Thu, 27 Nov 1997 22:17:02 -0800
From: Sharon/LadyXan
Xan sat in front of the hearth, staring into the flames. She didn't feel like going down to the firehall this evening. Sipping her tea, she gave a huge heartfelt sigh. Behind her, the moonlight streamed through her bedroom window, a light breeze tickled the tapestries hanging on the walls.
" Why the huge sigh, Daughter?" came the soft lilting tones from behind her. Xan's hand flew to her throat as she jumped up and whirled around.
" Mother!" she exclaimed. Standing in the middle of the floor in a cone of moonlight, was the Lady. She wore a gown of silver and a silver delicate diadem that set upon her brow. Xan placed her tea aside and walked around the chair to face this lovely Lady. She knelt upon one knee and bowed her head.
" Aye, Xanthia, it is I. Now tell me, why the long suffering sigh, " the Lady's voice held a hint of amusement and she placed a gentle hand upon the back of Xan's head briefly. Xan raised her head and looked upon the Lady she served.
" Milady, so much is happening. It is as if the world has been thrown into utter Chaos and here I sit. I do not understand my role in all this. I am not a fighter. I have taken vows of Healing. I want to go to the battlefield and perhaps help heal those injured. Yet, all my instincts say nay. I do not understand. " The gentle Mother smiled softly as she looked upon her child.
"My child, I know this is hard for you. There is work to be done and as always, you wish to be in the midst of it all, but not this time, Xanthia. Your job is to stay here in Camelot." Xan rose quickly and began to pace back and forth in front of the Lady. " But why, Mother? What could I possibly accomplish here?"
" Have you forgotten your other vows, dearling? " Xan stopped pacing, her brows knitted together in concentration.
" You mean my vow to protect ?" The Lady inclined her head. Xan looked at her, " But who am I to protect, Mother?" " Xanthia, stop and think. There will be much death before this war is over and why do we fight? " Xan wandered over to the window and looked out, half speaking to be heard and half to herself.
" One fights to protect. To protect the good things, the lives of the innocent, the future....." She whirled around and stared at her Mother wide-eyed. " With death, there is always the promise of rebirth, of renewing, of beginning again....." the Lady nodded.
" And what one thing offers that more than any other?"
" An unborn babe, " Xan whispered. " Exactly, my Daughter. Within Camelot, an unborn child waits to live. With this child comes the promise of a new day, a new hope, a promise that mankind shall rise up from the very ashes of destruction. Who else is better equipped to remind us all of Love, Charity, Innocence and Hope than a child born of a great love shared by a man and woman? The wails of a child newly born reverberate through the Universe and nothing is left untouched. The very fabric of the Universe opens three times, when a child is conceived, when a child is born and when a person dies. Within the minds and hearts of those of Camelot who go to fight, is the thought of protecting this gift of Life. So do not find fault with me, my Daughter, if I have chosen you to stay behind and protect this unborn gift. I know that you are sworn never to take a life and it shall be so. The gift of the bracelets given to thee, forged by the hands of the Maiden, the Crone and Myself, and thy staff will stand thee in good stead if the need arises. There is also my good servant Mithram. " Xan bowed her head in reverence to the Lady, " So mote it be!"
Thursday, 27 November 1997 3:43
From: Michael/Crusader
Thomas sniffed the air a little pensively. His trained nose was skilled at detecting a wide variety of scents, usually those of other peoples food. But this smell was sickly. Ugly. The scent repelled him, made him want to be sick, retch, vomit. The small village up ahead was deathly quiet as Thomas strode wearily towards it. He mumbled under his breath.
"DamngoodguyssendingmeouttoscoutforgodssakeI'mamagelordyeshunderappreciated"
Thomas stopped and just about dropped his trusty rucksack. The reason the town was so quiet, and the stench was so bad suddenly became blindingly, painfully obvious. The dead were strewn everywhere. The method of their dying was unknown, but it was certainly painful by the hideous rictus expressions on their face. Thomas had to stop, and was sick. His normally cheerful face was contorted with fear and sadness. He gripped his staff a little tighter and picked his way through the dead. A child, with sandy tawny hair and white white skin. A man who once must have been one of the strongest in the area. A pregnant mother, her life and that of her unborn child stolen from her by something.
