The VVC Chronicles, Part III:
THE ONCE AND FUTURE CAFE
Written June 5, 1994 - June 20, 1995
(C) Copyright 1995, Maximus Clarke and the VVC Writers
Group
May not be reproduced in any form without permission.
III.1
A NEW BEGINNING
"Where souls disappear, only you exist here...."
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
The bed was rocking, swaying from side to side with the slow rhythm of
a pendulum. Daricell opened her eyes and found that, instead of her own high
ceiling, she was staring at a ceiling that was low and striped with unevenly
hewn dark beams which loomed menacingly in the predawm light.
She sat up with a start, wondering where she was, and the bed swung
violently in reaction to her motion. It was a platform, suspended from the
ceiling by stout hemp ropes, and piled high with furs and fine linen. Daricell
pushed away the furs and found that the air was bitingly cold against her skin.
She looked down to find that she was wearing no clothes, not even a -- T-shirt?
A T-shirt seemed rather incongrous with these surroundings....
Daricell rubbed at her head. She knew, KNEW without a doubt, that
there had been a large party; that Zoroaster had saved her from death, but
these thoughts were muddled in her mind with a new knowing, a new stream of
thought... Daricell reached up to twirl a lock of hair, a typical motion of
hers when she was thinking deeply; she was only mildly surprised to discover
that the rich chestnut curls cascaded down to her waist.
There was the memory of short hair... and many lights, and a ship
burning upon the sea... but these were growing confused as the morning light
deepened and strengthened around her.
The bed swung again, and she turned to find a masculine form covered in
furs next to her. Only a tuft of blond hair was visible, but the other
thought, the new thought, knew him to be male. But the old thought wouldn't
explain why he was here in... her bed? It was her bed, something in her knew
that.
She scrambled from the platform, taking a particularly heavy fur with
her, and wrapped it around herself as she crossed the rush-strewn floor. The
man sat up, awakened by the swinging of the bed, and Daricell could almost put
a name to that finely-sculpted face... One muscled arm reached out to her.
"Come back to bed, milady," he said in a voice like molten honey, deep
and rich.
Daricell pulled the fur covering more closely around her. "Who are
you? --no. I do know you--- what are you doing in my bed?"
The blue eyes took on a mocking glint. "Oh, it pleases you to play the
innocent this morning? Very well, Mistress Daricelle..." he crawled toward
her, across the swaying bed, and the covers slipped away from his body.
Daricell's breath drew in with a slow, expectant hiss. His body was a
finely-sculpted as his face... every inch of it. --Well, if you had to wake
up with a strange man in your bed, my girl, you couln't have done much better
than this one, she mused, as he swung lightly from the bed and walked toward
her, light on his feet like a cat on the prowl for prey.
"My lady Daricelle, you are in my power," he growled, the mocking smile
still playing about his eyes.
"Have mercy upon a poor maid, sir," she replied, but her voice was
suddenly husky and low, and her hands allowed the fur to drop a strategic
inch. She was suddenly, clearly aware of the two streams of thought, like
rivers, rushing through her mind -- one crystal clear, the other becoming muddy
and clouded. With every step that this man -- "Colin," the clear stream of
thought supplied -- the muddy river, the memories of the trial and near-
execution, became murkier and more faint, receding until it was only a trickle,
and then disappeared into the fertile ground of her being.
The last vestiges of Daricell, Master/Mistress Chef of the VVC,
disappeared with the muddy river, and when Colin at last stood bare inches away
from her, Daricelle du Vin smiled up at him with a seductive glint in her green
eyes, and let the fur covering drop to the floor.
"Now look what I've done," she chided herself lightly.
"I'm looking," Colin rumbled, as his eyes raked over her curves.
Without another word, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her back to
the still-swaying platform bed...
User: Daricelle du Vin... and I was born before I was born...
Date: 5-Jun 09:48 PM 770852981
III.2
VVC: Return to innocence?
===========================================================================
The first thing he notices is how dry his mouth is...parched. And yet
the air is damp and cool, cold even. From a distance comes the sound of waves
crashing on rocks. He stirs a bit, and realizes that he is lying on dewy
grass. He opens his eyes and blinks several times till he can focus. A
blue-grey sky casts its light over a rolling green meadow, a meadow he knows
very well. Except that something is different. There are bits of rubbish
--pieces of wood, cloth, paper, discarded food--littered about, and some muddy
patches crossed by wagon wheel ruts. How does he know they were made by wagon
wheels, though? Why not something else? He thinks for a moment. But what
else? A cart of some kind? He sits up and looks around.
There to the west is the cliff's edge, and beyond that the water. And
there, away towards the south, the land slopes down to...to...shouldn't there
be more trees there? No, of course not, there aren't trees there now, and
where would they have gone? The meadow rolls right on down to a familiar,
cross-shaped building, its whitewashed walls crisscrossed by dark brown
timbers, its slanted rooves covered with wooden shingles. His building. "The
VVC." _But why, by the Holy Mother, did I make my bed out here? Something
happened last night...why can't I remember?_
He yawns, stretches, and stands. _Best I go inside and break the fast.
Besides, there's chores to be done._ He brushes dirt and grass off of his
blue-grey tunic--which seems oddly unfamiliar and familiar at the same time--
then notices something on the ground in front of his boots. He picks it up. It
is a rectangle of pasteboard, bearing a repetitive pattern on one side and a
detailed picture on the other. "'Tis a card of fortune...what do they call
them, Tarot?" he murmurs. Something about this image jars him: a woman in an
elaborate robe and a headdress shaped like a crescent moon, sitting on a throne
between a black pillar and a white pillar. The lettering beneath reads "The
High Priestesse"...
...and a memory, perhaps of a dream, flashes by: a dark-haired woman, her
face full of wisdom and pain, wrestling with a dark man, a demon...he knows
her, and and he knows that the dark man is really a part of her...and as he
watches, the two figures seem to stretch out and grow immensely tall...or is it
that the whole world is shrinking around them?...and their joined hands form an
arch that the world passes through, a world full of tiny people dancing inside
a ring of light, or milling around a building that looks like the VVC, or
watching a tiny burning ship drift away on a miniature ocean...and one word
comes to his lips...
"INLERAH." That is her name, Inlerah, he knows it! But maddeningly,
he knows nothing more. He sighs, and begins walking down to the VVC. He
catches sight of the old circle of standing stones by the roadside, and knows
that Inlerah was there, in the circle, when the things in his dream or vision
occurred--except that the circle was surrounded by trees, hidden from the
world. "Ach, 'tis what I get for having drunk a bit too much last night at
the...the...fair." He wanted to say something else--but of course it was a
fair that was held here last night in the meadow, the annual celebration
occurring each year when the gypsies passed through town.
