From - Thu Jan 8 11:43:05 1998 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 OAA22076 for ; Wed, 7 Jan 1998 14:37:58 -0500 (EST) Received: (qmail 10806 invoked from network); 7 Jan 1998 19:37:55 -0000 Received: from zoom.realtime.net (HELO zoom.bga.com) (root@205.238.128.40) by mail1.realtime.net with SMTP; 7 Jan 1998 19:37:55 -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 NAA20745 for ; Wed, 7 Jan 1998 13:37:52 -0600 Message-Id: <199801071937.NAA20745@zoom.bga.com> Date: Wed, 7 Jan 1998 13:37:51 -0400 From: "Quinn@GhostWheel" To: quinn@netsville.com Subject: GhostWheel Message(s) 276 - 298 from *storylines (#5236) X-Mail-Agent: GhostWheel (casper.bga.com 6969) X-UIDL: 7873fcd703bef8c10021182350355245 Status: RO X-Mozilla-Status: 8001 Message 276 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Mon Dec 1 09:46:42 1997 EST From: Darius_Lee (#10280) To: *Storylines (#5236) Darius Lee snuggled back into Kzin's high backed chair, seeking some relief from her aching back and the other tortures of pregnancy. She let a soft sigh escape her lips, a straggled piece of knitting resting on the bulge of her stomach. Her eyes wandered down to her efforts where she scoffed loudly and threw the needles across the room, "bah!! I'm not the mothering type". She grumbled loudly in discomfort, crossing her arms over her chest in a childish sulking pout. Her mind idly wandered over past events. Red's attack, Rathe's harassment, strange half elves and cambian children running rampant with strange afflictions, and her subsequent proposal to Kzin. They hadn't talked about it since that night. The question had been left unanswered due to Kzin's sense of 'honor'. Darius snorted loudly at that thought. "Bah, honor comes, honor goes, but blood will always flow". She glared about the room angrily, yelling at the desk as if it were Kzin, "I'M NOT A WEAK FEMALE! I KNOW MY OWN MIND GODDAMNIT!". She sighed heavily then let her head drop back against the chair, her head hitting the edge with a loud thunk causing her to release a string of curses as she rubbed her bruised head. "This just isn't my life". She continued grumbling and cursing as she walked across the room to rescue her knitting. Once again she settled back into the chair, her eyes almost crossing from the intense stare she was giving the helpless yarn. "ahh screw it, ". Darius snarled and threw her knitting in the fireplace, watching it burn happily. "I'll get Kzin to conjure a damn baby blanket". With those words she stalked over to bed and snuggled down between the sheets, falling asleep instantly. Her last thought drifting through her mind to tangle in her dreams, "pregnancy is a bitch". -------------------------- Message 277 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Mon Dec 1 10:24:47 1997 EST From: Ylaerin (#16541) To: *Storylines (#5236) Ylaerin woke.. momentarily unsettled, wary, wondering why there was no dusty sunlight shimmering in the air, and jsut before fear gripped her, was soother by the sounds of sleep all around her... her family - husband, son, dragon - all settled in, and showing now signs of waking. Luthe's deep dreamings flittered across her mind like watercolors, and she sighed, trying to shift herself into a mor comfortable position. She hadn't left her bed for more than ten minutes in weeks. She'd been keeping careful track in her head - with Luthe's help - of when the proper time for the birthing should be... she didn't want to take any risks. Though Rowan was, for all anyone could tell, fine... it was still worrisome to her that he'd been born almost two full months early. She hoped his smallness was a result of his being *her* son, and not her carelessness that had resulted in his early arrival. But she had been exceedingly careful this time around, and by all reckoning this was the first day of her own birthmonth - April - and in several weeks she herself would be 22 years old (how time flew...). Which meant that in mere days, her daughter would be born. She sat up to stretch, and the movement caused the restless child to turn and fidget within her; she stood carefully and made her way across the room for a drink from the pitcher of cool water on the table, and to look in on her sleeping son. Rowan was smiling in his dreams, and Ylaerin lovingly resettled the blankets around her. She patted Luthe's nose, and headed back to bad, chuckling at the dragon's muffled rumbling. Settling back into bed, stilling the ache for outside news within her, she thought about the last few days remaining.. about what this second child might be like... about how Rowan and Yshar would both likely grow to fuss and over the lass much as Etra did over them.. silly boys... **OOC NOTE - if that darn elf (yes, you know who you are, buster) complains about how cute and sappy this post is, I'll kick him where it hurts. ;) I'm saving my nightmares for Melira. *grin* -------------------------- Message 278 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Tue Dec 2 14:07:43 1997 EST From: Stryfe (#5113) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: Training Stryfe watched as his squads of troops sparred and practiced their skills in the massively large Thantum. He walked among them giving suggestions or praise to various people. An hour later he left the Thantum, its ringing noise of warriors and blades still echoing after him. He found himself on the ledge. His eyes moving to the gray co skies above where the bone dragons also practiced their skills. In what looked like something more then a little friendly competition. Claws flashed. Teeth gnashed. Tails snapped. Acid burned. A stinging on his cheek brought his attention back down. He reached up to find an inch long sliver of a cut. Eyes dropping lower he found a jagged piece of bone tinged in scarlet. -------------------------- Message 279 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Tue Dec 2 14:18:21 1997 EST From: Red_Fang (#5907) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: What a headache Red woke with a spiraling headache. He splashed water on his face and stepped outside glancing about at the progress of the work going on. He'd been hitting the bottle to much.. Couldn't really remember most details of the last few days except things where going to get rougher before they got better.. Red pondered his travels and missed the quiet of the north and the company of the wolves. Finding a guard sleeping against the wall. Red planted a rough boot into the soilders ribcage growling.. The man startled and in pain leaped to his feet standing at attention best he could. Red said nothing but walked back into the keep. -------------------------- Message 280 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Tue Dec 2 16:02:10 1997 EST From: Rathe (#14172) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: ...There isn't any cow in that hamburger Bracing himself, he again set the polyplastek crowbar into the thin crack in the marble, and pushed. With a horrible squealing of century-old hinges, his efforts were finally rewarded, the stone slab moving several inches out of its housing. The 'door' was now ajar, a thin sliver of blackness visible between cool marble. A sickening stench rushed out fromt eh formerly airtight crypt, the overwhelming odor of death, decay, and disease wafting out to assail the bizzare grave-robber's nostrils. The culprit was clad in his usual black robes, and carried with him a large scythe--a personal joke. He was Death, come to reap his prize. Rathe only smiled, inhaling the thick air deeply. "If I may inquire," he grinned, addressing the corpses that no doubt waited inside, "What is that fragrance you're wearing?" He braced his shoulder against the marble slab, and shoved with all his strength, the door swinging perhaps three feet out before coming to a halt again. Heedless of what might lie inside, he edged through the opening, almost giggling. Peering around in the darkness, he mumbled something obscure under his breath, and the blade of his scythe began to glow with violet light. He jammed the butt-end of the weapon into the earth, and turned to survey his surroundings in the dim glow. Urns, gold, trinkets, mummified dogs. How very droll. His eyes eventually settled on his prize, a funeral bier in the far end of the chamber. On top of the granite edifice, a warrior lay, hands clasped over the hilt of a sword, which lay on his chest, the pommel laying across his breastbone. The necromancer stepped forward unhurriedly, and slowly pried the sword from its owner's grasp. He inspected it for a moment, then threw it against the wall in disgust. "A peasant's weapon.." he mumbled, glaring down at the former knight, as if daring the corpse to defend itself. This had been the third crypt in the graveyard, and he was beginning to wonder if he would ever find the artifact he was searching for. The N'Orleans records had been vague, citing only "A terrible, terrible artifact.." that "..belongs only with the dead.".. The stupidity of the locals often disgusted him. Obscure curses and superstition! Pah! Some other mage had probably found this bit of plunder long since. Gideon, most likely, who was known to live somewhere in the city. His eye at that moment caught something, and he reached down, his fingers arched above the knight's chest. A chainmail shirt glowed briefly, then split down the middle, reavealing a small piece of carved jade tied to a rotting leather thong around the