Message-Id: <199905131610.LAA05729@casper.realtime.net>
Date: Thu, 13 May 1999 11:10:17 -0400
From: "Quinn@GhostWheel" <someone@ghostwheel.mud.org>
To: quinn@fazigu.org
Subject: GhostWheel Message(s) 1109 - 1170 from *storylines (#5236)

Message 1109 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Sun Mar 14 00:35:08 1999 EST
From:     Williker (#20481)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Bah!

Written in the R/T:

Only 10k for me? Thats hardly worth anyones time Red. I think you should up to
40k. Hell, I'll turn myself in for 40k!

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


Message 1110 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Sun Mar 14 00:36:04 1999 EST
From:     Sterno (#21938)
To:       *storylines (#5236)

*rips down all the notes in the R/T when no one is looking, and has himself a
good chuckle*

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


Message 1111 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Sun Mar 14 04:20:55 1999 EST
From:     Red_Fang (#5907)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Ranger News

As of today, Red's disbanding the Rangers for a time..  A few Rangers will be
retained to continue things but until certain security issues are resolves
this is the way it will go for now.

Rewards still stand good for the death of Dante and Williker.

Red

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


Message 1112 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Tue Mar 16 22:56:52 1999 EST
From:     Ylaerin (#16541)
To:       *storylines (#5236)

Her chest still ached, and her head still spun - just a little - both thinking
about the evening before and seeing him there in her bed, sleeping the
sleeping of utter exhaustion.  The fact of his being there, of his being Home,
when she'd been (just days ago!) so close to giving up hope altogether, was a
terribly amazing, almost frightening thing to her.  That Corwin was there,
with her, sleeping, still seemed like a dream.
She kept seeing it again and again in her mind... that moment when she'd
turned to go home from Drach'Nal and seen him standing there watching her. It
had been both unmistakably Corwin and almost someone else - like a fetch, a
sending - and for what seemed like a very long time, she could think of
nothing at all to say to him, her superstitions and her love struggling within
her.  Finally, thankfully, it had become apparent that they both wanted,
needed, each other still... beyond the months of separation and the shock of
reuniting. It had made Ylaerin feel whole again, herself.
Yet when she thought of the look on his face, the expression which hadn't left
him entirely in joy, relief, or even sleep, the ache within her worsened.
Still and all, nothing to be done about that until they had truly spoken to
one another, told their tales; and it only hurt her a little to acknowledge
that he would probably never again be quite the same man who had sworn himself
her champion, so long ago it seemed now.
And so she did what she could - fussed over him a bit, did her best to keep
the children quiet (though Rowan's howling over a scraped elbow set Tira's
twins to exploring their own lung capacity -- fine singers, the lot of them,
someday) and when everything finally settled in during the late afternoon
hush, she set Luthe to watching over them all as they slept and went to do
what Corwin had asked of her the night before.
Lyetra took the lilly from where she'd left it on the table, and headed toward
the walled off area above the valley where her husband had breathed his last
at her feet... his blood pooling around him, seeping from the hilt of the
dagger he'd buried in his own chest.  In the waning evening light of February
her hands shone palely, gripping the stem of the flower which was just now
beginning to wilt.  The long absence of her wedding ring weighed heavy on her
left hand.  Corwin had asked her to place the lilly on Shar's grave, but
Strafe had no grave; there was only the place where his body had collapsed
into nothingness, only the valley into which she'd cast down two golden
bands... one shining, one bloodstained. There was only the place where she'd
tried to cast -him- - everything she felt he'd done to her, to their children,
to her BondMate - into the past, beyond reaching. A foolish thought, and
petty, and that knowledge only stoked the coals of her anger and hurt which
she worked so hard to hide from everyone, even from Corwin.  It nettled her
that her lover seemed to have made peace with her dead husband, when she
herself felt that she'd never make peace with her own past at all - but she
had made Yeullan a promise, and she intended to keep it no matter what it did
to her.
So she leaned over the wall, gazing down into the valley below her where
somewhere, perhaps, two rings glinted among last autumn's leaves, and with
Corwin on her mind - his words, his pain, his seeming peace with Yshar - she
let go and watched the lilly drift downward, into the gathering darkness.

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


Message 1114 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Tue Mar 16 23:10:50 1999 EST
From:     Rathe (#14172)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Meanwhile, in the grave:

Rathe giggled. Why did he giggle? He didn't have to watch any petty power
struggles anymore. And look! Here came one of the mermaids with one of those
drinks with a little umbrella in it...

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


Message 1115 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Mar 17 03:58:36 1999 EST
From:     Shattered (#24781)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Goodie, another freakin cold.

The anthropomorphic lizard awoke coughing up blood. Opening severely bloodshot
eyes, and wincing at even the dim light of his burrow, he reached for the
powerful cough suppressant he had someone get for him from the infirmary. His
fever was now so high, he could not even remember who. He found himself
gibbering something about merciful gods and allowing such pain. He took
another dose of the suppressant, his third in excess of the recommended
maximum dosage.
He layed back again on the blood stained bedroll, letting the alcohol in the
powerful cough syrup put him to into a near sleep, almost a catatonic state.
But he couldn't sleep. His lungs still hurt, even if they weren't expelling
blood like a crimson fountain. He could say without a doubt that he'd never
been so miserable.
He reached for another medication now, one you'd never find on any shelf. A
very powerful tranquilizer that he'd formulated himself from a mixture of
several tranquilizers and other narcotic drugs. He injected the clear liquid
in the vein of his right arm.... and, as he expected, the pain immediately
began to dull.
At last sleep came, but his parting thought was not pleasant like the nice,
warm, one-with-the-world feeling that had washed over him.... It was, "I'm
taking antibiotics to keep my lungs from being eaten alive, cough suppressant
to keep from bleeding to death, and now distilled, mega powerful tranquilizer
to stop the pain. What kind of way is this to live? Either in severe pain, or
a constant state of drugged up bliss. What's the point to it all?"
And then came the nightmares. Horrible visions of men with magical swords, and
magical abilities doing horrible things to him with said weapons. And his
subconscious mind couldn't come up with things nearly as nasty as they might
actually, really do. It would dawn on him when he woke up that his life is not
his own anymore. Soon after, it would occur to him that his life never was his
own. How he would react to that is anyone's guess. Even unknown by him at this
point.
Shattered travels down a dark hiway. Even his own actions remain hidden from
him until he is directly upon them. Nothing makes sense anymore, and nothing
is ever as it seems, when it once seemed so possible for him to be happy. But
happiness is something recombs simply weren't designed for. And he can't hide
the pain anymore.

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


Message 1116 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Mar 17 20:10:25 1999 EST
From:     Shattered (#24781)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Why?

The lizard woke up coughing blood again. Was it getting better? He didn't
know. Was life worth living? He didn't know again. He went out to hunt. Gods,
anything to get active, anything to prove to himself that he wasn't dead quite
yet.
Out into the forested plain. Killing critters. Yes, I'm alive, or I wouldn't
be ending the lives of puny critters. Then, the startle. He wasn't hearing too
well today, a combination of fever, the worst headache he'd ever had, and the
pain from his lungs made him unable to even think straight. A female voice.
>From the west. Was it familiar? Well, he'd find out.
West... west... to the place where the roads decided to meet. People. Did he
know them? The dragon went north. A glimmer of recognition, then... JOHNNY! He
didn't seem at all happy about something. Did I give him.... Oh, what in the
hell was I supposed to give him? Paper. He killed something in front of the
lizard, as the latter stood in a near-catatonic state. What was going on?
Johnny turned toward Shattered, and he thought for a moment that he was the
next target for that undoubtedly nasty blade Johnny was carrying.
Then he ran after, looking for why Johnny was slaughtering critters. Claws
coming at me? Oh, sit down, you stupid dogs, it's not lunch time yet. His
dilerium set in fully as he finally made a lap of the wheel. The chimaera.
Tried to kill him for some reason. He just stood there like an idiot and
watched the thing slash brutally across his chest and legs with its claws.
What if it killed him. He didn't care.
Johnny and someone he didn't remember, but probably should have. WIth Johnny's
dragon. What was its name? He didn't remember that either. He wished silently
that someone would just shoot him through the head as he coughed up another
ounce or two of blood. The person he didn't know started talking. Something
about a fountain. "Would the water help?" He saw some motion from Johnny, and
the person he didn't know caught something. "No, the water from the fountain."
He tried to tell the person he didn't know, "Physical wounds are easy to
heal." "The fountain may heal you." Maybe the person didn't hear him,
"Physical wounds are easy to heal." The person he didn't know wouldn't quit.
It was becomming a blur.
He wanted to leave. He wanted to go home. "No one listens." The person he
didn't know responded, "I'm only trying to help." He managed to say something
monumentally rude as he left.
Back at home, he took his meds again. He'd forgotten his dose of antibiotic.
What else is new? A hundred questions went through his mind. Do.... those
guys... intend to kill me? If so, how painful will they make it? Why does no
one ever listen to me? Why can't I remember anything lately? Why does it have
to hurt so bad? Why can't we all just get along!? WHY DON"T THEY ALL JUST
LEAVE ME ALONE!?!?!

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


Message 1117 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Fri Mar 19 17:20:04 1999 EST
From:     Shattered (#24781)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Pneumonic plaigue?!?

(A note, sent to all Shattered's friends... you know who you are....)