He walks passed the stone circle and out to the road, peering up and down
the rough, rutted track. There is no traffic this early in the morning, but
to the south, beyond hills and trees, he can see the spires of the City's few
tall buildings, and the smoke of many chimneys smudging the horizon. Just
across the road, on the east side, is the local well, where the VVC gets all
its water; and to the north, the road disappears into trees, heading for
distant places.
Finally he walks around to the front of the building, and views the sign
fixed over the door:
Ye VIRTUOUS VAGABOND & COMRADES
Tavern
He is puzzled. _Why does that seem wrong? I see that sign every day_. "After
all," he says to himself, "I _am_ TRAVELER...the Virtuous Vagabond himself...
heh..." He shakes his head as the strange feeling fades away, and without
further ado, he goes inside...
User: Traveler sez "The VVC's reached middle age...or is it early Renaissance?"
Date: 6-Jun 10:46 AM 770899989
III.3
Now kids, play nice.
It's not Max's fault that his story is endless.
Hmmm...well actually, I think it IS his fault.
Nevermind. 8)
"The VNNNSSCASSTYC(N)TVC: The Virutal, Non-terminating, Non-repeating,
Nighttime, Sniffling, Sneezing, Coughing, Aching, Stuffy-Head, Story That You
Can (N)ext Through, Vax Cafe"
- Skippy Podar...8)
User: Enterprise - "And remember, that's Ahannos: The Hands of Fate!"...8)
Date: 6-Jun 03:36 PM 770917036
III.4
Can i be the tavern wench?!?!!?!?
*looks really excited*
User: ECSTASY
Date: 6-Jun 04:20 PM 770919603
III.5
Skreeeeeeek...
...with a creaky greeting, the cabinet swung open, and John Waller
examined his stock of herbs and extracts. He was running a bit low on mint
leaves for his tea blends. `No cause for alarm, really,' he thought. `I
can visit my garden tomorrow morning.'
Besides, teas weren't much in vogue among the "mobile vulgus" --
the fickle crowd, the "mob" which hung about in the Vagabond. Mostly, they
went in for the fruit of the still. And there was generally plenty of that
around.
As he swept the floor clean, a flood of incomplete memory hit him.
Some bastard ghost of another world whispered obscenely about a sailor and
the hand of God which had touched the fair. ...only, the hand of God was
nowhere to be seen. The fair had gone off without incident, if one didn't
count the general debauchery and vomit-tinged drunkenness which followed
such fairs.
He put the thought behind him. Men had been tried by fire for
speaking such ideas, and John wasn't too keen on excruciating pain. Not
many men were. Though he could think of a particular Cardinal who might
enjoy having demons seared from him...
User: By my word, Milord, I hardly... *thwop*
Date: 6-Jun 06:00 PM 770925737
III.6
X: But of course. :)
Sylvar: bravo!
Ladies and gentlemen, take your places...the curtain is rising...
User: Traveler
Date: 6-Jun 10:43 PM 770942599
III.7
The young lady nestles deeper into the bedding upon the dry, dusty floor of the
tiny room...an arm curls about her from a form to her left, and gently strokes
her arm. Her eyes open wide...
"...the Hell?..." Who would she be waking up next to???
...Her eyes finally adjust to the brightness of the morning, and she
looks over to the figure stirring next to her, turning quizzical eyes to her
own. "Milady?..." She just blinks in return...something familiar about him, but
it's not *right*,...is it? Where is she? The man tilts his head to the side,
dark hair falling across one eye, and looks troubled, "...you are tensed...?
There is no threat..."
She looks about the room, feeling strangely out of place...but it *is*
her room...the one she took when her half-brother opened the shop, after their
father's death...she looks at the troubled gentleman beside her...not her
half-brother,...Andrew...yes, Andrew...
He asks quietly, "What did you see?"
She sighs, slowly trying to let the tension go...not particularly well,
she knows, but she's never recovered well when she's Dreamed...images flash
through her mind in a jumble as they pass through with the tension..."...a
place...by the sea, but not near here,...up on the Hill, only with more
trees,...a large gathering, like the fair, but the oddest clothes, all colors
and dark,...everything is spinning, and a ship floats burning..." her eyes are
unfocused, her words tumble hushed and formless from her, "...people...many
many people...I'm dancing in a circle..." her brows furrow, "I'm the only one
dancing in the circle...but that's not possible?...there are towers...but..."
she grimaces and shakes her head..."I canna remember any more, Andrew..."
"Hush,..shh..." he hugs her quietly, hushing her like a child, until
she finally calms,...his voice is thick when he speaks again, "Laird Samuel is
mustering at noon. I must be there with the others so we can set sail..."
She pulls herself away, eyes haunted, "How long will you be away this
time?"
With a deep breath, the man stretches, and slowly starts to gather up
some of the clothing and sundries scattered about the room, into a grey
satchel..."Only a fortnight, if the weather is good...a month if the winds are
bad...Samuel wants us to help in a land dispute south o' here...he's pulling in
a few more lads this time, but that won't help if we can't land 'em..." He
pulls on a hideously garish plaid tunic over russet trous...The young lady
smirks at this...
"Makin' the noble Laird pay for his sins,...?" she chuckles.
The young man winks, protesting in a high voice, "Me...? Now what would
make you think an honest, obedient soldier like little old *me* would have
*any* intention to disturb my noble captain...?"
Before the words are fully out of his mouth, the young lady leaps,
cat-like, upon him, knocking him to the floor in mock-struggle. She looks down
upon his grinning face, her long reddish-brown hair tumbled about her...a sly
look crosses behind her eyes, causing Andrew to raise an eyebrow,..."...Art
thou honest, m'lord...?" she asks formally, voice hushed to a most definitely
informal tone...
He smiles, and draws a hand along the line of her cheek..."...art thou
fair...?" he replies softly...
-----==*==-----
...as she watches him walk off toward the docks farther into the city,
she hears a voice behind her, "CAITLIN!!!!!!! Where are ye off to??!! We 'ave
to set up for the morning market!!!" She scrambles back to the shop, to find
her half-brother waiting impatiently...before she says a word, he interrupts,
"Now don't ye be giving me stories or wind,...I care not if ye're the FireFlyte
or Loki himself, ye've work to do, so get inside!!!"
With an impertinent swish of her skirts, she bounces past him, tossing
a careless remark over her shoulder, "...and why are *you* up so late this fine
morning, Jareth ap Bryn? Sarah snoring again??" The young man's eyes widen,
and his face grows red, as he glares at the retreating form, the follows
inside...
User: Fireflyte... ...aka Caitlin niCailltigern oConair...
Date: 7-Jun 02:22 PM 770998996
III.8
VVC: Stroll around the grounds until you feel at home...
===============================================================================
The day is still hazy and cool, all in all a pleasant kind of way, at
least when one is only a hundred or so feet from the water, as the VVC is.
The faint smell of the water hangs in the air outside, mixing with the odors
of hay and horses from the stable at the back of the tavern. But inside, the
smells of hearty food and fresh-brewed beer are dominant. TRAVELER walks
around the front room, straightening chairs and tables, as serving-lad PALLAS
comes in and starts sweeping the earthen floor.
