From quinn@fazigu.org Sun Jul 10 14:54:56 2005 Return-path: Envelope-to: quinn@fazigu.org Delivery-date: Sun, 10 Jul 2005 14:54:56 -0400 Received: from yami.57thstreet.com ([216.110.12.54]) by work.fazigu.org with esmtp (Exim 4.50) id 1Drgx6-0000qJ-9x for quinn@fazigu.org; Sun, 10 Jul 2005 14:54:56 -0400 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 j6AIwd5X056693 for ; Sun, 10 Jul 2005 18:58:39 GMT (envelope-from quinn@fazigu.org) Message-Id: <200507101858.j6AIwd5X056693@yami.57thstreet.com> Date: Sun, 10 Jul 2005 13:58:39 -0400 From: "Quinn@Ghostwheel" To: quinn@fazigu.org Subject: Ghostwheel Message(s) 263 - 271 from *storylines (#5236) X-Mail-Agent: Ghostwheel (moo.ghostmoo.org 6969) X-Spam-Checker-Version: SpamAssassin 3.0.2 (2004-11-16) on work.fazigu.org X-Spam-Level: X-Spam-Status: No, score=-1.1 required=5.0 tests=AWL,BAYES_05 autolearn=ham version=3.0.2 Status: RO Content-Length: 15799 Lines: 317 Message 263 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Wed May 11 04:56:31 2005 EDT From: Amberjohn (#37251) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Cydraddol Amberjohn sat on the edge of a huge rocky cliffside looking out over a stormy sea, surrounded by the smell of salt and pine forest and the sound of waves smashing into the rocks a hundred yards below and tried hard not to feel like the world's biggest asshole. It was one thing when the funny-looking teenager who claimed to be a mage was talking about metaphors and finding his own images to encapsulate the infinite. She kept talking and talking and the longer she talked the more sense it seemed to make. Go somewhere quiet and natural and invite Infinity into his body. The idea of the sweat lodge ceremony Menominee had apparently used hadn't seemed right somehow, but Amberjohn remembered stories of the ancients calling in the Awen, the three-fingered light of inspiration. The light, sense and sound created by the Divine Creator speaking its own name aloud. Sounded like infinity to him. So in theory he was just supposed to sit here on the cliffside and 'keep himself open to the infinite'. Breathe in with the waves, out with the wind and keep his mind empty. Easier said than done, especially when he felt so. . stupid. In with the ocean, out with the air. Let the scent of salt and pine fill you up and replace the busy thoughts that are only distractions. Praying is talking to the Infinite, meditation is listening to it. Breathe and listen, eyes closed and mind open. High on the hill. No, cliff. No, a hill. He could feel the grass beneath him, see the battlefield stretched out below. How did he know it was a battlefield? Nothing there now but grass and flowers, thick and healthy. Blood makes the grass grow, everyone knows that. He looked out over the green from his stance atop Bryn Kyvergyr. The hill from which Goronwy cast the spear that killed Llew and then when Llew was restored by Gwydion it was from this same hill that he cast the spear that killed Goronwy. Death and rebirth and death again and blood makes the grass grow green. The flow of the river Cynvael became the sound of flames. A crackling fire beneath a cauldron. But which cauldron? Llassar and Kymideu Kymeinvoll tried to steal Pair Dadeni, the cauldron of rebirth, but only managed to carry off its shadow. The true Pair Dadeni could bring back life to any land or tree or man, but when men tried to steal it the shadow they brought to the world could only reanimate the dead and send them out to kill. It was always like that, any time man tried to wrest power away from the gods. Any time man tried to hold himself apart from the natural laws. Over and over the gods had tried to warn men what happened when pride and vanity led them to hold themselves aloof. When they started thinking in terms of better than. Apart from. The vast lake behind him started to boil and Amberjohn spun around, then quickly hid his eyes as a figure rose from the black water. Ceridwen, dark queen of the lake. Goddess of druids and bards and bearer of blessings and warnings. Third born of Modron, third face of the great Mother. "Cydraddol." In the nature of dreams and visions, her voice was shout and whisper and song at once. Cydraddol. To make equal. One dark, cool hand stretched out to toward him and Amberjohn squeezed his eyes half shut so as not to see her face too clear and be blinded. He smelled lake water and smoke and some bitter floral and when her fingertips touched his forehead he was almost grateful to lose consciousness. On the shuttle ride back to the R/T complex two concepts rang in his head. Blood makes the grass grow green. All things must be made equal. He thought he knew what Ceridwen had given him, but he needed to be sure. In the stinking black and red tunnels below the tower he found one of the madmen who lived below the reach of day. Stretching out one hand toward the demented creature Amberjohn murmured the phrase that for some reason had been echoing in his mind since he saw the man's face. "May Gaia grant you a moment of clarity." He quite literally felt the man's madness dissipate. Or rather, not dissipate but change. Drain out of the tormented mind and enter his own body as physical pain and exhaustion. All things must be kept in balance. Heal one ill, you must create another. Turning his