Date: Tue, 14 Oct 1997 16:30:48 -0400 From: "Quinn@GhostWheel" To: quinn@netsville.com Subject: GhostWheel Message(s) 62 - 70 from *Storylines (#5236) X-Mail-Agent: GhostWheel (casper.bga.com 6969) Message 62 from *Storylines (#5236): Date: Mon Sep 8 08:39:32 1997 EDT From: Red-Fang (#5907) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: The progression of war! Red sat pondering the events of the last few days.. Work was going well on the Oasis defences. So far the war was just in the early stages... Lots of name calling but no one had broken any toys yet so that was good. Ok, Rathe had pulled Red's hair a few times but he was just showing his childishness.. Red was gearing up for Rathe and soon he's beable to give him a lesson in the art of war. Red smiled to himself. This is so much fun. -------------------------- Message 63 from *Storylines (#5236): Date: Mon Sep 8 09:56:28 1997 EDT From: Seraph (#16551) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: Change of the winds... The rustling of chill feathers stirred her from her temporary reverie, and a soft calling sound caught her attention, bringing her fully back to thoughts of the here and now. Looking at the elegant, mage-wrought creature, her sadness stirred again in her chest. This was the worst thing that could have possibly happened. She beckoned to the hawk, and it settled on her shoulder with an unearthly grace, pausing to stare her in the eyes with its ebon gaze, almost bidding her to be still. "You don't like me much, do you?" The hawk merely tilted its head, and began to preen its feathers with a beak sharper than her blades. It had not really been an answer, of course. "Well don't worry, I'll get you back to Bram as soon as I can." She watched the creature peck through its immaculate feathers, smoothing them into place as though she were not even there. The thought of how many times she had failed such a short time ago had stilled almost every plan she had made, turning them on their heads. She crushed out the glowing ember of her cigarette on the small worktable tray with a sense of finality. The bird stirred at her shoulder, and cawed into her ear. "What?" she asked it simply. It stared at her, the look in its eyes nearly mocking, as though it was asking in return, 'What, you expect a hawk to speak? To -you-?' She hadn't expected what she had found. Apart from his outer appearance, Bram reminded her of her teacher less than she herself did. Trying to do as she had been asked, she introduced herself, and attempted, as best she could, to be polite and sociable. 'I would like it if you two were to get along' echoed in her head, which fell to the desktop with a dull thud. It almost sounded like a curse rining in her ears now. The hawk flew from its unstable human perch and mounted itself on the bedpost, continuing to preen. For someone who craved noise, her teacher's ward was horribly quiet. She had hoped she would get a chance to pass along some of the information she had gathered, so that he might hear of it sooner from his ward than her letters, but fate, in the form of Megan, Toraxyn, and the damnable bird pecking through its feathers with a mild detached disinterest, had stepped in. "Why does everyone overreact to every damned thing in the world?" she asked the bird, not turning her head to look at it. 'Because I'm simply charming, wouldn't you want to pet me, too?' she imagined it answering. Megan hadn't left the bird alone. Bram had taken offense to being bumped, and shocked the girl. Toraxyn stepped in, and now Bram was dead, despite her best efforts to the contrary, and she was left holding the bird, so to speak. She had done all she could, after all, 'family' protected one another, even if only half of them bothered to introduce themselves. Her teacher was not going to be happy, and he could have a number of reasons to be displeased with both of them. The sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach told her that he would be more understanding of the one of them he knew more closely, and that, she clearly recognized, was not her. She let her thoughts wind through the events of the night, and they kept returning to Toraxyn. She shook her head quickly, built a mental wall, and attempted to dimiss him altogether. She hadn't the first notion of when loving to hate him had turned into trying to figure out what was happenning inside his head. It had probably been, at the time, a challenge, until she had seen deeper. She didn't know why she hoped things would improve for him, she just did. Nothing like a good dance, now and again, to keep one on their toes. He was such an excellent partner, and she rather appreciated the way they could anticipate one another, word for word, blow for blow. Skill with wit and word was something she had grown to miss here, at times. Rathe had, of course, promptly tried to buy the bird from her, but she knew it was not hers to sell. She had looked for Bram, hoping to see what she could do, but there was no trace of him anywhere. Having never herself had a pet, she wondered if he missed the creature as she turned to watch it ruffle its feathers in what seemed self appreciation. 