"Good morrow, Pallas," the tavern-keeper says cheerfully. "I'm amazed to
see you up and working so early."
"Early? Heh. 'Tis nigh on ten of the clock; I heard the bells myself."
"Zounds, I must have had a lot of sack to stay so long in the sack," Trav
says, wincing at his own pun. He heads through the door at the northwest
corner of the front room, into a passage that runs toward the back of the
building. Halfway back, on the north side, is a door, which he goes through
into the chamber called the private or "Red" room. This room is about the same
size as the front room, but is a bit more handsomely decorated, with red
curtains and even a small stage at the north end for pantomimes or musical
performances. It is available for private parties, and is generally used by
any traveler of rank who might stop for refreshment at the VVC.
There is a bar at the south end of this room, just as at the west end of
the front room (known as "the White Room"). Serving wench ECSTASY normally
plies her trade behind both counters, with some assistance. Right now, though,
the Red Room is quiet and still. "'Twould be nice to find someone to perform
here for the guests...not just the traveling minstrels and players who pass
through, but someone who'd be here every night." He files this thought away
for further consideration, then exits again through the door he came in by.
Turning right, he heads down the short passage to a door at its western
end. This brings him into the stables, where several horses are kept. He
walks
over to the grey-and-white mare that is his own. "Good morrow, Raindance.
I've brought thee an apple, milady." He feeds her the fruit and strokes her
head; she whinnies happily. "Perhaps we'll ride into town later, eh? Mistress
DARICELLe mentioned something about a dinner recently, though she hasn't said
more since."
Traveler proceeds through the door at the southeast corner of the
stables, into another short passage; this too runs between the White Room and
the stables. But midway along its southern side is a door into the room
usually called "the Blue Room." This door require a key, which Trav wears
on a leather thong around his neck; he pulls out the key and unlocks the door.
A few blue curtains give this chamber its name; several shelves of books, maps,
and other curios decorate its walls. Most of the folk who stop in at the VVC
wonder how and why its keeper has accumulated so many rare, expensive tomes,
but if they ask, he only shakes his head and smiles. It is known, however,
that he often visits the nearby monastery and speaks with some of the learned
brothers about all manner of things; some of the volumes on the shelves
apparently come from there. Others may come from the Lady LYDIA, whose land
the VVC occupies, and whose manor house Traveler has also been known to visit.
Presently he leaves, locks the door, and crosses the passage into the
Kitchen. Little activity is going on there now; the one or two guests who spent
the night in the rooms over the Blue and Red Rooms have risen early, eaten
breakfast, and left long ago. In a corner, though, one figure is busy: John
Waller the herbalist. This nook is where he keep his cabinet of powders, teas,
and various other extractions. Traveler sees him crushing something up with
his mortar and pestle. "I thought you were going out in the fields this
morning to do some gathering, John," says Trav.
"Aye, but Caitlin hasn't shown up yet. The lass said she knew of some
choice mint blossoms up in the hills across the road. I wonder what keeps
her."
"Ah, who can catch a Fireflyte, save with a glass jar?" Traveler chuckles.
"Oh, has the baker's servant shown up yet? Diq promised me a delivery of bread
today." John shakes his head, and Trav wanders out through the eastern
doorway, back into the front room. There he notices something odd: another
card, like the one he found earlier in the meadow, but this one is blown up
against one of the small windows set in the northern wall.
He goes outside and retrieves it. It is labeled "The Hierophant," and
shows a man in bishop's robes and mitre, sitting on a throne before which two
tonsured monks or priests bow. A pair of keys are crossed beneath the throne,
and the distinctly Popelike man sitting on it holds an odd staff in one hand.
"How odd. I do seem to recall a fortune-teller at the fair...she must
have left some of her cards scattered about. But then, what has fortune blown
my way now?"
User: Traveler
Date: 8-Jun 01:00 PM 771080448
III.9
well....may i kindly ask what trade I ply behind the bar's counters?
*saucy grin*
User: ECSTASY
Date: 8-Jun 01:09 PM 771080957
III.10
A N N O U N C E M E N T
-----------------------
Thanks to a reshuffling of settings and characters, the Virtuous Vagabond
& Comrades is in need of a few good men and women. Here are some positions
that need to be filled:
Stablehand
Cook
Chambermaid
Kitchen maid
Of course, various other occupations might be held by people in the
surrounding region, who could be regulars at the VVC. Some possibilities:
Brewer
Miller
Blacksmith
Farmer
User: Traveler says, "X, my tavern is a haven of virtue! No funny business..."
Date: 8-Jun 01:50 PM 771083513
III.11
MAP 4: The "Virtuous Vagabond & Comrades" Tavern, and Surroundings
===========================================================================
| Here's the official map of the Medieval VVC. Compare with Map #3 |
| (same area and scale) for differences. |
===========================================================================
| LEGEND: @ @@ @@ Trees * * * * Elevation Change/Shoreline |
| v Stairs : or .. Door/Open Boundary |
| | or -- Wall |
===========================================================================
* * * * * The * * * * *
@ @ @ @ * * * * * * * Bay * * * F F S
@@ @ @ @ @@ @ @ @ @ * * * * * * * * C L I
@ @ @ @ @ @ * * * * * @ @ @
@ W * * * * @ @ @
| @ @ @
S<--+-->N _......_ @ @
| @ | | @ T H E
@ E @ @ | The | @ @
@ @ @ : Stables: @ @ M E A D O W
,---------|.--..--.|---------,
| Blue || Kit- v| Red |
Woods & | Room :: chen :: Room |
Monastery |_________||__..__||_________|
<---- @ @ | | @ @ _ _
@ @ | White | @ Stone / \
@ | Room | @ Circle | |
|___..___| ---> \ _ _ /
: :
To City <----R O A D----> To Elsewhere
ALBATROSS' LYDIA's * * * * * * * *
Farm <> Manor @ * * *
<--- The Well ---> @ * * * * * *
@ * * * *
* @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ * *
* @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ * *
* * @ * * * * * * * * * * @ * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * H I L L S
* * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * *
* * *
The tavern itself has been pretty well described in the story already,
but a few background details might be useful. It is located northeast of
Hexsum, the city which is the capital of a small realm of the same name. The
high road that runs by the VVC, if followed far to the north, leads to other
realms, not necessarily on the best of terms with Hexsum. The ocean lies to
the west, warmer lands to the south, and thinly populated wasteland to the
east.
One can trek southeast crossland (or sail south, then east) and eventually
reach the fierce and exotic Moorish kingdoms, where the Crusaders have been
waging their war to reclaim the Holy Lands for many years now. (Rumor has it
that many are soon to return home. Among them, perhaps, will be the Duke of
Hexsum himself, a noble and gallant man who led his realm's army into battle.
Everyone prays for his safe return--or almost everyone...)