back on the nude, filthy, but (briefly) quite sane man who had once borne the name Thad, Amberjohn hobbled up out of the tunnels and back toward the garage so that he could catch a ride to one of the healing springs. Every muscle and bone in his body ached with pain and fatigue, but that was only fair. For healing there must be sacrifice and it was fit that the one who chose to heal should bear the price. Cydraddol. -------------------------- Message 264 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Tue May 24 19:43:30 2005 EDT From: SnowHawk (#24690) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: SnowHawk Searches for answers (1) SnowHawk sings an old song of respect to the forest as she begins her task. It's been many years, but her memory holds exact, how to place the poles of willow, bending and lashing them to form a low, round structure... a spiritual task of building for an Inipi, a traditional sweat lodge of her people. Her mind often turns over the questions plaguing her... how to bring peace and healing to those around her. How to better handle the on-slaught of emotions she feels when around others. Now, possible war looming. For years she felt a kinship with the dragonriders, and even made her home with them. For years she feared being chosen for a bonding, wanting the sense of family yet not wanting to put another being in a position of possible hurt. The answers were beyond her, and now she chooses to seek a vision. But first, a purification. Tonight she will sweat and pray, chant and suffer. She smiles as the fire crackles, memories of long ago learning and growing up. The Grandfathers, large stones of the earth, suffer and heat in the flames. Soon they will be ready, and so will she, to purify in the Inipi. Her altar already prepared, laid out with her bow, a simple pipe, an old hide drum, stones and found cedar. Ties of the four colors drape the four directions. Almost ready. Dusk begins shadows in the surrounding trees as she covers the framework and begins a new song. -------------------------- Message 265 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Wed May 25 21:45:58 2005 EDT From: FoxFire (#22153) To: *storylines (#5236) and *Chat (#5391) Subject: *OOC Notice* Okay, to all who were involved, either directly or indirectly. That little rape plot that Dante/FoxFire/Xavier/Askinya were running is officially scrapped. So forget it, it *never* happened. Don't make me use one of those flashy thingy from MIB or have me waving my fiery hands around and make your memory go *POOF* okay. Getting kinda lame waiting for Dante to show back up. That is all, love ya. ;* FF -------------------------- Message 266 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sun May 29 09:45:07 2005 EDT From: Lyonel (#9841) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: City Lost He sat on his haunches while curled around his waist even his long sleek tail was covered by the rad suit. He glanced behind him at the sleek ship, hissed slightly in it's direction before leaping down from the tall pile of rubble, rusted metal and rotted corpses. It still was not safe to enter that place of hellfire and death. probably would not be in a normal lifetime. But he had time to wait.... As They were waiting..down beneath the melted slag. Safe in their shelter... Thinking they were safe.... Austin was not a safe place now..or in the future. -------------------------- Message 267 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sun May 29 09:47:11 2005 EDT From: Lyonel (#9841) To: *storylines (#5236) and *Chat (#5391) Subject: Austin Some years back Austin was destroyed, blown up by a nuclear weapon. It will remain unliveable until the Eagle decides. Might not be a good place to post living or working or skulking about IN. -------------------------- Message 268 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sun May 29 18:17:44 2005 EDT From: SnowHawk (#24690) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Vision Quest 2 SnowHawk crawls shakily from the small Inipi structure (OOC: a traditional sweat lodge), sweat dripping from her body, skin reddened from the intense heat. She lies on the cool forest floor, Mother Earth absorbing her heat. The purification done, visions pulling at the edges of her mind. She lay between the Inipi and her altar, just in front of the sacred fire, coals still glowing where she heated the 36 stones used to purify and pray. Her questions turning to answers, flitting through her mind like strange birds, sparkling in darkness, swooping closer then pulling away. She hears the pawing hoofs of some large beast, the snort of his hot breath, but her eyes can not focus. Soft dark eyes, a sweeping rack of horns, but dark black of hide. The elk nods and fades away. Is that an answer? The elk, a symbol of stamina, of family. The sparkling answer-birds still swoop and play in her mind. She drifts. In her prayers, the offer of her hands and heart, for guidance, for healing, for peace. Which way should her steps take? The black elk snorts and paws the ground again, drawing her focus, her eyes opening. There now, a soft glow surrounding a woman, a sense of the wisdom of the ages brings a sense of awe, her strong form draped in silvery mosses. The woman bends down and takes Snow's hands in her