burst from every poor of the
beaten Adept's body. Energy filled the crystal, the very essense of Devon's
soul. Fae were always reincarnated, but it would be a long, long time.
"Listen to the dream of life - a conversation"
"Hustle me beneath a spark - flesh or reflection"
"Faith can't hold insto-matic soul - trapped the light"
His hand closed around the soul cage as the portal behind him began to flicker
wildly. The kid must have bound the portal to his soul energies.. The only way
he could have managed this.. A spell bound to his very essense. And now, there
was nothing left. Rathe launched himself forwards, diving through the
distortion.
"Skintight on the action grind into collision, yeah!"
An eternity of pain. The gateway felt as if it was closing in upon him.
"Everything ya always need - right for the taking"
His face hit moist dirt. Behind him, the summoning fissure collapsed upon
itself.
"Shoot the works the haunted hill house is a shak'n..." The music faded from
his ears.
Coreen was looking down at him, her face betraying nothing. "Looks like you
made it back."
Rathe chuckled, shaking his head and spitting out a mouthful of dirt "Welcome
home," he muttered.


--------------------------


Message 33 from *Storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Aug 27 01:25:44 1997 EDT
From:     Red-Fang (#5907)
To:       *Storylines (#5236)
Subject:  A love letter to Jamie


My dearest love,

I know I have been too busy lately, either out conquering the world or getting
myself and the family into more trouble that we need.
But I just need you to know, that I love you.  I sit here in the darkness of
night.  A lone candle burning lighting the pages that I write on.  My heart is
full, but a sadness touches me knowing your not in the same room with me.  I
walk into our chamber.  Glancing down at the most beautiful creation the great
creator ever put on this world.  My heart swells, its urning to be next to you
and to hold your warmth to me.  I am consumed in guilt at not staying but I
wander the halls to the childrens room, they both show the beauty of their
mother and her strength.  I come back to my lonely candle wishing some noise I
might of made would waken you from your heavenly sleep.  But all is silent..

Jamie, you are the most wonderful thing that ever happened to this lost soul.
If I've not given you anything you have needed please let me know so I may
make sure that I fill your life with joy and happiness.  You shall want for
nothing my love.

The day we married, I loved you with all I had.. Today I love you more than I
could possibly dream of giving you.. But I will try.

I am yours, forever until I am no more.

I love you.

Yours forever,

Your husband.

Red Fang.



--------------------------


Message 34 from *Storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Aug 27 05:13:43 1997 EDT
From:     Blacklocke (#17584)
To:       *Chat (#5391) and *Storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Just a reminder *grin*

The tp for seekers looking for a teacher happens tonight (Wednesday) at 8pm
est. Mail me for info, or @peek 28 on *tps. You will still have to mail for
the 'test'.
For everyone out there looking for a mentor, here's your chance.
This has been an OOC announcement by NPCs for a better MOO... thanks, and back
to your regularly scheduled bloodshed. *grin*
-me.

--------------------------


Message 35 from *Storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Aug 27 07:57:56 1997 EDT
From:     Eponine (#3791)
To:       *Storylines (#5236)
Subject:  News Flash From N'Orleans.

Last evening a fire blazed out of control through the Masonry Guild
Chapterhouse, locatead within the heart of N'Orleans crime ridden downtown
area.  All members managed to escape unscathed, but the building itself burned
to the ground, leaving only a charred husk.  No suspects have been named, but
rumors fly about black magic or a theives guild.

--------------------------


Message 36 from *Storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Aug 27 16:47:54 1997 EDT
From:     Cristal (#7366)
To:       *Storylines (#5236)
Subject:  The Return

The walk had been long and exhausting, stretching over a period of days,
weeks. She had waken up bloody and bruised, feet on foreign soil, memory lost
to some degree. She merely knew she had to get home. La Maison.
When she finally reached her bedroom, her husband was there. All was well
again. It was disturbing to be informed that she had not indeed lost her baby
-- No, Jasmine had been birthed 3 years past. Her mind reeled and filled with
denial.
There was so much yet to come to terms with. Deckard made love to a body whose
cravings seemed pent up for ages. She didn't remember her period of mourning,
how she had lost him before. Most importantly, she did not remember that she
was now married to someone else. Dear Mulder, her longtime friend. Where was
he now?
And what was she going to do?

