From quinn@fazigu.org Thu Dec 09 11:13:03 1999 Received: from casper.realtime.com (casper.realtime.net) [205.238.128.161] by requiem.netsville.com with esmtp (Exim 3.03 #1 (Debian)) id 11w6Bg-0004Kk-00; Thu, 09 Dec 1999 11:13:01 -0500 Received: from casper.realtime.com (localhost [127.0.0.1]) by casper.realtime.net (8.7.4/8.7.3) with SMTP id KAA27424 for ; Thu, 9 Dec 1999 10:12:54 -0600 Message-Id: <199912091612.KAA27424@casper.realtime.net> Date: Thu, 9 Dec 1999 10:12:52 -0400 From: "Quinn@GhostWheel" To: quinn@fazigu.org Subject: GhostWheel Message(s) 1313 - 1343 from *storylines (#5236) X-Mail-Agent: GhostWheel (casper.realtime.com 6969) Status: RO Content-Length: 42379 Lines: 944 Message 1313 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sun Oct 10 02:31:33 1999 EDT From: Rathe (#14172) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Re: Tikiaido Somebody's enjoyed your TP posts? -------------------------- Message 1314 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sun Oct 10 02:34:18 1999 EDT From: Valentine (#24957) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: This should probably be on *chat, but... "I did... " "Love Valentine. " "I liked Bloody_Mary's too. Nice structure. -------------------------- Message 1315 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sun Oct 10 21:37:51 1999 EDT From: Akane (#14270) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Finale Akane stood in the concourse of the transport hub, holding Michael in his arms. One week, she had said, one week she would be gone. Her mother had commed her. There were things to be settled from her father's estate but she needed to be there for the reading of the will and to sign various papers. He had watched her board the low orbit transport to Erin, had helped her buckle her seat belt over her growing pregnant body. Now he stood in the concourse while Michael waved a chubby hand at his mother, chanting "bye bye". The transport fired up and left in a roaring trail. It would achieve low altitude orbit in mere minutes. Akane didn't know why but for some reason his heart flinched as he watched the transport leave. Slowly he walked to another part of the concourse and boarded a local transport for Drach'nal. Forty five minutes later he was home. He had put Michael in his booster seat at the kitchen table and was juggling pans making dinner when his orb went off. He fingered the orb to answer then set it to float so he could talk and cook at the same time when the voice at the other end made him sit down at the table, numbness flowing through him. Merri was dead. The transport had exploded on reentry into Irish airspace. It had only taken him seconds to realize that she was beyond the reach of the Sarkus. The Eagle would never be able to bring her back. In stunned silence he stared at his son, now motherless. The sound of his cry echoed through the valley. -------------------------- Message 1316 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Mon Oct 11 01:24:40 1999 EDT From: Shandryl (#24740) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: alone again naturally When Akane entered the room, Shandryl knew soemthing terrible had happened. His face told hte story even before his lips did. Merri was gone. Her friend, the only female she had known besides the whores of the Bayou, was not coming back. Worse, though, was the revelation that her teacher was also _gone_. His spirit was no longer there. She tried everything she knew. On the outside, his manner and speech seemed like nothing had changed. But she knew. She knew all too well. There was no place for her here. She would not settle to be the maid and caregiver for her friend's child. She couldn't do it. Shandryl looked around the dormitory, at the sleeping figures of Hannibal and Demetrius, and bid them a silent farewell. She avoided the rose garden. There was just too much of Merri in it. She must leave, perhaps she wouldfind her way back. For now, she was on her own again. Alone in this vast world where everything was strange and confusing. She would head to N'Orleans. Perhaps there she would find the answers. Find whatever it was that was calling to her in the night. Whatever it was that made her wake up feeling so cold and alone. And searching for something to hold and hang on to. Something warm, something alive. Something she could call her own. -------------------------- Message 1317 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Mon Oct 11 01:33:44 1999 EDT From: Rathe (#14172) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: ... In the east, the sun was rising -- dim light filtered through stained glass windows, casting the expansive chamber a blood-red hue. Overhead, the severed dragon head flashed briefly -- a remembrance of the fire that once burned in the beast's gullet. Leaning forward, the Adept brought his cowled features into the light -- pale skin became, for a moment, pink; adding some semblance of life to his otherwise deathly pallor. In his right hand, the glittering blade of his switchblade. Silently, Rathe carved a notch into the edge of his desk. And smiled. -------------------------- Message 1318 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Mon Oct 11 14:22:02 1999 EDT From: Rwo (#15637) To: *storylines (#5236) Rwo glanced at the sword and then.. Rwo [to a longsword]: what is the law? A sonorous voice thunders in