http://www.musemart.com/ MuseMart » Tag: fiction - Recent Topics en Thu, 09 Sep 2010 20:19:57 +0000 http://www.musemart.com/topic/attempted-writing#post-97 Wed, 27 Jun 2007 13:20:00 +0000 Gumshoe 97@http://www.musemart.com/ <p>Here's a new story I'm working on. Tell me what you think of it thus far...</p> <p>Consciousness returned slowly, quietly, like a bearer of bad news who doesn't want to deliver. The first thing I heard was the steady beating of rain on an already wet ground, the frenzied tap-dance of falling water. I was soaking wet, but that wasn't what was getting my attention. </p> <p>It was the pain... pain like a migraine headache that had spread through my entire body. Some spots were worse than others. Some were better, though at this point my definition of "better" meant I couldn't feel them at all. I tried to remember what was going on, where I was. Why I was lying in the mud and the rain feeling like somebody's human piñata. </p> <p>I drew a perfect blank and decided to start at the beginning, with the easy stuff. Who was I? When that came up blank I knew I was in deep shit. Not that lying in the mud feeling like I'd been repeatedly run over by a truck hadn't clued me in, this just made certain I knew how deep the shit really was. </p> <p>I still had my eyes closed. I hadn't opened them because I didn't want to see if I looked like I felt. Common sense spoke up just then, and made me realize I couldn’t shut out reality forever... it was time to face the music. </p> <p>I found myself looking up into dark, heavy clouds that were leaking raindrops like tears at a funeral service. It might have been my funeral, except I wasn't dead. I only felt like I should be. Staring up into that bleak, dreary sky didn't do much to lighten my mood. I let my head roll sideways, figuring I might find something more pleasant to look at. No such luck. A gun was clenched tightly in my right hand, it's baleful red indicator blinking the sinister warning that I was out of ammunition, out of options, out of time. My finger was still in the trigger guard.</p> <p>For a while, the gun and that damn blinking light was all I could see. My eyes didn't want to focus on anything else. I couldn't blame them, really. The whole scene was just gonna get worse with every move I made. Eventually my eyes and I came to an agreement, and the rest of the world swam into view. The storm continued into the far horizon, shafts of sunlight breaking through at intervals to illuminate things I couldn't see. Off in the distance was a city, bleak and dreary as the troubled sky. Towering skyscrapers disappeared into the clouds, dreary granite monoliths that could've done duty as gravestones for a giant. It almost seemed as if the city was nothing more than an extension of the storm. Or maybe it was the other way around. I thought about that for a little while, hoping the sight would dredge up a memory or two. </p> <p>Eventually I looked away, found my other hand. It was empty, and for good reason. The fingers were crooked and gnarled, as if I was an old man racked with arthritis. Having them broken like that must have been pretty painful. Suddenly, not remembering didn't seem like such a bad thing after all. I forced myself to look away, not dwell on it. There was no cityscape to be seen on this side. There was something much more interesting instead. </p> <p>I was looking side-on at a black van, its headlights sending shafts of light into the murky gloom of the rainstorm. The engine was idling, adding a soft hum to the sound of the rain. There was a body crumpled near the front tire, pose suggesting that if the guy wasn't dead already he'd wish he was when he woke up. I figured I'd better get up, check things out. That was a mistake. </p> <p>I woke up the same as last time, rain drumming down on my face. It was a little softer now, more a heavy mist than a shower. At least this time I remembered blacking out, and what had happened before I had. I tried sitting up again, much more slowly this time. The pain in my side told me it wasn't just my fingers that were broken. Whatever it was, it wasn't life threatening. If it had been, I wouldn't have woken up this time. I frowned as much as I could without hurting myself. How long had I been out? I narrowed my eyes, gazed up at the troubled sky. There was less light than there had been when I'd first woken up. I figured it was late evening, getting on towards night. The city in the distance was starting to glow, a soft ambience of life belying it's earlier appearance. Another thought struck me. How many times had I passed out and woken up again without any memory of it? How long had I been out here in the rain and the mud? </p> <p>I added those to the rapidly growing stack of unanswered questions and concentrated on standing up. Slowly and carefully, of course. Good thing, too. I couldn't feel one of my legs. I thought it was broken, but the series of neat little holes in my pant leg said otherwise. I'd been shot... with flechettes, looked like. They’d gone in one side and out the other, right through the muscle. A few had sliced right through the bone. That was gonna be a bitch to fix. At least the wounds had stopped bleeding. One less thing to worry about.</p> <p>I tested my balance, found I could keep my feet as long as I moved with an awkward shamble. I kept the gun clenched tightly in my right hand. Without any memories to fall back on, it provided a fragile sense of security. It'd been with me before I blacked out, was the only thread I had to tie me to who I was. And, in all likelihood, it had saved my life.</p> <p>I hobbled over to the van, saw a second corpse laying near the open back doors. He'd taken a hit to the head, close range. Hard to tell if it'd been flechettes or a bullet, not that it mattered. Dead was dead. He was, and I wasn't. Not yet, anyway.</p> <p>A look inside the back of the van revealed some blood stained ropes, plastic sheets, and two pairs of gloves. There was a hammer in there, too. My left hand ached at the sight of it. I quickly looked away, pushing any thought of it from my mind. I could worry about all that later. Right now, I had to get out of here. Somebody might come looking for the two corpses, and I didn't want to be around when they arrived.</p> <p>I hobbled over and painfully knelt beside the body near the front of the van. Turned out the guy had a gun with him. It fired flechettes. Apparently fair was fair, though. The stiff had taken a burst of the same right in the chest. Some of the razor sharp little darts were still stuck in the side of the van, sparkling clean thanks to the rain. I slowly raised the gun I held, noted it's ammunition. It didn't take me long to come up with a theory about what had happened. It was a pretty ugly theory, but it was all I had. I checked the stiff over for ammunition, found an extra clip and shoved it into the pocket of the trenchcoat I was wearing. It paid to be prepared.</p> <p>I closed the rear doors and climbed into the drivers seat. Luckily I still remembered how to drive. I headed for the city... there was nowhere else I could've gone. I needed medical attention and I needed answers. I’d find both of them there.</p> <p>The night wore on hot and heavy as I drove, and the rain didn't do anything but make it worse. The van's wipers moved rhythmically across the glass, clearing it for a few seconds at a time before a thousand kamikaze raindrops reached their final destination. I found the road a little while after leaving the field where I'd woken up. Following it wasn't too hard, even with the storm doing it's best to get me lost. </p> <p>I shifted my foot, heard it squelch in a puddle of what I knew was more than water. The metallic tang of blood was filling the air, and I could already feel the life draining out of me, feel the cold chill of death closing in despite the warmth of the night. The wounds in my leg must've opened up again. I couldn't stop to apply a tourniquet. If I stopped driving, I might pass out and bleed to death. My only hope was to reach the city, find some sort of hospital before unconciousness took me once again. Hell, I didn't even have to do that much. All I had to do was find somebody who gave enough of a damn to call for help when I collapsed in front of them and bled all over the street.</p> <p>That shouldn't be too hard, not even on a night like this. Despite the gloom and dark caused by the storm the city would be alive. Shops would be open. People with umbrellas would be running errands on the rain-slicked sidewalks. At least, that's how I pictured it.</p> <p>Guess I had a pretty good imagination. </p> <p>Thunder rumbled as the van's headlights played across the beat up sign that marked the city limits. Whatever the city's name was, it had been worn off into obscurity some time ago. Fitting. I didn't catch the population or elevation. Didn't matter. Some part of my mind told me somebody in that city hadn't taken much of a liking to me. It told me they might not be too happy if I showed up again, alive and kicking and with the blood of two men on my hands. I told that part of my mind to shut the hell up unless it had something constructive to say. </p> <p>Time passed, and I barely noticed. It could have been hours, or it could have been minutes. The constant drumming of rain and my inability to see much past the road made it hard to tell. I barely saw the buildings I passed as I made my way into the city limits. They were short and squat, but with a big footprint. Industrial, probably. Warehouses and manufacturing plants. Further in, they started to get taller. Up ahead, skyscrapers began to lose their tops in the clouds. They gave me the unpleasant image of people in over their heads, unable to get out of whatever they'd gotten into. </p> <p>I realized my vision was starting to blur as I nearly hit a parked car. I forced my eyes to focus again, jerking mechanically back into the road. I was losing it, starting to succumb to shock and bloodloss. Time to stop driving and start looking for help. I turned the van up onto the side of the street, tires jumping the curb and planting themselves on the sidewalk. People might have shouted in alarm or anger. I made sure the empty pistol was tucked securely into my waistband, and stumbled out into the rain. </p> <p>The world swam in front of me, even though my feet were planted. I took a step forward, nearly lost my balance, and caught myself with my wounded leg. It wasn't so much pain as it was my leg giving up and throwing in the towel. It had had enough, and wanted me to get the message. I slammed against the hood of the still running van, fingers trying to grip the slippery wet metal. I slid down onto the street, onto my knees. Leaned against the front tire for support like I was praying to it and hoped like hell somebody called in an ambulance. </p> <p>I took a moment to catch my breath, a lungfull of warm engine air, and then hauled myself up onto my feet. Get up, damn you! Had to get to my feet.... Keep moving! Find help! Stay alive! Using the hood for support I edged my way over onto the sidewalk. I couldn't tell if there was anybody around. I had tunnel vision now, and there were big dark spots floating around. There was something in front of me, though... a big, bright neon sign that I couldn't read because I couldn't focus on the letters. There were flashing lights, and noise… most of it drowned out by the running of the engine. Neon lights... something clicked in my mind, told me the sign was just what I wanted. Neon signs meant bars, clubs, strip joints, casinos... places where there would be people. I left the support of the van and lurched towards the sign, hands outstretched like some sort of zombie that had seen its next meal, its next chance for continued existence. </p> <p>I got in one good lurching step before gravity stepped in and showed me who was boss. After the beating I'd taken, I figured hitting the sidewalk with my face wasn't the worst thing I could do. Still, it hurt like hell. I thought I heard footsteps, voices, but couldn't make any of it seem real. I thought I smelled perfume, and then it all went black. </p> http://www.musemart.com/topic/cooperative-story#post-32 Wed, 27 Jun 2007 12:20:20 +0000 Audrey 32@http://www.musemart.com/ <p><strong>Originally started by Lady of the Winds</strong></p> <p>And here we go....</p> <p>******</p> <p> “Well it has been eight years dad, and not much in life has changed,” Rishbeth said. “Joey is still a little pain, but he is almost as tall as I am now. We both do what we can to help the gypsies. However, we still have a hard time trying to stay alive ourselves. We do odd jobs for some of the locals, not all of whom are nice, but hey, its credits and we have to live,” Rishbeth paused for a second, then looked down at an unmarked grave. “Sorry we still haven’t gotten you a proper headstone yet, but like I said, things have been a little tight lately.”</p> <p> Rishbeth looked up at her surroundings to make sure she was still alone. This was an unused section of what was once a great cemetery, no one could remember its name anymore. Though her father had not been part of any military unit, it was the only graveyard that had not been completely desecrated. Gangs, homeless, or those who just wanted to make a profit had all but evicted the ones that had lain to rest in this place. Not that Rish was at all religious, she just thought that the dead should be respected. The Cemetery had been half dug up to provide housing for those who could not afford it else where, but as usual the cheep housing had become a cesspool for gangs. It took a lot out of a person to actually survive out here.</p> <p> The small tree that she used as a marker for her fathers grave swayed lightly in the breezes, but beyond that she saw no one, just some of the few remaining headstones from those who had served this once great nation. And beyond those few headstones rose what was now what the cemetery had become, a dirty, polluted place where everyone seemed half starved, eager for work, or just wanting to get out of this dump. Comparatively, Rish and Joey had it easy, they did what they could to help the gypsies, who in turn helped them as much as they could. When they could not help the gypsies however, Rish and Joey were willing to do menial labor to help their neighbors, who usually fed them by way of payment. Those who could afford to actually pay them did so, but they were asking the brother and sister to do more than just menial labor.</p> <p> Looking back down at the grave she said, “Well, Joey and I have a job to do so I think I had better go meet up with him now. Don’t worry about us dad, we can take care of ourselves. After you died, we had some tough education in… self-defense shall we say? Remember we love you dad.” After saying that, Rish turned and walked away towards the apartment she shared with her 18 year old brother. She wished she could talk Joey out of doing the job with her, but he would stick by her side no matter what she said. It was a bloody business, but hey, credits were credits, they had learned that the hard way. </p> <p>* * * *</p> <p> Joey looked out the window, thinking, as he waited for Rish to return to the apartment. The weather was starting to darken, a sure sign of more rain to come. That would not be bad, more cover for them to do their job. He looked down at his weapon of choice he was cleaning, a thin double edged dagger. It was plain, except for a small blue stone in the hilt, right where his palm would rest. Rish’s throwing darts, etched with dragons, were lying on the table next to him, waiting for her return. </p> <p> The brother and sister used other weapons too; they even had a couple of guns, which was unusual because they were usually restricted to those who were responsible for the “peacekeeping” of the Savanov district. Well, in a sense Rish and I are peacekeepers, thought Joey. Their lives had not been easy since their father died. Only God, or whatever almighty being was out there, knew what had happened to their mother, she had left them all when Rishbeth and Joey were too small to remember her. Then their father died when Joey was 10, he did not remember him has well as Rish did. She had been 14. </p> <p> The three of them had gotten along pretty well without Mother. Father sheltered them and brought home food, not to mention the kindness of the gypsies. The gypsies, Joey thought, they had tried everything to get dad to quit smoking, but he just wouldn’t listen. When the old man had finally died, it was because he lost the battle against lung cancer.</p> <p> Just then, Rish entered their apartment. She had a thoughtful look on her face. She has been to dad’s grave again, Joey thought. Joey kept cleaning is dagger as Rish started to pick up her weapons, giving her her peace. When she was done storing her darts in various places (winding it in her hair, up sleeves and in boots), he sheathed his dagger at the small of his back. The silence stretched. It always did just before a job.</p> <p> “Ready?” Rish asked. Joey knew that she wanted him to stay here. To keep him safe, however that was why he wanted to go with her. To keep her safe.</p> <p> “Yeah. Let us do this. And… on the way home could we stop to pick up some food?” Rish looked at Joey in a mildly disgusted way.</p> <p> “You’re thinking of food right now? Ick. But yeah, we will get something hot to eat tonight.” She turned and walked out the door to rendezvous with the job. Joey followed her out a little more slowly. He would follow her but was not to have any actual contact with the job. He was back-up if something in her plans went wrong. He hoped that nothing would go wrong this time and closed the door behind him.</p> <p><strong>Vallaria</strong><br /> Re: Cooperative Story<br /> « Reply #1 on: 15 August 2006, 22:01:28 »</p> <p>(Note: I'm going to cheat here and put up my old post, Gaite- because I still had it saved, I REALLY liked it, and I think I'd like to continue with the characters.)