From - Thu Mar 12 10:25:28 1998 Return-Path: quinn@bga.com Received: from mail1.realtime.net (mail1.realtime.net [205.238.128.217]) by eniac.vv.com (8.8.3/8.7.1) with SMTP id KAA12814 for ; Thu, 12 Mar 1998 10:16:52 -0500 (EST) Received: (qmail 24252 invoked from network); 12 Mar 1998 15:16:21 -0000 Received: from zoom.realtime.net (HELO zoom.bga.com) (root@205.238.128.40) by mail1.realtime.net with SMTP; 12 Mar 1998 15:16:21 -0000 Received: from casper.bga.com (casper.realtime.com [205.238.128.161]) by zoom.bga.com (8.6.12/8.6.12) with SMTP id JAA27258 for ; Thu, 12 Mar 1998 09:16:13 -0600 Message-Id: <199803121516.JAA27258@zoom.bga.com> Date: Thu, 12 Mar 1998 09:16:12 -0400 From: "Quinn@GhostWheel" To: quinn@netsville.com Subject: GhostWheel Message(s) 438 - 448 from *storylines (#5236) X-Mail-Agent: GhostWheel (casper.bga.com 6969) X-UIDL: c5364493547fb02cb2c46e7a0bb3f406 Status: U X-Mozilla-Status: 8001 Message 438 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Tue Feb 3 09:19:34 1998 EST From: Tarla (#18104) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Discoveries.... Tarla sat in thier room late into the night.... staring at her sister's sleeping form but seeing nothing.... listening to the slow whirring of the fan, but not really hearing it.... her mind thousands of miles away. What had begun as a rare night of hunting with her sister had ended in an altogether different... and infinately disturbing... set of events. They had decided on New Orleans... knowing they could swiftly and effeciently rack up quite a few crystals in the bayou and have a little fun as well.... but when they arrived the city was half underwater and a crowd of people were mulling towards the cemetary. Shy had been all for heading out to the bayou anyway, but something had drawn Tarla towards the cemetary.... curiousity? Perhaps... but she had never been prone to such fancies before this. With a rueful shake of her head, Shynara had followed her to the cemetary... and into the inner circle... and into the odd ceremony that was taking place. At first it had been an oddity... then a pleasure to watch as first one and then another person stepped into the circle and tortured themselves at the bidding of a single woman.... Tarla had been torn between revelling in the joy of watching men beat themselves and studying this woman who had the power of personality to get them to do so without question. She had been startled when the woman directed Shynara to enter the ritual, and smiled slightly at the memory of her sister's wanton display... she knew why Shy had participated... but she might never know why she herself had silently taken her place when directed... anymore than she might ever know why she had been drawn there in the first place. Tarla shivered slightly and wrapped her arms around herself tightly, the fear and confusion she had felt at the events that followed overtaking her again. With a violent shake of her head, she stood... pushing the memories away... not yet prepared to deal with the conflicting emotions evoked by the strange revelations of the later part of the ritual.... what had happened next frightened her as nothing had done since she took to the streets so long ago... but within the fear was a core of joy... Tarla flicked off the dim light and slid between the sheets of the bed, cuddling close to her sister's back in search of the comfort and security that seemed to have evaporated in the night. 'Oh gods Shy.... what's happening to me? To us?' she whispered into her sister's neck.... then closed her eyes and tried to sleep. -------------------------- Message 439 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Tue Feb 3 13:54:05 1998 EST From: Yerox (#11884) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Cleansing. Yerox dreamt of darkness, and blood. HE appeared as a priest of sorts, beating himself with a whip to undo his deeds, but wait that couldn't be right? The dream shifted and he was struggling to breath, thick viscous fluid filled his lungs and he tried as he might to hold his breath and get it out, but nothing he could do worked. He struggled with it for what seemed hours and surfaced in a pool of blood. He gasped in horror at what he beheld, severed limbs drifted in the water, viscera and other gross oddities floting around him. Suddenly he leapt out of bed, awake and unsettled for the most part. Afterwords, he went about his daily grooming procedure, well it was normal for him now but he didn't have to like it. But actually, he found that this was one day he welcomed to get the blood and rain water out of his body once and for all. He shivered at the thought, what did the dream mean? War? Death? No the submariners who mocked him would pay but not like that. Shivering he went back to his room, and worked to forget the night before. -------------------------- Message 441 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Wed Feb 4 22:57:16 1998 EST From: Quirky_Spice (#20332) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Omigosh it's them!!! The Spice Girls came to Ghostwheel? It can't be! By Gods! Bitchy Spice! Quirky Spice! Spammy Spice! Fluffy Spice! (I think they need applause folks.) -------------------------- Message 442 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Wed Feb 4 23:23:13 1998 EST From: Sexy_Spice (#20332) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: At the request of Skywalker.... Lovey Spice! Sexy Spice! And Chesty Spice! (We're getting more interesting now methinks) -------------------------- Message 443 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Wed Feb 4 23:24:54 1998 EST From: Darius_Lee (#10280) To: *storylines (#5236) Darius Lee stood along the sea shore, the setting sun at her back as she solemly vowed to destroy anyone and anything that carried the destible emblem of 'Spice'. -------------------------- Message 444 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Fri Feb 6 16:06:29 1998 EST From: Seraph (#16551) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: ... Stalking through the bayou, she growled as the blade tore through another pair of clammy, half-withered hands, keeping them away. For once it wasn't communion with their kind, or the price of their souls that she was seeking. Once silence came, she began digging. Digging through the graves, tossing bones aside, ignoring the murmurs that flooded her skull with blasphemous curses and venom. She had to find it, and she knew it had to be here... somewhere. If not there, in the gardens, though somehow she knew instinctively that though 'hidden in plain sight' was the best of answers, some secrets were best kept by those whose silence was guaranteed. Not many could account for the voices, not many could understand why the need was so strong, others merely whispered behind her eyes that she'd finally gone mad. She ignored them, dismissed them. The one she sought was not among their ranks. To find that one... the one who was the key. That would be the answer. She saw their bones rise up in waves as she scattered them across the churning mud, still softened by the rains. The feel of flesh and the feel of earth were unified in the bubbling ground that sucked at her steps as if to pull her under as well to join the ones who wished... just to talk... forever. She would, indeed, find the one. The one was the key. The key to what, she was only partly certain, and yet whatever lay beyond it, she was quite sure, would be the unlocking of a new world... -------------------------- Message 445 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Fri Feb 6 17:53:00 1998 EST From: Styx (#1610) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Hell or highwater The rain had stopped. But the water kept rising. And rising. It looked as if it would be flooding the town soon... -------------------------- Message 446 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sat Feb 7 01:08:12 1998 EST From: Red_Fang (#5907) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Walking on water Red Fang stepped down the stairs of his apartment noticing the high water.. He shruged lightly walking over it towards the shuttle landing area.. The shuttle came and landed softly and luckly the landing struts where high enough to keep the ship safe.. Off he zoomed into the night leaving behind a spray of water. Red. -------------------------- Message 447 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sat Feb 7 03:10:16 1998 EST From: Kingfox (#23362) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Like rats on a sinking ship... The rain fell... and fell... Like rats on a sinking ship, residents emerged from every house, mansion, and coffin (in some rare cases). As the mass exodus coninuted, Kingfox found it harder and harder to rationalize his continued facination with N'Orleans. Sure, there were plenty of ruins to scavenge, but as the water rose the pickings became rarer and rarer by the hour. Even the graveyard, his favorite place to hone his skills, became too unbearable. Every friendship made in N'Orleans, every item glaned from it's formerly majestic residences, all stayed with him inside, as the world washed away. His tears fell, the first tears on his face in many years, quickly washing away. How ironic, that it seemed the city itself should be washed away, as tears.. in rain. For possibly the last time, Kingfox boarded the Lamar, and left N'Orleans. Time to find a new place to scavenge, unfortunately. -------------------------- Message 448 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sat Feb 7 16:14:48 1998 EST From: Clayson (#17237) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: A small sign hanging in the R/T building I will pay any citizen 10k in crystals for the head of Karcass and the return of my weapon. This man is a menace, he is a lower form the rat shit...he must die. Oh by the way, he goes by the name of Queen...just shout that out and you will be able to find him. --------------------------