Message-Id: <199810231547.KAA22766@casper.realtime.net>
Date: Fri, 23 Oct 1998 10:47:54 -0400
From: "Quinn@GhostWheel" <someone@ghostwheel.mud.org>
To: quinn@netsville.com
Subject: GhostWheel Message(s) 830 - 873 from *storylines (#5236)

Message 830 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Mon Aug 24 19:58:43 1998 EDT
From:     Naxos (#9972)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Note left in the guest chamber.

be it known that Demonwolf is required to pay 10000 crystals, or something of
similar suite before naxos will willingly release Midnight into his custody
again.

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


Message 831 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Mon Aug 31 00:02:03 1998 EDT
From:     Williker (#20481)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  A note

A note around the R/T building:
A shotgun for sale.. for the right amount of money. Call Williker for more
info or to purchase.

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


Message 832 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Mon Aug 31 00:03:29 1998 EDT
From:     Sinner (#12411)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  A note

A note on the bottom of the sign:
That is, if you don't question who's booty it's been in.

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


Message 833 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Fri Sep  4 16:11:36 1998 EDT
From:     Ylaerin (#16541)
To:       *storylines (#5236) and *DragonRiders (#5915)

She might have stayed there all night, on her knees in the pool of blood,
weeping, had the corpse not collapsed in a sickly starlight glimmer and proven
the whole sordid thing to be real. The sound stopped her tears more
effectively than anything else could have done, and she left the crystals
where they lay and wandered like a ghost back to her cavern, Luthe trailing
her -- drooping so that his wings whispered on the stone.
For several minutes she stood in the doorway of the cavern before realizing
she had returned to the wrong one. She had wandered automatically into the
cavern she and Yshar had shared up until their marriage had started to
splinter. The realization hit her full force, but she did not weep again...
only swept the cavern in a numbed silence and left it once more, returning to
her own cavern.
In the adjacent room, their children slept.. blissfully unaware that their
father had gone beyond the Eagle at his own hands. Ylaerin was too numbed to
realize that her dress - the simple clothes she wore most often, which
identified her as the Mount's Bard - was smeared with her husband's blood. She
merely curled up in the cot with her dragon, trying in vain to smother her
thoughts with the scent of his scales.
She had meant to dissolve the marriage, but not to deprive her children of
their father. She had not been able to stop Strafe from plunging the dagger
into his heart because she had been unwilling to be dishonest with him. Still,
she had broken her oath... caused his death... // ...her mind shunned the
brutality of the thought... backed away from itself... reverted to the oldest
dreams she had shared with her dragon, of flying, of light and wind. They came
as close to nothingness as they could go, and still have hope of returning.
Her last thoughts and the darkness dropped over her were of Rowan and Annie..
if they found her, they would think her asleep... they would go play in the
garden as they always did.. perfectly safe, perfectly innocent... unaware of
their mother's hand in their father's death, and innocent of the blood that
stained her heart and her everyday gown.

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


Message 834 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Sun Sep  6 01:11:53 1998 EDT
From:     Eponine (#3791)
To:       *storylines (#5236)

There's a new Ghostwheel Weekly Journal in the lounge.

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


Message 835 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Mon Sep  7 05:23:26 1998 EDT
From:     Tadewi (#16048)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Kisses and Gossip.

Tadewi left the main hall in a complete daze, ascending the stairway without
saying good night to anyone.  Joline raised an eyebrow to the serving girl
beside her, nudging her lightly as she whispered, "Milady's been smitten, I
think."
The girl nodded, barely containing a giggle, "It's about time.  After nearly
three years of that... that..." her face contorted with anger and she wasn't
even able to finish her sentence.
Gaston's voice made both nearly jump, realizing they were not completely
unheard in their gossip, "I just hope this Toraxyn means her no harm.  Though
I serve my lady faithfully, she is not wise in such ways."
Joline shook her head, "Time will tell, Gaston.  Though he seems honest.  I
will speak to milady later, she always talks to me."  And with a laugh she
bound up the stairs.

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


Message 836 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Mon Sep  7 10:01:56 1998 EDT
From:     Dwight (#20455)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Ponderings

Dwight sat at his desk, looking over a facsimile of the newspaper left in the
R/T lounge.

"Looks like someone might be trying to fill Rathe's shoes again.." he chuckled
to himself as he tosses the paper into the shredder and stood up, yawning
slightly.

"Perhaps now is the time." he whirled around and walked inside his lab, the
door sliding closed behind him.

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


Message 837 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Sep  9 04:07:52 1998 EDT
From:     Tadewi (#16048)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Little Whip.

The night air whipped about her pallid form in a frenzy, perhaps knowing of
the torment that ate away at the woman collapsed on the cold earth.  The
crickets incessent drone held no fascination for her tonight and the hoot of a
distant owl menancingly mocked her fear where only the hours before it had
spoken of the night's beauty.  Her fists clenched blades of grass as she
sobbed, her lower lip swelling where it had been peirced.  And through it all
she heard him... not Sinner, not he who spoke for Rathe, but Rathe himself, in
her very soul...
I pull you up
I grab your hair
I steal your hope
Little whip

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


Message 839 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Sep  9 04:49:37 1998 EDT
From:     Sinner (#12411)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Another night on the town..

Please forgive the pretense in which pronouns are used. Thanks.

