From - Wed Dec 24 14:51:59 1997 Return-Path: quinn@bga.com Received: from mail1.realtime.net (mail1.realtime.net [205.238.128.217]) by eniac.vv.com (8.8.3/8.7.1) with SMTP id OAA04290 for ; Wed, 24 Dec 1997 14:36:10 -0500 (EST) Received: (qmail 20704 invoked from network); 24 Dec 1997 19:37:33 -0000 Received: from zoom.realtime.net (HELO zoom.bga.com) (root@205.238.128.40) by mail1.realtime.net with SMTP; 24 Dec 1997 19:37:33 -0000 Received: from casper.bga.com (casper.realtime.com [205.238.128.161]) by zoom.bga.com (8.6.12/8.6.12) with SMTP id NAA25843 for ; Wed, 24 Dec 1997 13:37:31 -0600 Message-Id: <199712241937.NAA25843@zoom.bga.com> Date: Wed, 24 Dec 1997 13:37:31 -0400 From: "Quinn@GhostWheel" To: quinn@netsville.com Subject: GhostWheel Message(s) 249 - 258 from *storylines (#5236) X-Mail-Agent: GhostWheel (casper.bga.com 6969) X-UIDL: cc0568d3fee6b8b275c3a54d13cb40df Status: U X-Mozilla-Status: 8001 Message 249 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Tue Nov 18 15:32:56 1997 EST From: Clayson (#17237) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: Death Clayson picked her blades up off the floor, "idiots, all of them....how dare they question my sanity. For their lack of respect, death.....all I see will die." She glanced over at Menroth as he slept, "Well, except you my love...at least you have balls of steel. Something I really respect in a man." Clayson laughed softly as she made her way out to the wheel, waiting for her first victim. -------------------------- Message 250 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Tue Nov 18 18:01:04 1997 EST From: Seraph (#16551) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: Elegant madness "Simple, simple, simple... " she muttered to herself, pacing the narrow confines of her chamber. *Not so simple as to be able to overcome you sometimes, Annie* "Hush," she whispered in a chill, over-calm voice. She set a fingertip to her lips, half tilting her head to look over her shoulder. Her eyes shifted dramatically to the corner, as though the effort of fully turning her head was more than she needed to expend. As she stood alone in the room, she was, indeed, correct. As alone as she ever was, that is. The whispers stilled like stars through a window snuffed to blackness by a drawn blind. They were so obedient now. "I do so appreciate obedient company," she hissed into the darkness behind her. Their chill ran through her like a mild shudder of pleasure, and her full lips tilted into the faintest of smiles. It was their turn to be afraid of and in the dark. It was their turn to be alone with only themselves for company. She could make them be silent if she wished, and she wished it now. They would be of no help to her as she fought with her other demons. The images had become far more clear. It had been a feeling at first. Simple. A sense of eyes on her back, a familiar sensation that had somehow risen the hairs at the back of her neck as though she were a cat, its hackles on end. Different eyes than any she had known. But whose? All of their wailing was useless. They were aware of as little as she about the matter. Though they felt the presensce as deeply, if not more so, than she, they could shed no light on the matter, so she walled them up in the dark for a moment's peace and silence. She did not give herself the time to appreciate the quiet, as she often did. It was something, she mused in less troubled moments, she would never take for granted. Seeing past their veil, however, she was more aware of what others moved among them. "Some will call them angels," she whispered to herself, as though to reaffirm the thought aloud. Her slender fingertips traced an icy rune in the air, which arced and distorted itself, forming a momentary illusion that flickered away into smoke as she thrust her fingertips into its depths. "No angels... " she murmured, turning to silence. -------------------------- Message 251 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Thu Nov 20 13:35:56 1997 EST From: Wilder (#20385) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: Pretty Kitty Wilder sat on the floor of the Tinder Box in the early hours of the morning alone except for a small kitten he was idly stroking on his lap that purred contently. "I haven't found what I am looking for yet Whiskers." A purring was the only reply. "I need to free my brothers and sisters. Soon." A plaintitive meow was heard as Wilder had stopped his stroking. With a warm smile, Wilder looked down at the little kitten in his lap. "Pretty kitty," he said as he snapped its neck like a dry twig. -------------------------- Message 252 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Thu Nov 20 17:17:01 1997 EST From: Akane (#14270) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: Upon the roof of the Spellsinger Hall Akane comptemplated his next move. Runes shimmered on the ground near Rathe's old apartment, his keen eyes picked up every line so carefully. The air was crisp, cool and refreshing. leaves scattered about as he perched, like a falcon, upon the rooftop. "The girl talked of Robitham's return.. this is not good at all." he blew some hair from his face, and stood up. "Not good at all.." he then slipped down a stairwell and descended into the warm hall. -------------------------- Message 253 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Thu Nov 20 19:28:06 1997 EST From: Avery (#20315) To: *Storylines (#5236) Avery walked through the wastes, following the sand covered road to the bridge. Turning to the west after crossing she looked for the familiar orange of her small tent, her steps slowing as she came closer to the tangled heap of poly in the sand. The cruel winds had all but covered it over, thankfully stil leaving the lee side visible to her. Dropping to her knees she pulled at the material, ignoring the ball of fear growing in her stomach that Zeal could be in there. She dropped back into the sand, relief sweeping over her. Zeal wasnt there. But where was he, the sands covered everything, leaving no clues. She should have came home the night before, but K'Tegran refused her passage, forcing her to spend the night on Uruken. Avery sighed, an angry dragon and now this. -------------------------- Message 254 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Fri Nov 21 10:29:53 1997 EST From: Ylaerin (#16541) To: *Storylines (#5236) The mists parted and she stumbled, dazed and a little worried. Syyrl caught her arm, and she realized fully where she was, as she looked up into his face. He smiled gently, and spoke to her in her own tongue, Gaelic... Ylaerin shook her head to clear it, she felt sick and dizzy; why should Gaelic seem so comforting when no one outside of the OtherWorld had spoken it to her in years? 