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Gyrfalcon25 Bard Posts: 235 (2/7/02 9:47:25 pm) Reply Re: Trying to take a shower -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- *Gyr applauds* More Myth background! *smiles* Now write more! more, more!

Myth Honored Guest Posts: 11 (2/7/02 1:53:25 pm) Reply Trying to take a shower -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I walked into the bathroom tiredly, pushed the door shut, locking it for privacy. (“God, it’d been a long day. McTein is mad at me, he’ll send an assassin or two to ‘show me my place’, if I survive them he’ll respect me a bit and leave me alone. However I shouldn’t have to worry about them until tomorrow at the earliest it takes time to find assassins and I’m probably no priority. I’ll wear an extra knife in a wrist sheath, and I should be okay. Christ, someday I’m going to have to have a peaceful day.”) Then I turned around (Layout of the bathroom, includes rectangular bathroom, with a low window on the short side opposite the door. The toilet and bathtub are both separately recessed into the same long side, on one’s right as one enters the bathroom.) I can’t believe I was so lax, but I didn’t even sense that there was someone else in the room until then. He had been standing on the toilet where I couldn’t see him, but he heard the lock click he jumped off and out knife in hand. He laughed. I knew he expected me to try to get the door open, and I might have had time, but the lock often sticks on that door, so I knew better than to try it. “Think quick, gotta do the unexpected.” This was before I always wore a wrist sheath or one under my hair on my neck, so the only knives I had on me were against my ribs on the right side, in my pant leg (for when I had time to plan or needed to sneak in somewhere), and on the bottom of my shoe (pops out when you kick someone). I took a leap and jumped around the corner into the bath tub so that I’d have time to pull out my rib knife. That was a mistake. The bathtub was way to slippery for anything, and I certainly couldn’t kick while standing in it. I needed to be able to kick, because I couldn’t throw any knives because I didn’t have a spare in reach. How many knives does a person wear to the shower anyway? He came forwards laughing. He had a knife in each wrist sheath, but didn’t throw either. How odd, anyone going for a kill should throw when they have such a perfect chance. McTein may be able to get assassins quick, but it doesn’t seem he gets very good ones. If I weren’t so disadvantaged, I wouldn’t have to worry about this at all. We fought, at a standstill for a while. I misjudged, he slit my arm open (good thing I can use both hands). We kept fighting, but I was just exhausted, and I’ve always preferred throwing my knives to hand to hand. I went in for an attack but left myself wide open. He could have made a deadly attack, but he parried instead and then attacked too high making ducking easy. (A really common mistake, so few females can fight that guys aren’t used to the height difference. It does have a few advantages.) Anyway, his miss gave me the time I needed so I jumped up onto the outside of the bathtub. (Great place for kicking from if one has the balance. (I do.)) I was tired though. I kicked out, got him in the chest, but I didn’t draw back quick enough. As my knife was still in his chest he leaped straight up, thus drawing my shoe up in the air. I fell backwards in the bathtub and having knocking my head, went unconscious. You’re wondering why I’m still here? Believe me I was too, when I came to. When I woke up I was in my bed. My attacker was sitting nearby reading my personal papers, except this time he didn’t have a scarf over his face and neck this time so I knew him as my tutor. Knowing him, he was probably wearing some sort of light chain mail when he attacked me so he wasn't hurt “Myth, you’re quick enough, and you have the techniques down, but damn you’re an idiot"! He was right. Since then always I keep my shoe-knives in shoes that slip off easily and I've carried a few more knives. They helped too, I ripped McTein’s boys to shreds when they came.

Lady Celes Crusader Quill-Bearer Posts: 147 (2/19/02 1:08:16 pm) Reply Don't think -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Another month passes, this time the new Gimmick kids' movie had been on screen since one week. As predicted, its another well marketed box office and commercial success. It was a Friday evening and Greg decides to take a walk on the Main. The boulevard was illuminated by the neons light of the divers bar, shops, cafés, sex-shops, stip-clubs, etc. He enters in a Barkin' Donut and orders a coffee and a donut. He sats on a table that is close to the window and looks at the streets. Urban life... It always had been stained by the different trends that marked different eras. That makes sometimes an interesting mix, sometimes its just obnoxious. A group of youngsters that seems to be trapped in the gothic era forever walks quietly and their path crosses a gang of hip-hop guys, while a couple of trendy technos crosses the boulevard at the same time. Interesting mix of eras. I remember when the Sex Pistols where touring around the world, back at the late seventies. Geez... sometimes I missed to be a teenager. At that time, I can still genuily dream. Now... I'm just crying about it Greg's reflexions are interrupted by a debate that is occuring on another table. Four guys, obviously truckers of a variety of ages talks about what happened in the last economical conference. - "Its those freakin' big companies!", says one of the outrage truckers, "They're building factories in third world country because they don't want to create jobs here!" For someone who wears a Bite cap, you're very well placed to talk. Its obvious they want to make more money for less. - "Shhhh... Barney!", hushes a younger trucker, "You don't need to say it that loud!" - "I'll say anything I want as loud as I want!", replies Barney, "We're in a free country here." I don't think thay guy ever heard about the "One's freedom starts where another's ends" principle. - "But Barney", tells a third trucker, "I can understand that you're pissed off, but man, you really don't need to annoyed the world abou it." - "Annoying the world?", snikers the angered guy, "Are ya freakin sayin that I'm freakin annoyin the freakin world, because I'm saying how I'm freakin pissed off these freakin big guys that only freakin cares about our freakin money?" You have no freakin idea how much you sound freakin stupid. You're wearing a cap that is probably sown by an underage girl in the third world countries, you're eating at one of those mega-chain of fast-food, donut shops, whatever and you're probably delivering merchandises from another of these big compagnies and you whined about them? - "Calm down, Barney!", orders a older trucker that seems to have much more leadership than his three collegues reunited, "I know that its something that sucks but its our bread and butter. There's nothing we can do about it." The four men resumes their late meal and change subject. Meanwhile, Greg stops to think for a second, playing back what that last trucker said in his head. @#%$! That guy is right. Who I am to bitches about Barney? I've got perhaps higher instructions than him, but I'm no better than him. This circus is also my bread and butter. I'm participating in this whole madness. I'm contributing into making people watching commercial movies and buy silly gizmos. And the only thing I do is to whine about it! Like them, I'm just a pawn. I'm a pawn with a better instruction and better cloths but I'm just a pawn, like them. Greg finishes his coffee and leaves the donut shop and heads for a stripper-club, one of these rare places where he wont have to think.