Tadewi hums a tune to herself, strolling out of the Maison, unaware of anyone
near her.
A broad range of pure shadow blocks the paths infront of you, covering even
through moonlight.
Tadewi stops, the looming shadow suddenly cause for alarm.  She looks from
left to right and lifts her skirts enough to give her a bit more speed towards
the Maison.
Suddenly, the shadows become thicker, closing in at you with great intensity.
Gleaming red eyes suddenly appear out of nowhere, hellfire shining bright.
Before you can react, he pushes his gloved hand against your lips, and rasps
darkly against your ear, "BaD nEwS fRoM gOd, TaDdY!"
Tadewi pales immediately, her slender hands reaching up, trying to pull your
hand free of her mouth in a panic.  You hear her muffled voice calling for
Toraxyn, falling on deaf ears as she can't raise her voice.
Sinner glances towards the Maison, shaking his head, shadows still surrounding
his form. "This way, my dear.." and paces towards the gardens.
<Sinner enters gardens, dragging Tadewi behind>
Sinner's sharp teeth graze against your innocent ear, shadows coursing away
from his form. "We'll do this simple, Lady Tadewi. Resist, and I snap every
bone in your entire body. Every one. Act accordingly, and you'll be able to
breathe.. barely."
Tadewi whimpers softly in a muffled tone, but her form ceases to resist you.
She shivers as your teeth graze her ear, your breath reviling her.
Sinner's fingers linger against the skin of your neck, like you would a pet.
"Good.." his demonic voice intones. "Rathe has tought you well. Speaking of
Rathe, do you know what he would do to you if he was here now?.."
Tadewi merely shudders as a response to the question, knowing full well
Rathe's wrath would see her writhing in agony for daring to associate with
Toraxyn.  Her voice is a quiet whisper as your fingers drop from her mouth,
"What do you want from me?"
Sinner's hand roughly guides your eyes into his, cackling softly. "I'll tell
you what he would do. Lord Rathe would insert rotting meat into every cavity
of your body, and then summon maggots to feast. To tell you the truth, I'm
quite tempted to do the same.."
Tadewi's eyes widen and she trembles, her quiet voice replies, "Toraxyn would
see you dead beyond the Eagle."
Sinner snickers a little louder. "Do you know how many fanatics there are
towards me, and Rathe's cause? I could tell you Williker would train fifty men
in my place, all to seek you out.. But that is unimportant. What is, is that
you know your place, not by Toraxyn's side, but by Rathe's side. Forever - til
death takes you apart.."
Tadewi pulls back, despite the earlier warning not to, her little mind too
panicked to care for the danger, desperately seeking to get away from you,
"Never, Rathe has died... I am free..... free..."
Sinner's form lunges at you, blurring against your strain of reality. "You are
a slave, wench. Rathe is not dead, he lives inside me. Forever, and ever, will
I be he." His wings surge over his form, glinting against the moonlight...
Tadewi sobs, her eyes red with tears as she cowers before you, taking in great
gulps of air in an effort to calm herself down.  She falls to her knees,
"Please... let me go... Rathe wanted nothing from me but my wealth.  He has it
still... he never wanted me."
Sinner's hands take hold of your neck, and bring you up to full stance against
him. "That is none of your concern, of what he wanted from you, Lady Tadewi.
What is, is that you belong to him, yet have relations with his sworn enemy.
That is.. unacceptable. And unforgivable."
Tadewi rests her hands on the arm that holds her into the air, her toes barely
touching the ground.  Her lips tremble as she stares at you wordlessly.  Fear
clearly marked in her eyes.
Sinner's hellfire lit eyes never cease in fury, as his fanged teeth seem to
call for your blood. You can hear the hate, feel the rage, as his words spill
out like fire from his lips. "Tadewi. You have one chance. One chance, to save
your entire family, to save your entire name. Because I will kidnap your son,
and I will give him to numorious pedophiles."
Tadewi coughs, barely able to choke out the words, "Anything... please... not
Ash.  I would first give myself to the likes of you."  The last words she
spits out hatefully, a brave girl, despite her precarious situation.

Sinner's eyes seem to scoff down at you, "I would not want a pathetic human
like yourself. Oh no, I've much better plans. Let me tell you a secret, Lady
Tadewi. I've been watching you. Watching you since the day Rathe left.
Watching your family through the walls in your own house. Watching every time
Toraxyn has encountered you.. Oh yes, Lady Tadewi.. I know everything. And I
speak for Rathe now.. I am DISPLEASED.." His voice raises to a nasal rasp at
the end, seering at the end of his patience, wanting to tear you up so bad -
but self control prevents him.
Tadewi pales, realizing the enormity of Sinner's knowledge, recalling the
previous night and its consequences now.  Her mouth hangs agape, her wind pipe
slowly being cut off from precious air.
Sinner's lips twitch at your weakness, and he gives you a look like: Don't
even bother to breathe.. "Nothing escapes me, Tadewi, for I learned from the
master. The master of hell, domination and loathing. And now, Tadewi, comes
the moment of truth. Will you do my.. His bidding.. Or will you let your
family be burnt down to a crisp by a sociopathic killer who cares nothing
beyond himself and his bloodline?"
Tadewi gasps, "What do you want of me?"  Her lips have begun to turn blue from
lack of oxygen.
Sinner lunges in, letting his fangs pierce your lower lip to let two small
streams of crimson blood leak down. "From this moment forth, Toraxyn will have
nothing to do in your life.. With every breath you take - you will not even be
thinking of him, but of the beauty and spledor of Lord Rathe, and all Lord
Rathe has to offer. I sense he is closer to you now then ever.. You will shun
him away, and say because you cannot stand his ugliness, his putrid
sliminess.. Make no mention of what happens this eve, or your ash will
become.. ashes..."
Tadewi shrieks, the act finally taking the last of her precious air. She
begins to collapse, passing out entirely, hanging limply from your grasp.
Sinner's hands latch onto your temples, sending an electric blue shock through
your entire body.
Tadewi's body jerks with the shock, her eyes flying open.  Blood trails down
her chin, staining the laces of her bodice.
Sinner's tongue dips down to lick the blood from your skin, smirking with
ominipotent power. "Do we understand each other.."
Tadewi says, in a trancelike tone, "Yes."
Sinner's forefinger traces a circle around your forehead. In this, he traces a
star- forming a pentagram, the exact same pentagram in the exact same place
that Rathe did, but with no magickal power - only for fear, and to make you
remember. "You will never escape fate, Taddy.. You will never escape your
destiny." he says, before being embraced by shadows - his form being forsaken
in the light of the night.
Tadewi collapses to the ground, her tears now lamenting, a victim of the
darkest fate imaginable, an angel wed to the devil himself.  Even as Sinner
has left, his form no longer visible, she stays there for several minutes,
crying into the night, begging salvation from the empty skies.

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


Message 840 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Sep  9 14:30:46 1998 EDT
From:     Sinner (#12411)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Into the woods.

Last night's encounter was enjoyable, but would take an unhealthy toll on
Sinner's life if he was found by Toraxyn - of which he knew fully. There would
be no way to hold back the adepts vengence, his fury, or his wrath. Of course,
there must be a way to hide. But where? Toraxyn's an adept. Not some sort of
screwy stupid seeker, but a fully developed mage. Confrentation would be
fatal, and lingering in the shadows could prove worse. Where.. oh where...
Quickly, the cambion set foot on Drach'nal, home of the hated dragons. Pacing
up the familiar road to Rathe's labratory, he searched in his dusty rucksack-
of which hadn't been used in at least over a year. Pacing in, and looking
around, he was astounded to find that everything was left perfectly intact.
And even more thrilled when he could feel the magickal protection surrounding
the walls.
Pacing up the stairs, he glanced around. Rathe was long gone from his abode,
with no trace of his departure. His hellfire glazed eyes quickly latched onto
a thick black book by his bed, almost calling out to him. His form quickly
shifted over to it, and upon opening it, he read the brilliant words, written
in a thick red.. ink? Journal of Arch Adept Rathe.
Sinner quickly genuflected, leaving the book on the night table. He stayed
like this for almost a half an hour, praying silently under his breath- in
worship to the necromancer himself. Without hesistation, he turned the book to
it's last journal entry:

April 19, 2642: The great work is nearly complete. The kiva has grown quiet
for the first time in days.. I feel her anticipation. Links have been
established to all four points, and tomorrow at dawn, there will be unity.
When all four are opened to her power, the world will be reborn.. This world
will shuck off it's cold, dead husk, and be born again..

