From quinn@fazigu.org Mon Feb 07 11:08:45 2000 Received: from casper.realtime.com (casper.realtime.net) [205.238.128.161] by requiem.netsville.com with esmtp (Exim 3.12 #1 (Debian)) id 12HqiS-0007kf-00; Mon, 07 Feb 2000 11:08:44 -0500 Received: from casper.realtime.com (localhost [127.0.0.1]) by casper.realtime.net (8.7.4/8.7.3) with SMTP id KAA23842 for ; Mon, 7 Feb 2000 10:13:28 -0600 Message-Id: <200002071613.KAA23842@casper.realtime.net> Date: Mon, 7 Feb 2000 10:13:28 -0400 From: "Quinn@Ghostwheel" To: quinn@fazigu.org Subject: Ghostwheel Message(s) 1354 - 1360 from *storylines (#5236) X-Mail-Agent: Ghostwheel (casper.realtime.com 6969) Status: RO Content-Length: 7466 Lines: 159 Message 1354 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sun Dec 19 12:42:13 1999 EST From: Coreen (#18717) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Gambit Coreen grinned to herself as she left the R/T complex, the shuttle's engines but a dull purr in the back of her mind. The pieces were falling into place...not in the manner she had planned, but she could see that the result would be the same. The fool Dante would soon be taken care of...that part was much easier with the DragonMistress' body. Once Dante was addressed, then would come the next step.... She smiled as she thought of the other woman's suggestion. There would be an auction. Devon would be removed from his meddling in her affairs. It was amusing to see the fear in his eyes when she told him of his imminent demise. He acted all brave and noble, but when he was staring death in the eyes, his resolve crumbled and he begged like a child.... It made sense, she told herself. He was nothing but a child, trapped in a man's body.... Still, it would be good to have him out of her business, as well as her mind. Maybe she could think clearly, then. Wouldn't that be something? "Ah, but pleasant thoughts aside, things do seem to be finally working in my favor..." she mused to herself, the beaches of Jizo appearing outside the small, scratched window of the shuttle. She frowned slightly. "This worries me..." She grinned to herself, somewhat sarcastically, though doubt still played in the back of her mind. -------------------------- Message 1355 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Mon Dec 20 02:08:13 1999 EST From: Pounce (#24787) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: One dead cat... Pounce had finally gotten Dak to admit that he was coded for a very short lifespan. Then he was shocked at how much it really was. He would have thought at least 20, but he was told that it was no more than 18.5 years. He knew he should and could get this fixed. He kept procrastinating.. It was almost tragic the way he died. On the GhostWheel, in the Oasis one day, in his old sleeping cubical, rummaging for a few spare crystals, he suddenly had what could only reasonably be described as a complete and total biological meltdown. All bodily functions simply ceased. All the major organ (lungs, heart, liver, kidneys, brain) simply stopped instantaneously, as if it were somehow programmed. And it was programmed, in his genetic code, which Dakiron Industries so lovingly put together. He died alone. Cold. Desolate. And wondering where everyone he held dear had been. All in all, if he were to look back from beyond the Eagle at this life, he would find it wholly unsatisfying. -------------------------- Message 1356 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sun Dec 26 14:07:46 1999 EST From: Naxos (#9972) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Naxos's playtime. Naxos fell over laughing after finishing his new piece of art. Having a wizardress at the end of a pike seemed to amuse him, considering how much she used to beat the snot out of him before. But he had to admit he was lucky to have survived at all. Placing Coreen's head onto the pike in the center of the room he used his kitchen fork to etch a permanent happy face into her now dead lips. Along with all the clothing he had stolen from her, she no doubt awoke to find herself naked, he finished wrapping around the pike. Albiet frumpy for the most part Naxos chuckled with glee and he kicked into his new trophy and left it to sit in the round room for others amusements. -------------------------- Message 1357 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Mon Jan 3 22:31:46 2000 EST From: Rathe (#14172) To: *storylines (#5236) There was no moon. No stars. A faint luminescence bathed the treetops, it's source not astronomical, but internal; the sickly green of poison and rot and death. Somehow, even the shadows were affected by the diseased illumination; reduced to scrawny, writhing things, skittering about at the edge of perception. Near the center of the forest -- a forest, appropriately enough, of thorns -- a lone structure broke the canopy; unnaturally smooth stone coming to it's domed peak mere inches above the highest branches. Here, at the forest's highest point, a bird of prey perched; watching the forest's floor for prey. The bird was a hunter; the hunter was a man. The man was -- or might as well have been -- dead. Following in the long tradition of parasites and predators, it fed on the living. Red light cracked, giving a flicker of blood-red life to the withered shadows. Pale, gaunt claws -- no, hands -- twisted around a silver blade, buried to the hilt in the unrelenting stone. Across the back of these hands, ritualistic tattoos twisted in their blind, unrelenting dance; a beat kept by a heart that brought not life, but death. Below, it's -- his, the Adept's -- prey had begun to flee. In a mocking promise of salvation, the forest twisted and bent, thorned limbs parting just far enough to allow it's master's quarry past. Still, poisoned thorns scratched and nipped, careless limbs rebuked for their clumsiness. It.. /she/ would begin to hallucinate soon, and those shadows would come alive, joining in their almost-living bretheren to exhaust the Adept's quarry. Slowly, the quicksilver blade slid effortlessly free from black granite. In the moon's light, the runes along Nightsong's length flared to life once again, a flash that -- somehow -- the girl must have seen. A terrified glance over her shoulder was all the invitation the Adept required. A leap through the air, too graceful for humans; too defiant to be fully within the jealous Earth's control. Like preying mantis, the landing that could be measured only in slow-motion; the slow flexing of limbs as they absorbed the impact, the same-second extension of a limb, bringing it's death-bearing prosthetic through the air in a whispering arc. Blood, a strangled cry. Resignation. An acceptance of futility. A second of disbelief and horror, stretched into a year. Then, the Eagle's talons. For now, escape. The Forest claimed what remained; a husk that was useless to the Adept. Gouged into the dirt, a snake's trail of blood, as the sabre dug into the earth. A trail that, would anyone be foolish enough to follow it, would lead to the forest's heart. -------------------------- Message 1360 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Fri Jan 7 02:31:00 2000 EST From: Merri (#24667) To: *storylines (#5236) Merri stood on the cliff overlooking the moonlit sea on Jizo Island. She had gone there to try and find some kind of peace; to try and still the inner torment. She had to come to terms with it. Her marriage was over. Akane was never coming back. Her children would grow without a father. Desperately she held back the tears, looked at her wedding ring, and with a grimace of pain and anger pulled it off of her hand. She took the ring and half singing, half saying, she chanted arcane words over the ring. Slowly it began to dissolve, first into a liquid state and then back into it's native form of light. Opening her hand, the moonlight streamed to meet with it's own once more. With that gesture she broke the link between herself and Akane. She was free. She hadn't wanted to be free. But he had given her no choice. Sighing, she turned and picked up her backpack and headed for the transport pad. Her children needed her, probably more now then ever. --------------------------