Lady Celes Crusader Quill-Bearer Posts: 146 (2/19/02 1:06:16 pm) Reply Think different -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- One month after the briefing, Greg was enjoying his two hours lunch time. He had killed enough jobs with his computer graphists and they are way ahead in their schedules. He decides to enjoy a good meal in his favorite Italian restaurant. He reads the newspapers that he carried along and sights at the headlines. Not that anti-globalisation movement again! Why do they blame all of the world's misery on its back? Misguidance? Misinformation? Perhaps... They got some points here but they are missing their target here. What a mess. Yes, pollution is a problem that we should solve as fast as possible but the governments are heavily influenced by the lobbying. This is why the Edo accord, that aims to reduce the toxic emanations in the air, is not signed by every governements. Yes, Bite, the sports cloths and shoewear maker, is operating sweat-shops all-around the world, but this problematic exists way before the word "globalisation" was invented. Was that "Just make it" that Jordan Carmichael guy said? Anyway. The waiter arrives with the menu and asks Greg if he was ready to order. - "May I have Number 2 with the soup.", awsers Greg - "Do you want your coffee now or at the end of your meal?", asks the waiter - "At the end of the meal please.", replies the cynical artistic director. A few minutes later, Greg receives his minestrone soup and resumes his reading while eating it. He stumbles upon an article about the new Gimmick's movie that its about to come out. The hype is already started. MacBowel already announces its new promotion involving this movie. It looks like it will be another marketing sucess. That's a symptom of our sick overconsuming society. Big business wants your money and they'll make sure that you'll give every penny on anything that you need or not. They'll try to lure you in one way or another way. This movie is the lure to buy tons of toys that will end up either in the dumpsters, either in garage sales. Big company is targeting you and now, they are starting at a young age. The baby is born, its a potential new client. The baby had just the time to get rid of the diaper that they trained to be consumer. Even Big-Wart has chariot for their "consumers in training". That overtargeting kids, that superconsuming society its a real cancer. The waiter arrives with the Bolognese Spaghetti and picks up the empty soup bowl. Greg puts his newspaper aside and eats his meal. He needs to clear up his mind and think of something else. He knows that their should be some flowers in this rotten world. Greg finishes his meal, the waiter brings his coffee and dessert, a Tiramisu, that he ordered in extra. Now, lets get some comic relief with these comic strips. Greg reads them and smiles. The authors are as cynical as he is but they manage to bring out the humorous color in it. Perhaps there's hope in this world. I guess that if the poeple that participates in the anti-globalisation movement, the business corps and the governements manage to agree on something, it could be a good start. But it sounds more like an utopia than the future Greg finishes his coffee and dessert, pays the addition and leaves the restaurant, in hope that his work will bring him different ideas.

Lady Celes Crusader Quill-Bearer Posts: 145 (2/19/02 1:02:59 pm) Reply Think -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- In the conference room of a large advertising agency. The marketing gurus are planning the details of the next Gimmick's child movie promotional plans. The president of this comitee is gazing at his team of six people, each of them having their own purpose. An average aged women, who's in charge of the media coverage speaks up first. - "We'll bought one page at the back of the Entertainement section of all the majors newspaper.", the lady starts, "We should'nt neglect the free cultural hebdo's as well...." While she was still introducing her part of the marketing effort, Greg, the desabused artistic director, listens casually. His mind was lost in his own thoughts. Geez... All this efforts to sell as much gizmos as possible. What about the movie itself? Pffft... That's not important at all. This movie may be the most debilitating family movie ever produced that's not important at all as long as it is a Gimmick movie. Their movies were good back in the 20th century. Of course, that was back then. Now, they are just empty shells. Beautiful but empty... One of Greg's collegue introduces the toys and the gadgets that will be made for the movies. Speaking of the gizmos... these will earn much more money than the movie itself! What's the point of making a movie then? To give to these kids a ready-to-play story for their toys? That could be a "Big Brother'esque" reason but that's not it. The movie is a part of creating a hype. The parents will bring their kids out to the movie and they'll buy toys for their kids so that their kids will play with other children that also have their toys. Kids will ask for these toys because they don't want to be rejected or mocked by the others because they don't have the latest cool toys. They'll want these toys because the others will have these and they'll want to be a part of the gang. That's too sad... A tall man in his mid-thirties take his turn to tell about the agreement he arrange with the MacBowel fast-food restaurant chain. How can people can swallow anything from these so-called restaurants? I'm sympathizing with these teenagers that are working there at minimal wages. I've heard that some of them tried to make an union in some of these restaurants, but they all closed their doors. Everyone wants the biggest share of the pie, but nobody wants to share the pie. The Head of the public relations department, a fiery young woman in her mid twenties and her collegue that orders the promotionnal items detailed all the press conference and the junkets that will be done with the collaboration of Gimmick's public relations department. Junkets and press conferences. Poor journalists! If they don't ask the questions they are supposed to ask they'll be shutted down by agents, managers, etc. Did someone said that we have freedom of speech? Our capitalist world is more hypocrit that anyone might think. Greg knows that its his turn to speak up. He would be brief. He puts the dummy of the main poster in the conference table and looks at his audience. - "This will be the official poster of this campaign.", the artistic director says, "This is the one everyone in the world will see in theaters. Gimmick gave us the CD where all the pictures, logos and use specifications are included. The adaptations will be avaible these afternoon as soon as we get all the newspapers sizes requirements. Gimmick had sent a copy of this CD to the MacBowel society for the design of their Freaky Meals' boxes." The president nods and concludes the meeting. Everyone exits the conference room. Marcy, the woman who's in charge of the media coverage and advertising, walks to Greg. - "I'll get the requirements as soon as possible. I'll put these on your desk.", she said. Greg nods and acknowledges what she said. Take your time Marcy. There's no hurry about this. Since Gimmick showed us exactly what they want, none of these ads will take more than five minutes in the making. I've got more interesting projects of my own. Greg heads for his department, knowing that his computer graphists team will have a boring job ahead. *********** Author's note: Edited out the mistakes that I've found