This is just to let you know how I've been doing, which is not good at all.
I'm taking time and a half the recommended dosage on the most powerful
antibiotic you can get, the most powerful cough suppressant you can get, and
the most powerful targetted coagulant there is, and I'm getting worse, not
better. I think this may be more than just plain-white-paper-normal pneumonia.
Even though I regenerate nearly half a pint of blood every day, I've been
coughing up about 3/4. And, as I said, it's seeming to be getting WORSE, not
better. I've tried everything, eating crystals, taking medications, getting
out in the sun, I've even taken some water from the fountain in New Genesis
City, which only made me cough harder.
So, this could easily be a cry for help, a goodbye, whatever. All I'm saying,
is I'm warning you all now, so don't cry too hard when I'm gone. The pain is
too much, and I no longer have the will and stamina to deal with it. If this
continues on it's course, I'm projecting I have maybe another week before I
bleed out, or something. I'd appreciate it if you care at all, to come by, or
call me and see if you can help, or at least to say your goodbyes.

Thank you.
(signed) Shattered

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


Message 1118 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Fri Mar 19 18:36:39 1999 EST
From:     Dwight (#20455)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  The hunter and his.. prey?

Dwight stood in the now empty round room, chuckling slightly as the
recombinant and his friend ran off.
"Guess they didn't want to stay and chat.. hmm." he remarked into his
communicator, then sipping on his drink.
"Your assignment was to capture the cat." the communicator answered, "Not
lolly gag." the voice was obviously perturbed, but yet was humoured.
Dwight pondered a moment, tapping the gyroslug to his cheek. "Hmm, nothing
wrong with a good drink during a hunt, you should know that." he replied
rather calmly into the comm. "The kitten ran like a scalded dog.." a strange
oxymoron from a strange person, some would say.
"Well, you're right. But we're docking a 1/4 off yer reward money." the voice
sounded cheery, which made Dwight's face flush with angry.
"That's.. acceptable. Very well.. I will return the recombinant into your
possession.." a slow smile crept along his face, "But the girl.. the girl is
mine. I have plans for her.."
"Fine. End Transmission." the comm was staticy for a moment, before shutting
off.
"Dakirion drives a hard bargain. Good, I've always loved to work with them."
Dwight chuckled, finishing his drink and stepping onto the pedestal.

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


Message 1120 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Fri Mar 19 18:42:59 1999 EST
From:     Rathe (#14172)
To:       *storylines (#5236)

Now, children.

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


Message 1121 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Fri Mar 19 18:48:36 1999 EST
From:     Akeashar (#20348)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Hey..

Pounce.. dude. chill out man. it's only RP. I mean, It's not like Dwight (my
Alternate character) is like doing anything to break consent rules. Perhaps
Dakirion mixed their files up, perhaps someone is pretending to be Dakirion
and assigning Dwight to the task, perhaps one of Dakirion's scientists is
ignoring protocol and wants after you, you never know until you RP a
situation. I mean, if you really are upset over it, I'll remove the post and
retcon, but I think yer over-reacting just a tad. Take a deep breath, relax,
have some tea man. no big deal, let me know what you want done instead of
trying to insult me, being an Admin and all, I would love to hear your input
about my characters RP.

Other than that, I have no idea what to tell you except, Sorry?

Akeashar/Dwight

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


Message 1124 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Sun Mar 21 01:09:27 1999 EST
From:     Shattered (#24781)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Well, I got something to say.

(another note, delivered to all of Shattered's friends and apparently you
DON"T know so well who you are, so this time, I'ma tell y'all privately after
I post this up.)

Guess what? I found a treatment for this stupid disease I got! It's not a
fullblown cure, but I did it around 9 hours ago last, and my symptoms have
only gradually begun to come back. Though it is not a cure, it keeps the
symptoms down enough for my immune system to fight the disease effectively.
I can't say when I'll be over this disease, which I have confirmed to be
pneumonic plague, but I am confident that I will not die from it. And all of
you who have been around me, relax, because I only go out when it is in
remission when I just did a treatment, and it's not communicable when there
are no symptoms. Its only vectors are bodily fluids directly transferred from
the lungs of one host to another, and airborn, through the droplets of blood
that are coughed up. SO basically, if I'm not coughing, I'm not contageous.
Thank you for all your generous support throughout this ordeal, I appreciate
it more than I can put into words. You've all been great through all of this.
Thanks much.

(signed) Shattered

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


Message 1125 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Sun Mar 21 10:45:20 1999 EST
From:     Spike (#22695)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  A message from the Dakirion Corporation.

Translator recomb for sale. Tortoise DNA. Stocky, and built heavy this recomb
is useful in several areas of wasteland life. He knows and is capable of
translating 15 different languages along with extensive training in
negotiations and diplomacy.
His strength and endurance are a must for every wasteland traveller!

Dakirion payment plan for the recomb are as follows, 100 crystals a month,
2000 crystals for 'permanent leasing'.

OOC Contact Spike via mail/page/or comm.

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


Message 1126 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Sun Mar 21 16:35:01 1999 EST
From:     SnowHawk (#24690)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Decisions, decisions...

SnowHawk wandered the garden late at night, brows knitted in thought. Can't
life just be simple? Her seemingly born calling to help ease pain driving her,
training hard since escape. Yet she craved to find another clan,  another
family, ever since hers was destroyed and taken as slaves. It seemed best to
be a loner in light of  all the battle lines forming. Snow hated power plays
and politics. There were more important  things in life.. like life itself.
Around her was an undertension of forces drawing. Signs of a peoples on the
edge of some power driven war. She hated this more than anything.... she not
one to draw sides, not wanting to see anyone hurt. Snow had been trying to
ignore what few words of gossip went around.
Then, the frustration with her cottage... Why would anyone want to take a
cottage from her? What did they need? This man called Williker she had not
even known. He seemed well placed enough, not in need. And, now.. he tries to
sell it? Not wanting to turn her back from the afront, yet she knew it would
be a battle ill fought and of no value. Perhaps there is someone with the
strength to undo what has been done without the making of an enemy.

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


Message 1127 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Sun Mar 21 20:20:55 1999 EST
From:     Tirafal (#24173)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Home sweet home

Tira looked up from the letter she had received and frowned. Whatever was
Williker thinking of? That was HER cottage. Williker knew that. Rand was going
to be FURIOUS to find out that Williker had taken it over, had kicked her
guest out and now was trying to SELL it????
She had grown up in that cottage, lived most of her life there. Her father had
died there. She and Ynaoise hadn't been back there very often since they had
moved to the Complex so she had invited Snowhawk to stay there. It was perfect
for the woman healer. The Valley was special, it's energies were very high and
the special herbs and things SnowHawk needed for her healing were plentiful in
the lush Valley. it seemed perfect to Tira. It gave her somebody to live in
and care for the cottage. Now THIS????
What must her houseguest THINK of the Valley to be so roughly treated?
The only thing that Tira could think was that Will had taken leave of his
senses. To do such a thing without Rand's knowledge, much less permission, was
going to bring an unthinkable reprimand down on the man.
She would get Ynaoise to take her to the Valley that afternoon so she could
check out the situation. She only hoped that Williker hadn't done something
REALLY stupid like set the house afire. From there she would seek out Rand and
have a word with him.

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


Message 1128 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Sun Mar 21 20:29:01 1999 EST
From:     Ymerith (#22840)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  And I think to myself, "What a wonderful world...."

It was a chilly February morning, but Johnny hardly noticed the wind whipping
around him as Megasa flew them through the valley to a familiar rocky ridge.
He didn't even remember dismounting or following the rocky trail down to the
lakeside, but there he stood, staring at the waterfall as gallons and gallons
of water crashed down loudly.  He thought about the recent events in the
Emerald Room and the time spent with his student.  Her training was coming
along well and he was proud of her, but there was more than that.  Last night,
that changed everything.  She'd told him she'd never as much as kissed a man
before or even held a man's hand with any thought beyond touching another
person.  Last night...  Last night...  He didn't know why, but he felt the
urge to kiss her.  He did.  He kissed her and yet is was his head that spun.
Opening his eyes he discovered he was standing naked under the icy waterfall.
His hand rose almost frantically for the secure weight of the charm around his
neck, smiling slightly as his fingers wrapped around it.  He thought about the
past and how he happened to be wearing the charm, that night in the clearing
under the full moon with Merri, the way she danced for him, the love they
shared that night and many nights after.  What was it Silk made him promise?
Oh yeah, don't blame myself for the past.  It barely took a light tug to break
the cord around his neck and the charm fell into the water, any sound it would
have made was masked by the sounds of the water pounding down around him.  He
walked from the water, completely naked now for the first time in at least a
year, and smiled.  For the first time he noticed the feel of the mud squishing
between his toes, the twigs at the bottom of the lake poking into his feet,
the way the morning sun reflected off the water's surface, and the way the
weight on his shoulders had vanished.

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


Message 1129 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Sun Mar 21 20:42:24 1999 EST
From:     Shattered (#24781)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Feeling better....... But that's gonna change.

Shattered was actually feeling good for a change. Physically, mentally,
emotionally, spiritually, he was feeling better than he had since he came from
the desert nearly 6 months ago. Oh, but he wasn't allowed to feel good.
Something always had to come up.
Shattered's life now made perfect sense to him. He wasn't allowed to be happy,
by some whim of gods he now believed to be 100% evil, or some other force he
didn't understand, for some reason, he couldn't find his place in this world.
The nightmares had stopped. He couldn't fathom why. The physical pain of the
pneumonic symptoms he was experiencing had died. He attributed that to the
treatment he was undergoing. His emotions had died down, feelings of betrayal,
and anger and alot of other things being replaced by more positive ones. And
his mental termoil, his mind fighting itself in a gargantuan battle of will
versus something insidious, had finally ended.
But something disallowed him from being happy. Either the people at Dakiron
would find him, or he would have to become the property of some evil bastard,
or both. And then there was the threat of the evil mage and his coleagues and
henchmen looming large. Battle lines were being drawn for a battle that, try
as he might, he couldn't stay out of.
Shattered basked in the sun by the fountain, pondering all this. He sighed.
And after he'd thought of it only a moment more, he said, "Fuck them. I'm
going to live my life how I want to and if they don't like it, I'll find a way
to get rid of them all." His mind wandered to what he'd learned in organic
chemistry and microbiology, as an evil grin played over his face, softened and
made to look almost happy by the golden rays of the sun and reflections from
the water.
He watched the sunset, thinking of how easy it would be. So very easy. It was
time to take a stand, allright. He decided his own disease was but a test.
People would die, painfully if they ever messed with him again..... He
continued in this dilusional state for nearly an hour, watching as the sun
dropped below the horizon. He never realized that he could never pull such a
thing off, even if it were possible, he could never allow himself to do it. He
would soon realize that his own weakness is what kept him from making his
place in this world. And he probably wouldn't like that fact too much.
Doomed? No. Just in for some harsh reality. Poor Shattered. Wake up and smell
the daisies, kid, the world isn't a good place. And you're a good person. So
the world seems to have it in for you, but it's simply a case of you going
against the grain.