It should be noted that just as this story is not set in a real place
(think of it as a mixture of mainly French and British elements), it is also
not set in a particular year. The general period is late Middle Ages, but
that could be pushed as far as, say, 1450. Historical accuracy is commendable,
but leeway is permitted. :) We do, however, have to rule out certain
things--for example, coffee, a beverage from the New World. This goes for
other vegetable products too (tobacco, tomatoes, potatoes, chocolate), and
various inventions of later centuries. Just remember to consult with me about
major new ideas...
User: Traveler
Date: 8-Jun 04:54 PM 771094488
III.12
**grits teeth**
User: Dark Lady believes in historical accuracy.
Date: 8-Jun 05:12 PM 771095587
III.13
historical accuracy about a story about people who travel back in time
from a place which was just visited by aliens and the man in black...
uh yeah...
User: GHOST
Date: 8-Jun 05:28 PM 771096534
III.14
Ghost: exactly.
DL: I'm glad you know as much as you do, and look forward to reading the
richness of detail that will certainly grace your posts. But it comes down to
this: we all haven't studied the Middle Ages as much as you have. If we get
bogged down in endless debates about details, we won't have fun. I _do_
want to strive to keep things as accurate as possible...but it remains to be
seen what that will mean in practice.
:)
Everyone: consider Darice one of our premier Medieval consultants. If you
have doubts about a detail, feel free to run it past her.
User: Traveler
Date: 8-Jun 08:14 PM 771106498
III.15
"I'm hungry, tired and your horse keeps trying to step on me.. Let's
break for the day.." - grumbled Ghost
"What?!! Why we haven't slain any dragons, rescued any maidens, NOR have
we banished a single demon to the dark hell they are spawned, back in
my day by the time the sub was this high, we'd have already destroyed
an army or at least busied ourselves creatures of the night until we swam
in blood..." - replied a cranky Sir Belgarath
*snicker* - evil horse creature who keeps insisting on trying to impart great
pain on MY being
"Uh.. if they were creatures of the night..." - questioned Ghost
"Now don't you start, you impetuous youngster. If you'd ride a horse like
a proper knight you wouldn't be tired. And another thing, how do you expect
to survive in battle when you won't wear your armor and insist on MY fine
steed..." - Sir Belgarath
"Vicious nag, demon steed like all the other four legged foul smelling..."
-Ghost
"Ahem..." *wack* (Sir Belgarath lowers his lance to smite Ghost on his head)
"As I was saying.. this fine steed has to carry it all over the country side...
" - Sir Belgarath
"All part of my plan.. Some day you'll mistake the metal bearing monstronsity
for a dragon and relieve it of my misery... " - Ghost
User: GHOST
Date: 8-Jun 10:51 PM 771115902
III.16
VVC: Lead us not into temptation...
===============================================================================
While looking at the strange card, TRAVELER hears hoofbeats outside.
He decides to stroll out and see who is approaching. From the south comes
a rider on a black horse, wearing a flamboyant red cape. As the rider
nears and slows, Trav gets the fleeting feeling that he's met this person
before...but then it passes.
The rider dismounts; now Traveler can see that he is obviously a highly-
placed member of the clergy. "Ah, good day, reverend father. We weren't
expecting someone of your rank..."
"NO ONE expects me!!" the man snaps. "That is one of my chief weapons:
surprise! And fear! Or rather, my two chief weapons are surprise and fear...
and ruthless efficiency. My THREE weapons--aw, bugger it. Can someone take
my horse? And how about a mug of ale, I'm parched."
"Uh...yes, your Reverence...please, go right in, I'll find the stablehand
to take care of your mount. I think ECSTASY is somewhere about...she can
give you a glass of our fine ale..."
A few minutes later, the cardinal (for that is what he is) is sitting on
one of the carved wooden chairs in the Red Room, feet up on a table, a mug in
hand. Traveler comes in the door. "So, holy father, what brings you to our
humble establishment?," he asks with the deference due to such a high-ranking
personage.
"I am here...*gulp*...at the behest of the Archbishop himself. You are...
who again?"
"Traveler, sir, I am proprietor of this--"
"Well, Traveler, I am Cardinal XIMINEZ. Perhaps you've heard of me."
Trav nods. "The Archbishop, in his wisdom, has seen fit to do some checking up
on the moral fiber of his flock, which, as you know, includes Hexsum City and
this whole realm. I am here...*gulp*...could I get some more of this? It's
delicious. Thanks. I am here to investigate certain...rumors...rumors that
this establishment may be leading innocent souls astray, into error, sin and
damnation!!" He pounds his mug down on the table. "Oh, what did you say the
name of that lovely wench was? I'd like to get to know her a little better..."
"Uh, that was Ecstasy, holy father. A spirited lass. But, if I may
humbly inquire, where did the Archbishop hear such inquitous rumors? I assure
you, this is an honest and upright inn, a place for good folk to come and
enjoy the fellowship of their friends and neighbors. These rumors wouldn't
happen to come from the Archbishop's good friend Lord VENKMAN, would they?"
"It is not your place to ask such things!" Ximinez says. "Now, you said
fellowship? Sounds like a party. When does that usually get underway? I
believe I'll stick around and, uh, observe...just to make sure nothing sinful
takes place, you understand..."
User: Traveler
Date: 8-Jun 11:09 PM 771117006
III.17
"Hmph.. the youth these days have no respect... at least you still carry
a sword..." - Sir Belgarath
"Makes a good walking stick I guess..." snicked Ghost
Sir Belgarath turns red with rage. "That is no walking stick, that is
a warrior's weapon!! How dare you..."
"Say.. I do believe I see a demon ahead..." - Ghost
"What?!! Where!" - exclaimed Sir Belgarath as he sat up so quickly in the
saddle that he nearly overturned.
"That large structure ahead. " - Ghost
"Hmmm... looks like a.. tavern.." - Sir Belgarath.
"No. It's just a.. brilliant disguise! Believe me, I know a demon when I see
one... haven't I been able to see through all their disguises this last
year.." - Ghost
"Well.. for the most part.. there was that one woman's husband.. "
- Sir Belgarath.
Ghost actually stumbles a bit then catches himself...
"Oh.. no.. really.. a demon had taken him over and made him think terrible
lies about his wife and.. uh innocent bystanders such as me... really,
the only thing to do was to banish it by tossing the noble pansy.. err..
poor man into the river..." - Ghost
"Besides.. I do believe the demon is about to swallow that man!! Quick
you must save him!!!" - Ghost (and then.. lunch... he thinks to himself)
"Beware foul spawn of Hell! Feel my wrath!!", screamed Sir Belgarath as he
charged the Inn.
User: GHOST
Date: 8-Jun 11:10 PM 771117043
III.18
*roflaj*
Things to purchase:
-------------------
White low-necked peasant blouse
Long saucy skirt
black leather girdle with pearl-handled dagger sticking out of the top
hmmm....
