From - Wed Dec 31 15:08:10 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 OAA03744 for ; Wed, 31 Dec 1997 14:36:12 -0500 (EST) Received: (qmail 26850 invoked from network); 31 Dec 1997 19:37:39 -0000 Received: from zoom.realtime.net (HELO zoom.bga.com) (root@205.238.128.40) by mail1.realtime.net with SMTP; 31 Dec 1997 19:37:39 -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 NAA13366 for ; Wed, 31 Dec 1997 13:37:36 -0600 Message-Id: <199712311937.NAA13366@zoom.bga.com> Date: Wed, 31 Dec 1997 13:37:35 -0400 From: "Quinn@GhostWheel" To: quinn@netsville.com Subject: GhostWheel Message(s) 259 - 275 from *storylines (#5236) X-Mail-Agent: GhostWheel (casper.bga.com 6969) X-UIDL: eff91676aeba5997d5d25bc69609e168 X-Mozilla-Status: 8001 Message 259 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Mon Nov 24 14:15:23 1997 EST From: A_man_in_a_hooded_robe (#12681) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: Fractures and the Flat Universe Grymn paused as he grasped his blades, moving forward cautiously. In the distance, a keening wail erupted as the great dragon soared into view overhead, covering him in shadow as it descended towards him. Somewhere in the back of his neck, a muscle twitched as he glanced at the rider seated upon the dragon's back. The plainsmen who followed the dragonrider called him Kwirl, the rager of battles uncounted. As he dismounted, Grymn moved forward and bowed slightly, a gesture returned by a faint nod of the man's head. From head to toe, Kwirl was armored with the finest steel, molded to his form by the armourers of Glae'deyn, commonly acknowledged as the finest craftsmen in the world. Grymn gritted his teeth and grasped his blades as he struggled to free himself from his momentary reverie. In his left hand, Suffering moaned faintly, its blood-coloured edge smoking in the faint light of dawn. Snuggled firmly in his right hand, Pain's targetting systems performed a series of acquisition routines, computing the ideal path to place a 12mm AP round in Kwirl's brain. As Kwirl hefted his greatsword and shotgun, Grymn crouched into the customary duelling stance and prepared to begin. ' Brilliant green light erupted from the horizon as the sun burst forth in sunrise, almost immediately, Kwirl exploded into movement, his bio-enchanted reflexes causing him to blur in Grymn's vision. Feeling the chill of Kwirl's steel slice through his brain, Grymn pivoted and round-kicked Kwirl in the groin as a corner section of his skull and brain dropped uselessly to the ground. Still, Grymn could afford no pause as he backflipped out of reach and fired a microsecond burst from Pain at Kwirl's left hand. As though sensing the move, Kwirl spun sideways narrowly avoiding the 200 round spray as he simultaneously dropped and rolled again to his feet, this time aiming his own weapon at Grymn's hip. The hip burst apart in a spray of blood, metal, and flesh as Grymn toppled to the ground. Knowing he need to buy time, Grymn swung Pain and emptied the clip in Kwirl's direction as his damage compensators siphoned energy from the ground. In seconds, Grymn's leg was whole again. Jumping to his feet, Grymn leapt forward, discarding Pain and swinging Suffering toward's Kwirl's rising hand as it pointed the barrel of a shotgun at his face. Red...............erupts.....and suddenly...falling....upwards....to..... voices..... "Morph......morph............MORPHEUS!!" And suddenly, he is elsewhere.....somewhere familiar..and yet...different. A face is there..one he knows he should know..and yet...he can remember... something from the others..the other places..the other people. Morph doubled over as he glanced with horror in the grotto pool before him and saw his image reflected a thousand times with a different face. -------------------------- Message 260 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Tue Nov 25 04:50:39 1997 EST From: Baltisaar (#10734) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: In Darkness we stand, with light as our sword. Thunder rolled across the English skies, power rippling through the air. It was a storm like no other, with heavy, black clouds filling the air above the fallen Mark-Masons Hall. People hid in their homes as meterologists warned of flash flooding. For several hours the clouds gathered, the sounds of thunder pealing off the walls and even the ground and people. Finally, after several hours of this pure sonic hell, a single bolt reached out and caressed the ground, clearing the rubble from a lone, undisturbed marble inlay of a hexagram in the old temple's ground. It shimmered and twisted, an agonized scream of tortured material reaching out to break any unlucky enough to be near, then a feral growl could be heard. A form started raising through the center of the hexagram slowly, a black robe covering him, with waves of shimmering power flowing off of