Zephryin Initiate Posts: 3 (2/21/02 3:42:10 pm) Reply ...Famine -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- OOC: I was thinking that we could do a "War", "Pestilence", "Death" thing too; Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Anyway, here's my idea... Bending over the last rows of turnips, Agmot, a peasant, sighs dejectedly. Just months ago, his crop had been bountiful, but now... The sun seemed to barely shine these days, while the unrelenting clouds spewed forth snow, rain, and hail from the skies during what should have been a bountiful harvesting season. The air had become cold and bitter. Most of his animals are dead. His son, whom he desperately needs to help him in the faltering fields, is bedridden with a badly broken leg, and seems sick at heart. They are all hungry. Tired. With barely enough crops to see them through the coming winter beforehand, he had found that rats had been at some of it, forcing him to discard a peck. After mending the storehouse several times, and doing his best to deter the vermin, he isn't sure what he'll do, how his family, how anyone will survive...

Ringmaster Visitor Posts: 2 (2/20/02 7:18:04 pm) Reply The coming of the Dark -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A flash of lightning, the crack and rumble of thunder, and the rain began to fall. Deep inside the mountain, deep within the depths, this went unheeded. As they looked on, a gasp was all that was heard. From the dark waters it emerged, as fore told in the ancient texts of the Teir’Dal, the dark creature known only as Blexxerruuk surfaced, but for a second. The waters boiled and turned to blackness, it rose to encompass the chamber, so dark that none could see through into its depths. For the first time, these Dark Elves knew true darkness, they were blind. A wail cut through the blackness, a scream of a birthing mother. As foretold, the women with the mark of Innoruuk would give birth as the great creature awakened from its slumber. An evil would be brought fourth, an evil so great would awaken that it would take mortal form. The screaming stopped, and as written the one to give birth would give her life in doing so. There was silence, then the cry of a young babe sounded fourth, but it was not sound all so commonly heard with childbirth. The wise priests of Innoruuk fell to their knees, and gave thanks to their generous master. A gift had been bestowed upon them, and they must offer their thanks, and worship for such an honor. The darkness was cut, by two small beams of red light….His eyes, they gasped, they cut this magical darkness! A voice was heard, though none could hear. A form was seen, though none could see. A decree, an acceptance, thy will be done lord. As he stood, the high priestess look down upon the babe, and smiled. The darkness subsided, and all could see this magnificent brother who lay swathed in a newborn’s ceremonial wrap. “To this day I do Decree, that Exmortis Darkenblade is among us. As foretold in the ancient texts, he will bring darkness where there is light. He will bring shadow where there is sun. He is our savor, he is our Knight of evil. The great doors opened, and for the first time he felt the surface air upon his face. Exmortis Darkenblade, as foretold in the ancient scriptures stepped forward into Norrath, Nektulos forest ancestral home to the Teir’Dal. His eyes scanned the dark horizon, for it is always night here, he closed them and reveled in the feel of the gentle breeze. The guards eyed him with suspiscion, for they are members of the Brotherhood, the warriors and guardians of Neriak and it’s peoples. Their Captain looked up, about to speak, but with one look into his red, calm cold eyes he swallowed the snide remark. He Screamed in agony, the highpreist of Tunare fell to the ground clutching his chest. He dragged in air with a ragged strained breath. “My god, my god it has come to pass.” “Save us, save us.” The acolyte hearing the scream came running into his lord’s chambers, only to find him near death upon the floor. He picked him up, and laid him down upon his bed, and yelled at others for help. “The sleeper has awakened.” He rasped. “We are doomed, the scriptures were true.” With this final, passing statement, the acolyte reeled back in terror. As personal squire to his lord, he had read the ancient secret texts, and to hear this uttered, by one so close to Tunare upon his last breath. “My god, what has been unleashed unto this world. Will Norrath survive..” Cried the young priest. “My god, save us……. Save us.” “Evil hath greatness.” “Evil hath power” “Evil hath taken mortal form”

El Jakob Herald Posts: 45 (2/25/02 12:59:32 pm) Reply Ruminations -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- It was unjust. By creating Man, the universe had betrayed the old races. But it was a perpetual and familiar injustice. The sentient may perceive and love the universe, but the universe cannot perceive and love the sentient. The universe sees no distinction between the multitude of creatures and elements which comprise it. All are equal. None is favored. The universe, equipped with nothing but the materials and the power of creation, continues to create: something of this, something of that. It cannot control what it creates and it cannot, it seems, be controlled by its creations (though a few might deceive themselves otherwise). Those who curse the workings of the universe curse that which is deaf. Those who strike out at those workings fight that which is inviolate. Those who shake their fists, shake their fists at blind stars. But this does not mean that there are some who will not try to do battle with and destroy the invulnerable. There will always be such beings, sometimes beings of great wisdom, who cannot bear to beleive in an insouciant universe. And sometimes beings that, through their innocence, only wish to make the universe a nicer place to ... be.