Hey, Max? Can i bring my combat boots with me? I promise that they will slip
nice and easy through those containment seals in the time-space-board seals...
User: ECSTASY
Date: 9-Jun 00:02 AM 771120164
III.19
VVC: It's in the cards...
===============================================================================
TRAVELER has stepped out of the Red Room for a moment, frazzled from a
couple hours of waiting on the fickle Cardinal. He's made sure his staff
tries to meet XIMINEZ's demands, hoping to appease him and thus ward off
ecclesiastical interference with the VVC. But after many "complimentary" meat
pies and mugs of ale, the Cardinal doesn't seem any more appeased that when
he arrived.
"I've got to think of a way to get him out of here," he says to himself,
strolling into the Stables, where PERIGRINE the stablehand is wiping down
the horses with fresh towels. "Keep up the good work, there, boy," Trav
says. "But do you have to use so many clean towels? We need those for other
things..."
"I'll worry about the towels around here!" Peri says, gathering a bunch
of them into his arms. Traveler merely shakes his head, and walks out the back
door...
...where he finds another Tarot card lying in the grass. He picks it up,
curious. Marked with the Roman numeral VII, it shows a man who appears to be
stealing an armful of swords from an encampment of tents. But Traveler has
little time to study his new acquisition, as he is distracted by the BOOM of a
noisy collision. The entire VVC seems to shudder and creak under some sudden
impact. He runs around to the front, to see what's happened...
User: Traveler
Date: 9-Jun 00:08 AM 771120513
III.20
Sir Belgarath collides with the demon-Inn with a mighty crash!
As Ghost walks up he sees an unconscious pile of armor lying under
a lance which is now embedded into the front of the Inn. Traveler
bursts thru the door, spins around and...
"What's that lance doing there?" - Traveler
"I'll tell you later..." Ghost leads Traveler back inside. "Now, all we
need is a clean room with... Reasonable Rates..." he glances back towards
the doorway where Sir Belgarath.. coming too... complains that the demon
has blinded him.. "make that two rooms"
"No, really... there's a lance stuck in my Inn.." - Traveler
"Yes, yes.. nothing to worry about.. my uncle is a bit... eccentric but
nothing to worry about.. TAKE THE BLOODY HELMET OFF UNCLE!! THE DEMON
IS DEAD AND HAS BEEN TURNED INTO THIS FINE INN, WE'LL STAY THE NIGHT
TO MAKE SURE!" Ghost yells back... much to the surprise to the other
patrons..
"There is a lance... hey! Don't do that, bad for business you know.."
-Traveler
"Yes yes... sorry about that... by the way, we shall be staying for a while..
hmmm...." -Ghost
Sir Belgarath lumbers up carrying armor, luggage etc..
"Ah, good, got rid of the horse did we? I'm afraid we're just going to have
stay here a while to make sure the demon doesn't awaken again..." - Ghost
"There's a lance..." - Traveler..
"Not to worry.. we'll take care of it a bit later.. for now just show us
to our rooms.." - Ghost takes Traveler by the arm and coaxes him along...
As they pass by one patron... "Did you see it? A lance.. No, really..."
User: GHOST
Date: 9-Jun 07:37 AM 771147479
III.21
Sir Belgarath Quixote.... I like it...
Ecstasy the serving Wench.... I like it...
Cardinal Ximinez of the Divine Inebriation... Yeah... I like it
Dark Lady, the Historically Accurate.... Too touchy, but I like it....
Perigrine, Master of Horses, Lord of Towels... and I get called 'boy'.
Horse: 'Nosir, I don't like it.'
User: Perigrine thinks all vax women should read about the sexy stablemaster.
Date: 9-Jun 11:12 AM 771160374
III.22
An hour before sunset a man traveling afoot enters the town of Hexsum.
A local woman nears him on the path and, noting his extremely pale complexion
and feminine turn-of-lip, thinks, _he might be a girl in
disguise--perhaps a nobleman's daughter hoping to join the Crusades. Yet he
struts like a man, bows like a man...the tiniest man I've beheld to this day,
it is true, but a man nonetheless_. She lowers her eyes and walks on.
The man turns his steps toward the Virtuous Vagabond & Comrades Tavern,
which is also said to be the best inn in Hexsum, and walks through the front
room to the bar on the west side.
TRAVELER hears the door open and a newcomer enter and turns briefly
from his conversation with the lovely ECSTASY. "What will you have,
sir?" he asks.
"Something to eat if you please, and lodging. But only if the rates
are reasonable."
"Nothing easier," Traveler says. "Our rooms are the best and our
prices the most moderate in all of Hexsum."
"I shall be staying in Hexsum for some time, I should think. And all
that I require, sir, is a bed, an adequte wash-basin, a well-maintained
outhouse, and a nice, dark ale on hand in the unlikely event that I should ever
retire early enough to have a drink. I assure you I require nothing more.
Most importantly, my good man...the matter, I say, of utmost and critical
importance, is that the room be let at a reasonable rate."
"I can give you a good rate here at the VVC, sir."
"You are a most gracious host."
"The name's Traveler, sir. I am the Proprietor and Owner of this
Tavern."
"Traveler, then? Graham. Graham of Wakefield. Pleased to know you,
sir."
Traveler departs to check on a sick horse. Due to a sudden and
inexplicable shortage of kitchen help, Ecstasy finds herself serving Graham a
few mugs of ale, which is rather strong, and a lot of good bread and butter.
After retiring to the modest and reasonable room shortly after dinner,
Graham falls asleep thinking, _perhaps this will be the place after all. This
eiree twitching in my jaw makes me think my search will end here, in Hexsum._
User: Graham under the influence--of _Twin Peaks_, that is
Date: 9-Jun 02:17 PM 771171495
III.23
Here's what I did with the last couple hours:
..----.. .
V I R T U A L . . |@| @@ |@| . ****
. |_|____|_| *** +
V A X . . + \ \ / / ****
. . || || . *** .
C A F E + __..............._:| || + **** .
___:'.=================.`: ||
::::::::::::::::::::::|| | |--|--|--|--|--|--| | ||::::::::::::::::::@@:::@@@
.. .. .. .'-----====-''-.'-| | | | | | |-`.``-----------`. @ @ @@ @
. . . .. |______________|__|--'--'--'--'--'--|__|______________| @ @@ @ @ @@
.. .. | | | \/ \/ | | | | | ||
. .. | _| | CAFE | |_ .^. .^. |====@===@\ @
. . /| O O O |o| | ..... | |o| :.: :.: |\ @ @ @ @\\ @
. /' |____________|_| | |x|x| | |_|____________| `@ @=@ @=@
. .|`------------_-.__`--ooooo__|x|x|__ooooo--'__.--------------@ @@ @ @
| _.- .- |_OOOOOOO_______OOOOOOO_| \ @ - @ - @ \ @ @ @ @
. | __.- _.- |_______| |_______| \ - @ - @ - \@ @ @ @ @
. ~~~~~/ _.- | | ------------ || || |
__________/..-- / \ || || |
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ==
_______________________________________________________________________________
:)
Typing
@disk$circa:[cirop55]vlog.com
will log you out and leave this picture behind.