*clip, clop*
Thomas stopped, stark still like an animal suddenly startled. He heard hoofbeats echoing from one of the side streets. A yellowy brown horse with rickety legs emerged from that same street a moment later. A fat disgusting unkempt man sat bowlegged on the horse. Pus streamed out of sores on his face. A huge Goitre erupted from his neck and his hands were palsied. He turned his head slowly and fixed Thomas with the glare of his Rheumy eyes.
"You *cough* are mine" His voice was raspy and when he coughed blood stained phlegm dribbled from his lips onto the street.
Thomas thought about his options for about 0.12454324 of a second and then switched over to what he was best at. Running.
Thomas turned and ran. Fast. His short legs pumped as he dropped his staff and sprinted like the wind. Fear clouded his judgement but as he got to the outskirts of the village he looked back and couldn't see anything. Thomas smiled, another villain by Crusader the magnificent. He didn't see the fat man on the horse in front of him until he hit the ground after colliding with it.
"uh oh" Thomas looked up at the horrific visage before him.
It looked back and uttered two words "Die... Painfully"
Luckily Thomas's pain threshold was remarkably low and he fell into oblivion before it got too much.
Pestilence looked down at the puny mortal. Amazing the way it writhed. Just like the amoeboid form of the disease he'd sent to kill the mortal. Hmmm... Fascinating.
Pestilence was about to turn when *something* happened. The World suddenly went black and white and then there was an explosion of colours. Pestilence looked back at the funny man. Who was no longer there. In his place stood a very tall, very strong looking .. person. Pestilence could not determine what sex the person was because their form constantly changed. One moment a dark-skinned woman. The next a tall military man. That last form it stayed after a moment. Stabilized. The mans hair was white and he wore a military costume. But where you would expect a grey or a green his uniform was every colour, and then none at all. Constantly shimmering.
"This one is mine Pestilence" The man said.
Pestilence hawked phlegm out before talking with that raspy voice.
"Well, well. All the players are here *cough, splutter* But it will do you no good. The seals are open. We ride".
"We both know they were opened prematurely. You will go back"
Pestilence grinned, a truly hideous perversion of what a smile should be.
"We cannot, and none can stand against us".
The man smiled, as his costume swirled the colours blending hypnotically.
"My presence should tell you that nothing is certain. That the forces of Chaos are at effect here and anything could, and indeed will happen".
Pestilence shrugged.
He loudly threw up, with disgusting pieces of half digested pieces of some unidentified creature landing on the ground next to his horse. Pestilence spoke as if nothing happened.
"You may have your raggedy man. But I warn you, the apocalypse is now, and none will be spared in the end".
Pestilence turned his horse and dug his feet in to get it to move. The parody of a stallion promptly passed wind and moved off.
Thomas awoke a few hours latter with an amazing headache and a soreness in his limbs. The lady Wenn leaned over him with a concerned look on her face.
"Are you alright?" she said.
"Certainly, but by the gods I'm hungry. Do you have any cherry pie?" Thomas rubbed his stomach.
Fri, 28 Nov 1997 08:52:41 +-800
From: Aussie Prings aka LadyPlatonic
In the shadowy half world twixt sleep and and reality.... LadyPlatonic smiles content.... in that peace where no thought ventures to disturb... where only happy residue lies.... of times gone by........... till the harsh reality strikes...... and the cold hard fact .that the year of hell has been unleashed and is at the door. They said you would see your entire life flash before you............ and the camera rolls........... all the heights of joy... the depths of despair.... what was important.... and no longer is.... LP sees and experiences it all again.... in a kaleidoscope of images..... eager childhood... exploring.... laughing... dancing... frightened..... unsure... friendly... lonely.... falling in love.... being betrayed.... finding true love.... giving birth.... loss... excruciatingly painful loss.... joy again.... acceptance..... resignation..... sees the pivotal moment of her life...waving goodbye at the dockside to her father knight ...her mother determinedly following her spouse to the holy lands... her beloved... not knowing it was for the last time........... Fingering a locket containing the miniature images of those already gone ahead......... she sighs............. "Well ... if it is time for the re-union.......... so be it"
LP walks to the door as DEATH knocks........ murmuring to herself.......... "Please dear Lord let it be a humourous death at least.... Hell doom and gloom is definitely not my cup of tea." ........... "it had better be Pratchett''s DEATH or I'm not co-operating."
Extending a hand to the door knob...... she slides the security chain across... just in case
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((just my two pennies worth................. tis all I can contribute............... and may be of no relevance to the storyline whatsoever..... but I'm loving all of it so far....... especially the humourous bit.... like Thomas's bit...... many thanks... and fond regards to all as usual.....
