From quinn@fazigu.org Fri Nov 12 13:57:27 2004 Return-path: Envelope-to: quinn@fazigu.org Delivery-date: Fri, 12 Nov 2004 13:57:27 -0500 Received: from yami.57thstreet.com ([216.110.12.54]) by work.fazigu.org with esmtp (Exim 4.34) id 1CSgbv-0002Iq-C4 for quinn@fazigu.org; Fri, 12 Nov 2004 13:57:27 -0500 Received: from moo.ghostmoo.org (yami.57thstreet.com [216.110.12.54]) by yami.57thstreet.com (8.13.1/8.13.1) with SMTP id iACIwHQC036943 for ; Fri, 12 Nov 2004 18:58:17 GMT (envelope-from quinn@fazigu.org) Message-Id: <200411121858.iACIwHQC036943@yami.57thstreet.com> Date: Fri, 12 Nov 2004 12:58:17 -0400 From: "Quinn@Ghostwheel" To: quinn@fazigu.org Subject: Ghostwheel Message(s) 213 from *storylines (#5236) X-Mail-Agent: Ghostwheel (moo.ghostmoo.org 6969) X-Spam-Checker-Version: SpamAssassin 3.0.0 (2004-09-13) on work.fazigu.org X-Spam-Level: X-Spam-Status: No, score=-2.1 required=5.0 tests=AWL,BAYES_00 autolearn=ham version=3.0.0 Status: RO Content-Length: 2204 Lines: 44 Message 213 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Tue Oct 12 05:53:20 2004 EDT From: Owen (#15637) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: This is the time we are upon Legends and stories lie. Owen was in a better position to know this than most, but he still felt a little bit betrayed every time he found more proof of how often and how thoroughly they all lie. In a story there would have been intrigue. Codes and counter-codes exchanged, secret meetings in the dark of night, gathered idealists whispering out slogans and great plans for freeing the enslaved, toppling the oppressor, bringing the mighty low. In a story there would have been a frenzied night of planning, dedicated men scribbling and mapping, drinking strong coffee and rolling up sweat-stained sleeves to keep them from dragging through the ink of the hasty but well-detailed maps of compounds, approaches, lines of advance and retreat. Of course a story would have the brilliant doomed hero, the one you knew from the beginning would die gloriously in battle. And probably a love interest. A plucky heroine who dressed in men's clothing and might get shot or kidnapped somewhere along the way, thus giving the hero a chance to show off. But the stories lie. And so instead of intrigue, planning, heros and heroines there was just a group of friends sitting in the bar, drinking and boasting as usual. Another night like every other night, until the topic turned to recombs and Yak said, "Wait, I got an idea." And that fast, they went from being a group of drinking buddies to a conspiracy. That fast there was an agreement, an ideal, a goal, even a plan. Not a great plan, maybe. A plan of broad strokes and tentative agreements. A plan with many weaknesses and more than a few huge leaps of logic and faith. But still, a plan. A part for each of them to play, a shared goal and a sense of unity. And if by some miracle it actually worked, they actually managed to bring this wildly disparate group of people into order and carry the day, it would be a victory to rival any Wasteland legend ever heard. And what the hell, he could always clean it up when he told the story later. --------------------------