Sinner read this work in great horror. He knew the Rathe was powerful - but
questioned the extent of linking his power points in harmony. Could this be
enough to send Rathe into the dimension of chaos- like he said to him in past?
Or could this of sent him into another reality.. A strange world. A new world.
Sinner sadly flipped back to the beginning, reading each page in delicate
memory. In some pages, Rathe described his lacky as a godsend - and others, an
idiotic curse. Sinner did feel a jostling of rejection as he read his mentor
poke fun at him, but being that the good overweighed the bad, he couldn't
complain. Through these pages, he read of the hatred that he had for Toraxyn -
his utter rival.
Realizing that if Toraxyn could rival Rathe, there would be no chance for him.
He knows he is doing Rathe's will by trying to shatter Toraxyn from the
shadows, and not in an unwise physcial attempt. He realized as he read,
though, that Rathe was delibrately trying to stay one step behind Toraxyn,
just to watch his next move, and this is what Toraxyn to triumph over him in
recent battles.
His thoughts focused clearly into his mind, "If Rathe tried to stay behind.. I
must be one step ahead of him, leaving him in my dust. Now what do I do.."

After a brief moment of silence, his cold, rasping voice pounded through the
perpetual night. "..Jaelene.."

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


Message 841 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Sep  9 16:36:08 1998 EDT
From:     Witness (#18794)
To:       *storylines (#5236)

Earlier this morning, it seems a soulmech pilot was seen running into what the
pilots affectionately refer to as "The Neutral Ground", staggering and
bleeding. After taking care of his wounds by local paramedics, we dug deeper.

[Reporter] "Do you have any clues as to who attacked you and why?"
[Pilot] "I don't know man. It was large and red, and was circling around my
mech for the longest time. I was in the wastes at the time. (his voice becomes
panicked) "That thing took a chunk from my mech's left arm with what looked
like some funky claws, and then tore a hole through the chest cavity with some
strange looking lightning! I don't know what it was..."
[Reporter] "Any other details?"
[Pilot] "It rumbled and spoke some funky language before knocking my mech down
with its tail and flying off, I don't know what the hell that thing was!"
[Reporter] "Thanks for your time.."

We have received word the pilot is in serious condition at a local medicinary
hospital, More news as it occurs

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


Message 842 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Thu Sep 10 23:05:05 1998 EDT
From:     Devon (#23970)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Heartless.

Devon's thoughts stirred, he wasn't sure where he was anymore but the past
weeks had been more then he could stomach. His thoughts drifted to Coreen
briefly, he had presented what he thought a lucrative idea to her. His life
was different then it used to be, he was actually trying to make friends from
the enemies of his past, and it seemed that he was making enemies of his
friends. He thought that if he could make one difference, maybe once it would
make up for all of his past deeds but that was never enough. Devon had to be
the one who did it, even in his mind to do good he had to get the fame for it,
and that fed him only further. Now, Ylaerin, Dragonbard and his friend, there
was a mistake. He had argued the night to get something out of her, he thought
she would be strong enough, she needed to be strong after what she'd been
through. But Devon had erred, Ylaerin's gift came from her heart, Devon hadn't
understood that and almost shattered that fragile heart in the process. Now in
afterthought, the words he'd said the anger he'd done Devon realize that at
the rate he was going he was going to end up making enemies out of everyone he
knew, if he didn't do something to fix the problem soon.

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


Message 843 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Fri Sep 11 03:51:04 1998 EDT
From:     Sinner (#12411)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  The game begins...

Sinner looked stressfully over his chess pieces, placed in specific order. The
black king, which supposedly represented Rathe, stood in the center of the
board. His black queen, Coreen, stood to the left, and a black knight, Sinner,
stood to the right. The white King Toraxyn stood infront of Rathe, and Tadewi,
his white queen, infront of Coreen. A black bishop was placed behind Sinner,
representing Williker.
The rooks were surrounding both parties, left and right, representing their
bases. For Sinner, it would be Rathe's labratory. For Toraxyn and Tadewi,
Maison de Mystique. Sinner realized that he would be safe here - but for how
long, until Rathe's magic wears out? He also knew that the Mystique's weren't
dumb enough to leave their Maison go unwarded.
He glanced from King to King. "Well. I hate to do this to you Rathe, but your
not here. I'm taking your place as king." he said, almost sadly. He glances at
the knight, "Williker." and removes the bishop. He stares intently at the
queen.

Two possible canidates could be taken here. Coreen - a powerful magistress,
known to have emotional feelings towards him. Or, there was another choice.
Jaelene, Toraxyn's forgotten bond parter. "Ahh yes.. poor Jaelene." he rasped,
snickering. "She could be easily used right now, very vulnerable. And would
probably have more of a potent effect.. The kind I'm looking for. She can
change to my side. Oh yes. She can change.."
Sinner glanced at his bishops. He put one to the left, outside the rook, and
one to the right, another outside the rook. "These two can serve as my eyes,
and my ears. While Williker can serve as my personal body guard... And Jae, my
luring device." he cackled. On the left, he pronounced the black bishop
Coreen. Fitting. On the right, he had to think. Whom had Toraxyn cared for in
the past.. whom else. Ahh.. He remembers. He remembers how close the adept and
his sister, Anne, AKA Seraph were. He remembers them kissing.. The stories of
how trashy she was. Attractive girl, Sinner thought, but definately not his
type. Not that anything breathing was..
There was no telling what Seraph was feeling. He had not seen her in over a
year, and she did hate him. But then again, didn't we all. He smirked at the
thought, but continued on. Glancing at Toraxyn's pieces, his bishops and his
knights. He shook his head of all the people whom opposed Rathe. Brinn,
although he did a good job of confusing her today by calling and pretending he
was Frap. Stupid riders. Stryfe was never a big fan of Sinner's, and/or
Rathe's. He would, if he is still alive, try to intervene. Devon, Yalindra.. A
very possible choice for people against Sinner. The riders owe Toraxyn for
saving their mount, this might be payback. -- But if Sinners thinks fast
enough, and swoops Toraxyn off his feet in suprise, perhaps there is a chance.
A chance for survival. A chance for.. Checkmate.

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


Message 844 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Fri Sep 11 05:08:29 1998 EDT
From:     Xiara (#14877)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Drained.

Xiara realized she was lost.  Her head spun as the healing only kept her
alive, her heart breathing.  She touched the scar on her neck -- Fresh where
the Lord had drained her nearly to death.  She could not cry of it however,
for she didn't feel fear, more,  that she felt pleasure.  It shocked her that
her body could become one nerve, one sensing beating organism that felt
pleasure and pain in such unison it nearly made her burst.  She felt the heady
confusion, as the sand  sliped against her face, the Wasteland quickly
becoming her bed for the night.  Maybe she longed for the seperation, the
break of body and soul, the tear into the Eagle's talons.  Never before had
she felt like this, so desirous of death, so aroused by the very feeling of
life itself being sucked away from her. He had drained her fully indeed, and
the arousal she felt from it -- and for it was unmatched to anything she had
ever felt before.
Xiara could die here with full knowledge that she wanted it.  Her body
trembled, with one simple thing floating in her dreamy mind:  She feared him
more and more, and yet ... with each quivering thought of his control, each
grusome reminder that he dealt to her, she realized how much she wanted to
stay within his presence.  To be feared. To be dancing with death so near.

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


Message 845 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Fri Sep 11 15:08:00 1998 EDT
From:     Clayson (#17237)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Stick em!