'If I hadn't wanted it, I would not have it.' Simple enough words, a simple enough manner of thought. Almost too direct for her tastes. What a contrast they seemed to make, under the skin. The matter perplexed her, and she decided it was time to find out more of what was really happenning. She finished penning her letter, and with a heavy sigh, rose to post the chronicle of the previous events to her teacher. The hawk appeared at her shoulder, and she looked it in the eyes ruefully. It cocked its head in silence, and the pair headed out to the post on the street below. -------------------------- Message 64 from *Storylines (#5236): Date: Mon Sep 8 18:59:10 1997 EDT From: Darius_Lee (#10280) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: revenge "Darius Lee hunkered down on her sand dune over looking the keep, an evil smile on her wolven features, "come out and play little ones come out and play". Her body rested flat against the sand and she couldn't help but laugh as the story of Red Riding Hood tripped through her mind, "come out and play little ones, and this I promise there won't be a hunter to save you..." She rested there calm and peaceful with the eternal patience of a born hunter, "come out and play little ones, come out and play". -------------------------- Message 65 from *Storylines (#5236): Date: Tue Sep 9 21:13:57 1997 EDT From: Seraph (#16551) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: The devil and the deep blue sea... She hadn't slept, though two full nights had already come and gone. Strange hopes had flashed away to ashes with the soft rustle of a hawk's glossy feathers. Nothing was right, and she felt herself grow cold at how twisted simple events had become. So unforseen, such a random chance. She never read the cards for herself. Surprise made life more interesting. The chill kept telling her they had seen him pass the other side, as though her eyes hadn't told her that just as simply. They had watched, silent, aknowledging his passing through their midst as they had all the others in the shadow of the Eagle, resentful, curious, watching. They told her it was over now, only the chill remaining. She couldn't help but wonder why it clung to her as deeply as it had, though the answer evaded her only because she evaded it. Her eyes closed as the weary night drew to dawn, and she ceased watching the people come and go from between the wrought iron bars of her windowsill. She knew that no matter the outcome, it would be the same. One way would bring more war, the other just a quiet ache, and bearing one, she failed to know which would suit her less. A battle was something she understood, could bear through, would come out of in pieces or not. The ache was unfamiliar because she forced it to be so. Care was something for other peoples' lives. Of all things to have happened, she knew nothing could have gone well from that point as she saw, in a a flickering instant, everything in her life turn on two unsteady tempers and a spilled glass. Two, out of all, she had come to respect for reasons that differed greatly. Now one had passed through at the hand of the other, and it was time to swallow away the ache, and prepare for war. She cursed quietly at the people passing beneath the window, not knowing, not beginning to realize what was coming. Not responsible for what would consume them, as it had already begun picking at the walls of her resolve. Envying them for their ignorance and thanking whatever powers had carried her this far that she wasn't one of them at the same time, she tried to turn her mind back to her studies. The chill took her finally, drowning out the pain in a still detachment. She had made her choice, and for the reasons that were her own, no amount of pain would cause her to rethink her path at this point. -------------------------- Message 67 from *Storylines (#5236): Date: Thu Sep 11 03:11:09 1997 EDT From: Rathe (#14172) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: ...and the agony of defeat Rathe clenched his hand into a fist, looking out his laboratory window. He practically seethed with hatred for those fools back at the Coven headquarters. So goddamned disjointed. The dreadlords had barely kept control of the situation, and every single member had brought forth his own goals. His plans for N'Orleans were sneered at, most demanded to know why they should even bother with the town. The risks were to great, they insisted.. Fools. All of them. And now, the Coven was more weak than