Message-Id: <199812221549.JAA13403@casper.realtime.net>
Date: Tue, 22 Dec 1998 09:49:14 -0400
From: "Quinn@GhostWheel" <someone@ghostwheel.mud.org>
To: quinn@netsville.com
Subject: GhostWheel Message(s) 944 - 993 from *storylines (#5236)

Message 944 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Fri Oct 23 16:18:46 1998 EDT
From:     Moonheart (#20495)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:   @date

A Year in a Day it must be Fey.
And so it was done, His wolf child would spend a year in Fey learning about
court life and the nature of being wolf.

Perhaps when she gets back tomorrow we can talk about that wedding he thought
to himself.

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


Message 945 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Mon Oct 26 11:31:29 1998 EST
From:     Red_Fang (#5907)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Rumors


It is rumored that Red's army is moving out of Drach'nal.. No reason was given
only that things seemed stable..  Spys report that there has been several
surveys done of the N'Orleans area as if something was planned..


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


Message 946 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Tue Oct 27 16:16:06 1998 EST
From:     Williker (#20481)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Note in R/T:

Looking for hellfire slugs. Call Williker.

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


Message 947 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Tue Oct 27 18:37:20 1998 EST
From:     Tirafal (#24173)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  The Reckoning

Tirafal sat down in front of the fire and let her mouth drift into the sad
curve it had taken on in these past days. She never showed it to him. He had
enough to deal with, without feeling guilt at the sadness he was causing her.
But she had to do something. When he first came to her he had slept all of the
time. She had thought much of it was from sheer physical exhaustion. He had
admitted that he hadn't been sleeping on the Mount, that his dreams were
haunted. But now, his unnatural sleep made her think of depression. Sometimes,
she thought if it weren't for Elshydrath, he would be suicidal. Even now,
after all this time, if she touched him even accidentally, he flinched. She
knew he didn't mean to. He knew he hurt her when he did that. But he just
couldn't help it.
Tirafal stared into the flames and sighed. This was beyond her ability to
help, heal or cure. She was too young, too inexperienced, and yes, she
admitted to herself, too close.
She tried to think who could help her. *Renna*, she thought, *Maybe Renna
would know someone.*
Her hand went to the commlink and dialed...

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


Message 948 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Oct 28 09:25:22 1998 EST
From:     Red_Fang (#5907)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  To Jamie


Though winter grips the land,
Turning everything gray..
Life springs anew inside me,
At the beginning of each day.
Fire warms me from your simple smile
A blaze of life shows me
Springtime even at night.
In you, flaming hair and eyes of green.
I live in constant sunshine warmed from within.

Red

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


Message 949 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Oct 28 09:31:20 1998 EST
From:     Red_Fang (#5907)
To:       *storylines (#5236)

With night as his cloak, Red slipped from the shuttle onto the cobblestoned
street.  He headed streight to the mansion spying the strengths of the place.
Only life that stirred where the horses sheltered in their stable.  The garden
and all was quiet.  Defences where strong here but that wouldn't matter.

Soon.

Quietly slipping back aboard the shuttle Red smiled.

R.

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


Message 950 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Oct 28 13:08:53 1998 EST
From:     Renna (#12014)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Space Dye Vest.

Resistance.

She sensed it in him the moment she met him at the glade.  A stubborn will,
delicated wrapped within the confines of his own pain, his own distrust.
Tirafal, bless her heart, was so sure she could heal him.  Renna, though not
much more worldly then then the other, had a vision she couldn't have, not
being one of the mageborn. This man required so much more then the
underestimated love of an innocent.
She rubbed her temples with her fingertips.  Just probing the man had been an
experiment in futility.  She well understood Tirafal's frustration, for hers
was a syssiphian task.  Every inch she gained left her miles more ground to
cover within the tattered remains of his psyche.
There was nothing she, as only a Seeker, could do, and Renna was well aware of
it.  Someone stronger was required.  Her initial thought went to Master
Morpheus... but it had been so long since she could last claim to know his
whereabouts.  So, that left her to punt.  But, she would find someone.  For
Tirafal.

And for the man she so fiercely loved.

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


Message 951 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Oct 28 17:50:17 1998 EST
From:     Williker (#20481)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Whee

Note in R/T:

Chainsaw for sale.. Call Williker

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


Message 952 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Oct 28 19:24:39 1998 EST
From:     Williker (#20481)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Ha.

Note in R/T:

Long knife for sale. Call Williker..

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


Message 953 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Oct 28 19:27:49 1998 EST
From:     Delaque (#24628)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Wanted:

One (1): Ass owned by Williker which has been repeatedly raped by his father.
Call Delaque for info

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


Message 954 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Thu Oct 29 14:23:48 1998 EST
From:     Melira (#18088)
To:       *storylines (#5236)

Melira lay flat on the wide bed, holding her third glass (that morning) of red
wine in both hands, staring at the dark ceiling of the laboratory. She sighed
and closed her eyes, grateful that Sinner was away for a while and that she
finally had some solitude.... not that anything was forcing her to stay. Not
that anything _would_.
She let her eyes rove around the room... it was much nicer than where she
lived, that was for sure, but it was deifnitely not her style. Too much black
to start with... she was beginning to see, now that she was in what had been
the center of his tiny universe, how narrow Rathe's vision had really been...
what a trivial guy he was sometimes. She chuckled, and then let her mind
wander elsewhere -- despite her mocking, there was a lot of power lingering
here, some of it that Sinner was almost certainly drawing from.
She'd given up reading after only a few sips of wine in order to lie around
and (potentially) get very drunk indeed. She'd been pretty tipsy the other
night.. had let Toraxyn get to her... *feh* Coming up on her in the dark like
that.. girl can't even take a walk in her newly earned territory. Still, the
flip side of _that_ coin was that Toraxyn suited her purposes much better than
Sinner did, regardless of how attractive the 'cambion' could be. Melira knew
that she could read every book and scroll in this over-decorated place and
still not be capable of half of what she might under Toraxyn's guidance.
The idea still rankled her, though. Rathe might have had his faults - being
caught up in trivial things like politics and world domination when there was
REAL power to be sought out, or never coming through on his promises [she
thought back to the offers of clothing and shelter that were never made good]
- but that didn't change the fact that he'd brought her as far as she'd ever
gone. Besides, Toraxyn was caught up with that silly Mystique woman, same as
Rathe had been... and he was an idiot if he didn't think she saw _that_
connection. Though, making it known to that simpering little 'noble woman'
that Melira had access to the 'Famille' no matter _what_ man Tadewi was with
might be fun.
She sat up and downed the remainder of the glass... one step closer to
forgetting what she was working on being able to ignore. Too bad she had to
drink to do it, but maybe soon enough she could back off from the bottle again
and not seem like such a lush. Even Sinner, damn him, thought she was a
lush... offering to enchant her drinks so that one glass of wine hit her like
a bottle of vodka. Arrogant fool of a man, and crazy, to boot. A moron,
really, when you got right down to it... the truth of which made her set the
glass down and drink from the bottle....
What hope was there for HER and her ambitions when she caught herself actually
_wanting_ a guy like that?

