Date: Tue, 7 Oct 1997 16:30:18 -0400 From: "Quinn@GhostWheel" To: quinn@netsville.com Subject: GhostWheel Message(s) 48 - 61 from *Storylines (#5236) X-Mail-Agent: GhostWheel (casper.bga.com 6969) Message 48 from *Storylines (#5236): Date: Tue Sep 2 10:49:39 1997 EDT From: Red-Fang (#5907) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: Time to grow. Red sat pondering his position. It was only apparent his enemys had grown in pwer. Time to use my resourses and stop doing things myself.. New orders for the Slayer unit were in order.. Red would contact Stryfe as soon as possible. Also General Khyber needed to be brought into play. The Oasis fortified also. What was Jamie up to? Not really sure.. But for now he'd play along.. Least Rathe wasn't a threat to the kids with Moonheart hanging over his shoulder. It was time to become a Lord, to deligate and relax. Foe would hang on the mantle for a time. A storm was brewing and when it broke people would pay. Red smiled to himself. -------------------------- Message 49 from *Storylines (#5236): Date: Tue Sep 2 15:22:56 1997 EDT From: Rathe (#14172) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: Survival of the quickest Rathe stood in his laboratory, eyes fixed on Morlith. He often found himself here, staring through the tower's bay windows, facing the object of his hatred, his ambition, his purpose. He knew that the day would eventually come when he would find himself on the mount, the sarkus his, the dragonmage and, indeed, the entire population of morlith kneeling at his feet. He had a lifetime to wait.. In fact, many lifetimes. But every day, his patience wore thinner. Every day, the urge was there to stike, to attack at any cost. Patience was the key.. But how could he be patient when his goal was so close? Morlith was near -- the mountain he found him staring at right now had, at its top, the home of those wretched lizards. Their shadows passed over his home daily, reminding him of the ever-present threat. He could destroy them individually, with preperation and a little luck.. But what would this win him? One dragon destroyed, the rest on guard.. As had happened with Yshar's dragon.. Few of the creatures had come downland since. A blessing in one way, but how would he realize his ultimate goal if the riders were always on guard? Confident, careless, cocky, dead. He needed the riders to feel comfortable. His thoughts ran to an incidence only a couple days before, when his plans had brought him to Yalindra, Myst.. He had hardly been subtle in his recent endeavors, and as a result, his plans with Myst might go unrealized. Surely, she would honor the contest.. Or maybe she would pull that `honorless' speech again? Only time would tell if his tactics with the girl would work. Rathe reluctantly drew his eyes away from Morlith, and stepped over to his desk. Charts and maps covered it, many of them battle plans. A roster of Morlith's deziens, and a map sat atop the pile, recently aquired from one of the riders who owed him a favor.. Half-hidden under that was a map of Red's keep, notation scrawled along the edges of the parchment. Jamie's attempts at making peace seemed to have been successful, but he knew Red was treacherous. The old man had lied to him once when peace was offered, and the chance of a second round of treachery was likely. If it came to war, well, now was the time to gather loyals, soldiers. No doubt Red was making plans of this sort at this very moment. The question was, who could he trust? The fold? The Black Coven? He would soon be speaking with Zillah about the BC's military potential, and he knew that Winter and Kzin, at least, could be trusted. One skilled mage was as valuable as twenty men, and a fellow swordsmage like Kzin was as useful as fifty. When the time for battle came, he would be prepared. His 'fortress', this valley, was secure. His allies were strong, and growing stronger. Still, he could not afford to relax. Red's trickery was guaranteed, and he would have to be ready for -all- possible situations. A tingling at the back of Rathe's skull warned him that one of his guards had been set off. Belting his word about his waist, Rathe headed outside, towards the eastern part of the village. A voice triggered in his mind, something Seraph had told him. "Victory belongs to the air.." ... Untill the matter of Red was resolved, he would have to befriend someone who would give him control of the skies. It was time to call Stryfe. -------------------------- Message 50 from *Storylines (#5236): Date: Wed Sep 3 10:59:56 1997 EDT From: Ylaerin (#16541) To: *Storylines (#5236) She stood, the grassy moor beneath her feet. The grass that always felt just enough like Eire to soothe her, and foreign enough to keep her ever-so-slightly on edge. She was back in the other world, the dream world... the heath spread endlessly before her. Somewhere out there, she mused, was the Gate.. and within that Gate was the Tree. She wondered if she'd ever see them. Her skin tickled and tingled; the air here was too real, too heady with mist.. if she drew back her thoughts, she could dimly feel Strafe lying next to her, sleeping. She allowed herself to mentally step back into the dream - the dreams were keener, sharper, clearer everytime she was called. The mists swirled, a signal of someone's arrival.. Syyrl's violet cloaked form stepped out of a hedge of rue that she's failed to notice. He dropped a hand onto her shoulder, and she smiled at him. HE reutrned the favor - but there was a grimness in his azure eyes that unsettled her. 