Message-Id: <199803151921.NAA27209@zoom.bga.com>
Date: Sun, 15 Mar 1998 13:21:51 -0400
From: "Quinn@GhostWheel" <someone@ghostwheel.mud.org>
To: quinn@netsville.com
Subject: GhostWheel Message(s) 449 - 455 from *storylines (#5236)
Status: U

Message 449 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Feb 11 00:09:56 1998 EST
From:     Eska (#20547)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Another Day

  Jared lowered herself down to the ground, smiling as the damp earth of the
garden cooled her heated skin. The sweet fragrance of common wildflowers
mingled with the crisp tang of new unknown flowers, leaving her senses
swimming with the heady scents. She dug her fingers into the soft soils and
lifted handfuls of the raw dirt. Bringing it to her naked chest she smeared
the black earth over her skin, across her breasts and nipples. Her long
fingers rubbed over her shoulders, reaching and smearing as much as she could
reach. More earth covered her, rubbing almost in a frenzy, her legs, arms,
feet. Stopping only when covered in a thin paint of soil.
Jared relaxed, calm at once again being as much with this new earth as she
could be. Her new strength making each visit to the garden more fulfulling.
She was reaching her goal and soon no one could stop the wheels from turning.

--------------------------


Message 450 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Feb 11 15:37:51 1998 EST
From:     Ylaerin (#16541)
To:       *storylines (#5236)

She'd thought about it long enough, and he dragon agreed with her. It kept her
awake at nights, thinking about the months leading up to the conflict which
had regained her family their Home - and about the deals struck with the Elven
Mage. She felt he deserved her thanks, and though she knew her husband would
most likely disagree, that fact shouldn't keep her from doing what she saw was
right.
So she dug around a bit in her chest, and found the good stationery that she
had created long ago, during the quiet times afforded to her while he son had
still been a baby. It was bordered by gilt lillies and vines, and bore at the
top an intricate twining blue dragon. She had come to use this as an
identifier of herself and Luthe as BondMates, and the children wore it
embroidered on their clothing.  The children also wore a stylized wolf sigil
which Ylaerin had devised to represent Yshar's lineage, but this sigil was
conspicuously absent form the parchment currently in her hands.
Sitting in the bright kitchen of Morlith, with hot tea nearby and Freiga
rattling around comfortably nearby, Etra set to work with her best inks. In
her careful, distinctively Gaelic hand-script, she wrote:

Rathe, Elven Adept, Lord of Drach'nal, and Monsieur Mystique;
It may seem odd to you, receiving a letter from me at such a time in our
relationship. But this letter comes to you with genuine thanks - and sorrow
for it's unecessary delay - for the services you rendered to myself, my
family, and my Home. During the thick of battle I saw you fall, and sorrow
lanced my heart. You are a good fighter, and a more honest man than folk
credit you for; my faith in you never wavered, and for that I have been
rewarded with a safe Home for my children. The rightful Home of my son and
daughter, my husband and myself, my BondMate and my people.
A long past vow came to my mind recently; a promise that when you severed our
ties with each other it was for my benefit. You have made good on your word,
and I pray you continue to do so. As for my part, I will continue my good
faith in your word and contracts. Many thanks, old friend, whether my words of
gratitude be welcome or no. Mo cheol thu, Adept. My music to you.

She signed it simply - Lyetra Shar. None of her titles, and only a small harp
figure to designate her Bardic status. Rolling the parchment, she went quietly
out to the ledge where Luthe awaited her, and together they departed.
Sailing easily down into the Valley of Drach'nal, and on her wandering path
into the village, Ylaerin considered that there could well stll be military
strictures on the Villiage folk - and herself as a 'visitor'. People eyed her
warily as she passed, a stranger to them but most likely distinctive with her
fiery red hair, harp and staff, and definite dragon-scent about her. She found
someone who looked to be a local constable, and handed him the rolled
parchment.
Find a way to deliver this to the Adept Lord, if you please, "she said,
smiling kindly at the man and handing over a sum of crystals, "It is quite
important; a message from Lady Shar, DragonBard of Morlith."
The man nodded, a light of suspicion in his eyes, but grateful for the
crystals nonetheless. Ylaerin went simply back to her dragon, back to the
skies, and back to her Home.

--------------------------


Message 452 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Feb 11 16:35:36 1998 EST
From:     Akeashar (#20348)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  OOC

The last *tps message has been removed, and will be posted at a later date.

--------------------------


Message 453 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Feb 11 17:26:26 1998 EST
From:     Clayson (#17237)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Revenge

Mona sat on the floor, her legs sprawled out before her as she leaned against
her bed. She could feel the strength that fled from her body, her skills she
worked so hard for, gone, like crashing waves.

Revenge, knowing she could not kill Rathe or turn him into the bag of shit he
should be, she would just start killing mages at random, reducing them slowly
to bags of dust.

--------------------------


Message 454 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Feb 11 20:35:11 1998 EST
From:     Styx (#1610)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Dark shapes in the streets

Reports of dark shapes swimming the flooded streets of N'Orleans are filtering
around everywhere. Someone even reported seeing a fin cut the water just
before an elderly man floating on a barrell disappeared.

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Message 455 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Thu Feb 12 23:25:52 1998 EST
From:     Styx (#1610)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Shadowed happenings

Hushed conversations around and in N'Orleans have now been surfacing about
people disappearing from their homes. With only curious wet trails left
behind.

--------------------------