And then she really did have to smile, a sober smile despite the alcohol in
her system, because there was another 'guy' she caught herself wanting a
little more than she used to... who held open a door of power, knowledge,
everything for her. Just as long as she didn't get her 'heart' caught up with
all of this Damien nonsense.

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


Message 955 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Thu Oct 29 20:43:17 1998 EST
From:     Sinner (#12411)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  ..let fools shine on..

Through the darkness of shadows; Sinner lurked. For six years, in the Rathe's
shadow, he stood. The blood of demonic origin rested in his veins like
sandpaper- gnawing at his humanity to no end. The time for this hast long
past; and now, a new era.. a new age, a new daunting feat.
It didn't take much for Frap to break through the facade of sin surrounding
the seeker. A simple spell which possessed him, simply brought out his true
feelings upon things. In other words, restoring his humanity in a bold face
lie; which quickly became undone. Already.. it has begun lurking inside of
him...
The hell. The pain. The never ending hungar for violence. Every inch of every
body aching for the one thing that sedated his pain. Blood. A fuel, of sorts-
the very mentality that death would sustain life and energy made Damien
cringe, all to himself. Still, during these changes, the New Orleans cemetary
always appealed to him- he loved the presence of death and the shadows which
casted about the fowl sanctum in odd protectiveness, as if he was called
there.
Melira.. was something he'd like to forget. She'd never understand what he is,
and never see him for more then a passive roof and a warm meal. Something
inside him hated this, but didn't seem to care, as she never forced her to be
around. In fact, she pushed him to go towards her obvious hours of drinking.
The late night shift, of which he always felt more comfortable in the confines
of his own home. Williker was right, maybe if he let Will kill her, his life
would be better. Right. Like that could happen.

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


Message 956 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Fri Oct 30 04:00:04 1998 EST
From:     Mourir (#21818)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Surfacing.

Dark, like the true night, when the moon sheds no glow and the stars seem
diminished, faded and distant glory.  The track lights gleam red, hazy, barely
penetrating the darkness more then a few feet.  She could hear their distant
chittering.  A group of them.  This was not good, she knew better then to try
for more then one at a time.  She pattered backwards, following the trails of
white sand she always left underground.  There would be another time for a
good slisssh hunt.  She had killed two today, however, and the fatigue of her
efforts sank heavily on her fragile form.
The bright lights of the R/T Tower nearly blinded her as she emerged from
below, shielding her pale yees with a hand.  The sounds of life surrounded
her. There were people above her, she could hear their footfalls above.  She
skulked away, back into the harshness of the wastelands.  Human contact was
anathema to her, for those who laid eyes on her gawked, 'Dear God, what is
that thing?' Some even sought to capture her, those who knew her origins.
Her origins.  Yes, hazy memories of another time, a spectacularly painful
birth from the womb of a screaming mother.  The demented exhaustion of a
demonic minded father.  Human speech, the Lady of the Poisonous Gardens and
her ancient DragonWolf.  Fringes of lucidity strung amongst animalistic urges.
These were all that were left to her.
The hot sun rained down on her relentlessly, sand rising up to slap her legs.
She walked naked as the day of her birth, unfearful of the radiation. Black
skin couldn't burn, after all.  Black as the heart scarred within her sexless
breast.
She walked alone, as she preferred, far from the ravings of humanity.  Still,
there was that terrible urging.  He was dead; she was not needed.  And yet, at
night her dreams were tainted by him, and a terrible foreboding, like the
winds that warned of a sandstorm.
"I don't think my father is dead."

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


Message 957 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Fri Oct 30 07:05:38 1998 EST
From:     Red_Fang (#5907)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Spirit dance.

Red crawled out the small window of the cabin balancing for a moment then
leaping childishly to the nearby tree, once securely in place he reached back
beconing the childern.  Erin came first being the bravest of the twins,
knowing her fathers hand would catch her she leaped int othe night air into
her fathers arms.  Red gave her a push on up to the next branch of the tree
and turned waiting for Grady.  The small boy reached then closed his eyes and
made a leap of faith into his fathers waiting arms.  Then together the three
finished the short climb up and then out onto the cabins roof top.
The twins had just passed their ninth birthday and this was a special treat to
be out with their dad on this of all nights.  Red spread a blanket down on the
rough shingles of the roof and arranged the children to each side of him.  He
didn't do this often and if Jamie knew where they where she would surely
scold.  But there was something he wanted to share with his kids and he knew
tonight would be a wonderful night for it.
Bundled together from the cold winter air they sat silently waiting, Red knew
the kids where filled with the anticipation and held them to him warmly and
affectionately.
Then as if it had been waiting for the audiance to settle the dance started.
Shimmering in the chile of the frosty air the godess began her dance over the
three.  The lights flashed brightly bending and swaying in the night sky then
changing from brilliant white to red, blue, green, yellow..  The dance went on
and on and all three stared in awe of the event.
Aurora Borealis was what it was called, Red only knew it as the dance he'd
imagined that his Deerwoman would do.
Sitting there holding his children, Red made a silent prayer to his forgotten
god hoping only for forgiveness and a better future for his children.  He
smiled knowing that power was given and as water that flows down hill it
couldn't be stopped.  To what end he could not guess what but he would not
stop trying.

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


Message 958 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Fri Oct 30 10:20:19 1998 EST
From:     Phantom_Rose (#6337)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  A special day of Magic...

Frap stood upon his perch looking down and all around him.  He gave the small
pouch to charlie the duck who gave out a *quack* and took to wing flapping
hard to gain altitude in the cool December air.  Frap stood silently watching
as the duck grew smaller and smaller flying out of sight finally.  He would
soon know if all the work had paid off.  A special treat for all the people of
the land.

Charlie winged onward into the crisp sky going higher than he'd flown in a
very long time.  "Darn old mage always coming up with the silly spells that I
have to do all the work for", he thought as the air thinned and he knew he was
just about in position to release the spell and wing homeward letting the old
mage do his work.

Frap sensed that charlie had done his work and was clear of the spells path.
He took his spell book from his hat and opened it to the marked page.  Then
chanting loudly he incited the spell weaving the magic deeply with all his
power.

A swirling vortex appears overhead, seeming to grow quickly expanding outwards
from its origin somewhere in the hills above Drach'nal valley.  The magic
cracks and snaps as it expands taking on a life of its own and soon can be
seen from every point on the continent.  Darkness does not follow as would be
expected for the power is of the light.  Then like a flower blooming in a
sudden flash the storm takes shape.

Huge clouds reach high into the sky mushrooming out into many shapes and
designs, allowing the imagination to run wild and free.  Then a crack of
thunder rumbles through the air and the static of the following lightening
bolt charges the atmosphere changing the color of the clouds into a prism of
light varying in the color of a rainbow.

Then softly the rain begins, like no other rain ever imagined.  The droplets
hit the ground painting it like a artists pallet in a ever color imaginable.
Ever brighter colors drizzle from the sky coating all things in a splattering
kaleidoscopic array.

Senses are overwhelmed by the variety light, color, and taste.  Each raindrop
caught in the hand turns to a small colorful candy crystal ranging from cherry
to lemon flavor.  They land softly in the hand and when eaten give a feeling
of good will to all.

