From quinn@fazigu.org Tue Nov 9 11:09:47 1999 Return-Path: Received: from casper.realtime.net (casper.realtime.com [205.238.128.161]) by requiem.vv.com (8.8.7/8.8.7) with ESMTP id LAA16517 for ; Tue, 9 Nov 1999 11:09:39 -0500 Received: from casper.realtime.com (localhost [127.0.0.1]) by casper.realtime.net (8.7.4/8.7.3) with SMTP id KAA21313 for ; Tue, 9 Nov 1999 10:12:16 -0600 Message-Id: <199911091612.KAA21313@casper.realtime.net> Date: Tue, 9 Nov 1999 10:12:11 -0400 From: "Quinn@GhostWheel" To: quinn@fazigu.org Subject: GhostWheel Message(s) 1245 - 1312 from *storylines (#5236) X-Mail-Agent: GhostWheel (casper.realtime.com 6969) Status: RO Content-Length: 109882 Lines: 2294 Message 1245 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Fri Sep 10 14:42:21 1999 EDT From: Valentine (#24957) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Valentine returns...sorta... Hello my long lost friends! I've missed you guys. But that's for another mailing list. Some of you may have noticed my brother, Jacksparrow, running around looking for me. The idea was going to be that I tried to assasinate the Eagle for some reason (those of you who know Vale know that she's just weird that way), and, of course, failed. Anyway, the Eagle is returning me to the world, altered in ways that I'm not even sure about yet. Vale will be saner than she was, though. Ah, the cleansing power of the database Purge! Vale will be in re-creation for a while and Jacksparrow will continue his pursuit. Anything else? Later, returned from beyond the realm of the eagle -- Vale... -------------------------- Message 1246 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Fri Sep 10 20:55:53 1999 EDT From: Dagger (#20375) To: *storylines (#5236) Just a note, how can you kill a giant supernatural eagle? -------------------------- Message 1247 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Fri Sep 10 21:53:25 1999 EDT From: Ylaerin (#16541) To: *storylines (#5236) Just a note -- how can you cast actual magickal spells? (anything's possible in makebelieve -- sort of) -------------------------- Message 1248 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Fri Sep 10 21:54:35 1999 EDT From: Dagger (#20375) To: *storylines (#5236) Thats just silly, and why does everyone spell magic wrong? -------------------------- Message 1249 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Fri Sep 10 21:55:36 1999 EDT From: Surreality (#20542) To: *storylines (#5236) It's a variant spelling, not an incorrect one. Magic is a parlor trick. Magick is manupilation of energies yadda yadda yadda. -------------------------- Message 1250 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Fri Sep 10 21:55:52 1999 EDT From: Ylaerin (#16541) To: *storylines (#5236) There are several ways to spell magic. Magick. They're both right. And yes, I'm silly, but I also have a fever. So bite me. -------------------------- Message 1251 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Fri Sep 10 21:56:34 1999 EDT From: Dagger (#20375) To: *storylines (#5236) @def MAGICK -> : No definition. -------------------------- Message 1252 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Fri Sep 10 21:56:42 1999 EDT From: Nightmare (#3791) To: *storylines (#5236) Take this to *Chat, folks. This board is for tinyplots and storylines. -------------------------- Message 1253 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sat Sep 11 14:03:12 1999 EDT From: Jacksparrow (#24950) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Up from the South Jacksparrow stepped off of the Ladye Hawke's gangplank and onto northern soil. He looked around, trying to get a feel for the place he hadn't been in so long. The place where he had last been with his sister, Valentine." Turning back once he waved a farewell to his shipmates. They had been together a long time, and it would be a longer time yet before he saw them again. He had given the ship's command to Roderick, his second. Roderick was a good man; he would take good care of the Hawke. Jacksparrow turned his attention back to the city. N'Orleans. The sight of her ancient buildings; her plazas, fountains, streets. The myriad smells and sounds. He had lived among the smells of incense and the lonesome tolling of bells for too long. The monks of Shai-sanguut were his family. But they were his second family. Valentine was his first family...his sister. They had both been sold into slavery at a young age. For a year, they had stayed together, working a hard life, but not a bad one, as servants at a N'Orleans' estate. Then...then the family had been killed in the night, and as the house burned and the slavers raided, he and Valentine had been separated. Separated for eighteen long years. On a south-bound slave ship he had escaped, diving overboard and swimming to a strange, jungle-bound shore. For days he had wandered, eating what he could, hunted by things he couldn't see. Then the monks had found him, taken him to the ziggurat deep in the high, dense trees of the jungle. There, they taught him secrets. There he had a family again. But word, carried in the stories the jungle birds sang, came to him that his sister had survived the N'Orleans fire; was somewhere in the north; was in desperate trouble. Jacksparrow said goodbye to his second family and went in search of the first. And now, after long, adventurous years spent on the high seas, aboard a vessel he could call his own...he was here. Home. Time to begin. -------------------------- Message 1254 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sat Sep 11 20:03:16 1999 EDT From: Tikiaido (#24781) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Sex, lies, and wanton destruction... Tiki was proud of himself. A little TOO proud. Suicidally proud. The kind of proud that makes you think you've gotten away with something and you forget to watch your back for the counterattack. Janna's explosives expert made the device. He just had to get the damned thing into the compound. Well, they never said it would be easy. He was given twin light SMG's and 6 extra clips, some ferrous-weave kevlar antibalisic armour, adrenaline boosting drugs, two droploading concussion grenade launchers and a book of matches. Hmmm.... didn't know what he'd need matches for... As he remembered looking at the place at first he though how it made him feel. These people were well armed. What if they had antipersonnel missiles!? Well, Janna had given him some kind of signal box that would make him appear at least to any missile that he wasn't where he was... And a well timed jump as it hit would probably get him out with some minor bruises. Rockets might be a problem because they were manually guided and aimed for the most part, but.. well, he knew the risks. He would either complete the task or get plastered trying, and he did it. He dropped an empty SMG from his hand as he ran out. He'd planted the device on the main deisel fuel holding tank. It didn't take much. From that one, giant, 5 kiloliter tank of deisel fuel, the entire compound went off like a giant grenade. Yes, Dakiron would miss their main storage facility. And they would be made to miss more. He came out of the mess with a severely scorched right shoulder, bullet wounds over most of his left arm, a broken leg, and a mangled tail. He had to face small military vehicles, and people with all manner of ranged weapon: Handguns, shotguns, SMG's, sniper rifles, asault rifles, sniper rifles, grenades... He even had to go against a giant lizard of some kind he could have sworn was some kind of dragon. If it were a dragon, it wasn't a very smart one. It opened its mouth to roar or to whatever, and Tiki lobbed a concussion grenade right down the throat. He was nearly crushed as the headless creature toppeled over, but he thought he handled that rather well, actually. And on the ride home, as he lie back with a couple of Medtechs and Janna's magic tending his wounds, he said to Janna, "You know about when I first met you and you mentioned Dakiron, and I muttered, 'sunuvabitchmustpay'?" And Janna chuckled, having seemed to read his mind and said softly, "Well, they're paying now." -------------------------- Message 1255 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Mon Sep 13 00:24:34 1999 EDT From: Scorch (#16959) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: tranquility She's been acting odd for weeks. The fire in her eyes still there yes...but it leaves her voice lowered. Leaves her temper cool, where it used to forge itself into a raging inferno over the tiniest thing. Pounce walked a quiet cirlce around the woman he was so sure that he knew. She simply offered him a tiny grin, and a short soft nod. He was perplexed. Couldnt figure this out, even asked her if she was on any medication for her temper. She tossed her head back and laughed, her fire glistend curls trailing down her back and shoulders. Was this cat to believe anything this woman said...she was acting so strange. The soft look in her eyes, the way that she walked, as if finally relaxed, not caring who or what came her way. Pounce kept his sharp feline vision on her every moment, watching for some subtle sign that the old Scorch was still somehow wrapped up in there... -------------------------- Message 1256 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Mon Sep 13 15:45:35 1999 EDT From: Jacksparrow (#24950) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Sword of Valentine Jacksparrow walked the night-haunted streets of N'Orleans. He was in a daze. In his hands he held cradled one of Valentine's swords. One of her precious rapiers. It's blade was blackened and singed; it's leather-wrapped hilt scorched beyond recognition. But the engraving was still there: Valentine's Deuce. In the past few days he had learned a lot about his sister's life. Learned of her love of a place called Mt. Morlith and of a woman named Yjezra, who had taken her in. He had learned of her aspirations to conduct a Peace Summit -- one which failed. To think! His sister, a politician! He had to laugh at the thought. He had also discovered something of her dark side. A side which pushed her to explore the wastes, ever hunting...perhaps seeking a death that the Eagle wouldn't give her. The Eagle. She had been fascinated by that strange entity during the past year or so. But Jacksparrow wasn't sure why. He would find out, though. His quest had brought him back to N'Orleans again and again. It had finally brought him to her sword. Blackened, burned. He had found the sword embedded in a vine-shrouded tombstone, hundreds of years old, in a forgotten part of the city. But the tombstone had borne Valentine's name. It couldn't be. In a fever, as the rain poured around him, soaking his clothes, his skin, the fibre of his being...he dug. first with the blade of his sister's rapier, then with his hands. He dug and dug into the soft, wet earth until his fingers were torn and bloody. The grave was empty. What did it mean? Now he walked the streets of the city -- this dark place where the dead walked. Was his sister one of them. Was she truly dead? As dawn approached he was no nearer to answering his myriad questions than when he began. But he had met a witch -- such as the monks had spoken of. A woman with magic. She called herself Aerie...and he would take his sister's ruined sword to her. Perhaps magic could whisper answers to him. Perhaps. -------------------------- Message 1257 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Mon Sep 13 16:10:30 1999 EDT From: Williker (#20481) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: uh Williker sat in his house, deep in the woods, cleaning his shotgun. It would soon be time... -------------------------- Message 1258 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Mon Sep 13 16:12:06 1999 EDT From: Pico (#14172) To: *storylines (#5236) Rathe was dead. He was alive for a little while, then he died, then he came back to life again. But now he was dead, because living was boring. Not that death was really much more interesting than life, mind you. He was just dead for a while. For tax purposes. The End -------------------------- Message 1259 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Mon Sep 13 19:32:01 1999 EDT From: Nightmare (#3791) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Silence and it's Deadly Qualities. Everything was still and silent in Cemetery. The Grave Dancers had long ceased their nightly moaning, and no longer stalked the paths with their grotesque faces. The sheol ravens had flown off to better fares. The rattlecobras dared not leave their underwater nests and even the worms burrowed deeper into the earth. Something wicked this way comes... (Yes, there will soon be a TP taking shape. Don't ask me about it through pages, I don't want to give it away. Anyone wishing to take part, go for it. Watch this board for more details.) -------------------------- Message 1260 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Mon Sep 13 22:39:59 1999 EDT From: Menroth (#14123) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: me. Menroth sat for a while, drinking in his misery, then it came to him, BAM! He bolted out of the bar and headed for the bathroom. -------------------------- Message 1261 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Mon Sep 13 22:43:52 1999 EDT From: Menroth (#14123) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Me, again! As Menroth sat there, watching the two chickens get it on, he suddenly thought of his own sex life, and proceeded towards the chickens. -------------------------- Message 1262 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Tue Sep 14 03:13:44 1999 EDT From: Tikiaido (#24781) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Retribution.... Oh, it was fun kicking Dakiron in the crotch like that. But... One problem. Tikiaido's new friends were the equivalent of a kickboxer versus DAKIRON FRIGGIN INDUSTRIES, the equivalent of Superman or a Bull elephant.... And those are both things even a VERY GOOD kickboxer wouldn't want to be kicking in the crotch.... He was tense. Unnaturally so. SnowHawk, the person he now loved with all his heart, nearly lost a good chunk of her left side to his claws because of this tension. He felt bad about that. But he didn't let it overshadow or make light of the fact that DAKIRON INDUSTRIES was now after his ass with a vengeance. It was a very simple thing. He had to hide out in his home or somewhere else safe and wait for contact. And, for the most part, the R/T building would be safe because he could easily enough run. AND Dakiron wouldn't just grab him in such a public place because they may or may not see Red as a threat. But he knew it would happen. And it was stressing him badly. -------------------------- Message 1263 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Tue Sep 14 03:14:05 1999 EDT From: Sinner (#12411) To: *storylines (#5236) Sinner, in the mouth of madness, ponders such mysteries as the time stream -- and how to control it. How to warp it in such a way that he would be the God of all, including Moonheart and that Toraxyn fellow. Yes. Yes -- he can see it now. With Yjezra as his hand maiden/slave girl, the world at his heel; it is enough to make this sinister nightmare drool, and shed a single tear. Bwa-ha-ha. -------------------------- Message 1264 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Tue Sep 14 07:54:43 1999 EDT From: Merri (#24667) To: *storylines (#5236) Akane had built the lab deep in an underground cave. Merri now nervously stood in front of the table as he watched. He may be her husband but as her Master and teacher in magic he could be an exacting task master. She chanted, her hands moving as she raised the cone of power to protect her. Holding the wand with both hands she poured every ounce of power in her into the ruby at it's tip, channeling and concentrating her all into the gem. Reaching out, she discharged the wand into the water in the silver cup. With some excitement, she dropped the wand on the table and lifted the cup with both hands, peering into it's depths. There was nothing there but water. In disappointment she placed the cup back on the table and turned to Akane. "What did I do wrong?" He frowned and moved to the table, "As far as I can tell, you did everything right.", he said. He stretched out a hand and passed it over the cup, singing some syllables as he did. With a greenish flash of light the water erupted out of the vessel, splashing both Merri and Akane. Akane laughed, looking at Merri's soaked face. Where did you get this water, my dear?", Akane said. Before she could answer he said, "You got it from the fountain in the garden, didn't you? Did you forget that the fountain is the center of the wards that guard this house? It's water is warded." "We will put this to rest for today and continue tomorrow. But next time, get the water from the well in the square." Merri blushed in mortification at her mistake. Akane put a comforting arm around her. "Don't worry, dear. You have what it takes to be a good mage. But it takes years of practice to become adept. You simply can't do it all in a day. In good time it will come. I can assure you of that." Merri sighed and dispelled the circle to the four cardinal points. Akane's words gave her some comfort. She had failed today...but there was always tomorrow. -------------------------- Message 1265 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Tue Sep 14 09:01:12 1999 EDT From: Figura (#16551) To: *storylines (#5236) They liked little of the room they filled; they remained more out of stilted loyalty and lack of alternatives than desire. While they had many memories of N'Orleans, they were broken, disjointed as a broken vase glued haphazardly back together -- there were a maze of cracks to be filled in. But they remembered all the same -- not her life, but countless others. Ever at odds with themselves, one quest was for a love lost to the centuries, the next for vengeance, another still for the key to dreams only half-solidified in its fractured mind. Their center could not hold; nothing bound them into one but a fragile cage of skin. ..she, of course, had organized their ranks. She was, however, long gone, and by choice. All the same, they had bent her to their will before. She would return, even if they had to drag her screaming back out of the dark corner she'd buried herself in. -------------------------- Message 1266 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Tue Sep 14 11:29:39 1999 EDT From: Pico (#14172) To: *storylines (#5236) Wtf.. serious TP posts? -------------------------- Message 1267 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Tue Sep 14 11:31:17 1999 EDT From: Surreality (#20542) To: *storylines (#5236) Surreality, OOC entity, watched with amusement as the confusion grew around her. RP? Here? She quietly cheered, all the while patting Pico on the back and calling him `elfietweetums' when he wasn't looking. -------------------------- Message 1269 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Tue Sep 14 14:03:49 1999 EDT From: Dante (#10660) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: The Approach 10 figures parted the stairs of the tower hall, each draped in their own chosen clothes. Some of black robes, some of color, it mattered little what they were wearing that night. The process began almost simply at first, spirit wozen to summon a gate, a pentacle formed from the two adepts power. Two magisters fed the sorcery as a rippling eldritch fire burst along the outlines of the dimensional nexus. One by one, the channeled power focused into the gate, the vortex of energy spiraling outward in the room. At first, there was no result, then a huge force, nothing tangible yet unseen appeared into the center of the gate. The wards strained against the force of the summoned creature, and Dante slowly walked over to the gate. Apparently pleased, he threw a shard of some sort of silver enchanted metal into the circle, only to disappear into the energy vortex. One by one, the parts came together, attaching to the stone of the tower floor. The magical creation, almost a construct by nature tore the floor apart to construct it's body, humanoid, if merely 7 feet in height, this creature rippled with sheer untamed power. Yet, the silver metal attached to the creature, almost like chains. Slowly the spirit was forced into the steel, as it retook the form of armor. The amount of energy being harnessed was barely controlled by the two adepts, yet the finished product would be well worth it as the spiral began to calm, almost as if the raging storm were being devoured by some unseen force. The stone statue remained motionless, the armor enchanted had failed. A faint moue of disapprovement crossed Dante's face as he opened the gateway, and shattered the wards. The armor itself still bound the spirit, but the effect was a failure. The guardian wasted, Dante retrieved a simple sword formed from the remaining material of enchanted silver. One by one the figures left the room, save for a lone figure who retieved the blade from the Adept. No sense letting it go to waste, considering how much effort they had put into it. Dante annoyed by the failure of the spellcasually flung the material components outside the tower, leaving the elements and scavengers to take them away. In another place, another time, a figure of power awoke. He felt a piece of himself missing, as he searched for what was taken, another miscalculation made by those who worked with things they did not understand began. Only time would tell, whether or not it was a fatal error. -------------------------- Message 1270 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Tue Sep 14 14:11:34 1999 EDT From: Red_Fang (#5907) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Plans... Red wandered back towards his keep smiling, he had drank just enough whiskey that his bones didn't ache from the abuse of the ages.. A new alliance.. He smiled hoping the girl he had nearly taken wasn't going to suffer to much from his actions.. But it had opened doors and things where beginning to happen.. Soon.. -------------------------- Message 1271 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Tue Sep 14 14:22:35 1999 EDT From: Pico (#14172) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Fuck you all Darkness had come. With darkness came memory. With memory came dreams. The Adept slept -- this much he knew -- and the darkness was his comfort. The darkness had always been his comfort; in the darkness, he could not be seen. In the darkness, his power grew. He lived in -- from -- the darkness. It was his home. The Adept was not the only one to make the dark his home. Death watched from the darkness; a soundless specter that waited for the Adept to make his one final, fatal move. Watched for the day that the Adept forgot to feed. Watched for the day that the Eagle's uncaring grasp was finally released. Watched to reclaim it's own. Watched to reclaim a part of itself. A part of Death walked the earth -- Death's possession, Death's charge, Death's error. Other Things waited, when the Adept slept. Things from beyond -- things that had died, but never escaped. Things that had died, but never found release. Things denied the return to Life, things denied passage into Oblivion. Insane things; things that hated the Adept. When he returned to the darkness, when he slipped into it's loving embrace, when he slept... these things waited for him. A chorus of maddened voices, cursing the Adept for the life they were denied. Reminding him of every horror that had ever been visited upon him; savoring, laughing, mocking. A constant reminder of the pain and torment that waited him, when he next returned to the grave. A taste of hell, every time he slept. In the early hours of the morning, when dragons slumbered on Morlith, when his enemies rested, when his students and armies had not yet woken to go about their daily works, Rathe woke in his bed, cloaked in expensive silks. Woke to his own screams, as he so often did. And there, where no ears but his own could hear, he wept. -------------------------- Message 1272 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Wed Sep 15 04:19:25 1999 EDT From: Scorch (#16959) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: submissive? Scorch languidly stretched her limbs across the cool fabric of her satin sheets, her fingers playing cutely against Pounces soft white fur. Her eye glancing over his feline features. Some unreadable, repressed emotion flickers across her irises quickly. Pounce awakend gingerly, but quite pert, as most cats do... he smiled warmly at Scorch, and tackled her playfully.... He made some idle mention of going out, and asked Scorch what she wanted to do. Her features twisted into a comely smile, and her lips part over her startling white teeth as she speaks. "I have only need of being with you where ever you go.... where would you wish to go" She blinks quietly awaiting his answer, but recieves a moment of curious pause before Pounce declines the adventure of the R/T. She chuckles softly as small talk echo's through the cool air of the cavern. After a few moments silence, she curls up on the corner of her bed once more and and settles back down into the comfort of a gentle nap..... -------------------------- Message 1273 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Wed Sep 15 04:55:52 1999 EDT From: Tikiaido (#24781) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: That tears it. Tikiaido stormed in the office and practically yelled in Janna's face, "We gotta talk!" Janna, startled, and speaking with a client of some kind, said, "Could you wait?" As she began to explain to the rather chubby man who Tikiaido was and what he might be doing here, Tiki lost patience and slashed his claws deeply across the man's left shoulder. Tiki rasped menacingly, raising the claws of his other hand, "Out, breeder." The man couldn't get to the office door fast enough as Janna gasped in utter shock at Tiki's behavior. He looked at her and said, "Oh, I hope I haven't interrupted anything..." Janna turned from shocked to angry quickly and said, "That was a potential sympathyzer to our cause! How dare you..." Tiki cut her off, "Oh, fuckin' save it. If he really gave a shit you wouldn't have to suck him off to get his support. Now fuckin' listen or you're next." Janna, practically shellshocked from all of this, dropped into her chair like a stone and merely nodded. Tiki rasped, "Good, glad to see I've gotten your attention. I'll do the mission. But I'm doing it my way and we're waiting a week so I can give Johnny's hammer back to him or someone close to him." Janna replied, "We can't wait ... we might not be here ... we need to act as soon as possible to assure the mission actually DOES get done while we still CAN..." Tiki scoffed loudly, "You're babbling, darlin'... It's a sign of low intelligence. And yes, you bloody can wait, or you can find someone else with my particular, or some may say peculiar skills, and either the insanity, stupidity, or suicidal tendancy to go on a mission that they're 100% sure of not coming back from. You wait or you find another idiot to waste your time on." Tiki stormed out of the office then, kicking the door out of its frame on the way out and slamming it behind him so hard if fell off of its hinges and lie broken on the floor, in a display that made