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


Message 1130 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Sun Mar 21 21:53:17 1999 EST
From:     Tirafal (#24173)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  home sweet home part deux

Ynaoise, Tira and SnowHawk stood outside the cottage, preparing to go their
seperate ways; Yna and Tira back to the Complex and SnowHawk back to Morlith
for the time being. SnowHawk had managed to retain a key to the cottage that
Williker hadn't been aware of. They had all met at the cottage so that the
locks could be changed on the door.
The locksmith had come and after 20 minutes left again. Snow now had a new key
to the cottage door.
Tira turned and posted the note on the cottage door she had been busily
writing. It simply said, "Williker, Rand would like to see you ASAP.
Tirafal."
She handed an exact copy of the note to SnowHawk, just in case he decided to
harrass her again before getting back to the cottage.
"That should take care of it, " she told Snow, "You shouldn't have any further
trouble."

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


Message 1131 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Tue Mar 23 18:07:08 1999 EST
From:     Red_Fang (#5907)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Vacation

Leaving a note nailed to the wall of the R/T lounge under protest of Oz of
course, Red headed back to the shuttle area where his wife and kids where
waiting and boarded the ship.. Next stop was a extended vacation in the land
of Fey.. Was time to regroup and gather thoughts..

The note reads:  I'm officially calling off the reward offered for the deaths
of Williker and Dante..  Won't be around to pay it so don't do it..   ...
Red...


OOC: Gonna just stay OOC for awhile and let things go.. Talen and Smoke can
run the Rangers as they want.. I have too much to deal with in rl to try to
deal with GW as well beyond social calls..  Love you all.. Sorry I was a ass
to some.. Take care and be well..

Rob.

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


Message 1132 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Tue Mar 23 18:55:15 1999 EST
From:     Dante (#10660)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  The building.

The process was simple, most of the hard work was lifting the many devices
through the tower into the lower levels. The engineer was nice enough, and did
an expert job on the door. Not only was it hidden from view but it possessed
one of the most advanced locking mechanisms. Dante was obviously pleased, even
with the low bill that it cost him. All the man wanted was promised future
business and this one was on the house, and considering that suited Dante just
fine. Now all Dante required was the proper guests, and he had just the right
people in mind.

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


Message 1133 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Mar 24 19:16:27 1999 EST
From:     Shattered (#24781)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Oh, goodie, recomb hunters....

Shattered snapped awake, the terrible pain in his head dulling his perceptions
of his surroundings. The last thing he remembered is taking the but of a
large-bore rifle of some variety to the head several times, being knocked
senseless, then unconscious. He woke up ready to tear someone's head off.
But he found he was chained down. He thought to himself, "Oh, this's gonna be
fragging FUN. Wonder what they've got cooked up for me?" Then he noticed the
pressure, cold and wetness on his left arm. He raised the arm, the shackles
stopping him about chest level in front of his eyes. On his left arm, instead
of his monitoring equipment, was wrapped a wet piece of carbon-fibrous
material, not unlike rawhide.
He suddenly realized that as this material dried, it was going to contract,
and instead of fitting snugly with his arm, something was going to give, and
it would likely be the two rather small bones in his forearm. He thought to
himself, "Oh, this is going to hurt. Fraggin sadistic bastards." He attempted
to get the material off in some way, but could not reach it with either the
other arm, or his teeth.
The water began to evaporate from the tissue, and it began to contract, surely
enough. The slow increase of pressure made it hurt all the worse when the
first break occured. He heard and felt a dull *snap* as the outer bone of his
forearm broke somewhere near the middle, but did not cry out. He thought,
"Come on, dammit, be strong, that's what they want!"
He concentrated on happy thoughts. Thoughts of hunting, and all his friends,
and the person he loved most in this world.... Nadir. The material continued
to contract around his arm, and at the second snap, this time, the inner
forearm bone near his wrist, a wince of pain.
He steeled his will, sensing the material continuing to contract.... More
pain? Good gods, when will it stop! He felt muscle being ground by the broken
bones, but did not cry out. It was the third break that brought a yelp of pain
from him. The outer bone of the forearm had broken AGAIN near the elbow.
Muscle was being torn to shreds by the raggedly broken and still moving
bones.... His moans and whines of pain seemed to give pleasure to the man in
the black suit he suddenly sensed moving slowly toward him in the dim light. A
fourth break, just between the middle and the elbow of the inner forearm bone
brought a ragged scream of pain from Shattered's lips.
More grinding, ragged breathing, screams of pain. But the bones seemed to be
broken all they were going to. The man in the black suit finally removed the
contracting material from his Shattered's arm and said simply, "This is a
message from Dakiron Industries to the wayward recombinant known as Shattered:
Have no illusions of free will."
Shattered was knocked out again, this time with a drug. He woke up in his own
burrow, on his bedroll. The man's words rang in his head even more urgently
than the excrutiating pain of a quadruple compound fracture of both bones in
his left forearm and severe soft tissue damage.
He took some of the pain relever that Nigel had given him, as it was still too
much. He knew he had internal bleeding. He didn't fancy the idea of having to
amputate his arm, and his lungs were acting up again anyway. Time for a trip
to the fountain.

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


Message 1134 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Thu Mar 25 19:27:40 1999 EST
From:     Rathe (#14172)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  ....

Thump; twin bootheels meeting unnaturally smooth stone. The adept blinked
several times, eyes slowly adjusting to the dim light. His eyes shifted --
albeit briefly -- towards the pale full moon, then quickly away again. Even
this minimal brightness hurt his eyes, and he had made no move to fix the
problem. Too much time in the Forest of Thorns. Too much time beneath the
pitch-black canopy. Too much time sulking in the Unseelie bitch's former
haven.

The Adept, perched atop the tower like some unnatural quartz and obsidian
gargoyle, shifted his weight, placing a hand on his perch's stone surface. Red
light leaked between the fingers of a pale hand, and the rock parted like
butter. The opening remained for half a dozen seconds; long enough to allow
egress.

A second thump -- this time on softly padded carpet. The pool of moonlight
from above slowly dwindled as the roof assumed it's previous form, leaving the
stained glass windows to cast their blood-colored light upon the room's two
new occupants. Melira. Sinner. Students of his, once.

The Adept smiled somewhat bitterly, vaulting his old stone desk to perch,
again half-crouched, on his seat. Oak; simple. Hardly a throne. But
nonetheless, wars had been waged from this seat. People had been broken, death
warrants had been issued. Sacrifices had been made.

Both hands were now placed on the desk's surface, and a second conjuring trick
took place: the ancient stone slab's protective wards shone bright silver-blue
for half a moment, then faded. The surface now liquid, the Adept made the
slightest of beckoning gestures. The stone surged, and the hint of a silver
hilt bobbed to the surface.

Rathe smiled. One hand gripped the hilt, and he slowly drew Nightsong from the
liquified rock, which immediately assumed it's previous consistency.

Like Excalibur. The Adept's laugh was quiet; almost inaudible.


Now the waiting began.

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


Message 1135 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Fri Mar 26 19:49:14 1999 EST
From:     Tirafal (#24173)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Babysteps

Tira rolled restlessly in her sleep. Emarel was tugging at her. She looked at
her daughter intruding on her dreamscape and inwardly held her breath. A
strange woman, white haired, red eyed, held the baby. Knowing, but knowing HOW
she knew, she was positive this was the woman Emmie had been named
for....Yna's mother. The dream spiralled, the woman smiled at her and Tira's
eyes popped open. Yna lay beside her, his breathing even. She looked at the
cradle and saw Emmie awake, regarding her with cool blue eyes. Slowly the
baby's nictanic membrane closed and reopened. Then her daughter smiled at her.

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


Message 1136 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Fri Mar 26 22:25:32 1999 EST
From:     Titania (#24646)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  The Kiss

	Her day started like any other Wednesday in March, waking alone in her
sleeping bag inside her tent.  As part of her morning routine before hunting,
she stopped by the Tinder Box.  Once inside, she was surprised to see the man
she talked to the night before.  He was a nice guy and all, but that sadness
still darkened his eyes like a lingering shadow.  Not that she made a habit of
looking people in the eyes, but this stranger's eyes drew her, captivating her
attention.

	Her eyes continued their sweep around the bar-room, taking note of another
person standing in front of him, a woman she'd never seen before.  After
exchanging perfunctory pleasantries, she continued to the bar for a drink.
The two continued their conversation around her, getting deeper in subject and
louder in volume.  Her mind replayed that moment she stared into his eyes, the
sadness...  Could this other woman be the cause?  The argument escalated into
shouting about love, trust, and other things.  She wasn't really paying
attention to it since it wasn't her business until....  The man asked her
about the past, what to make of it.  Her mind raced with images of her past,
reinforcing her conviction that the past was past and life should continue
despite it.  If she let her past bother her she would have locked herself in
her tent long ago and never come out, most likely dieing of starvation before
anything happened.  The unknown woman started crying, even the bartender
became involved at some point in the discussion.