the air-- or is it only inside your head? "Fairness is the unheard whining of the weak. Justice is the unreliable luxury of the strong. But the Law binds both together. UNITY. THAT IS THE LAW!" Rwo says, "ok...I thought I was just pretending to be crazy but maybe if swords are talking to me I should get some help." Rwo wanders off to find a shrink. -------------------------- Message 1319 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Thu Oct 14 18:18:39 1999 EDT From: Pounce (#24787) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Transferring fears... The cat woke up twitching. It wasn't fear of the dark. The dark was fine. He'd managed to find a decent light and he now turned it on... and it didn't make him stop twitching. He thought about it. He'd met Noriko the other day. Noriko was definitely insane, but not nearly as socially demonic as Scorch had made him out to be. And Noriko had told him that someone named Toraxyn had taken Scorch. It wasn't untill the third day that the cat realized that he wanted Scorch back. He wanted her back more than anything he'd ever wanted before. Even wanting her to love him. He realized why he woke up twitching and shaking every morning, his fur matted with the stinking sweat of bad dreams. He realized that it was because he wanted Scorch safe. He realized that he would do anything to accomplish that. And he set to writing a letter and thinking of ways it might be delivered. -------------------------- Message 1320 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Thu Oct 14 20:44:33 1999 EDT From: Noriko (#24467) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: The Constant Bleeding... The Banzai echoed with a howl of rage. Noriko rubbed his head which he clumsily hit on the door on his way in. Daishineko, the panther which has been bonded with Noriko's soul glanced up at the former thief. Noriko caught the gaze and sighed, speaking to him, "You know...I ..just can't take any more pain...of any kind." He leaned down, asking the computer of the ship it's status. "Damn...Jizo is too far away...I want to go home." He opened his med kit and began wrapping bandages around the gaping wound in his neck which he had lost a liter due to Toraxyn. No matter, that bastard has a lump on his head from the crowbar in small and useless vengeance which is trivial to Noriko, but Noriko knew the arrogant bastard would be mad about the fact that some street rat got a hit on him. That's why Noriko taunted him as he ran.... He finished wrapping the bandage around his neck. Since his return, he has been even more pained. He came back from a horrible experience, dumped by the one he loved, as if forgotten, and replaced with another. No home to go to, the now less vigilante Shadowrunner, Noriko's former adversary offered him and Daishineko sanctuary in his dojo. Very well. Now to stop being lazy...to Jizo to get leather-armor....and maybe some drugs. -------------------------- Message 1321 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Fri Oct 15 20:27:11 1999 EDT From: Smoke (#12541) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: The Time is Near The woman's brain reeled against the horror that lay at her feet. Her blade dripping crimson; the life force of the mage, a growing river against the tile floor. She had broken the only promise she had ever made to herself. After years of insanity with the dark one she had vowed never to take another life of a humanoid entity. Yet, here at her feet was Devon, unconscious and deadly white. Though she did not kill him, she certainly contributed to his flight to find the eagle. She glanced at the two desert men with her, she could tell by their eyes that the war had started. There was no turning back now, blood had been spilled. She walked quickly to the up and down thing, descending into the depths of the R/T building. Trudging through the desert she sheathed herself in an emotionless umbrella, hiding her all in a deep sea of nothingness. -------------------------- Message 1322 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sun Oct 17 22:26:57 1999 EDT From: Dante (#10660) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: The end of the nuisance. Dante stepped into the shack with a wry chuckle. It was bad enough Clockwork had attacked Rhea a month ago, but now he had the audacity to attack his own student? Thalkarsh's things would be returned, but he thought it amusing as he left. Clockwork was left broken and beaten, even if he were to die he would only return to his own shack locked inside. Dante had the only key for that matter, so Clockwork really had no way to get out. The end. OOC I'm just using this as an excuse to let Clockwork stew for a while, he's locked in so he shouldn't be allowed to @go outside. I've got the key to the cabin. That and he's a cripple right now, fun. -------------------------- Message 1323 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Mon Oct 18 19:34:57 1999 EDT From: Rathe (#14172) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: re: Dante uh. He could break a window -------------------------- Message 1324 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Mon Oct 18 19:51:25 1999 EDT From: Dante (#10660) To: *storylines (#5236) Not with both arms and legs broken. -------------------------- Message 1325 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Mon Oct 18 19:52:36 