And as quickly as the storm came, it leaves vanishing without a trace that it
ever was.  Except the lonely rainbow arching across the sky which lasts on
till dusk.

With good tidings,
Frap


OOC:  This is a Christmas wish, for not only was December 25th chosen for the
birth of Christ, but was also believe to be the birth date of Arthur the once
and future king.  So enjoy..

There was a boy born,
A winter king.
Before the black month
He was born,
And fled in the dark month
To find shelter
With the poor.

He shall come
With the spring
In the green month
And the golden month
And bright
Shall be the burning
Of his star.

M.S.

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


Message 959 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Fri Oct 30 10:57:09 1998 EST
From:     Akeashar (#20348)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  ...

On the first day of christmas, my true love sent to me.
A bomb, in a fig leaf.
On the second day of christman, my true love sent to me..
two notes saying I'd die tommorrow
And a bomb, in a fig leaf.
On the third day of christman, my true love sent to me..
Three phone calls saying I got 5 minutes to live
Two notes saying I'd die tommorrow
an--- *BOOM*

--Ake

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


Message 960 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Fri Oct 30 10:58:52 1998 EST
From:     Akeashar (#20348)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  ps

Excuse the typos ;)

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


Message 961 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Sat Oct 31 01:41:46 1998 EST
From:     Sterno (#21938)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Note in DarkReach

Still looking for someone who can imbue a wand with charges or has charges
available.

-Sterno

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


Message 962 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Mon Nov  2 11:33:07 1998 EST
From:     Red_Fang (#5907)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Rangers


As long as Red could remember he's had a odd and sometimes mistaken view of
law and order.  But recently with age or experience he has found himself again
thinking of what the law of the land means and knows there should be someone
trying to improve the lifes of the peoples of the world..

Knowing this but unwilling to made the same mistakes of the past.

Red Fang formally announces his new group simply called.  "THE RANGERS"

Join the Rangers!  Find the best in yourself and become a member of the team!

Good pay and training..  ITs more than an job, its an adventure..

**UNCLE RED WANTS YOU!**

More to come.

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


Message 963 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Nov  4 10:00:09 1998 EST
From:     Tirafal (#24173)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Dawn

The chill wind nearly blew the door out of Tirafal's hand as she opened it and
entered the cottage. Snow had come durng the night.
Ynaoise, sitting by the fire and nursing his first cup of tea for the day,
looked up and smiled at her as she entered. Tirafal's heart skipped a beat at
the smile.
She had no idea what had gone on between the rider and Enid. She had been
banished to the glade with Elshydrath while the two had talked. And although
she knew that Els had known what had transpired there was no way for the
dragon to tell her nor did Tirafal think she would have done so if she could.
Some things are best left between dragon and rider.
All Tirafal knew, and really cared about, was that Ynaoise was like a changed
man. And for two days she had been questioning if she was in heaven.
She remembered the first time she heard him laugh...LAUGH...just a few days
ago. She had said something in Els presence that amused her and Ynaoise had
laughed with his dragon.
Now, the look he gave her and the way the smile on his mouth reflected in his
eyes made Tirafal lose her breath. She shook the snow off of her coat and
shrugged out of it, hanging it on it's peg. She poured hot tea for herself,
breathing in the frangance.
Ynaoise lifted his hand to her and she took it, still marveling that he
initiated a touch, and he pulled her down on the rug in front of the fire
beside him. Tirafal laid her head on his shoulder and stared at the flames.
Peace had come.

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


Message 964 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Nov  4 13:46:06 1998 EST
From:     Yjezra (#5512)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Unchained 

She ran through the woods as if chased by demons, and maybe she was... but
those of her own making. She could sense Lyrzrath's anger and anxiety as the
dragon glided over the woods above Yjezra's head and as the woman broke out of
the forest into the garden of cherry trees, she saw her dragonfriend landing,
eyes whirling in grays shot through with yellows and red.

::Lyrzrath crouched, helping her soft one mount and as soon as the woman was
secure in the riding straps, she launched herself into the air, wings beating
downward strongly as she took her bondmate rapidly away from the danger. The
exhilaration she normally felt in her strength and power as her wings beat
strongly taking her higher into the sky was smothered in her own and her
riders thoughts and emotions. The dragon didn't become calm at Yjezra's
presence, nor did the woman's mind calm at Lyrzraths closeness, they shared
their thoughts and emotions on an unconscious level. She knew that the other
human was a danger to Yjezra. Even if he had helped her rider to come out of
her self-induced isolation of the past, the dragon knew the man was deadly.
Maybe her rider didn't remember the attack and take-over of the Mount over two
years ago, but that _human_ was one of those that tortured and killed her
rider, among others.::

She was lost her in own thoughts as she and Lyrzrath winged their way home.
She could feel her bondmates thoughts, but she was deep into her own, letting
the dragon's concerns flow over her nearly unnoticed. By long habit when she
was thoughtful, the fingers of her right hand moved to turn her wedding band
around her finger of her other hand, but met only her own warm flesh. She
stared down at the pale band encirling the unadorned ring finger, her thoughts
mixed. As he had said, she had clung to the symbol of what was gone. She
didn't like to give up, admit defeat, but she did feel as if something had
lifted from her heart and mind as he had distracted her, then slipped the ring
from her finger. She had even demanded he return it at first, then realised
that part of her life was over. She felt at peace for the first time in a very
long time, and she turned her eyes to the horizon with a calm, even eager eye
to the future.

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


Message 965 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Nov  4 14:25:07 1998 EST
From:     Ylaerin (#16541)
To:       *storylines (#5236)

She was walking slowly down the corridors of Morlith... she did not remember
returning to the Mount, to her Home, but there she was, at any rate. It was
warm and comforting, being surrounded by all that steady, unchanging stone.
She smiled to herself, the sounds of peaceful dragons echoing periodically
around the corridors. She was heading for the kitchens, and smiled wider at
the prospect of Freiga's warm stew as she slipped into one of her favorite
rooms on the Mount.
Warmth from the kitchen surrounded her, and as she stepped toward the table to
take a seat she noticed that she was carrying her harp hugged close to her
chest, not slung across her back as it often was. But she hardly had time to
puzzle it out, because her eye was caught by a man sitting at the table -- a
wild hope, a strange kind of hope, surged up within her. There could be no
doubts as to who he was - slightly ragged, dark brown hair... the broad
shoulders. The sqaure-ish face that lifted as she entered resembled her own
daughter; the eyes within that face were the same eyes her son had...
.. but these eyes were not deep and shining like her son's, or like his
father's had once been - for that was who faced Ylaerin now, that was who was
seated at Freiga's table.  These eyes were flat, lifeless... frighteningly
empty, but far from unseeing.  As they swept her, she felt cold. The hope
remained, however, and Ylaerin was wise enough now to see it for what it was:
the hope that her children would know their father, not the hope that a lover
felt at seeing a long-gone loved one.
Yshar's dark eyes fixed on her, and Ylaerin found herself opening her mouth to
speak. He beat her to it.
'Say nothing, Lyetra DragonBard,' no emotion touched his features, not
inflection marked his words, 'Thought me gone? You need not answer that. I
know you felt yourself far removed from me. Gone for months, you have been;
leaving our children to be raised by other mothers. Shameful. With another
man.'
Etra wanted to rail at him that SHE was coming home soon... that SHE hadn't
thrown away her life. but she wasn't able to speak.
Yshar stood, and when he did so, Etra wanted to weep or run.. again, she could
not. Blood was crusted down the front of his clothes, on his hands, matted the
ends of his hair. He reached out to her, grabbed her wrist and yanked it
painfull forward so that she dropped the harp - which shattered as if it were
made of glass, utterly destroyed. He leaned in toward her, his eyes no longer
lifeless and brown, but prismed liked a dragon's and swriling with blacks and
reds and yellows.... he spoke one word to her, but it resounded with two
voices .. his own, and Lanyrrli's.
//'OATHBREAKER'//
Etra recoiled, finally screamed, wept.