	She finished off her drink and was startled as the man sat down next to her.
She wasn't sure, but she thought the other woman's sobbing grew louder as the
man placed one hand on her cheek and the other at the small of her back,
lowered his head near her own, and kissed her deeply;  It was a kiss like none
she'd before experienced, sending a shock right through her to cause a
tingling in the deepest pit of her belly.  She realized, then and there, that
this man would be more to her than a just a passing hunter.

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


Message 1137 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Sat Mar 27 02:19:41 1999 EST
From:     Cirus (#24781)
To:       *ideas (#504), *Humor (#18591), *Chat (#5391), and *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Name change....

Okay, I'm just doing a really giant crosspost here to let anyone who cares
know that I've changed my name. Used to be Shattered, is now Cirus. Don't
worry, be happy.

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


Message 1138 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Sat Mar 27 11:11:57 1999 EST
From:     Ylaerin (#16541)
To:       *storylines (#5236)

She awoke trembling, still in the fold of Yeullan's arm. Touching the mind of
her BondMate, she found that it was very early, indeed... the pale hour just
before the dawning. Ylaerin slipped gently from the bed, and pulled a blanket
around her loose dressing gown, checked the children where they slept soundly
in their beds, and drifted to the Ledge.
The March air, chill and thin at this altitude, hit her and set her to
shivering, despite the blanket. She brushed her hair back from her face,
several curls plastered to her forehead by the sweat of troubled dreams. Luthe
had gone back to sleep, his tail lolling across Myr'leth'saarath's; Ylaerin
leaned against the giant, sleeping bulk of him and stared out into the mists
which hung over the valley... the tops of trees pricking it here and there...
somewhere, invisible in the distance, the spire of Rathe's tower.
The look of him had been everywhere in her dreams... his frightening
gauntness, the madness dancing around the edges of him. She closed her eyes,
and clenched her jaw against a shudder; she knew now that she would never be
rid of him, either in the world or in her soul. That their vows had not
crumbled after all, but had, instead, soured into an awful thing which plagued
her... a weapon, a curse. The roiling turmoil of her thoughts roused Luthe
once more, and he lifted his head to nuzzle her shoulder... reminding her...
Corwin understood this - and she need not feel as if she were dying of
anything so simple (so awful, so ever-presnt) as her long-standing love for
the Elven Adept. For, at the heart of the matter, the fire that burned her was
Yeullan - the two loves in her circling one another like a bizarre dual-star
she'd heard of in a half-forgotten tuning. That she had exhausted herself with
months of hiding was enough; that she exhausted herself the night before after
meeting with Rathe once more in the Lounge with weeping was enough. Corwin had
simply folded her into his arms, and taken what she was, what she felt, as
part of the tale... and that was something Yshar would never have done.
It could be borne, then. Though he frightened her, though she knew not what he
wanted, though she felt he could read her as easily as any scroll or
parchment, she would do her best to bear up under the knowledge that Rathe had
returned... and she could rely on her Corwin to support her, protect her.
Luthe sighed contentedly, and she drifted back into the warmth of the caverns,
the circle of Corwin's arms.. and despite everything, back into the troubled
dreaming she sought to leave behind her.

OOC Note: Heh. This was -supposed- to be posted yesterday, but I screwed
everything up. ICly, it takees place the morning after the confrontation that
some of you saw in the Lounge. (As if you care. ;))

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


Message 1139 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Sun Mar 28 19:24:07 1999 EST
From:     Akeashar (#20348)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Crezzy

The Crazy man slipped through the crack, sand and blood caking his hair,
trails of dried blood oozing down his face like vertical pin stripes. Reaching
new ground, he fell and kissed it, spitting out the sand.

"I made it out alive, alive! All the others though they could disco and boogie
to their hearts content, but He showed them, He showed them all. ha ha ha ha
ha ha!"

The Crazy man's eyes rolled in his sockets, and he slumped to the ground, a
large cross impaled through his back.

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


Message 1140 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Sun Mar 28 20:08:47 1999 EST
From:     Melira (#18088)
To:       *storylines (#5236)

Her instincts had served her well, and she was smiling as she bustled around
her old apartment in N'Orleans. A fine film of dust had settled over
everything during her extended absence, and she'd thrown the windows open to
rid the air of the mildewey scent which was prevading the place.  She'd come
back for the last of her things, a gown or two, a small stash of crystals....
And even the thought of Byron being held at Williker's by the lap-dog and her
former lover - or the depressing, roach-ridden sight of her former home -
could not quell the growing sense of victory she'd begun to experience this
afternoon.
It was strange how in the deepest moments of defeat, the seeds of great things
could be found.  How while she'd been crouching on the floor, clutching at her
broken shoulder, and feeling the ancient ache lower in the same arm... while
she'd been cursing Williker and Sinner in her mind, with every hex and swear
her step-father had once said she'd known... she'd been able to find that
link, that spark, in the eyes of her fellow Adept, Coreen. There was an
understanding there, and Melira had acted on it.
Allies. They had agreed, shook on the agreement, and who knew how things would
go from here. And, not least of all... while it was true that Sinner had
warned her about the impending 'contract' with Rathe - one that would use
Byron as bait to enslave Melira to the necromantic mages as a group - Coreen
was also right in saying that Sinner had mentioned nothing about what might
happen if Coreen herself went after Byron.  Sinner had, perhaps, spoken too
much.  They were all guilty of underestimating her judgement - and her
understanding of Byron.
She would not mete out punishment to them all, but they -would- begin to
respect her... and they would learn to respect her alliance with Coreen.. one
that would include whomever else they deemed worthy.
Locking up the apartment and heading for Jizo, Melira smiled to herself. Byron
would be back with her soon enough. She and Coreen had a good deal of work
ahead of them. And once she was over this little hurdle Sinner had set before
her, the sky was the limit.


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


Message 1141 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Tue Mar 30 13:13:27 1999 EST
From:     Cirrus (#24781)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Helpful? Dakiron? Something's VERY wrong here.............

The date had come and gone. Cirrus had spent the better part of the last 4
days hiding from the world.... But then the inevitable happened. The food ran
out. Between his growling stomach, and the nagging, stabbing pain of the light
infection in his broken arm, he saw no excuse to stay inside.
He pulled out the several lockplates that held the fake ground to his hidden
burrow in place, kicking said covering out onto the ground, with no intention
of remaining hidden.
Stepping out, he sniffed the air slightly..... Something was wrong. He
thought, "Dammit, someone's here." He crouched low, growling slightly as he
sniffed the air again. Then he heard a gravelly, but unusually calm and
reassuring voice behind him... "Hello."
He spun with inhuman speed to face the trees, nearly leaping at.... What?
There was nothing there! Then, a man in a black suit stepped from the trees.
First thought to come to Cirrus's mind: "Oh, FRAG! They found me at home....
Well, damn them, I'm not going down without a fight!!!"
The man said calmly and simply, "I will restrain you if nescesary." Something
in the way he said that made Cirrus believe he could if he had to.
Cirrus turned about 40 degrees to the right, bolting past the tall and thin,
but muscular man in black suit and sunglasses. The man turned, and as Cirrus
was beginning to run, he said, "Please don't go. No harm will come to you."
Something Cirrus didn't understand made him stop.
Cirrus turned to face the man now, and as one, they took off sunglasses,
looking appraisingly at one another. The man's ice blue eyes pierced Cirrus's
soul as he was trying to determine if he could at least hurt this apparition
before being taken..... And Cirrus pierced right back with every gold fleck in
his pale green eyes. The man stood unwavering. He said matter-of-factly,
"Dakiron has some tests to do on you. You should also get that arm looked at.
Please follow me to the transport area."
The man didn't even stop to see if Cirrus was following as he turned to go.
Cirrus hesitated a moment........ The man started off. Cirrus's mind raced
with thoughts such as "What if I don't follow? Will this arm heal by itself?
Will they hunt me down again? Should I just go with this one, who seems to
only want to help instead of getting the shit beat out of me by a hunter?" The
man said softly as he exited the trees, "We don't have all day, Cirrus. Let's
be on our way." Cirrus's mind suddenly stopped dead with one thought in his
mind. His eyes narrowed. He said, "Who the hell are you and how do you know my
new name!?"
The man didn't even stop to see if Cirrus was following as he turned to go.
Cirrus hesitated a moment........ The man started off. Cirrus's mind raced
with thoughts such as "What if I don't follow? Will this arm heal by itself?
Will they hunt me down again? Should I just go with this one, who seems to
only want to help instead of getting the shit beat out of me by a hunter?" The
man said softly as he exited the trees, "We don't have all day, Cirrus. Let's
be on our way." Cirrus's mind suddenly stopped dead with one thought. His eyes
narrowed. He said, "Who the hell are you and how do you know my new name!?"
For no reason he could fathom, Cirrus followed the ethereal creature that
called himself Baines. And for no reason he could possibly understand, no
matter how hard he tried, Cirrus didn't feel fear at being taken back to
Dakiron Industries. Any wonder as to why he wasn't affraid seemed distant....
At the back of his mind. And also at the back of his mind, the thought: "This
is one of their magisters.... My fate is sealed!"
As they entered the ship, Baines began to tell Cirrus of what would be done to
him when they got back to Dakiron. For some reason, Cirrus didn't shudder at
the words "psychological evaluations" and "Moreau Testing".... These didn't
seem so bad, considering even more frightening words such as "reconditioning"
"mind wipe" and "termination" didn't enter the conversation.
Cirrus felt almost confident. Something told him this was a big mistake. But
who knows? He may be just paranoid.

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


Message 1142 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Tue Mar 30 13:19:23 1999 EST
From:     Cirrus (#24781)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  One last thing....