his other coleagues wonder just what the hell was going on around here. He left the compound for the safety of his new home. His finally perfected burrow that he may not even get to enjoy much longer. -------------------------- Message 1274 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Wed Sep 15 05:57:18 1999 EDT From: Aerie (#24608) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Nightmares Aerie lay awake in her bed, staring at the ceiling of her cavern but not seeing it. She had kicked her sheets off during the night and had somehow twisted herself around in the alcove in which she slept, almost rolling onto the floor. Aerie had woken in a cold sweat, feeling Red Fang's knife against her throat, his manic laugh ringing in her ears. She had been utterly helpless, and hated herself for it. Years of training in magic had taught her well how to heal, but not to defend herself when she had to. Aerie swung her feet over the edge of the bed and stood up, gesturing absentmindedly at a candle to light it. Wrapping herself in a warm woolen cloak and pulling on her battered hiking boots, she picked up the candle and walked through the maze of caverns until she came to the ledge. It was not until she was high over N'Orleans, leaning against Daan'yrrli's long neck that something like peace came to her. After dismounting at the landing site and thanking the dragon she slunk along the silent streets of the ruined city to her other home, silently resolving to learn as much of the dark arts which she had ignored for so long as she could. An illusion of safety that had lasted nearly a quarter of a century had been shattered. -------------------------- Message 1275 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Wed Sep 15 12:37:50 1999 EDT From: Jacksparrow (#24950) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: The Eagle (it's a little long, but hopefully worth it...lo siento) Jacksparrow flung his chair back and leaped to his feet. With a look of horror on his usually calm countenance, he flung the snifter of brandy against the wall. It shattered, the shards sparkling in the dim light of Harper's Haven. 'What is it?' Leana asked, a look of concern on her own face. She looked around for some source of Jacksparrow's sudden outburst. But all she saw was the waiter who had served them. There wasn't even one of the undead creatures who had twice interrupted their quiet conversation. Jacksparrow could hardly control his voice, but he stammered out, 'Everything...dead, here. Why...why would someone open a bar...?' Leana shook her head, dyed-black locks hiding her green eyes for a moment, 'I don't understand.' Jacksparrow grabbed the girl's arm and pulled her to her feet. In a desperate whisper he said, 'Unless no one did, and the waiter is...' The waiter, prim in his black tux and white craveat, began to approach the table, but now they both could see what they hadn't noticed before: the man's skin hung loosely on his bones, and when the creature grinned at them, jagged teeth were exposed, framing a rotting tongue. Terror gripping them both, they hurried toward the door, away from the groping arms of the undead waiter. As they pushed through the door, Jacksparrow heard the thing growl, 'Your check, sir...your check, sir...' In the street, the two stood panting. But all around were more of the shambling horrors. Tightly clutching each other's hands, they fled through the mists and shadows, hoping to find a ship to take them someplace safe before something else found them. At the plaza, something found them first. It was an abomination: half lizard, half human. In its hands was a massive sledge hammer, and on its face was a feral grin. Jacksparrow tried to get to the ship requester, but he wasn't quick enough. The sledge hammer came thundering down, and he knew nothing else for a long while. The first thing the southerner heard as he regained consciousness was the rasping voice of the lizard thing. 'Consider me your tour guide. There's a few things you ought to see.' Then, Leana's voice, asking, 'You could have _asked_!' 'I could have used less subtle means,' the thing answered, 'I could have poked ya with my spear. But then you'd have a hole in your side.' 'Yeah,' Jacksparrow said, groaning, 'Glad you went with the hammer.' He rubbed his head and looked around: a beautiful garden; a fountain. Leana was drinking from the fountain, and her wounds were healing. More magic. 'I'm Tiriaido,' the lizard-thing said, seeing that the man was awake. 'You're coming with me on a little tour.' 'Do we have a choice?' Jacksparrow asked. Tiriaido grinned. Was it one day? A week? An hour. Time seemed strange as Jacksparrow and Leana were shown the wonders of the Ghostwheel. They saw lush gardens and vast expanses of wasteland. They were shown creatures of metal and wire, which stared at them with glass eyes; mutations of radiation; skies which roiled with color. 'One last place,' Tiriaido said. The plane tore up turf and sent clouds of dirt into the air as it settled on a ridge. Exiting, the two saw a scene of immense beauty: they looked out across a steaming valley, seeming to almost shimmer. 'This is my home.' It's amazing,' Jacksparrow said. Tiriaido nodded, 'You just have to watch out for the...' A growl came from the underbrush nearby, and suddenly a pack of slaver-jawed wolves were upon them! Tiriaido lept into battle, swinging his sledge, as Jacksparrow and Leana sought shelter nearby. Each of the wolves was huge, strange in more than one way. Even Tiriaido, with his thick muscles and obvious skill, was falling back under their onslaught. Jacksparrow wasn't sure what happened next...Leana yelled something, and he turned. Then there were jaws, and yellow fangs and rending claws. Sharp pain burned through him... His first thought, on awakening, was 'Psychotic frickin' lizard!'. His second was, 'Leana!'...his third was... That was it. It was as high as a tower. It's wings were spread as wide as a universe. Its gaze was everywhere, and nowhere. Magic and power crackled around it: the beginning and end of worlds; of space; of time. 'What is it?' Leana whispered, sparkling into existence near Jacksparrow. 'I think it's the Eagle,' Jacksparrow answered reverently. 'The guardian my sister wrote about in her journal. I think...I think we're dead, and that soon the Eagle will send us back.' They both looked at it in awe. 'No wonder my sister was fascinated by it.' Jacksparrow whispered. And then the vast and terrible gatekeeper turned a single black eye upon them...and in that blackness Jacksparrow saw eternity. Then he was lying in his bed at the Hacienda. The familiar furnishings and gear where he remembered leaving it earlier in the evening. He staggered to his feet, his mind whispering insanities to him. He stumbled to the mirror and looked at his face. He was alive. The Eagle had brought him back from the land of the dead, just like Valentine had written. Wiping an arm of his duster across his eyes, Jacksparrow crawled back into his bed. He didn't even bother to get undressed. -------------------------- Message 1277 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sat Sep 18 05:44:33 1999 EDT From: Skywalker (#6644) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Next post The next message I post to this list may not be to everyone's tastes. Frankly, if I saw a similar message from someone else, about people I don't know or don't care about, I wouldn't read it. So if you don't care for how it's written, and I know a lot of you won't, I don't need to hear about it. I know there's at least two people for whom it's important that the following post be made in the manner it was written. On a related note, what it contains is true and it was decided upon by the two parties involved (so I'm not just being a bastard). -------------------------- Message 1278 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sat Sep 18 05:48:26 1999 EDT From: Skywalker (#6644) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Last Kiss He smiled as he walked through the streets of Toosay Island. It was a sunny August afternoon and the end of an uneventful shift at the Oceanus Clinic. As he strolled along, the busy thoughts of another mind stirred in the back of Skywalker's consciousness, and he had grown so fond of the presence over the past six years. Through the soulbond, he knew that Darci was up to something new...she always was. He concentrated, focusing until he could see the world through her eyes.... A scroll of yellowed parchment was being unrolled and the faded characters on it were being looked over one last time. A familiar feeling came over him and he knew from experience that she was concentrating to cast a spell. He had seen Darci studying the same paper before for hours on end, and knew it to be some kind of magical document. Without warning, the ancient paper crumbled to dust in Darci's hands and the backlash from the failed spell sent a wave of weakness through her, overwhelming her and causing the same effect in her companion. Skywalker fell to his knees at that instant, shaking his head violently to clear it. As he regained his bearings, he saw that he was in front of their building with a crowd of people starting to gather around. Ignoring their inquiries, he climbed the stairs as best he could, clambering and feeling weaker by the moment. It was with great difficulty that Skywalker managed to unlock the door and open it in his frantic state, knowing that something horrible was happening. As he stumbled over the threshold, he saw Darci leaning against the side of the bed in a dazed state. He crossed the distance quickly with several long strides, picking her up in his arms to set her down on the bed. Immediately, the medkit was removed from his bag, but a soft hand was laid upon his, stopping him from an activity that he, himself knew would be useless. They could both feel that the very core of Darci's life force was being sucked away by something unknown and there would be no Midrealm, no Eagle to reunite them. Skywalker looked up into Darci's soft brown eyes, watching as the irises lost their brilliance with each second that passed. Unknown to them both, the mage's soul was being drained from her body, looking like a plume of luminescent smoke as it drifted toward the ceiling to dissipate into nothingness. As they locked their gazes with one another, Darci opened her mouth to speak. "Hold me." The words didn't need to be spoken as Skywalker lifted her to a half-sitting position. Precious moments passed and the two soulmates communicated their tearful goodbyes through their shared bond. Then, the young Submariner leaned down, and they kissed their last kiss. He had no time to mourn and no time to shed more tears as the last spark of life winked out in his beloved's eyes. The pain from the severed bond in addition to his emotional state was too much, and Skywalker suddenly found himself greeted with a chaotic unconsciousness. Back in their hotel room, the two lovers looked as peaceful as if they had fallen asleep in each other's arms. -------------------------- Message 1280 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sat Sep 18 15:03:46 1999 EDT From: Figura (#16551) To: *storylines (#5236) Spam will follow later, when I'm half-awake to write. Seraph's back to her old name and is slightly less loopy now; feel free to page her for RP type things, or evil newbie assitance. -------------------------- Message 1281 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sun Sep 19 03:22:34 1999 EDT From: Shandryl (#24740) To: *storylines (#5236) Shandryl was new to the Island of Jizo. At the tender age of three, it was apparent to all the Spellbinders that her destiny was to lead thier people. Only once every 500 years was there born a child with a gift this strong. This, combined with her gifts of Elemental Control, would help her to become a good Healer. But her destiny was placed on hold, when the small band she was travelling with was raided upon by the N'Orleaner's. The undead. And she was left behind, to be found by a wanderer and traded to Melanchor as a slave. She served him well, cooking and cleaning and serving ale in his Tavern. She managed to keep her innocence and to gain physical strength that would enable her to escape. She listened and learned of another life outside this place.Having heard stories from the bards drinking in the Three Kegs, she learned that her destiny was not in this land. Waiting for her Master to fall into a drunken stupor, she left with the yolk of buckets to draw water from the stream. Sensing her time had come, she ran. Awaking in the hold of a ship that was docking on Jizo Island. Now she wanders, gaining strength, experience and skills so she may find her way. She looks only for the one that wears the other half of the mark she bears on her breast. She is a seeker. Looking to perfect the gifts she has and to find the one that will fulfill her need to belong. -------------------------- Message 1282 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sun Sep 19 20:55:30 1999 EDT From: Jacksparrow (#24950) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Valentine's Journal Jacksparrow smiled fondly at his new ward, watching her as she ascended the Hacienda's central staircase. He shook his head. What was he thinking? Don't care, he had told himself; if you care, you have to fight; if you have to fight, you'll lose everything: your sister, your self, everything. He shook his head again and unlocked the door to his room. He would think about this again in the morning. For now, he had other matters to attend to. He had found Valentine's journal. He sat down upon his bed and withdrew the book from where he had hidden it. For a moment, he let his fingers caress the strange binding: bits of dragon scale that Valentine had picked up from around her home upon Mt. Morlith. Then he opened the pages to the last entry and read: 'I have it! The last piece of the puzzle! Oh...it took so long. But there are places the Eagle's talons can't reach, we knew that. I had been there. Places far to the west, the east, the south, the cold, frozen north. I took trinkets from these places. But I've said this already. I'm just so excited. 