1999 EDT From: Rathe (#14172) To: *storylines (#5236) Or someone could break in; he could still use a communicator to contact someone. Or he could eat 200 crystals, or... You get the idea. -------------------------- Message 1326 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Mon Oct 18 19:56:38 1999 EDT From: Dante (#10660) To: *storylines (#5236) Friends? Clockwork has friends? -------------------------- Message 1327 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Mon Oct 18 20:14:48 1999 EDT From: Pounce (#24787) To: *storylines (#5236) Not that it really matters to me, but could you guys take the OOC stuff to *chat or something? -------------------------- Message 1328 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Mon Oct 18 23:11:05 1999 EDT From: Akane (#14270) To: *storylines (#5236) The lone figure stood atop the rooftop of the building, looking out into the distance. The wind blew strands of long, disheveled hair away from his face, revealing two eyes devoid of emotion. Too much for the person to comprehend, perhaps. Death leading to rebirth of a new persona. The black robe clung against his frame, the hood thrown back haphazardly, without care, allowing the rest of his hair to move in the wind. The hall was empty -- not surprising as everyone had left, albeit some straggler left behind by one of his students. Disposal of such would be done accordingly; plenty of time he had to waste. The mage turned on a heel, and descended silently down the stairs, barely making a whisper of a sound as he made his way back to his room. -------------------------- Message 1329 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Tue Oct 19 00:49:58 1999 EDT From: Red_Fang (#5907) To: *storylines (#5236) Red was standing outside of Dante's tower throwing rocks at the windows as usualy when who should call for help out the window??? Clockwork.. Well.. A choice between Dante and Clockwork??? Hmm.. Red pondered this for a split second then fed Old Clockwork some crystals to heal and helped him out the window... Enough said.. Go away now before I kill you both Red thought... Red. -------------------------- Message 1330 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Fri Oct 22 07:05:43 1999 EDT From: Pounce (#24787) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Closure... Pounce sighed. Sitting on the bed in the cavern, unable to sleep, affraid to go out, and without the ambition to read a book or do something stationary to occupy his mind, he just sat, staring at his watch as if it were the be all and end all of his existance. He noticed the time... He noticed that it was exactly 100 hours untill all of this madness would be at an end. And he set the countdown timer. Pounce had grown tired of all this. Tired of gaining something important only to have it taken away. Tired of being unable to overcome his fears. Tired of an inevitable fate that could be two years or two days in the future. Tired of the uncertainty. Tired of the termoil. Tired of the stress. Just plain tired. But he couldn't sleep. He lied back on the bed, watching the countdown timer tick off its hundredths of seconds so quickly, and its tenths a bit slower, and its seconds slower yet again, and signed. When sleep finally took him, his last thought was, "97 hours to freedom. Halle-friggin-lujah." -------------------------- Message 1331 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Fri Oct 22 11:08:24 1999 EDT From: Scorch (#16959) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: once again. She stood there, amazed and curiously appalled. The tall powerful adept held the seemingly tiny figure of the man she had loved in what seemed like a former life. Toraxyn cackled and tossed the boys ragdoll body aside. Scorch neither protested nor encouraged, simply stood there, numb. Before she knew what was happening, it was all close whispers and enticing welcomes from a voice she almost knew. Soft vocal trills she had never heard before called and entreated her to do the things she had only dreamt of in dreams... What was happening to her. She heard angry words, and a flash of the adepts face...She slipped off into unconscious oblivion. She awoke to the searing, burning sensation of freezing water. It surrounded her body, she stumbled back with frozen limbs. She could barely stand, her arms shivered, and she had to fight from clacking her teeth together so loud her head shook... before her, standing like a messiah to the lost, she saw Toraxyn, failing to keep her strength, she fell down into the freezing water once more. A split second later, he was at her side, somehow hovering above the water, his hands against her cheek seemed like infinite warmth. She wanted to crawl inside those hands... His eyes begged her to ask it of him. To ask him to save her...To let him be her savior.... And she begged, stumbled to him in the endless cold, and fell before him, begging for his warmth. She awoke some time later, she couldnt tell if it was hours, or days. She awoke in a snap, her eyes blinking open, she gasped and sat up, looking around. The sheets of the bed clutched around her naked torso. She had no idea where she was, what?...Who?...Then the details came flooding back with vivid clarity. She felt like sobbing. She chided herself, sat up tall, gathered what pride she had about her, and explored her new surroundings... She searched around