OOC: This was supposed to be tacked on to that last, but I guess I sent too
quickly.

OOC: I've been at Dakiron for about 2 days gametime in order to be tested, and
to have my arm fixed. I may be back sometime this evening. And if you thought
Cirrus was weird before, now he actually LIKES Dakiron Industries, a total
changeup from what he was.

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


Message 1143 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Mar 31 14:20:28 1999 EST
From:     Cirrus (#24781)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Well, ain't that fun?

Cirrus actually enjoyed his stay at Dakiron. The personnel he dealt with this
time seemed to be treating him rather well compared to other times. Maybe they
finally figured out that if you want something from someone with a strong
mind, beatings and torture aren't the answer.
Their first test of his abilities was a combat test. They wanted to see just
how well he could do with his broken and infected arm. So, they left him
casted and put him in the simulator. Baines, who supervised over all of it,
making sure no one harmed Cirrus for some odd reason Cirrus couldn't
understand, was impressed with the anthropomorphic fringed lizard's combat
abilities. The technicians and other personnel were downright astonished.
Cirrus came out of the chamber to hear whispers among the staff such as: "How
long has this one been training?" and "Man, I wouldn't wanna go up against
that critter...." His smug expression faded as Baines told him, "We need to
fix that arm now. Come with me, please." Cirrus's first thought was, "Oh,
goodie, more pain!"
He found himself following Baines again, against his better judgement, and
suspicious nature, and didn't think anything of it again. At the back of his
mind, a thought was trying to surface. Something about mind control.... But it
didn't quite get there.
Baines took Cirrus to an opperating table. Cirrus braced himself for more pain
as Baines said in his normal gravelly, calm voice, "Don't be so tense, kid.
This won't hurt." As he lie on the table, Cirrus thought, "SUUUUUURE......
Just like it wouldn't hurt if I jumped off a cliff, right?" Baines did some
motions with his hands, and something seemed to leave Cirrus's arm. Baines
looked proud of himself, and then proceeded to do the Restore ability Cirrus
had seen a hundred times before. This time, magic WORKED. The cast was broken
off, bone and muscle healing as the nasty, gangreenous fluid that had built up
in Cirrus's arm leaked out through some unseen cavity into a small metal bowl
that had been placed under his arm on the table. Cirrus reguarded Baines's
work. He said simply, "Now how did you manage to heal in one shot what took me
near two weeks with fountain and moonbeams to heal?" Baines smiled his crooked
smile and said with a hint of a chuckle in his tone, "It's a trick."
Cirrus was then given three different psychological evaluations, which he
passed with a high margin of success, a full physical examination, which
turned out clear except for flash-burned eyes that might or might not need
corrective surgury/magic (which were fixed later), and another couple of
combat simulator runs.
His level and rate of improvement were fair. He'd become rather good with a
blade, though he was still no warrior. No, Cirrus was rather content to simply
live. Dakiron must have FINALLY figured that out.
Then the bad news. Baines took Cirrus aside and talked with him, and from
Baines's slightly tense demeanor, Cirrus was beginning to worry. Baines was
ALWAYS calm.... something must be wrong now....

Cirrus: What did you want to talk about?
Baines: A matter reguarding your continued freedom.
Cirrus: Oh, they did want me to bring forth a master, didn't they....?
Baines: Yeah, kid... And you kinda missed the deadline. Sorry. We're gonna
have to put you up for sale again.
Cirrus: I have a master! I'm telling the truth. He's on vacation, and couldn't
come forward.
Baines: I believe you, but the higher-ups have their suspicions. They have
interests that go far beyond simply who's taking care of you. They need to
have you appear controlled most of the time. And your current master simply
doesn't..... Well, I'm sure he gives you tasks to do from wherever he's
vacationing, but..... To put it simply, a recomb must be SEEN with the master
now and then, or the CEO's and the rest of the corporate council gets a bit
edgy.
Cirrus: I understand. I didn't want it to come to this.
Baines: I'll make sure they don't put you with some sleaze-bag. Trust me.
Cirrus: Why can't you just make the purchase if you're so concerned?
Baines: To put it bluntly, I have to deal with recombs every day for my work.
I go home to get away from the stress. You've got a good mind, and you're
actually a lot easier to deal with than some of the others, but still. I
actually own a few recombs already.
Cirrus: So...? What's one more?
Baines: One more would be the straw that broke the cammel's back. I've got to
deal with recombs at work, at home, get called up in the middle of the night
sometimes to deal with ones that have escaped, and/or killed someone....
Believe it or not, you're actually one of the easier ones to deal with once
some of the corporators pull their damned fool heads out and realize that some
people don't like violence against them and recombs are people too in some
respects.
Cirrus: That's just confusing enough not to be offensive. What are you getting
at?
Baines: You know something, kid, I'm actually an advocate of recomb rights.
But instead of some of those who would go against the system, and get their
asses kicked eventually, by THE BIG BAD SYSTEM, when they're just the little
tiny rights activist, I use the system against itself.
Cirrus: By.... Of course... You're helping the recombs by helping them to go
with the flow. I see where that works.
Baines: Now you're getting it. If I hadn't checked out your case and decided
to save your ass, you'd likely be undergoing a mind wipe right now. And by
tomorrow, you'd be a damned zombie, with full motor skills and combat
abilities, but NO FRAGGIN IDEA of who you were and no memories of anything.
Cirrus: I am in your debt, sir.
Baines: The only payment I require is you TRY to get yourself a good master
and keep out of trouble. Then my job'll be done and I can rest easy, knowing
another good, but rather unique recomb isn't being tortured or thrown away.
Cirrus nodded in affirmation, appreciation, gratitude and understanding.

Baines did a final evaluation of Cirrus's capacities and abilities, and sent
him on his way. He watched as the door guard escorted Cirrus out and hoped for
the recomb's safety. Cirrus left knowing he'd found a good, solid friend that
he could trust to help him stay out of trouble with Dakiron.

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


Message 1144 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Mar 31 20:46:05 1999 EST
From:     Zabira (#24850)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  The Fate Proven True too Late.

Dear Diary,

I'm not sure why I choose to keep a journal of my life.  It seems nothing
interesting ever happens.  It was my sister, Zuleika's, fifth birthday.  We
stopped to camp long enough to celebrate.  This is a little unusual, Father
Elder doesn't like to stop for anything when it's time to move on.  Zuli was
the prize of the day, such a cutie as we sang to her in the morning and gave
her gifts after mid-day.  Mother is planning on giving her a doll tonight at
the bonfire as a last item.  As for me, I gave her a smooth purple stone I
found near the water hole back in Esperana.  I had Husari turn it into a
pendant for her.  Well, I can't stay in here and write forever.  I have to run
and help with the preparations and I think I hear horses coming, probably the
scouts returning for the bonfire.

Zabira bet Yonnamon.

Zabira exited the small tent her family claimed, letting the flap fold down
behind her.  Raising her hand to shade her eyes, she glanced across the
make-shift camp, then past it, to the clouds of sand kicked up by the horses
approaching.  It wasn't until she heard the screaming from the camp's edge
that she realized in horror that these were not their scouts.

Raiders.

Zuleika came screaming, still clutching a tiny doll in her hands.  Zabira
stood there in stunned silence, disbelieving the existance of these men, even
as she watched them cut down her father, then the Father Elder, gripping his
throat as he fell into the sands, his blood turning them crimson.  At last,
she snatched her sister into her arms, running.  Running as far and as fast as
her feet would carry her, the sound of hooves pounding into her ears, the sand
choking her, blinding her.
A high pitched squeal gave her pause, the horse in front of her imposing,
blocking her salvation and freedom into the desert.  Steel struck her temple
and she left the world of the concious, falling hard into the sand as Zuleika
screamed and kicked.

Slowly, the world began to return to her.  The nightwinds blowing hard across
the sand dunes.  Every inch of her body ached, and now... she couldn't see,
she was blind!  She fought back the initial panic, the desire to cry nearly
choking her throat but it only burned her eyes.  She couldn't move, she could
only sit there and feel the sands sting her body.  Then, little by little, she
moved her hand, sand shifting beneath her fingers.  Slowly, slowly, till she
felt something soft, hair.  Zuleika's hair.  Zuleika's blood soaked hair.
Zuli was dead.  Dead... and she was blind... and she couldn't move.  In
despair, she fell back into unconciousness, praying to the stars to take her
home.

(To be continued)

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


Message 1145 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Thu Apr  1 19:52:06 1999 EST
From:     Zabira (#24850)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  The Light at the End of the Tunnel.

Zabira wavered in and out of a deep sleep.  Sometimes she felt as though she
were floating, above water when awake, submerged deeply when unconcious.  Her
sight never returned, but she somehow knew she was alive, and no longer under
the eyes of the stars.  The scent of the cruel wastelands was missing, along
with the winds and stinging sands.  Replacing these sensations was the warmth
of a comforter, and a swath of bandages around her face, down the left side of
her body.  Sometimes she heard voices too, though she could never tell if they
were only hazy dreams or reality.

"She was badly burned.  I'm not even sure what manner of weapon caused it."

"The rest of them were beyond my skills.  I'm amazed she lived."

"Father, you should sleep, you've been by her side since Kiyra brought her
in."

"It's amazing how she clings to life."

At last concious moments began to lengthen.  Though the darkness of her world
never wavered, she realized that her long stretches of sleep were caused by
the bitter draught fed to her occationally.  She began to refuse it, only to
regret it as a fire so intense burned down her skin, leaving tingles of pain
so intense she whimpered.  Then she accepted sweet oblivion without complaint.
Eventually, they gave her the potion less, letting her stay awake, coaxing her
to eat, to speak.  She told them her name, her father, her people.  The most
they would reveal to her was simply that her people were dead.  She would have
mourned, had she any tears to shed.
Her benefactor introduced himself as Danil d'Esperana.  And he sat often by
her side, encouraging her with each day.  She'd lost one eye, but the other
he'd managed to save, and eventually she would see the world again with only
minor difficulties.
"What about my father, my mother, my sister?  What became of them, of the
camp?" she pressed the issue again one day.
"We buried them where they fell, standing straight up, facing the morning sun,
as is the way of your people," he replied simply and promised to show her the
grave site when her health returned.