Sporting a sarong and sipping a gin & tonic.....signs with a flourish........LadyP
Fri, 28 Nov 1997 16:49:56 -0700
From: Dan (Rannis/Erdar/Daniel_Ranevier/Etc. etc. etc.)
"Hehe... niiiiice pup. Nice puppy..." The bard coaxed to the beast, which resembled a dog. It's hairless body trembled, it's shoulders hunched and it's razor sharp fangs bared, dripping saliva. It's vision bored into Telick, red pupils watching him intently. It had a tail, but one forked with twin spikes, venom glistening along the fringes.
"Nice pup... go home now pup... pup pup... Er... please?" Despite his words, the beast only inched closer, it's enlarged taloned claws digging into the soft earth.
Telick inwardly cursed through his fear as he backed slowly away, and made a mental note that should he live through this, he'd always gather kindling closer to the camp. A paralyzing numbness throbbed in his temples as the beast approached, and he waited for the end of his existence.
It leapt into the air with a deep roar, it's claws stretched in front of itself to tear at the halfling. All at once, the air shimmered in front of him, and the blue skinned figure of Mystaran appeared in front of the attack. He shot his hands beneath the beast's shoulders, the arms hooking under the legs. He off-balanced himself to the right, ending up on the ground, atop the creature. He shifted his hands to grip the beast's neck, pressing his thumbs into it, muscles straining as the creature tried to bring it's jaws towards his neck. He reeled back and slammed his fist into the beast, a startled yelp resulting. The creature struggled beneath him, now growing more furious. It snarled, blasting it's fetid breath across him. Mystaran clamped his hands down tighter on that leather like flesh, a strangled snarl coming from the throat. The struggles of the beast grew less and less until finally it relaxed in his grip, eyes going blank.
He stepped off of the daemonic beast, pushing himself to his feet. His purple eyes flashed with both exhaustion and the surge of battle, and the victory over a fallen foe. They turned to look at Telick, who stood motionless still, where he had been last. Mystaran's head tilted a little to the side, his eyes changing to show an emotion akin to amusement, **You should be more careful, my friend** The halfling quickly regained his composure, and strode over to the corpse of the beast. He planted a quick kick to it's ribs, and hollered to it, "Yeah! You want a piece of me? Come on!"
The body shuddered with a final muscle spasm, and Telick yiped, and leaped backwards, in a flash hiding behind Mystaran. The blue skinned figure formed upon his lips a grin, and he simply shook his head.
**Come. Back to the camp. I have a fire going.** He turned back in the direction that he had come, moving deliberately through the concealing brush. The fire lighted the small area in the middle of a large grassy area, providing warmth to the surroundings. Telick hurried past him, huddling himself close to the fire, heart still pounding from the encounter. "What was that thing, Myst?"
**A creature I have not seen before. Perhaps a mutation, caused by these events. Perhaps a servant of evil. I could not, with any accuracy, say.** Mystaran sat across the fire from the bard, his eyes providing an illumination of their own.
"Well I'm glad you got there. A couple seconds later and I would have been puppy chow." He folded his arms tightly across his chest, and curled onto his side, eyes dancing with the light of the fire reflecting off of them.
**I would have been able to sense the fear generated by your psyche 100 miles from my present location.** He emitted a psychic sound reminiscent of laughter, another product of his contact with Lilith.
Telick half closed his eyes, thoughtful for a long time. Silence reigned as neither talked for many minutes. He finally spoke, his tone one of curiosity, and perhaps a little of fear, "What's to come of the world, Myst?"
The pale blue head of Mystaran lowered as he stared into the fire, **I cannot say. The Balance has been shifted. There are two things that could happen: 1. The forces of good will triumph, and the world will be restored... Or... 2. The forces of evil, and the dark riders will succeed, and the world will become nothing but another globe in the heavens, devoid of life.** "At least you're an optimist, huh?"
**I am a realist. I say what could happen, not what I believe will happen.** The halfling lifted his head, propping it on his elbow to look towards Mystaran carefully, "What do you believe will happen then?"
Mystaran paused for a moment before replying, then stated bluntly, **I believe all is lost.**
"Then why do you even try and fight? Why not sit back and watch it all die?"
He answered, simply stating the fact, **I am a protector.**
Telick rested his head against his arm, laying back down and shifting to get comfortable, drawing around him the cloak that he had found. "You're strange, Mystaran."