the cabin for any sign of her clothing. She slept for days, the adept neither returning to check on her, nor to release or restrain her. She awoke once or twice to a silent shuffling about the cabin, a soft whispering voice that echoed words she could not understand, she shook with fear. There was something holding her here.... But there was something at home... calling her name, and she answered it. Before she knew what she was doing she had made her way outside, she took off running, Didn't stop until she reached the Rt building..... She quickly descended the open tunnel grate and collapsed halfway to her cavern below the RoundRoom... Her body lay there caked with dust, sweet silence taking over her senses. -------------------------- Message 1332 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Fri Oct 22 12:46:51 1999 EDT From: Pounce (#24787) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Well, look who's here... Pounce awoke to his comm ringing. "FUCK!" escaped the lips of the cat as he sat up with a start... "I over-fuckin'-slept!" He answered the comm, hearing a familiar, raspy voice on the other end greeting him dryly with, "You ready, kitty?" Pounce replied, "Of course. Let's get this over with. Maybe I'll be a subbie in the next life." The voice on the other end rasp-chuckled at him, "You still believe in that zen bullshit?" and gave him the directions to get from the cavern he now inhabited to the R/T Helipad. He left the cavern, taking none of the things he'd collected on his journeys to fight his fears. They meant absolutely nothing to him now, for he was giving in to his fears. He was going to be voluntarily terminated. At the top of the shaft, he almost didn't notice her untill she moaned his name. It was Scorch. He did a double-take that almost made him fall over and rushed to her side, scanning her with his bioscanner. The only thing it noted was that she was fatigued as hell and would probably need quite a bit of rest. His comm rasped angrily at him, "Where the fuck are you? The transport's ready for you." He growled softly at his comm, picking Scorch up. He said into his comm flatly, "You're going to have to wait. Something important just came up." He pushed the button just as the voice on the other end began yelling profanities at him, and carried Scorch to the cavern, lying her on the bed softly, and covering her in some thick, warm blankets from the closet, as he had, in fact, found her stark naked. They had a vague conversation about the voluntary termination and Scorch collapsed on the bed. Pounce moved to the center of the room, where he'd layed out a warm carpet for himself, and curled into a ball. In that instant, the stress had become too much. He lost his mind, in one fell swoop, an emotional breakdown that left him sobbing on his carpet as if his world had come to an end. He didn't notice that Scorch had gotten up from the bed untill she touched him. He suddenly stopped crying, and his ability to turn his emotions on and off like that was a very good sign at least to him that he was going insane, if not already there. He sad up, slowly, extremely slowly, and ask her what Toraxyn had forced her to do. There was a definite implication that the cat believed that his girlfriend had been fucked out from under him. Scorch was taken aback. They had a brief and extremely emotional argument, and Scorch began to crawl back to the bed, as Pounce watched her with jaded apathy. His previous incarnation, one of love, and happiness, comfort and kindness, traits lost on this hellish world, was gone, relegated to the depths of a bitter, jaded shell that Pounce now presented to the world. His eyes, aquamarine in color, no longer had the warmth of tropical ocean water, but the abysmal coldness of iced over jade. Pounce, unable to stay angry at Scorch, even still, though he suspected her of things he didn't want to think of fully, finally got up, after Scorch had apparently passed out again, and picked her up very gently, putting her on the bed again, hoping not to wake her up this time. He returned to his carpet, deep in thought again, as his comm rang. He told the voice to call it all off. Harsh words were exchanged, and he eventually told the voice to fuck off and that he would report his unseen escort to oblivion to Dakiron if he was harassed any further. The cat sat and pondered Scorch for a while. He then sat to work for a couple of hours, with paint and candles for lighting, leaving a mosaic of colors on the roof of the cavern that Scorch would see when she woke up. The message to her said, in plain lettering that even someone whose eyes were fatigued could read, "I ain't mad at'cha." He thought the message served its function. -------------------------- Message 1333 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sun Oct 24 20:05:10 1999 EDT From: Akeashar (#20348) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Savagery The helicopter's landing feet touched down upon the pad, the helicopter shifting slightly as the gust of wind slammed into its side. Opening the hatch, the two figures hopped out onto the steel surface, glancing around with briefcase in hand. "This the place, boss?" one guy inquired, shifting his weight as he set a box down. His short hair ruffled slightly in the wind, his face reddened from a bad case of sunburn. "indeed. We've arrived. Louie, secure the perimeter