'The Eagle is an anathema, a blight, a pestilence upon the cycle of life and death and rebirth! We cannot be re-born! We return as we were before, hardly scathed. We've learned nothing. Nothing! `I don't know why it is here. I don't know what the Midrealm is. I don't give a damn! I have the puzzle pieces now. I have spent the last three days purifying my blades, honing the edges. They have been dipped in the sacrament of death and I am death, and death is I! 'Things will be as they were before. 'Before the Fall; before the hatred; before...before the Eagle! 'I am death, and I am hunting! Jacksparrow closed the book and felt a tear trace its way down the tattoo that circled his eye. It was the final entry in the journal. He had read it a dozen times or more. His sister had been quite mad. And he feared where her madness had driven her. -------------------------- Message 1283 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sun Sep 19 21:43:59 1999 EDT From: Coreen (#18717) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: The Wait The afternoon sun shone warmly on Coreen's face, the wind playing her hair around her face and shoulders with its soft caress. The surf crashing softly in the background, she pondered. She had been waiting a long time for Dante to come through on his promise...how could she have trusted his word? 'Because I had no other choice...' came her mind's answer. Her hand instinctively clenched into a fist, long dormant anger rising once more in her veins. She somehow felt...right...when she was angry. Things seemed to come into clearer focus, and she came to think that she had felt this way before, though she had no recollection of it. The memory drifted almost to within reach of her mind, but she could attain only a sense of deja vu, nothing more. Maybe Dante had played with her mind, as many had suggested. She shook her head to clear it of the notion. It couldn't be true. It was rumor, nothing more. Yes. Again the anger rose in her veins, and she felt its exhilaration sweeping through her body...she began to focus her thoughts once more, on the source of her anger. Dante. The child. Yes, that was it...she needed to recover the child. From Dante. Dante.... Her lips twisted into a sneer as the name passed her thoughts. Her other hand clenched into a fist, the pounding of the surf of the beach began to be drowned out by the sound of her heartbeat in her ears. Something had to be done...the question was what. What could she do against his power? She had faced him before, after her encounter with the artifact in the desert, and failed... 'Try again...' came a distant voice in her head. She looked around, scanning the beach for the source, but found no one... She called to Devon, but got no response. An eerie feeling came over her, her eyes still fruitlessly scanning the beach. The bushes rustled and a mini-rex jumped out, causing Coreen to startle and tumble into the surf, a yelp of surprise echoing across the empty beach. The rex turned its head to one side, regarding her curiously. She bit her lip, muttering curses to herself, slowly standing. She cast a glance at her sodden dress, sighing and shaking her head. 'Try again, indeed,' she murmured to herself as she stepped out of the surf, the dry sand clinging to her bare feet. 'How can I retrieve the child from Dante if I still jump at my own shadow...?' -------------------------- Message 1284 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Mon Sep 20 21:13:32 1999 EDT From: Shandryl (#24740) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: the visit She awoke early the next morning, having had a disturbing night thinking about her meeting with her new protector. She felt confused and exhiliarated when he was present, and these both were feelings she had never felt before. But there was something else too. She could sense that it was his presence on the LadyHawke that that got her through those days and nights when she was hungry and cold, waiting for her journey to Jizo to end. She knew she felt more akin to this man than she had ever felt before to another human being. She told herself, "You are being silly Shandryl. You have a purpose to fulfill and do not let anyone stop you from getting on with it." Still, she had a montage of feelings she knew she had never felt before, and wondered what their purpose would be. Just then she heard a knock on the door, and it was Him! She was so flustered an selfconscious she could barely undo the lock. This was not at all like her. He bowed as he entered, and again she felt the presence of something larger than she could name. After idle chit chat, she found out the purpose of his visit. He had received a letter from the First Mate on his vessel and he was leaving Jizo to go back to N'Orleans. She didn't trust her ears and lost most of anything else he was telling. A lump filled her throat, her stomach turned, and she felt a great sense of loss. Shandryl swallowed all thoughts she had of being rebuked, and admitted to Jacksparrow that it was His ship she had stowed away on, and that she knew him, having never seen him before, from that experience. He finally began to understand that maybe their meeting wasn't just happenstance. As he explained to her about his sister, Valentine, she again felt the strange sensation that she knew all this. Had lived it, Had experienced it, and offered to help Jacksparrow in his search to find Valentine. Shandryl also thought that maybe, with his help, she could continue her own journey searching for the person that kept calling to her in her Dreams. They parted and agreed to speak more at another time. Almost immediately there was another knock at the door, and Shandryl opened it quickly thinking that Jack had forgotten something. There, in the door stood a stranger. He was wild eyed, fatigued, and appeared like he needed not only a bath but a good hot meal. He entered and walked past Shandryl and she felt how odd this was. She offered him some fruit, and watched him from the corner of her eye trying to size him up. As she sang a song in her native tongue, he began to hum along. Feeling an overriding sense of doom, Shandryl looked for her dagger. It lay across the room on the table where she used it to cut the fruit. Backing up, asking the sranger pointed questions, she located the dagger and grabbed it, cutting her hand severely in the process. This man knew too much. He knew her songs, her language, even the Bayou where she had escaped her slavery. Accusing him of being sent to bring her back, she began to hurl harsh words at him. The loss of blood and anxiety of the moment caused her to faint. When she awoke, she realized that the stranger, having cared for her while uncononscious, was not out to harm her. They spoke, and she offered him a cot to rest on. Again, another knock on the door. As she opend it, an eerie image of a dead woman floated into into the room. This intruder would not speak, but Shandryl recognised her from the picture Jack had shown of his sister. It was Valentine. Or was it??? Perhaps it was one of the undead coming to kill her.. or worse. As she raised her dagger, the image of Valentine disappeared. Shandryl woke with a start, realizing the visit was a dream. She saw the stranger sleeping soundly on the cot. Rolling over, she murmered to herself that she would think of all this tomorrow. -------------------------- Message 1285 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Mon Sep 20 23:25:29 1999 EDT From: Valentine (#24957) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Morte de Valentine I don't want to remember. I am dead, and I remember. How can that be? How should that be? I remember the Eagle. Oh, I had so carefully prepared! I had annointed my blades in a death that would have to touch even the creature that... My eyes burn! I touched the Eagle with a blade, with sweet 'Deuce', and my eyes burn! There was light, and pain, and pain, and pain, and then darkness. I'm dead. I know this. I feel the lack of life in every cell. But I'm not dead. I'm not. The Eagle cast me down. And I fell until all I knew was the falling. Until all I knew was the darkness. The Eagle _saw_ me! Not like those other times when I died, and returned, and died and returned. No, the Eagle _saw_ me. Nothing has ever laid me bare like that. Not Lykaj and his traitorous blade wiped across my throat; not Red Fang with his sweet words; not tooth of wolf, claw of Chimera, or soul of dragon has ever...has ever... The Eagle cast me down. The Eagle saw me. Then the Eagle caught me up again. I don't know what I saw in those eyes. I don't...I won't remember. But for the first time, for the first time, borne up by those fabulous wings...I know what peace is. I am terrified... -------------------------- Message 1286 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Wed Sep 22 02:38:07 1999 EDT From: Shandryl (#24740) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: New Orleans When Shandryl saw the note that was delivered her heart sank. It was from Jack. Dear Shandryl: Right now I find myself very confused. I find that I am attracted to you in many ways. But...but there is another. Not the woman Leana I spoke of before...but I lied to you when I said that I had not been with, not seen, another woman before you. And it is to she that I owe my alligence, my love, my soul. This is not a goodbye. I am still your ally, your companion, your friend...but what more? I don't know what more I can be. I hope you can understand this feeble writing. The words won't come to me and I grind at the pen in despair. But this is not a goodbye. I am going to go hunting again, and try once more to find the Ladye Hawke, a task at which I failed this morning. I will return. --Jacksparrow... Before she could even finish reading, He appeared. She ran to him and hugged him, but saw the look in his eyes. The beautiful green eyes seemed dark and lifeless, and he appeared possessed. He had visited the tomb of Valentine. "Take me there, Jacksparrow. I need to see for myself", she asked him. And he agreed. Walking through the cemetary was the most firghtening thing she had ever done. Shandryl felt she was walking with a zombie. Soon they came came upon the grave. As Jack fell to his knees crying for his sister and pleading for her spirtit, Shandryl reached too close and slipped down into the deep hole. As she clawed to get out, an eerie vision came and touched her shoulder. Valentine was there. "Watch your self wench", she told Shandryl, "for the Eagle comes to this place often. He has his eye on you!" Shivering in fear, Shandryl scurried to the surface drenched in sweat and slime. The look on Jack's face told all she needed to know. She _had_ to go visit eagle, and she had to help him settle this business with his sister. Walking back through the town, they were ambushed by a mob of the undead. Jack took the first two, fighting with all his might and getting wounded in the chest. Shandryl dodged, and struck at the monsters as they approached. She glared at one and he ran away. Fighting with another, she was doing quite well when she saw Jack in trouble. She tried to heal him, but her power was not strong enough and he died in her arms. Blinded now with anger she lashed out with her spear, sticking one of the monsters and sending him along with Jack to the Mid-Realm. Suddenly, she heard a loud hissing behind her and one of the zombies was there almost on top of her! The stench of rotting flesh and the maggots crawling from his mouth caused her to back off just long enough that he landed a mortal blow. Suddenly she was riding on the wing of the eagle. Looking into his dark lifeless eye she what Valentine already knew. This creature was beautiful, and he could be defeated, allowing death to come and be permanent. Then all turned black. And nothing remained. -------------------------- Message 1287 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Thu Sep 23 00:28:13 1999 EDT From: Shandryl (#24740) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: a lesson learned. After Shandryl returned to N'Orleans, she began to reconstruct just what had happened to her. She put her fist through the wall as she remembered something she had been told and not understood. "The trick is never to care. You see, if you care then you must fight. And if you fight, you will lose everything." he told her once. And that is just what she had done. She had cared for Jacksparrow. And look where it got her. She went to New Orleans, got into a fight and let her guard down when he was killed. And she lost. She lost it all. Shandryl knew something had happened that night in the city. She was angry and glared at a zombie. And he ran. And she felt exhiliarated, then totally weak. She tried to think about that. She knew her magic was all but nonexistent. Yet she called upon it and it worked. She decided she would do two things. She needed to find more crystal and hone her fighting skills. And she needed to find a teacher. Someone that would take time to show her the ways to understand her gift, and to enhance it. She was off again for Jizo Island, to prepare for the _next_ time. -------------------------- Message 1288 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Fri Sep 24 21:16:42 1999 EDT From: Leana (#24946) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Lonely thoughts Leana lied on the ground in her tent, her eyes closed tightly, trying to push back the thoughts that kept coming to her. She shivered as she lied there, tears starting to come to her. It had been so long since she had seen anyone she cared for...When she ran for her life, she had left everything she had dear. Her family, her life, and, despite what he had done....and what she had done, her love... She wiped her eyes, but more tears just continued to come. She finally sat up, looking around. She had tried to adjust to this new place, but it wasn't the same...There was no one here for her, no love, no caring. It was the first time she had ever felt so alone, and it scared her. As her eyes scanned her stuff, a small smile came to her face as she crossed a small flower, made from the feathers of a sparrow. She sighed, staring at it. 