--------------------------


Message 37 from *Storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Aug 27 19:44:44 1997 EDT
From:     Yalindra (#13170)
To:       *Storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Hirach'na - "That sinking feeling"

	Yalindra lay warm and comfortable beneath the sheets, the cavern
quiet, peaceful. There was something missing that would have made it a
blissful moment - her husband. It was not unnatural for him to leave for
days at a time unannounced...in pursuit of his magical studies, or when
he just needed a moment alone. She should have thought nothing of it,
but this time, something was different. She missed the sound of his
relaxed breathing...his warmth...all too much. She felt like she had not
seen him in months, when it had only been days. Myr's consoling voice
rumbled wisely in her mind: [Do not trouble yourself. Your mate will
return, as he always does.] She smiled faintly.
	Sleep came shortly after, but visions sped through her sleeping
mind. Visions of the last time she her husband had left for months...
how she had almost lost him forever. Her dreams even bored into the
dark recesses of her mind which dated back to the days when Temple had
conditioned her husband as an agent of evil. Unknown to her, she flinched
visibly.
	Then, her visions shifted to a reproduction of the Ledge on
Morlith. She was there. There were no dragons; no Myr in her mind. She
felt cold and alone....very alone. A baby cry echoed dully through the
barren halls of Morlith. Her thoughts drifted to her children, then back
to the intense feeling of solitude. Then, a perculiar thing occured -
she questioned why she was alone. She looked around and found herself
seeing things in remarkable lucidity for a dream...that she could remark
this was remarkable in itself.
	A voice came...soft and distant. She mistook it for the wind
at first. She could not hear any words, but she knew it called her name;
it lacked the honorific, as well. Again it spoke in breathless tone,
accompanied by a faint shimmering of the air nearby. "Myssssst," it
hissed. The air shimmered more, until it appeared as a cloaked figure
about as tall as herself. The figure remained motionless and did not
answer her when she asked who and what it was.

--------------------------


Message 38 from *Storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Aug 27 19:53:42 1997 EDT
From:     Yalindra (#13170)
To:       *Storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Part two,...was a little long :)

	The figure called out another name - "Devvvvvvonnnn," it rumbled,
as Yalindra blinked in shock. Then, the sky became brilliant white for
a moment, blinding her and causing her to shield her eyes. When she
opened them again, she saw nothing. "I am blind!" she thought, a frisson
rising up her spine. It got cold...so very cold, and the figure
reappeared beside her - she was not blind, but completely blanketed in
darkness. The figure hissed again. Deep within the folds of its cowl,
a face appeared, pale white as if in death. The face became progressively
larger, until she could make out the features - she stared into what
could be the death-mask of her missing husband. Her limbs trembled,
her warrior's resolve all but lost as the leering bone white face came
closer still, bloodless gashes marking the apparition. She covered her
face with her arms, closing her eyes tightly and letting out a terrifed
scream. The chill of the grave overcame her until her entire body was
numb. She could not feel...she gasped for air...she could not even
hear herself screaming anymore.
[Yalindra!] a voice boomed in her head, jarring her awake rapidly.
Her chest heaved, and her body was covered in a sheen of sweat as her
eyes came to focus. A dream. She looked around and found herself to be
standing, out on the Ledge on Mount Morlith, her arms still thrown up
over her face protectively, a dull ache in all of her muscles. She fell
to her knees in partial disbelief, partial fatigue. The frisson rose
up her spine once more.

--------------------------


Message 39 from *Storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Aug 27 22:03:46 1997 EDT
From:     Jaelene (#20187)
To:       *Storylines (#5236)
Subject:  sweet sights.

 The night was hot and the window in the room was open with a stale breeze
lapping at the curtins.  The sounds of animals outside the small cabin could
be heard through the open window.  Tossing the covers aside, Jaelene got up
her body sticky with sweat.  Moving over to the window she stood there looking
out into the deep black night.  She saw a movement in the distance and smiled
as thoughts raced through her mind.  Her memories mixing with those of her
lover's, Toraxyn.
 The breeze chilled her body as she walked back over to the bed and sat down
on it.  Jaelene reached out and caressed Toraxyn's cheek as he slept and with
her other hand touched her lips remembering his passionate kisses.  Softly she
mumured against her own fingers, "My sweet lover how you complete me."  Her
eyes wandered down his naked body noting the unchecked power that radiated
from him even in his sleep.  Gently she picked up his gloved hand and a shiver
went up her spine as she recalled the pain of the burn.  Reaching over to the
night table she picked up the jeweled dagger her father had given to her.  A
solitary tear ran down her cheek as she clasped the dagger against her bare
chest.
 Closing her eyes against the images and the pain of her thoughts she focused
on the present.  "Give me the strength to be good to him and the power to stay
at his side when he pushes me away.  Let my love for him surround him when
he's sad, and my joy lift his spirits."
 Carefully she ran the tip of the dagger down her sternum leaving a bright
line of red blood in it's wake.  Jaelene ta deep breath and set the dagger
back down on the night table.  As the blood trickled, she moved her finger
over it and moved closer to Toraxyn.  Looking at him she reached out and ran
her finger over his lips gently.  "Never forget that I love you with all that
I am."