him. When his hands finally materialized, they glowed like binary stars, the left a dark red of hellish brimstone, reflecting off of a Arabic-inscribed hexagram, then other glowing a bright, calming blue, reflecting off of its own symbol, the the Latin-etched Pentagram. A voice sang out from beneath the hood in low tones: Before me, Raphael. Behind me, Gabriel At my right hand, Michael. At my left hand, Auriel. Before me flames the Pentagram... Behind me shines the Six-Rayed STAR! As he intoned the last, he had fully formed, and another mind-piercing shriek was released. A gate formed, surrounded by a frame of bones. The lone figure formed a triangle with his thumbs and fore-fingers, then passed through the gate. An explosion and a flash of pure, white light, and he was gone. So it had ended, So it has begun anew... The circle never broken. -------------------------- Message 261 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Tue Nov 25 16:29:37 1997 EST From: Danya (#21836) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: Unexpected and unwelcome Danya sat in the hammock of the tower greenroom, one long bare leg hanging over the side, idly swinging. She stared up at the ceiling, the plants, the watery light filtering in. Why? Why? " Her thoughts flipped back without her prompting or conscious wish. Her mother, knife in hand, sandrobe swirling, walking with her characteristic purposeful stride, one hand rummaging in her satchel...Danya had looked at her, and the odd sensation of doubled-sight she had lately begun to associate with her newborn magic...And she had seen her mother's aura. Like Master Ho's, contained within her etheric body, smoothly fluid, although bright green with the force of her seeking mind, not tranquil purple and blue like Master's had been. And something different, a sky-blue spark in her belly...." Shocked, Danya had said nothing, could say nothing. She had no idea what it meant, or even if it was really there or just a trick of her new magical powers. At first she had simply wondered what it could be...and then intuition and logic returned, and with them knowledge, all too probable knowledge." She wondered if her mother knew yet, of if her man did." But now all she could think was Why? Why? Why? and the dull thudding inevitable jealousy. And, as she always tried to guard against, thoughts of her own father, the hopeless wishing, the tearing need for the man who had been all but a god to her. And then the fresher pain of Master's death. She was not so adult as she tried to appear...tears still came easily to her, and often did in the silent darkness in the stone pyramid. But now...was her mother to be taken from her as well?" She bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut, as if that would eliminate the dreaded inevitable." -------------------------- Message 262 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Wed Nov 26 03:16:51 1997 EST From: Lovinia (#10869) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: Awakening The baby sat in the early morning sun shining through the window, grasping at the sunbeams with his pudgy hands. His expression was serious, his coordination still not honed, but so much like his father that Lovinia's heart twisted within her. She watched her son, resisting the urge to grab him up in her arms and hug him tightly. Standing from the rocker, she turned and walked from the nursery, intent upon retrieving her journal. Sudenly she gasped, her hand going to the door frame to steady herself. Closing her eyes, she fought to still her heart. A soft whisper passed her pale lips, 'He lives! Mon Deux....He lives...' She fought for control, losing, she sank to her knees...tears of joy running down her face unnoticed. The darkness and pain that had shrouded her heart had lifted, she was whole once more. She looked down at the scar on the palm of her hand and smiled joyiously. Turning her head, she looked at her child and laughed softly, 'Antoine Baltisaar Cordath...your Pappa lives and returns to us.' -------------------------- Message 263 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Thu Nov 27 00:44:55 1997 EST From: Yaislyn (#7750) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: Shades of Grey His scales faded slowly in colour as the life drained from his body. The pale rainbow-like coat lost its lustre and merely shone with a thick layer of sweat. Crackles of electricity still coursed through his limbs, and blood seeped both from his belly and his mouth. He was dying on the Mount in his Mother's arms. His eyes whirled in every hue imaginable as pain ripped at his soul. The Pearl was trying desperately to save him, but he knew it was too late. The memory of his Rider crushed beneath him was too much to bear. The memory of the warmth of her delicate flesh growing cold against his flank... Only Jarelt lived now, or at