Turi Page Posts: 18 (3/1/02 6:54:44 pm) Reply Pineapples and mentors - A story dedicated to Gwaihir -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Well, I wanted to start a story and asked for elements that should appear in the story. The only one who gave me anything was Gwaihir and the material he gave me was kinda weird. So, this story is dedicated to Gwaihir and if it sounds weird it's only becauyse Gwaihir has a weird way of giving random material comments More chapters might follow, if I find the time and inspiration... ****************************************** Story begins - Chapter one - Pineapples and mentors ****************************************** Zwaap! The giant axe swung through the air and cut another pineapple in half. The little dwarf smiled happily as he licked the pineapple juice of the sharp steel. The large wooden table had deep cuts from several cuts similar to this one in the past. In the fruit basket located in the centre of the table were two more pineapples. Gwaihir, the dwarf, knew he would have to find more pineapples soon, before the last two were gone. However, there was no time to think of a troublesome future now when two golden pineapple halves laid split on the table. Gwaihir picked up his knife and started carving large pieces of the delicious fruit. The pieces disappeared quickly down the throat of the delighted dwarf. This was heaven and no problems on the earth could destroy this sacred moment. An hour later only some uneatable remains were left on the table and the dwarf squeezed out the last juice out of his beard. Gwaihir put the fruitbasket in the chest and locked it. It was his secret golden coloured treasure. Methodically he picked up the armour, the axe and finally the book with registered students to “Gwaihir’s academy of war”. Before leaving the kitchen he set his mentor diploma straight, which was hanging to the right of the entrance. Except for his pineapples and his mighty axe, this was his most precious possession. Outside five students were waiting anxiously for their mentor. Gwaihir sighed as he stepped outside, three humans and two elves. Well, atleast they were paying customers and he really needed the money for the trip he was planning. Although he knew that none of them would ever become good enough to handle a large two hand axe he was still determined to teach them how. Infact, the thought of those annoying elves making fools of themselves in the army amused him a little. Yes, he was determined, he would teach them and make them feel like they were making progress and then he would send them away to the nearest army. The day passed and the students were headed home. Gwaihir were headed for the nearby inn for a last dwarven beer before his trip. He was also hoping to meet some of the other mentors there. They usually gathered up after the working days and talked about many things. Today it was different; he had high hopes of finding a travel companion on his search for the golden treasure of his life. He had heard of a dragon called “Snow storm” in the mountains far south. It was said to guard a large golden treasure of enormous value, however no one had returned to tell the true story about it. People who search for money and jewels in mountains head north so he was sure that treasures in mountains to the south would have to be sweet pineapples. People started to gather in the inn and everyone seemed happy. People were cheering and drinking and some were even up on the tables dancing. Gwaihir ordered a large beer, stood up on a table and started shouting “Tomorrow I will head south, to the large mountains where the great dragon Snow Storm reign. I am determined to get passed the dragon and find the treasure. Who will come with me on this dangerous journey?” The people in the inn stood silent, all eyes concentrated at the dwarf on the table. Finally someone in the crowd spoke up and said: “Snow Storm??? But… isn’t that the great dragon that covers its victims in snow and then burns them with its terrible fire. No one have escaped his claws long enough to write down their story”. Many people nodded as this someone spoke up, around the room some people made nodding gestures and some hummed in agreement. Gwaihir rammed his axe in the table and spoke up once again. “You all know I am the best axe-man in the kingdom and no dragon, not even Snow Storm will stand in my way of the treasure. Ofcourse I will share the riches with anyone who follow me.” Upon those word a girl who had been hidden in the corner raised her hand. “I will go with you!” People turned around quickly and saw the girl dressed in all black and with a black hood covering her head. On her back was two thin short swords and in her belt a large dagger. “Good, I will leave at dawn. I will expect you outside my academy then. Now I am heading down to the market to get some more supplies before I leave and then I am going to sleep.”

Zool47 Patron Saint of Aspiring Bards Posts: 234 (3/7/02 7:13:12 am) Reply Re: Augustus -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- THAT is CLASSIC! You Go guy! ~Zool~ Ancient, The Pen is Mightier than the Sword. Bard of Terra, Patron Saint of Aspiring Bards. Elder than dirt, more foolish than a jester, able to trip over the smallest logic in a single step. It's... Oh, you know.

Gyrfalcon25 Bard Posts: 286 (3/6/02 10:36:07 pm) Reply Re: Augustus -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- *Gyr laughs* I like it, especially the rhyming scheme.

Zephryin Initiate Posts: 11 (3/6/02 5:56:25 pm) Reply Re: Augustus -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Lol! I like it. It's like an Aesop's Fable meets Dr. Sues.