User: Traveler explores Zen and the Art of Ascii
Date: 9-Jun 09:09 PM 771196184
III.24
VVC: Questions in a room of blue
===============================================================================
Having slipped away from the new arrival, TRAVELER goes to the Blue Room
rather than the stables. There he examines another Tarot card, one that he
found in the road just before GRAHAM's arrival. "Page of Swords," he reads.
The picture shows a young man or woman--the gender is ambiguous--brandishing
a sword and looking alert. "What can it mean?" He places the card on a
shelf with the other three he's found.
The door opens again, and John Waller enters, wearing the faded old
greyish
cloak that has earned him the nickname "SYLVAR". Though Trav had left the door
unlocked, John could have entered regardless; he is the only other person with
a key, serving as the unofficial caretaker of Traveler's odd collection.
"I've found another of those cards, John," Trav remarks.
John goes over to the fireplace in the west wall, and pokes the glowing
embers. "You'll be keeping those in here, eh?" he says.
"Well, yes. I know some consider such things to be...a bit devilish...
but you're a man who knows how to use the reason that God gave you. You
don't fear the cards, do you?"
"The cards?" John shuffles over, thoughtfully. "No, 'tis not the cards
I fear. 'Tis what folk may think of 'em. You know, this place already has
a reputation--you have a reputation--of being...a bit unwholesome."
"John!" Trav says with a disapproving look.
"Now, Traveler, you know I don't think it! But what with your room here,
your books and things, my herb collecting..."
"What can be wrong about learning the virtues of plants? Were they not
put there for our use?!"
"I know, and I feel the same...but when you air such opinions in public,
heads are turned. I thank thee for taking me in and letting me be a part of
this place. But it won't do to attract attention. That Cardinal, for
instance."
Trav sighs, and sits down in a chair by the fire. "Yes...this place has
always been unusual. Those standing stones out there, you know people say
they're bewitched. The Archbishop, I believe, would like to build a church
here, to make the place holy...and of course, acquire the land to add to his
holdings."
"I don't think the place is unholy...you had the Abbot come and bless it
when you opened the tavern," Jon says. "But folk will talk. You're no
ordinary innkeeper...meeting with the Lady LYDIA and the monks, reading books
"And nobody knows where I come from, eh?" Trav smiles faintly. "All I
can say is...I've been a vagabond, but a virtuous one, and all I could wish for
is a place like this to settle down in. The Lady was gracious enough to
help...
and I've found comrades like you."
"I only hope Heaven wills that we may stay so settled," John says.
"Indeed. Well, I'll be retiring soon. Make sure you lock up." Traveler
leaves, and John takes down a book to pore over by the fireside.
User: Traveler
Date: 10-Jun 09:39 AM 771241189
III.25
VVC: These boots were made for walking!
===============================================================================
The next morning, GRAHAM rises quite early, and has left before TRAVELER
has even come downstairs from his own room. Occupied with various chores,
the proprietor of the VVC doesn't have a chance to ask his serving maid about
Graham until the midday meal. "I was hoping to speak to our mysterious guest,"
he says to AQUA22 as she brings him bread, cheese and a mug of nut-brown ale
in the White Room. "Seemed a bit more interesting than the usual wayfarers
who stop in."
"Well, I'm sure you'll get the chance to talk to him about all your
strange subjects," Aqua says with a faint smile, "and even show him your
collection of knick-knacks."
"They are NOT knick-knacks!" Trav says indignantly. "The Blue Room holds
a variety of carefully acquired and wondrous things. For instance, just lately
I've been finding these cards of fortune in the neighborhood. I picked these
ones up outside not ten minutes ago...see?"
He proffers two cards. One shows a man leaning on a hoe, next to a vine
bearing seven round objects, like large coins or discs bearing five-pointed
stars on them. The other shows a man on a bench, using a hammer and chisel to
work on a similar disc; a total of eight discs are shown on this card. "Seven
and Eight of Pentacles, I believe," says Traveler. "I know little about the
purported meanings of these cards, but if I interpret them correctly, the
general import is--"
He is interrupted by the arrival of two of the tavern's regulars:
ALBATROSS, a farmer whose nearby plot is also on the Lady LYDIA's land, and
TIPMO, a blacksmith who actually lives and works just on the other side of
the boundary between Lydia's estate and the Lord VENKMAN's.
"Ah, those may be nice enough boots you're wearing there, Tipmo," says
Albatross, doffing his straw hat, "but mine are far superior. See? They're
woven entirely from hemp! Lightweight, amazingly durable, perfect for a day of
hard work in the field."
"Hemp? Bah! Those `boots' wouldn't last you two minutes on the
battlefield! I can make you a pair of boots fit for a knight! In fact, I made
a pair for one of the Crusaders that was riveted all over with iron. No sword
could put a dent in 'em!"
"Yes, I heard about those boots. I believe the fellow who wore them fell
off his horse from the weight? Heheheh..."
"Now, boys, stop bickering," says ECSTASY, coming out from behind the
bar with two brim-full mugs of beer. "You want to see boots? THESE are
boots." She lifts her long skirt and lifts one leg up, placing her foot on a
chair, and displaying the most unusual footwear they have ever glimpsed. Made
of some black material--perhaps leather--they run up to the knee, and have
laces that run through at least twenty eyelets.
"You've got me beat there, Ecstasy," Albatross concedes.
"Never seen anything like that!" says Tipmo. "And you model them so
well..." The blacksmith reaches out towards her leg, and she slaps his hand
away. "Hey! I was just admiring the...uh...detail work."
"Well, I don't mind you admiring my detail work," the bar wench replies
coyly. "I'd just prefer you do it when I'm not working...then I can show it
to you in a better light." She flashes a grin, then darts off to the kitchen.
User: Traveler
Date: 12-Jun 11:32 PM 771463925
III.26
VVC: The flavor says we're bitter...
===============================================================================
As the booted bar wench retreats, the farmer shakes his head and smiles,
but the blacksmith scowls. "She talks like a tart now, but she doesn't mean
it," he grumbles.
"Oh, lighten up," says ALBATROSS. "You know that's just the way she is--
she's a flirt. Don't act so bitter."
"What's wrong with being bitter? My good lord says it's a virtue, and
he's right," Tipmo says. "It's all you folk on LYDIA's land who have the
problems. That woman takes in every weirdo and stray who--"
"She's a LADY, and you'll address her as such, especially when on her
land!" Albatross replies angrily. "And being bitter is NOT a virtue, even if
Venkie says so."
"The Lord VENKMAN, if you please!!" Tipmo retorts. "I won't have my
master insulted by some dirt farmer!"