(To be continued...)

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


Message 1146 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Fri Apr  2 00:00:13 1999 EST
From:     Thalhkarsh (#20487)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  A late night.

A light shone from a window of the tower onto the murky swamp below. A single
soul was stirring in the lab that night. Moving from place to place. A bit of
that, a dash of this, and something from the jar over there. His new skill
seemed to be intriguing him further. An interesting color inside the glass
container, Thalhkarsh swirled the concoction around a few times and took a
sip. No flavour. No odor. No feelings of overwhelming anything. At least none
to speak of.
The small figure looked at his potion once again rather dissapointed. He knew
he shouldn't have taken any of his own makings but he had to try it once
again. The rest was poored out. A hand closed around the single candle and
brought it over to his sleeping quarters. Two fingers clamped across the flame
with a quiet hiss. The pupil lay in his cot displeased with his findings and
results. Still new at it he may get the hang of it one day. A quiet rest
engulfed him and he slept.

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


Message 1147 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Fri Apr  2 05:14:53 1999 EST
From:     Merri (#24667)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Natal Day

Merridwen was restless. Over the past three days she had cleaned the entire
Hall. Her footsteps had echoed as they clattered in the great emptiness of the
building. Akane had been gone three months now. She had no idea where he was;
not even if he were dead or alive. In the past she had always accepted his
absences. On more then one ocassion she had awoken to find him gone.Three
days, four days, a week later, he would show up with never a word of where he
had been or what he had done. She had learned early not to ask.
But now a flickering glow of anger and resentment grew in her. She was near
the end of her time. The babe was growing as restless as she. This was his
child too. It burned in her that he didn't care enough to be present at it's
birth. It burned in her to know that she was alone and that the man who had
pledged his love to her didn't care enough to be at her side now, when the
babe was so close to coming. But with the anger came guilt because she simply
didn't know. Her heart clenched with fear.
She sat in the garden, her hands covering the great swell of her abdomen,
feeling the child move. She frowned as a small twinge of ache centered in her
back and radiated around to her front, squeezing her. She stood up and rubbed
the small of her back with both hands, cursing herself for cleaning like a mad
woman these last few days. Now she would have to live with the ache. She went
upstairs and laid down to rest.
Several hours later she awoke to the most unholy pain she had ever felt in her
life.She stood up and a great gush of water burst from between her legs,
bringing with it a pain so intense it almost took her to her knees.
*Holy Mother!*, the thought ran through her mind. Panic swept over her as she
realized she was alone. There was no one she knew, no one she could call.
Slowly she made her way down the staircase to the big double doors, gripping
the balustrade for support. She went out into the village square, leaving the
doors open, the Hall unguarded. The thought went through her that Akane would
be very angry at her for that, then another contraction ripped through her and
she fell to her knees in the dust of the crossroads, unthinking and uncaring
of the safety of the Hall.
She rolled to her side into a fetal ball and whimpered as pain after pain
wracked through her. Time telescoped and she had no idea how much time had
passed when she felt a hand on her body. She saw a face float into her vision;
a man. He looked vaguely familiar but her brain couldn't grasp anything. She
heard a muttered curse and felt arms lifting her, carrying her back into the
Hall. He seemed to search as he entered and he chose a door at random, then
another, ending up back out in the garden. He made to turn around when a pain
so intense hit her that she threw her head back in a cry so shrill and loud he
almost dropped her. He laid her down at the base of the Crescent Moon fountain
and put a hand to either side of her face, attempting to get her to focus on
him.
Merridwen grabbed his hands and squeezed as the overwhelming need to push hit
her and instinctively her knees drew up. Muttering another curse he extricated
his hands and drew a sharp breath as he saw the dark head of the baby
crowning. A small stream of blood dripped from her as the baby's head emerged,
soaking through her dress and into the ground below her. He moved his hand
under the little head and supported it as the baby turned and pushed one
shoulder and then the other out, finally slipping into his hands. His heart
sank at the baby's grayish blue color.
Suddenly, the baby's chest expanded and a high, shrill wail came forth from
the small body. The skin turned from gray to pink and the man drew a
shuddering breath of relief. He looked at the tiny mite in his hands, barely
registering that it was a boy child. His attention turned to the mother. There
was more to do here.
He laid the child up on Merridwen's chest and went to work.

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


Message 1148 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Sat Apr  3 19:46:44 1999 EST
From:     Thalhkarsh (#20487)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Oddities.

A stirring from one of the beds in the tower's dormitory. Thalhkarsh got out
of bed and stood. Adjusting his cloak the diminutive mage moved about his
morning routine. Only this morning the world seemed different. Slightly
larger. Perhaps he should think nothing of it. A negligible difference that
may go away soon. His mind never wandered back to two nights before when he
drank his potion he thought was a failure.

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


Message 1149 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Sat Apr  3 20:35:21 1999 EST
From:     Zabira (#24850)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  From the Flames Arises the Phoenix.

Zabira kneeled in silence before the ghostly campsite that had turned into the
burial ground for her people.  There fallen wagons and tents were burned into
the sands, only the metal remains and tattered bits of spared canvas gave
testimony to the slaughter.  They had buried them where they fell, leaving
small markers from items located on the scene.  Broken boards, rusted swords,
and other bits of debris lazily stuck up from the sands.  Here they would
remain, her mother, her father, her sister, her friends.  Here their lives
ended, and only she remained to tell the tale.
Danil had done remarkable things with her remaining flesh.  Burned severely,
scars lined her body from shoulder to ankle, all along the left side of her
body.  She had lost one eye, but the other he'd managed to save, and
eventually sight returned to her.

Rising from her prayers, she glanced up at the sky, the winds growing sharply
cold as twilight settled across the wasteland.  The first stars twinkled in
the blanket of darkness as it spread across the sky.

"Go well with the Spirits, remember me as I shall remember you when I see the
stars and know you are among them."

She turned then, leaving them behind, leaving it all behind.  Go south Danil
said, go south to the lands guarded by the Eagle, where death could not rule.

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


Message 1150 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Sun Apr  4 15:11:02 1999 EDT
From:     Durandal (#23874)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Pawns take pawn.

As it had been for months, it was a day like any other.

Seated quietly in the perpetually empty lounge, Durandal toyed with a throwing
dagger, spinning the bladepoint in his open palm.  It was quiet, even Osbornn
was, as usual.

With an inward frown, the recomb recalled the nightmares that used to haunt
him.  They had reached for him, clawing at his tent when he was trying so
desperately to crawl into the arms of sleep.  The jagged apparitions that had
raked across his brain, senting him spiraling into fits of violence, hysteria
and paranoia.

Then the noises had gone.

He thought nothing of it many more; the hunters had lost interest.  The men
and beasts no longer hounded after him, so he had been led to believe.

The storm of footsteps at the lounge entrance soon convinced the ferret recomb
otherwise.
There he stood: that wretched chameleon recomb, Skarr, vague features bearing
a hint of arrogance.  Flanked by a small horde of Dakiron goons: a few suits,
a few thugs picked up from the wastes.  No chances would be taken, numbers
were the key to victory.

All around him swam in a blur as Durandal galvanized into action.  The facade
of a lazy day was torn away as the recomb launched himself into the midst of
the half dozen hoodlums, blade whirling in a great glittering arc.  Most
jumped out of the way, clearing the entrance to the lounge, but one fell,
stump of a severed limb fountaining blood.

Instinct took over as the ferret recomb flew down the platform and fled into
the tunnels, an avalanche of booted footsteps thundering through the
claustrophobic maze.  The halls rang with gunfire; Durandal produced his
tommygun, sending bursts of lead streaming down the tunnel, ducking into
alcoves as the mob returned the effort with firearms of their own.

The thought finally arrived with a crushing blow: he was trapped.

He huddled into the alcove, bullets zipping by from both sides of tunnel,
ricocheting off of the walls with erratic metallic pings.  Tommygun barking,
he ducked from the alcove to send a wave of death down one hall, spinning to
face the other side.  Instead of staccato bursts of lead, he was met with a
dread *click*, and a wave of true panic washed over him.

It did not last too long, however.

An instant later, those that remained closed on him with truncheons that shot
sparks from their ends.  Durandal was stricken, bolts of pain searing through
him before melting into a sort of numb paralysis.  The ferret recomb lay
broken on the dark floors of the tunnels, bathed in red light.

Skarr stepped out from behind the massive frame of one thug, stabbing a
syringe into Durandal's neck, ejecting the tranquilizer within into the beaten
recomb's bloodstream.

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


Message 1151 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Sun Apr  4 16:35:19 1999 EDT
From:     Hannibal (#16038)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  A new beginning.

The ceremony was nonexistant, Hannibal's thoughts of what would happen were
nothing like words could describe. Gaia's words had been brief, and kind. His
own spoke from the heart of the matter. It was something that he needed to do,
not something that was coerced. Hannibal had his purpose long ago, and Gaia
had helped him bring it to a truth. Standing along side his mentor and
speaking in soft words hannibal recieved the sign of the birch as a pleasant
surprise. The warmth he felt was like sharing in someone elses heart. It felt
good to know that feeling again, the one he'd lost when Crystal had died. But
that was in the past, and he no longer blamed himself for it. Now was a time
for the future, Hannibal had students to find, both mage and people alike. It
was a good time, the few necromancers had left an opening to let Gaia heal,
and Hannibal was sure to make it happen while the chance still existed.