'Maybe there is somthing here...' She stared at the thing that Jack had given her, and picked it up, holding it close to her as she lied back down, trying to fall into a much needed sleep. -------------------------- Message 1289 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sat Sep 25 01:17:46 1999 EDT From: Jett (#3791) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Bloody Kisses. To all beginnings, there must eventually be an ending. Silvermoon, daughter of the Magus Moonheart. Once full and bright as any flame of life flickering on the Earth. Now a mere sliver of her former brilliance. She knew she was dying. Each day he taxed her further, poking here, prodding there. Idly she wondered how much more of this she could endure. How much longer before he finally broke her. Yet, in the back of her mind she found herself unable to care, not even enough to hide her state from her twin, Rand. She felt his agony, a distant ache soemwhere within the recesses of her mind. He suffered as she did, even as her body grew numb and her mind began to cave in on itself. Release would not come without a price. *Good bye, Rand. I love you, brother. I'm sorry I cannot be as strong as you.* Death came on an angel's wings, not the familiar sight of the Eagle's talons. But, she had not been in the domain of the great Eagle, which left her subject to the sweet embrace, the bloody kiss of the Reaper. And she welcomed it. -------------------------- Message 1290 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sat Sep 25 17:40:16 1999 EDT From: Valentine (#24957) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: A strange development Valentine remembered more. But it was like she was in a haze: all around were cobwebs, and she tried to push through them...but she was so tired... Somewhere, beyond the veil, she heard a voice. No, not just a voice. A Voice. The Voice questioned her, asked her about her life, her works, her soul. And then she felt her body! Suddenly it was around her, like the fit of two perfectly-twined lovers; like the sheathe of a finely-honed sword. She felt her hands, her arms, her legs...she felt! But her mind was still clouded. She felt her body responding to the words of the Voice; she felt herself doing things. But she wasn't sure what. What was happening? Then, after a long, long time it seemed, her mind floating in a white space far from the Eagle, connected only to life by the touch of her own skin, she heard a word. A name. And for a moment her mind was behind her eyes again, and she _knew_. 'Vale! Is that you?' the voice had asked, and in the sound of it had been a memory older by far than images of the Eagle, of Yjezra, of the world of the Ghost Wheel. Jacksparrow! For an instant, her mind was fully in her body, and she knew what had happened: the necromancer Dante (how could she know his name, she thought in that moment of suspended time...but she knew) had stumbled upon the grave the Eagle had made for her...the place she was to wait. Somehow, she knew that the necromancer's appearance hadn't been chance alone, either. The Eagle had guided Dante's steps toward an end that would be suitable punishment for Valentine's sin. This she knew. She also knew that her brother had come for her. Sweet Jacksparrow! Whom she had thought dead in that long-ago fire and raid by slavers in N'Orleans. But he was alive, and had come for her! Then the necromancer spoke a word, and the cobwebs were pulled back across her sentience. She cursed him and growled. She _would not_ be controlled like some kitchen wench by some death-draped wizard who had played in the wrong cemetery at the right time! But she felt her body obeying him, and knew that her will wasn't strong enough. She had learned _that_ lesson years ago, when the witch Zillah had subjugated her in a similar way: on a similar whim. Then Valentine felt magic in the air. She _felt_ it surround her: the necromancer playing with spells that he should have left well enough alone. Spells beyond his kin. Light flared in the whiteness of her veiled senses and then she could see again. Her senses were again as acute and as keen as ever. She felt her body around her again... But something was wrong. Something was different. She looked down at herself. In her mind, Valentine smiled. The necromancer had made a mistake. He had been playing, and hadn't realized what would happen. Her mind was free! But, for the moment, she would play his game. She couldn't fight his will if he realized...he would just subjugate her again. >From across the room, Jacksparrow cried out to a woman Valentine recognized: Coreen. He pleaded to her, 'Help us if you can, please!' and then he fled the room. But Valentine listened to the words of the necromancer, and followed thier instructions. For now, she would hide here... Waiting... -------------------------- Message 1291 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sun Sep 26 19:58:09 1999 EDT From: Vertemis (#23360) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Painting the town red The cool night breeze of the desert poured over the small outpost. The area was dark save for a few sparse lanterns illuminating some of the larger tents. The canvas of the portable shelters slapped together with the wind, filling the air with noise. The two men peered over the sand dune, examining the camp. Strapped with night vision goggles, the pair casually searched the area for what they were looking for. "There.." Vertemis said, pointing towards a group of crate at the southern end of the compound. The warrior nodding in agreement quickly scampered to the otherside of Vertemis. They took one more glance over their cover, "Ready when you are." Vertemis said. The two bolted over the dune, heading at full speed to the crates. "We just need one." the mechanic said to his partner, tossing the crate to Williker. "Let's go!" Taking towards the sand, the pair ran towards the pickup point. A few men from the camp caught sight of them as they attempted to escape. "Get those rogues!" one of them shouted. Williker and Vertemis turned tail, retreating into the dark wasteland night. The men from the compound followed close behind, "Shoot to kill." The duo lept over dunes, and over crests of sand, the rattle of automatic fire close behind. The truck was not far. Williker hoped onto the pickup, dropping the crate and readying his tommygun, "Die Bitches!" the punk shouted, spraying hundreds of rounds of hot lead at the attackers. "Hit it!" he yelled to the drivers, who threw the truck into gear as Vertemis leapt into the bed. Vertemis levelled his shotgun at one of them men, firing a few shots, but missing completely. Vertemis threw up his arms and then moved them down across his groin in the 'suck it' fashion. The rusty truck sped off into the night. -------------------------- Message 1292 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Mon Sep 27 16:37:45 1999 EDT From: Vertemis (#23360) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Letter to Dakirion Vertemis sat at the drafting table, writing up the letter of request to Dakirion. I'm an interested in obtain the services of one of your recomb lines. Please send me any bio's of recombs you have available. Looking for a sturdy recomb, suited well for wasteland living. Price is negotiable. Contact me as soon as possible. Sincerely, Thomas Vertemis OOC: Looking for a recomb without a master that needs one. Benefits include shelter, minor protection and steady income ( The price normally paid to Dakirion will be paid to you ). Must be a recomb that would survive well in the dry heat and the wasteland. @send me if interested. -------------------------- Message 1293 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Tue Sep 28 02:51:05 1999 EDT From: Tikiaido (#24781) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Dakiron's dirty dealings... As he slid the pannel aside, he nearly jumped as he saw it. The secret pannel to the base of his "associates" was seeping what could only be described as partially coagulated blood. He decided to wait, running into the wasteland silently. Sure enough, several men came out of the base, and they were carrying big bundles. He didn't know if they were bodies that the men were carying, but Tikiaido buried himself in the sand near their previous tracks so only his eyes were visible and watched them leave. They had on various types of metalic armour and that armour had Dakiron logos on it. He thought that that would be bad. He went in the base after he was sure that nobody was going to come back and checked the place. They'd picked it clean. And what was worse, they'd stripped the bodies of every bit of clothing, and left nothing of value there. The desks were stripped of papers, the weapons lockers had nothing in them, and this looked like a severe surprise attack. People were left where they fell, though on the ground, and the naked bodies were mauled with lead. Blood was everywhere and the bodies looked like they'd been chewed by some huge, vicious animal. Some were missing heads, arms, various limbs, chunks of flesh, but all had meat hanging out everywhere and were absolutely grotesque to behold. He said to himself, "Jeezus... they must've used some kinda miniguns... Fuckin' butchers." Then he felt a sharp pain in the back of his neck, twitched once and everything went black. He awoke in a holding cell, more like a glorified cage than anything else, with a man in the same kind of armour outside. It was explained to him that he now had non-infectious, non-transmissible disease that would kill him in under two days if he did not comply with what Dakiron wished of him. He was to find a master, and become productive again. Stop causing Publin Relations scandals for Dakiron and above all, stop damaging the company. And he intended to do all of those and more, just to keep from being terminated. The realization was finally made that he was a slave, and never would be anything more. And it crushed him. -------------------------- Message 1294 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Wed Sep 29 19:54:29 1999 EDT From: Vertemis (#23360) To: *storylines (#5236) The garage grew hot, and Vertemis longed for a little fresh air. The mechanic packed up his tools and took a brief stroll in the desert air. He had always loved the wasteland. The desert winds, the beautiful sand dunes, Vertemis liked all parts of it. The sun was making its way towards the horizon, but he still had a few more hours of daylight. After walking for 20 or 30 minutes, Vertemis turned back to head towards home. He could see the hangar in the distance, it wasn't too far off, but between him and the hangar was an odd object that needed examining. As he gained ground on the lifeform, its shape became more distinct, but that didn't clarify the matter for Vertemis. He approached within a few yards of the being before he was able to grasp what he was looking at. Standing before him was a 5 foot tall glob of gelatenous material. The blob quivered with the wind of the desert. The sun shined through the cube, spraying a wheel of colors like light through a prism. Vertemis circle the object. It seemed to be almost... alive. That was enough for him, and quickly he ran off towards the hangar convinced he would determine its origin another day... or at least with some more people. -------------------------- Message 1295 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sat Oct 2 09:54:18 1999 EDT From: Shandryl (#24740) To: *storylines (#5236) and Shandryl (#24740) Subject: awakening Shandryl wandered the Island of Jizo, blindly killing the monsters and honing her battle skills. Startled, she looked up from her kill and saw Merri there. "What a fine woman", Shandryl thought. "Not at all like the whores in the Tavern." Merri invited her to travel to her home and Shandryl agreed, curious as to what new things she should find. Entering the Spellsinger Hall, Shandryl found an old gentleman sitting at the table. This one made her curious as she had never seen a man not drunk and sweaty before, Then she heard a wail and she wielded her dagger. Merri told her it was their child, Michael. Now, indeed, this was very curious, a mother actually in posession of her child?? When children were worth so much on the blackmarket? Merri left to bring back Michael, and Akane began questioning her about her purpose and goals. Shandryl was by now very confused. When Merri brought the child down he peered curiously at Shandryl. Feeling she was under attack, Shandryl attempted her new skill and glared at Michael. But it did nothing but make him laugh! Seeing this interaction, Akane again asked Shandryl what her purpose was. It was then Shandryl understood, she would become an apprentice if he let her. And so it was to be. -------------------------- Message 1296 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sun Oct 3 15:01:55 1999 EDT From: Jacksparrow (#24950) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Cowardice The sun was still in the sky. The moon still swung about the earth. The borealis of the wastelands still rippled across the night. He had seen Valentine. He had seen her deep in thrall to the necromancer Dante, who played with her like a toy. Jacksparrow winced at the memory. But more, he winced at the thought of his own fear. The fear which had forced him to flee the magic of the necromancer. But it was more than that. When he realized that the puppet on Dante's string was Vale, his little Vale...he had felt the Eagle in her, around her. And that force pushed against him, a massive repulsion. He was suddenly struck with an epiphanal knowledge: He and Vale would never be together. They would never laugh at some insipid joke, they would never waltz across a dance floor like they had when they were children; they would never share dark secrets; they would never casually reach out and brush aside the other's stray lock of hair... Never. He could live with that, though. Understand why? No. But he could live with the knowledge that his sister was inaccesable to him. As long as she was alive, and safe. And then Dante had done what Dante had done. A trifle, the minds of humans to such a monster -- as easily manipulated as spoken to. Jacksparrow had never felt such a power: fingertips pressing and ripping at his mind. The monks had tried to prepare him for such assaults: they had made him exercise his willpower, his magical Focus. But he had let his guard down. Valentine was in the room with him, and he hadn't been able to think. The world had ripped asunder, and Dante had remolded his playthings. 