least he hoped the child was safe. Events had passed so rapidly that he could not remember. Or was his mind failing him now? Valz layed his head down on the ground and closed his eyes to die. When the time finally came, it was visions of sugarcubes that danced in his head...all dangling on a string that Yaislyn held fast in her fist. He would be with her again. He had to be. Just had to. -------------------------- Message 264 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Fri Nov 28 20:41:44 1997 EST From: Baltisaar (#10734) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: Back in the saddle again... Baltisaar sat in the study, organizing the years of books he had collected, trying to decide if where to put such tomes as "Al Azif", "De Vermiis Mysteriis" and all of the Golden Dawn lectures. It was painstaking work, and back breaking at that. After several hours he sat back and stared at the stained glass windows which Lovi had comissioned. They were quite literally works of art, and, unbeknownst to her, intensely powerful. The combination of light, the Rose Cross and in locations denoting the watchtowers of a pentagram had been placed the alchemical symbols for fire, earth, water, air and spirit. He concentrated on the window, and was not surprised to find that it began to glow in time with the tattoos on his hands. He brought them up, crossing his wrists over his chest, and began chanting an ancient verse known as the Enochian Key. It would take a day to prepare this... But once he did... He would do the one thing that only one other adept previous to him had been able to accomplish... "It was such a shame that adept Long into the night he incanted... Then he went to be with his wife... A secret smile upon his face. was later a shame to the order...", thought Baltisaar. -------------------------- Message 265 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Fri Nov 28 20:48:50 1997 EST From: Lise (#14877) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: Intrests Zarrath curled down to rest, its bones slightly chipped. Lise watched over the mighty creature, its smell no longer the problem it posed for others. She watched out past the the ledge and smiled. Foolish people, so naive to the ways of those other than them. She knew she had to find a way to destroy the Cambion, on her own. AS for Toraxyn. Toraxyn would be dealt with. Lise chuckled, moving to her room slowly. She felt her hair trail to the floor, no longer blonde but gray white. She was growing older, the age setting in quickly. She frowned slightly but said nothing. Life would pass as it had centuries before. She would die soon. -------------------------- Message 266 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sat Nov 29 00:46:10 1997 EST From: Lise (#14877) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: The fountain of youth found? Lise sat in the darkened obsidian chamber, her hair flickering red against the firelight. She just sat, motionless, quiet. Her body felt weaak and exhillerated all at the same time, and she could feel youth course through her form. It frightened her from head to toe, and yet in the three millenia of her existence, she had not felt anything like it. Toraxyn had graced her, his touch, his power strong yet gentle. She had felt little more than a serene pleasure, a whirlwind spinning around her as she chanted the chant that would free both of them from that which had held her for ages. This freedom made her weak inside, yet so very powerful. The realization that she was no longer indebted to the Fates, the Fates that had made her, controlled her, shaped her. Toraxyn, in his desire to free himself had to, freed her from any hold they had. She thought too, of the change in him. He had grown weaker, his form growing slightly older. Was that the cost?? What else would be the punishment for such actions. She frowned, thinking what would happen to him. How strange it was too that she cared. -------------------------- Message 267 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sat Nov 29 15:49:54 1997 EST From: Wilder (#20385) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: Meetings and leavetakings The sound of water dripping filled the dark and dank cavern. There was only a little light given off by some luminescent mosses. Then a cheery whistling broke the silence, it echoed off the cave walls and ceiling and floor. Three pairs of red eyes lit up a dark corner heavy in shadow. They immediately focused on the source of the whistling. Wilder stopped and smiled. "Your late." The center voice said in a sibilant tounge as in unison all three pairs of eyes moved forward, their shifting scales making a dry rasping sound as they entered into the more ligthed area of the cave. Wilder merely smiled again. "I am so sorry. I had other things to do. Better late then never right? " He giggled. The