</p> <p>The dirty flowered fabric of an ancient bedsheet twisted and shuddered in the sudden breeze, allowing a thin finger of dim light to enter the room. It traced its way over takeout boxes, weeks old. Ruined carpet, completely bald in more places than it held. It finally found a mattress. Shoved into the back of the room against a wall, the mattress sagged into the floor without a frame to support it. Sheets formed a terrain of hills and valleys, conforming to Mir's body. There they stuck. </p> <p>One of the daily afternoon rain squalls had just hit, though it did nothing to break the heat. It was over 95, and the air may as well have been water. No one but the city or the fabulously wealthy could afford enough electricity for air conditioning anymore. The sound of the sudden downpour filtered through the open window. Permanantly open- she'd broken it with a chair sometime. She couldn't remember when. There were shrieks of feigned surprise from those who had given up carrying an umbrella years ago, and the smell and sound of cooking Chinese food from the noodle shop downstairs. Rain was good for Mama Chun's business. </p> <p>Mir tried to shut it out. She lied curled on her side, face to the wall. She didn't want to hear anything anymore. </p> <p>For nearly two weeks, she hadn't. She'd had the rest of his dermals, and she'd put them on her neck, one at a time, hoping they'd dull mental as well as physical pain. For a while, they had. But she'd run out last night. Now her hands shook when she bothered to lift them from the mattress, and all she had was a lot of empty wrappers, staring back at her. She knew it wouldn't be long before someone, probably Kitch, came to check on her. She doubted somehow that he would help her find more dermals, though she knew he could. </p> <p>Maybe she wouldn't answer the door and hope he'd forgotten the passcodes. Maybe she'd never move again. The hollow feeling in her had become familiar, something close to comfortable. She imagined that this was what he'd felt like, lying here. She turned her face to the window, lank black curls sticking to her skin. She should have tried to find a frame for the bed. Should have worked harder so he could have died in a bed with a view. </p> <p>Or never died at all. </p> <p>Mir felt tears welling up in her throat again, impossible tears. She couldn't have anything left in her to cry with. There wasn't anything left. He was gone. </p> <p>God, Knol. God damn. </p> <p>There weren't any tears left, but her chest heaved with sobs anyway. She stared at the stains and peeling plaster of the ceiling, wanting to tear it down, destroy the entire apartment, every shred of his existance. She had known this was coming, for months and months. They'd ignored it so long. So well. </p> <p>"Knol." She breathed it. Her lips were dry and cracked, and the single word hurt more than anything had in days. </p> <p>She closed her eyes and got lost in the low light behind them. </p> <p>------------- </p> <p>"Mirage?" Kitch pounded on the door again. "Mir, honey, answer the door." He rested his forehead against the scratched and dented metal. </p> <p>"Shut the hell UP! Christ!" A dark skinned man stuck his head out a door down at the end of the hall to glare at him. The light down at that end of the hall flickered and went out, obscuring the man from view and relieving Kitch of having to pretend he cared. </p> <p>"Shit," he swore softly under his breath. Finally, he dug out his portable. He punched a few numbers. The tiny com speaker implanted in his ear chimed softly as his portable attempted to connect. He stuffed it back in his jacket pocket. </p> <p>"What?" He felt as much as heard Lapis' low voice buzz in his ear. She sounded like she'd been through one of the Trials. "It's 5 AM and I just got off the shift from hell. This better be good, Kit." </p> <p>He kept his voice down, knowing that the mic in his lip ring would pick up every word clearly. "Knol's passcode. What is it?" </p> <p>There was silence on the other end of the line. "Don't you mean was it?" Lapis finally snorted. </p> <p>"Damn. You can't help being a bitch, can you? Just give me the code." </p> <p>"2083XJ. Wait for the orange light, then enter his birthday. Now leave me the hell alone." A tone sounded in his ear, indicating that the connection had been cut. </p> <p>Kitch sighed and stared at the door a minute longer before punching in the code. He waited for the light to cycle through 5 or 6 colors before seeing the orange, and punched in the date she'd instructed. A soft click and a green light indicated that the door was open. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open. She better not be dead too. </p> <p>His footsteps echoed in the nearly empty hall that led into the single room. He touched the glowpanel, but it wasn't working. Didn't surprise him. He bypassed the bathroom, which was dark, and entered the studio, which was only marginally brighter, lit by a pulsing neon banner outside. The first thing he noticed was the smell. Old food, sweat. </p> <p>Kitch hadn't been here in over a month. Business had kept him away from the Rawl- now he wished it hadn't. When Mama Chun had mentioned what happened, he'd come up right away. His light blue eyes narrowed as he surveyed the room, eyes ending on the lone figure crumpled on the mattress. When he saw the wrappers scattered around her, his eyes widened. His footsteps quickened until he was kneeling beside the bed. He brushed her dark, short curls out of her face, holding her cheeks in his hands. They were still warm- but in this heat, that wasn't surprising. The red street light glinted off the metal cheek tattoos she'd gotten- a spiral pattern from old Europe she'd taken months to pick out. </p> <p>"Com'on, Mirage, open your eyes." He swallowed hard. "Mir." He reached down and gently stripped two peeling patches off her neck, noting the swelling in that area. She had probably ODed on the painkillers, or come close. Demarol. Christ. </p> <p>Her light brown eyes finally flinched open, and she jerked back from him reflexively. </p> <p>"Mir," he said again. Relief filled his voice. </p> <p>He didn't speak again as he got her water a little water to drink. In the heat, it was a wonder dehydration alone hadn't killed her. He stripped the mattress of it's sheets, and sponged her down, ignoring her weak protest. He tossed the old food and containers out the window into a dumpster below, and pulled the ripped sheet serving as a curtain back from the window. A morning thundershower was building. </p> <p>"Go." </p> <p>The word startled him, because it was strong, firm. Sounded like Mir. He turned from the window to look at her, lying on the mattress still, face to the wall. Her head turned deliberately towards him, her eyes wide and blank. </p> <p>"I don't think I better, honey." </p> <p>"Get the FUCK OUT." </p> <p>She screamed it, and for a moment, Kitch saw his friend in her eyes. He nodded slightly. "Mama's bringing up noodles tonight." </p> <p>His shock boots clunked hollowly on the broken tiles in the hallway as he left. The door clicked shut, and Mir was alone in the apartment again, with nothing but the sound of the Rawl winding down for the night. </p> <p>Kitch made his way down the nearly pitch black stairwell back to Mama Chun's. </p> <p>He would come back later.</p> <p>Kitch weaved past the Freaks guarding the living entrance to Mama Chun's building. Some Cult of the Righteous morons, out to save him and everyone else. As he looked around the immediate neighborhood of Rosslyn Station, Kitch reflected that there wasn't a whole hell of a lot left to save. </p> <p>The once major arteries of the city, lined with high rise apartment buildings and stores, had become overbuilt and overgrown. The structures had grown and pushed their way in until the once wide boulevards had become one lane roads, clogged with bikers, pedestrians, and a few kids on scoot bikes. What he guessed had been an ancient mall, judging from broken displays in the walls, had become a warren of apartments with a brothel on the side. Mama Chun's building was an oddly quaint affair, considering the surroundings. It had a small patio that diverted the foot traffic, with gaudy red plastic awnings carefully shading bamboo and orchids from the acidic rain that fell a few times a day. The place looked like it had always been a Chinese joint. For all he knew, it had- the Chinese quarter had had a lot of power in DC for as long as he could remember, and he wouldn't be surprised, with all Mama knew, if she was from one of the big families and this was their goddamn point of origin. </p> <p>Rosslyn had long ago ceased to be a station on the ancient Metro, and become something closer to a walled compound. Washington had killed the subway system some time 50 or so years ago, after they'd gone mostly bankrupt fighting riots. The highways had been closed a few years prior to that because of heavy pollution. </p> <p>The last link between the neighborhoods of the city gone, big time gangs and entrepreneurs had taken over the empty skeleton of the Metro tunnels, and each station had become an island. The only way to get around outside of border checks anymore was a long damn hike down a dark track- after having paid the right people the right things to ensure your own safety, of course. </p> <p>Kitch glanced at Mama's noodle shop, smelling won ton soup hungrily. Unfortunately, he'd blown the last of his credits to get back home with his ass intact, and until his chip was wired with some more money from his most recent trade, he was going to have to rely on the kindness of friends. With a reluctant sigh, he let himself slip into the stream of people. </p> <p>He'd head for the clinic. They were probably wondering where the hell he was anyway. But Jannie had caught him in the tunnel on the way in, concerned about Mir missing a meeting, and he'd known. Had to make that stop first. </p> <p>Besides, it wasn't like he had anything for them- nothing that was going to save anyone anyway. </p> <p>His eyes were drawn to the buildings, where those who couldn't keep up with the traffic ended up spun from the center to slide down the walls. Hookers. Junkies. And a larger than average group of folks who looked homeless. Lethargic. Their skin shone, flushed more than it should have been, even given the heat. A rash on their necks. Dull eyes. There were more of them closer to the clinic he got- and when he got there, there was a line out the door. </p> <p>Christ, the flu my ass. </p> <p>The CDC was full of shit, as usual. </p> <p>He went in the side door.</p> <p><strong>Gumshoe</strong><br /> Re: Cooperative Story<br /> « Reply #2 on: 16 August 2006, 01:23:44 »</p> <p>Shao Phim should have been nervous as he stood, watching the pedestrians on the street below. He had every right to be... after all, he was here to meet what by all accounts was a very dangerous woman. But instead of nervousness the small, unassuming man was filled with a strange sense of calm. His breath came slowly and evenly, small puffs of vapor forming every few seconds before being swept away by the night breeze. He glanced at his watch, squinting in the darkness - five minutes until his contact was supposed to be here. Rish. That was her name. Or at least, that's what his sources claimed it was. In her line of work you never could be certain. He'd scheduled this meeting himself, of course, not trusting his contacts as much as he usually did. He'd told Rish she'd recieve half her payment and all the information she'd need to get the rest. In reality, she'd recieve much more than that. </p> <p>Shao sighed. He didn't even know the woman. Was it right to do what he was about to do to her? Feet scraped the rooftop behind him, and Shao turned from the edge of the building. A slightly stiffer breeze tugged at the coat he wore, sending a shiver down his back. Or maybe it was reality finally setting in, the thought of what he planned to do penetrating his unnatural calm. "You're early," Shao smiled. It came more easily than he'd thought it would, considering. Rish finished closing the distance between them, her face shrouded by the night. </p> <p>"I'm professional," She responded. It wasn't the haughty statement it would have been from some of the others that practiced her trade. "How about that job?"</p> <p>Rain began to fall as Shao reached into his coat, a light sprinkling of water falling from the darkened heavens. He paused, hand resting on the promised payment. He'd felt Rish tense, but she hid it so quickly he almost didn't notice. Moving a little more cautiously, he withdrew the bundle of bills wrapped in brown paper. They were what was known as credits these days, and aptly so. The economy had gotten so bad that people survived by shuffling their debts, rather than paying them. Only the extremely well off had real money. Or at least what passed for it in such a dismal system. It remained a mystery why the economy hadn't collapsed entirely, as it had in some other nations. France in particular sprang to mind, the ugly images of news reports many years past still had the ability to shock him. The rioting, the bloody fighting as the government collapsed... And here we are, he thought, One step away from it ourselves.</p> <p>A soft noise cut through Shao's revere, and he realized he had yet to hand the credits over to Rish. Perhaps she read his hesitation as second thoughts, for she took the wad of bills quickly. "Don't worry," She said reassuringly, "No one will know you had anything to do with this." </p> <p>"That's not what worries me," Shao said truthfully. He shook his head at her curious look, continuing on with the details of her job. "Nevermind. You'll find twice what I promised in your hand. Your full payment, in advance. I'm afraid I wouldn't be around to give it to you after you complete what I'm asking you to do." She seemed to understand that. Shao could only smile thinly. She had no idea. He carefully withdrew something else from his coat, a folded piece of paper. She took it from his proferred hand. "In there you'll find an address. His name is Edward Sachsen... a former colleague of mine. And a former friend." She didn't press him for details. It was probably more than she usually knew about her targets anyway. "I want it done tonight. Promise me you'll make it... dignified. As clean as possible." She nodded. Compassion from the person who wanted another killed probably wasn't normal, he thought. </p> <p>"Will he have protection?" She asked. </p> <p>"Slim to none," Shao replied. "Edward... he's very secure in his world view. Few people know what he does... what he's done. Or what he is." Shao sighed. "And he's in a part of town patrolled by peacekeepers. The sight of armed patrols does a lot to ease one's fears. I trust they won't be a problem for you."</p> <p>"I've gotten past them before," Rish noted with a bit of pride. Shao nodded. He knew she had.</p> <p>He turned, regarding the ledge and the street below. The few people brave enough to roam the streets at this hour. "Is there anything else I need to know about?" She asked. Shao thought for a moment. There was a lot she should probably know. She'd find out soon enough, he decided. He remained silent, contemplating the street. An armored personell carrier rumbled down the street on it's treads. He waited until he heard her turn to leave, the mercenary's footfalls heading for the stairwell that led down from the roof.</p> <p>"Do you know what it's like?" He asked, raising his voice to be heard without turning around. The footsteps stopped. Shao still didn't turn, eyes still on the street below. "Do you know what it's like," He repeated, "To give your soul to evil? To give it freely, one step at a time, believing you've served a greater good? To see your good intentions twisted and destroyed before your eyes, all the while holding out hope that some good may come of it? And to know that, after all your good intentions, innocent people will suffer?" He turned at last, saw Rish standing near the door to the stairway, rain beginning to come down more heavily. He couldn't see her face, couldn't read her expression. But suddenly, it was important that she'd heard what he had said. "I know," He told her. And again, more softly. "I know." There was a silence, and Rish left. Shao watched her go, waiting several seconds to be sure she was truely gone. He turned back to the edge, straightening his back as he looked down. "Judgement is coming, Edward." And then he stepped off.</p> <p><strong>Lady of the Winds</strong><br /> Re: Cooperative Story<br /> « Reply #3 on: 20 August 2006, 18:39:52 »</p> <p>Closing the door behind her, Rish went downstairs to meet up with Joey. As she went she was thinking on the guys parting words to her. Yes, she decided. She knew what it was like to work for evil. That was the very core of being an assassin after all. However, she did feel that her soul was still her own, though a little of it blackened with each job. But to her, helping the gypsies kind of balanced things, actually cleansed her soul. The gypsies after all were old healers, healers of people and the land that was dying thanks to its human population. They knew how to bring life to places where there was nothing but death. Granted they were the ones who taught two lost orphans their main trade after their father died.</p> <p>Rish wondered what their lifestyle was doing to Joey as he came into sight. Like her, when they were not on a job, he was a happy-go-lucky kid. Thinking with his stomach more often than not, content enough to do some simple task, like chopping wood or fixing some electrical gadget. </p> <p> Flinging her rain-darkened black hair out of her violet eyes, she came to the landing where Joey was waiting.</p> <p>"Well?" he asked. They may have been siblings but they looked nothing alike. They were like night and day when they stood next to each other. He had a blond hair color that had darkened over time, as a kid his hair was so blond it was almost completely white. Their eyes however were the same shade of violet, lightening or darkening depending on their mood. They were both nimble, Joey however was more blocky on top and could not do some of the maneuvers that Rish could. For the umpteenth time that evening, Rish wished that Joey would stay out of this business.</p> <p>“Let’s go. He wants the job done tonight. He even paid us in full, before the job…” Rish showed Joey the thick wad of credits.</p> <p>“Wow, we could eat for a month and never have to do a job with that much. Who is the target that he would pay us this much and expect to get the job done tonight?”</p> <p>“Apparently His name is Edward Sachsen, a former friend of our contact. He said that there should be little in the way of security, however, we would need to slid by some peacekeepers. Doesn’t sound too hard. But let me do this one, he wants it clean and… dignified was his exact word. I figure a dart through the throat ought to work.”