'Well, he wanted to find his sister,' the mage laughed. 'I just helped him to know her better.' Jacksparrow threatened. He tried to wield Vale's rapier, but the weapon was awkward and clumsy, not like his own honed broadsword. His body was rebelling against him. His body! Jacksparrow saw the irony, but he was in no position to appreciate it. He threatened and cursed and finally, weakened by magic and by the strange Law of the Eagle which would keep him from his sister... Jacksparrow fled into the night. 'The only thing I can think to do,' he writes into his journal, 'Is to gather together those out there who may hate the necromancer as much as I. The monks taught me not to hate...but I hate this man, this monster. I hate him with such a passion that I fear it will destroy me. And with me, Valentine. 'But I will gather together a posse, if I must, and we will bear our torches to the Dante's gates, and we will burn him down, if that is what it takes to free my sister from his claws.' Somehow, he knew, he must make things right. He would make things right. -------------------------- Message 1297 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Tue Oct 5 04:39:33 1999 EDT From: adele (#12937) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Adele Once upon a fable, in a time to long ago for comfort, and a land close enough to worry over, there was a young girl named Adele. Now Adele was a darling child. A head of shiny ebony curls, and eyes of silken blue. She smelled like the sweet apple cider that her daddy brought home from the market. Her father was teh town's blacksmith, and her mother had died giving birth to her...but her father lover her dearly, and he was teh world to her. Well one day, she got lost, as small children tend to do. It all happened so gradually that she hadn't even noticed until it was far to late. She had started the day filling her small basket with sweet smelling flowers with which to decorate her house, and as the story goes, the child followed that trail of deliciously sweet flowers, and thus lost her way. As small children will, she sat down on a large flat boulder and cried when she learned that she might never find her way home. Unnoticed by the child, a quiet stranger stood vigil over her, taking in ever sweep of the girl's movements, every litle trail that her warm childish tears had made. He would have smiled to himself, only he ha no lips with which to smile, and he would have raised his nose to catch her scent, only he had no nose with which to smell her. It was any wonder that he could see her, his eyes seemingly only two tiny impressions into the blank area that would have been his face. The being pulled his cloak forward to shadow himself and moved to approach the weeping child. Adele could no longer contain her young, childish woes, and soon they revealed themselves as warm streaming tears. She sat with her chubby little hands pressed against her reddening cheeks. Suddenly a noise from a nearby thickey caught her by surprise. Her delighted young eyes settled upon the cloaked figure. So full of simple joy to see another living being, she smiled broadly in the direction of the faceless man, her chubby fingers clapping with anticipation. If the demon could have, he would have smiled at the sugar-coated treat that he had just stumbled upon. he stepped close and she could smell the sickly sweet scent of decay on his skin. Even thought she was so young, her intuition knew something was wrong, her tummy twisted into knots that made her feel sick. There was something scary about this man. She closed her eyes and wished for her daddy. This man wanted to hurt her... -------------------------- Message 1298 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Tue Oct 5 06:07:52 1999 EDT From: Tikiaido (#24781) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Radioactive Lizard Blues... Tikiaido chuckled softly as the second person in as many days had done all but run screaming from him. He tapped his claws again on his new extradermal bone deposits, looking tentatively at his right arm. He almost, for just a fraction of a second, thought that having his new armour surgically removed would be the best thing. He looked at his arm. The rigid, weblike bones that had suddenly sprouted from his shoulder and arm the other day were odd even to him. The radiation he took in the wasteland was not kind to him. Not kind at all. Well, at least, due to his extreme metabolism and a healthy dose of Rad-Away, the burns and initial radsickness had gone away. His eyes were permanently damaged, however. The radiation had made them odd. They glowed now. He thought this was cool at first, but the way others reacted to it was rather disturbing to him. He almost wished that one of the doctors he knew, like Skywalker, or Nigel were around. Both had helped him in situations in which he firmly believed he would die... maybe one or both of them could fix his eyes and arm. He blamed himself. If only he'd gotten the Rad-Away before it had a solid chance to set in... to mutate him... He began to hate himself. This, coupled with some realizations about his past he was trying to forget that were forced upon him by the damned CAT tonight was making him wonder, again, for the Nth time, if it was all worth it. He made a decision. If he didn't find a doctor of some variety within the next few days, he would find that fuckin' cat, and kill him for good. Maybe killing something soft, fuzzy and innocent would clear his mind. -------------------------- Message 1299 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Tue Oct 5 14:25:02 1999 EDT From: Red_Fang (#5907) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Hangover Red woke with a horrible hangover.. All he could remember was a vision of some dumb little fellow with a really ugly face and huge nose, wearing a black suit kept slamming its head into Red's knife blade.. Now that is crazy.. Least it wasn't a pink elephant.. Red smiled and went back to sleep.. -------------------------- Message 1300 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Tue Oct 5 18:06:27 1999 EDT From: adele (#12937) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: The past is still unfolding. "Never talk to strangers." She whispered to herself. The demon in the cloak knew all about children, after all they were his favorite. Oh, and this little one looked so appetizing, and as demons tend to do, he had an insatiable sweet tooth. He wanted this little snack badly, so he made his voice young and supple, though he had no lips to bring them forth, and he made his whole body jubilant and youthful, made his thoughts as soft as cotton candy confection. He made himself into a child, a little boy, the smell of rot and decay were gone now, and he smelled of bakers bread, and old books from the book-keepers shop around the corner from her daddy's forge. he smelled like everywhere she wanted to be, and for a moment she had almost forgotten that she feared him. Adele watched this newly transformed being with much interest, though she tried to pretend that she didnt really care. She didnt want to get into any more trouble than she already was, and if her daddy caught her talking to a stranger, Oh how mad he would be then! Sge oeejed frin tge corner of her jewel drop eyes, and hoped that the boy would just leave her in peace. She tried to hold the image of that dangerous man with the bad smell in her mind, but already it was fading from existance -------------------------- Message 1301 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Tue Oct 5 23:06:26 1999 EDT From: Jett (#3791) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: The Darkening of the Light. A palpable silence blanketed the streets of N'Orleans like night's shroud in twilight's coming. The residents spoke in hushed tones, if at all, shaking their heads and pointing in the direction of the Metairie Cemetery. Strange things, they would whisper, were occuring in and near the haunted area. Things that frightened even the creatures that dominated it day by day. Even the infamous banshee had disappeared, some dared to claim. Even the most stalwart and unsuperstitious cast nervous glances toward the rusted gates, eyeing the ravens that lined the walls like sentinels. For deep within a chill wind seeped against the normal warmth of a N'Orleans day. And deeper still resonated a laughter so wicked, adventurers swore their companions had been struck frozen in terror by it. (Never themselves, mind you, oh of course not. Ever intrepid they are.) Truly something wicked this way comes. -------------------------- Message 1302 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Thu Oct 7 02:19:35 1999 EDT From: Vertemis (#23360) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Sign posted in R/T The evil of the universe has descended upon us! It is time for us pure humans to fight back against that which has been suppressing us for so long. If you're a descent human, you know what I'm talking about. Magic. We must not let this be the end of us all. Fight back against those who wield this un-natural mockery of humanity. Take up arms and we can defeat these madmen, saving ourselves from their tyranny. The Future Is Now! Magic users beware, you are not welcome in the society of normal humans, and it is only a matter of time before you will be eradicated from existance. -------------------------- Message 1303 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Thu Oct 7 02:50:29 1999 EDT From: Tikiaido (#24781) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: The psychological underpinnings of the (no longer) psychotic friggin' lizard... [OOC It seems that people are ICly very confused and curious about what exactly did happen to Tiki to mellow him out so much. So here is a little bit of a story for you of what changed, what improved, and what had to be completely ripped out and rebuilt from scratch to make this very disturbed character's mind work right again.] Tikiaido, formerly known as Cirrus, Shattered, and Talon_Bloodwynd, has been one of the most psychotic characters on the MOO at times. This is a multi-part synopsis from his life that I hope clears up some of the reasons WHY he was a raving lunatic, what made him realize that that's not a good thing, and how he managed to become (relatively) normal. Part 1: The birthing... They drew him out of the warm fluids of the Recombination Tank. He felt stiff. The muscles of his newly rebuilt form had never been used as such. His new eyes hurt like hell in the light, because they'd never been used either. He was only three feet tall then. As he sits back and remembers this, he laughs, thinking to himself, "Damn, I was actually CUTE at one time?" His fringe then was only two feet in diameter. And it came out more. He was a young animal, and instinct had yet to be replaced with... well, whatever it is Dakiron replaces that with. Little did the poor little lizard know that the pain would start shortly after. Part 2: The conditioning.... It'd been two and a half years since he was recombined. The juiced up metabolism that they coded him with worded better than they'd expected and he had developed at nearly half again the rate of even a recomb child. (Who reached full maturity at about age 5 or 6...) At age 2.5, the lizard was physically ready for the rigors of conditioning. They thought he was ready for the mental strain as well. they had no idea how wrong they were. True mental developement, at least in the ways that really count, comes only with time. The lizard, for all his physical developement and inteligence, still had the emotional developement of a human five year old. And when you hurt a five year old, he either tries to hide, or hurts you back. The conditioning did not go well. Exact details are trivial and pointless, the reasons for his horrible abuse, as always, purely human ones. For the sake