will ya?" the other individual replied, thumbing towards the large steel doors, which swung open noisely. "perimeter, boss?" Louie scratched his head then shrugged, walking towards the doors. "I don't see a periwinkle around here, you sure we came to the--" his voice was cut off briefly, then a loud gurgling was heard. "Louie?" the boss spun around, just in time to watch a piece of matter attach noisely to his face. An attempt at a scream issued, drown out by the hissing of bubbling flesh and blood. The boss fell to his knees, clutching at his face, then fell silent as his brain matter, now reduced to a grey mush, spilled over the floor. Later that evening, individuals recall seeing a large explosion a mile out to sea. -------------------------- Message 1334 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Wed Oct 27 20:42:42 1999 EDT From: Eleven (#3791) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Warning. The next post is liable to be long. -------------------------- Message 1335 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Wed Oct 27 21:24:06 1999 EDT From: Eponine (#3791) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Eleven. It had been eleven when she was gone. Eleven when she said her final farewell. It seemed strange to see her gone. Open eyes stared at the dead N'Orleans sky, glittering like glass orbs. She was Eleven. Not the age, the entity. He leaned and brushed his hands through her silken hair and wished she had understood that. Eleven had lead him here, to heal the wounds, to breathe, to unite this shattered city and free it from the dead and hopeless. It would be eleven soon again. The night skies were starless, the moon hidden behind the overcast clouds. And he had no doubt that tonight would be the night. She was Eleven. He had been so certain of this. Her eyes glowed, and the inner light held the voice that called to him, called him home. She had struggled, and that always upset him. It was beyond his comprehension how they were unwilling to be found, to be awakened. The winds turned brisk, scattering leaves across the broken pathways that criss-crossed the overgrown cemetery. He looked up, excitement pumping adreneline through his system. It was Eleven. She began to stir, the glassy gaze brighter, eyes burning like beacons. His breathing quickened, waiting for the voice to lead him away from the dead and hopeless. Then nothing. The body slumped back to the ground, the golden glow fading, leaving him awash in the darkness. He gasped, no this couldn't be. She had been it, he had been so sure. Eleven pointed her out to him, lead him to her. They were to be together now, at this moment, to move one step at a time, to heal as pain allowed. But she was not the one. Not the one. He rose, leaving the body naked in the devil's circle. Eleven would find her again, and lead him to her. There would be reconcilliation. Eleven more days. -------------------------- Message 1336 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sun Oct 31 01:14:15 1999 EDT From: Elendil (#2237) To: Elendil (#2237), *submariners (#8388), and *storylines (#5236) Subject: A kind of homecoming. He could not swim anymore. He lacked not the strength or the skill, but it didn't seem right anymore. Swirls of blue-black silt clouded around his feet as he trudged, seaweed-tilche cloak drifting ragged and rotten behind him. When he grew tired he slept, falling gently into unquiet slumber against the rough coral or beneath the shimmering shadow of one of the great clam beds. He dreamed then, bright and hard, of silvered towers and gleaming lances, but when he woke he remembered nothing, and the slopes ran away before him as barren and indistinct as always. At times he thought of leaving the bulk of the black mace behind, instead of carrying it for no purpose, yet something within him kept him from leaving it to rust to oblivion in the desert sea. He followed the star, for no reason other than it was something. Faintly it burned through the great dark fathoms, calling him towards something, anything other than his endless forgetfulness. It burned on, and he trudged on, leaving a long, fading line of silt and grime to mark his passage. It led him past the great, extinct volcanoes, past the ragged trenches and tumbled columns of the Wastes, and to the ship. A great iron ingot of a vessel, it lay canted onto its side as if overcome with the great creepers of rust it threw across the bottom. Stingrays haunted the shattered windows and mangled gunports, coral and barnacles nearly obscuring the golden 'U..S. Man..core' along the twisted prow. He eyed it indifferently, glad only for a momentary end to the monotony of the waters. Overhead, the star shimmered and went out. One of the massive dual ports on the foredeck was riven, and he sank through it, letting the darkness engulf him. The interior of the vessel lay in shambles, struts and steel spars that concerned him not at all. Something about the rear passageway brought his armor to life. He stood idly for a moment, watching the flicker of lights across the visor display of his greathelm, and followed the passageway. The water grew warmer, strangely heated, and an odd radiant glow filled the massive rear antechamber. The great engine room glowed with a hellish fire. Searing radiation from the cracked driveshafts set the water near to boiling. His helm chittered