--------------------------


Message 40 from *Storylines (#5236):
Date:     Thu Aug 28 04:35:29 1997 EDT
From:     Seraph (#16551)
To:       *Storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Walking...

She walked through New Orleans, staring at the sky as if she had never seen
anything like it before in her life.
"A few days, not more," his words, echoed through her mind. If it was just a
few days, then so be it. She would pack whatever living she could in that
time.
Crossing her arms over her chest, she sat on the rim of the fountain, exhaling
a stream of grey smoke into the whipping wind. It felt odd, for June. The
sticky heat found her too easily, and the familiar chill they left her with
was gone, at least, for a time.
"Afraid of Rathe, afraid of what they would think of you... " the other words
ricocheted through her head, and for the strangest reason, she wished she
could make him understand. It wasn't the act. It wasn't cruelty, and couldn't
have been fear. The mark. The personal mark. Making someone else... his. The
thought cored her, leaving a hollow pit growling at the small of her back.She
sighed, taking a long drag off of the rapidly dwindling cigarette, in the
middle of a swelling silence.
He wondered why she had cried, thought, understandably, it had been the pain.
"You alive in there?" he had asked.
"Yeah," she had answered, and said it aloud to herself again as a wave of
smoke caught by the wind rolled over her face. "Yeah, I am."
It wouldn't make sense to anyone why. Not even her teacher, no doubt. Odds
were that he found her weak enough as it was. The thought did frighten her a
little, as did the fact that Rathe had tracked her, looking for where to find
him, no doubt. The hollow place widened, and swelled.
The image of that glyph, drawn so casually in the air, then twice on flesh,
burned itself into her mind. She found herself a new ghost, floating in the
recently made void. It danced before her, taunting, mocking. She steeled
herself against it, and drove it back with reason and a strange rationale. A
mark. A mark that would be with you forever. A mark that was a reminder of
hate, failure, pain, and decay. She had enough of those already.
This one would not be hers, however, and somehow, that scarred deeper than her
own blade had ever driven itself against flesh.
Such things had never troubled her before. The lines of the glyph spun in her
mind, and by force of will, she unmade their image, creating instead a deeper
void, cool, utterly black, and more silent than death itself.
"My place... " her thoughts echoed through the landscape of her mind, finding
no replies. Gideon had been right. He had given her the blessing of total
silence.
She stayed there, as day fell to night, and night was split by the sun at
dawn, silent, unmoving, filled with the silence, and fortifying the walls of
this other place, the quiet place, making room there for one alone.
He never would have understood why she had cried. She knew that much. She only
knew how it had felt to answer, "Yes," and for the very first time, be sure it
was true.

--------------------------


Message 41 from *Storylines (#5236):
Date:     Thu Aug 28 10:38:16 1997 EDT
From:     Melira (#18088)
To:       *Storylines (#5236)

Melira frowned and rubbed at the smoky looking glass with her hand. Scowling
deeper at the smudge on her palm, she turned and wiped the dust on the bed
spread - it wouldn't matter if it was a little dirtier.. everything in this
room was dirty no matter how much she botherred to clean it. She leaned
against the table, peering into the glass propped against the wall. She'd not
looked at herself in some time, and what she saw surprised her.
She was older, for starters. The image of herself she'd had in her head was
outdated. The baby fat had fallen away from her cheeks - how old was she now?
19? 20? - the face that had once been mostly square was now delicate looking,
with high cheek bones and a fine Roman nose. Her silvery brows arches away
from eyes which seemed only wider and darker than they had years ago. A lock
of hair slipped over her shoulder, and she stood up to look at the rest of
her. She'd always been slim, but now she was more wiry muscle than soft
padding. Her figure was only slightly boyish - she was womanly in all the
important places, it seemed.
Those thoughts brought Rathe to mind... his odd flirting with her. His clever
comment about how he was 'here to stay' as her companion. Normal enough when
they were both fairly drunk and everyone else was riotous... somehow strange
when they were sober and the lounge was quiet. If he wanted her, fine. She'd
play his little game, but no matter what else happened they had a professional
relationship as Adept and Seeker. He was her teacher, and she was his.. well..
student, though he apparntly had a bit more of her than that. She was branded;
no big deal.. she'd not much to lose. She might belong to him every which way
imaginable, but she could not love him. It was not permissible.
She caught herself frowning again, and felt the cold familiar feelings
crawling through her again. Love did wicked things to people, and clouded the
mind. She'd never been in love with any one before, and though she suspected
Rathe might have at some time she doubted he loved her. She reached down and
raised the hem of her shift, looking for the mark on her hip. It was still
there... so was the dull ache that reminded her of her once broken arm if the
winter air got cold enough. Her mother had loved that.. oh, she couldn't
(didn't want to) remember his name anyway.. only that her mother had 'loved'
him, and allowed him to beat Lira if Lira's mother wasn't cooperative enough.
She'd had enough of that by the time she was 12, and had left the 'winery' to
go on her own. It had never been fun, but it had often been amusing.. her life
wandering from place to place.
She sat down in one of the ricety chairs, and stared out at the angry gleaming
sun. After a time her eyes drifted back to the looking glass.... Violet, near
black eyes that held anger and resignation. It mattered very little what
happened to her, as long as those eyes never held the kind of pining love
she'd seen in other eyes. It mattered very little, so long as she got where
she was going.