ever. If he could salvage one or two supporters from the mess, it would be a miracle. His eyes travelled up to the peak of Morlith instinctively, the ledge hidden by the stormclouds. He sighed, and shook his head. He still had his followers.. Not having the Coven behind him would be an annoyance, but his goals could still be realized. Hopefully. -------------------------- Message 68 from *Storylines (#5236): Date: Thu Sep 11 22:38:06 1997 EDT From: Mercury (#16576) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: I can see clearly now the rain has gone... Before the pain overtook Mercury, he remembered the faces about him, the faces that were refusing something from him, when he attempted to speak once again a searing pain shot through his mind. When the ponderous rhino came to, he was surrounded by unfamiliar faces. The fog had lifted for him, revealing what was once hidden. His name, John Pilkington, ran through his mind again yet the humans around him kept insisting on referring to him as "Mercury". The last thing that Johnathan remembered was being strapped into a large chair with the various widgets and gee-gaws with some nefarious use. The young technician spoke to John, "For several crimes against humanity and the outstanding cruelty with which you performed for them, you have been sentenced to "re-education". Your current consciousness will be terminated." Johnathan winced inwardly, remembering the horrible things that he did to the humans who owned him. It had been tea time and Lord Pilkington had spilled his tea upon the 17th century doily that was used for Christmas parties. Johnathan remembered the rage that overcame him at such a faux pas. The animal that he denied for so long thundering out from his well groomed heart trampling Lord Pilkington to a thin red paste. Unfortunately the recomb rabbit maid had stepped in and was shocked by the carnage. Fortunately, Johnathan's fist crashing through her skull gave her a merciful death, just Johnathan trying to sate his baser desires upon the corpse made things worse for him. In the back of his mind during the fury, he remembered his voice, Johnathan's not Mercury's, repeating over and over "..without a paddle". A few faces had begun to become familiar through the fog, "associates of mine", Johnathan thought as he re-introduced himself. Johnathan figured that if they knew him in the time that he couldn't remember, they would most likely help him if Dakirion found out that the re-education and conditioning had worn off. Johnathan excused himself from the Lounge and went about to find a place to hide, perhaps in a few days memories of his time as "Mercury" would come back to them. Perhaps they wouldn't. Either way, he would do his best to avoid them getting their hands on him again. -------------------------- Message 69 from *Storylines (#5236): Date: Fri Sep 12 20:06:23 1997 EDT From: Yalindra (#13170) To: *Storylines (#5236) and *DragonRiders (#5915) Subject: A note posted in the R/T Lounge and Morlith Living Caverns A note with a flowing script reads: A 5000 crystal bounty is placed upon the Elven Adept Rathe, for LIVE delivery into the hands of Yalindra, Rider of Morlith. Nothing will be paid should he die in transit. Contact Yalindra via communicator or in person. (The message is repeated in the fluid scribbling of a tribal dialect, rips and tears evidence of vehemence and distaste dot the page.) -------------------------- Message 70 from *Storylines (#5236): Date: Sun Sep 14 00:24:51 1997 EDT From: Aurora (#10655) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: Settling in. Aurora pulled away the thin fabric that covered her arm. She smiled, tracing the long thin scar on her wrist. The only blemish on her otherwise scarless skin. No matter, she thought, it was well worth the mark. She knew with this, much would come to her. She had ventured here and been met with a long and fruitful day. Many she had met, including a reuinting with her father, the Magister Akane. Her hate had come with her when she met with him, her weak magicks trying strongly to destroy one who had tossed her aside. She listened to his words, pretended to accept them. "No matter, he will get his reward when I have achieved the power." She laughed hollowly, her gaze glancing around the room Akane had set aside for her. She knew then it would be wisest to befriend her father -- befriend him, use him, and like the power she was harnessing -- drain the life from him. This would be a good return indeed. Aurora took a fresh red rose from her father's beautiful garden. She concentrated upon the flower, touching the very neck of the flower, fondling the beautiful petals. Slowly, the beauty died, filling her with it's grace. Slowly, the life left the flower, turning it to brittle dust. But slow was not good enough. --------------------------