of the integrity of this *tp, I will only inform the reader that the lizard spent MUCH MUCH more time in Dakiron's infirmary than he did in the area of the compound where conditioning took place. Part 3: ESCAPE! The lizard doesn't remember much about his escape. He does, however, rember that the manner in which he escaped was brutal, horrible, and it sickens his currently sane mind. He killed fifteen innocent people. Scientists, who posed no threat to him, and really were not in his way. The first 13, he blindly, brutally, quickly killed. The last two, he tortured to make them tell him the way out of the place. The fourteenth was particularly gory. He held the man down and cut the main artery in the right leg with a scalpel, causing the man to bleed to death slowly. Now that the lizard is sane, he hates himeslf for it. He realizes now, after searching files and other various documents on that section of that facility on that day, that he did not merely kill fifteen people, but also ruined the lives of over fifty more. Over half of which were small children that depended at least partly upon the people he killed. If anything is going to make the lizard come unhinged again, THAT realization would be one of the major, contributing factors. .. Part 4 Stark, raving MAD! Certainly those characters who've been around here for a while know the psychotic, sociopathic behavior that the lizard in his previous forms displayed. He became an actual CHARACTER here very shortly after the timeline in Part 3. For those of you who don't know just how derranged my character was, be glad you don't. Suffice it to say, it was hell even being NEAR him, let alone trying to be his friend. Part 5: Hey, Mikey, I don't think she likes it.... The first moment of lucidity, of pure, control over himself, happened on the Ghost Wheel one day. He'd had a singularly odd dream the last night in which he'd killed some ugly, mole looking things, gone to a lizard that looked much like him, and recieved a key. The old man told him, "You return the spirit of the GroundDweller to the world, and bring savior to an old man in passing. In return, I give you this. You know what it does. Use it wisely." He was sitting in the Oasis, shaking his head, trying to clear it, feeling like he'd been hit in the skull with something large and heavy and SnowHawk ran in, apparently seeking safe-haven from the Chimaera. When she saw the lizard, her eyes filled with such fear and hesitation... If he were still psychotic, he would have delighted in this. He would have savoured the sweet taste of human misery. But he was, for that moment, at that exact time, sane. And he took pity for SnowHawk, wondering why she felt this way. Her reasoning was clear and simple, after only a short conversation. SnowHawk had given this lizard love, shelter, kindness, and every attempt humanly possible to find some understanding of his madness. He had repayed her with hate, dissention, scorn, jealousy, and outright hostility that tore her apart emotionally. He told her he would get help. And then he lied to her. A blatant, total lie that he knew would come back and bite him sometime, but said to make her feel better at the time. He told her, with a straight face, or more precisely, a pokerface, "I have always loved you." The truth was, he was incapable of love at that time. He had never in his life felt any kind of positive emotion. No love, no comfort, no safety, no contentment, no happiness, no warmth in his life whatsoever. He could fake it well, but the precise reason he was SO insane is the FACT that he had to fake it. And didn't understand it. Part 6: Whole cloth... These emotions had to be created for him out of whole cloth. The previous storylines, about his first meetings with his coleagues set the stage of what he was doing for all that time. Part of his "meditation" was deep subliminal messages and post hypnotic suggestions that let his SUBCONSICOUS understand positive emotions, and embrace them, so his conscious mind could as well. And to make his subcon react properly to the negative feelings he'd been feeling nonstop for nearly 7 years, his entire life. And to teach his conscious mind to push away the negatives when necesary. He came out of all the brutal mental and physical training a changed lizard. He was Tikiaido. He had honor. He had integrity. He had dignity. And, most important of all he had his mind back. In a full, complete psyche he could be proud of. One that even felt remorse for what he'd done wrong all that long ago. And the people he'd hurt with his hateful tongue after. Part 7: What now? Something happened to shake the things that Tikiaido had been working so hard to establish. Something, or more precisely, several factors are making him come unhinged again. Be affraid. Be VERY affraid. And on an OOC note, Have A Nice Day! (I would draw a smiley face here, but the letterhead doesn't support art.) :) -------------------------- Message 1304 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Thu Oct 7 07:18:44 1999 EDT From: Pounce (#24787) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Absolution! It had been a glorious, wonderful night. Pounce had upset Scorch (perhaps on purpose) and she had lead him to the place where she had been going all these nights. He took in the scene, water going under the bridge, moon overhead, and all the wonderous things around him... and they talked only for a few minutes before they were both fast asleep. Pounce didn't know what was done, or who did it, but when he and Scorch nearly simultaneously awoke from a slumber that seemed endless to him, but actually only took up no more than a few minutes of time, Scorch said to him the words he had been awaiting for such a very long time. She held him close, and the words nearly burned in their finality as she told him, "I love thee..." Pounce was shocked. He was flustered. He was surprised as hell. But most of all, he was totally, indestructibly, absolutely happy. He'd waited on those words for SO long... Hoping, even occasionally praying... and now that she had said them, he felt a happy, ultimate relief that gave his soul peace. He had always loved Scorch. And, in truth, she had always loved him. She had merely been affraid to admit it. He was unaware of what this change meant. He was sure it meant something. It meant at the very least that she wasn't affraid to love him anymore. But what else had changed? It was with both joy, and a bit of fear that he moved into this new state of being. He figured that whatever happened, under whatever circumstance, one thing was guaranteed. This was gonna be one helluva ride! :) [OOC: Flame this, or trivialize it in any way and you die. You've been warned.] -------------------------- Message 1305 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Thu Oct 7 16:16:52 1999 EDT From: Dante (#10660) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Lightning crashes. The subsequent sign that stood before was reduced to ash. The air itself that stood once there vibrates as eldritch lettering keep the previous message occupied. "To those that would strike at those of mageking, be forewarned. The fact you do not proclaim your identity only enforces my previous belief that you are cowards. If you take any action in the city of New Orleans, the very ground you stand on will be scorched so fiercely that the scars left will be spoken of for generations. The evil speaks, and those who do not heed shall be delt with harshly. -------------------------- Message 1306 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Thu Oct 7 22:53:50 1999 EDT From: Thalhkarsh (#20487) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: More error than trial. The smallest mage of the tower stepped into the library, quietly shutting the door behind him. He had power on the mind and adrenaline in his veins. Tearing a shred of cloth from his cloak he laid it on the ground and took a step back. He's seen it done plenty of times before but never was told exactly how. His hands are raised to the ceiling and a quiet, harsh muttering is emitted from deep inside his shrouded body. A sensation of burning on his hands and he thrusts forwards at the defenseless cloth. The cloth remains yet Thalhkarsh is prosrated on the wooden floor where he once stood. He failed. Taking deep, gulping breaths he slowly regains enough strength to stand and retrieve his shred. He hobbles his way out of the library and across the hall to his dorm and to fall into a dreamless sleep. -------------------------- Message 1307 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Fri Oct 8 03:57:47 1999 EDT From: adele (#12937) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: A little more past Unable to resis any longer, the girl watched teh newly transformed boy, her round, rosy cheeks glowing with curiousity. The little boy pretended not to be interested in the little girl anymore. He began to walk off straight into the woods without so much as a word to the young girl. His steps were lightheared skips and from somewhere, echoed a childish little nursery rhyme that Adele herself began to hum along to. She couldnt help it, she had to follow, and her curiosity got the best of her. Her little legs trudged through the underbrush, small briars caught at her bare knees, and twisted around her tender ankles The twisting tangle vines seemed to take on a life of thier own and began winding themselves around her until she could no longer move. She wanted to scream, she wanted to kick and fight, and plead, but the shock of it all made her mute and silent. Soon the vines had wound themselves around her so much that the only thing showing were the little girls jewel drop eyes. the boy had returned looking over this predicament with all the slavering joy of a spider over its cocoon wrapped prey. The nasty stench of decay had returned, clinging to his skin like a lost lover's joyous return. There seemed to be no need for disguises now. He lifted his soft pink hands to pull back the hood of his cloak, and for the first time since she had met this terrible thing, his featureless face lay revealed. Adele opened her soft pink bubble gum lips to scream, but she found only the choking leaves of an angry forest floor to meet her voice -------------------------- Message 1308 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Fri Oct 8 15:17:35 1999 EDT From: adele (#12937) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Whee http://www.chocodog.com/vdsc/form.html -------------------------- Message 1309 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Fri Oct 8 15:24:05 1999 EDT From: Valentine (#24957) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: An answer! Valentine leaned back in her chair, rubbing her eyes. It had been so long since she had sifted through the books in the R/T library. Some of those she had been familiar with were gone, others were new. She realized how much she had missed the smell of ancient tomes. She smiled. She had found a solution. It might even work. The irony didn't escape her: she had sought death beyond the Eagle's reach, but more, she had sought to rid the world of the Eagle. Sought to destroy it forever, to allow sweet blissful death to come to all who searched it out. And now it was the Eagle who would save her and her brother. She made a call. There was one person she had met. A friend of Jack's, Tikiaido. If anyone could pull this off, it would be him. It would have to be quick. The lizard sounded odd on the phone. Twitchy. But she thought he would do as she asked. It was a lot to ask. She stood atop the R/T building, staring out at the wastes, and waited. * * * The chamber was crowded with people. Tikiaido had summoned her, but she hadn't expected this mayhem. And there was Jacksparrow! But even as she saw him, she felt the pressures of the Eagle's talons on her. They couldn't be together. Not for long, anyway. The magic was already coalescing in the air. Damnable magic! How she hated it! And Dante was there... Valentine turned to Tikiaido, the word 'betrayer' on the tip of her tongue, but then the lizard said, "You have two choices: apologize to the necromancer and ask him to put it right...or, two...I kill you, simultaneously. To Valetine it seemed as though a noise were building in the air of the room. A vast howling. It was hard to hear, hard to think. 'What's going on?' Jacksparrow, dear Jacksparrow, asked, holding his hands to his head. And then, 'We don't have much time.' Her brother started pulling his body toward her. 'I won't ask anything of that hellspawn!' Valentine cried out to Tikiaido. 