--------------------------


Message 42 from *Storylines (#5236):
Date:     Fri Aug 29 19:14:10 1997 EDT
From:     Lotar (#16408)
To:       *Storylines (#5236)
Subject:  cult

Members of Hells Portal wanted
we shall rise once more to reke havac upon this world

--------------------------


Message 43 from *Storylines (#5236):
Date:     Fri Aug 29 19:15:21 1997 EDT
From:     Rathe (#14172)
To:       *Storylines (#5236)

Members of Typocity wanted.
We shell rise unce more to reke havac upon thes werld.

--------------------------


Message 44 from *Storylines (#5236):
Date:     Sat Aug 30 06:14:48 1997 EDT
From:     Morpheus (#12681)
To:       *Storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Tired....so tired.

'    How long had he been here?  Morph sighed as he contemplated the
shifting tapestry of colours that surrounded him.  There was no way of
knowing how much time was passing outside of this place.  Days, centuries,
maybe even milliseconds, could be passing as he sat surrounded by the
ever-changing patterns of light that seemed to pass through and around him.
For a moment, he paused as a ripple shuddered through the light slamming
into his consciousness like a knife twisting in his innards.  An amorphous
pseudopod of something unidentifiable wrapped around his waist as it
rapidly applied pressure and tore him away from his position.  Screaming,
Morph dropped away, floating helplessly in tow within the great coloured
vacuum around him.
'   Lying dormant within the cave, Morph's physical form continued to
slumber.......motionless except for the slightest twitch of the eyelids
beneath his blindfold.

--------------------------


Message 45 from *Storylines (#5236):
Date:     Sun Aug 31 13:10:06 1997 EDT
From:     Yalindra (#13170)
To:       *Storylines (#5236)
Subject:  A tale of Two Rings

	Yalindra woke to the whuffling of a dragon snout. Groggily cracking
open an eye, Myr spoke in her mind. [A message has come.]  Her heart
skipped a beat and a smile came to her face. "I knew my husband was alive.
Curse Rathe and his childish meddling."
	Myr handed over a pouch that came with a note attached. Yalindra
sat up in the bed, brushing stray strands of hair from her eyes as she
reached to light the candle that lay near the bed. She read the note,
her expression becoming unreadable when she had finished. Myr read the
note through her mind, rumbling slightly in thought. It was good news...
but not the news she had hoped for. Apparently someone, or something
had killed Temple.... The malicious snake would do no more harm, but this
also carried a deeper, more frightening meaning. Again, a frisson rose
up Yalindra's spine.
	"I was sure she had him..." she mused. That meant... She paled
slightly. There could be truth to Rathe's story of Devon being lost
in some netherworld battle, thrust beyond the Eagle's reach. She put
no trust in the words of the lying elf, but...his demeanor...his
boasting.... Could it be true? "No," she told herself. "I cannot believe
this." Devon could take care of himself....
	A sharp cry brought her out of her thoughts. She turned her
head to the crib where her daughter lay, and saw tiny hands flailing in
the air, the cries rising in volume. Yalindra sighed and got out of the
bed, neglecting to pick up the small pouch which fell to the floor as
she rose. A dull clinking was heard from the stone floor. Yalindra
picked up Sariana, cradling her in her arms before investigating the
source of the noise. Something flickered in the candlelight - a ring.
She picked it up, still rocking Sariana gently, and her cries subsided.
The ring was fashioned after a snake, poised to strike...something
dark gleamed on the fangs.
	She set the serpent ring down on the bedside table, fingering
her necklace absently. She had threaded her husband's ring on it...
after Rathe had returned it to her. Worry creased her brow. Two rings
in one day...both in pouches. One enemy dead...one still alive...and a
missing husband. She sighed, sitting back in her bed with her daughter
in her arms, resting but never finding complete sleep....