And awoke.

Early morning light fell upon her, soft and misty in the tent.. her breath
coming out in ragged clouds.  She was alone.... Corwin was probably out
hunrting or some such.  Instinctively, she reached for her harp, and when it
didn't come immediately to hand, fear gripped her once more, made her teeth
chatter.  She rooted around under her cloak, and when she found it, she
clithed it to her chest before slowly warming the strings.
The song she played was an old one, more ancient than she could even fathom. A
protecting song.. to ward off ghosts and fetches.
It helped to push the darkness down... Luthe helped, too. 'Goddess help me,'
she thouht fervently, 'That no one but Luthe and I may ever see this within
me.'

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


Message 966 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Nov  4 14:47:14 1998 EST
From:     Enid (#16526)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  The Call.

Wasteland winds beat at her cloak, whipping it into a frenzy around her
slender form.  Eldorath towered in the distance, to her back, like a silent
sentinel keeping watch over a wayward child as she ran away.  Only she was not
running, not this time.
Gerald Hunter.  The name brought forth a whirl of emotions.  The eternal
Adept,  who lived like a leech, feeding off the raw fear and vunerability of
young women.  She remembered her last encounter with him, the utter
humiliation of it.
She paused moment, knuckles white against her gnarled staff.  She was so young
then, and innocent, like the women he preyed upon.  It was no wonder she
attracted him like a fly to honey.  She narrowly escaped the Hunt, and since
had sworn to thwart her enemy at every turn, till his abhorrid existence was
at last  brought to an end.

There were new developments, now, however.  The DragonRider, Ynaoise, whose
heartstone the Hunter somehow possessed.  This would be tricky business
indeed, for her goal was to free him of the Hunter's taint, free him so that
the love of  Tirafal, that beautiful soul that she was, could finally heal
him.
Muttering a silent prayer to Gaia, she continued on her way.  "Gaia guide my
hand and my heart and lead me to those who would aid me in this, for I cannot
go it alone."

Somewhere in the distance, a much cooler breeze wound around the Adept as she
walked, a good omen.  Gaia was listening.

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


Message 967 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Nov  4 15:31:21 1998 EST
From:     Yjezra (#5512)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  What's Hidden In The Heart

Yjezra was working in the herb garden, finishing up the gathering of necessary
herbs she had failed to finish yesterday. She chuckled softly, remembering the
sight of him knee high in the pile of dirty linens that fell out of the
cubbard he had opened when he was helping her. His look of astonishment as the
laundry practically exploded from the cubbard into his face...was good to
laugh like that, and good to see him laughing also.
She began singing softly, happy and freer than she had been in some time, but
her thoughts weren't about that, she hadn't even realized the change that had
begun in her. She was immersed in earth, the garden, as she knelt there, her
hands selecting the leaves and stems she wanted, gently clipping them and
placing them in the basket at her side. She didn't hear his footfall on the
crushed stone of the path, it wasn't until he coughed that she turned and saw
him there, still looking a bit shy and uncomfortable.
She stood, thinking he looked embarrassed or uneasy, unsure of her reactions
to him from all he had divulged of his shame, his guilt. Smiling she walked
over and sat down on the stone bench and they began to talk. He didnt begin to
relax until the children ran into the herb garden, making them both break off
talking, but bringing laughter to them to replace the somberness of their
conversation.
Rhinna almost immediately lifted her arms to Yjezra, wishing to be held. Rowan
was so sweet, both the man and small boy conspiring some plan to ennact
agaisnt one of the hatchlings. Then her own son, Etien had entered, eyeing the
man and becoming protective of his mother. She blushed with warmth at her
young son's love, worried also that he had been abandoned once more by his
father, how it would affect him as he grew. Rhianna wiggled from her lap to go
and tug on Etiens hand and the older boy was gentle with her before turning
back to the stranger and learning that he would be allowed to train with this
man, as the other residents would be. I could see Etien's eyes shining with
happiness and pride.
The children scampered off to their own devices and he returned to the stone
bench, to resume their conversation of earlier. She told him all that had
transpired over the last few years and occassionally he would demand answers,
angry at the events and treatment she had been subjected too. Finally he asked
what had happened to her ring and as she told him of the previous nights
occurances, he became upset and angry. He warned her of the Mage. Saying his
intentions were evil, that she was in danger. He stood up and paced, telling
her of the evil and then extracted a promise from Yjezra before striding out
of the garden.
She sat thinking for a while, then returned to trimming her herbs, her
thoughts shrinking away from the Mage. He made her much too uncomfortable,
even with the help he had given her. The hope he opened her too.

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


Message 968 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Thu Nov  5 04:36:39 1998 EST
From:     Mourir (#21818)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Drawing Blood.

The cemetery shadows hid her beneath the waxing moonlight as it streamed in
pockets of semi light along the ground.  She stepped between the image of
swaying branches along the broken roadway.  This was the City of the Dead, she
often hear people refer to it as such, each little row having a street name
that has since been lost to time, all but Broken Circle Road.  It served her
purposes well, much better then the harsh wastelands ever did.  The hunt
seemed so much more ethereal, intoxicatingly frightening.  This place was
built on magic, the magic of death and dying, faint traces of it seeping out
of the ground like tap water.
She drank in the night like a lush seeking her next high, the misty weather so
much cooler on her blackened skin.  Why she ever decided to leave, she
couldn't recall.  Her memories were getting hazier and vaguely she realized
this should frighten her, but why should it?  This was her birthland, where
she had first sucked in the air of life with a mewling cry.  No matter how
much her mind slipped away, she could never forget where she was born.  It
breathed into her, whispering of freshly dug grave and death and night.  These
things had become her essense.
But even in the midst of her revelry, reality set her back to feel the cooling
earth beneath her feet.  There was Shadowhawk to consider.  Twice she had come
across him in Metairie.  Vaguely she recognized him. Now her memories of him
returned, the cruel lackey of her father  --whose name she realized she
couldn't recall now-- who fancied himself a demon.  And each time she
attempted to hide until he passed, he had sensed her nearby and called her
out.
This would not do.  Not at all.