Clayson heard the rumors, oh yeah, she head em loud and clear. In the lounge,
out on the plains...the whispering of something evil, something blood thirsty.
Well it was time it stopped, none of this bullshit in my world. Damn mages,
let em lose and look what happens, insanity. Taking a small dagger from her
belt she started in on her project. Just a piece of wood, a long piece of
wood...but soon, very soon the end will be very, very sharp.

**ooc** If Clay sees anyone, just one acting like a vamp she will have to
stick em.  Ya stinking blood sucking nutbags!

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


Message 846 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Sun Sep 13 01:06:01 1998 EDT
From:     Phantom_Rose (#6337)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Strange happenings.


Frap sat whittling on a old elm branch mostly just creating a pile of curly
shavings at his feet while talking to Charlie as the duck paddled about in the
fishing pond looking for tadpoles.

Frap, "Charlie, ya know I think someone is up to no good in the world.. Feel
it in me bones."

Charlie Quacks, "Your always feeling something in  your bones old man.  You
should start drinking again.. Think I liked you better."

Frap smirks nearly shaving off his thumb at that remark, "And maybe I need a
new feather pillow to rest my head on you crazy duck!"

Charlie smuggly smoothing out his feathers quacked smartly, "And who would
keep you out of trouble?"


Frap seemed lost in thought for a moment then relized he'd forgotten the
teapot on the stove again and it was whistling a old tune from some forgotten
song that the old mage had taught it.  The steam from the pot rose up forming
small clouds over the stove which quickly changed shapes into many strange
creatures and flowers.. Then they would burst out laughing at the teapots
whistling which would cause a terrible clap of thunder from their inners and
then tiny rain drops would begin falling onto the stove causing the fire to
sputter and run from side to side trying to dodge the drops.

Suddenly Frap stirred, "Oh I forgot!! I really should go visit my old friend
Brinn and find out if she has figured out how to tap dance yet.. I think she
was going to teach Magister Rathe a thing or two.. Thats it.. She must of
called me and I was out fishing again.."

Charlie looked up cleaning his bill after just scooping up a unlucky tadpole,
"Think that one was the fellow who spilled your beer that time.  Tasty."

Frap looked blankly at the duck and replyed, "Well, I was thursty and lost my
temper.. Those where the old days anyhow."

Frap called over to the willow tree that stood soaking its roots after a long
days walk, "Take a note ol boy, we must visit Brinn and teach her to dance."

The willow tree only responded by rustling its leaves slightly.

Charlie spoke up, "You'd do better to write things for yourself ol boy, that
old willow hasn't anything to write with but at scorched root of his that he
got too near the that firefly that evening back in May."

Frap chucked, "I guess that will teach him.  Willows always are weeping about
something anyhow.. I suppose I should of picked a happyer tree as a secutary."

Yes things where going fairly well for Frap and Charlie, he'd pack a lunch and
head out to visit Brinn by end week and he was sure that the Mistress of the
Mountain would be doing some fine entertaining and that that lovely cook of
theirs would be preparing a wonderful feast for his visit..  As soon as the
thought was finish he was lost again in the whittling and Charlie went back to
chasing down tadpoles naming them after people that had agravated the old mage
at one point or another.  The willow continued to soak his sore roots and the
teapot continued its melady which had changed to the old song 'Singing in the
Rain' The flames under the pot where crowded together tightly under the pot as
not to get wet and the Clouds seemed to dance to the music.

It was a beautiful day inside of the home of the Adept Phantom_Rose.

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


Message 847 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Sun Sep 13 20:47:56 1998 EDT
From:     Dwight (#20455)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  As the wheel turns..

Into the wee hours of the morning, a dropship landed unexpectedly at the
medicine wheel. ROUS scatter as a chittering and screeching eminates.

"I do believe this is the right place, don't you think my dears?" A dark smile
was the only sign of life seen from the shadows as Dwight emerged from the
landing pad, scratching his chin thoughtfully, "I haven't been here in years..
not much has changed."

The scorpions encircled his form like a pack of wolves as he surveyed the area
and set up the usual sensory equipment. He drew out his gyroslug pistol and
nailed a ROUS between the eyes, watching the body do a 180 degree spin. He
kneeled down, took out a knife and beheaded the rat-creature, scribbling a
note down. He put the note in a sealed container and shoved it through the
ROUS eye, and then nailed the head to a tree. "This should get his attention."
He mused, and walked off into the darkness once again, the wind whipping his
hair around, the light making his eyes take on a predatory gleam.

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


Message 848 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Sun Sep 13 23:18:02 1998 EDT
From:     Sinner (#12411)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Half past Midnight...

Shadows pound into the heart of the graveyard tonight, the same darkness that
corrupts Sinner's soul. Zipping over a crack in the cemetary's gate, he notes
a guard leaning next to a withered tree. Anger forms between the fire in his
eyes, and with a swipe of Sinner's scythe, he slashes the man's back with the
crescent of his scythe. Before the man could even bother screaming, Sinner's
scythe slashes through the young man's neckbone, decapitating him in a flash
second. His body writhes in pain for the final minutes of his life. Using the
scythe, he puts the blade near the ground, towards the mans head.
"...four..." the rasping voice whispers through the cold Orleans air, shooting
the head into a nearby patch of thorns.
-=<>=-
Sitting in the branch of his favorite dead tree, two guards spotted the
cambion. As they opened their mouths to hollar out, Sinner's hands arched in
fury and rage. Gnawled fingers cast out a web of pure elderich flame, flaring
through the air, rippling through reality itself. The guard on the left was
quick enough to get out of the way, but the one on the right.. got burnt in
the kitchen .. Jumping out of his seat, Sinner quickly wielded his long knife,
and brought it tunneling down through the man's helmet, making a loud,
metalliac *SPLISH*. Glancing at the flame covered man, he notices that he is
still alive- but in a massive amount of pain. "... a message to toraxyn ...
death comes to all who wait ..." his satanic voice intones, before severing
his left arm from it's socket. The man tried to scream, but Sinner's hand
slamed against his face, knocking him out cold. Quickly, he carved an
intricate circle in the man's back, leaving him for dead.
--==<<>>==--
A huge armour clad soldier was waiting by the gate, obviously the commando.
Cloaked in the shadows of the night, Sinner snuck about five feet behind him,
wasting no time. A voice boomed in a circle around the centinal, in every
direction at once. "...general glosseb..."
The huge centinal glanced all about him, wielding his longsword. "Hark! Who
goes there, soldier?" he asks- in almost a hoping tone.
The darkness cries out again... "...you are now relieved of your duties,
sir..." Silence envaded the conversation for two seconds, and suddenly the
demonic specter leaped out of the shadows, behind him. Blurring through the
moonlight, it screached. "AlL oF tHeM!!!!" before leaching onto the guardian's
shoulders, and jamming his teeth into the weak leather neckguard, piercing
through the fabric. His longsword edged back, cutting through nothing but air
as Sinner started to drain the wound of all blood- letting it run down his
cheeks in a fanfare of rage. Minutes later, Sinner dropped the corpse on the
ground.