angrily, lights shifting to orange and yellow, but what drew his gaze was the massive ebony clam embedded against the fore of the two great engines. Eight feet across with a shell of blackest obisidian, the long, hooked feelers of the bivalve wavered hypnotically over a scattering of bones and riven equipment. The hard concrete secretions fixing the clam to the steel bulkhead glittered with treasures, but he turned away uncaring. He was almost gone from the door when the great shell shivered and his comm sprang to life. "Ahh, a fishman," the great obscene clam sighed, steely tendrils drifting on a non-existant current. "So long since a fishman came. Miss their flesh I do, salty and hard." He turned again, looking down at the ravaged skeletons scattered across the tilted deck. Broken blades, a smashed helm, ripped sections of coral scalemail, a buckled shield. The bones were many and varied, skeletal hand in a rusted submariner gauntlet, aesir skulls lean and lupine. "Why do you eat them?" he asked, voice flat from the depths of his helm. "Bring me gifts they do," the clam sighed, "though they know it not. Blue-blue warriors with their green-green eyes carry me their crystals, blinded priests and their weak godspells bring me their flesh. Even aesir knight came once, swift and straight. He brought me his key, and I gnawed his bones until broken they were." His eyes picked out a lean, steel key embedded in the clam's nest, worked with narrow runes of foreign make. Something about it set an itch to his mind, burned memories of hunts and betrayals. A great coldness filled him, chilled his arms and legs, leapt into his mind and carried the glaze from his eyes. "Many fishmen," the clam giggled madly, "And what kind are you?" "Survivor." he stated, the great black mace suddenly free and narrow in his vision. The ice filled him and he welcomed it back, the greatest of rages, and knew to the bedrock beneath that he was born to fight with a mace. The clam's long tendrils whipcracked through the searing brine, barbs rattling against his slimy breastplate. The long hooks scrabbled for purchase and failed, carrying away long ribbons of encrusted seaweed and grime. The ancient breastplate gleamed along the paths left by the strikes, the burning scales of his House clean and bright at last. The great mace slid through the water with the ease of a blade, and the massive iron spikes cracked and bore away the lip of the darkling monster. One slithering tentacle caught him in the knee, digging behind the armor's joint and setting his flesh afire with a venomous kiss. The clam giggling through its pain, knowing the ancient foe would fumble on the stunned limb, would tremor and fall and offer up its savory meatflesh, offer its strength. "Betemarin!" the clam sighed, "Betemarin I am, and carry the name with you into your darkness!" The pain danced through his head, and suddenly it was not _the_ pain, but merely _a_ pain, one and least of those he'd endured through a lifetime of struggle. Beneath that great, dark helm, he smiled and the memories came back. "I am Elendil," he said as the great mace drew back again, "And go to whatever end you have knowing at my very least I am greater than you." The obsidian spikes cracked against the shell with a flare of eldritch power and Betemarin screamed, a high keening of agony as the shell breached. He dropped onto it's sling and drove his gauntleted fist into the hole, great shoulders flexing as he pulled it open. Betemarin squealed once, again, like a lost child, and ripped asunder. The key came out of the concrete secretions easily. He held it up to the radioactive light, picking out the worn Aesir runes. "The keepkey of Sharnin," he said, hand clenching involuntarily. "At long last, I can find you, my Lost one." -------------------------- Message 1337 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Mon Nov 1 07:03:33 1999 EST From: Cordell (#16526) To: *submariners (#8388) and *storylines (#5236) Subject: One Ripple. She had never wandered up to the drylands before. It felt strange to draw in a breath rather then let the sea drift through her gills, strange and rather arid. How could Drifters stay up here for so long? But the sea stretched out before her now and she dove in without really thinking about it, closing her eyes breifly as the water closed in around her, welcoming her home. Wave's End. This was to be her new home, at least until her internships were completed. It was a frightening prospect to be so far from home and safety. Her parents had wanted her to finish her schooling back in Misty Cove. But, as tempting as that was, her brother had been right, she needed desperately to find herself and she'd never do that back at home with her fretting mother and domineering father pulling her this way and that. Already she was making friends, well, she was meeting people at least. Skywalker had been kind enough to offer her a tour of the area. Probably a good idea, she'd heard Aesir were much more prolific here, making it a little dangerous. She'd be sure to strike that from any correspondence to her parents. Then there was Elendil, apparently just returned to the area himself. A chivalric one, he was. Perhaps a Keltin, or a Deep Scout. Her brother acted like that too sometimes. Two others she'd never gotten names from. The woman who'd openly scorned her for her shyness. She blushed just to