Ozymandias the Elder The Founder Posts: 436 (3/6/02 4:59:41 pm) Reply Augustus -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I *think* this is a story... You tell me. August Augustus, fattest emperor amongst us, did go for a walk one day. His walking stick was expensive, grand and expansive, made of the finest clay. He thrust at Thrushes, Emperor Augustus, for they were warbling happily and barring his way. They cussed Augustus, fattest emeperor amongst us, these warbling thrushes, for trying to thrust them out of his way. August Augustus, he shushed the thrushes, for he did not wish a fight this way. The warbling thrushes, they mussed Augustus (with dive-bombing poop), for farmer or king, you don't ruin their day. August Augustus, fattest emperor amongst us, heaved a rock at a warbling thrush that fray. August Augustus, thinnest emperor amongst us, was crushed by beaver (friend of the thrushes) under a tree in the most terrible way. August Augustus, he learned from those thrushes, don't thrust at the birds, but politely give them the time of day.

Falcon2001 Quill-Bearer Posts: 232 (3/8/02 12:21:12 am) Reply Re: Yayz! An update in under two weeks! lol -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- WRITE MORE, DANG YOU!!! Now that I finally found out where the hell you were putting it...

Chris Stephens Page Posts: 7 (2/19/02 8:42:02 pm) Reply Yayz! An update in under two weeks! lol -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- OOC: Well, I remembered this time and I'm here to write on this story, just letting everyone know that I am alive, and I will try to get on IRC sometime. Also, on a side note, all alien dialogue is recorded in an alien dialogue dictionary, to be used in future purposes. IC: "I think we might have a problem," Wendie commented as she read her stat screen in front of her - the patrol vessel was nearly six hundred times larger than the shuttle they were using, and had laser cannons aboard that could rip the shuttle into a thousand pieces with one shot. "I think you might be right," C.J. commented as he overlooked Wendie's stat screen, then was caught off guard by a loud noise from the speakers - the Haikron had opened a communications channel. "Pathetic humans!" the hideous nine-foot, six armed and three legged yellow humanoid yelled in his native language (though through a translator). "How dare you intrude in our space?! You will die for your actions!" C.J. cleared his throat, and began his attempt at impressing the Haikron officer and his crewmates. "Jak-Mes Ucha, tesa et mat'trai Earth gata'es peca. Jes C.J. Roberts, Human gata'es Ucha. Tesa pat'na pasa nehrit gatliox phaki Hatkren gata'es. Tesa moch hest zapet swa'la getro lade gata'es tuoa tesa pat'na pasa chu'esla gatliox." The Haikron officer stared at him, wondering how he knew the sacred dialect. "We will not let you pass, however, we will not kill you. Thank your human space officer." After cutting the link, Wendie let out a loud sigh of relief, while Chris walked up to him and asked, "What the hell?! How did you know that? I thought I was the only one who could speak an alien dialect, because of my Skrian genes." "Well... be surprised," C.J. replied. Chris continued to stare in amazement as Wendie plotted an alternate course that would take them out of Haikron space... and into a Skrian space colony. Wendie, through careful piloting, got through the security border without getting caught. Getting through, though, wouldn't be as easy. Wendie's blaring, danger-detecting alarm went off again, catching the ears of everyone, including the injured Mike in the back of the shuttle. C.J. looked forward at the oncoming barrage of Skrian warships, while Chris threw Wendie out of her seat and took over, fiddling with controls in a desperate attempt to hide the ship from the Skrian scanners. When a loud, straining, creaking noise was heard while the ship violently shook, he knew that he had failed in his attempts. "I'm going to fire back at them," Chris muttered, only to the disapproval from each and every one of his crewmates. "Well, look at it this way, we either get hit and die or die fighting." The crew then agreed with him as he fired his first energy-ball like shot at the lead ship, which surprisingly did more damage than expected - once impacting their fusion core room, it disabled their ship and two others that were following direct orders from it. Six more ships followed, desperate to kill the humans and the shuttle... Have to write more later, father came home drunk like usual and is b****ing, so i've g2g for now. I'll try to write more on this later.