"Who are you calling a dirt farmer!? I'll show you--"
"BREAK IT UP!" shouts Traveler, walking between them. "You two come in
here for lunch almost every day, and you always argue! Haven't you gotten
tired of it yet?"
"A good argument is about the only interesting thing that ever happens
in this silly tavern of yours," says the blacksmith with a snort.
"I swear, if CADO were around, I'd have him throw you out bodily," Trav
says.
"Well, he's not around. And if you want me as a customer, you'll let me
talk with whom I please in peace."
"How can I, when you're not giving anyone ELSE any peace?" Traveler says,
throwing up his hands. "Look, I don't mind you debating whatever you like,
as long you don't come to blows. You broke two of my chairs last month over
the head of Jack Dullblade. Can you conduct yourself more calmly?"
Tipmo mumbles something like a "yes," and Trav walks off with a sigh.
"So, Albatross," Tipmo says after a moment, grinning evilly. "Is it true what
they say about farmers and their sheep on those lonely winter nights?"
User: Traveler
Date: 12-Jun 11:33 PM 771463989
III.27
While all the excitement of Albatross and Tipmo's daily pilgrimage to the
debating floor of the VVC is underway, Perigrine is tending to the mundane
duties of cleaning out the stables and caring for the horses. He whistles a
merry tune while tending the horses when he notices that some of his equipment
is missing. Traveller's own leather riding crop with the inlaid bone and
silver handle and the gold-embossed bridle are not at their special places at
the carefully tended guardian case. Suspecting the worst, Perigrine checks the
loft of the stables to find that the cafe proprietor's saddle has been taken as
well. "Hmmm... Trav's going to be miffed if his equipment has been stolen."
Perigrine thinks, "I'd better see to this quietly before he decides to go for a
ride."
Perigrine cleans himself off before walking up to the cafe. With a quick
nod of greeting toward Albatross and Tipmo's table he walks across to the bar
and grins expectantly at Ecstasy.
"Hello, Peri. Isn't it a bit early for your break?"
"I think you know why I'm here." he says. "You were 'entertaining' last
night, weren't you?"
"My private life is none of your business." she smirks, "but I suppose
you're after Traveller's riding gear."
"Yes, think how it would look if I took all of your wines and then Trav
asked for a drink. Would look bad on your resume', wouldn't it?"
"I just don't think that it's fair... " she sighs, "Traveller never shares
his best toys."
"Maybe not, but could you at least inform me when you put my job in
danger? Where did you put the riding gear this time?"
"It's over in my room, I'll bring it out to you before dinner, okay?" She
seems a bit annoyed by all this, as if she had other plans for the riding
equiptment.
"Okay... see you at dinner, then." And Perigrine returns to his duties in
the stables, pausing only for a moment to think about how to approach Traveller
for a raise...
User: Perigrine is thinking of posting a new serial adventure story.
Date: 13-Jun 02:39 AM 771475169
III.28
ECSTASY asks one of her leather-jerkin clad minions to watch the bar while she
takes care of business.
The midnight air smells sweet and fruitful.
She approaches the stables and looks around furitively. "Hopefully no one will
notice that I will be gone for a while engaging in ... sporting activites..."
She enters the stables and spots TRAVELER's riding crop hanging on the wall.
"I'll return this before he even notices it is gone..."
She takes the riding crop and saddles her horse, Equus, and rides into the
night.
**NOTE: This is obviously a flashback to the night before. :) --Op**
User: ecstasy
Date: 15-Jun 01:01 AM 771642120
III.29
He awakes, as usual, into a distorted whitewash. Batteries low, the audio-nerve
player trickles slow-motion guitars and bass into his head. Eyes unfocused, he
can blearily see the blinking red "charge" light on box beside his dirty futon.
*a machine-gun flash of impressions, half-memories*
He shakes his head slowly, feeling the pressure of a headache swelling into
place. Falling asleep with the player on was a Don't that he ignored too often,
and now paid the consequences for. He tries to tap the off button on the tiny
player with one shaking finger, and only manages to knock the device over. The
wrenchingly distorted music continues to plod along, the stereophonic elements
flickering on and off as the recharables give out.
*something wrenches, tearing at the roots*
He groans and grabs at the player, shutting it off only after scrambling the
nerve-synch settings. His ears have a false "ringing" sensation and he works
his jaw, trying to trick his body into thinking that a non-existant pressure
imbalance has been fixed.
He drops the player.
The headache clamps down with undeniable pressure and he curls up into a fetal
position, swearing/crying in pain.
*the mind begins to fall apart*
Situated around the base of his skull, the youngish man has a complex
collection of high-tech hardware, devices carefully "grown" into place with the
assistance of his body's natural cellular activity and microscopic machines
("nanos" or "nanobots" as they are commonly known). Surgical implantation of a
base structure started each device off.
His name is long forgotten, as random chunks of memories have been destroyed
by accidental side-effects of some of the equipment's growth. New equipment was
added to suppliment this loss, and re-creations of as many memories as possible
were put in. His name was intentionally left out by those that did the
modifications. He volunteered for the experimental new work, because it was
free 'ware and he badly needed the medical clean-up the group offered to him.
Now, for some reason, his mind is tearing itself apart. His sense of self-
awareness has faltered, his memories replaying themselves sporadically. There
are flickering envisionments of burning ships, dancing (thrashing) people,
intense and searing light patterns...
And then the more advanced hardware kicks in.
It shuts his consciousness off like a faucet. His memories are sorted and
indexed, and the index compared to a "backup" that was made while falling
asleep (shortly before falling into the REM cycle). Many errors are found and
the hardware responsible for memory management sends a message to another piece
of itself.
An alternate personality mask is discovered. It is extracted from the memory
system and re-integrated as contigously as possible.
A bio-monitor reports that the body is having problems breathing, and is given
permission to take over vital functions.
The alternate personality is scanned for obvious errors and viruses. It is
tagged as primary, even though the current (unconscious) personality is
supposed to be the primary.
The serial numbers match, so the personality manager system disposes of the
older (unconsious) personality and installs the new ones, averaging certain
parts that were missing or damaged.
The bio-monitor reports that auditory nerves are severely frayed and need
significant time with nano therapy to be properly regenerated.
Back-ups of vital parts of the mind are made, and an integrity check of the
hardware is performed. The sub-system for quadratic equation calculation
in the math co-processor has an error and is deleted to preserve system
integrity.
The new primary personality is re-activated.
*the timeless falling sensation sharpens*
He jerked awake, body shaken with an involuntary TWITCH of savage strength.
He gasps in air, adrenaline flooding his system. For several moments he can't
understand anything around him.
Then he realizes he is just in an old, dirty room strewn with seemingly random
electronic junk and boxes.
He's on a dirty blue futon on the floor and his neck hurts because there is no
pillow.
Then he realizes that out of the corner of one eye, there's a time and date
display floating in mid-air.
Which he immediately realizes is actually *in* his eye.