</p> <p>As they were talking, they had been continuing down the stairs and out a side door to the building. As they made their way to the front from the outside, they saw a small crowd pulling together and heard some raised voices. There was something on the ground in the middle of the group. Curious Rish said, “Stay here, I am going to take a quick look, then we will get going.”</p> <p>Expecting that for once, Joey would listen to her, she made her way to the crowd. The thing in the middle was a person on lying down on the ground. With a sense of foreboding Rish went closer. Normally she would not have, bodies in the middle of a street were not all that uncommon, heck she had left a fair share of her jobs there. But this was different, it was important for some reason. As she peered through the rain, the cut of the coat on the man looked vaguely familiar, like the contacts. Looking up, she judged that this about where she had been standing with the contact. She had not seen or heard the man coming down behind them. Turning away with the fair certainty she knew whom the dead man was, she headed in the opposite direction, toward her brother and the target with a sense of extreme unease.</p> <p>* * * *</p> <p>Finding and reaching the area of town where the target resided was the easy part. Rish and Joey knew all the ins and outs of this place that they called home so there really was no need to try and go through the derelict subway system. Besides the target was not too far away from the meeting place. Slightly worried by his sister’s silence after she went to look at the body, Joey had taken the lead to find the way here.</p> <p>When they reached the neighborhood, he had stopped. The place was crawling with peacekeepers. “Uh, Rish?” he asked, “How heavily guarded did the guy say the target was?”</p> <p>Coming out of the reverie she had been on the trip down, Rish finally took notice of her surroundings, which was odd, even preoccupied she kept tabs on what was going on around her. Something has really shaken her up, Joey thought. The neighborhood looked to have been a once prestigious gated community. There were peacekeepers on all the gates, as well as actually patrolling outside walls. He couldn’t be sure, but he also thought he saw some actually patrolling along the streets of the octagonal community. </p> <p>“He said that there would be next to none, just some peacekeepers.” As she actually took in the situation she said, “Damn, that is more than just a few peacekeepers. Hmm… I think we could just try and walk through them. If they stop us, just say we were looking for a friend of a dead friend, to bring him the news of our mutual friend’s death. If they kick us out, then we will come up with something from that point. Hopefully with all this rain though they wont and will just wave us on through” Rish finished as she fingered her darts in her wet hair absentmindedly.</p> <p>“Mutual friends death? Where did you get that? And what is wrong Rish?” Joey finally asked. He had gotten tired of her silence and preoccupation. “You have been acting really weird since you came back in from meeting the contact,” he complained as he pushed his short hair out of his eyes.</p> <p>“I don’t know what is wrong. I just have a funny feeling that tonight is not going to be as simple as I was hoping it would be.” Shaking her head as if to clear it she continued, “come on, let’s get this done so we can get you something to eat.”</p> <p><strong>Gumshoe</strong><br /> Re: Cooperative Story<br /> « Reply #4 on: 04 September 2006, 00:31:02 »</p> <p>Edward Sachsen sat in his apartment, ill tempered and annoyed. He watched through the windows as armed peacekeepers in their urban camo uniforms patrolled the streets outside. He'd argued against it, of course. He'd told his employers that nobody knew who he worked for, or what it was he did... nobody, that is, who would be a threat. They hadn't listened, and now Sachsen was a disgruntled prisoner in his own home. He couldn't even go out for a walk without a couple of armed goons tailing him! </p> <p>Well, he consoled himself, at least he'd won one small battle. There might be peacekeepers outside, but there weren't any inside his expansive apartment. He watched the peacekeepers for a moment more, and noticed that two unarmed civillians were approaching them. Sachsen grunted. Ostensibly the peacekeepers were here to protect the local community against possible terrorist activity. It was a cover story that kept Sachsen safely anonymous, and it was even based on fact. There had been several terrorist attacks in the area recently... mostly gangs fighting with each other, but as far as the Powers That Be were concerned anybody shooting a non sanctioned weapon was a terrorist hellbent on killing innocent civillians. True to their cover, the peacekeepers halted the civillians and asked for their IDs. Sachsen closed the curtains. He didn't recognize the two, but he was fairly certain they didn't look like terrorists. Besides, he was supposed to be relaxing. Tomorrow would be another full day, after all...</p> <p>The peacekeeper shouldered his weapon and looked skeptically at the two civillians who had approached the community's main entrance. Their IDs checked out as authentic, but they didn't live in the complex. A little late for visitors, he thought. Still, he supposed it was possible. "What's your business?" He asked, handing back their IDs. </p> <p>"We're here to deliver news of a friend's death," The woman answered. "We thought we should deliver the news in person," She added. Well, the peacekeeper thought, that would explain why they were here so late.</p> <p>"Ok," He told them. "Come on." Turning, the peacekeeper lead the way towards the nearest entrance to the apartment complex. Along the way he reached up and took hold of the radio mounted on his shoulder, depressing the transmission button. "This is Kemper at gate four, I'm escorting two visitors into the complex." There was a pause, then there was a click as another peacekeeper responded.</p> <p>"Roger that, Kemper. Litger will cover your gate."</p> <p>Kemper turned his head as they approached the door, looking over his shoulder at the two civillians. "So who is it you're visiting?"</p> <p>"Ed Sachsen." The woman replied. Kemper paused, hand resting on the doorknob. Crap, He thought, I should've asked that sooner...</p> <p>"I'm sorry," Kemper said, "Mr. Sachsen requested no visitors." </p> <p><strong>Vallaria</strong><br /> Re: Cooperative Story<br /> « Reply #5 on: 03 October 2006, 16:25:12 »</p> <p>Mir swayed slightly in the muggy current of air on the roof of the building. The last of the daylight glinted off the metal of her cheek tattoos, which stood out too starkly against her dull skin. The warren of people, bikes, and lights seemed tiny, far away, and tinny like music heard from a few apartments down. The sounds and smells ran together in her brain like a video on fast forward, and it was almost enough to make her throw up. She felt dizzy, and light- too light to be here. She could almost walk out over the traffic and view it from the air, she was so light. </p> <p>Her ragged robe was clutched around her too thin form by tiny hands covered in rings. Each one of them had been given to her by Knol for some made up important occasion, and she clenched her fingers together tightly as if they would tug themselves off her fingers and go join him. </p> <p>Mir felt herself drawn to the scene below like a magnet to thousands of iron filings.</p> <p>Too soon. It was too soon to be out here. To be up here. She needed to go back. Why had she come?</p> <p>For a second, she almost couldn't find the door off the roof. Everything seemed too big, too sharp, too real. She clutched at the doorknob for a long minute before clumsily pulling the door back and collapsing against the landing wall inside. </p> <p>Making it back to her apartment was a blur, though she knew her pulse was racing like a small birds. Like something hunted. </p> <p>When the door finally closed behind her, blocking out the sick looking hallway glows, she slowly slumped to the floor. The thin blue light of the apartment, puncutuated by bursts of neon colors from the outside, seemed like a balm. She wouldn't turn on a light. There was a chair somewhere over here.</p> <p>One she hadn't thrown out the window. </p> <p>She threw off some old clothes, and sat down. Eventually she realized there was a table in front of her. And on that table was a bag. She reached forward hesitantly and opened it with child's fingers. The smell of noodles and soy sauce hit her like a tsunami, and dissapointment and weakness hit her like a brick.</p> <p>She'd really been hoping Kitch had relented and left her some more demarol. No. Kitch would have come to find her if he'd found the apartment empty. </p> <p>Mama. </p> <p>She shoved the bag farther across the table. It made her sick right now. </p> <p>Later. She'd eat. </p> <p><strong>Lady of the Winds</strong><br /> Re: Cooperative Story<br /> « Reply #6 on: 25 October 2006, 15:18:18 »</p> <p>Rish just looked at the guard. "He might have said that he isn't taking visitors, however, like I said before, we are here to tell him of a friends death. Don't you think he might be a little upset that you would not have let us through?"</p> <p>The gaurd sat there struggling with what to do. Rish saw that easily enough in his eyes. Putting her hand up to her hair as in a posture of frustration, she let her eyes fill with tears. "Christ, what are we going to tell Mir when she finds out that they would not let us in to tell Ed that their brother is dead?" Turning towards Joey, she gave him a warning look that she was about to draw a dart out of her hair when the gaurd cleared his throat and put his hand on her shoulder. It was all she could do not to grab it off her shoulder and break it.</p> <p>"Hey now, there is no need to cry," said the guard. "We'll get you in for a couple of minutes. But then you will need to leave."</p> <p>So, thought Rish, he came up with a solution that he could live with and not get in trouble for. However if he stays with us, the job gets that much harder. We will need to get him to stay outside.</p> <p>"Thank you," Rish said tearfully, following as the guard turned and lead them through the compound.</p> <p>Joey put his arm around her as though comforting her. "Uh, Rish, who is Mir?"</p> <p>"I dunno, just a name I heard a guy yell while he was pounding on a door down the hall," Rish returned in a low voice to her brother. "We'll need the gaurd to stay in the hall..." Rish trailed off as the guard stopped in front of the door.</p> <p>"Here is Ed's place," he said as he knocked on the door. </p> <p>The door opened a crack and a voice on the other side said, "yes?"</p> <p>"There are a couple of people here to see you sir."</p> <p>The door opened wider to let them in, and as the guard started to follow, Joey put a hand on his shoulder and said in a tone of voice that conveyed that he liked the guard, "Hey man, would you mind waiting out here. I mean, you know how it is, when you find out someone you cared for has died. Generally you want peace, quiet, and only a limited number of people around. Could you wait out here for a couple of minutes?"</p> <p>"Sure do," the guard said nodding. "Just don't take too long. I know you will want to stay with him for a while, but by bringing you in to Ed, I could get in trouble."</p> <p>"Right man, I will make sure that my sister doesn't keep him for long. Thanks," Joey said as he turned to follow Joey into a dark apartment.</p> <p><strong>Gumshoe</strong><br /> Re: Cooperative Story<br /> « Reply #7 on: 09 November 2006, 01:02:12 »</p> <p>Edward was dozing lightly on the couch when somebody decided that he would not, in fact, benefit from a decent night's sleep. The short, sharp knocking on his door sounded as if it were important, though, so he stood and grumbled his way over to the door. He opened it without thinking, not bothering to look through the eyehole. Whoever it was, they wouldn't have gotten through the peacekeepers below unless they were harmless. "Yes?" He asked.</p> <p>Sure enough, a uniformed peacekeeper stood in the hallway, rifle slung over his shoulder. "There are a couple of people here to see you, sir," He said. </p> <p>Sachsen shrugged, opening the door further to allow his visitors in. He turned and headed back into his apartment, trusting that they would find their way in on their own. He was feeling like tea, now that he was awake. Tea always made things better. He heard the door close as he reached the counter, not even turning around as he heard the deadbolt slide into place. "Yes?" he asked again, putting as much irritation as he could muster into his voice, "What is it?" He found the pot he was looking for, and put some water on the stove to boil. "What's so damn important that you couldn't-" Sachsen's voice caught as he finally turned around. The civillians he'd seen outside just moments ago were now here, in his apartment. And the peacekeeper was gone. "Who-" He began to protest, frowning. The woman cut him off.</p> <p>"Edward Sachsen?" She asked. His expression must have spoken for itself, for she didn't wait on his response. "I have a message for you. From Shao." The woman reached up and pulled something from her hair. </p> <p>"What-" Sachsen tried again. This time, it wasn't the woman who cut him off. It was the explosion. The entire building shook, sending bits of plaster drifting down from the ceiling. "- the hell?" he finished instead, bracing himself against the counter. The rapid pop-pop-pop of gunfire echoed up from the street, and Sachsen's face paled. He hadn't believed them when they said somebody would come for him... his eyes widening, he looked at his visitors anew. "You're here to kill me," He gasped. "Aren't you?"</p> <p>In the hallway outside, Kemper had unslung his rifle and rushed to the nearest window. The sight that greeted him wasn't good. The peacekeeper's APC was in flames, likely hit by an RPG. The impact had set off the vehicle's fuel tanks, causing the explosion which had rocked the building. A number of nearby peacekeepers had died in that explosion, and those that remained were taking cover wherever they could as masked gunmen opened fire from across the street. Sachsen, he thought. </p> <p>He turned and started for the man's apartment when the stairway door opened. </p> <p>As Sachsen watched, the lead assassin glanced at the windows and then back. She hadn't answered him yet, but she did have a weapon of some sort in her hand, and her companion now had his own weapon out. The two appeared hesitant, as if something had thrown them off guard. The exlosion? Whatever it was, it gave Sachsen the slimmest of chances. His hand darted out to grab the pot of water, not very hot, but it would do as an improvised weapon. Just as his hand closed around the handle, a louder racket of gunfire errupted in the hallway outside the apartment. The two assassins, if that's what they were, quickly turned their attention back to the front door. Silence descended once again, punctuated only by the gun battle on the streets below. </p> <p>"I think-" Sachsen started, hoping against hope that he might get some answers one way or the other. But just as he started, the front door exploded inward in a shower of wood and plaster.</p> <p><strong>Lady of the Winds</strong><br /> Re: Cooperative Story<br /> « Reply #8 on: 07 January 2007, 15:35:02 »</p> <p>Ducking as the shrapnel exploded towards her and her brother, Rish pulled Joey to the floor as her mind worked overtime. What the hell is going on? she wondered. Was Shao not the only one to want this man dead? If not, who else and why?</p> <p>As the dust started to settle she pulled her brother away from the kitchen towards the living room for some cover. Beams of light started flashing through the dust as men with guns came through the door. </p> <p>“Shit,” Rish muttered, “how much worse can this night get?”</p> <p>“Your might now want to ask that question right now Sis. What do we do? Take out the target or run?” Joey asked as he was pulled by his sister towards the target. Well, thought Joey, looks like we will take down the target. But that is not what Rish did. Instead of pulling out her darts she grabbed the target and pulled both Joey and Sachsen towards the window. She threw Sachsen through it following close behind, trusting Joey to follow her. That was when the bullets started flying from the guys with guns. Before Joey could make it out the window, a bullet hit the back of his left shoulder.</p> <p>After the impact of the bullet, Joey stumbled against the windowsill and rolled out the window over his wounded shoulder and landed with a thud on his back.</p> <p>Rish pulled her little brother to his feet and started to pull him into the shadow of the next building over. Sachsen was already there, staring with wide eyes and several cuts on is face from the glass. </p> http://www.musemart.com/topic/the-sanguarians-originally-posted-by-satindesire#post-43 Wed, 27 Jun 2007 12:44:26 +0000 Audrey 43@http://www.musemart.com/ <p>OOC:</p> <p>~*{"The Sanguarians" Thread Rules and Regs}*~</p> <p>Please try and limit the amount of OOC chatter in this thread. There is an OOC thread just for this purpose which I check daily. I promise, nothing important will be missed if you post OOC stuff there instead of here.</p> <p>Please keep the subject manner appropriate for youngsters that may be viewing this thread (PG-13), which means no extra detailed scenes of violence, drug use, or sexual situations. Also, if you are posting pictures for a character description or for any other reason, keep them PG-13 as well. That means no nudity, you perverts! ^_^</p> <p>Minimum post length of two well written paragraphs of four sentences. Quality over quantity counts here, but please, guys, let's keep this novella-RP going in it's own chosen style.</p> <p>If you're posing for this thread, please try to keep up with it. There's really nothing worse than a thread that dies because one of it's main characters suddenly drops off the face of the RP planet. If there's a situation that needs to be dealt with by you, please inform me via IM so that I may keep the RP going in your absence. If you have any problems please contact me, as I created this thread and it is my own personal responsibility to make sure everything runs smoothly. If I cannot come to some kind of conclusion I will go directly to the mods of this site to make sure everything is peachy keen between posters.