Chris Stephens Page Posts: 6 (2/10/02 2:48:19 am) Reply This is taking me TOO long , but I'm still here & wri -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- OOC: For a while I totally forgot about this story... then Falcon sent me a few links to his song and I remembered the story, I give my sincere apologies about not writing. I've been trying to obtain a real life (anyone have a good one they wouldn't mind selling to me?), thus leaving me with a sincere less amount of computer time. Not to mention, Blake (Vincent Silver on the AM boards) uses my computer as well, taking two hours from the time I would usually use. I'll try to write on this whenever I can, and actually when I just re-read it, I realized I have more inspiration on this one than I do anything else I've been writing. So here we go, continuing from where I last left off. EDIT: Whoa, I must be sleepy because I almost said that Chris was C.J.'s guild captain... hehe --------------------------------------------------- IC: "I don't understand... just what is he?" Wendie asked. C.J. looked at her and replied, "He was my ship captain for three missions. He's human, like you and me, but it was believed that on the Magnetose mission, that the event horizon they were traveling near was somehow... altered... and a Skrian radiation was somehow being emitted from it. It's being investigated that the event horizon was artifical somehow, created by the Skree. Chris's DNA pattern was altered, as was Jesse Kane's and a few others from the ship. Chris suffered the most heavily from it, staying in the MTC of the Starcharter for nearly a week before his radiation treatments were over." "Oh... I thought he was one of those filthy Skree..." she replied. "There are times when he flips into Skrian Rage, though. It happens when he gets extremely anxious, in an angry type of course, or when he gets very tense. He's not the type of person who gets into those moods easily, though, so the chances of him going into Skrian Rage are rare." C.J. turned to see Mike walking toward Chris and trying to help him up. "No! Mike!" C.J. screamed. But Mike didn't listen, he thought he was acting in Chris's best interests. C.J. knew what was going to happen - it happened every time before. Mike grabbed Chris's arms and tried to lift him up, and a sign of shock came across Mike's face when he felt Chris's muscles tense to an extreme. Chris lifted himself from a puddle of blood that had accumulated on the floor, spun around, and with reddish-black eyes, stabbed Mike through the chest with the blade. Mike stared at C.J. with even wider eyes than before, as he felt the rush of blood flowing outward from his chest. Running down his chest and darkening his uniform the blood flowed, eventually soaking his uniform to the point where it began to drip through. Wendie and C.J. grabbed Mike and hauled him to the back of the shuttle where they fumbled through the technical tools that they held. "Grab that scanner!" C.J. screamed. "Tell me if he punctured any internal organs!" "I can't tell, this thing is telling me that his chestbone is broken into two, but that's all. I can't read anything beyond that." "Then hand me a skin regenerator and tell me if his chestbone is aligned back into place or if I will have to do it!" As C.J. worked, Mike tried to speak but coninually choked up blood, leaving the sides of his face reddened from the stains that were beginning to form. "They're aligned," Wendie said, handing C.J. the skin regenerator. "It's our only chance of saving him. I can't stop the bleeding but maybe I can with this." C.J. turned the device on and watched as the wound closed up, leaving a very noticeable scar. C.J. then proceeded to get a body cast for Mike, which would prevent him from moving and would allow his bones to start healing. Chris remained standing, dumbfounded to anything that had just happened. Simon stared as Chris shook his head and looked around him. Realizing what had happened to Mike, he inquired about how Mike had been injured. Wendie began to realize the true effect of Skrian Rage on a person when Chris was unable to answer the question "What was the last thing you did?" correctly. "He tried to help you up, you were bleeding and you stabbed him through the chest," C.J. explained. Chris was also in shock - he had never stabbed a friend before when coming out of Skrian Rage. In fact, the closest he ever came to injuring was a nurse who was doing the EXACT same thing, but he snapped out of Skrian Rage while in mid-swing and was able to stop himself. Chris was filled with such remorse that he was sick to his stomach the whole day... he sat in the back of the shuttle while Wendie played the role of pilot aboard the shuttle. Wendie's skill was soon to be tested when the ship's control console blared many bleeping noises. C.J. walked up and realized that a Haikron patrol vessel was closing on them, with their weapons locked...

Chris Stephens Initiate Posts: 4 (12/9/01 10:31:09 am) Reply Sorry its taking me so long -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I've been very busy over the last two weeks, school's putting a bind on me. Add that to an AM guild war, and you'll notice I'm not on any of the forums I usually browse and I hardly talk to anyone on MSN. But I stopped by because I have to write more of this story. ---------------------------- "What do you mean?!" Simon screamed as he turned away so no one could see the expression on his face. "There isn't an asteroid belt between Furtusia and Teranig Eight. We passed Teranig Eight yesterday, and we've still got a good way to go before we reach Furtusia." "How could we know if you're lying to us or not, Simon? I realize you want to get home, and I understand that. But, you can at least be honest with us," Mike commented. "I am being honest with you. There's no asteroid belt between us. I was only placing you in a situation, there's no need for you to get paranoid." "Simon," Chris began, "I know you better than that. There's an asteroid belt, and there's a load of dust blocking us." "No," Simon said, shaking his head. "Don't lie to me," Chris demanded. "Are you trying to order me?" Simon chuckled. "You have no rank and no power and no ability to do physical harm to me. I told you already that I'm not turning around. I have a goal, I am getting through that belt, regardless of what you want." "So there is a belt?!" Wendie screamed. "S***!" Simon screamed as he punched his work console. "You are a terrible liar, now turn us around because we won't make it through," Wendie suggested. "Nah, C.J.'s advice seems to be good enough for me. We're going in as we are right now," Simon said. He fired up the engines to the shuttle, and as it proceeded to the thick dust cloud, the engines made a loud crunching noise and suddenly stopped. The shuttle moved forward very slowly and then stopped. "Crap! Damn!" Simon screamed. Chris looked at C.J., who was grinning. "He's so stupid, nobdoy plays 'if' games and nobody asks the prisoners what they should do." C.J.'s grin turned into uncontrollable laughter while the power in the shuttle flickered and went out. "No! Emergency power!" Simon screamed, noticing the security threat he had placed himself in. The force field that separated him from the four in the back of the shuttle was now offline, as was all weapons should an alien threat impede upon them. Wendie ran up past the force field to Simon, laughing as she danced like a six-year old ballerina girl. Simon frantically tried to get his ship back up and running when Mike put his hand on Simon's shoulder. "We're not going to hurt you. We're just going to hijack your shuttle and lock you in the back." He let out a maniacal laugh, one that sent a chill through everyone's spine. "You can walk to the back of the shuttle peacefully where C.. will restrain you until we get the shuttle back operational. All we have to do is clear the air intakes on the engines. Stupid engineers, building air intakes on a shuttlecraft that's designed to go into space." Mike and Chris went down into the lower engine deck and within a minute, the engines were back working and power had been restored. At that same time, Simon somehow broke free of C.J.'s grip and ran to the front of the shuttle to regain his controls. Mike and Chris came up through a set of stairs that opened right beside Simon's operating console. They saw him running, and Chirs, determined to not let him regain control of the shuttle, tackled him midway to his workstation. Chris's eyes began to glow red, and his two arms bent themselves perfectly straight. " MY SHUTTLE!" he screamed as what appeared to be a nine-inch blade, of the same enamel that fingernails are made of, emerged from his hand. This "blade" was sharp to the touch, so sharp that when he touched it to Simon's face, he started to bleed. His excessively deep, scratchy voice started again, it said, " You will not command or control me, weak human!" He picked Simon up and threw him against the back wall of the shuttle, knocking him unconscious. Mike and Wendie stared in shock, C.J. had seen this happen only once. "What the f@#$?!" Mike screamed. He looked at the blade, and the blood pouring from where the blade came through his skin. "Skrian Rage," C.J. informed. "It's said that when he was on the Magentose mission, when they went after Jesse Kane 12 years ago, he was infected with a Skrian virus that altered his genetic code. He's had outrages three times before I believe, mostly against Commander Lidox of the Ultima. "He's Skree?!" Wendie screamed. Chris pushed himself off the floor and looked at her. The blade began to retract as he looked at her and said, "I am human, like you. I will never be Skr-" Chris fell face first onto the floor, into the blood that had continously poured from his arm. "I believe they said its best not to move him, it could trigger another relapse onto us," C.J. informed the other crew.