dead man's neck. Rathe's smile returned as he grabbed the medallion off of the corpse's papery flesh, the leather cord snapping with little resistance as he pulled his hand away. Smiling to himself, he turned his prize over in his hand, mumbling to himself. The piece of jade dissapeared into one his pockets, and with a vague glance around the defiled crypt, he made his way back to the exit, kicking over urns and scattering ancient, worthless currency. (OOC: And no, there's no particular reason for this post. Just gotta keep those cutesy posters in check :) -------------------------- Message 281 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Tue Dec 2 16:09:40 1997 EST From: Akeashar (#20348) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: News Today, Dwight has donated some of his little mutation pets to various children. Photographers and whatnot commented, "This man is truly caring, giving up his free time to bring joy and hope into these kids who grow up in a near barren world." Dwight himself had no comment, as he walked into the helicopter and back to Shadowbrook -------------------------- Message 282 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Tue Dec 2 16:10:24 1997 EST From: Rathe (#14172) To: *Storylines (#5236) How cute. He's giving children giant scorpion monsters that eat human flesh -------------------------- Message 283 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Tue Dec 2 16:54:58 1997 EST From: Danya (#21836) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: On her own Danya braided her knee-length hair and twisted it into coils atop her head to keep it out of her eyes; it wasn't practical to have it waving around when she was fighting. She frowned at her image in the polished piece of jagged metal. Great Buddha she looked horrible that way. Ah well. No help for it." She bit her lip as a random thought triggered recent images and memories of voices. Her mother's man, frantic with worry, showing her her mother's satchel, the fine green kimono, abandoned in the room he shared with Karellen. Her weapons abandoned, leaning against the wall, clean and neat, but abandoned." The fight in the tower, the pointy-eared thing and his slimy monkey, had sickened her mother. Danya could read her mother's voice and face and ways as easily as her mother could read her. Her mother's man had told her she had said that honor was honor, and then she had left. Vanished, as she had before. Simply vanished into thin air, leaving behind all except that which she could legitimately call her own: her sandrobe. Danya knew her mother's ways and her mother's abilities, and so she was not worried. Karellen would return when she was ready. But Danya was not certain that the person who returned would be recognizable as Karellen daughter of Neferu and Azaco." So that meant that, at last, Danya was on her own. With new magical powers and a lot of learning to catch up on." She grinned, swept her staff into her hand and strode out of the stone pyramid. She would race the raptors, and then perhaps go seeking a plaything." -------------------------- Message 284 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Tue Dec 2 19:49:20 1997 EST From: Akeashar (#20348) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: Now remember kiddies Don't get your mutant scorpions wet and don't feed them after midnight.. especially with Chicken. -------------------------- Message 285 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Wed Dec 3 00:45:45 1997 EST From: Danya (#21836) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: A busy day... Danya yawned mightily as she walked wearily down the moon-lit beach toward home, the surf swishing hypnotically beside her. She was positively bushed. She'd woke that morning early with an empty day ahead, and ended up doing far too much to keep track of. First she'd run to the bathing pools here on the island for her bath, had tried to heat the water by sending one of her magical spheres under the water..the moment she'd relaxed concentration it had exploded, and all the water had whooshed up out of the pool and all over everything...then, when she finally got cleaned up, she'd run along the beach to her pyramid and discovered that message from her mother's man, saying that she must go look for her mother... So she had. And had found her mother. Which didn't bear thinking about. Then she'd come back to the tower and made the mistake of taunting the Master and his Monkey, and they'd squished her *again*. Damn but that was getting to be a habit she'd rather not have. Then she'd gone out to the beach and fiddled about some with the sand, and had melted some sand with her magic until she could shape it..had made a mold out