</p> <p>Acceptable characters in this thread are Humans (mortals or Kine) and Vampires (Sanguarians, Kinder). Besides this, your choices are limited to your imagination...Rich or poor, Ancient or newly Embraced, European, Asian, American...it's up to you after that. Of course, I really don't want to see black-trenchcoated samurai ninjas wielding katanas...but if you really must be that cliche, welcome to the party. &lt;img src=&quot;http://www.musemart.com/my-plugins/bb-smilies/default/icon_biggrin.gif&quot; title=&quot;:-D&quot; class=&quot;bb_smilies&quot; /&gt; </p> <p>Have a good time...and thank you for posting in "The Sanguarians"</p> <p>~*{End OOC}*~</p> <p>The office door slid silently open, admitting Chloe. Her once-prim, untouched face bore traces of cosmetic, the faint scent of perfume on her neck. "What is it, Chloe?" The young woman cleared her throat and crossed her arms under her bosom. "Miss Ravencroft, it's December. Christmas comes in a week and...and I'd like to take a few days off." Alais looked up sharply from her desk, allowing the papers she was reading to droop, a flicker of surprise tinting her steely expression. "What?" Came her sharp rejoinder, voice like a bullet on the cold marble walls of the office. "m-Miss Ravencroft, I've been a loyal employee of yours for nearly seven years and I think-" Alais cut her off, standing out of the glossy leather chair that dominated her field of vision. "Chloe, I do not ever recall once in those years you ever asking for time off." Chloe's face blossomed hot, like fire, the force of the blush warming her skin from a creamy ivory to a deep rose. "Yes, Ma'am, I know, but I really would-" Again, Alais silenced her by raising a gloved hand, mercurial eyes narrowing sternly on the woman's cowering frame. She stepped from behind the desk and crossed the floor, stilettos faintly echoing in the high-ceilinged chamber. </p> <p>"You met someone." Fine nostrils flare, the scent of sweat and sex and joy like a balm of humanity on the girl. How old was Chloe now? Twenty five? Twenty six? The secretary said nothing, her eyes falling to the finely woven pattern of the ancient rug beneath her feet. After several drawn-out moments, Alais spoke again. "Make sure the paperwork for the Darcy-Jones account is finished. You have two weeks." The girl brightened noticeably, but before she could shower her employer with gratitude, Alais stoutly dismissed her and returned to the desk, picking up the papers she had been perusing but somehow, could not find the focus to lose herself in them again. Such frivolities of mortality like holiday spirit and vacations with family seemed so distant now, only a fleeting taste of what they once were remained to blacken the pit of her belly with bitter regret. She pressed the buzzer on her desk. "Marcus, bring the car 'round. I'm going into town for a drink."</p> <p>Snow blanketed the ground like a soft veil, glittering with the damp reflections of street lights as she passed into heavier traffic. Stuck at a red light, she managed a cigarette from her case and lit it, inhaling the acrid smoke as if it would give her some relief. The high of nicotine might have calmed another, but it merely served to highlight what it was she was missing. In moments like these, living eternally didn't seem like such a wonderful idea. Her cell phone rang, it was Travis Fray, one of her multitude of lawyers. "What is it, Mr. Fray, don't you think it's a little late to discuss court matters?" On the other end, the masculine voice didn't seem put off by her brusque manner. "Miss Ravencroft, I received an interesting deal today, by way of fax, no less. The cowards couldn't wait to send it via snail mail, I'm guessing. Seems like they're dropping the case between yourself and GrieCom." Alais let this information sink in for a moment, allowing the car to pull forward as the light changed to green. "That's excellent, Mr. Fray." A pause. "Write up a counter suit for slander. You still have the emails we both received?" Laughter on the end of the line. "You're a shark. Of course, they're all documented. What should I ask for?" A faint, unpleasant smile touched the corners of her mouth. "Sink them."</p> <p>In the heart of the city, music could be heard pouring from perpetually swinging doors, crowds filled the streets as they gathered, bundled in furs, diamonds glittering on wrists and ears and throats. Turning into the valet parking lot of one of the more...eccentric...clubs, she pulled the chinchilla more closely around her shoulders and left her keys with the red-vested minimum-wager, a fifty dollar bill pressed in his white-gloved hand. The bouncer for the VIP entrance recognized her, allowing her inside without trouble. Base throbbed like a heartbeat under her feet, matching the pulsing, writhing crush of bodies in different measures of undress that crowded the roped-in dance floor, partially obscured by a trio of ceiling-high speakers. Windowless inside, one could easily lose track of time in the almost otherworldly atmosphere of highly-charged sexual energy. The Forbidden was the world's most exclusive Sanguarian-owned nightclub, owned and operated by some of the eldest and most wealthy Vampires this side of the planet.</p> <p>Hunting on a piecemeal basis in the West had become dangerous business after the 17the century, when the spread of European settlers became more organized, turned from outposts to towns to bustling cities, the largest and most oft hunted soon became rife with Slayers and the Sabbat alike, keen aristocratic eyes always on the lookout for the stray predator bent on making a name for themselves. Soon after the spread of the Sabbat's influence, Sanguarian businesses begun to spring up like wildflowers along the more wealthy 'burbs, offering a sanctuary for her kind. Food, goods, and rest...a place where one could be safe from the outside world and all it's multitude of dangers. It wasn't just about sunlight and starvation anymore. The Slayers had become organized.</p> <p>The VIP section was strangely empty this evening. For a moment, a prickle of...something...crept up the fine hairs on the back of her neck. Eyes narrowed, she perused the few bodies who made their way to and fro the private bar, the red-velvet walls subduing their voices to a more tolerable level. Even though it was not typically obvious, she could not mistake the acrid stench of hate that radiated from the red-corseted woman in the corner.</p> <p>She couldn't have been more than twenty four, of an athletic build, her fiery-red hair cropped in a soft halo of curls that sprung wildly about her disarmingly angelic face. It was the eyes that clued her in...sharp, steely with resolve. As bold as ever, Alais approached her, not without a touch of a smile. "How on earth did you get in here? Your kind isn't typically allowed." The woman seemed put off a moment, not able to quite hide the flicker of surprise that colored her expression. "What do you mean?" She asked, a faint accent tinging her words. Charming. She would have been attractive in another life, if the Slayers had not gotten to her first.</p> <p>"Don't play games with me, girl. I know why you're here. And you know that's not allowed. This is holy ground for Kine." The Slayer straightened, licking the soft expanse of her full lips. "It seems that everything that was said of you is true. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised." Alais waved a waitress away, lifting her arm to block the Slayer's escape route. "No, little one. You should be."</p> <p>Thank God, or...whomever. Thank the DJ. The music was too loud for the screams to be heard.</p> <p>_____________________</p> <p>Alais Remembered....</p> <p><em>It had been a cold winter, and spring had come so late that the market was still largely empty of vendors when she and her sister went into town. Flidias, though her twin, had sprouted into early womanhood and was more than proud to bind her shift more tightly around her budding bosom. Stopping at every polished copper mirror to look at her reflection and contemplate the budding mounds that looked more like swollen lumps of a spider's bite instead of full-grown breasts, infuriated Alais to the point of storming off in search of a better playmate.</p> <p>Turning a corner she had not been down before, she was assaulted by the rich scent of drying herbs, faint musical tinklings heard by the way of the chill breeze that filtered down between ancient carts carved into fantastical creatures...Dark purple dragon wings sprouted over her head, the glossy pink of a snail's shell, the yawning, terrible maw of a great panther. Lost in the magic of the wooden carts and the tales that surely whispered just below the chipped, antiquing surface, she continued down the grassy path, anger forgotten.</p> <p>A flash caught her eye, and she turned towards it's source. A cart, laid open to reveal it's dark, fragrant interior. Jars of herbs and poultices promising cures from anything from a headache to infertility lines one shelf, objects of copper, brass and silver glimmered in another. Fetishes and totems in gruesome shapes...a many-armed man whose vast belly was an open mouth lined with razored fangs, a goat-legged woman with seventeen pendulous breasts...carved of glass and jet and stone, lined the bottom.</p> <p>Taken aback and totally absorbed, Alais jumped in shock and fear when a sudden voice prompted her attention. "A young woman such as yourself should be in such a place as this." Looking up at the owner of the rich, foreboding baritone, she was again shocked to see the nut-brown face of an ebony-skinned man standing in the steps that led into the cart. "I-I'm sorry!" She said, her voice stolen by surprise into a mere whisper. "I promise I didn't touch anything! I was only looking!" But to her thankfulness, his glossy, dark face split into a smile that revealed a mouth full of large, square, white teeth. "Did I scare you?" before she could answer..."Good! Now come inside and I shall have your day."</p> <p>Although her better logic dictated she probably should turn and run away, look for her sister at some jeweler's mirror and run back to the Temple, inside the musty, dark interior she went. It did not come as that much of a surprise to see that the cart was MUCH larger on the inside than it appeared, and she was ushered to a table where she was gently but forcefully sat in a chair, handed a cup of hot, honey-sweetened tea, and then joined by the dark man.</p> <p>"How old are you, little one?" She bristled at that statement. Her sister, damn it all, had always looked older. Always ran faster, always been better liked by the priestesses and tutors...."Thirteen." Although she didn't mean it to, it came out hard, her eyes dropped to the cup in her hands, sorrowful and contrite. "...thirteen. I...have a sister whose my age, too."</p> <p>He took the tea cup from her hands and closed her own, much smaller and lighter, in both of his. He smelled like spices and oils and sweat...not unpleasant. The smell of work and health and good things that suddenly made her understand how boys could be okay sometimes. Not disgusting, like she had thought before. "Your eyes are far too sad for one so young." He stood up, drawing her along with him, and ushered her outside. Feeling something hard and cold in her hand, she opened them up to reveal a large yellow stone, uncut but still a nearly perfect jewel. Turning swiftly on her heel, she opened her mouth to promise she didn't know she had it, hadn't stolen it, and to please NOT tell her mother....</p> <p>...but she was not at all surprised to see her strange dark man was gone. The cart was gone, and she was standing alone in them midst of a field of grass untouched by the wheels of a faire.</em></p> <p>....Alone in her study, before the golden warmth of a flickering fire...Alais wept.</p> <p>__________________</p> <p>"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned."</p> <p>"Speak child."</p> <p>"It's been...nearly Seven hundred years since my last confession. I have done...terrible things. Spilled and drunk the blood of the innocent. Killed for the pleasure of it. Destroyed entire towns, bringing destruction to women, children, and the infirm."</p> <p>The priest's blue eyes were wide in the decorative grate between them. "What manner of prank is th-!"</p> <p>She cut him off, raising a slim white palm. "You will do me the honor of hearing me out, Father. Now."</p> <p>Something in her voice stilled his tongue. Seeing no other option, he settled stiffly back into his seat.</p> <p>"Yesterday I killed a man. Feeding brings me...such pleasure. When I was mortal, before Jules took me, made me into this..." Mercurial eyes gazed down at her clasped hands, white and cold and still above the black leather of her skirt. Cold and dead. "...monster that I am...I never had the opportunity to ingest any..." She paused, looking up at the priest from her seat in the confessional booth "...mind altering substances. But if a high is what I was looking for, I get it."</p> <p>She traced a white finger down the richly detailed door in front of her, almost...longingly. "He was so beautiful. Young. Fresh. Weak and soft. Maybe...seventeen? A whore, I think. I was in Vegas for the unveiling of a new condominium complex and I -had- to have him." The sharpness of her teeth threatened the soft skin of her lower lip. She bit down the urge to let them free. To rend and slay!</p> <p>"He had the most beautiful skin...peachy and firm, like fruit. Sweet-smelling. When he got into the car I noticed his tennis shoes were scuffed and dirty. He had wine on his breath. I offered him champagne, but he wouldn't take any."</p> <p>The pink flash of her tongue-tip moistened her lips. "He stared at me, silently, for some time. We sat there, on those beautiful seats in the back of the limo...Louis Vuitton, you know, did the interior. Personally oversaw it. Terribly overpriced but it's good for impressing the young...In any case, I drew him to me, it didn't take any skills or magic tricks. He came to me willingly, nuzzling into my breasts like a child. I could feel his heart pounding under my hand, like the flutter of a frightened bird's wings."</p> <p>The priest's ragged breathing was the only counterpoint to her tale. She removed a stick of crimson lipstick from her purse and coolly smoothed it on. "He was drunk. Drunk on wine, of all things! I could taste it on his skin, the sweat of his skin was hot with it, when I sank my fangs into his throat. He didn't struggle. Just...laid there. Willingly."</p> <p>The burring zip of her purse, and she sat it at her feet. "He wanted to die. I could feel it in his blood. His sadness. His desperation. He only said one thing..."Tell Father Patron that I'm sorry." What...do you think he meant by that, Priest?" Those terrible eyes, so hungry., So empty, fixed on the pale face of the Priest through the thin wooden mesh that separated them.</p> <p>"When I opened his wallet, I saw he had an ID from New York. It didn't take much investigating to see that he used to come here...for Mass. For...I don't know, Father...what did he come here for?"</p> <p>The Priest was silent, his mouth hung open, his terror plain in the air that was burning between them. Hot like brimstone. Hot like hellfire.</p> <p>"He had blue eyes, Father Patron. So very blue, like the sky after a storm." She looked down, picked up her purse, and set it in her lap.</p> <p>From the outside of the confessional booth one could hear a crunch, as in breaking wood. A muffled sound of pain. Some moments later, Alais appeared, bowing slightly to the nun who passed. The nun paused, lifting a hankie to Alais's face.</p> <p>"Oh, dear, it looks like your lipstick ran a bit." The gentle nun dabbed the sticky crimson from Alais's cheek.</p> <p>Alais smiled, pink-cheeked and warm. So very warm. Flush from the kill. "Thank you, sister. I'm sure Father Patron values your services very much. In fact......"</p> <p>"...I'm sure of it." </p> http://www.musemart.com/topic/semi-regularish-writing-prompt#post-237 Wed, 18 Jul 2007 13:44:17 +0000 Gumshoe 237@http://www.musemart.com/ <p>Ok, for anybody who's interested I think I'll start a somewhat regular writing prompt. </p> <p>I'll give you a little something to start with (known as The Prompt&#153;), and you take it from there. The Prompt&#153; could be a short paragraph, a setting, a character, etc. The idea is to write a short story out of it, though there's no word or character requirement. No restrictions - it can be any genre, any theme, so long as it involves The Prompt&#153;. When it's finished, post it here in this thread for feedback and general criticism.</p> <p>Now I'm not one for deadlines, but the ubiquitous "they" seem to think deadlines help. Though, really, screw them. You know, the "they" them. Every two weeks or so (possibly longer) I'll put up a new Prompt&#153;. You may, if you wish, consider the posting of the new Prompt&#153; to be your deadline. You can, however, use any of the previous prompts as the basis for your writing, though this is considered to be in bad taste and generally frowned upon by the masses.</p> <p>And is it just me, or does "prompt" just get funnier sounding the more you say it?</p> <p>Prompt.</p> <p>Anyway, look for your first official Semi-regular Writing Prompt&#153; on Friday the 20th. </p> http://www.musemart.com/topic/a-new-age-begins-planning-thread#post-258 Wed, 25 Jul 2007 02:46:22 +0000 Janus 258@http://www.musemart.com/ <p>Okay, I wanted to make this thread as a kind of general information resource on the loose plot we have for A New Age Begins.</p> <p>The RPG is set in a medieval themed fantasy world, much like Middle-Earth, or any other number of low-tech fantasy stories you might have read. Audrey and I decided to leave this world intentionally somewhat undefined, so that we can build on it as we go.</p> <p>I think this thread will be a great place to discuss any various ideas we might come up with for the world, so that we can all get an idea of what's going on, and also so that we can see how to smoothly incorporate people's ideas.</p> <p>The plot we'll be beginning with is this: </p> <p>A small party will be leaving the Capital City of Argo, home of the Mage Tower, and residence of many of the Great Houses, as well as the dwelling place of the King.</p> <p>This small party is intent on reaching the abby of St. Katherine, which was formerly inhabited by a group of secretive monks. One man, the Lord Erik Paevir, is to search the abby for important historical books on behalf of his father. The other members of the party are intent on seeking out certain magical texts.