In the morning, a grisly sight was found. The centinal was crucified on a huge
metal cross, rising out from one of the elite's tombs. Beneath it, in an
assorted array of tangled body parts, the word: R     A    T     H     E
--could be spelt out. Satanic glyphs of power were carved into the flesh, in
some sort of perverted ritual?"
In a wicked print, below the body parts, sprawled out in a mix of blood,
seaman, and bile read the words: FOREVER HIS

Leaving the cemetary that night, Sinner spat out the words... "...half past
midnight... and straight til morning..."

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


Message 849 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Sun Sep 13 23:48:57 1998 EDT
From:     Sinner (#12411)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Kissed by a rose.

After his nightly activities, Sinner quickly fled back to his temporary abode,
Rathe's labratory. Hanging his coat on the rack, and top hat above it, his
form descended into the leather couch, achingly tired and racking in pain from
the gaping whole in his chest. "..damn Toraxyn.." he thought, while glancing
at the stairs. Standing up, and briefley stretching, he quietly paced up the
stairs, almost to the point of tiptoing.
The seeker peered out into the darkness, though he could find her. Almost like
magnetic attraction, he thought to himself. Coreen was slumbering peacefully
after healing Sinner's broken arm, and as a gift of hospitality, he offered to
let Coreen stay the night, and he would sleep on the sofa. Body of an angel,
heart of a demon- he thought to himself, trying to shake his eyes away from
her. Flinching away, he thought: Lust is a part of humanity that I've killed
off a long time ago... Rathe, help me!" before pacing down the stairs, without
second thought..

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


Message 850 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Mon Sep 14 15:47:59 1998 EDT
From:     Eponine (#3791)
To:       *storylines (#5236)

There's a new journal in the Lounge.

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


Message 851 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Mon Sep 14 15:54:09 1998 EDT
From:     Ariana (#19666)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  parents...refound...

Ariana walked along the beach, a smile on her face as she did, softly humming
to herself.  So far it had been a great week.  She was still not able to
remeber anything before her awakening in that tomb in N'orleans at the
beginning of the week, but she had found out quite a bit already.  She smiled
gently as her thoughts drifted to Kzin, glad that she had someone to teach her
everything she had forgotten, and someone who cared for her.
Her thoughts that turned to a few days earlier in the lounge at the R/T, where
she had made the happiest find up to this date.  There she found her mother,
Coreen, who told her about the past, and about her father.  She frowned a
little as her thoughts turned to her Father, Devon, the mage that had left her
mother when Ari was born, claiming the child wasn't his.
She sighed a little, then thought, 'I will find Devon, and talk to him, even
just to try to get him to admit he is my father.'  She smiled a little, then
sighed again as her thoughts once more changed, now to the only two people she
knew that she hated.
She looked down at her dagger at her side, as she thought of that scumbag,
Toraxyn, and his little wretch, Tadewi, and how she had stolen him from her.
'Tadewi will pay for that, and Toraxyn will get his in the end too.  I will
make sure of that...'  She stopped, looking out at the sea for a moment,
gathering her thoughts, then turned walk back to her home.

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


Message 852 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Mon Sep 14 16:10:52 1998 EDT
From:     Williker (#20481)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Note posted in the r/t and stuff

For sale:

One suit of polymer body armour. Call Williker to purchase.

OOC: page me and will work out a deal. ;)

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


Message 853 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Mon Sep 14 21:52:13 1998 EDT
From:     Ylaerin (#16541)
To:       *storylines (#5236)

Ylaerin stood in the grove for some time, surprised and unable to move.. to
even breath it seemed.  It was unbeleivable, the way she'd stumbled on it..
the feel of the air. Heady, heavy, tingling very much like the air of her
homeland - the air she'd used to dream before the Sight deserted her and left
her to blunder through her life.  Through the SoulBond came an unexpected
shudder/sigh of releif and tranquility.
The searching was over. It was, plainly, done. There was goddess-guided magic
here, that much was clear.. and perhaps it was enough to restore her missing
BardSight, if only she could recall the ways.
She sank into the grass, her new gown glimmering all around her in the fading
light of the evening forest. A quick survey told her that all the trees were
here, as they should be; the altar before her was magnificent.. but mostly it
was the air, the trees. The presence.
Here it would be. She would contact the Lady Mystique and bring her here. Here
she would come to restore the small gift of Sight that she'd lost, to restore
her heart after Yshar and Lanyrrli's death. Here was the true birth of the
Circle.
And here she would bring Corwin.. to show him her path.. to soothe the anger
that grew within both of them, separate and similar. She would lead him here.
She would sing to him the Song of the Flame.

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


Message 854 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Mon Sep 14 22:30:10 1998 EDT
From:     Coreen (#18717)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  On Chess...

Staggering sleepily across Drach'nal towards a transport, Coreen
attempted to jumpstart her mind by focusing on the matters at hand.
A single night had changed much. She grinned to herself, recalling the
vision of Sinner's mangled body, silently praising Toraxyn for his skill
and his art. She had expended a great deal of her energy to reattach
Sinner's severed limb, but it was worth it...her knowledge and ability
had increased - that much she knew recalling the power surge through
her body. She had also gained a favor or three from the supposed half-
demon...whether he liked it or not.
A rock interrupted her thoughts as her boot caught on it; another step
and she had righted herself. "Damn, I'm tired..." she muttered under
her breath, pressing on along the dirt path. She imagined she looked it,
too. "Even Magi dirty their hands every now and then," she consoled
herself. Having reached the transport requester, she leaned on it rather
happily, trying once, twice, thrice, to hit the button. Finally a beep
and a simulated voice announced her triumph. She fumbled in her pouch
for a few crystals, and felt slightly better after swallowing their
sweet liquid. Few parts remained in her plan, her subconscious
evaluation continued. The queen would slip through the wall of
pawns...then the rooks, knights, bishops...hitting all from behind.
She snickered as she considered her subconscious analogy to chess...
How poetic she had become. "War, emulating life, is nothing more than
a game, after all..." Coreen said with a touch of cynical philosophy
as she staggered into the transport.

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


Message 855 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Mon Sep 14 22:32:25 1998 EDT
From:     Yrathe (#14172)
To:       *storylines (#5236)

Rathe remained dead.


The end.