think of it. No one had ever chided her for being shy. Privately she hoped she never ran into her again. Wave's End came into view finally, home, for now. She put away her thoughts and swerved herself left. She had studies yet and still needed to unpack. There would be time for pondering later. -------------------------- Message 1338 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Wed Nov 3 03:32:50 1999 EST From: Tirafal (#24173) To: *storylines (#5236) The twins were older now. Living in almost complete isolation at the complex Tirafal had become forced to start the girls education. Letters, numbers, colors and shapes became part of her daily routine. Ybrielle helped. Her own children were growing and often they would switch classroom duties with the children as a group. The girls were quick to learn. At three they were already starting to understand the concept of letters making words and they embraced this knowledge with enthusiasm. A couple of things disturbed their mother, though. Over the course of their babyhood they had developed their own speech with each other and sometimes they seemed to communicate with each other silently, a look or a gesture from one twin to the other conveying everything they wanted to say. Ynaoise was no help. He would sit with them on his lap and expound on his latest research in biogenetics. They would listen with rapt attention to his deep, rumbling voice. The disturbing thing about that was that sometimes Tirafal got the idea that they actually understood what he was talking about. Today was the first free day she had totally to herself in a long time. She had taken the kestrel, dizzy with delight at the unadulterated attention, to Jizo and had hunted with him; something she hadn't done in a very long while. He had done his best to impress her with the ferocity of his beak and claws and she had cooed over him and petted his breast feathers. Once again she remembered the love they had for each other, so seperate from the rest of the world. He had snuggled into her jacket for warmth on the transport home and the weight of the bird against her body was comforting. Tomorrow would be back to the normal world, working with the girls, trying to make headway in cleaning the Complex and reclaiming more of the rooms and generally caring for her family. But this little space of time was hers. She cherished it and petted the small hawk cuddled next to her in blissful sleep. -------------------------- Message 1339 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Wed Nov 3 20:42:26 1999 EST From: Elendil (#2237) To: Elendil (#2237) and *storylines (#5236) Subject: Mandatory TP #4 *** Some names have been changed to protect the innocent and worry the guilty. *** _______________ l Dome -Coral's Reach This room is stark in its' simplicity. There are a few handwoven rugs in tones of copper, bronze and autumn browns scattered over the floor. Set into the top of the dome are narrow windows that create a quarter of a six-pointed star pattern and reach halfway down the walls of the dome, allowing a view of the outside water world and sea-life that swims over. A soft, handwoven cover in muted shades of violet, sea-green and copper is on the large bed, its patterns seeming to move and flow as you look away. Two fluffy pillows covered in the same muted colors lay at the head of the bed. A large chest of ornately carved driftwood, aged to a soft grey, sits on the right side of the head of the large bed. Obvious exits include out (o). l chest I see no 'chest' here. Elendil screams! You page GM1 with "Um, where's the chest I keep in my citadel?" GM1 pages, "Hmm?" You page GM1 with "The chest. In my citadel. Auxiliary backup lootstash." GM1 pages, "Oh, right. Well, a while back we had some problems with the dome locks; they got stuck open. Someone came in and stole all your stuff, so I didn't think there was much point in leaving the chest lying around." You page GM1 with "Argh! A subbie came in and yoinked all my goodies?" GM1 pages, "Yep." You page GM1 with "Bah, what a cheat! Can I get any of it back?" GM1 pages, "Well, we kept some of out of play when it went out of circulation.. but no." You page GM1 with "Can't get back my 2 spearguns?" GM1 pages, "no." You page GM1 with "My cattle prod?" GM1 pages, "No." You page GM1 with "Those 2 spare suits of chainmail?" GM1 pages, "No." You page GM1 with "My speargun bolts and shotgun shells?" GM1 pages, "No!" You page GM1 with "Trident and spears?" GM1 pages, ">NO!<" You page GM1 with "Wait, not even my precious shotgun?" GM1 pages, "**NO**!@" You page GM1 with "Ok, so someone comes into my dome @oocly, since they had to be a subbie to get through the main gate, comes in through a door left open due to a code fault, and steals every single one of my auxiliary loot goodies, and I can't even get back my original shotgun, that I got in 1995 when all weapons ran off 'armed', the highest melee stat was a 50, and all death did was disconnect you from the moo briefly?" GM1 pages, "No! Now stop harrassing me!" You page GM1 with "That's not harrassment. Oh no, harrassment would be something such as, say, scanning onto the website a certain illicit photograph of you, GM2, and GM4 doing 'The Macarena' at GWBash '97." [Pause] GM1 pages, "i hate you" You page GM1 with "I'll blow it up so everyone can see you're not just dancing, you're lip-synching." GM1 pages "alright