of a piece of driftwood she'd found and poured the molten sand into it...and made something vaguely resembling a blade. She'd sharpened it against one of the sandstones in the ravine until it got sharp, cut some of the leather from the wrappings of her boots to make a handle. That had been truly neat. She fingered the hilt now appreciatively, smiling. Now if she could just figure out a way to trap the slimy monkey, the day might end on an even better note... She grinned. No. Enough for one day. There was always tomorrow. -------------------------- Message 286 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Wed Dec 3 10:05:08 1997 EST From: Jordan (#14050) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: The Duality of Heat Jordan swung the heavy hammer with brutal force down onto the helpless glowing hot metal resting across her anvil. She smiled at the resulting *CLANG!* as the metal bit by bit with each blow straightened and flatten. Her tanned flesh stretched across her heavily muscled body, giving evidence to her strength as she swung the hammer down again and again. She took a step back to eye her work critically... it had to be perfect. Purring softly a large tabby cat rubbed up against JOrdan's legs. She let out a loud bellow of laughter, "aye mate, I know ya be wantin' attention, but no' now. I got work to do". She gently shoved the cat away as she threw the metal into a bucket of water to cool, the water hissing and boiling angrily as great puffs of steam filled the air. Jordan strolled over to the far corner of the dusty room to look down on the boy sleeping there in disgust. She gave him a rough kick before bellowing angrily, "get yer lazy ass in gear lad. The fire's going down". The shaggy lad quickly scrambled to his feet and hobbled out of the room clutching his ribs to Jordans loud laughter. She bellowed after him, "We still have 6 sets of dragon armor ta make ya bastard. And I ain't going to sleep till they're done and neither are you!". Jordan picked up a small bucket of water resting on the table and poured it over her head to cool her off. She rapidly shook her head from side to side like a dog. Her cropped blonde hair plastering itself to her head as she crossed back to the furance, picked up her tongs, and thrust the chest plate she was working on back into the fire. She grinned as she watched it slowly heat up, "one week to make an army of dragon armor. You think he could have given me a challenge..." She chuckled as she pulled the glowing metal out and started working it once more. Her relentless pounding echoing down the halls of the mountain, giving anyone a headache in minutes, as her good natured off key singing rang through out the hall. -------------------------- Message 287 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Thu Dec 4 17:36:19 1997 EST From: Dauthi (#10660) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: Rumours Rumours spread far and wide of new owners of the Tinder Box, an unholy alliance of some kind between an insane necromancer, and a wild man-eating hunter. Stories continue that the bar is being refurbished and the slot machines are in working order. -------------------------- Message 288 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Thu Dec 4 17:37:34 1997 EST From: Rathe (#14172) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: Rumours Rumor has it that another, even more insane necromancer has his eyes in the Tinder Box, remembering with fondness the last time he burnt it to the ground. Heh heh heh. -------------------------- Message 290 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Thu Dec 4 20:36:32 1997 EST From: Styx (#1610) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: Rumor Rumor also has it that a merry little imp named 'Wraith' is still tap-dancing his way to get back to someone. -------------------------- Message 291 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Thu Dec 4 21:26:04 1997 EST From: Tegra (#20547) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: White Lies and A Druid Tree Jared muttered softly to herself, "The tree stil stands, no flames, not even an attempt made to burn it" She sighed, bending to pick up the small Ivory box from the bedstand, "he never wanted me in any way other than physically" she shook her head at this, the words hurting, stinging, cauterizing closed that small part of her heart to him. She curled up in the huge empty bed, holding the small box close to her chest, "At least he never got what he wanted, "she whispered to the empty room. Her eyes closing tightly, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill. Lately she couldnt lie even to herself, no matter how painful. -------------------------- Message 