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


Message 969 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Sun Nov  8 04:34:16 1998 EST
From:     Merridwen (#24667)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Moon Dancing

Merridwen and Frap had gone out that night to search for the last of the
autumn herbs. Snow had not yet come to Drachnal, but as they stepped out the
chill air turned their breath to light puffs of steam. The moon was full and
bright, bathing the valley in silvery light; and the stars twinkled like a
sparkling lapfull of diamonds.
They wandered far afield, searching for the last of the berries and herbs they
needed, the brightness of the moon giving them the light of a false day.
Finally, they came to a beautiful little glade and Frap sat down on a large
rock, the walk making his old bones weary.
Merridwen stood in the center of the glade and looked up at the moon. Suddenly
an idea came to her.
"Frap, I would like to make you a gift."
Frap raised an eyebrow at her, "A gift?"
"A gift", she said with a bit of pride.
Merridwen leaned her head back and looked up at the moon, raising her hands
and cupping them. Closing her eyes and feeling the magic course through her,
she felt the moonlight fill her hands and turn to liquid silver. Her fingers
began to gently move, pouring the magic into the liquid moonlight, plaiting it
and kneading it as it congealed and became harder and harder.
Frap watched his student create magic, and in his heart felt a burst of pride
as he realized that this, her first real magic, was of the light.
Merridwen opened her eyes and focused on the mass in her hands. Deftly she
worked it, pulling here and pinching there until she had achieved the shape
she wanted. Finally, she blew her breath across it, hardening it into it's
final shape.
She looked at what she held in her hand; a talisman in the shape of a crescent
moon and a six pointed star. It appeared to be plain silver. But the soft glow
that emanated from it held the aching beauty of moonlight.
Merridwen placed it in Frap's hands, still warm from it's shaping, but with
the underlying hint of the chill moon in it's touch.
"For you, Frap. For being my teacher...and being my friend."

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


Message 970 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Sun Nov  8 15:37:07 1998 EST
From:     Kynwal (#20497)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Magelings

Kynwal entered his private sanctum, passing through the wards that would have
incinerated anyone but him from entering. And that was just the really obvious
one.
"So Toraxyn thinks he can threaten a magus and not deal with reprecussions?" A
humorless chuckle, "I think not my little adept friend."
He drew down a length of vellum and began to write in a flowing script.

After he had written something he was satisfied with he folded the envelope
and sealed with with wax and pressed his crest of a Welsh dragon into it. With
a few quick muttered words the parchment disappeared with a vacuous pop going
to wherever Toraxyn might be at that moment.
His eyes rose to the books around him, finally he selected a rather large blue
one. The spine read: The Complete index of things that are and things that
should not be.
This time a dry chuckle issued frm his lips as he flipped the pages, scanning
their contents.

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


Message 971 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Tue Nov 10 23:29:10 1998 EST
From:     Ybrielle (#4778)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Winds of Change.

Darkness in the valley, save the glowing amber steadily turner lighter at the
peaks of Wolf Moon's mountains.  Dawn was approaching and night curled her
shroud around her, preparing to flee west.  Crickets steadily droned within
the tall grass, joined with a mourning dove's coo.  Ybrielle drank the dawn
in, letting it revitalize her soul.
The soft rumble of sleeping dragons went unnoticed by her, years of living
with the huge beasts left her numb to their quirks.  She studied them in the
dim light.  Tierz'yrrlan and Elshydrath curled around each other, at last
together and content.  Elshydrath's scales shone brightly, like glowing embers
against the blackness of Lan's hide.  Marsalaath's bluish tinge seemed more
midnight, then a glowing blue-green as the first rays of sun finally broke
over the mountaintops, spilling across the valley to stab at the night.
Ybrielle sat beside the little fire she'd begun, hands wrapped around a cup of
freshly brewed tea, bitter without sugar or cream, but it was warm and it felt
good on her disturbed stomach.  Even at seven months, her stomach refused to
stop the flip flops of morning sickness.  Traveling here to the valley had
been no easy feat either.  But, looking at Tierz'yrrlan, and touching his mind
to feel his utter peacefulness beside his lifemate, made the harrying trip
well worth it.

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


Message 972 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Nov 11 22:51:01 1998 EST
From:     Dwight (#20455)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Ponderings

Dwight stood in his empty room, a broken pencil between his thumb and index
finger.

"This charade has gone on for long enough.." his voice was low as he sipped
his coffee, whirling around to glance a small blip on the radar.

"The time has come." was all he said as he left the room.


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


Message 973 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Thu Nov 12 04:31:29 1998 EST
From:     Tirafal (#24173)
To:       *storylines (#5236)

Tirafal awoke, the morning bright and full of promise. This was the first day
of her passage into full womanhood. She wondered if she could have possibly
become pregnant already. Her arms hugged her stomach...and she imagined a
small baby girl with blue eyes and white hair.
Tirafal turned on her side and studied Ynaoise in his sleep. His chest quietly
rose and fell. There was such a look of utter peace and contentment about him
that her heart swelled. Her hand went to his chest to feel his breathing, his
heart beating beneath her palm. He stirred slightly and rolled over on his
side, his arm automatically going to enfold her in his sleep. Tirafal settled
down by him and snuggled deep into him. Then she closed her own eyes and went
back to sleep, dreaming the sweet dreams of a bride.

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


Message 974 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Fri Nov 13 13:21:50 1998 EST
From:     Elizabeth_Bathory (#3791)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  She.

(This is based off a song I heard as a B-Side to a single put out in the late
80's or early 90's.  I loved it, haven't been able to find it anywhere. If
anyone recognizes this storyline and knows the group that sings it or where I
can find it, please contact me.)

Midnight in the Wastelands, and she and I were running hard, letting the sands
slap our clothing, keeping out the blast of wind with strips of cloth dangling
from our turbans.  We had outrun them for now, but there was no telling if
they would catch up with us, or when.
She was hurt, albeit not badly, she'd taken a shotgun blast in the arm.  It
had only grazed her, so there was no bullet we needed to worry about and she
has bandaged it.  She was good at that kind of thing.
The night and the silence between us had me thinking, of this entire mess and
how we could get out of it.  We'd been in situations like this before, such as
the times in the Blasted Lands, or that brawl at the Desert Rat Tavern.  This,
however, had gone completely awry.
I looked at her in the moonlight as it streamlined her body.  She was always
so beautiful, certainly enough to attract the affections of a rogue like me.
Hair like sea foam, eyes like the skies at high noon and a grace as alien as
her demeanor.  It never ceased to amaze me that she stayed by my side,
especially when my drunken temper got us into mires like this.
Morning was drawing nigh, we could see the glow rising in the east, pink
cloying with orange and mauve.  And still, there was nothing more then flat
Wasteland ahead of us.  My GPS was gone, still in my pack about fifty miles
back, along with my spare change of clothing crystal hoard and about fifteen
other little gadgets.  So, this meant we had no way of knowing where we were
headed, or how much longer till we reached any kind of civilization.
We didn't even realize we'd never get a chance to find out.
They came on horseback, and we saw them coming as the dust rose up in the
distance.  There was no chance now, the flatness surrounding us gave no
defensive point, we had no weapons but our fists, and no hope.  It was the
end, and we knew it.  She looked at me then, and with the knowledge that this
was our last stand, she kissed me.  It lingers with me still today, the feel
of it.
The last thing I remember was the flat butt of a shotgun against my head.