peredhil31 Elder of Lists and Manners Posts: 407 (11/29/01 7:38:56 pm) Reply Munching Popcorn... -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Peredhil waits impatiently for the next promised installment. Good stuff! He whispers, trying not to break the mood.

Chris Stephens Visitor Posts: 3 (11/24/01 12:03:22 pm) Reply A Thrust into the Unknown -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Two tall, masculine figures stood against a wall in the communications room. Standing seven feet tall and having a faint yellow tint to their skin, their eyes kept over the room. Others like them were sitting in front of large boxes, pressing buttons, turning knobs. A loud, scratching noise was constantly blaring in the room. ----------------------------------------------------------- Chris Stephens stood silently as Admiral Taylor Colidet read from a booklet. With every word the admiral said, Chris felt smaller and smaller. "...absolutely no intimate relationships aboard ANY vessel, active or inactive. What don't you understand about that?!" Chris shrugged. "Well, maybe this will help you understand. There's a Type-Seven planetoid somewhere around here and you're going to spend some time on it." "Class.... seven?" Chris asked. He remembered the documentaries on Class Seven environments. Without an environmental suit, death was instant. The atmosphere was mainly of sulphur and carbon dioxide, and acid rain was the only thing that fell from the sky. As for life, there was none. Life was known to exist in the harshest of environments, but this environment was too harsh. "Yes, Class Seven. SFV Ultima came across it approximately three weeks before returning to Earth." (OOC: For any writers on Ultima, this is a hint. They have to make it home) "But wouldn't it cost too much to make a special trip out there? I mean, I know we're on a tight budget-" "I am funding this privately. I have too much money, anyway, so basically, follow me." The thought was so depressing it was sickening to Chris. A Class Seven Planet? How could any human endure such torture? Better yet, how could any human place another person into such torture?! Chris followed Taylor into the next room, where he met three other senior officers, sitting in chairs. "Take a se Taylor said. "Everybody, this is Chris Stephens, renowned Captain and recent drug addict. Chris, this is Mike Ross, Wendy McCallowe, and Charles-Jesse Roberts-" "What's with all the formality? Can't you call me C.J.?" Charles asked. "Personally, I don't care what you call each other. Chris here will be joining you in your trip to Furtusia, as he has racked up too many black points for minor drug abuse, disrespect to senior officers, and having intimate relations with other crewmembers." Taylor added. "How is it a crime? Doesn't it say, in the Regulation book, that a senior officer cannot be held to punishment by torture for disrespect to another senior officer of any rank?" "You're exactly right. I took this one into my own hands for the simple reason that you have over a hundred counts of it. Anyway, Mike is going for sabotaging the shuttlebay of the Starcharter, Wendie is going for leading a mutiny on the Alamari, and C.J. is going for threatening to launch a psychotic rampage on the High Council of the Codenamer Hierarchy. Well, we're to depart, so follow me." Taylor grabbed a few papers off of a desk and had the group follow him to the shuttle port in the neighboring room. "Lieutenant Simon Forrest will be your pilot. It'll take three days to get there, and you will be confined to the surface for three weeks. We are transporting enough food and water to sustain you for six or seven weeks, should an emergency occur. Board the shuttle," Taylor ordered. The thought that was going through the group's heads was either how to kill Taylor or take control of the shuttle. But, because it was Simon Forrest piloting, the latter thought could possibly be made into reality with little effort. "Hi," Simon said as Mike, Wendie, Chris and C.J. boarded the shuttle. They stared at him blankly as he fired up the shuttle's engines and blased off into open space. "So I hear we're off to some Class Five planet?" Simon asked. "Seven," C.J. corrected. "Class Seven? Is that man crazy?!" Simon asked. "Beats me, but I wouldn't be surprised if he was," Wendie commented. "He probably has some kind of mental defect," Mike said. "Maybe so. Anyway, Simon, if you don't like the idea, why are you taking us there?" Chris inquired. "Well, mainly because it was an order and he's got contacts everywhere. If we were to try to hide, he'd find us." "But," Mike began, "Chris has to be the best pilot anyone's ever seen, and I can alter our engine exhaust to make it appear that we were just an ordinary Bryonian cargo freighter." "Sorry, man, but there's nothing I can do. If I break these orders, I'll be hiding all my life. I have a family that I have to return home to. I care about you guys, but an order's an order. If it were just me, and I didn't have anything to return to, I'd do it," Simon said. The four in the back of the shuttle sighed. The next day, absolutely nothing happened. Chris, Wendie, Mike, and C.J. sat in the back of the shuttle, bored out of their minds. There was absolutely nothing to do, for Simon was required to keep a force field around him at all times. The only thing in the back of the shuttle was themselves and some food, which Mike was hoggishly digging into. To pass the time, they would sleep. Finally, on the third day, things became a little less boring. At first, it was the usual... but that quickly changed. Simon's control console started blaring loud beeping noises, which caught the attention of everyone. Listening to only the shuttle's humming and the breathing of the other people for two days bored them to the level that for every "bleep" and "bip" they heard caught their attention. "I get the feeling we're in for some... problems," Simon commented. He looked down at his control console, and a screen showed a thick mass of space dust blocking the Jzest Pass, located at the L'Tori Asteroid Belt that they had to pass through to get to Furtusia. "Nah..." Simon lied, "Everything's peachy." Chris and Mike, who had started to get up and see what was the matter, sat back down. "I know y'all are bored, so I'm going to play a game with you," Simon said. "What kind of game?" Wendie asked. "An 'if' game. I'm going to give you a situation and I want you to tell me what we should do." "Neat!" Mike said. "Okay... You're on an urgent mission. You have to pass through a pass in an asteroid belt, but it is blocked by space dust. You have to go through this pass, but the dust could very easily disable your engines. What would you do. Mike?" Simon asked. "I'd grease up the engine system and make it so that any debris or dust would go right through the system." "Wendie?" "I'd push right through it, unless it would be too thick to stop me." "C.J.? You're the engine maintenance officer, what do you think?" "Well, I think Mike's plan would make it worse, because the grease would allow the dust to stick in the engine. You'd have to go in dry." "Chris?" "I think we have an obstacle and you're trying to get us to answer for you." Simon blushed... OOC: I got to go for now, but I'll be back later to continue.