**Perhaps.** Mystaran watched as the halfling drifted off to those words, feeling a bit of uncertainty about what he was to do in this collapsing world. He shook his head, and stood, turning to walk around the camp, taking the first watch on this night...
Mon, 01 Dec 1997 15:37:12 EST
From: Rob/Thorak/Sgian/Tien/etc
Warning! Warning! Some of the Materials the follow may be a little graphic. If you're offended. Its not my fault. I reserve my right as a Camelot citizen to have at least ONE mental condition!
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As the blood flowed from his forehead onto the steps up to the firehall, Thorak realized that he must act quickly. Quickly rising his feet almost slip on his own blood, which would cause him to crash down the stone steps. Quickly scrambling down the steps, and then proceeding to run out the main gate, his gaze quickly shifts to the nearby hills. His mind searches his memory frantically for the memory of which hill the sword lies at. His eyes flash suddenly and the old dwarf grins, despite the blood upon caked into his beard he still appears the jovial old man he is. He then sprints into the distance, running along side streets and alleyways til he reaches the edge of the city. Running out across a grass field he begins to mount a fairly large hill. Upon reaching the top of the hill he searches for the pile of rocks, that would appear to dwarves, as a small cairn, and not just any old pile of rocks. But despite that. He begins to clear the rocks away, sifting through them and searching for the hilt of the enchanted weapon, blessed by the gods. Eventually gripping the hilt he pulls it from the rocks and gazes up at it a smile creeps upon his face.
"Aye...sure enough your a beautiful thing. Now..can ya tell me who yer wielder is? I beg o' ye sword. To show this old dwarf who your wielder is. Before I die, so that ye may be put to proper use in battle, or what not.", the dwarf asks, as he kneels upon the ground holding the blade before him in a solemn reverence for the price he paid in the making of this sacred blade. The blade begins to shine unnaturally and Thorak quickly shuts his lids tight. Despite this, his eyes are still blinded as the light pierces his lids, as though they were transparent. His mind flashes and his form slums forward with a dull thud against the ground, the blade clattering against the stones.
Thorak falls into a void, screaming in fear and anguish. The void seems unending like it goes on forever, electric flashes run through him but he feels nothing. 'Is this death?', he ponders curiously. 'Very boring if it is...', he idly ponders, before his form is slammed against a hard rock floor.
His eyes immediately fall upon a young dwarven male and female. The world seems to be a dull grey color, except for he himself. The pain suddenly seeps in and he opens his mouth to scream, but no sound comes forth. His mouth slowly closes, and he rises slowly. His form aching with a dull throb, as he regards the couple curiously, a sense of familiarity, or even Deja Vu, creeps through Thorak. Shaking his head furiously he listens to their conversation. "where's your father?", the young male inquires. With a soft giggle the female responds, "he's at the forge...and mothers at the market...we can go to my families hearth and be alone." With a hard swallow the male blushes and spouting out hesitantly, "are..are..y-you s-sure you w-wanna d-do this?" She nods giggling and stepping in close to him. She then plants a gentle kiss upon his nose, "I'm sure...are you?" Nodding slowly he grasps her hand and runs off with her. The world fades to black for Thorak, then it lights again. And he watches the couple in the females bedroom, in her families hearth. They embrace for many moments, gazing into each others eyes. Caressing each others faces and bodies gently, each with a touch that lingers upon the others skin. Their kisses are tender, and slow.
Thorak lowers his head, suddenly recalling who the boy is. And the girl. His gaze lowers to his feet, as sorrow fills his eyes, the memory and the female stinging an old wound in his heart. He turns and walks out, the world begins to fade to black.
Again, and the giggling voice of the female is heard. And it echoes throughout the darkness. Suddenly his eyes go wide. And his pupils become pinpoints. The giggling changing, from the voice of a female, to that of a young boy. As his eyes shift, he regards a small boy about 20 feet ahead of him. The lads hand covers his giggling mouth.
Thorak blinks as he regards this child and rubs his eyes. The boys form seems to flicker for a moment, flickering in between the boy, and a wolf. A woman's voice is heard, angelic and soft. As it echoes as though on the wind throughout Thorak's Mind, the name 'Simon' is heard in his ears. And the boy fades again, the darkness resuming.