When I awoke, vultures circled the skies above me, apparently waiting for me
to pass into the Talons of the Eagle.  Spitting sand from my mouth I glared up
at them in defiance.  My entire body ached and when I pulled my hand away from
the bump on my head, there was a trickle of blood.
She was gone.  There were tracks all around me, the hooves of horses and
footprints of humans, they lead into the west.  Numbly, I followed, until at
last I collapsed in exhaustion, prepared to give in to the vulture's hungry
gaze.
A passing caravan found me at the edge of death and revived me.  In thanks for
their aid, I remained with them for several years, always hoping that somehow
I might find her.  But she remained missing and as the years grew into a
decade, then two, my hopes dwindled and I lost myself in liquor again.  I left
the caravan, a hardened Wastelander to the end.
Like an old lion, I began to seek my own death, looking for a last good fight.
I found myself back at the Desert Rat Tavern.  Some brash youth would start a
fight eventually.  It was there that I found her.
The sunlight shone her dark against the light from outside and I had to blink.
She walked in as beautiful as the day I last saw her, seafoam hair and clear
sky eyes.  She knew me... and she walked right to my table.  All I could do
was stare at her wordlessly.
"I am not She," her voice spoke, and I realized she was right, this one was
too young.

"I am her daughter.  And you, are my father."

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


Message 975 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Sat Nov 14 07:55:39 1998 EST
From:     Red_Fang (#5907)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Rangers

For the last week you may of noticed heavy traffic to the wasteland.
Invasion?  No..  The first war games and manuvers of the Rangers.  Survival
training and tactics.  The games went very well and the troops are slowly
moving home.

R.

OOC:  Well. was looking for a bit more interesting storyline but being sick
and all has killed my concentration.

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


Message 976 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Sun Nov 15 19:15:32 1998 EST
From:     Ybrielle (#4778)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Winds of Chance

The cottage was warm despite the raging of winter's icy breath outside.
Ybrielle sat at the main table, contentedly eating the warm biscuits and
butter provided by Tirafal.  Yraelan stood behind her, an ever present hand on
her shoulder, comforting in the face of the newness of her surroundings.
Ynaoise and Tirafal were across from them, conversing with Yraelan about
accomodations.
The tent outside would no longer do, and she knew the truth of it.  So close
to birthing her second child, the cold hard ground gave her no comfort and
left her back in terrible pain.  Jaeson also, was too young to be out in the
cold so often.  She feared for her son's health, even if now he looked so
bright and well, sitting in front of the kestrel's perch in rapt fascination.
Another addition to Tira's cottage was an idea, but it would last only so
long.  And with another child on the way, possibly two if Tirafal had become
pregnant by Ynaoise, the cottage would be full to capacity yet again.  There
had to be another way.
Rubbing her temples, she sighed, blocking out the concerns of the moment.
There would be a way, somehow.

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


Message 978 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Sun Nov 15 19:25:55 1998 EST
From:     Yraelan (#20231)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Awakening

Yraelan stood outside his tent, glancing at the mountains adjacent to the
grove. So peaceful the sky was--the cold air returning fond memories of
yesteryear. How the time has past, when only centuries ago, he was sitting
alone in a dungeon, ready to be put to trial for being a warlock. Shaking his
head, he stared up at the rising wolf moon, his thoughts drifting away into
the pale globe.
Turning on his heel, he drew his broadsword and marched into the
forest--hunting instincts turning more barbaric as he beheaded the dragon
wolves, unleashing his primal rage against anything that stood in his way. He
grabbed the head of the deceased wolf, uttering a loud battle cry of victory
which echoed through the forest. putting the head in his duffle bag, he went
about scrounging up various berries and herbs, knowing the journey ahead would
be perilous.

Alone, Raelan returned back to the grove, not wanting to disturb his wife and
child. He sat crosslegged near a stone, mixing the berries and herbs into a
pulp, them placing the pulp in an old container, sealing it to make it ripen.
He bowed his head, uttering a prayer to any god that would hear him, and then
sat there, staring blankly--almost mesmerized at the wolf moon.

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


Message 979 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Mon Nov 16 00:27:08 1998 EST
From:     Rand (#9865)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Idle pondering.

Rand sat in the house, staring out the window.  His moonstone eyes flashing in
the darkness.  Occationally a soft chuckle would echo around the room, or the
occational muttering.

On the table infront of him, stood a detailed map of his valley, he had placed
different markers about the map, one notating his home, another Tirafal's
cabin.  Another showed the source of his current thoughts.  Three stylized
Dragon icons were placed on the map, in the Glade.

The candle on the table cast shadows across his face, and his smile was
pleased.  "Three of them today...perhaps Six tomorrow, and twelve the day
after."  He picked up one of the Dragon's, rolling it around in his hand, a
far off look in his eyes. "Perhaps fate has decided for me...Or enough
prayers."

Rand placed the dragon back down in the glade, and he looked fondly at the
place of Tirafal's home, "She has finally found reason in life...Perhaps I too
will find what I seek..."

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


Message 980 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Mon Nov 16 03:02:41 1998 EST
From:     Tirafal (#24173)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  The Fire Inside

Tirafal walked out of the cottage into the cold, frosty morning air of
February in the Valley. The tent was silent, it's occupants unknown to her,
except that they were riders.
Suddenly the tent flap opened and a little boy, about three years old, darted
out.
"Hello, there", Tirafal smiled at the young one, "Who are you?"
The little boy stopped and stared at the strange lady and Tirafal's heart
clenched. Ynaoise's son would be about the same age. Tirafal sighed and
wondered if he would ever be able to see Etienne again. To suffer so much
loss...and now to have to sacrifice his son as well for his freedom.
A voice came from inside the tent, "Jaeson, come back here and get your shoes
on!"
Tirafal glanced down and realized the boy was barefoot...and spring a full
month away.
She whispered to the boy, "Go! Do as your mama says."
The boy turned and ran back into the tent, his body a small tornado.
Tirafal heard voices murmuring in the tent and the flap opened again, a small
pretty woman, obviously far into pregnancy, crawling out.
Her heart clenched again, this time with a small bit of envy for the tiny one
growing there. But this she could do something about. *Time...in due time...*,
she thought.
Most crashingly she realized that this woman was heavy with child and sleeping
on the cold hard ground of a Valley winter. Her natural compassion washed away
the faint hint of jealousy and she offered her hands to the woman, introducing
herself and offering the hospitality of her cottage and the warmth of her
hearth.
Immediately she felt a sense of kinship to this woman and before long the
practical things were taken care of and she and the child were dispensed to
the warmth of the wash house while her husband cared for the dragons.
Tirafal went into the cottage to start the coffee and make breakfast and wake
Ynaoise. A new day was on them. And again, change had come to the Valley.