Lord Seth Exodus Initiate Posts: 36 (3/11/02 10:57:57 pm) Reply Re: Midnight job -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Very well written indeed. I love the mood that is set; delightfully creepy, if I dare say so myself. Bravo! -Seth Exodus Initiate of The Pen

Gyrfalcon25 Bard Posts: 296 (3/9/02 10:14:41 pm) Reply Re: Midnight job -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- *Gyr applauds* Ooo... I like this background. An interesting world, and as Zephyrian said... Delightfully creepy!

Zephryin Initiate Posts: 13 (3/9/02 5:59:28 pm) Reply Re: Midnight job -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Quote: -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Originally posted by Celesctia He was still haunted of finding his father in his room waking him up, the day after his father had died. Mom had had to hit him with the truth stone knife in the drawer. The knife kept him down long enough to call the necromancer, to finish him. That’s why he became a necromancer, to keep what was dead, dead. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Delightfully creepy!

gwaihir1 Elder of Lists and Poetry Posts: 133 (3/9/02 4:21:46 pm) Reply Re: Midnight job -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- tremendous story! ---------- I want to be page 93 of Pineapples, the Avian Crows-Nyyark

Zool47 Patron Saint of Aspiring Bards Posts: 239 (3/9/02 12:50:27 pm) Reply Re: Midnight job -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Very well thought out, very well told. Don't feel bad about going back and making minor edits to mispellings or misplaced words. ~Zool~

Celesctia Visitor Posts: 1 (3/9/02 10:47:28 am) Reply Midnight job -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- He stood at the top of the tower stairs. A momentary flash of irony shattered his concentration. He had broken in too high, and now had to make his way down through the keep to reach his target. He quickly killed the humor. Otherwise it would be the death of him. Or worse. Alert once again, he took on his surroundings. Meld with the keep and then nothing would be amiss. To become one with your environment, but retain your identity, that was his goal. It was a difficult, not mention dangerous, balance. He did it though, and then moved with the keep, in the keep. Moonlight bred with the objects in the hall, giving birth to a brood of shadows. The keep wasn't quite far enough North for the shadows to start posing too many problems, but he was wary nonetheless. It was important to keep track of what was what, otherwise he might take a turn into a dark alcove instead of an archway, and that would land him a more trouble he was willing to think about. "I do hate night jobs this far in," he thought, "there's no knowing the consequences of a mistake." Images of the refuse that collected at the truth-stone caches, some of them human, tried to crack his concentration. He willed them away. The only truth-stones he had on him were sharp feather-like chips. Chips specially cut for throwing. These were located in two sacks, one for those that had been blooded, and one for those that were fresh. It was only the fresh ones that he would use tonight; there should be no need for help. He froze as a shadow moved at the bottom of the staircase he was descending. Let it be real, let it be real... Moonlight glinted white off of a polished helmet, and flashed in human eyes. His hands dropped to the cloth sack at his side and withdrew an un-blooded feather. One second of calculation, and the feather took flight. The guard jerked as his hands flew towards his throat, but years of training halted the desperate motion in motion. He stood there, dumbly, with his throat pierced by the feather. The guard watched two shadows follow the stairs to their base. One shadow imposed itself on the wall, while the other appeared to be real. The guard blinked as he recognized the man standing before him. "Yes Jared, it is I, Harold," the man cloaked in shadow said. He eyed Jared's throat. "'Tis a pity." Jared nodded somberly then fell backwards in death. Harold caught him carefully, and gently laid him on the ground. Harold carefully removed the now -blooded feather, and used a knife to scratch a ruin of identification on it. The feather was then placed into the sack on the hip opposite from which it had been drawn. Not a drop of blood was spilled, and Jared would remain dead. That was kind of hearting; Harold was glad it was he who took this job. Jared and he went back a long way, and he didn't trust anyone else to give him a true death. It was sickening this far North, where boundaries began to blur. Things began to forget their place. He remembered having to endure the pleading of the weeds in his garden. The worst though was the boundary of Death. He was still haunted by the finding of his father in his room waking him up, the day after his father had died. Mom had had to hit him with the truth-stone knife in the drawer. The knife had kept him down long enough to call in the necromancer to finish him. That's why he'd became a necromancer, to keep what was dead, dead.