</p> <p>Meanwhile, the warlord Kyrros is sweeping across the land, seeking to establish his own kingdom... or so it seems. The aged King, Orrin Vir Nahor, has made no attempt to stop this warlord, setting his already precariously perched crown on the edge of falling from his head.</p> <p>And so it is apparent that a new age is set to begin, one in which it is uncertain who will hold the reigns of power. Whichever Great House seizes the throne will have difficulty holding it, unless the warlord Kyrros can be stopped, and even that may be a secondary concern. Rumors have begun to spread from the north. Rumors of ancient troubles returning to haunt the lands once more.</p> <p>Welcome, my friends, to A New Age Begins. </p> http://www.musemart.com/topic/mutters-about-needing-a-title-originally-by-lady-of-the-winds#post-91 Wed, 27 Jun 2007 13:16:32 +0000 Audrey 91@http://www.musemart.com/ <p>Joy in life can be gained by the smallest things; a touch, a smell, a word. Anything can cause a good memeory to surface, and good memories bring joy. I guess that is why my world was shattered when I found out the one good memory I had was a lie. Since then, I have been trying to find my place in this dark world. </p> <p>Nothing here is what it seems. You have to watch your back or else you may end up as one of them. As it was, I was barely dodging Them. Like right now, I have three on my tail. </p> <p>Trying to stay in areas where there were lots of people was becoming harder and harder. I was fast approaching the end of the town. To try and double back, I dodged down an alleyway. Bad move. Two of them must have broken off last block back for two of them were ahead of me. Glancing back I saw the original three. Damn. </p> <p>Letting lose a shrill whistle I launched towards the slouching two figures in front of me and hoped for the best. Kicking low in the area of the knee of the left figure I launched over the one on the right and reached up as high as I could, praying Serric would catch me. </p> <p>As if right on cue, he caught my hand in his and soared high. His wings straining to carry us both. Looking back I saw what I feared would happen. They were taking off too. </p> <p>"Fly faster they are coming!" </p> <p>"I could if you weren't so damn heavy!" </p> <p>"So shoot me my bones aren't bird like yet. I'm working on it. You know I just found my wings not that long ago. I still haven't mastered the art of calling them at will ya know." </p> <p>There goes that happy memory of thinking I was full-human. That was an advantage of being part-human at least. I can hide my wings and pass as a full-human. However, at times such as these when they would be useful in a get-away, I have issues calling them. I am told that as the centuries pass, calling and hiding them will become easier. </p> <p>Concentrating on trying to unfurl my wings was hard. Being jerked up and down as Serric flew was one distraction, the other was knowing how close our demonic pursuers, the Derli, were getting.</p> <p>The Derli, how to describe them? With horns sweeping back out of their heads, from just above their ears, and their arms actually forming bat-like wings with their legs. They need to wear long cloaks to even attempt to pass as a human. With their horns, that did not often produce much luck for them. That, and the reddish tint to their skin when seen in daylight would be a dead give away. </p> <p>The avian people that I had just found myself apart of, the Ariol, however are more elegant and pleasant to look at. Their wings sprout from their backs, just over the shoulder blade. The wings and slightly pointed ears were the only things that makes them different from normal humans. </p> <p>Ok, so maybe my happy memory was not completely destroyed. It just kind of sucked that the man I thought of as my father really was not my father. That and realizing that when the man I thought of as my father dies, I would still have centuries of life left to me. I felt betrayed. Ah well, that is neither here nor there at the moment. More important things on my mind and all. </p> <p>Right. Calling my wings and making Serric's life easier. As I said, focusing was hard. I had to find my calm, inner self. The self that carries my wings. I have to admit that, that self is beautiful. She had my long black hair and emerald eyes, but none of my usual clumsiness. I called her forward to help me. </p> <p>Admittedly, it hurt. The feeling of wings sprouting through my skin. But then it at the same time felt good. Like stretching a muscle that has been in one position for too long. </p> <p>"Gain altitude!" I yelled as I felt the wings start to come forth. I was going to become extremely hard for Serric to hold in about two seconds and I needed the altitude to gain air under my wings before I came crashing to the ground. </p> <p>My yell was unnecessary for Serric had already felt the change in my body shape and started flying higher. Two seconds later he let go of me and I started a free fall to earth. Let me tell you it is an exhilarating feeling. However, I caught sight of the Derli chasing us and quickly opened my wings to stop my descent and glide for a while. </p> <p>That is another difference between the Derli and the Ariol. The Ariol are meant more for distance flying unlike the Derli who can fly for only a short distance.</p> <p>After about twelve miles, the Derli started falling behind. Their wing strokes becoming more and more labored, while Serric and I (well Serric at least) still flew strong. Truth be told, my back was really starting to hurt from the motion of muscles never before used. I just wanted to fall out of the sky. But if I did that, I might fall into the Derli's hands. Bad news for all there. </p> <p>See, anyone who falls into the Derli's hands loose their soul and become the Master's pawn. Being new to the Ariol and all, I was still relativley vulnerable. That scared my Ariol friends, for to them I was their "savior". Huh, well on that respect, they have another thing coming, never have I lead anyone. I spent most of my time trying to go unnoticed. Still, becoming a Derli was still a daunting thought. One I hoped would never come to pass.</p> <p>"Whew, that was close," I said over the howl of the wind we were flying through. "How did they know I was there?"</p> <p>"I do not know. How did your mission go otherwise?"</p> <p>"Pretty well, the town seemed to be fairly well prepared to fight against the Master should he return. Though..." I trailed off, unsure of how to say what needed to be said next.</p> <p>"Though what?" Serric asked slowly, hearing the uncertainty in my voice.</p> <p>"I don't think that the humans will be fully on the Ariol's side."</p> <p>"Well that is not unusual. There are a few humans who join the other side when the Master decides to rear his ugly head."</p> <p>"No, I am actually wondering if they were the ones that alerted the Derli to my presence. However, how would the humans know what I was. There is only one human who know, and I would swear on my life that he would not tell a soul." Actually there were two, my father and my childhood friend Mela. I could not keep the finding of my wings from her. </p> <p>I hoped they wouldn't tell anyone. How awful it would be to find out that my father or my friend, now that I found my wings, did not love me anymore. The thought that either one would turn from me hurt too much. But then... that is neither here or now. She said she would not hold that against me.</p> <p>A sudden spasm through my back brought my mind to the here and now. Looking down and back I could not see the Derli anymore. </p> <p>"Could we land now?" I asked a little plaintively. </p> http://www.musemart.com/topic/lux-eterna-the-world-originally-posted-by-janus#post-90 Wed, 27 Jun 2007 13:15:19 +0000 Audrey 90@http://www.musemart.com/ <p>This thread will be for all the descriptions of stuff that I post--which should be a lot :p.</p> <p>This is something that finally came out of my head yesterday (when I sat down to write other stuff... figures...). It's something I've been visualizing for a few months, as this building actually plays a part in an adventure story set in a world I'm creating.</p> <p>Part of the reason for this detail is that some day I want to create a MUD of this world, and this building will be in the MUD--each room will need to be described in detail, so this will help me later on create more exact descriptions.</p> <p>I've never tried to write a 'general' description of a building in this manner before, so I honestly don't really feel that great about how it came out--It's lacking something, in my mind.</p> <p>Critiques are extremely welcome .</p> <p>FYI (you can skip all of this if you want--just general world information): The City of Avindar is a fairly new city (few hundred years old) that's kept by the northern men, many of whom are decended from the first half-elves. The half-elves once ruled each of the twelve great cities (the Crystal City was one of those) but eventually all of those lines fell out of power, most during a period known as the Heretic's rule.</p> <p>The Heretic's rule is extremely important because it created a split. Before the rule, all people believed in Nahor, the 'true god', and the worship of Negeb (an evil spirit who was once Nahor's highest in command till he turned) was outlawed and his priests hunted down by the clerics of Nahor.</p> <p>Since then, the worship of Negeb has grown, and become no secret. Because of this, there are many truly powerful clerics that follow Negeb--few Clerics of Nahor now have the power to hunt them down, and in many areas there is a growing trend towards Atheism, and the people of those areas throw out any clerics/priests who attempt to kill eachother because they don't want the trouble it brings.</p> <p>Clerical magic of any kind is now often regarded as being a form of 'regular' magic, and as such is outlawed within the bounds of any city, and completely outlawed in a few kingdoms.</p> <p>The reason for magic of any kind being outlawed within cities is because of a very powerful mage named Christopher Vir Kori who, in an attempt to reunite all mages, overthrew the head of the Order of Mages--to do this, he had to enter the city of Manthillos by force, and he basically leveled the city using his own power, and also a large group of other powerful mages.</p> <p>Magic, as a general rule, is not all that powerful as a weapon of mass destruction, however Christopher Vir Kori was an incredibly powerful mage--by nature the most powerful ever known in recorded history. He also had several magical items he used to boost his power, and he actually killed quite a number of mages and stole their magical essence, further boosting his own power.</p> <p>Most mages might be able to cast five or six hand-sized fireballs before they were too tired to even walk straight, but Christopher, when he destroyed the city, started his attack by using a fireball twice the size of a house to take down the main gates and destroy a group of wizards waiting behind them to stop him.</p> <p>Because of this, any person seen, or suspected, of performing magic inside of a city or within a mile of the city walls, is usually killed by the guards instantly. Outside of cities, magic is usually considered highly dangerous and perverted, but is also accepted to a degree.</p> <p>The Fay people are also 'outlawed' now, and hunted down by almost everyone because most people believe that they are creations of Negeb--even many of the people who don't believe in Nahor or Negeb think that they are evil, however they do generally tend to be less biased towards the the Fay than most religious people are.</p> <p>Keep in mind that the Fay people have always been considered dangerous, and this belief that they're evil was actually spread by the priests of Negeb to further split the races and create chaos.</p> <p>Most of the Fay races have the ability to shapeshift, and as such hide themselves within human society when they have to--most refuse to, however.</p> <p>~_~_~_~_~_~~_~_~_~_~_~~_~_~_~_~_~_~~_~_~_~_~_~~_~_ ~_~</p> <p>Deep within the Ice Vale, far to the North of the boarders of the kingdom of Avindar, are the ruins of a great city. When Faylloth fell during the wars before the Heretic’s Rule, it was a haven for the fay races, and was called the Crystal City. The entire city was dedicated to the White Lady by the High Priests of Nahor at the same time as the White City was. Much of the Crystal City was destroyed by the Heretic himself, and more has been destroyed by time, and the fierce northern winds that have erased all roads leading to the ruins.</p> <p>But some remains. The great cathedral, built in honor of the White Lady, still stands intact, nothing broken or touched save for the great altar. It is split in half now, with diamonds and jewels beyond measure and counted wealth lying scattered about the ruins of the dais.</p> <p>Built of the purest white marble, the cathedral’s walls stand taller than ten giants, and the roof itself forms a shelter too high for all shadows to be dispelled from it by any light of the sun. Higher than the walls, towers and parapets rise towards the sky with gargoyles and kings alike decorating their niches and curves, some half hidden by the snow, others seeming untouched by the power of the Northern winds and storms.</p> <p>Greater than any other tower of the cathedral, and higher than any tower now remembered or created by man, the bell tower rears towards the sky like a great marble spear. Higher than the clouds, it’s top vanishes into the mist and swirling snow during the frequent storms. On a clear day, it can be seen for miles. Perched atop it, the likeness of a great white dragon crouches with wings spread wide and head tilted upwards, as if ready to make the short leap from the tower into the stars.</p> <p>Inside, the great wooden doors, half as high as the walls, and wide enough to let fifteen men enter abreast, keep out all of the winter and are unmoved by the most powerful winds. Alone, a single man may open and shut them so cleverly are they hinged. A powerful wooden bar is commanded by mechanisms of chain and wheels, all set to turn at the weight of two massive stone blocks, and controlled by a single lever.</p> <p>Entering, the darkness is lessened in the day by the great stained glass windows. Each is split into three, with a large window that reaches nearly to the floor—twice as tall as it is wide—and a smaller one set ten hands’ breadths above it. Above that is set a round window. Numbering in the hundreds, each window is crafted so masterfully that it seems almost alive with scenes of celestial battles, the births of races, and landscapes as beautiful as the famed gardens of the White City.</p> <p>At night, a pale light comes to life. Beginning as only a wisp of light hovering above the broken altar, it gains radiance as it climbs towards the roof of the cathedral. Fully formed, it hovers above the head and outstretched arms of a great tapestry depicting the White Lady. Shedding light enough to faintly illuminate the entire building, it wanes and vanishes with the rising of the sun.</p> <p>The building itself is set like a great staircase that leads up to the altar. One step leads from the door to a plateau, and then three steps lead to a second plateau. Lastly there are ten great steps leading up to the altar. Standing at the altar, all noise in the cathedral is softer. But a word spoken before the alter will be heard reechoing to the great doors.</p> <p>Winding around and between two great pillars, a staircase near the entrance doors leads to the choir loft. The loft has room enough--and more--for the greatest choir and set of instruments known in any kingdom to be set up comfortably. Elevated and set close together, four platforms of rich and darkly colored wood stand before the marble rail that runs across the front of the loft, and each is large enough for two humans to stand together, up above the heads of any but a tall man. If a soft word may be heard from the altar to the door, a whisper will reecho like ten voices from the platforms.</p> <p>Empty now, except for tapestries and the broken altar, legend alone remembers the pews, smaller altars, paintings, and richly decorated statues that once filled the cathedral. What happened to the richly carved and gilded works is unknown, save for rumors of theft and desecration.</p> <p>Forgotten it stands and waits, perhaps to regain the glory it once contained, or perhaps to remain till the end of time as only a memory in the mind of scholars. </p> http://www.musemart.com/topic/a-history-of-lux-eterna-grand-mage-christopher-vir-kori-originally-by-janus#post-89 Wed, 27 Jun 2007 13:14:30 +0000 Audrey 89@http://www.musemart.com/ <p>Vallaria suggested that I should post this, so I shall. Keep in mind that this right here is a rough draft--I didn't have an intro, so I thought I would slap one together before heading to bed. I doubt that I'll leave it as it is... it could use some editing .</p> <p>Basically, I'm writing a history for a world I'm fleshing out. One of the characters, Christopher, is an important part of my world's history, since he changed the rules that allowed only rich nobels to study magic, and then threw out some of the most powerful Mages in the Order.</p> <p>After being thrown out, those Mages banded together and created a group called the Shaddiri. They began to recruit students--not just any students. They scoured the land for students with great magical potential, and the tests they put them through killed the weak ones. The Shaddiri became extremely feared and still are today. There are a few groups and guilds whose work it is to hunt down the Shaddiri. Some Shaddiri choose to hide who they are, while some simply rely on their training to keep them alive.</p> <p>More recently, it's become the practice of some rogue groups to ask for the assistance of the Shaddiri. A Shaddiri is never bought, or even paid--they choose their own alliances, under the guidance of a small ruling council. They are extremely powerful, and know magic that most Mages either refuse to learn, are not powerful enough to wield, or that is outlawed by their Order. In other words, one Shaddiri is usually worth two or three Mages in a fight.</p> <p>Recently (relatively :p), the Shaddiri have learned magic that allows them to take another person as a Guardian, imbuing that person with some of their strength and other unknown abilities in return for the Guardian's protection.