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


Message 981 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Mon Nov 16 09:32:45 1998 EST
From:     Phantom_Rose (#6337)
To:       Kzin (#5800), Phantom_Rose (#6337), and *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Respect

Adept Kzin,

Evening last there was a issue of respect concerning one of my students.  For
that I apologize and beg your forgiveness.
Now concerning another respect, I do not frown upon others joining my teaching
circles to participate or to watch.  But when you do, Adept or not, I expect
respect in turn.
My students are of my circle and my family when I allowed them to come into my
home and study it was because they earned that right.  For anyone to abuse
that which I worked so hard for is not only a insult to me but to all
concerned.
How can a child learn respect of its elders or betters if they are not guided
softly into it?  They are of the blood and mind just as we are and deserve the
chance to give their respect as well as get it in return.
For it is earned.  Your title or position does not call for respect if the
person behind that is showing none to those around them.  To be an adept I
expect certain persons to question my position and I hope that through my
wisdom and knowledge they will see how I came to be in my post.
I expect in the future for this from you when it comes to deal with my
students.  Give them a reason to see the greatness which earned you your title
not the arrogance you have wielded in its name.  You use no magic to force the
issue as well and the humanly weakness of arms you wielded only showed me and
my students that you lack in honor to the circles.
Remember who sat before you when you took your steps to become who you are.
Show me now that I made no error at that time.

Frap

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


Message 982 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Mon Nov 16 09:33:39 1998 EST
From:     Phantom_Rose (#6337)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  OOC: Previous

OOC: ack, that is a letter sent by Frap to Kzin.

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


Message 983 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Mon Nov 16 12:02:49 1998 EST
From:     Dante (#10660)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Dark Tidings.

Things of late for Dante did not always seem to go as he planned, perhaps he
was the fool that so many claimed him to be. And yet the tower was growing,
new students coming everyday to learn more about the art. Toraxyn was the core
of his thoughts, the man claimed he would take New Orleans by force and even
now there were far darker things at work. The tower would be safe against
Toraxyn, if only for the reason that he was one and the tower had many to safe
guard against it. But the danger would be of a more personal nature, Dante had
taken the skin of Tadewi, and had in fact ignored her pleas of mercy much as
he has turned his back on his family in the past. Toraxyn would come soon
enough, but there were steps to be taken that could insure that even he might
not be able to accomplish his goals, Dante picked up the littering of armor on
his floor and let it drop back into place. Soon enough Dante wouldn't hav to
worry about his meddling, soon.

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


Message 984 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Mon Nov 16 14:10:53 1998 EST
From:     Tadewi (#16048)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  To Skin a Cat... er, Human.

The darkness faded in and out from the strange warping room.  Tadewi hunched
near the view screen, praying the scene would soon change, indicating safety.
Desperately she watched, but her hopes clenched in her throat as Dante stepped
into the room, his form rippling into shape.  There was no escape, not now.
Snarling at her, fury in his eyes, she hardly understood the ferocity that
drove his actions now.  What had she done to provoke his wrath so ultimately?
But, each question went unanswered, bleeding from her mind as quickly as the
blood drained from the gaping wound in her shoulder.
He approached her without mercy, without remorse, slashing at her arm, cutting
deeply into her flesh.  She shrieked and fell back from him, her skin
literally on fire.  With another stroke, a downward stab, her mind fell numb,
her hand was now stabbed through the palm, literally pinned to the consol.
The world swam before her eyes, the loss of blood and her own terror lending
to her lightheadedness.  Dante ripped the knife from her palm, his hand
against her forehead as he spoke to her, he planned to skin her alive.  She
begged for her life, pledged to him anything he wanted of her.  But it was no
use...
.. but the oblivion of darkness overtook her, and she saw the talons of the
Eagle high overhead, coming closer.

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


Message 985 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Mon Nov 16 21:57:55 1998 EST
From:     Ynaoise (#11886)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  In the halls of Formalhaut...

Darkness.

The endless chase.  The never ending night time horrors that never end.

That chase me to the end of my days.

No one understands, except Elshydrath and this new person... Enid?
She knows the one whos creations haunt my nights... And whos evil
haunts my days.  They chase me, even now... Dark, red glowing eyes
rimmed in the yellow of the sick.  Gibbering, laughing and cheering
as they get closer.  They know they are going to pull me down.

Eventually.

One of the damned chaos gates opens before me, I hear voices from
the concious world.

Tirafal, and the riders, Yraelan and Ybrielle.  Even their little
child, Jaeson.  I run for the gate, taking all of my strength,
calling my strength to me, and that of my ancestors.

They come to me, the Dreamwalkers.  Their souls, at any rate.
Wrapping themselves around me, the last of their race...
Taking me into their gestalt... Pushing me, shielding me.

I stumble through the gate, into conciousness.

I turn back inwardly, and Agamemnon is there, standing next to
the Hunter, grinning their knowing grins.  They will have me
soon enough.

We talk in the waking world, of a place where Ybrielle can have her
child, and a place where the dragons can stay out of the elements.

My agony is dragged out, memories of my past.  Elshydrath sings of
it, icy daggers clawing at the other dragons.

We search on the morrow.  I do not know what we'll find.

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


Message 986 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Nov 18 01:06:02 1998 EST
From:     Smoke (#12541)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Mustard

Smoke headed out into the forest, her steps silent. Not a leaf moaned as she
ventured down the veiled path. She clutched her gps unit in hand, she could
not afford to get lost this time. She had to get to Sammie, warn her of her
upcoming doom.

Her mind wandered during her lengthy trek. Talen seemed to take up most of her
thoughts. So smug he was behind his orders and reports. Sitting behind the
desk like he owned the fucking place. And now a mission, a mission designed
only for him....she stopped, only to realize she was indeed lost  and standing
at the muddy bank of the river.

Her reflection caught her eye, shimmering like an acid induced nightmare in
the shallows. Dirty, hair in chaos. Her clothes grimy, worn. She stared with
squinting red eyes, "Jesus Fucking Christ" she muttered, "no wonder they laugh
at me".

Stripping down, she stepped into the rivers icy sovereign. She scrubbed
diligently, quickly, evicting all traces of death that clung to her every
pore. Her thoughts turned to Talen again as the arctic water embraced her.
"Talen" she whispered...there was only one card left, and Smoke was very sure
she remember how to play it. No longer able to endure the coldness of mother
nature, she scooped up her clothing and headed back to the HQ,  her warning to
Sammie long forgotten.

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


Message 987 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Nov 18 04:23:45 1998 EST
From:     Tadewi (#16048)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Black Dreams.

She dozed in a half-sleep, the lateness of the evening leaving her drowzily
lounging across a divan in the parlor.  Golden hair cloyed with strands of
sparkling silver and a strawberry red, cascading down the red velvet.  Her
back was to the door, how... trusting of her.
No servant heard him coming, indeed, how easily he side stepped the ancient
wards on the Maison.  His taint still rested like a shroud along the hallways,
like old blood that remained in microscopic traces, even after washed away.
This was his, or it had once been...
A pause, confusion for a moment.  There was another presense here, though the
feeling was faded, distant, but it was _familiar_.  His eyes narrowed as at
last his magesight recognized it like a hunting hound recognized the scent of
its prey.
A familiar smirk crossed his lips, arrogant and knowing.  He crossed the floor
with the silence of a cat stalking a mouse, a hand smoothing the woman's hair
from her face.  Still a pale beauty, so angelic, so innocent.  How her
awakening fear would still the aching hunger inside of him.
She stirred, but did not quite awaken.  His calloused fingers stroked her
brow, whispering to her gently as a lover might.  She awoke then, and her fear
raged to life, so sweet, so utterly encompassing.  He stroked it, savoring the
rich flavor.  Ah, he would dine well tonight...
. the thought made him laugh.  "Shhhhh, my dear.  You are only the first of
many visits I will be making.  My darling, beautiful, unfaithful wife."