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


Message 856 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Tue Sep 15 00:27:32 1998 EDT
From:     Toraxyn (#19315)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Angels and Devils

   He chuckled, a dark tone slipping it's way into his voice, as he sat
comfortably within the wooden chair.  Listening carefully to the slow swirl of
air from the window moments ago he cast open in some half-hearted attempt to
bring thought, he heard nothing, certainly nothing that could bring comfort to
the restless Adept.
   He glanced up at the dark energies, crackling at work suspended only a few
feet above. She had betrayed him, he told himself, grasping at the certainty
that would bring him a hint of confidence.  She had most certainly planned
everything, and the fool Sinner had been nothing but a pawn.  It all made
sense now.  "She will pay for her allegiances..." He hissed out a half-hearted
chuckle.
   Angered suddenly by his own words, a jolt of violet flame shot over his
glove in an inimical hue, and he slammed the fist clear through the arm of his
chair, the hardwood splintering easily with a sickening crack.  A sigh passed
through him, carrying him to his feet, wearily, the shadow cast before him on
the floor bringing his own shape once more into perspective.
   "Now is the time," came a cool whisper from barely-moving lips, which he
realized were his. "So close... And nothing else will matter... I will have
all that was his, and all he could never have..."
   And yet, the confidence escaped him.  First, in the loving embrace of an
angel, the angel Tadewi.  Never could he be prepared the way her eyes could
touch his, in complete trust, ultimate love.  Where was the hate? Where were
the lies?  "Oh Lady..." He murmured to himself, finding solace at last with
the burying of his head in his arms.  But it was not to last.  The pale,
smiling, red lips of another woman penetrated his defences. With snicker, she
said, "Do with me what you will. So many others have in the past. I had
thought you different, but...people change."
   Oh yes, he had changed.  Staring at the rebelliously twinkling stars in the
night sky, he snarled angrily, screaming out his words in a voice strained
heavily by agony. "Where are you, Rathe!?..."  A sneer twisted over his lips,
his voice choking off into a mere hiss, "Dead, perhaps... But you will not
take with you what you have given me... What you've _made_ me.  The hate is
mine, you can't drag it off to your forgotten grave!"
   He was answered only by the echoing futility of his anger, the chirp of
crickets outdoors, and the electric hum of enchantment.  He sighed, looking up
once again to the figure suspended from his ceiling, motionless among the dark
tendrils of energy. He said dryly, finding steadiness of voice and sarcasm at
last in speaking to a mere unconscious body, "If you'll just excuse me,
Magistra.  I have a wedding to attend, I believe."


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


Message 857 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Tue Sep 15 17:34:34 1998 EDT
From:     Seraph (#16551)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Musings...

>From somewhere distant, she watched.

In the swirl of light and sound that made up the world, she'd found a refuge
in silence. They had their wish, now, as she had hers. They had flesh -- and
she, silence.

As bound as they, her curiousity bound the eyes of her soul to the form it
once inhabited, watching the grotesquerie of the puppet show, the parroting of
a look, a smile. Hers, not hers. It was not her laugh, not her smile.
They would likely never know, save for one. Only that one would know why it
was that the fire that once shown behind her eyes had flickered out like the
death of a candleflame, becoming stillness, becoming naught but a whispering
void.

But that one was the cause of how she came to be as she was.

They could have their lot now -- there was none of it that she desired.

How long had it been? She was uncertain. Time passed strangely here --
spinning out into impossible lengths and pinching, as if in a vice, to
inconsequence -- where she walked beside Shakespeare and Machiavelli in a
garden of winding paths and twisted branches of memory. The garden was lush,
full, and vibrant -- to touch a the fallen petal of a silken rose was to
relive the moments of another's life. Another's dreams, another's passions.
Another's pain.

Here, all souls were one, in a sense.

It wasn't long before she accepted the lack of identity, mannerisms and
emotion creating a pretense of self. It was simple enough, she discovered, to
adapt when the need came -- to accept the fact that the soul was more than
these things, and failed to consist of them at all.

Riding the skin, that's what they all called it. The skin was her pain, which,
despite all else, lingered still to bind her to this place, the garden between
worlds, where she would remain until all there was of her 'self' had dwindled
into the essence spirit, to rejoin, disperse, and be reborn in slices as the
part of history that remained unwritten stretched the books a few more
chapters ahead.

They could have the skin. They could have it for all it was worth. They could
have the pleasure and the pain, for she was beyond them now. They had never
seen the garden, with its vices and its traps, its whisperings and songs a
sweet fragrances that spun tales of their own.

It wasn't heaven, she mused. There wasn't such a place as heaven.

She watched as they danced through the life she'd built with and in spite of
them, listening to them bicker, now, over how it was that she had scowled, how
it was that she had laughed, what tone her voice carried when she was angry.
Their stageshow, no doubt, would play out to whatever ends they had chosen,
the nature of familiar flesh escaping notice and concern.

Though the garden she moved, a thought, and space inverted, warping to her
will. Here it was simple.

Heaven, no, but Eden? Perhaps. A cluster of roses, a white so pure they shamed
new-fallen snow glowed across the garden, drawing her closer with the sinuous
hands of temptation every time she passed. Her memories. Her life. The one
time she had loved. They begged to be touched, petals shivering, glistening,
ever full and never fading. Blooming brighter each time they entered her view.
Following her. Her hands would pause over them, petals straining upward to
touch her. A whisper of smoke, and a rose would crumble. She set one to rest
each time they bloomed in memory, slowly freeing herself of their silken
bonds.

One remained, now, alone in a tangle of withered ash and blackened stems.
Perfect. Pure.

The dead cannot cry. She had wept for several, should it be all they need to
find release, find their path beyond the garden.

Yet it was her tear that struck the rose before the ebbing flow of magic could
smite it to ash, mingling with the dew shining against its petals before
sliding, wasted, to the misty earth below.

>From the chorus, a sudden silence.

The soft music of footsteps that echoed through the empty cobblestone path of
the Fin de la Rue in N'Orleans stopped as though frozen in place. Eyes black
as they sky they shifted to face surged with the darkness of the sea as a
storm boiled in its depths.
"Yes, sister," a languid purr whispered into the silence, the words rebounding
from the crumbling facades as if spoken through a hundred voices, "We know."

<OOC> It makes sense if you think about it. Don't ask.

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


Message 858 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Tue Sep 15 18:33:45 1998 EDT
From:     Khyber (#12460)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Note

Note in R/T Round Room:
For Sale - One Katana
Contact Khyber for further information.


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


Message 859 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Tue Sep 15 22:08:02 1998 EDT
From:     Vertemis (#23360)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  The meeting

The mechanical man strode across the endless field of sand that lay before it,
the hot desert sands splashed against the dull metal shell of the machine.
Inside, Vertemis set the systems auto-pilot to the garage. As the mech raced
across the wasteland, he thought of his meeting with the rider, and her dragon
'friend'.
"Smelly beast." he said, shakeing his head, "All the evidence pointed towards
that, that beast." He chuckled softly to himself, rubbing his head, "And that
clip to my noggin sure didn't convince me of its innocence."
The mech came to a halt as it entered the garage. It gears winding down.
Vertemis switch the main panel off and disengaged the power systems.
"Although..." he thought to himself, "a little more investigation couldn't
hurt."

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


Message 860 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Sep 16 02:55:46 1998 EDT
From:     Tadewi (#16048)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Bloody Kisses.

An organ played somewhere in the background.  Her groggy unconciousness
attempted to focus, reaching for it like a drunk attempting to find that last
drop of whiskey from the pit of a dry bottle.  But it evaded her, refusing to
permit the haziness clouding her mind to part, to reveal.

"Forgive her father, for she knows not what she does..."

The voice startled her the way a loud creak split a silent night.  The
baritone voice faded into an echo, jarring her with vibration until it was
silent enough to escape her hearing.
She wanted to reply, to scream, to move.  Limbs like molasses refuged to move
and her tongue felt heavy.  Just working it inside her mouth took tremendous
effort.  The air surrounding her pressed inward, like a great snake slowly
constricting its coils around her.  In a panic, her mind raced, surely this
was a dream.