</p> <p>In the year 387 A.F., Grand Mage Christopher vir Kori lead the Great Mage Rebellion against the Arch Mage Uritar Poth, temporarily splitting the Order of Mages into three factions, and destroying the fourth Great City, Manthilos. It is well known and documented that this destruction is what lead to the banning of all magic within the Great Cities, and eventully the head hunt for Shaddiri Wizards.</p> <p>The rebellion was not swift in coming, nor in healing, and though two of the factions rejoined in the end, the third left the Order of Mages forever. That rogue faction became the Shaddiri in time, and the blame for the destruction of Manthilos is generally given to them.</p> <p>Christopher vir Kori is well remembered by the histories as possibly the most powerful Mage that has ever lived. He was the only magic wielder powerful enough to destroy the magical protections around Manthilos, and he was responsible for bringing the two factions back together by usurping Uritar, though he failed in the end to bring back the Shaddiri. It is not known for certain if he truly attempted to rejoin them at all, or if he cast them out of the order for their destructive behavior.</p> <p>There are many legends and rumors about Grand Mage Kori, but the following have been gathered and patched together from what is made public of the Grand Mage's diaries...</p> <p>And on the legend goes, as you may read in any history book. An old, estranged friend of Grand Mage Kori's gave ‘notable service’ on the battle field. Because of this, Grand Mage Kori changed the acceptance requirements for studying to be a Mage. Once only the rich and powerful could learn, but now all may come to study. That law remains unchanged today.</p> <p>But the legend is a poor account... the true story is one of envy, arrogance, betrayal, and in the end, friendship. A story fit for any bard's tongue, and true to the last words. No matter how the Mages attempt to exalt the history of their beloved Savior, his true story is remembered by the descendants of those who felt his hand; in punishing and in healing.</p> <p>So come, and I will tell you the story of Grand Mage Christopher vir Kori, and his one time servant, Mage Padrick vir Arkon...</p> <p>~*~ </p> http://www.musemart.com/topic/the-four-amulets-working-title-originally-posted-by-tensen01#post-86 Wed, 27 Jun 2007 13:12:45 +0000 Audrey 86@http://www.musemart.com/ <p>Okay, so, a while back my friend Micah ran a campaign of the game system Burning Wheel... he created his own world and back story... it was an excellent game and all players involved enjoyed in emensly. Well, I found out recently that he kept notes about what was going to happen to us in the game and I decided to take those notes and what I rememberd and write out the campaign as a short story... (the other players also decided to do it and then see how the versions differed)</p> <p>Here's what I have of the prologue written, it's basically going to introduce my friends Dawn and Jeffs characters. I will then get to my character, who ended up being the focal point of the game... This section is the tale of the young warrior Joaquin and how he gets introduced to the events that take place in the game. All these events are purely extrapolation on my part as they never occured in game, I'm taking them from what Jeff said about his background and that of his peoples culture.</p> <p>Joaquin<br /> <img src="http://tn3-1.deviantart.com/fs8/300W/i/2005/358/6/f/The_Prologue___WIP_by_Tensen01.jpg" /></p> <p>so here it is, the in-progress prologue to an as yet unnamed story... it's just the first section... more will be posted as I finish it. I didn't spell check this....</p> <p>*********************</p> <p>THE FOUR AMULETS</p> <p>PROLOGUE</p> <p>"FALL BACK!" the young man yelled from his vantage point atop his warhorse, sword raised above his head. It didn't take his small band of troops long to obey, the seemingly endless stream of Orcs coming through the pass being plenty of incentive.</p> <p>The man stood in his sturrips, making sure his men beat a hastey retreat. The Orcs were slow to respond to the temporary advantage, the mouth of the pass being near choked with the bodies of the fallen, man and Orc. A few Orcish arrows did follow the retreat soldiers, some hitting their targets and driving barbed tips deep into the soft flesh of those few unlucky souls.</p> <p>"TO THE HILLS!" the mounted man yelled over the din as one of the grotesque black arrows pierced his upper arm. The man gritted his teeth as he turned his horse and joined his men. More arrows followed the group but fell mercifully short.</p> <p>The soldiers made good time through the hills and woods that butted up against the pass. Only the young man on his horse had any difficulty navigating the dense woods, but he knew his route, had studied and rode the track numerous times.</p> <p>The sound of pursuing Orcs followed the men, the curses of creatures unused to forest travel echoing across the vale. A thunderous wave of gutteral yells and harse battle cries bearing down on the tired men.</p> <p>They kept on for what seemed like ages until the young man spotted the caern that he himself had set just that morning. “A &#38; B, flank, C with me,” he ordered “just beyond the treeline!” As the group broke into the small clearing that had been their camp they obeyed the shouted commands. Maneuvers they’d practiced for near on a week were executed flawlessly. The man rode to the far end of the clearing and wheeled his horse around, a third of his troops fanning out behind him. He raised his sword, his arm throbbing from the arrow wound, and waited. His head was light from loss of blood and his legs cramped from the flight, but he had to push on through it, had to see this through. He’d has worse in the course of this war against the evil of the east, besides, once this was done he could a much needed and much deserved rest. Or so he hoped.</p> <p>But all thoughts of rest, all thoughts of pain were pushed from his mind as the first Orcs burst through the woods into the clearing. Soon the whole horde was pouring into the space he had picked.</p> <p>Some of his men hesitated, wanting to rush the Orcs, wanting to meet them head on. But their common sense and trust of the man kept them from charging in to their deaths.</p> <p>“Hold,” he said, just loud enough for the nearest to hear “hold.” But soon the Orcs passed the narrow and shallow ditch that had been dug, also that morning, and his sword came down in a smooth sweeping motion, “ALAI!!!!” he yelled with all his force as his horse reared up at his command.</p> <p>At the shouted word arrows sprang from the forest on both sides of the clearing, slamming into the Orcs on the outside as the remainder of his troops crashed into the horde from the rear, effectively cutting them off from any possible retreat while the men still lived. But the Orcs near the head paid no heed to their dying fellows, they had their target and pressed on, towards the man an his small contingent.</p> <p>Again the sword rose, and wavered slightly as the pain struck him, but he stayed on his horse and stared into the eye of the nearest Orc. “C forward!!” he commanded as he spurred his horse towards the foul creatures. As he neared the forward most Orc his sword dropped, cleaving into the beasts skull, bone and blood spraying out from the wound as the creature dropped. His men also met this charge, both the front and the rear, fighting bravely, swords and axes slamming into the green-skinned horrors. The archers had moved out from the woods as well, firing their short bows until they had no more arrows, then drawing their shortswords and joining the fray.</p> <p>It seemed forever, but in only minutes the Orish horde had been reduced to a mass of green and red. But they had gone down fighting, for every Orc that lay in the clearing, two men also laid, dead. It was a hefty toll the men of the Insmarch had paid that day, but also was it a victory, something that was becoming ever more rare in the relentless war that was plaguing their land. And that alone made it a good day…</p> <p>KING ISMAEL stood, bent over the heavy folding table that took up nearly half the space in his black and gray striped campaign tent. Papers covered every square inch of the tables’ heavily scarred surface. Maps, reconnaissance, expense accounts, casualty reports, all the trappings of a typical war spilled over the edges. Though this war was far from typical. In a typical war you knew who you enemy was, who the leaders were, you knew their skill and strength of arms. You could guess when and where they would attack. In a typical war your enemy would give up, would fall back and regroup, your enemy would attempt to err on the side of caution. This was anything but a typical war.</p> <p>Ever since the darkness had taken root in the East a seemingly endless stream of Orcs. goblins and other horrible creatures had swarmed into the southern Kingdom of Insmarch, killing indiscriminately, attacking farms and villages with no concern for their own casualties. Most of the Kingdom now lay in ruin, once prosperous towns now infested with the evil denizens. The army of Insmarch, such as it now was, and what was left the Kingdoms citizens had been pushed further West and North, nearly to the edge of it’s borders, the people having to abandon the lands that had been their homes for generations uncountable.</p> <p>“Your Majesty?” came a voice from the tent flap, pulling the King out of his reverie. He raised his head to look at the young page he had sent out yesterday morning, the young boy was soaking wet, his cloak carelessly thrown back, hair plastered to his forehead from the rain that fell. “Your Majesty,” the page said again “I found him.”</p> <p>The King straightened, easing his back as he spoke “Well bring him in then Elias, I didn’t have you track him down and bring him all the way here so he could be left standing in the rain.”</p> <p>“Yes, your Majesty,” the boy said hurriedly as he pulled aside the tent flap and motioned towards the King “You may enter, sir.”</p> <p>The young man who had been waiting outside in the rain entered and pulled back his hood as he kneeled. His dark hair was tied back into braid that hung down his back, the braid was a little worse for wear, as were his clothes, travel-stained and in need of much mending, the left arm of his once nice wool coat stained crimson with once dried blood, now again wet from the rain, a bandage bulging out the stained coat sleeve. His riding boots were scuffed from much recent use, mud caking the heels, coating his spurs. “You call, Sire, and thus I come,” the young man said, right fist pressed to his chest.</p> <p>“Leave us, Elias,” the King said, dismissing the young page “I must speak with this man alone.” The page hesitated, glancing at the kneeling man “Leave us, Elias, if I am not safe with this man then nowhere am I safe.” The page hesitated again but trusted his king judgement, and with a bow, fist to chest, he passed through the tent flap into the stormy night. The King watched the flap fall, shutting out the cold night. The King walked around the table, “Stand up son,” he said as he gripped the young mans shoulder. “It’s good to see you’re okay, son,” he walked over to a small side table on which stood a battered silver pitcher, steam rising from it “You look like you could use something to drink,” he filled two just as battered goblets “Mulled wine?” he asked as he held it out to the young man.</p> <p>“Thank you sire, yes,” the man said as he accepted the goblet. He held the cup but didn’t not drink, “Pardon my asking sire, but why am I here? I should be with my men…”</p> <p>“They are no longer your men, son,” the king said, cutting him off, setting his goblet down, “I’ve assigned a new commander. Amilcar has been dispatched,” The king held up his hand, forestalling the young mans objection “He will be bring the troops back here to rejoin with the rest of the army.” He turned and shuffled through a sheef of paper on the table “At which point we will be removing ourselves from the area and into the Western wilds,”</p> <p>“Sire,” the young man interrupted “Do you mean to tell me you’re withdrawing the army and the people from the Kingdom? Running to the hills and hiding?!” warm liquid spilled over his hand, the goblet now a crushed mass of silver in his tensed fist.</p> <p>“What I’m telling you, son, is that we are falling back and assessing our losses,” he took the ruined goblet from the young mans hand “We cannot win this war, not alone, and every day we stay and fight more of my people die, people who I will need when we are ready to take our land back.” He set the goblet down and turned back to the young man “Which is where you come in. You have the makings of a great commander, son, but right now I don’t need commanders, I need reinforcements, I need people of like mind who will not only help remove this evil from our land, but take the war to the one in charge, and remove this darkness forever.” He sighed “But I do not have those people here. I need you to travel into the other Kingdoms, and tell the people of our plight, warm them that if they do not act they will be next. The darkness has no concern of borders, it will spread until it covers the whole land. That cannot be aloud to happen.”</p> <p>“Sire, I’m not a diplomat, I’m not a great speaker. Surely there are others better qualified for such a task.”</p> <p>“There were, yes, but they were the first dead when the Orcs came, they tried, at my bidding, to reason with the creatures.” He picked up his own goblet and drank “But even if I still had those men I would not send them. They were speakers, true, but they would not have been the ones fighting the creatures. They would know only of numbers, percentage of losses. You know what these monsters are capable of,” he motioned to the young man’s arm “You have seen first had their tenacity and their available power. Something a diplomat would not be able to convey.” He turned back to the table “You are not the only one I’m sending, son. So do not think this war rests solely on your shoulders. When Amilcar returns he will be heading to the West, into Carnaciin. Perla will be heading to the South, into the Kingdom of the Serpent Sands. And Severo will be going with you, North, and then parting company and heading East, into Braile and the Elven kingdom.” The King stepped forward and placed his hand on the young mans shoulder “You will then turn to the West, over the mountains into Uurland. Myself and the rest fo the forces will be following you."</p> <p>“It will take time, Sire. Not just for the travel but for the mustering as well. The people will not be easy to convince. They will not care about something that does not yet threaten them.”</p> <p>The King squeezed his shoulder “Then you must make them see that what does not threaten the today will threaten them tomorrow, and the only way to keep themselves safe is to deal with the threat before it’s upon them. Once an enemy is inside your walls the battle is all but over. You will not be doing this alone, I assure you. Myself and the rest of the forces will be following you within the week." The King paused "This is not an exile I go into willingly, but it is what must be done if we are to have any people left to rebuild later" He clapped the young mans shoulder “Now go, you have a lot of work to do to get prepared. You have a week to gather your supplies and choose which men you’re taking with you. Choose eight who will accompany you.”</p> <p>***********************************</p> <p>Comments please!! </p> http://www.musemart.com/topic/the-champion-returns-originally-posted-by-true#post-85 Wed, 27 Jun 2007 13:10:42 +0000 Audrey 85@http://www.musemart.com/ <p>Elryia rode up and down the front line, surveying what stood before her. All had come out--elves, dwarves, gnomes and humans--but all seemed to have fear in their eyes, all seemed to lack hope. But it was only those who knew him--truly knew him--caried the most dreaded look of all; that of pain, that of loss. Graham The True was dead, and maybe with him any hope of winning this war.</p> <p>General Gerin stood across the way, a sick smile would be across his face if the vicious creature even had a mouth. His Cavalry lined up, ready to run rampant over the foot soldiers that Elryia had. There army would be no match, maybe if they had horses or had morale but they had neither. This would be a massacre, and Gerin knew it.</p> <p>Gerin knew that Graham was dead. The whole world knew. And maybe, with Graham, died the last glimmer of peace this world would ever have. Gerin actually wept when he heard of the champion's death. He had hoped to face him on the battle field, and now this victory would be far too easy. And Gerin, despite his black heart and tainted soul, was a warrior. He wanted a war, not an execution.</p> <p>Yet, they had come out, weapons in hand and paint on their faces--ready for a war that had been prophicized by every oracle given the gift of sight. This war would bring a thousand years of peace, or a thousand years of dark reign. Now, it seemed the latter was iminent.</p> <p>But no one could say they didn't try. For some, this war was a hope for peace, it was a hope for a better life, but for those that knew Graham personally--Elryia, Rist, Jeralyle, Lorlanyan, Rhimaldez, Gnert, Merial and Drogan--it was about something else. A wish, now a dying one it would seem, asked for by a good man and the greatest warrior they had ever known. Fight. Fight alongside me and you shall be free. Death or No.</p> <p>Elryia turned teary eyes to the sky, and whispered softly. "Freedom, my love. I hope you have found it."</p> <p>And the bright young girl rode up and down one more time, trying to motivate, trying to inspire, but all her inspiration was gone and now she was only going through the motions. Maybe, they had already lost. But they would fight--win, lose or death they would fight. Graham had taught them to do that, and they would honor his memory.</p> <p>Elryia was ready to let loose, let onward to the slaughter when Lorlanyan had raised his hand to pause her.</p> <p>"What... what is it?"</p> <p>Lorlanyan, like all the elves, had heard it first. The sounds of hooves. Hundreds, thousands of them marching behind the army. "Maybe... maybe something very bad." Was all he said, and turned to hear better.</p> <p>And soon they all heard it, and soon enough they would see it. A line of calvary nearly the size of that on the other side and they were marching right towards the army.