'Hello, gra.' He brushed a strand of red hair back from her face. 'I just wanted to give you some advice... you should get going on your trip, love. Things are not going to settle down anytime soon.' She was puzzled, but said nothing. After a time, she looked back up at him - she was so small, it seemed.. he was a full foot taller than her, much like Shar - 'Syyrl, who sent you this time? The Bard? My Mother?' 'I did, Lyetra. It's odd, I know.. but your ties here are getting stronger..' he suddenly looked quite sad. And Devon's words of the Sight's connections to sacrifice tumbled around in her head. She might not actually lose her eyes... but there were worse things to lose; she'd lost much already, and fondly thought of Tyzrath as only the most recent. Finally, she nodded. 'Strafe and I will set out as soon as everything is settled with Rowan. Lyr'tyzluthe will, of course, stay home, but.. well, at any rate. I need the vacation.' She smiled slightly, and he nodded. He hugged her then, suddenly and almost sharply. And when she awoke, it was to find Shar's arms around her, a very similar embrace. The winds of change and trouble gone with Luthe's quiet snoring and the echo of the cavern. -------------------------- Message 51 from *Storylines (#5236): Date: Wed Sep 3 11:54:02 1997 EDT From: Red-Fang (#5907) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: New Law! Effective this day and until futher notice it is ILLIGAL to spar with mages of any rank. Posted by Red Fang in the R/T round room. OOC Least til I catch up *smiles* Signed Red Fang -------------------------- Message 52 from *Storylines (#5236): Date: Wed Sep 3 11:58:35 1997 EDT From: Augustus (#18463) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: IT ILLEGAL! ooc Ok, its my horrid spelling again.. Illegal that is.. Oh, and mages in Red's employ are exempt from the law. -------------------------- Message 53 from *Storylines (#5236): Date: Wed Sep 3 19:31:17 1997 EDT From: Rathe (#14172) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: Decree Are you a mage being descriminated against? Tired of Red Fang's hatred? Give us a call! We offer low* sparring time rates for all Drach'Nal visitors! Visit the valley -- today! (in tiny print) * sparring prices may vary depending on how buddy-buddy you are with Lord Rathe. Employees of Red Fang need not apply. -------------------------- Message 54 from *Storylines (#5236): Date: Wed Sep 3 21:28:41 1997 EDT From: Dauthi (#10660) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: Statement. Sick and tired of threats? tired of paying wages just to improve your skills? Contact Dauthi, he'll spar you for free, all you need to do is sign up on his roster of free time, We guarantee the best in sparring, to all those save people who chose to extort others, and/or act annoying in any fashion. -------------------------- Message 55 from *Storylines (#5236): Date: Wed Sep 3 22:02:47 1997 EDT From: Yggidrasil (#20466) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: The End Yggidrasil awoke, his body ached and he could barely remember what occured the past few days. He remembered going to check on his smithy on Drach'nal, unlocking the door and finding Rathe there who almost immediately bashed his skull into unconciousness, the next few days of pain were all that registered, Kisanth's fury hovering the skies over drach'nal occasional shots of frost exploding from his mouth towards Rathe's warded home. Rathe grew bored and thinking Yggy learned his lesson kept the key and kicked Yggy out of the house, Kisanth brought Yggy back to morlith to an even sader sight, Kisanth had forgotten the children while Yggy was captured and the days had passed. The shock hit Yggy that his children were dead, he fell over clutching his heart the pain ran through him and Kisanth wailed mournfully as the cold sound filled the cavern, Yggy rushed around the cavern wilding Kisanth took the children as Yggy asked him and buried them at the wasteland gates. Kisanth knew what was going thru Yggy's mind, but never thought that he would ever take his own life, even in such depression. Thoughts of his life, his purpose, so