From quinn@fazigu.org Sat Oct 08 14:51:00 2005 Return-path: Envelope-to: quinn@fazigu.org Delivery-date: Sat, 08 Oct 2005 14:51:00 -0400 Received: from yami.57thstreet.com ([216.110.12.54]) by work.fazigu.org with esmtp (Exim 4.50) id 1EOJmd-0006qx-Oq for quinn@fazigu.org; Sat, 08 Oct 2005 14:50:59 -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 j98IwfQ2041957 for ; Sat, 8 Oct 2005 18:58:41 GMT (envelope-from quinn@fazigu.org) Message-Id: <200510081858.j98IwfQ2041957@yami.57thstreet.com> Date: Sat, 8 Oct 2005 13:58:41 -0400 From: "Quinn@Ghostwheel" To: quinn@fazigu.org Subject: Ghostwheel Message(s) 288 - 291 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=-0.9 required=5.0 tests=AWL,BAYES_50 autolearn=ham version=3.0.2 Status: RO Content-Length: 5621 Lines: 116 Message 288 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Tue Aug 16 14:14:17 2005 EDT From: Dexter (#14882) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: FROM THE JOURNAL OF DEXTER NORTON (AGING CARTOGRAPHER) A yellowed scrap of paper covered with scrawl in blue ink. A shiny, computer printout is clipped to the edge. Sun May 14 23:48:15 2663 (uplink): ---(10251/11431/0)--- (uplink): | | (uplink): | | (uplink): | | (uplink): | %%%%%%%X%%%%%%%%%%| (uplink): |%%%%%% . . . . . | (uplink): | . . . . . . . | (uplink): | . . . . . . . | (uplink): ---(10251/11431/0)--- (uplink): "cancel map on uplink" TO DISSOLVE HOLOMAP It's true. It's completely true. There is an edge to the wasteland! Finally the entire mystery of Ghostwheel has been revealed to me after countless decades of dedication at the craft of cartography! The disturbing aspect is that the old woman was right when I spoke with her at the Desert Rat Tavern. The enclosed image is proof from my GPS uplink that there is an edge to the wasteland! There are ruined cities, rusted out wrecks and middens of human bones marking the waypoints of the wasteland but only with sheer perseverance did I make it this far to the edge! Right now my feet are dangling over the edge of the known universe, the void yawning below me. I dropped a cosmorock and listened but only heard the rushing desert breezes falling headlong into the dark expanses before and below me. With my makeshift climbing rope woven from belliflora stems anchored to a nearby dolmen I have slipped below the edge of the Ghostwheel and discovered a vast plain of green stone curving upwards into the surface! Strange patterns upon the surface are organic in nature. When I peered over the edge of that surface I discovered another similar surface. After all this time, Hawking was wrong! The old lady was right! It is turtles all the way down. -------------------------- Message 289 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sun Sep 4 21:35:36 2005 EDT From: Ruby (#12541) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Strange days. Not able to stand much more, Ruby turned and left the darkness in which Mama practiced. What she practiced, Ruby had no idea, but seeing Einar tied down, naked, her legs long and smooth spread out before her, Ruby knew what was to come would be nothing but pain for the one she called Crazy. The muttering between Master Laurent and Mama brought a hint of what might happen. Einar sewed closed, her porthole to pleasure shut for the likes of Venom. And with this knowledge of what could take place, the child left to venture down to the swamps of N'Oleans. ..by passing the blood that dripped from Ydhana's belly not days ago, now just a large stain on the ground, Ruby's snooping brought her to an unlocked room, with in, she found a raven, dark and sleek as a starless night. Deep in sleep, Ruby gathered the creature in her thin arms, "A perfect gift for the Captain." this whispered to no one, as the child has become accustomed to speaking to herself. -------------------------- Message 291 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Wed Sep 7 16:11:54 2005 EDT From: Baron_Ozwater (#37252) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: My China Doll Elevar walks out closing the door to the Baron's shack, leaving him alone in his home. But the Baron is never alone, they are always with him. Some whisper secrets, others curses, but one tells him of a plan, and a warning. This is the one he listens to tonight. Her voice is soothing, calm and much as his own. "It's time love." She whispers softly in his ear. Striking a match he lights the fire under the small pot, giving it a few moments to warm before proceeding. From the shrine he created for the Loas he retrieves a large candle, placing it into the pot. Chanting and swaying he recites the words he once heard so long ago, and so far, far away. "Papa Ghede, bnissent ce pot et c'est contenu. Faites-lui un et gurissez-le." The Baron reaches for the flinstone's cup and pours the freshly drawn blood in the pot, "purez et sanctifiez." "No too much now." She warns and he complies, reserving half the precious liquid. "DRINK IT!" Screams a voice. "Tink on it first," pleads another. He will have non of that and proceeds ignoring the others. "Lien de sang. Lien d'me." He chants as he pulls the half melted mount of wax and blood from the pot. Working the mixture in his hands he kneads it in to the smoke and ash from the incense burning in the shrine. "Now make da mon." She directs him. Annoyance settles over his face, "I know wat I doin' woman. I watch da ol' mon." He works the mess into a humanoid shape slowly. Forming the arms, then legs from the trunk. As he forms the hear the Baron reaches for the hair clippings and presses them into the wax. "Dis is wong," he mutters to himself. "No you doin' right child." The thought confuses him as it has since she told him the first time. "It need be done. He comin'. And he comin' SOON!" "Still woman, dis bokor magic! Wat we doin' is wrong! Don't no one be hav'en da right to do dis to anutter!" His nerves settle and his breath catches as he feels her around him. Worm air surrounds him and his body tingles as she whispers to him, "Sometime da righteous must be little wicked ta fight da wrong. You a good mon, and I never lie to you before?" The Baron hangs his head, "No," then continues working the figure. Taking bits of cloth he dresses the doll and places it in the shrine. "Now bless it Ezili. And den I can get some sleep, finally." --------------------------