</p> <p>Elryia stood fast, not moving, not even flinching but in her chest she was pounding and in her mind she was panicing. She flicked her eyes to Gerin, and watched him... still waiting. Was this what he had planned the whole time. Trap them, corner them so they had no where to run? They would never run, option or not, but like this they would truly be slaughtered.</p> <p>They got close, too close and still had yet to charge. And with every step their leader made, Elryia's tension eased.</p> <p>The Rider. Something about him familiar, something about him safe. It was only when they reached the back line and the rider bowed down to be let through, and he finally became visible that Elryia truly knew.</p> <p>His armor. The plates forming that of golden frozen flames about his body, the crimson cape wrapped about his shoulders. The stature, the poise. But one thing was different. The helmet, no longer was it that of a slited simple head, it was now that of a Great Dragon, horns reaching towards the sky and the eyes blarring a brilliant light. The mouth, she thought would breath fire, but all she heard was the calm breathing of a man.</p> <p>But was it the man, or just the armor? She wondered.</p> <p>The rumors were true. A Golden Dragon existed among them. A protector, a proprieter of peace and a symbol for hope. Rumors had spread. Many thought it to be a real dragon, others thought it a secret spread by Elryia and her companions to inspire some sort of morale.</p> <p>But now he rode before them, bringing with him a seemingly seasoned cavalry matching the one across the field. And with him, hope. Hope of winning this war, of ending this fight and ending the struggle.</p> <p>Along the line of now brightened faces he went, trudging slowly to the head of the army and the beautiful woman leading them.</p> <p>His hand raised to click the helmet off and release it from his head. And slowly those piercing green eyes looked up through the long brown hair and El's heart almost stopped in her chest.</p> <p>"Graham..." She almost leaped off her horse and onto his just to hold him, armor and all but she remained. There would be time for that later. But that didn't stop her from riding across, placing her horse next to his and kissing him upon the lips.</p> <p>"I have missed you." He whispered to her, staring into her eyes, the ocean and the forest. "I clawed my way out of that pit, traveled across the land and across an entirely different world. Fought monster and man, endured weather and landscapes just to tell you one thing." He leaned in and kissed her again. "I love you."</p> <p>He looked out upon the army and then back to her. "Let's win this war."</p> <p>The cavalary had slowly made its way up to the front and was working in, when Graham Clicked his helmet back on. "Stay here..." Came the echoing, booming voice from beneath the helmet.</p> <p>Like lightening he whipped across the flied, like a golden bolt they watched him, and right up to the General as though that bolt would strike him down.</p> <p>Everyone saw the fear when Graham took of his helmet and revealed his face, but only the elves, and those with superior hearing heard the one phrase that Graham barked at Gerin. "Massive Defeat!"</p> <p>Then Graham returned, helmet off as he strode across the line. His eyes turned toward a face. A nameless face that Graham picked out of the crowd. And Graham, with the most sincere look in his eye, as though they had been friends for years, asked him a question.</p> <p>"For freedom?" Graham asked, leaning a bit closer.</p> <p>The dwarf smiled a half-toothed grin and nodded. "For Freedom!"</p> <p>And onward, this time to a face that he knew. Lorlanyan, the most loyal elf Graham had ever met, nodded to the Champion. "Lor. For freedom?"</p> <p>The elf nodded, a tiny tear in his almond eyes. "For Freedom!"</p> <p>And onward he went, faces in the crowd, some he knew and some he didn't all asking them the question, until everyone was screaming it and Gerin turned his horse back and forth, more than a little uneasy.</p> <p>The Golden Dragon, then, rode up to the front and held his hand up to quiet them. But it was only for a second. Moments before, their eagerness was naught, but now it was overbearing, like stalking animals, like prisoners with their first taste of sunlight in years, they waited, waited for the command and the word that set them free. Graham himself felt a twinge, and felt the goosebumps. He could practically feel their morale beating upon his back, so he set them loose. He released them all with a word, and a drop of his hand.</p> <p>"Raaaage!"</p> <p>And that was all it took. All they needed to hear and they were set free. The hooves, the feet pounding the dirt and tearing across the field, morale blazing in their eyes, hope echoing from their mouths. The steely resolve of the returning champion spurring them on; The Golden Dragon scorching forward, driving onward to the freedom his people so rightly deserved.</p> <p>Gerin turned, tried to keep his horse steady and wait for the perfect time to attack but that time had past. That time had been long before True had shown up. However now, deep in Gerin's mind as well as those who stood behind him knew. It was over. It was over and it would not end they way they had all hoped.</p> <p>Only one man on Gerin's side would survive the onslaught. Only one. A man who would later write about it. The story would be seen in a different world, in a later time. The story would be twisted and turned, interpreted and mistaken but the root would remain the same.</p> <p>That man would speak of a rider upon a pale horse, and the hell that followed with him. </p> http://www.musemart.com/topic/the-birth-of-true-originally-posted-by-true#post-83 Wed, 27 Jun 2007 13:09:40 +0000 Audrey 83@http://www.musemart.com/ <p>Lathlogar.</p> <p>A name that instilled fear in anyone who spoke it. The demon that had plagued the kingdom of Highlace for too long. The demon that had used the king as no more than a puppet. The demon that sat upon the throne with no fear of anyone ever destroying him.</p> <p>Things change</p> <p>Long before, in a story worthy of its own telling at a later time, it had happened. An event unfolded that would set things right, set things free. And so now it was, King had turned to beggar, brave warrior turned to fleeing vagabond, running away from the demon with a woman, an unborn child and a faint glimmer of hope.</p> <p>The words of the Goddess Lornya still rung in his ears as he tried to drown out the cold. "Protect this child. If it costs you life or soul, blood or body, do not ever let this child come harm." That was enough for the King. He knew not what this child would bring, nor how important a role it would play, but when something, someone you worship pays a personal visit and designates you a role, you follow--no matter what the cost.</p> <p>They had travelled far from the kingdom, even far from civilization. The cold winters bit at their faces and every garment they wore was soaked and heavy. But they pushed on. The contractions had already started as the searched fervently for some shelter, any kind.</p> <p>And finally it came, like a gift from the gods, the moon blaring on a black hole, arched in rocks.</p> <p>A cave</p> <p>That would do. That would certainly do. And so onward they strode, King Rowen pushing Ashlyn on as fast as she was able to go, the drive and protection echoing in his eyes--almost at a frightening level.</p> <p>The door was blocked; the fire lit and Ashlyn lay there silent and calm. Sweating a bit more than usual, and quite strangly through the cold weather but Rowen comforted her as best he could.</p> <p>The birth was quiet, almost painless as Ashlyn made not a sound as the child was brought into the world. Just gripped the blankets around her, gritted her teeth and gave one final push.</p> <p>A cry was heard at first, the baby drawing it's first breath into it's lungs, but as the blanket was wrapped around it and it was laid into his mother's gentle arms, the baby lay silent and that mother wore a teary smile upon her face.</p> <p>"Do you have a name?" Rowen asked, trying to get a peek at the newborn.</p> <p>Ashlyn still smile "I've always liked the name Graham."</p> <p>"Graham... I like that."</p> <p>Ashlyn leaned down, kissing baby Graham on the head before looking at the man who had done so much to protect her and her child. "Would you like to... you know, hold him?"</p> <p>The King looked shocked at first. Was he deserving of something like this? To be looked at as a protecter rather than a pawn? But it faded the moment he caught glimpse of the child's eyes, and the king nodded, eager to hold a child for the first time in his long life.</p> <p>Rowen craddled Graham gently, seemingly a natural, and even teared up slightly as he saw something in Graham's eyes that he had not seen for a very long time: Hope.</p> <p>Though it was only when the blanket had fallen off of Graham's right arm did Rowen truly encompass the importance of every event that led up to this moment. He thought it, at first, blood but when he rubbed gently, the mark on the baby's arm remained and Rowen went a very deep pale.</p> <p>Ashlyn looked worried "Are you alright?"</p> <p>The king now stared at it. The mark. The mark that had donned the legandary armor for the King's Champion. A mark that spoke of peace, hope and prosperity. A mark that had long since given morale and ambition to troops; a mark that had made a kingdom legendary back when it was worthy of legend. The same mark that was on this child's arm now. Not a stain, nor a birthmark. An untouched, untainted symbol that the child would forever bare. And Rowen, for the first time, understood what this child meant. "I'm fine. Everything's going to be fine now." </p> http://www.musemart.com/topic/here-we-go-again-originally-posted-by-lady-of-the-winds#post-78 Wed, 27 Jun 2007 13:06:43 +0000 Audrey 78@http://www.musemart.com/ <p>The land was barren, as though blasted by centuries of mage wars. They were on a mountain, the very top of which was flat. Some sort of battle was in progress. She was afraid, she had not had this dream in years and was powerless to stop what she saw. Just as she had seen before, she saw her brother and father surrounded by dragons, about to be flamed to death.</p> <p> Outside the circle of dragons, there were three figures, one of which was easily recognizable because she had seen it often enough at court, Sorceress Edere. The other two figures were obviously male, one young, dark and handsome, the other older, not looking much like the other. Somehow, with the intuition that comes with dreams, the dreamer knew that they were father and son. The elder of the two men seemed to be gloating while the younger seemed to try and take pleasure in what was about to happen, yet was unsure of himself. Why was Edre standing with these men? Why was she not helping the dreamer’s family? </p> <p> Just as the part of the dream the dreamer dreaded came close to occurring, the Burning of her family, the dream froze.</p> <p> “You have the power to keep this dream from coming to pass,” said a female voice right next to Dreamer. Startled, she looked over to see a woman with two different eye colors, much like her own. “You are no ordinary person, you are my Chosen, my champion, to keep this kingdom from ultimate destruction which would come after the death of these two whom you love.”</p> <p> “How..?” was all the dreamer asked once she realized the identity of the strange woman.</p> <p> “When they leave, go with them, one way or another. Along the way you will find those who will aid you, train you in all you need to know. And do not fear, I will be with you should you need any assistance, all you have to do is ask or call for it.”</p> <p> “But..?” Dreamer started.</p> <p> “Do not worry, if you do as I instruct, all will be well.” The woman then gave Dreamer a pendant in the shape of a sylph entangled with a dragon on a plain thong. “If you need me, touch this and call for me and I shall hear.”</p> <p> Nodding the dreamer accepted the necklace.</p> <p> “When you wake, you will not remember all that I have said or what you have dreamed. You will, however, wake with the knowledge that you must accompany your father and brother wherever they may go. Also you will have that,” she indicated the necklace.</p> <p> Clutching the amulet to her chest, the dreamer asked, “Why won’t I remember?”</p> <p> “Because it is my will child, now wake!”</p> <p> The dreamer woke with a start, already forgotten was the dream, but she still had a vague sense of purpose lingering from the dream. Her hand ached from clutching it to her chest. Looking down and opening her hand, she saw a pendent of a dragon and sylph entwined and knew with a certainty that the pendent, and the dream, whatever it was, had been sent by the Goddess Liphia. </p> http://www.musemart.com/topic/419-2#post-50 Wed, 27 Jun 2007 12:53:07 +0000 Gumshoe 50@http://www.musemart.com/ <p>From nothing, came everything. A green tinted world banished the darkness, too fuzzy to make out any details. Nerves flared, and he could feel them come alive, like a million needles burning every inch of skin at once. He gasped - tried to gasp - in pain, only to discover he couldn't. His lungs wouldn't work. They felt heavy, as if they were full of something dense. Instict kicked in, an automatic fear of drowning that drove him to try and escape. His feet kicked out, pushing against the hard surface below him, but something hard blocked his upward progress. He panicked further, not just drowning but trapped, and struck out with his hands. They hit something hard and unyeilding less than a foot in front of him, and he flailed at it repeatedly, desperate to escape. It refused to give. He planted his hands firmly on this invisible object, and pushed hard. He sank into something soft but firmly unyielding behind him, giving him leverage to push harder. At last it moved, sliding sideways instead of falling out as he'd expected. </p> <p>He fell forward, landing akwardly on the cold floor as a cascade of green gel splashed thickly around him. He frantically tried to draw a breath, found his lungs still wouldn't work, and began gagging. More green gel splashed onto the floor as his lungs clenched painfully. He drew one haggard, painful breath and gagged again, sputtering out more goo. His stomach, also heavy, joined his lungs and he wretched still more gel into the thick puddle just inches from his face. He collapsed onto his side, gasping painfully, feeling dizzy. He stared around at the fuzzy green world he was finally aware of. It wouldn't come into focus, wouldn't stop being green. Fearing more gel he screwed his eyes shut tightly, scoured them with the palms of his hands and felt something thick and wet leak down the sides of his face. When he opened them again, he could see clearly. </p> <p>He was in a long, erraticly lit hallway. The floor was hard, cold metal, and roughly textured. Pipes crowded the cieling, unlabeled, varying in size and color. Every so often they would part just enough to allow for a lighting fixture. He rose to his knees, breathing slowly and deliberately for the sake of his bruised lungs. The wall before him contained rows of tall, thin doors. Each had a number etched into it, along with what appeared to be a small display screen. There were buttons, arranged in a square beneath the screen. He looked to his left, found that the corridor continued on... seemingly forever, swallowed as it was after some distance by impenetrable darkness. To his right, it was the same. Occasionaly one of the soft blue lights that illuminated his section of hallway would flicker and die, only to return a minute or so later.</p> <p>He wiped ineffectively at the goo that covered him from head to foot, giving up as it began to dry and turn unpleasantly sticky. At last he rose to his feet and turned to regard the wall behind him. An open glass cylinder greeted him, occupying the wall from floor to ceiling. More green gel slid and dripped down the inside surface, and about an inch of it puddled at the bottom, which was grated and presumably contained a drain, as the level of goo was slowly dropping. A cushion, contoured to fit an upright form, was affixed to the back of the cylinder. At the top of the cylinder, on the outside, was engraved a number. It was the same number that adorned the door on the opposite wall: 419-2. To the left and right of the empy cylinder were identical ones, lining the wall on and on untill they dissapeared into the darkness. Curious, he looked at the number on the cylinder immediately to his right. It was numbered 420-2. It was full of green liquid, presumably the same goo in which he himself had been encased. He pressed his face against the glass. There was somebody in there, fuzzy and indistict in the gel. He watched for movement, some sign that the person within was alive. There was nothing. He glanced farther along, at the next cylinder in line. It was also full. The one after that... was empty. </p> <p>Curious, he approached. There was no trace of the green goo that still dripped from, or more often, clung to his jumpsuit, either inside the cylinder or on the floor before it. The glass front had also been partially closed, an opening only a hand's breath wide remaining. He looked back at his own cylinder and the mess he'd made falling out of it, and wondered at the difference. Perhaps the empty cylinder had never been filled? But all of the others were (presumably) occupied, the people incased in green gel. Why would this one be different from all the rest?