The darkness fills again with the picture of a castle, and the howls of a wolf pack is heard in the distance. The moon shining over head in the sky. The image of the castle seems to fall away very quickly, along the roads, over the lands. The Darkness then stops upon a dwarf, lying still near a shining blessed blade.
Thorak starts awake. His eyes weary, and curious. Nothing...just a dream? No that was too real for a dream. The hero was found. But a little boy? The frustration was setting in Thorak's features. Quickly retrieving the sword he tucked it into his belt and sifted among the rocks again. Retrieving a hammer and a hand axe.
Then commencing to run over the wilderness, and along the roads wary in case some wondrous event should occur, impeding his path towards this castle where the sacred hero lived. And he continued along his journey, his small legs pumping furiously, carrying him along the ground as swiftly as they could. Deep in the evening Thorak found the castle he looked for. He hid in the brush nearby the entrance. Peering around for guards. Seeing none he furrowed his brow in confusion. "Weird..there should be guards...ahh well.", said while approaching the main doors. He shrugged and opened them, slipping inside. Proceeding to pull the door closed his eyes widened as he heard the gentle creak of a rocking chair. Turning quickly his eyes settled upon a woman of tender age. At least, tender to he. Her hands unconsciously rubbing her pronounced stomach gently. He appraises her very carefully, and after a few moments decide she is asleep. "This'll be a wasted trip ifn' she ain't", chuckling softly as he speaks in hushed whispers.
His eyes adjust on a staircase. And he begins to climb it. Sighing softly at the amount of doors he tucks the hammer in his belt and rests his grip upon the hilt. "please show me the location of this hero.", prays the dwarf, his eyes closed for the moment. As he opens his lids, a door glows brightly, and he approaches this door. Opening it slowly and silently.
Turning into the room he gazes upon the young figure in the bed. His sleep seeming somewhat restless. Sliding the sword from his belt, he examines the room. Wondering where to place it. Not wanting to put it in the boys grasp, risking the chance he might cut himself while he sleeps, an idea strikes the dwarf suddenly. Sliding the blade out of his belt, and resting his hand axe upon the ground, Thorak grips the hilt with both hands, even though it seems to barely weigh anything in his hands. He slams it down into the ground. The blade pierces the stone floor easily, almost running all the way through, he stops himself from embedding it too deeply in the ground.
Sighing as his job is barely done. He retrieves his axe and heads into a dark corner. Resting upon the ground, his back against the cool wall. His grip on the hammer and axe are tight, knowing that he must protect this child through the night. And await his awakening in the morning when Thorak must tell him his purpose.
Mon, 01 Dec 1997 15:02:13 -0700
From: Dan (Kavin_Hunter/Rannis/Ivarius/Many others)
The sun rode low in the horizon over the tree line in the distance. Kavin Hunter stood atop the battlements, his two handed sword held in front of him with the ruby gemstone set in the center of the hilt glowing a faded red.
His shoulder length brown hair rustled in a constant breeze, and a chill washed down his spine, brought not by the coolness in the air, but by the thoughts of the future. The thoughts of his father's army on the march no longer seemed to matter, nor the purpose laid out for him by the guardians of the sword who had chosen him. All that mattered now was survival.
A deep longing filled him, wanting nothing more than to join the Hosts of Light, but his experiences with battle outweighed the brashness of youth, and he held firm to his resolve.
Without him here to guard, WolfKeep stood defenseless. All who dwelled within were open prey in the times ahead. He shifted the large sword, which seemed like it should weigh heavy in his hands, yet it felt as light as a short sword.
He shaded his eyes with a hand as he looked into the distance, but his attention wasn't focused out there. It was focused internally and on the sword that he held. That was another factor in his decision to remain where he was; the sword had an intelligence, and it seemed to wish him to stay, almost as though it feared for what might happen should he leave. He turned from the battlements as the last sliver of remaining sun vanished below the horizon, bringing forth an unsettling night. But any night was unsettling these days, as he had himself, born witness to what horrors they held.
Down the steps and into the keep he headed, the blade flashing light as flickers from the torchlight reflected off the surfaces. The gemstone throbbed slightly, and he nodded to nothing in particular, as though answering to an unheard voice. He entered the greathall, now vacant save for a warming fire. The keep remained silent except for the occasional creak of settling wood. He chose his seat by the fire carefully, turning it just so much that he could have good view of the door. He drew his sword down into his lap, and began his vigil for the night, defender of WolfKeep.
E-mail comments and/or corrections to Diana/Wenn & Co