many unfilled dreams, inability to keep his feriends safe, even his own family, all his failures flooded his mind. Yggidrasil acted quickly removing a few herbs from his pouch he downed a toxic herb which acted slow, but it got the job done. By the time Kisanth had gotten to the cavern it was too late. Rage filled Kisanth which was then filled by sorrow. Yggidrasil was dead. He did not want to return to a world where his wife and children where gone, the eagle took him onward, past the eagles talon and the end. -------------------------- Message 56 from *Storylines (#5236): Date: Fri Sep 5 07:26:17 1997 EDT From: Seraph (#16551) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: Darker clouds... Her eyes remained unfocused on the burning candle flickering on the tabletop. The drifting insence floated on the summer's dying winds through the room, picking at the shadows and the light as it rose and fell on the sticky currents of wind. The black leather of the bag looked the same. Its cracks and creases, like a roadmap across its surface, remained mockingly unchanged. The worn down places marked with the sweat of hands before hers hung lopsided, almost faded to patches of white and brown. Perhaps it had been carried too long. There was the lock... brown-turned brass old and broken, no longer secure, no longer able to keep needing hands away from everything that lived inside. It was as though her eyes couldn't fix on it as a whole. She could see each part, remembering with each discoloration and scratch, each flaking patch of leather, another day when she had fixed on it, locking out the feelings in her flesh in favor of its deceptive simplicity. A simple black bag. A simple black bag, where all her secrets hid. It would not let her see it in full. That would be to accept that she had taken it out. That she might, just might, be fool enough to think herself capable of challenging the demons laying, half alseep but stirred at a memory, and open the bag. She saw her hand, as if it belonged to another, reaching out to rest its fingertips along the marred surface. -So broken- flashed through her mind as she watched her body move as if she stood beside it. She was seeing through their eyes, through they were, for once, still and silent without her blocking them away. Her perception was that they didn't understand what it was she did, sitting in silence, in the heat and dark, staring her demons down by the wavering glow of a reddened candle. To touch was to tempt, and tempt she did. The black paint on her fingernails taunted the tarnished lock with a gleaming flash, and flicked it open. In the silence, as the street below was still as death, it sounded like cannonfire. Pandora's box, begging her to touch it. No hope rested at its sueded base, crawling up from beneath the black and into the light. She knew that much already, and would not allow herself to be deceived by fables. She knew this one all too intimately for that, and knew that fairytales were indeed just that... storied read to children to tell them how the world should be. Poor children who would never see the world that way, if they ever really opened their eyes. The few who had she heard screaming beside her as she reached for the handle, the memory jarring her rapidly. Her hand twitched away, then resettled with determination, popping the hinge and letting dim light fall on the contents of her nightmares. No sound. No glowing lights, no mist, no screams from within. Not even from within herself. She took the pieces out, one by one, setting them across the table to touch the air for the first time in three years that seemed to have stretched much longer. The broken syringe was first. It felt strangely comfortable in her hand. The ink inside had long since dried, caking it a faded purple-green black. Papers, it seemed to her like hundreds of them. They had gone slightly yellow in the damp. All typed in neat, clean text, spilling ugly words over their pages. She let them fall onto the table, letting the wind have its way with them. A lurch of nausea tore through her as she looked down at the top sheet, her eyes caught by a single, tiny stain. Immaculately round, as small as the head of a pin. She closed her eyes, and it passed her quickly. In a moment, she had recovered herself, the strange memories washing away as though scoured clean. Nightmare things, she took each from the bag, one by one, closing off the parts of herself that remembered them. Finally, she found what it was she went looking for. Mechanically, and with reverence, she placed each instrument back in its place in the cold damp of the bag, save one. Holding it in her hand, her eyes unfocused, allowing herself to remember. A slow and lazy smile crossed her lips as flashes of things that never were spun through her mind. They had begun to murmur, yet she scarcely