three shapes dwarfed him, the serpentine men clearly not amused. "WE have agreed to the bargain you have proposed." A shifting of scales again. "WE do expect you to keep your end of the bargain as well." Wilder merely smiled yet again, that mad ingrating smile of a child. "Of course. I always keep my promises." Then he disappeared with a giggle. -------------------------- Message 268 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sat Nov 29 19:38:19 1997 EST From: Tegra (#20547) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: Logic has drowned in a sea of emotion Tegra checked the locks carefully on the front door, clicking the bolts home again in her nervousness. The back door, the windows. How many times had she checked them now? She lost track. Her eyes kept going to the box, its oiled wood and carved runes calling to her from its resting place on the huge coffee table. With a last glance at the door, she walked over to the huge table, sinking to her knees beside it. Raising her hand she reached out to touch the small oaken box, caressing its surface with her fingertips. Slowly she let her fingers travel along the path etched into the box, twice around before she stopped. Her skin warmed and flushed, the need to continue great. With more will than she thought possible, she pulled her hand away, letting it fall in her lap, "not yet.. no, not yet" she murmured, her voice husky and warm. -------------------------- Message 269 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sat Nov 29 21:03:20 1997 EST From: Rathe (#14172) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: Excavations "Sinner!" He yelled, casting an irritated glance around the deserted graveyard. "Where the hell are you, Damien?!". He truged forwards, stepping over an arm that the recent rainstorms had uncovered, scouring away the graveyard's soft earth. The wind was bitingly cold--strangely enough, it always seemed cold in this place of final rest, reguardless of the season, but Rathe felt it only against his dragonfire-ruined face, hidden beneath a mask of illusion. His robes enemated an almost feeverish warmth that kept the rest of his body from the biting chill as he continued his search, trying to find his vanished student. After several minutes, and after passing several other defiled graves, he eventually found the one he was looking for. Sinner stood at the grave's edge, slowly hauling a wooden casket out of the ground with a pully system Rathe himself had designed. The black-robed mage waited untill his student had slid the coffin onto stable ground before approaching. "Why did you not answer me?" he kept his voice cool and even, knowing his rage was little use against this paticular student.. Despite Rathe's intense efforts, Sinner had never truly been able to understand fear. Sinner blinked at him, and removed a set of headphones he had been wearing. "What's that, Adept?" The faint sound of pre-apocalyptic heavy metal filtered from Sinner's area. Rathe chuckled to himself, and shook his head. "Nothing... Nothing at all. What have you dug up for us today?" Sinner's grin would have been unsettling to most. "Not found out yet, bossman. Lets have a look." The leather-clad seeker turned and bent down over his pack, eventually producing a scratched polyplastek crowbar from the synth-burlap backpack. He walked over to the coffin, and began to slowly pry off the lid. Rathe smiled, watching with a morbid fatherly interest. The boy certainly had a good bit of talent, and a strong stomach--both would have made him a halfway decent necromancer. It was really a pity he would have to kill the boy in a month. Prying the last nail free, Sinner waved Rathe over as the coffin's lid slid to the side, revealing the pale face of a newly-dead man. He looked fairly young, perhaps in his late twenties. A bullet-hole between his closed eyes showed how the young man had come to his unfortunate place of burial. "This just won't do.," Rathe sighed, eyeing the corpse. "Look at him. Probably some idiotic crystal hunter who got his brains blown out for a katana and a handfull of crystals." Rathe reached down into the coffin, and lifted the corpse's limp arm. He made a cutting gesture with his left hand, and a beam of red light sliced through the arm, the man's hand hitting the ground. He released the arm, letting it flop back across the man's chest, and bent to pick up the hand, poking at it with a finger. "Put him back down. Try for a suicide victim.. A woman will work best, they usually kill themselves with pills and alcohol.. No severed arms and the like. Feel free to check the town records. I'm sure there's some insane noblewoman who's killed her noble self in the past few months. Gaston should be able to lead you to them..." He trailed off, his concentration bent on the severed hand, which began to twitch strangely, then snap to