</p> <p>He looked back at the tank before him. He could see his reflection in the glass front, and studied it. Bald, blue eyes, no facial hair. No eyebrows. His face was thin, gaunt. He took a step back, studied the rest of himself. He wore a skintight white jumpsuit, unadorned except for a black barcode over the left breast and on the left shoulder. The green goo didn't seem to have stained the garment, though unsightly globs of it were spattered at random. He noted that his build was thin and lean, to match his face, and something about it struck him as unhealthy. </p> <p>He turned his attention from the tank and looked up and down the hallway. Nobody had come... he felt strongly that somebody should have come. He stood there, wondering if he should wait and how long. He wasn't certain how long he stood there, debating whether or not to go. Finally, he found himself confronting the door across from his cylinder. He tried opening it, but pulling on the latch had no effect. Similarly, trying to get the display to function proved useless. It refused to turn on, and punching several of the buttons did not conjure it to life. At last he gave up. He stood there, staring at the door, fighting a rising sense of disorientation. Things shouldn't be this way. Somebody should have come, the door should have opened. But they hadn't, and it hadn't, and now he had to figure out what to do on his own. </p> http://www.musemart.com/topic/conception-originally-posted-by-cameo-naton#post-49 Wed, 27 Jun 2007 12:51:45 +0000 Audrey 49@http://www.musemart.com/ <p>It's a weird feeling, one that's hard to describe. Simultaneously, you feel the floor drop out from under you, that sinking feeling in your stomach as you teeter above a canyon... while energy crackles through your body, making you feel lighter than air. Invincible and vulnerable, at the same time. I looked around the table at my two friends as we allowed the gravity of our conversation sink in, and permeate our consciousness. We were so young - I was the oldest at 24 years old. We weren't anything special - my friend Kevin fancied himself a philosopher, while James was a network administrator. As for me, I'm a journalist. Nothing grand - just a local rag. Because of my youth, they usually foist the "special interest" pieces on me. Special interest? Try lack of interest. No, what we were going to attempt was much bigger.</p> <p>"Can we do this?" James asked. He popped a pretzel into his mouth and chewed loudly.</p> <p>Kevin grimaced. "Should we? I mean, what gives us the right?" Philosophy major to the end.</p> <p>"Why shouldn't we? We can see the pieces of the puzzle. If we can see it, maybe someone else does, too. Maybe someone who doesn't have the same vision that we do," I rationalized. "Better the devil you know..."</p> <p>"The devil," Kevin nodded. "So, we're already casting ourselves in the mold of evil incarnate?"</p> <p>I shrugged. "Some people will no doubt see things that way. Impossible to please everyone. But if we do things right... it shouldn't matter."</p> <p>"If we don't do it, someone else will just screw everything up," James said thoughtfully.</p> <p>"I'm still not convinced we should do this," Kevin protested one more time.</p> <p>"Do you think everything will just work itself out on its own if we don't?" I asked, gesturing at the table. Kevin stared into the table, and beyond. I could see the wheels turning. We needed him with us on this - if we weren't together, we didn't stand a chance.</p> <p>"No," he sighed. "You're right. Worst case scenario?"</p> <p>"We die, and it all goes to hell."</p> <p>"Ah. Excellent. My doubts have been belayed. Thanks."</p> <p>I smirked. "Best case scenario?"</p> <p>James smiled. "It works. We're heroes. Go down in the history books."</p> <p>"People thought Hitler was a hero. He went down in the history books, too." Kevin was frowning again.</p> <p>"Do you plan on being a mass murderer?" I asked. "Make no mistake. People ARE going to die. But people are going to die either way."</p> <p>Kevin nodded. "That's it then. We're agreed?"</p> <p>I nodded. James nodded. Exhiliration swept over me, leaving a knot of worry in my stomach. So many variables to account for. So many points in the future where our plan could go awry. So many things we couldn't control. It was a gamble.</p> <p>"That's it. We're going to take over the world."</p> <p>________________</p> <p>I felt almost childish. Here it was, two in the morning, and [adult swim] was repeating their evening block on the muted TV in the background. Kevin, James, and myself were still seated at the table, a Risk boardgame spread out before us, as we strategized how best to go about conquering the planet.</p> <p>"Damn, I wish I had a real map around here."</p> <p>James shook his head. "This is fine. We know the major players anyways."</p> <p>Players. And a board game serving as a world map. Oh, well. It could be worse.</p> <p>"America, Russia, China, the European Union..." Kevin counted off.</p> <p>"Iraq, Israel, Iran, North Korea, Venezuela," James continued.</p> <p>"Australia, Japan... I guess we can't discount Somalia or Egypt," I added.</p> <p>James leaned back and whistled. "Is it just me, or does World War 2 sound a lot simpler than what we're trying?"</p> <p>"No, you're right," I agreed. "I mean, sure, there were a handful of tiny countries aiding both sides... but overall, it was your Axis versus Allies. America, England, and eventually Russia taking on Japan, Italy, and Germany."</p> <p>"This is more of a war without borders, anyways," Kevin put in. "If anything, Iraq, Afghanistan, and the war on terror have taught us that."</p> <p>I cleared my throat. "So, we've got our map, our players. We have a general idea of how to precipitate World War 3 - assuming of course, that current events haven't already got that ball rolling. How do we get to a position where we can take advantage of it?"</p> <p>"That's partially where you come in," James said. "You're a journalist. Write what you know. Opinion columns. Just tell people what to expect. We've already seen some current events coming... keep on making predictions, but keep on being RIGHT."</p> <p>I grimaced. "This sounds so much like the Ender Wiggin saga."</p> <p>Kevin shrugged. "It's a good idea."</p> <p>"I guess." I still had reservations - about my writing ability, the perceived value my opinion held over my audience... and most importantly, about our ability to guess what each of these players was going to do. Yet, our plan hinged upon doing exactly that.</p> <p>"I'll be helping you, anyways," Kyle added. "You understand the political situations; well, I understand the motivations of the people in those countries. Mostly. Some of 'em are just weird. But I understand that, too."</p> <p>I sighed. "Where do you come in, James?"</p> <p>"I'm glad you asked. Tech support, I guess. I'll be keeping my ear to the ground, and trying to get the grassroots political movement behind you."</p> <p>I nodded. It made sense. More sense than hacking sophisticated government systems, anyways. That was a sure way to land our butts in Guantanamo! Of course, hacking OTHER government systems... "Keep your computer skills sharp. We may need to use you more aggressively in the future."</p> <p>"So... how do we go about recruitment?" Kevin rubbed his hands together. I got the mental picture of him leading a cult someday.</p> <p>"We don't," I said. "This plan isn't discussed outside of the three of us in this room. There's no faster way to screw this up than to tell other people."</p> <p>"I agree," James said. "All for one, and one for all, and all that nonsense."</p> <p>"Indeed," I murmured. So, here we were. Three geeks, getting ready to topple world governments, and take over the planet. And I was going to start by writing an essay.</p> <p>God, I hate essays.</p> <p>______________</p> <p>"What the hell is this?"</p> <p>I flinched. My editor loomed in the doorway to my cubicle. I could hear the crinkle of paper in his hand. My paper.</p> <p>"It's an opinion column," I said, sounding more confident than I felt. "My opinion."</p> <p>"And why exactly am I holding an opinion column in my hand, when your assignment was the cat lady?"</p> <p>The cat lady he referred to was a matronly grandmother who rivaled the ASPCA in terms of love and care to stray felines... At last count, she had placed thirty cats, and had another sixty-seven waiting to be "adopted." This was but one example of the "special interest" pieces that were my bread and butter.</p> <p>"The cat lady story is done, and on your desk. But I wanted to try my hand at something different."</p> <p>My editor looked over the wrinkled sheet, rolling his eyes. "Politics?" he sighed. "Stick to the special interest stuff, mac. You're good at it."</p> <p>"I know for a fact you've got an opening in the opinion column this week. Publish it, and see what happens."</p> <p>"This is pretty incendiary stuff. I won't be held responsible-"</p> <p>"And it's an opinion column," I said, trying to soothe his nerves. "If you'd be more comfortable, run a disclaimer at the front. And if we get a ton of hate mail, or a mob shows up out front throwing bricks, you can fire me."</p> <p>He paused, and glanced from me to the column. "You know what you're doing, don't you?"</p> <p>I nodded, resisting the urge to chuckle. I had NO idea what I was doing, but I just had to trust that we were doing the right thing. My editor continued to look over the column.</p> <p>"I tell you what. I'll publish it - you make a lot of sense here, and you've got some spunk. I admire that. But you're kicking some beehives here, too. If it comes down to a choice between you and the paper, you know which way I've gotta go." I nodded. I knew that from the start. "Who knows... if they like it, you might get to write another."</p> <p>I smiled. "Thanks, boss."</p> <p>He grunted noncomittally. "Don't screw this up."</p> <p>__________________</p> <p>Hate mail. Lots and lots of hate mail. Not only that, but CNN had done a story on my opinion column. Well, not so much my opinion, as the negative reaction to said opinion. I had to admit - it was a more vocal outcry than I had initially expected. And, truth be told, there was a fair amount of positive reaction coming in as well. People were agreeing with me. And Kyle, and James, though the public wasn't aware of our trifecta. I was worried about my editor's reaction to all the negative press, though.</p> <p>I shouldn't have. He came into my cubicle, smiling. Well, not really smiling, but it was less of a grimace than he usually wore.</p> <p>"Are you happy?" he asked.</p> <p>"Sir?" I spun my office chair around to face him, while CNN.com played a video of the small group of protestors outside our offices. It was live.</p> <p>"Are you happy?" he gestured at my monitor.</p> <p>"I knew what I was getting myself into, sir. I see your disclaimer didn't do any good... but if you need to fire me, I'm prepared for that."</p> <p>"Not yet," he sighed. "Good news. Controversy sells papers. That little story on CNN didn't hurt. And I'm pulling you from the cutesy stories. You're on the opinion column full time now."</p> <p>I blinked. "Yes... sir."</p> <p>"I don't know what you're doing," he said, shaking his head. "I only hope you do. But the minute your column stops selling papers, you're gone."</p> <p>I nodded. "I understand. Thank you."</p> <p>He snorted. "Thank CNN, and your unruly crowd."</p> <p>Thank God for hate mail.</p> <p>_________________</p> <p>"Peace in the Middle East," read the headline. I wrinkled my nose. Admittedly, we could probably use a short break. But one of the facets of our plan was that once it started... it didn't suit itself well to stopping. I sighed.</p> <p>"It's not all bad," James said. "It's a peace in name only. I mean, they're still shooting, still firing rockets at eachother. Just not as many."</p> <p>"It hardly looks like the birth pangs of World War 3," I grumbled, pushing the newspaper away. "I mean, I'm as peace-loving as the next guy. I'm all about people not dying. But you know what delay means as well as I do."</p> <p>James nodded, frowning. "More weapons of mass destruction, and more crazy people willing to use them."</p> <p>I grabbed my coffee cup, and guzzled some of the bittersweet elixir. "I'm going to need to write a commentary on this. And somehow sound like this not only isn't a surprise, but isn't the end of what I've been trumpeting for the last two months."</p> <p>Kevin nodded. "Stick to the rhetoric," he said. "The players haven't changed, and the situation is still volatile. Both sides are trying to paint this as a victory, and in small ways, it is for both. It just depends on what your objectives were."</p> <p>I frowned. "I hate that."</p> <p>"What?"</p> <p>"The whole infallibility factor. Pretending that we knew they would broker a short term truce, when we really didn't. How does that make us better than the government's we're working to supplant?"</p> <p>Kevin grinned. "It doesn't."</p> <p>"Oh, that's a huge boost to my morale, thanks."</p> <p>"Seriously, though..." Kevin leaned in. "Things haven't changed all that much. If anything, it's enlarging the situation. The UN is sending a peace-keeping force... that means more parties are getting involved in the Middle East, and when things do go south, more countries will be outraged, and get sucked in even deeper."</p> <p>I paused. He was right. I didn't see it at first, but this was working to our advantage.</p> <p>"You have two conflicting ideologies at stake here. One, the so-called good guys, believe that we can peacefully co-exist, and that war should be avoided at all costs. The other, radical islam, believes in conquering the world, even if it costs them their own lives. This is MAD, we're talking about. And they don't care."</p> <p>"I know. That's the reason for the urgency," I agreed. Wait too long, and either they'd conquer the world, or destroy it. Not good options. "Have you given more thought to the China factor?"</p> <p>Kevin sighed. "None yet. So far, the best I can figure is they'd sit out a major conflict, let everyone else kill eachother, and then go after the sloppy seconds."</p> <p>"It really depends on what happens first. Right now, China's in their pocket. Selling weapons to the key players, and tying up a large part of the world economy," James added. "What we really need is a major assault from the Middle East to draw China into the war on our side... Kind of a Chinese Pearl Harbor. Otherwise, we can't really count on their support in the long run, and we can probably look forward to fighting them ourselves, if we're lucky enough to win."</p> <p>"Lovely."</p> <p>"It can't hurt to bring up China in your column," Kevin said. "Build the suspicion now... When the chips do start to fall, China might have to come over to our side just to avoid being lumped in with the enemy. Make it clear there is no middle road, no Switzerland neutrality." Kevin pondered, "But don't be too agressive. We don't want to pre-empt an international incident ourselves."</p> <p>I nodded. Another opinion column wrought with conjecture and suppositions. I knew my editor was going to hate it. But my ever growing reading audience was going to eat up every word.</p> <p>____________________</p> <p>I leaned back in my office chair. My column had been spreading like a wildfire, galvanizing both those who agreed with me, and those that didn't. The newspaper's owners had decided to increase my salary - more people were buying the paper just to read my column - and they had moved me out of the cubicle on the main office thoroughfare, to a small office with a view. It wasn't a particularly great view, but I was now able to gauge the impact of my musings visually - the crowds had grown, and had gotten more diverse. I now had Arabs, Americans, and CHINESE protesting in the street. I had certainly managed to bring people together, though not quite in the manner I had thought.</p> <p>I poured over the latest news online. I had my instant messenger open, so I could communicate live with Kevin and James.</p> <p>What's the good word? I typed.</p> <p>People have started copying your opinion column online, posting it to their blogs. James responded. Do you want me to shut them down?</p> <p>Hardly. That's great news - it's getting out there. Let the newspaper worry about it - it certainly doesn't seem to be hurting our sales. Any word on the Chinese front? I glanced out the window. I thought I recognized our delivery driver from "Bamboo Hut." I made a mental note to avoid ordering from that restaurant again.</p> <p>Nothing official. Kevin noted. Too early to tell. We'll have to wait and see as thing pick up momentum.</p> <p>A pause.</p> <p>Have you heard the news from Iran?</p> <p>I glanced at my headlines. My earlier worries about the ceasefire affecting our schedule had been put aside. Iran was continuing to trumpet their right to nuclear energy, and was planning a major military exercise to coincide with their response to the UN deal. The more I was learning from Kevin about Muslim end-times prophecy, the more I realized how dangerous Iran had become.</p> <p>Reading it now. Thanks. Three days. Three days, and we'd know how fast things were going to move. If they were going to move. "Hope for the best, prepare for the worst," I murmured. I cracked my knuckles, and began to type my next column. </p> http://www.musemart.com/topic/scene-of-the-crime-originally-posted-by-cameo-naton#post-48 Wed, 27 Jun 2007 12:49:47 +0000 Audrey 48@http://www.musemart.com/ <p>"Those bastards," the investigator sighed sharply. "They got another one."</p> <p>He glowered at the small crowd that had gathered, the voyeurs who always seemed to show up when there was a body. They backed up a little, but still scrabbled to get a decent view. He walked over to take a closer look.</p> <p>The body was laid out, back broken, blood spattered on the victim's coat. The investigator heard a keening sob from the other side.</p> <p>"Who could have done this?" the victim's wife asked. "Why? My Marty never hurt a soul!"</p> <p>The investigator grimaced. "Get her out of here," he instructed one of his lieutenants. "She shouldn't see this." No one should, he thought darkly.</p> <p>The Medical Examinator was on all fours, checking out the mangled body. "What have we got?"</p> <p>"Male, middle aged... I'd say he's been dead for a few hours." He shivered. "Death was instantaenous, as far as I can tell."</p> <p>The investigator nodded. "What about the device? Would it have been suicide?"</p> <p>"I doubt it. It's pretty complicated, even for Marty."</p> <p>He wrinkled his nose. "What's that smell?"</p> <p>The ME held something up. "He was holding it when he died."</p> <p>He sniffed. "Peanutbutter?" The ME nodded. "What the hell was he doing with peanutbutter?"</p> <p>"There's no good reason. I think it gives us probable cause," the ME sounded hesitant. "This was premeditated, boss. Deliberate. No doubt about it."</p> <p>The investigator narrowed his eyes. "Somebody did this to him... on purpose?" He felt hot with anger and frustration.</p> <p>The ME stood up, taking a step back from the victim. "I haven't worked the physics of it all out yet, but I think this device was designed just for this. To kill Marty."</p> <p>"No, Paul. This wasn't designed to kill Marty. It was designed to kill us," He growled. "This thing is a <em>mouse</em> trap." </p>