--------------------------


Message 46 from *Storylines (#5236):
Date:     Sun Aug 31 16:01:57 1997 EDT
From:     Seraph (#16551)
To:       *Storylines (#5236)
Subject:  ...

She paced the confines of the little room above Le Masquerade,  hearing the
dull echo of her feet clatter off of the copper ceiling tiles as the music
surrounded her. The quick heartbeat rhythym of bass made her bones shake,
rattling the chill that had been creeping through her like a virus with ever
increasing frequency out of her slowly.
The stillness counfounded her, as it always had, and even the passing of the
few midnight travelers on the alley paths beneath her window offered little
diversion. She had tried to turn her mind to study, finding concentration
evasive as they clamored for her attention.
*Why did you block us away?*
*Who was the other one you showed us? Will he be more receptive to our gifts
than you? You're so ungrateful... *
Gritting her teeth, she closed her eyes tightly.
*How loud do I have to scream to make you listen?*
*Do I have to walk through you again? Will you listen then?*
*Don't you love me anymore?*
She drove her fingernails into her palm, searching blindly for the place she
had built within her own mind. The room dissolved to black around her, and she
ran like a child from the hungry wolves in the twilight wood, searching for
the door.
*Maybe we should just leave you, 'nora. You don't care about us, even though
we need you.*
*What kind of person are, you, really?*
Silence fell with an opressive grey darkness, the air of the cragged valley
filled with the broken and twisted forms of trees becoming colder than death.
Gooseflesh rose along her arms as the cold swallowed her, and she began to run
again, looking up to see a small light ahead.
The silence died, becoming a cacophany of wailing cries, their curses
redoubling in cruelty and volume as she reached out towards the flickering
light ahead of her.
Long forgotten faces glowed out of the mist, rising and ebbing like tide,
memory catching at her frozen feet to try and anchor her in place. Too late,
as her fingers caught on the latch of the door, and she fell face first into
the room.
The warm dark greeted her, the small room where a tiny trail of emerald flame
still spun among the heights of the shadowswept chamber swallowed her in a
soft silence. Standing slow, she closed the door behind her. It made no sound.
Their fists pounded on the walls, though it was more a sense than a sound. She
couldn't hear them, not here. Their fingers scratched at the stonework
outside, finding no purchase.
She slowly opened her eyes as the chill slipped out of her completely.
The room was the same, startling in it's 'realness' and simplicity. The
comfortable apartment seemed alien for a few moments, as her senses adjusted
to the change. For a candle's death she stared at her reflection in the mirror
across from the wardrobe, seeing herself as though she never had done so
before.
It really was amazing, how simple it had been. She never would have believed
it... even if anyone had told her so.

--------------------------


Message 47 from *Storylines (#5236):
Date:     Tue Sep  2 00:04:12 1997 EDT
From:     Rathe (#14172)
To:       *Storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Announcement to the residents of Drach'Nal


It has been Decided that there will be a new holiday. This day will be named
"Rathemas" and will celebrate Rathe's aquisition of Drach'nal. You, the
citizens, will celebrate this holiday by giving gifts of automatic weapons
wrapped in human skin. Any person not giving automatic weapons may substitute
objects such as knives, sharp rocks, et cetera depending on economic ability.

And lo, it came on the first day of May: A winged demon came down from the
heavens, striking fear into a group of goat herders. And Lo, the demon did
speak:
"Today, a man will come. And lo, he shall have lived amongst thee for a long
time, but be a stranger still. The blood of the underworld shall flow in his
veins, and the fires of hell shall dance upon his fingertips, verily. Go forth
to your village, and proclaim his coming, for he will be your saivor!"
With that, the demon took for himself a goat as sacrifice, and once again took
to the air on his leathery wings. And Lo, the goat-herds did return to
Drach'Nal, and get smashed, verily, in the pub.
Many hours later, one of the drunk sheap-herds wandered out into the street,
to find His Lordship, Above all Others on This Earth, Adept Rathe proclaiming
the village for his own. And lo, the goat-herd had forgotten the great and
mighty demon which had delivered the message of Rathe's coming. In his
ignorance, this man did laugh, and was struck down by the fires of hell.
The End

You may, at your discression, read the above to your children on Rathemas eve.

Thank you

--The Mngmt

--------------------------