noticed them. "Brute force to the brute.. " she laughed to herself. For a moment, she wondered what some might think, though it gave her little pause, save for two. One wouldn't matter, one way or the other. The other... she wondered at times if he knew her as well as she sometimes hoped. She feared slightly he might not, and would take objection to this course of action. It was still not unwarranted. He would most certainly understand that. She had seen them face to face tonight. They had touched her. It was different than the ways in which they had touched her before. They had been all the same, this once, not merely close, as they had been in times past. There had to be recompense for that. There had to be some form of justice, though she had little faith any longer in justice or reason. They seemed concepts well out of line with the times, and perhaps ones that should be brought back into perspective. Not by the brute, since force was something that could be overcome. It was time to begin to play a game of her own, one she felt fairly certain her opponents would be unable to match her in. It was, indeed, time to dance. -------------------------- Message 57 from *Storylines (#5236): Date: Fri Sep 5 16:36:09 1997 EDT From: Darius_Lee (#10280) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: Drach'nal Rosa Leigh sat in the middle of town, her slender arms wrapped around her bent knees as she lowered her head to rest on her bent knees. The chill of the bench seeping through her clothing to seep into her flesh. She sighed wearily as all the villagers gave her a wide birth, eyeing her warily and making various religous signs as they hurried past her. One of the villagers in her rush to get by tripped and fell, the packages she was carrying spilling out of her arms in a disordered heap, her basket of eggs breaking, the yellow yolks spreading out across the ground in a wide yellow stain. Rosa Leigh hurried over, giving the women a gentle smile as she reached for the packages to gather them together again. She pretended not to notice the villagers who had come to the women's aid shrink and scurry away at her approach. "Here let me help you" she murmured softly, wincing slightly as the woman cringed and stuttered grabbing at the packages furiously in her rush to get away, "NO..nono..noo. thank...y..yyou... mistress, I"m fine fine fine". The women stuttered as she got to her feet hurriedly, her rotound body weaving on itsher feet as she tried to balance both the pakacges and her weight. The woman looked down at her broken eggs and groaned loudly, "my eggs, my eggs, what will I tell me husband". Rosa Leigh smiled brightly, "here I can fix that". Rosa Leigh reached for the basket, her glowing softly as she touched the handl. All the eggs reforming into perfectly shaped ones, the yellow stain on the ground disappearing, "See all better". Rosa Leigh smiled encouragingly at the woman and offered her the basket only to have the woman shriek loudly and run away. Rosa Leigh looked down at the baket in her hands dumbly with an unreadable expression on her face as she set it down on the ground gently. She turned and walked back to her bench, her face stiff with rehection as she sat and stared at her folded hands. >From the woods a small honey and black butterfly took flight and flitted out of the woods and into town till it came to Rosa Leigh. The butterfly flitted around her, drawn to her sorrow unexplainably as more and more butterflies drifted from the woods and meadows to swirl around Rosa Leigh. One landing on her hand lightly, bringing a soft smile to her lips as she gently petted the fluttering creature. Oblivious to the towns people sudden abandonment of the streets. Rosa Leigh sat alone in the deserted street, a lonely woman with only the butterflies to comfort her. -------------------------- Message 58 from *Storylines (#5236): Date: Fri Sep 5 17:39:20 1997 EDT From: Ylaerin (#16541) To: *Storylines (#5236) Ylaerin sat, leaning against Luthe's side and nestled in the crook of his curving tail. he was dozing in the warm sunlight, the air heavy around them with bee buzzings and flowery smells. Ylaerin sat staring at the blank page before her, pen in hand, ready to write. It was her notion to send a letter to Rathe, silly though it was. Foolish to the core, to be quite honest... but she refused to let another person be responsible for the crumbled lives of half her family. She'd come to this place, built a new family, and was watching it all happen to her again - slower this time.. more painful for the hope that had come with the new ties. She held up her hands; on the right, a battered silver ring - her promise ring from those years before she'd come and met Yggy, gone her way toward the Mount, been Rathe's 'love'. On the left, her still gleaming wedding band - dragon wings carved delicately into