own, a rush of clarity. A sense of belonging. A belonging to the earth itself. Snow will continue her path, her sense of easing others through their pain, of learning to understand and bring peace, not to pre-judge. She slips into sleep. Silvery answer-birds a-lighting in the dwindling fire. -------------------------- Message 269 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sat Jun 4 22:18:03 2005 EDT From: Einar (#37205) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Invite to Costume Party Hear Ye! Hear Ye! Upon the night of All Hallows Eve thy are invited to a costume party. When darkness falls upon the land the party shall begin at Stryker's Mansion upon the grounds of GhostWheel. Please leave all weapons behind. ~*OOC Information*~ The Costume Party will be held on Sunday, June 12th at 7 p.m. central time. Take the shuttle to GhostWheel and from there the directions to the mansion are as followed: West then Northwest (Mansion) Any questions, or such you may contact either Einar or FoxFire. -------------------------- Message 270 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Mon Jun 6 19:43:17 2005 EDT From: Sagittarian (#37142) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: say Clearing his throat, Sagittarian tries one more time to call forth the menial power to simply create a spark. He closes his eyes, vizualizes and... Nothing. Not a god damn thing. It was as if the gods reached down and plucked his power right away from him. It made no sense to him at all. With his one foundation in the wheel now gone. Sagi has been reduced to a drunken lonely wonderer. Lost to him is even the base knowledge of how to cast the simplest spell. His once fluid connection with mother earth is now lost. A frustrating thing for an ex mage. To get lost in places he used to navigate so well. He stands from the large sandstone he was occupying. "Well what the fuck do I do now?", Sagittarian says dismally. "Where do I fucking go now..." Casually he stuffs his hands into his creaking leather jacket and takes a furtive glance to the outer wall, some 20 miles north. He wonders if he should just leave the realm. Having exhausted every option he can think of. He wonders if he should leave his rag tag army with a new, stronger leader. Sagittarian sighs. "What possible use could there be for me now?" The wyrms. The fucking wyrms. Sagittarian was almost sure he had worked out a great way to take them down. Atleast before his mysterious loss of ability. He dreams of other ways he could fight them. Perhaps fire with fire? Perhaps, beast with beast? Hmmmm. He casts a glance back towards the south. And off to the hiding fortress of the only other organization that could perhaps give him the strength he desparately desires. As he strolls back toward the R/T he rubs his hands over his bald head...wait. What's this? Tiny pokey things? Thistles on my head? Hair? "I'm growing hair...." he gasps. "I'm growing fucking hair now...What does that mean?" Sagi shakes his head and fingers his scalp as he dissapears over the horizon, off into an uncertain future. -------------------------- Message 271 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Wed Jun 8 16:22:08 2005 EDT From: Liam_Nevar (#37261) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Liam's at home, now Keying in the code the door, it responds with the *clank* sound of it locking. Smiling he stands up and looks around bring the cup of coffee to his lips. This will work, he says to himself softly. He sit down and opens his computer then begins entering his report: ------------------------------------------------------------------------ |Mission Log 2: Wed Oct 20 22:11:00 2662 | |Name: Liam Nevar | |Kilmor Employee #562-541-846 | |Division: Security | |Objectives Cleared: | | 1 - Find a settlement of wasteland survivors. | | 2 Integrate into society/form contacts. | | 3 Set up a base of operations. | | | | Command, a suitable base of operation has been established. My | |location is on the Eastern seaboard close to an area known as Woods | |Hole. There is a transportation network linked from a central hub. | |With it I can accesses no less than five other locations with | |survivor settlements. I have operated under the guise I am a military | |cyborg with scientific background that lost my way back home, not that| |far from the truth. The inhabitance are open to trade and | |interactivities. I have made several connections. | | I am now moving on the next set of objectives. My Estimated | |Time Table is one year. In the interim I would like to file a list | |or requisitions ASAP. If this is possible please leave a requisition | |form at the Delta Dead Drop. | | | |Note: There is another Kilmor operative active in the wastelands I am.| |As I was told my time tables where in year intervals this has made me | |wander if my mission has been scrubbed. Until I receive rescind orders| |I will operate under orders and proceed as planned. Please inform the | |Board of Directors that I thank them for this assignment and will not | |let them down. | | | | end log| ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Closing the screen he looks around thinking 'All I have to do now is put up an open sign,' and his smile widens and he goes back sipping his coffee. --------------------------