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Message 988 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Thu Nov 19 15:50:13 1998 EST
From:     Garath (#16552)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Idle thoughts of an old man


Garath chuckles softly to himself as he took another sip of his
Scotch, thinking of the previous week he had spent within the
Ghostwheel region, muttering softly to the kitten playing at his
feet "I think I like this place...", grinning as garath kicks a
stick across the floor, watching the kitten chase after it he asks,
"think I should stay here, tinyfang?" smiling garath takes another
small sip while thinking back to his experiences of the past week.
Admiring the outspokenness of the people he had met in the R/T
buildings lounge, though wondering at the youths of today, knowing
that people hid there own demons and desires. remembering the
Sapphire Dragon he had meet and johhny its very friendly and
trustworthy rider... thinking to himself he knew this was
the land to be.. knowing that Dragon's frequented this region more
than others he decides that he shall stay. Grinning at the kitten
he swirls his glass slightly and drinks the last of the Scotch,
well tinyfang, looks like I need a refill, and while I'm at it,
how about that rabbit I caught for you?", with that Garath stands
and makes his way inside to prepare that rabbit for his kitten.
Walking into his tent he glances down at his kitten, "well if we
are going to be staying here, looks like I'd better get to
work building us a cabin."

(OOC) sadly or may to joy for some of those that play here I will
unfortunately be away for the Christmas period. but will be
back when my semester re-starts early February.
Until then, may "Peace find you at every corner you turn."

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Message 989 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Thu Nov 19 18:35:07 1998 EST
From:     Rynaldus (#24133)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Cold as Ice

Rynaldus stood over the workbench. Quietly, he went through the checklist in
his head. He had been experiencing much positive energy while learning to work
with the glyphs and wards that Dante had introduced him to. He had even picked
up the alphabet quite quickly. Perhaps he was rushing into things? No, this
would be his test.
On a small chalkboard by his bench, his whole plan was mapped out. It was a
simple glyph. It had always seemd too hot when he travelled, especially in the
wasteland. If he could just lower the temperature, not on a grand scale, just
a slight breeze around him, then he would know he was on the right track.
He began casting a simple moisture spell, a tiny bit of elemental water magic.
A small breeze blew through his long hair. Pulling back the sleeves of his
shirt, he exposed his pale hands.
Using a small ice pick, he carved the glyph of 'ice' into a small medallion he
had carved from a walrus tusk. Magical energies swirled around him. He clasped
the necklace around his neck. Raising both hands into the air drew the glyph
that represented 'man' in the air in front of him.
Using a small ice pick, he carved the glyph of 'ice' into a small medallion he
had carved from a walrus tusk. Magical energies swirled around him. He clasped
the necklace around his neck. Raising both hands into the air drew the glyph
that represented 'man'. The magical energies consumed Rynaldus and the
necklace for a split second, knocking him to the floor unconscious, before
blasting out his large bay window and disepating into the cool night air.

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Message 990 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Sat Nov 21 09:08:25 1998 EST
From:     Tirafal (#24173)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  A letter

March 1
Dear Renna,
For the past three days Ynaoise and Yralen and their dragons have been gone
before sunrise and before I have awakened. They seek a home for us and the
dragons...especially the dragons, where we can live and they can be cared for.
They have been searching the mountains to the north of the valley hoping to
find a cave system that we can modify to meet our needs but so far they have
not found such a place.
'Brielle and I spend our days in the warmth and safety of the cottage, caring
for Jaeson and baking bread, talking and laughing, our lives a picture of
domestic harmony. I bless the day the Lady brought me such a friend; one like
I've never had before, outside of you.
Daily, 'Brielle seems to grow bigger as the time approaches for the birth of
her child. Twice I've mentioned finding a midwife, but she continues to put it
off for the time being. It worries me.
I haven't been feeling too well, myself, lately. For the past two days I've
had a touch of the flu, but as chamomile tea seems to settle things down
fairly quickly I haven't been too concerned about it. I believe it to be as
much the end of winter "blahs" as anything else. I yearn for fresh fruits and
vegetables, especially strawberries which somewhat amazes because, although I
like strawberries, I don't like them THAT much. But right now I would give
anything to have one.
I am, however, concerned about the kestrel. He continues his odd behavior. At
least twice a day, whenever I am near him, he spreads his wings and displays
to me, calling out in high "kee's". Through the soul bond I feel his
pride...but in what, I don't know. Ynaoise, with his avion blood, can
understand him in some ways better then I can. But the kestrel even has him
puzzled. All Ynaoise can say is that the kestrel feels that he and I have
accomplished something quite great and that he has a great deal of pride in
both of us. At any rate, if he doesn't stop, I may ask Enid if she can puzzle
out this mystery the next time she visits.
I miss you, my heart sister, and look forward to your next visit to us. Please
take care...and don't hesitate to write back.
All my love,
Tirafal

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Message 991 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Sat Nov 21 12:52:01 1998 EST
From:     Renna (#12014)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Salutations and Musings.

Renna slipped the parchment into the folds of her latest book, a rather dry
and dusty old tome about the art of meditation and magic.  She left this
sitting atop her bed and rose from her seat to pace back and forth along the
wooden boards of her room.
Rand's keen eye had already noticed the growing number of dragons in the
valley, Renna herself had ventured to the edge of the Forest of Thorns to have
a look at them.  Such huge, magnificent beasts, their scales glistening in the
afternoon sunlight like precious jewels.  It was a wonder unlike anything she
had ever experienced since coming to live with her twin brother.
Tirafal's little cottage seemed so paltry in comparison to their royal beauty.
But the chimney puffed out the smoke from a fire and she realized the warmth
inside, especially since outside was still bitterly cold.  The furr lined
jacket and cap she wore were slowly losing their capacity to keep out the
chill and she returned home, still in awe over the sight.
Back inside the treehouse, she plucked a fresh sheet of paper from her desk,
taking up her pen...
Dear Tirafal...

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Message 992 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Sat Nov 21 14:38:20 1998 EST
From:     Denali (#18459)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  The mail must go through...

Benson sighed as he rubbed the salve on his sore rear. 'Ye know sumthin' ol'
boy... Yer gettin' too ol' to deliver mail, dogin' damn dragons an' all...'
said Benson to himself.  "I think after 's all over, I'm gunna retire." he
mused.  And with that, he picked up his mail bag, looked out of his post
office, and sighed, knowing he would have to dodge more danger yet again in
his unending quest...

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Message 993 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Sat Nov 21 14:45:40 1998 EST
From:     Denali (#18459)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Eureka!  I've got it!

Benson stops at the clearing and sighs, "Ye know whut?  I have an' idear..."
Benson picks up his communicator, thinks for a moment, then dials.  After a
few moments, a pleasent female voice states, "Acme Supply.  Your one stop
source for supplying geniuses!  How may I help you?"

Benson smiles.

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