the metal, only on her hand for 13 months. With those same hands, she counted the lives she'd loved who had fallen to Rathe... Tyzrath, Yggidrasil, Yggy's 3 small daughters, Kisanth... There were others, she knew. She had vowed, after finding Yggy.. saying goodbye to Kisanth, that rathe would die. She intended to find a way to make that happen. She'd never been ready to kill on her own before, and she found the emotion somewhat unsettling. But her greif, her rage, her worry for her son and husband and Bondmate.. her remaining love for the 'Elven Lord' had solidified into a cold, calm jewel. It frightened her, that shining gem of hatred in her; and she knew what it was made of, why it existed.. but she would not accept this anymore. And Adept Rathe *should* be deprived of Drach'nal.. cast over a cliff.. sent to burn in all the hells a man could imagine. He should see his death looming over him with dragon wings... know once and for all that he had, long ago, missed his chance for salvation. Lyr'tyzluthe raised his head, his eyes dark and grey with worry and sorrow... shot through with flecks of yellow on her behalf. 'Ylaerin, don't.. you change yourself, and us. You can't kill him, you know that,' he said, burrowing his snout in her hair. 'I know, my draig..' she sighed.. and went to tend her son. -------------------------- Message 59 from *Storylines (#5236): Date: Fri Sep 5 18:22:11 1997 EDT From: Aurora (#10655) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: Coming of Age The girl, a freshly grown flower, now matured smiled. Her petals had just begun to bloom, exposing the dark within the previously concealed bud. Inside, there was only a darkness, a creeping blackness that would capture the eye and keep the curiousity. But within this bud, held a secret few would see, until like the carniverous flower she was, the beholder would be taken by surprised and swallowed whole... Aurora held herself well among the cold climes of her maturing grounds. It was a short time now, her mind filled in the arts of the dark ways, her body grown in the beauty of nature, that she would return to where she had come from. It had been many months -- years since she had seen this place, oddly it was a vauge memory in her mind. The thoughts of a unloving father, and strangers caring for her. The illusions of something she could not place, plauged her mind still. They were cast in odd darkening shades of grey, fire dancing about them. Dreams? No, for one so young they could not be. But she was not young any longer. They must be realities. Strange that she could not place them. She looked on to the wintery horizion before her. Her time to leave was soon. She smiled, knowing her first mission would be to find the father that had estranged her. From there, nothing was known. When she met with him, she would find the answers she needed. Perhaps pay retribution to the fallings that had come to her. Perhaps not. First, she waited until she would be free. -------------------------- Message 60 from *Storylines (#5236): Date: Fri Sep 5 23:42:28 1997 EDT From: Janus (#3597) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: Removed from the game: Eldran. Icly he is back to the Summerlands. OOCly I don't have the time to play him anymore, so no need to bloat the db. -------------------------- Message 61 from *Storylines (#5236): Date: Sat Sep 6 13:23:10 1997 EDT From: Megan (#14626) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: Lost in Space Megan sat in the cold room, her feet numb on the cold stomes as she stared out, not seeing anything. *Where am I* *How did i get here* *Who is this person sleeping quietly near me*. Those and so many more questions exploded in her mind. She didnt want to move and chance waking the sleeping form, so she sat stil wondering what her next move should be. *Ive lost time, I was in the lounge meeting people I do not know -sigh- but seem to know me* *I've got to get out of here before this man awakens* With what would be considered rudeness, she stared at him. Taking in all his features, storing it away in her memory for future reference. Megans head snapped around. *that cow moved* *Im seeing things. Its a toy i picked up somewhere along the way* *Keep that up and people will think you're crazy, girlie* Relaxing only slightly, she put her thoughts back to the immediate problems of what she was doing in a strange room with a damn scary man sleeping on the bed near her. As quietly as she could she padded from the room, her barefeet making no sound as she slipped down the stairs of the Keep, looking for a way out. OOC: very disjointed, but this is Meg, Im sure she thinks and writes like that......sooooooo......plthhhhhb. OOC: if anyone can help me get substitute to work in the editor .. id REALLY appreciate it. *grumble* stones/stomes.. what the hell. --------------------------