alright! The shotgun's out of play anyway, lemme check with the lists." You page GM4 with "EEEEEYYYY MACARENA" GM4 pages, "What?! No..no! You wouldn't dare!" You page GM4 with "Try me." GM1 pages, "ok, you get the gun but you have to buy it back" GM4 pages, "you monster" You page GM1 with "Buy it back? I gotta buy back my own gun that was stolen by a cheater?" GM1 pages, "Yeah, for [Obscene 5-digit crystal figure]" GM4 pages, "Oh, I see what you're up to!" You page GM1 with "Ok, I'll buy it back" GM1 pages, "And you have to write a TP about how you got it back." GM4 pages, "write a TP about how you got the gun back, and don't forget to make it @ic. None of your @ooc tricks." You page GM4, "Gotcha. No @ooc stuff." GM2 pages, "You told me you burned that photo!!" -------------------------- Message 1340 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Thu Nov 4 01:19:52 1999 EST From: Tikiaido (#24781) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Winter Blues Tiki rolled over on his cot, eyed the person sleeping next to him with a certain paranoid suspicion, opened the vent to the upstairs fireplace just a little wider so it would get a little warmer in his burrow, and went back to sleep. As he was starting to dream, his half-conscious mind made the realization that it SUCKS to be only semi-homeothermic. -------------------------- Message 1341 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Thu Nov 4 13:21:51 1999 EST From: Clayson (#17237) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Night Past The warm waters of the hot spring caused the tension in her back to fade, her wounds long closed from the healing of crystals. She leaned back against smooth stones thinking about the night past. She knew nothing of the woman they went to save, nor of the man who seemed to have an attachment to her. Nevertheless, she fought with Naxos and Skywalker at her side. The strange man fought as well, his face showing concern and pain, not the mask of fervor that most warriors wore during times of battle. The battle was fierce, blood was shed between the four as they moved through the sea like a wall of destruction till all that stood before them was nothing more. Her thoughts drifted from the scene that played in her mind to the words Naxos had spoken within the surgery room. She wondered aloud what she had done to cause Naxos to comment with such harshness. "Forget it" she muttered to herself, things were going to change. With change came new and with the new perhaps the past can be forgotten. -------------------------- Message 1342 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Thu Nov 4 23:07:27 1999 EST From: Tikiaido (#24781) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: More fun... Tiki's life had been turned upside down. Again. A relatively common occurrance for a very uncommon reason. Tiki had made an attempt at compassion. Not a very strong one, but a definite attempt. He'd gotten out for a while, under the foolish principle that he might get some exercise to keep his muscles from atrophy if he were to hunt a bit. All he got out of it was a chimaera ambush that left him nearly torn apart and a cainid pup whose mother had been freshly killed by other hunters. He didn't have the heart to kill the puppy. Even though it was the spawn of one of the most vile Ghost species. He took it home to his burrow. After a torn up file folder, a stained carpet and several bootprints on the puppy's head, the categorically odd couple had come to a certain understanding. The puppy realized that if it wanted to be fed and keep from getting kicked or thrown out into the dragon wolves, there were certain things it was expected to do and NOT to do. Tiki realized that in order to keep the puppy from doing certain things, a mixture of punishment and reward wound have to be used. Overall, they would likely get along well. Tiki had found himself, quite accidentally, a new housepet. He even set up a designated place for the cainid puppy to relieve itself if it happened that he was gone or asleep. And someday, it would make a VERY good guard animal. If he could keep it from going insane, as cainids often seemed to. -------------------------- Message 1343 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sun Nov 7 18:37:17 1999 EST From: Beth (#16526) To: *storylines (#5236) and *submariners (#8388) Subject: Cumbersome. Cordell touched specific panels on the console, the lights reflecting off her pallid skin in the dim lighting she preferred. The aesir model in front of her changed directions, showing her a lateral side, then top. She had spent the better part of the afternoon studying the files on the enemy of her race. And as much information as there was to cover, she knew something was missing. A link she felt tickling the back of her mind. Curious, and just a touch determined, she vowed to herself privately to find it. There was just one problem, no real Aesir corpse to study. She needed it to dissect it, and perhaps that nagging question in the back of her mind might finally take shape and step forward to be answered. She reached for her coffee cup, taking a sip of the strange liquid. A drylander beverage, she'd found the caffeine a wonderful stimulant for these late night study sessions. Sipping it, she touched the console again to change the image. It was going to be a long night. --------------------------