From quinn@fazigu.org Mon Apr 02 12:14:05 2001 Received: from holder35.net57.block16.connectsouth.net (yami.57thstreet.com) [66.16.57.35] by requiem.netsville.com with smtp (Exim 3.22 #1 (Debian)) id 14k6xx-00075d-00; Mon, 02 Apr 2001 12:14:05 -0400 Received: (qmail 29197 invoked by uid 1502); 2 Apr 2001 16:13:59 -0000 Received: from localhost (HELO moo.ghostmoo.org) (127.0.0.1) by localhost with SMTP; 2 Apr 2001 16:13:59 -0000 Date: Mon, 2 Apr 2001 11:13:59 -0400 From: "Quinn@Ghostwheel" To: quinn@fazigu.org Subject: Ghostwheel Message(s) 45 - 47 from *storylines (#5236) X-Mail-Agent: Ghostwheel (moo.ghostmoo.org 6969) Message-Id: Status: RO Content-Length: 4313 Lines: 90 Message 45 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Mon Feb 12 10:12:14 2001 EST From: Karma (#20542) To: *storylines (#5236) A calm settled over the foggy streets of N'Orleans of the kind one might expect just before a storm. Long-time residents shuttered their windows as the ground shuddered beneath their feet. The first sign, it would later be claimed, was that the plague of zombies that once trod the bayou, then spilled into the streets, seemed to fall contentedly back into their graves not to rise again. Strange, some would say, how the dead appeared to know what the living did not recognize: that the surge of the river was rising as if to wash the world away. The city had been prone to flooding, or so read the city records. Only one had ever spoken to the ragged wanderers; she, too, seemed to grow strangely silent at their disappearance. The locals whisper even now that she sings to them only in the dead of night, masked and standing atop the pier as if to lull the muddy waters back to stillness and call the drowned and damned back up to trod the cobblestones. She's simply mad; that's the concensus in the tavern halls -- none are yet brave enough to say as much to the medium's porcelain face. Those unfortunate enough to have lain eyes on the thing tell of cracks, spiderweb lines that threaten to shatter that cold, emotionless veil -- the rumors as to what must be hidden behind it are more colorful and quietly murmured once men are long into their cups. In short, if you have property in New Orleans that's attached to the gardens or the bayou, please @mail karma sometime within the next week. The times they are a changin'. -------------------------- Message 46 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Tue Feb 13 15:59:04 2001 EST From: Karma (#20542) To: *storylines (#5236) The floodwaters rose with the dawn; the chill chased away from the earth sent the perpetual haze of fog and mist crashing almost palpably to the ground in the form of rain that seemed unwilling to end. Through the curtain of water, those in tin-roofed shacks along the riverside found themselves scrambling away with their possessions strapped to their backs. Few added their tears to the muddy landslide that carried the shacks away, down the surging river, like boats made of paper and set to drift in a gutter. >From a safer distance, they watched the pier, some stood atop the concrete edifice. Of the brave or thinking sort, they presumed the supports would hold against the mud and water. A ladder of rope carried the wisest of them away as the poured stone, too, began to groan and shudder beneath the onslaught. Even the rats had long since abandoned the tower; for a while this was considered a blessing. The bayou's guardian sat crouched within the twining branches of a cypress tree, looking on impassively from behind her mask. She knew better the lore of the rats; too many sailors had perished to later inhabit her crowded mind. "This ship is sinking," she whispered into the thrumming rain. Rope began to fray, soaked and swollen fibers gave way just as fingers slipped from the shoddy line. "Pass easy," came from the high trees, unheard, as the waters carried them away, too quick for even the sound of their cries to rise. "You won't have to return; no one will disturb you now." As the concrete tower was claimed by the river, only the sound of the rain could be heard. None could speak, not even those who had called the thing an eyesore in a cesspit. The rats were already chittering to themselves in safer, drier, and warmer climes. -------------------------- Message 47 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Thu Feb 15 15:17:59 2001 EST From: Karma (#20542) To: *storylines (#5236) No one, it seemed, remembered the catacombs that sprawled through the underground of New Orleans. Folly when built for the very reason they would become tragedy now, the river surged through the tunnels and spread mud and debris throughout the city. Some have chosen wisdom above loyalty and fled the city en masse. The very ground became unstable in parts; two long-lived structures -- the church that once presided over the Remy Graveyard and the estate of the Delaroi clan -- tumbled into the earth as though swallowed whole. --------------------------