292 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Fri Dec 5 19:30:09 1997 EST From: Tegra (#20547) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: Brain Damage : There's someone in my head but its not me Tegra looked at herself in the mirror, rolling her eyes at what she saw. She should have known the uniform would be anything but revealing. She turned this way and that, eyeing it critically. It wasnt like she was embarassed to show a bit of skin. But this definately wasnt her style. She tugged on the low neckline, managing to bring it up enough to cover her chest. She smiled, turning to the mirror to look. Jesus! She yanked the uniform down, trying to at least have some modicum of decency. It was no use. Alot of one or the other, or a bit of both showing. Damn that man infuriated her. But that changed little, she stil worked for him now, having left her job at the Stables. Tegra sat down on the huge bed, kicking the high heels distastefully off her feet. She looked towards the mirror, looking into the glass and seeing the reflections of her room. The bed, antique tub, a katana, a.. Her eyes fixed on the sword. -His- sword. Her husband. Her soulbond. She cringed slightly at the thought. Inwardly trying to back away from the mixed thoughts in her mind. What in Quinns name had possessed her to go that far? Her stomach rolled over again, causing her to clamp her eyes shut and take a few deep breaths. "Its only til death do us part" she murmured, feeling the saliva build in her mouth and her cheeks flush hot, "how long can a lifetime be?.. " she choked out as she rushed to the bathroom. -------------------------- Message 293 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sun Dec 7 01:41:57 1997 EST From: Sinner (#12411) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: All in a goddamn day's work.. Sinner's form rested in Rathe's gothic labratory, content with his station in life. He serves under an evil genius, far superior to his own, yet both are peas in the same pod. He tried to fall asleep, yet cannot, for he is haunted by the sins of yestardays past... Sinner kills for one reason, and one reason only. Because he can. He has the power of unsurpassed magicks beneath his whim, yet chooses to hunt through instinct, with deformed death and somewhat enhanced sences, though most of the time they prove him wrong.. One of his deaths, the leader of the Order of the Wyrm, Lord Stryfe, proved to be fatal, yet this was his only holy killing. He killed because of a hanious act done by a women he cherished, yet now his blood has rejected, and payed an ultimate price. To die naked, thrown from the ledge of Mount Uruken, stripped of his armour and Rathe's scythe, which he swore never to lose. "Damned girl.. She's going to fucking learn.. Too bad. She was kinda cute. In a wierd ass way." He rests his body down against the soft bed, sighing to himself. "Won't be long til I'm dead, and sleeping on little beds in the sky.. Or in hell, living like I did on earth, which won't be a real change." He says, chuckling and coughing to himself. Today, without thinking twice, he killed Coreen, a certin magistra who has always been an annoying pain in his side, and was seconds away from killing Bram, a nusience. "Bah.. These people are not STRONG enough to be second circle. -I- should be. Idiots.. All of them." He mutters. -------------------------- Message 294 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sun Dec 7 18:40:25 1997 EST From: Skeeter (#4961) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: Slot Machines at the Tinder Box Sanchez was sitting at the bar cleaning his glasses, and someone walked in from the Smoking room. "Hey, your slot machine is broken." So Sanchez told Skeeter later that day. By the end of the day, Skeeter had called in a technician and had it repaired. Slots are back in working order once again. We at the Tinder Box are sorry for any inconveniences. -------------------------- Message 295 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sun Dec 7 23:43:04 1997 EST From: Baltisaar (#10734) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: When the stars are right. Brinn left the Retreat of the Cordath family, and as she did, it left Baltisaar with dark thoughts. "Back into Acheron, to come face to face with Agamemnon and his minions once more. Not a heart warming prospect. Still, it must be done, if the lost rider is to be saved..." His thought went to his studies now, finding the time when the new moon and Formalhaut would be in alignment, and so finding it, he prepared, gathering spell components, making prayers to the Light Bringer and throwing off his memorys of his torture in Acheron at the hands of the Treaders in the