"It's no dream, girl.  Look at me."

A face appeared and suddenly she found herself staring at her mirror image.
The delicate features, the china fine, flawless skin, the eyes so pale they
matched the shiftless pallor of the empty skies.  But there was more to this
one, the hatred burned in her eyes.  Here there be demons, and this demon
barely kept her rage in check.  Sulamith.

Suddenly the world changed, the heavy darkness died as the night always did to
give birth to the new day.  She found herself standing in the Savage Garden,
just outside the Maison.  How horrid it appeared now, the statues looking down
in stoney judgement.  The trees reached upwards in solemn grace, no wind
present to sway branches.  Not a cricket could be heard, not a bee or a bird.
This was her domain.

Rose colored lips spread into a dark smile, and her tone chilled like the
first touch of frost.  "Think not of summer breezes.  Know this, you pitiful,
pathetic creature, you are here for a reason."
Her words caught themselves in her throat, the unability to voice herself made
her hackles rise. The dark grin on the other's lips left a pit in her stomach.
"I didn't give you permission to speak.  No.  You are hear to listen to me."

Sulamith paced the garden, the grass rasping against the silk of her dress.
The noise grated, grinded, every motion perverted, every sound dark and
foreboding. Even the sun sat high in the sky, the atmosphere leaving it a
sickly blood red color.  She sat on the edge of the fountain and said nothing
for an eternity.
"I've watched this sick parady of love play itself out again and again for
you.  So now I've called you here to inform you, you weak fool."

The organ began to play again, somewhere in the back of her mind.  Somber, the
chanting of monks in a cathedral.  Rising and falling with a sense of lazy
urgency.  Her heart tugged at her and Sulamith's face drew tight, bitter, her
smile disappearing.
"I tell you now, you fool.  Toraxyn does not love you.  No one has ever loved
you.  He uses you as Rathe used you, as Morrigan used you, and everyone you
have ever been close to you has used you."  The gleam of her teeth shown from
between crimson lips, blood red now.  Red as the masque of death.  The angel
of Death.

Her mind reeled, it was a lie, it HAD TO BE A LIE!  The organ droned on behind
her, the chanting rising and falling in a dead language.  All around her the
black curtain fell, the Savage Garden gone.  Thick darkness surrounded her
again, leaving only a spot of shimmering white light to shine down.  She sank
to her knees, strength gone.  Liquid opal tears fell down her porcelain skin
to soundlessly strike the floor.  Drip.  Drip. Drip.

Somewhere, a tiny voice fought for recognition.

*Do it.  You know you want to.*

The dagger clattered onto the floor in front of her.  Tearsong.  Trembling
fingers touched the diamond in the hilt.

*Go ahead, don't be afraid.  I'll help you to the other side.*

The dagger glinted blue in the light, lifting high into the air.

The droning and chanting grew louder, incessent, demanding.  They sung her
dirge, and in the last note her voice joined in.  The last aria filled the air
with a crystal shattering pitch.... and this was her greatest performance
ever, as the blood stained the white of her bodice, red as life.


The black aria peirced the night in the Maison, a soul peircing scream.  And
no one was even there to applaud the effort.

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


Message 861 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Sep 16 03:00:31 1998 EDT
From:     Yrathe (#14172)
To:       *storylines (#5236)

Rathe rolled over in his grave in shock.


The End.

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


Message 862 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Sep 16 04:50:48 1998 EDT
From:     Seraph (#16551)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  The unspinning of time...

He'd come for her.

It was unexpected. Alien. Were it not for the final bloom, she never would
have remembered him.

Their hands reached in tandem for the bloom of the rose -- ready to claim its
memory once more, allow it to be theirs.

..but along the way, she found the other part of her garden, scraping her
wrist against a thorn.

The bloom died beneath a wisp of smoke called reflexively from her hand.

The light behind her eyes extinguished, and she knelt, empty, soulless, before
her broken, withered garden.


The clack of a trapdoor opening broke the stillness of the N'Orleans night,
and a body was carried from the room. It took her a few moments to pull it
away from him, he clutched it so in his rigor. Soft ringing footfalls traced a
path through the garden, and into the bayou. None would notice another body.
Not here. They gave her to Le Maman, knowing the crumbling wretch would care
for her new prize.
   The chorus, for once, was utterly silent. This one, they knew, was without
guilt. She had helped them when no others would have cared. She had given them
her life, and finally, her flesh when life was of no use to her any longer.
She'd given them what little power she'd achieved, and for this, she was
granted silence.
   The crawling things, the dead things that still walked, and those who were
only memory gathered to look on her, once their guardian and protector -- now
reduced to nothing more than they. They carried her, led by the puppeteer, to
a secret, hidden part of the maze of swamp, hanging the blackened, broken form
between the trees, crucified among weeping tendrils of spanish moss. Plastic
coins, glass pearls, bits of colored paper. Shiny things, broken glass. These
were spilled at her feet, draped about her throat, and braided into hair
rapidly going the texture of straw. In the silence of the bayou, a song was
heard, a softness, a reverence to its tune that stretched beyond the bounds of
anything heard by those that still draw breath.
   The dead had her now.


In the garden, lost souls kissed the petals of their roses, blissfully pricked
their fingers against thorns.

Not one shed a single tear, but for the hollow figure that stared, sightless,
at her dead garden.

<OOC> Yes, she's dead too.

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


Message 863 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Sep 16 11:32:12 1998 EDT
From:     Yrathe (#14172)
To:       *storylines (#5236)

I go and die and I get all these copycats.. Jeeze

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


Message 864 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Sep 16 16:41:39 1998 EDT
From:     Sinner (#12411)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  A night in darkness

Thunder pulses into the Drach'nal sky, as Sinner awakens, angered by the
pounding rap rap raping on his door. He cries out, "Who is that rap rap raping
on my chamber door?" Quoteth the Williker, "Uhh. Tis I. What a bore."
He smirks. "Will, I'm trying this sleep thing. This better be fucking good."
Williker eyes Sinner, "Come on man, don't play innocent. Everyone's been
talking about what _you_ did." Smiling darkly, Sinner nods while Rathe's robe
around his body. "Yeah, that was awesome how I killed thouse guards."
Williker's laughter roars in his labratory, smirking. "Dude.. I'm talking
about Seraph and Tadewi." Sinner's hellfire lit eyes grow suddenly puzzled.
"Err.. What about them?" Williker turns away, smirking. "Don't lie to me, Sin,
everyone knows you killed both of 'em."
Sinner blinks. "I'm innocent! I've been framed!"

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


Message 865 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Sep 16 17:36:05 1998 EDT
From:     Williker (#20481)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Whee

Post note in the R/T:

Shotgun for sale, call Will.

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


Message 866 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Sep 16 22:53:48 1998 EDT
From:     Williker (#20481)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  "h

Yet another note posted in the R/T:
chainsaw for sale. Call Williker.

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


Message 867 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Sep 16 23:06:19 1998 EDT
From:     Satan (#24628)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  A note

A note found in the R/T:

Looking for: A cheaper bladed weapon, around 2k.  Preferably a long knife.
Maybe something better.