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


Message 1152 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Sun Apr  4 16:44:57 1999 EDT
From:     Dwight (#20455)
To:       *storylines (#5236)

Dwight sat in front of an old fashioned chessboard, pondering his decision
carefully.  Eyes glancing over the board, a semblance of a smile traced over
his features as he slid the black rook against the white pawn.

"Rook takes pawn... check." he nodded to himself, trailing his eyes over the
individual pieces. His first plan was nearly completed, the site was almost
ready to unearth. Strange how willing the others had been to join when they
heard weaponry. Dwight leaned back in his chair, "We shall see what the next
move will be."

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


Message 1153 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Mon Apr  5 01:08:31 1999 EDT
From:     Durandal (#23874)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Deliberations.

The following is an audio recording of an improptu meeting at a Dakiron
office.

Notes:
Voice 1 is assumed to be a young executive, having an eager tone to his voice.
Voice 2 is assumed to be an elderly man, his voice obviously aged and
containing pauses which have been occasionally edited for listening purposes.
Voice 3 is assumed to be a technician, and has a deliberate tone.
Voice 4 is assumed to be a recomb, the subject of the discussion.

Recording begins.

Voice 1: This thing is on, right?

Voice 3: Yes, it's working fine.

Voice 1: Good.  He'll be here in a minute.

(a door creaks, there are footsteps)

Voice 2: Good evening, gentlemen.

Voice 1: Please sir, have a seat.  We've been waiting.

(exchange of formalities has been edited out)

Voice 2: So.  Tell me all of the subject.  Or at least a synopsis.

Voice 1: Well.  After initial growth and conditioning, he was sold to one
Mister Warren Teneson, whose service he was in for a year.

Voice 2: The one he killed, correct?
Voice 1: Yes, I was getting to that.  Continuing... there are reports of
abuse, and that our subject, in response, killed Mister Teneson and escaped.
He was then rogue for approximately half a year before being bought by one
Miss Kathleen, surname unknown.  He was in Miss Kathleen's service for
approximately a year and a half before the contract was dissolved, due to the
master's being presumed deceased.  The subject then spent approximately
another year and a half rogue, presumably hidden for some of the time by one
Miss Mona Clayson.

Voice 2: What of his contact with our agent?  That failed to work, so I
understand.

Voice 1: Getting to that.  Temple failed to complete the assignment; I have no
news of her current status from her controlling department.

Voice 2: *snorts* Controlling her.  Or at least trying to.

Voice 1: Back to the subject...

Voice 2: Yes.  Who managed to capture him?

Voice 1: He was tracked by a team of hunters.  He was monitored for quite some
time, obviously at first, then less actively for a few months.  The snatch was
made by another agent, Skarr, accompanied by a group of other employees, some
permenant, some mercenaries.

Voice 2: Excellent.  What is the subject's state now?

Voice 1: Thorough psychological examination since yesterday.  He's with one of
our technicians at the moment, restrained and drugged, for safety purposes.

Voice 2: What has been found out so far?

Voice 3: I believe I can better explain that.  Before he was first sold more
than three years ago, the subject was a perfectly loyal creature; a sheep
really.  From his own words, Mister Teneson physically abused him, and he also
underwent similar treatment shortly after escape at the hands of several
locals.  He has since then harbored a particular hatred toward humanity at
large, especially males.

Voice 2: I'd like to see him.  Can you bring him in?

Voice 1: Certainly. (a beeping noise) Security, escort the subject into the
room.

(wait and chatter edited out.  There is the sound of a door opening and
several sets of footsteps)

Voice 2: Well, hello there.  You've caused quite a few headaches, you know.

Voice 4: Fuck you, fleshbag.  Was it your idea to prod at my body and my brain
for however long I've been in here?  What time is it, anyway?

Voice 2: *chuckles* Oh my.  Don't you worry.  We'll have you in shape in no
time.  Fit and productive, just like you used to be.

Voice 3: I warn you against goading him, sir.  We've seen his combatative
skill; it's fairly incredible.

Voice 2: Quiet, boy, I know what I'm doing.

Voice 4: Like hell you do.

(there are sounds of struggle, one cry of pain followed by a series of
clubbing and shocking noises, then another yelp.)

Voice 2: Jesus christ, that son of a bitch nearly bit off my fucking hand.

Voice 3: I warned you.  But you needn't worry anymore; as soon as he regains
consciousness he'll be put through some very rigorous, slightly experimental
reconditioning.

Voice 2: (sounding agitated) Good.  I want to be able to kick him in those
pointy fucking teeth of his and then see him smile and ask me to do it again.
Good evening, gentlemen.

(footsteps, door slamming shut)

Recording ends.

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


Message 1154 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Mon Apr  5 19:45:57 1999 EDT
From:     Cirrus (#24781)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  New meaning to the words "Burried deep".....

Cirrus decided he was done with this bullshit. The stress was killing him. He
hunted now only when he was hungry, and only enough to kill a single creature
and eat. He mostly lie in his burrow, wondering when someone would get pissed
that he wasn't being sociable and sending reports and feeding the wolf... He'd
gotten someone to feed the damn thing for him, and it was time to DIG.
Cirrus spent the better part of TWO WEEKS digging his burrow deeper and
deeper, using trees from the small stand on the plains near his burrow for
supports as he tunneled deep into the earth. After he was done, he'd collapse
parts of the tunnel so there was only enough space for his relatively small
body to crawl out. Just enough to breathe, and screw everyone else.
The only time he stopped was to eat. And he didn't even eat much. He didn't
care if it killed him, he'd likely meet some greusome end at the hands of some
hunter when they found out he was hiding again anyway. He was done. The Way
After would be much better than this baneful physical existance.
His mad delerium was growing as he dug. Never stop. Fill in after and bury
yourself deep, for tomorrow, the wolves may be here. Or worse than wolves, the
godsdamned HUMANS! Let them all die out there of some horrible disease,
PLEASE.... Or at least leave me in peace and let none of them attempt to come
in here with me.
He readied his flashlight at all times in case someone inconsiderately filled
in his tunnel, which had now sloped and wound nearly 400 feet under the
ground. He could get out in a hurry with little risk of injury if only he had
light. He would hide down here untill someone found the courage to attempt to
come after him. And then he would kill that person. And any other that
attempted to come down.
The thought never occurred to him that someone weak would never come looking
for him. He would likely die in the attempt.
So there he sat, with a store of fresh meat that would last him a month if he
smoked and roasted it properly. And he intended to stay hidden for more than a
month. Maybe die of hunger in a deep, dark hole in the ground. He had ceased
to care. At least all day sleeping and studying chemistry and micro biology
wouldn't be stressful.
He idly wondered if anyone TRULY cared. Sure, he'd been asleep, an turned off
his comm. And for some insane reason, he expected the people he cared about to
wonder why. Maybe even inquire about his health. His comm was on now. He
glanced at it now and then, looking up from arduous study and work in his
chemistry notes.
But the damned thing sat there silently staring back at him.

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


Message 1155 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Tue Apr  6 08:49:45 1999 EDT
From:     Vertemis (#23360)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  And so it begins..

Two lone mechs stamped over the dune, slowly coming into view. The Ghost and
The Ripper, battle worn and exhausted, limped into a small clearing. The comm
crackled with life.
** "If they want war, that's what they'll get." **
The mechs went their seperate ways, for now, flying fast over the dunes.
Slowly, the white ediface of the Real Time Building came into view. Vertemis
guided his mech into the garage, closing the heavy steel door remotely from
inside his machine.
Vertemis climbed out of the Ghost and made a few circles around it, examining
the bullet holes, and happy that none of them pierced any vital systems. "Damn
Clanners.." he muttered to himself.
He thought back to the days events. The flash, the examinination, and then the
encounter. Mirage was the speaker of only Dune Rider, yes, but how many other
tribes could they persuade for this little crusade.
Vertemis shook his head and began repairs on his mechanical friend.

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


Message 1157 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Tue Apr  6 19:33:23 1999 EDT
From:     Durandal (#23874)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Decisions, decisions.

"How has the testing proceeded?"

"The answer to the old mans question lay before him in the black and white
monitor images, which the younger man stiffly pointed out.

"I would say well... hes responding to the drugs and treatments exactly as we
expected him to.  If I may direct your attention to the screens..."

The various images on the monitors displayed multiple areas in a massive,
enclosed jungle area.  Shown were various encampments, or what remained of
them, at any rate.

"We loosed him in the terrarium three days ago," spake the younger suit.  "A
few... expendable employees were sent shortly after to hunt him, a sort of
test."

The monitors flickered slightly, cameras autofocusing in for clearer pictures
of the scenes.  All looked as if they were ripped straight from a charnel
house.  Bodies were scattered over the reddened earth, gore having seeped into
the soil.  Splinters of bone sprinkled some of the corpses, but all of the
mechanical eyes beheld the same sort of spectacle: twisted, macabre testaments
to butchery.

The old mans face sprouted a wrinkled frown.  "Its apparent that combatative
skills were tested.  Looks as though he put to use some of his new training,
as well."  He turned to the younger man expectantly.  "But loyalty.  Was the
conditioning tested?"

"A businesslike nod.  One of the men was selected to be the subjects master.
Hes the only one who made it out alive."

A smile grew from the frown.  "Excellent.  Well keep him for a few more days,
touch up on his training... and then I have plans for him.  Weve spent a lot
of time and effort with this one, and it will _not_ be allowed to go to
waste."

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


Message 1158 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Tue Apr  6 19:37:46 1999 EDT
From:     Juul (#24854)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Owner Wanted

Looking for a Mistress for one Eurasian Lynx Recomb. She is well trained in
hunting and tracking and in more relaxing skills for the parlor. She is an
able seamstress and will make a fine companion.