Dust. He left a small note for Lovinia and returned to his study, waiting for that time in silence. When it came, he bent the Chaos to his will, reopening one of the mystic Bone gates into that realm. He entered into hell... -------------------------- Message 296 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sun Dec 7 23:52:59 1997 EST From: Red_Fang (#5907) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: A new home The final things arrived at the cabin and where unpacked. Things were warm and cozy if not a bit unorganized.. Red gave over the keys to the Oasis, gave the guard orders that their new boss was now the Adept Kzin, there was no problem with this as they where more loyal to the pay than to Red. Was good to be out of the dry desert and back into a green land and close to his family of old. Kzin was the new ruler of the wastes now. The problems of that title where heavy indeed. Red breathed in the clean air and smiled know what was to happen next. OOC: IF you are living at the Oasis, and you don't like Kzin.. Better Move out asap... Red would of told you of the transfer of ownership.. Sorry it took me so long to post.. -------------------------- Message 297 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sun Dec 7 23:57:33 1997 EST From: Augustus (#18463) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: Red Fang Ok, he can't spell or type and his grammer sucks. sorry about the typo's -------------------------- Message 298 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Mon Dec 8 00:55:33 1997 EST From: Lovinia (#10869) To: *Storylines (#5236) Subject: The Note It was late afternoon, the westering sun setting the room to a soft rosey glow. Lovinia sat rocking gently, nursing Antoine while Baltisaar sat on the floor near her feet. He watched his family quietly with a smile of contentment on his lips as Lovinia sang softly, an old cajon love song, to her son and husband. There came a knock at the door downstairs. She and Baltisaar looked at each other curiously, then he unfolded his long legs and stood silently. Leaning down he kissed Lovinia, turned and strode out of the nursery. She listened quietly, hearing the door open and Baltisaar's greeting. She heard a soft answer but it was through her bond to him that she knew it was his student, their friend, Brinn. Lovina smiled and started rocking again, her voice soft with the patois as she sang now to her son. She heard the voices downstairs, then felt the pain of loss from her husband. Brinn had told him of Ynaoise's death and that of his dragon, the beautiful and mischevous garnet, Elshydrath. She closed her eyes, feeling the pain of loss, then the sadness of Yjezra's condition. She lifted Antoine, turning him and setting him to her other breast, her thoughts and love with her husband, supporting him, comforting. Hearing second hand from her husband of the troubles of the Mount, of their friends uncertainties. Antoine fell alseep and she stood carefully, "He is getting so big, like his father," she was thinking as she laid him into his cradle, covering him. She stood suddenly, a frown of worry almost hiding the dusky crescent between her brows. She turned and walked into their bedroom and quietly closed the nursery door before she had to grab the bed post. His pain and tormented memories flooded thru her mind, her heart..seeing, feeling his memories of that time the Treaders took him. The torture. She gathered calm around her and started down the stairs. The sendings from Baltisaar eased, then ceased. She stopped, debating if she should go to him. Baltisaar spoke softly in her mind, saying no, hewas fine, and she felt that he was, tho a still distance touched her from his mind. She turned and went out onto the balcony, over looking the falls, letting her thoughts still. Night decended, she watched Brinn leave, walking off into the woods and a moment later the form of dragon ascending into the sky. She walked back in, and laid on their bed, thoughtful. She could feel him occupied, though his love enofled her for a moment as she querried him. Her eyes closed and she drifted off to sleep, her hand curled on his pillow. She woke late into the night, a feeling of..worry then intense heat. She sat up, her hand going to Baltisaar's side of their bed, knowing already he wasnt there. Standing, she spoke a soft word and light sprang from the candle wicks. A note was there and reaching out she knew...His words sprang out at her, he had gone to save the rider and dragon. She walked toward the nursery, and leaning her head agaisnt the wall gathered her strength and calm and love for him ..then sat down on the top step and let it be there for him to tap should he need her. --------------------------