some strange, long-forgotten beat. "Hear that?" He grinned, turning away from Sinner, and heading back down the path to the mansion, the corpse's severed hand still snapping to the same beat. "Now that.. That's some beatiful fuckin' music." -------------------------- Message 270 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sat Nov 29 21:36:47 1997 EST From: Akeashar (#20348) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: News Today, it has been announced that Shadowbrook labs is officially drawing from their personal fund to attempt a new type of genetic engineering for a new form of animal. They will also be opening a new location. Reports are not clear as to where it will be, but sources say it will be well hidden. Even the CEO, Dwight Laurence, has officiated the funds requisition. "We hope to further the enjoyment of the local citizens by releasing these new creatures as.. pets, but most of all, we hope to contribute funds to help recombinants without masters." he refused to comment about Dakirion. Sat Mar 27 18:40:09 2640 -------------------------- Message 271 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sat Nov 29 21:51:30 1997 EST From: Akeashar (#20348) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: Addenum to last post.. At a recent board meeting which was viewed via microwave transistors, Dwight Laurence, CEO for Shadowbrook labs, announced the problem with the mutations roaming through the nearby Valley of Drach'nal has been solved. "It seems a genetic flaw in our code made it so that the creatures roamed freely. People reported dead rabbits and even animals such as deer being mutiliated. Luckily, these mutants didn't harm a human life. All comments and questions should be given to my secretary." Sat Mar 27 19:24:27 2640 -------------------------- Message 272 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sun Nov 30 03:13:12 1997 EST From: Rathe (#14172) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: Re, the typo in my post that textal pointed out Erm, Rathe's robe was not "Enemating (Enemated) anything. My robes to no perform enemas. Thank you Good night --$elf -------------------------- Message 273 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sun Nov 30 03:22:00 1997 EST From: Rathe (#14172) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: Erm.. Textral, that is. Buh.. Not a good tying.. there I go again. typing night. Not a good typing night. *twitch* Must..read..more..lovecraft *twitch*s shutting up now, and eyeing his fucked up typing, $elf -------------------------- Message 274 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sun Nov 30 21:38:52 1997 EST From: Akeashar (#20348) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: Corporate meeting. Date: Tue Mar 30 18:29:00 2640. Today, in a small, private meeting area, Lord Rathe of Drach'nal lands and of the New Orleans lands, met with Dr. Dwight Laurence, the self-appointed "Ruler" of Shadowbrook, and the doors were closed and locked for hours. From what our sources say, they reached some sort of business contract agreement, and three hours later, both emerged from the room. Lord Rathe merely shoved his way through the crowd, giving "no comment" as a statement. Laurence, on the other-hand, commented: "Today is a turning point. A point which the world just got better." and he walked off as well, two large scorpion-like creatures following behind. In other news, The citizens of Drach'nal sleep peacefully now since the mutation-threat of a week is over. Men wearing large vests and holding heavy artillery marched into Drach'nal, after the meeting, and captured rogue mutants. Dwights' only comment was that, "There was a security breach. Damned corporations are wanting my a*BLEEP*." Not much information than that was given. -------------------------- Message 275 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sun Nov 30 21:49:21 1997 EST From: Yseult (#4778) To: *DragonRiders (#5915) and *Storylines (#5236) Subject: Wasting away... Tierz'yrrlan yawned broadly as he lifted his head after a good nap. Yseult was not in her bed, but with a comfortable reach, he found her in the gardens. Perhaps the flowers would cheer her. Ever since she had given Thaire over to Ymberlain for safekeeping, she had moped around the Mountain, and gone so far as to keep things from him. Unaccustomed to his Rider blocking her thoughts from him, he'd begun to keep an even tighter eye on her. What he saw, day in and out, was at first understandable, but as time passed, it became a more gnawing worry. Yseult was deteriorating. Her hair was beginning to grey prematurely and the crows feet around her eyes was more then noticable. Tierz'yrrlan released a solemn sigh and lifted himself from his cot. He needed to speak with his Rider again, perhaps get some answers from her this time. --------------------------