'Etra, you're looking a little less in command than usual, love.' Syyrl smiled, 'Perhaps that's to be expected... you've never been here when you were quite so far along in your expectancy.' This prompted her to look herself over, and she nodded, a small sad voice in the back of her head telling her she'd never been so huge. Syyrl chuckled at her frown, and pulled her against him, 'Yshar is right. Always beautiful, you are, and stop fretting.' With his embrace, her head seemed to clear at last, a second parting of the mists to match her astonished entrance into this world. 'Has the Bard called me? He was worried over my condition the last time... but of course, things are much different now than they were then.' Syyrl nodded, 'You both seem to have adjusted to Tyzrath's absence better than I suspected. Had you not been in better hands that time around, I would have had true fear of you losing your son with Yshar much as you lost our son together.' He rubbed at her shoulder absently, 'But the Bard was watching over you, as were the gods of course. And it seems the worst that has come from that is that Rowan is small and quiet and tends to worry you with his solemness at times.' She chuckled, and he smiled wider now - having made her laugh. She took his hand, and they walked amongst the heather together for some time before she spoke again. 'So you've brought me once more, and I suppose you want to talk to me about this child?' Syyrl shot her a sidelong glance, so she went on, 'I know you, lad. And I know this place, though not nearly as well. It's risky to pull me here when I am with child, even as strong as I may be.' At this he nodded, 'Yshar's first born was supposed to be a daughter, wasn't it?' Etra nodded, frowning, and Syyrl went on, 'You haven't failed him, so don't think it. That poisoning you took from that .. spider fellow.. well, it did you more harm than you'd thought. You took precautions against having a child that was born ill or harmed, even though you didn't think you were expecting any child. But you were... and awful as it seems, you'd done the right thing. But that's why you had no daughter first, but your Rowan.' She drew herself up straighter, and nodded, saying nothing at first. Her thoughts rushed inside her head like scattering winds, and she felt the touch of Luthe's waking mind and eased his worry and his dreaming. 'So this child I carry now... A daughter? And the heir to Strafe's House?' Syyrl nodded. Releif washed over her so suddenly that she giggled, and Syyrl squeezed her hand and raised one dark brow at her, 'I'm not going to tell him... I'll let him fret it out again.' Syyrl turned to her, and took her shoulders in his hands, 'We could talk about more, but it's best you get back. I should tell you ahead of time, though, that your daughter is a warrior's daughter - and will be so not merely because of Yshar's upbringing.' He folded her under the crook of his arm, and pointed to where a dark doorway stood, quite out of place. 'The corridors of dreaming, mo choill, and you've been there once already.' She nodded, shivering as tendrils of pale golden light shivered their way across the moor to curl at the hem of her dress. 'Shoulder your harp, Etra, keep your draig close by.' He kissed her forehead, and Luthe awoke, his awareness flooding into her mind. She stepped toward the door, laid her hand on the handle and pushed. Silent song o\poured out at her, and she remembered the dark haired girl who had stood at the other end of the halls. It was like fighting her way through charp cobwebs, and she was lost in the dangerous dreaming for days.. years.. the unfamiliar feel of steel in her hand... blinking at the glow of molten iron... a glimpse of dark hair, wind and breeze, flashing amber... The child moved within her, and she woke, breathless and frozen in the heavy stillness of the nighttime cavern. Dragon breath on her cheek and a shining, silver, watchful dragon eye guarding her. The two of them exchanged wordlessly and quickly, and Luthe - satisfied his Worthy was well - shuffled back to his cot and the dreams of hunting and flying that still carried over from his hatchling youth. Ylaerin lay her hands on her stomach, and wondered if it was no more than dreaming, or if truth lay in what she'd seen... -------------------------- Message 255 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Fri Nov 21 12:32:46 1997 EST From: Rathe (#14172) To: *Storylines (#5236) Bah. More sappiness.. Time to work on another gore-filled adventure of ElfBoy. -------------------------- Message 256 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Fri Nov 21 14:01:11 1997 EST From: Venom (#20510) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: A note posted in Important places A note which is written rather messy says: Selling, one SuperAcid pistol. No capsules included. Contact Venom if Interested (#16593) -------------------------- Message 257 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Fri Nov 21 15:56:43 1997 EST From: Zealot (#14400) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: Thoughts Zealot looked over at the still sleeping form of Avery. He watched her breathing for a few moments, finally placing a soft kiss on her cheek before he slipped from the tent and stood in the moonlight shadow of The Reaver. "I have to do something about K'tegran. She cannot continue to try and be a wedge between me and Avery." Zealot clenched his fist, making a silent vow. -------------------------- Message 258 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sat Nov 22 07:52:18 1997 EST From: Lykaj (#6068) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: Preperations The horse was obvoisly nervous, barely staying still as Lykaj packed the last of the supplies he thought he might need for his journey. He talked softly to the animal, trying to sooth the beast, knowing it was in vain. He thought, "She knows better than to willingly go there." He mounted the beast and urged her ahead. Not sure if he should look back or not one last time or not. "Everything is in place." He thought. "Nothing more I can do." The path ahead looked hard and cold. The sun would be rising in a few hours. He knew he would never see it. Perhaps never see it again. He urged the horse onward again, wishing to get it all over with as fast as he could. --------------------------