Dial #5704 on your communicator if you have anything available.

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


Message 868 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Thu Sep 17 01:30:51 1998 EDT
From:     Nothing (#16048)
To:       *storylines (#5236)

Flatline.  The screechy whine that accompanied it.

Voices echoed from beyond, frightened, hurried, worried, frenzied.  Then
nothing.  A terrible silence.

*Even in death, you still look sad.*

"You want what I feel."

*On the contrary, I think you're being foolish.*

>From darkness to light.  Ominous flakes of snow began to fall from the grey
skies, burying the summertime.  Leaves curled, then fell, still green for
Autumne had not been given her due and she lacked her flaming dress of orange,
brown and gold.  Flowers froze in place, soft petals shriveling in the
onslaught of ice and sleet.  The heat hissed and screamed, a final wail its
dirge to the sharp edge of the bitter winds.
They came as bidden, from the north, not comprehending the pleading voice that
called, only understanding the desperation.  She was kin.  There could be no
refusing her.
They found her half buried in their own snows, pallid skin and white dress
almost indistinguishable from the sparkling whiteness surrounding her.  They
placed her under the glass and began their ceremonial dances, circling her as
they chanted to the chilly skies.  They painted her face the color of the
north, blue-purple.  When at last she rested at peace, they took their vigils,
at each cardinal point of the compass and sat in stony silence, befrosted
sentinals.
She was kin, after all.  There could be no refusing her.

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


Message 869 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Thu Sep 17 22:47:37 1998 EDT
From:     Satan (#24628)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  A dead night...

The seeker stomped through the Graveyard quickly, peering over his shoulder
periodically.  Quite strange that a man who thought he himself was the devil
would be paranoid in a cemetary.  He finally made his way towards a set of
graves, shovel in hand.  A good deal of them lacked headstones, but rather
were quite thinly buried, seeing as though they were nothing but mounds in the
dirt.  Lowering his gaze towards them, he slammed his shovel into the soft
soil.
After a few minutes had went by, he had found a corpse beneath the earth.
Looking over it momentarily, he realized it was nothing but a child, and
obviously a recently buried one.  The flesh still lingered on its soft face,
eyes closed.  His gaze as cold as his heart, he continued to the next grave,
almost angered at himself for not pre-determining the age of the corpse merely
by the size of the mound.
Continuing his search in the now thickening fog, he came upon a longer mound.
'This one will defintely contain a worthy aura..' he thought to himself,
striking the dirt with his shovel once again, tearing the earth away with it.
It seemed like an eternity to dig, and he finally dropped his shovel and
dropped to his knees, clawing at the dirt with an overwhelming amount of
anxiousness.  He finally found it, the lifeless, withered corpse staring back
at him through the darkness.  He grinned in an almost maniacal fashion, but
somewhere deep in his mind, in the very hallows that had remained sane through
his own infection of insanity, he felt as though the corpse would pop out and
strangle him.  This caused him to shudder, which seemed quite odd to him,
being a Necromancer....  He lifted the head from the dirt, and stared into its
lifeless eyes.  His own featureless eyes began to glow with power.  This is
definetely the one I'm looking for, he thought to himself.  His eyes flashed
with power, and he felt a surge run through him.  His grip suddenly loosened
upon the corpse's neck, and fell to his back in the dirt, his head spinning
feverishly.
The seeker looked into the sky, the moon becoming quite dim through the clouds
and fog, as his body shook slightly.  He finally stood to his feet, feeling a
new understanding of the black arts.  A smirk crossed his features as he
headed out of the gates, feeling as though his quest for Necromantic power had
been fulfilled, or at least a small part of it....

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


Message 870 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Fri Sep 18 20:52:29 1998 EDT
From:     Khyber (#12460)
To:       *storylines (#5236)

Note found in R/T Round room.

1 hired Henchman, will work for crystals.
Khyber.

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Message 871 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Sat Sep 19 21:23:32 1998 EDT
From:     Khyber (#12460)
To:       *storylines (#5236)

Khyber goes insane and now thinks he's a rutabega.

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Message 872 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Sat Sep 19 21:24:08 1998 EDT
From:     Eponine (#3791)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  I can't help myself.

Eponine puts a little salt on Khyber and eats him.

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


Message 873 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Sun Sep 20 19:36:36 1998 EDT
From:     Ylaerin (#16541)
To:       *storylines (#5236)

.. It was just as she had thought. She was going to have a child! The joy
which welled up insider her was an impossible thing to fathom.. all she could
bring herself to do was smile at Yjezra and hug her. And then she remembered
who she had to tell most of all ... Ylaerin practically flew into the
hatchery, and he turned to face her, expectation and hope clearly displayed on
his features. When she told him, the light that came into his face was
amazing... and then they were in each others' arms. Smiles all around and a
future that stretched out before them endlessly. But quiet.. so quiet... Not a
sound at all...

She woke, gasping for air, feeling like she was drowning. Luthe's eyes
regarded her in the dim torchlight of the cavern. She always left one torch
dimly glowing, so the children could find her bed without falling if they
needed her in the night. Ylaerin felt herself to be covered in a sheen of
sweat, though the room was cool; she held her hands before her face, squinting
at them. One ring, at that silver. Her left hand was bare and pale... if the
light were better, she may have seen an even paler line acorss her ring
finger.
She rose, trembling, and crossed the room to pull back the curtain to the
sub-cavern. What she saw sent a stabbing ache through her heart - the two tiny
children were sleeping in one bed, Rhianna's fair face was troubled in her
sleep, Rowan had his chubby arms wrapped around his sister as if to protect
her. 'Gods of all the worlds,' thought Etra, 'What have I done to my
children?'
And then it came.. the counterweight to the greif -- the flare of desparate
anger that always followed. More than a month since his death.. no, since his
suicide, and the anger showed no sign of dimming. She turned swiftly, her
kirtle flaring around her, and went to open the chest. The golden ring winked
up at her.. she snatched it from where it lay and went quietly out the
curtain.  She cast a pacing glance at Corwin's cavern.. a source of strength
unlike any other lay there... but no. This, she though... This, Luthe told
her. This was hers. Only hers.
The anger, almost a hatred, was a fire in her blood. A painful fire, dark and
deadly - not the birght, starlike burning she beheld when she turned her mind
elsewhere.  Nearly at a run, she reached the place where Shar had fallen
before her and died. She would have sworn to the skies that there was still
blood on the stone, though no one else would have agreed. He had ruined
something, though she couldn't quite place it. Abandoned their children -
broken their innocence. Killed a dragon. She searched, desperately, for love
within her.. love to forgive him with.. to with him peace on his sailing; she
wept when she found none. Sick with fury, blind with greif, she flung the
wedding band down into the valley with all her strength.  It glittered away
from her in the coming dawn, though she never saw it due to tears.
And so that was the end and the beginning, both. And though she would have to
hide it from everyone.. from her children, even from Corwin.. from Yjezra, if
she could do it.. she knew that the anger, the blackness, could never be
overcome. All she could pray for was balance...
.. balance which can never be granted to those who have cursed the ones who
die of love.

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