Interested ladies respond to Juul. Low price of 3000 crystals total, or 150
crystals a month is non-negotiable.

OOC: Small ad placed in available newspapers and on posters tacked up around
the area.


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


Message 1159 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Tue Apr  6 20:53:00 1999 EDT
From:     Ronin (#24588)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  From Dakiron Industries:

For sale:  One mongoose recomb.  He is trained in skills involving the blade,
and is extremely knowledged in many forms of Japanese culture, including:
Bushido, and the ways of a samurai, Haikus, Japanese calligraphy, and is also
a dedicated Buddhist.  He would be a desirable accessory to any warrior who
desires a loyal follower and servant.  Price is a low low 100 crystals a
month, or only 2500 crystals for permanent ownership!

OOC:  Mail or page me if you are interested in buying or "renting" this
character.

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


Message 1160 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Tue Apr  6 21:03:07 1999 EDT
From:     Clayson (#17237)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Waiting for Durandal

No birds today.
Just a stormy sea of gray.
Molting sky moving in on its morning prey.

No words today.
No one coming through the gate.
She lost her friend just as she was starting to find her way.

No war today.
Just barren trees against a back drop of gray.
She wonders if they came looking for their skulking prey.

No dust today.
No clouds rising from her pathway.
No lover drifting slowly her way.

Cold bars of steel.
She wonders if he digs the feel
Enjoying all that does not disappear into....ethereal.

Cold words of hate.
Does he see now how things break?
Is it to late now to cure his mistakes?

Restless feet begin to move as she wonders what he's thinking out there.
Her trek takes her to pastures that turn from black to green and back again.
She follows a well worn path from here to there to the next day back.

No birds today.
Just a barren stretch of gray.

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


Message 1161 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Apr  7 19:30:08 1999 EDT
From:     Skywalker (#6644)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Do the Evolution

   He leaned against the reception desk, putting on a smile for the young
couple as they left the clinic.  When they were out of sight, he let out a
deep breath and went back to look over the video tape.
   It wasn't the first time Skywalker been asked to do a prenatal examination,
but it wasn't every day that he got ultrasound results like this.  When the
screen came up, he froze the picture and gave it another look.  The same
things were all there: the pointed skull, the elongated limbs, and the thickly
webbed hands.   It was unlike anything he'd read in the Journals and he would
have to bring this case to his colleagues at the University if he was going to
find out what was going on.

(Continued...when I feel like continuing it)

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


Message 1162 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Wed Apr  7 21:52:24 1999 EDT
From:     Durandal (#23874)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Let the fun begin.

Ad found in local newspapers, lounges, wherever.

For sale:
One recomb, male ferret.  Recently reconditioned.  High potential for
combatative situations.
Currently asking for 250 crystals a month as payment for services.  Not
available for permenant purchase.

(OOC: looking for a more or less evil master, or at least one that sees a lot
of action/RP.  And note that 'per month' is measured ICly, meaning 750
crystals per RL month.)

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


Message 1163 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Thu Apr  8 15:53:51 1999 EDT
From:     Mirage (#20202)
To:       *storylines (#5236)

Mirage laborously worked upon his mech as best he could. Jasper was out on
business, so he had to do his own mechanics work. After replacing some
interior wiring, he began a series of tests, checking all the solenoids and
actuators for possible failure.

"Damned rogues, sacreligious fools.. false witness cone.." he muttered to
himself as he patched up the thick armor as best he could with what tools he
had, letting the welders do their job as he entered into the cockpit.

"All systems seem to check out normal, Mirage." the computer replied as he ran
through another series of tests. Outnumbered and nearly outgunned, The Bear
did its job well. If it wasn't for those new jump jets, he would've been
toast. "You are good opponents, Rogues.. too bad you aren't on our side." he
sipped from his flask of whiskey, and laid back in his chair. "The time has
come for war.. and that is what you shall recieve."

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


Message 1164 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Fri Apr  9 12:30:55 1999 EDT
From:     Akane (#14270)
To:       *storylines (#5236)

The adept returned home, his body caught in the grip of fatigue. Slipping in
through his door, his eyes wandered to the bed, hoping to see his wife nestled
snuggly in the bed. It had been past time for the child was his only thought,
his eyes drifting to the... empty bed?

"Strange" he mumbled as he slid into the bed, "I'm sure she's just out
chatting with some friends or something.." moving under the covers, the adept
rested. tommorrow would be another day, renewed studies.

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


Message 1165 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Fri Apr  9 16:28:13 1999 EDT
From:     Hawke (#16551)
To:       *storylines (#5236)

     He stared deeply into the mask, and so it stared back into him.

     It was almost -- yet not quite -- perfect. It hadn't made them think any
differently. He was just another fool, playing out his hand for the masses.

     A corner gave way, a peeling of layers of shadow. It was still there, the
face hidden from the world. Still there. He sealed the seams together again as
though it were a wound; a scar traced a cracked path along his face where the
fissure had grown.
     It would be gone in minutes, doubtless. The art of silence, of Not Being
Seen, was now his trademark.

     "You, my good man," he murmured towards the now all-too-familiar face,
"Are a pretty, ineffectual bore."

     The shadows unbound themselves from the smaller frame beneath the mask --
anger tearing skin from bone, reshaping the flesh beneath with the sharpness
of their passing.

     The trapdoor opened; a whistle of a chill tore through the tiny loft.
There was merely a memory of cold. Footsteps roused the shattered body in the
center of the floor from its shock, its delerium.
     "You can't have father back, you know," the chorus echoed from above. The
sound rattled the windows loose in their frames. "The attempt was a mistake."
     "What?"
     "You cannot be any but what you are. You're simply not that strong," the
voices rained down.
     It looked, then, at itself; redirecting a bleary gaze to the mirror.
     "You were never that strong without us, you know. Now you are not even
you. Pity you never listened."

     But it did not hear them. All it could perceive was that before it -- the
torn face, veiled in blood. Half hers, half father's, all of their remembered
faces made one. It was, indeed, a beautiful androgyny. Father might have
helped her to accept it. Anne, however, in the silence left in the wake of
their passing back into her alien flesh, was without his aid or even its
illusion.

     **You're our vessel, now** they purred through her very pores, **..and
that's all you'll ever be.**

     The mirror cracked, and, still staring emptily into the puzzle of the
reflection, whatever it was that she had finally become wept.

<OOC> Public notice: Hawke, once Seraph, is now `Figura'. Legion's now out of
circulation as an NPC.

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


Message 1166 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Fri Apr  9 19:35:23 1999 EDT
From:     Vertemis (#23360)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  The Glow

The encounter at the second cone, and his and Will's brief scuffle with the
tribes speaker, had left him thinking about the new cone. The Ghost travelled
across the radiated wastes, moving rapidly towards the newer blast site.
His mech examined the crater. It looked and reacted the same way the witness
cone had always. The Speaker could not deny the resemblance. If he wanted a
fight, he would get it.
The hydrolics hissed as his large machine raced over the dunes, away from the
site. There are just too many of them, he thought to himself, some recruiting
is in order.

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Message 1167 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Sat Apr 10 22:40:26 1999 EDT
From:     Thalhkarsh (#20487)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Desperation...

A small beam of light falling on the murky swamp has become a common sight
from the tower the last few nights. A mage seeks to find the cure for the
poison he created. Thalhkarsh worked late into the night in the lab. Not
making sound so as not to wake his fellow mages. If they found out the dread
mistake he'd be more than just humiliated. The strange thing that has been
making him shrink in size the shrinking mage could only assume it was the
affect of that first concoction he made on his first learning of the Alchemy
lore.
Trying to remember what he put in and use his limited knowledge to reverse it
does not seem to be easy yet he still could not comprehend what may happen if
his mentor were to find out. In the back of his mind Thalhkarsh wonders that
although he began short how far will it take him and if it will ever stop.

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Message 1169 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Mon Apr 12 21:16:06 1999 EDT
From:     Eponine (#3791)
To:       *changes (#7715) and *storylines (#5236)

There is a new copy of the Ghostwheel Weekly Journal in the Lounge.

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Message 1170 from *storylines (#5236):
Date:     Mon Apr 12 21:21:47 1999 EDT
From:     Zorn (#24462)
To:       *storylines (#5236)
Subject:  Lonely whispers of the heart.

Of late Zorn had found that he had been without cause. Though his service
under Rand was not easy, it was moderate, and Zorn had found that without a
driving goal, he was becoming lax and too unfamiliar with his normal
abilities. The fight with Coreen was proof enough, he was forced to flee
rather then defeat her. His walks through the forest of Drach'nal had left him
a bit disoriented, and for one reason or another he found that he was in fact,
lost and unable to find his way. But something felt odd, his heart was light
almost like a weight had been lifted, something felt... different. He shook
his head and heard a soft whinney, as his eyes focused on a large stallion. It
seemed out of place, much like Zorn but he couldn't explain it. He just shook
his head, and the horse followed him where he went. What could he do? Besides,
he hadn't seen one of its kind in almost half a lifetime, and he wasn't one to
look a gift horse in the mouth.


Zorn realized when he got home, that there was a slight problem. Where would
he keep it? He looked around the door, and the living room musing quietly to
himself, alot of work to do. It'd cost a pretty penny, but he could use what
wages he'd earn serving Rand, and an addition to what he could hunt. The
process of changing his former living room into a stable was slowl, but it got
the job finished. Wood was shattered, the ground was removed, earth was
replaced with fresh soil, and hay. The walls were rebuilt with concrete and
the new doors could fit as many as 3 horses through them. Smiling to himself,
Zorn looked at the mare beside him with a pleasant grin. The horse seemed to
mirror his actions almost to a T, and Zorn and his new roommate entered their
new home.

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