'Do it, Tikiaido! Just like we talked about!' Valentine turned to her brother, 'Will you die for me?' Wracked with pain, Jacksparrow nodded. Valentine whispered, 'Then do it, Tiki...make it fast.' The lizard nodded and swung, a sword in each hand. A pause... And then two heads hit the floor of the Round Room simultaneously... -------------------------- Message 1310 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sat Oct 9 11:30:40 1999 EDT From: Jelal (#22902) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Diamond in the Rough The muted blue glow of the indicators winked into the blackness of the room. The broken steel beam lying inches away from the rounded cover to the coffin-like tube that held it's treasure safe from the elements. Four others were like it in that small room. One shattered by a steel beam, another cracked by a heavy slab of ferro-crete. The other two were not as violent, but just as deadly, having their control cables and fluid tubes severed. -------------------------- Message 1311 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sat Oct 9 17:09:18 1999 EDT From: Tikiaido (#24781) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Forgot some things in my last. (Wasn't it long ENOUGH!?) *storyline 1303 should have the following things appended to it. Part 2.5: Whine, whine, whine, now fuckin' die. What finally made the lizard leave Dakiron was a particularly nasty beating he recieved one day, but not so much the fact that every bit of his skin and muscle ended up torn, bleeding and unresponsive to his mind's pained cries to do something, but the short converstation that took place between the head conditioner and one of the orderlies on the premises. The head conditioner, as one would expect of anyone whose life was dedicated soully to the torture and suffering of other sentient beings, was a heavyset man, a body builder, and he had a scarred, worn, just plain ugly appearance about him. (Which was why they only let him out of his room when a recomb was PARTICULARLY difficult...) The orderly in question was a small chinese man. Nothing too out of the ordinary, for the most part, save the topknot of hair, practically glowing green eyes, and the fact that if you were to look at his aura, that man would have been particularly soulful. (Ah'm pretty -=soul=-ful, cuz Ah gotta -=bowl=-fulla soul! - random, stupid rap lyric) The chinese man and the head conditioner (executioner?) were having an argument about the recent treatment of the recomb, that they believed his unconscious form couldn't hear. They argued about ethics. Again. They argued about cliches, for the chinese man had again used an old cliche about catching more flies that REALLY annoyed the (rather stupid, atcually) head conditioner. This was nothing new between them. The lizard did catch some specifics, however. At some point in the conversation, the head conditioner had asked the orderly why he put so much attention into this particular recomb. The orderly said simply, "He shows promise. A promise that even you do not." And at the end of the conversation... THAT was what made the lizard hate Dakiron. The head conditioner said to the orderly, who was actually the only Dakiron personnel that the lizard trusted because of his kindness, and his meditative teachings, "I don't know why we even bother with that little fuck. I'm going to recommend he be TERMINATED. And I'll be expecting to see YOUR notice of resignation on the chief's desk tomorrow, or things are going to get... UNPLEASANT... for you here." There was a dark undertone in both the words "terminated" and "unpleasant" that the lizard didn't like at all. While he was in the hospital, the lizard asked the orderly, whom he'd come to love as he might a father, if he would help him leave this place before he was terminated. The orderly was shocked at first. He'd submitted the asked for letter of resignation, and he was also resigned to leave this lizard to a fate he thought he couldn't prevent. He finally agreed, the day before the lizard got out of the hospital. He managed to map out a way to an exit, and he managed to make detailed observations of the guard shifts at critical locations along the routte. And he agreed to make a diversion for the lizard to escape. The orderly knew he wouldn't survive such a thing, but the lizard did not. This was a good thing. Part 3.2: Wasteland... HE'D ESCAPED! But the memory of how was with him. It was what first, VERY first, and very finally drove him insane. He'd pinpointed that now. He should've let them terminate. If he'd known they'd cut Shen Fo down like that, he would have never left. For the first week of his freedom, he did nothing but mope about the wastland, surviving by instinct and crying for the loss of the only friend he ever had. Shen Fo had taught him much. How to calm his mind. But he didn't know how to meditate yet! Those bastards had killed Shen and quickened everything too much. Then, one night in his dreams, Shen Fo came to him. Shen Fo (the orderly from part 2.5 in case you haven't figured) told him, "Dig, Talon. Your answers will lie there. Leave what you find out on the ground and your holes uncovered. You are being hunted, but they hunt the thing they called Olld-Takk [(old-tech)] more fervently." Shen Fo parted his dreams, and quite possibly this reality with the words, "Your digging claws are the reason I callled you Talon. You must use them wisely. Prepare, my friend. Prepare to live life ANEW." The lizard woke up crying (he was, after all, 3 and a half at the time...) and was FULLY prepared to live life anew. Part 3.7: Dig me up some OLD-TECH! He outsmarted the Dakiron "recovery teams" with ease. And when he couldn't run, all he had to do was dig. There was always Dakiron personnel heading up such teams (even though the bulk of most teams comprised the most disreputable [and expendable] mercenaries that Dakiron could find...) and Dakiron personnel valued the worthless junk he dug up like million-crystal treasure cases. A good portion of said "worthless junk" was just that, but some was actually this mysterious Old-Tech that Shen Fo had told him of. He found a weird thing that composed of a box and several tubes. He didn't know what it was, and he would have buried the damned thing again if he'd known it had given Dakiron access to a larger, self-powered version of their gatling guns.... Other examples of this trend occurred, untill he had to escape the desert, and begin the search for a master. He knew somewhere deep-down, that he could become accepted by Dakiron if he'd only become productive and find a master... Part 4.5: Red Fang, and the Rangers... [I would be doing Red a helluva disservice if I didn't mention him in my character's bio, because it DOES include shit that happened AFTER I became a character, and he was a REALLY important part of that.] The closest the lizard had ever come to loving another person, again, as he might a father or a brother, was in Red Fang. He later learned that the only reason Dakiron actively stopped trying to get him is they thought Red had become his master. The lizard was well into his insanity when Red asked him to join the Rangers and helped him so much... He was much LESS insane in the presence of this close and treasured friend than anyone else. And there were others he'd ALMOST allowed him to trust and love, even when he was so totally, and completely insane. Ymerith, the dragonrider he knew as Johnny, and forgotten the last name... [not for lack of trying to remember, trust me...] He loved this man like a brother. Johnny was battle scarred and hardened, but something about the lizard made him tone that part of himself down, just a bit, just that immeasurably tiny bit in his presence. Almost as if he unconsciously knew the lizard idolized him, even before it was said outright. And through Johnny, the lizard also met many others he came to ALMOST trust and befriend. [note that ALMOST is a very big step for someone who is paranoid psychotic. It's the closest someone so insane as the lizard was, in such a manner as he was, can come to being a friend to someone...] Merri was the first. Another he held in absolute awe, fascinated by her ability with magic, and her uncanny ability to read his violent, psychotic emotions like a book and soothe him of them, if for but a moment, with her soft voice and kind words. He remembers their conversations to this day, and actually wonders why they didn't have more. Although he does realize he did some pretty annoying and rude things back in the day... Scorch, he met almost by accident. A case of mistaken identity, but he thorougly enjoyed their conversation, and she was actually the first time that the lizard had ALMOST felt another kind of love... [enough said on that, I'm not out to embarass anyone here] Ratboy... He met in a graveyard. An odd creature, that he found conversations with interesting and somewhat strange. (Weird and strange fed his psychotic tendancies nicely...) Nadir, another he met through Johnny, he almost allowed himself to love. He came so close he almost did. And he realized this. Too late. He loved her too much. And their "odd couple" mystique was quickly losing its novelty. She left for good one day, and the lizard's mind wept for a month afterwards. Quix was an odd sort. A born again pacifist, and practicioner of the healing art HydroChromopathy, which he taught a bit to the lizard, Quix never ceased to amaze him. Skywalker, he met through Johnny as well. A very nice person that the lizard will always remember as [for an odd reason only he can understand and can't explain either] "The Good Doctor"... Skywalker saved the lizard's ass a few times, and he is eternally grateful. He met SnowHawk through Johnny as well. Their history and interactions are far too long to fit in the space I've alloted myself here. Nigel, he met through Nadir. Another doctor, this one proficient in Recombs, this man had helped the lizard tremendously. [okay, I'm done with shoutouts because it's getting too hot in here and my brain don't work well when it's hot] Part 4.9: The dream... He dreamed of Shen Fo again, only this time, the old chinese man was a lizard, like him, and the only way he could remember was Shen Lo's gleaming green eyes and his everpresent topknot. The lizard said with obvious surprise toned in his words, "Shen Fo? Master?" Shen Fo replied, "Yes. I have a task for you. I believe I can help you, by helping you to help yourself." Suddenly the dream got dark. VERY dark. Even the lizard's superb, grounddweller eyes wouldn't adjust to the darkness... But they didn't have to. His new enemies were electrified, they had beady eyes... they had sharp teeth and electric fur... (they looked like giant moles)... After these creatures were killed [OH THE SYMBOLISM! *twitches*] Shen Fo appeared again. He gave the lizard a golden key and said, "You return the spirit of the GroundDweller to the world, and revive the spirit of an old man in passing. For this, I give you your key. You know what it does, and what it goes to. Use it, my bretheren." [hope you enjoyed this one as much as the last, people... and if you didn't, don't whinebitch about it...] [*beats the living shit out of that damned freaky, furry ferret thing for getting him hooked on the word "whinebitch"*] [*realizes that the edit buffer just said "Line 50 added." and appologizes pittifully for the spam*] -------------------------- Message 1312 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sat Oct 9 20:27:25 1999 EDT From: Bloody_Mary (#5587) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Metamorphosis Part 1. Mary travelled the lengths of the wasteland alone, crowbar loosely clutched in one hand, gps in the other. She ignored the stinging sands whipped against the bare skin of her legs, the burn of the sun against her bloody red hair. She had a destination to reach, an appointment to keep. Williker told her the coordinates, warned her to keep it silent. Something like this was a rare find indeed, and highly coveted by any other sick wastelander looking to up his lot in life. Sweat beaded against her forehead, occasionally falling down her temples in pearls of precious liquid. Her canteen had long since been emptied and idly she wondered if she had underestimated the trip. Perhaps if she headed back now, she might make it to the R/T before the night? Sleeping out here with the possibility of a radstorm wasn't exactly a smart idea. She'd survived them before, but there had been shelter, this time she had travelled lightly. She paused, checking the GPS again. Something was wrong, it seemed jumbled. The readout kept changing numbers, some of which were impossible. She shook the damnable thing, a bad idea in the end as it finally shorted out and gave her a blank screen. Cursing she let it fall into the sands, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the dying light. What else could go wrong now? She was stuck in the middle of the wastes with no way home, her gps died for some unknown reason and now night was falling, which meant radstorms. And she had no shelter. "Mary, you stupid bitch, this is NOT one of your crowning moments of brilliance," she murmured to herself. The last indication she had of her destination was north, however, and so she began her trek anew. The night settled around her, fingers of darkness stabbing at the light, chasing the sun beneath the arch of the sweltering Earth. Soon only the cold beauty of the stars provided any light. The radstorm began almost as soon as the night came to dominance. The winds picked up, instantly cold even as the heat of the day leeched up from the hot sands. Mary pulled out a bandana from her backpack, fitting it over her mouth in preparation. It was going to be quite a fight to survive now. The sands came first, driven forward by the winds, stinging against her skin like acid, the radiated air giving them a special impact. She stumbled forward, blinded, the sands far too thick in the air to see, even with the special goggles over her forehead. Suddenly she wondered what Williker as doing at the moment. Did he have any idea that she was about to see the Eagle? Imagine his disappointment if she suddenly was returned home, failing to find this precious treasure he sent her for. Finally, she gave in to the storm, falling first to her knees, and then collapsing into the sands, feeling the winds driving them over her body the second she falls. The talons of the Eagle hovered closely, or was that the ugly mug of a wasteland vulture? No, whatever it was, it blinked, like an electronic light, then suddenly retreated. The ground beneath her shifted and suddenly something was lifting her into the air. Mary rolled over, too weak to do anything but watch. She had found it... after all this trouble here it was. The Soulmech shell. --------------------------