It says that it's 10:14 AM on the 17th of May, and the year is 2076.
"Ohhhh FUCK!" DRAKEHART groans to himself, slumping. "FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK..."
User: Psychosis Paradigm (Not everyone went in the same direction)
Date: 15-Jun 05:48 AM 771659360
III.30
VVC: Horse sense
===============================================================================
"Horses? But we just had the fair here in the meadow...there were plenty
of horses for sale there, and you bought a couple," TRAVELER says to his
stablemaster PERIGRINE the next morning.
"Yes, but I've sold them already. Now I have the cash to get a few more."
"Hmmm...I'm glad this little sideline is working out well," the innkeeper
says. "Just make sure you don't live _down_ to the reputation that many horse-
traders have. That would be the last thing the VVC would need--accusations
that it was harboring a dishonest horse-trader." Seeing Perigrine's miffed
look, Trav soothes him. "I don't mean to impugn your character! I know you
have an eye for good steeds. Just a warning...to avoid even the appearance of
impropriety. And don't overextend your resources..."
"Understood," Peri replies. "As I said, I have the cash from the earlier
sales. And I have a guaranteed customer. Our mysterious guest GRAHAM...I ran
into him last night on the stairs--"
"He must have come in awfully late...he wasn't at dinner," Trav says.
"Well, he said he was looking for a horse, so I agreed to buy him one.
Anyway, I'll be riding out past ALBATROSS' farm on the way to town...he wants
to look at some livestock. X? AQUA?" he shouts towards the kitchen. "I'm
leaving in a few minutes, if you want to go."
ECSTASY sticks her head around the corner of a doorway. "Oh, Perigrine,
could I speak to you for a moment?" He goes over, and she pulls him into an
alcove. "You have no business rooting around in my room without my
permission!" she whispers angrily.
"What are you talking about?" he says sotto voce. "And where's Trav's
riding crop? You never returned it to the stable last night!"
"You know what I'm talking about, and you know where the riding crop is.
You came into my room and took it!"
"Did not! Are you trying to tell me you lost it!? Do you know what that
thing's worth?? Not just monetarily...it's got sentimental value...the Lady
LYDIA herself gave it to him!"
"Well, all I know is, I went upstairs after dinner last night and it had
been taken," the bar wench says.
Perigrine sighs with annoyance. "It had better turn up soon. I think
he's planning to ride over to Mistress DARICELLe's before long...some kind of
dinner...and I'm sure he'll want it then. All right, I have to get going.
If you want to ride into town, meet me in the stables."
Soon, the party has gone off towards the City, and Traveler and his
remaining staff are left to look after the tavern's guests. Trav is chopping
firewood outside when another Tarot card blows in front of him--landing, in
fact, right on the log that he is about to cut. He puts down his axe and
examines the new card. A young, carefree man, with a bundle over his shoulder
and a small dog at his heels, is about to walk obliviously off a cliff.
"The Fool," he reads. "Well, Fool, whoever you are, I'll be waiting for
you..."
User: Traveler
Date: 16-Jun 01:53 PM 771774792
III.31
wherever i may roam...
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
From the first moment of returning consciousness, DELIRIUM was aware it
would not be a friendly process. Her head was throbbing and she felt like she
had slept for a thousand years. Perhaps she consumed a tad too much whiskey at
the fair? nah, never. Disoriented she tried to crawl her way out of bed and
was surprised by the crackly sound of straw. Weird, this has been our...my bed
for years...and where did the thought *our* come from. *loss* She sat back
down. Something is wrong. *loss* Where are you! hush, time to relax.
Delirium walked to the window, looking out over the fields ...over a maze or
wires...what?! Time for breakfast. This is getting too weird. Quickly
rearranging her clothes she straggled downstairs hoping to find some sense in
the voices she could hear downstairs. Nervously, because everywhere in the
fine-hewn boards of the inn there was a second image of metal. *Where is he?*
"Who is he?," Delirium muttered.
User: delirium, seeking
Date: 17-Jun 08:25 PM 771884949
III.32
It's now early afternoon of the same day that he awoke. DRAKEHART is slumped
against a wall in the room, knees almost against his chest. His eyes are closed
as he mentally tinkers with the equipment in his head.
Near as he can tell, the room is part of an apartment complex or something.
It has no furniture, but many piles of junk and equipment, some of which are
large and solid enough to be used as chairs. There are also a fair number of
cardboard and plastic boxes. Near one wall is a grungy futon with an equally
grungey sheet rumpled over it. There are two doors, on opposite walls. One
of them is the same color as the walls (dingy white), the other is a deep
and startling black, like obsidian.
Drakehart doesn't know which door leads outside, and isn't quite ready to
find out.
When he had first realized where he was, WHEN he was, it had been difficult
to keep calm. And as he tried to supress his anxiety, he felt *something* sort
of reach into his brain chemistry and *tweak* it, causing his anxiety and
tension to drain away... temporarily.
He was startled to find that there was a great deal of highly advanced devices
in his body, and he could "feel" them much as he could his eyes and ears... as
a presence of input.
He tapped his foot gently against a smoothly curved oval shap, which had a
retangulr hole in it. The insides of the whole were mirrored, and the hole
itself, while rectangular, was only the mouth for a spherical pit inside the
odd device.
It didn't do anything when he nudged it. Nothing had.
He glanced down at his body, raising an eyebrow at the rather ordinary clothes
he was wearing that appeared to be made out of some sort of plastic. It
*looked* like jeans and a T-shirt. It felt like a vinyl rain-coat. The pocket
of his jeans had brought up a small amount of totally unrecoginizable money,
a clip of plastic cards that were probably credit cards, two unbroken
pistachio nuts, and a small box about half the thickness of a deck of playing
cards, and a bit wider than the same.
The box had his picture on it, along with a bunch of text describing his
name ("Drakehart, Isaiah") his birthdate (two-thousand and WHAT?!), race,
gender, weight, height, and apparently blood-type (If he really was an A-). The
box had a thin slot on one side and several buttons on the other, as well as a
small jack-connetor.
When left alone with that much electronic equipment, the odds of someone like
Drakehart NOT pushing a button become rather low. He fiddled with the ID box
and it spat out a short roll of paper tape with a high-pitched hum. The
paper seemed to have the same info on it.
"Gee... It just doesn't get better than this," Drakehart said, and pressed
the button again. The same paper spat out.
He was faced with a dilema. He knew who he, Drakehart, was. He remembered the
rave, the battle, the burning ship... He remembered the final catastrophe that
almost (or did?) occur.
But something in the devices in his head always flashed a tiny message in blue
letters in his eye whenever he tried to recall a name. The message said
"MEMORY SEGMENT DESTROYED."
This really sucked.
Drakehart stood up. He pocketed the ID device. He looked around and couldn't
see anything familiar enough to bother taking with him. So he stepped over to
the black door and opened it, hand slighlty shaking.
It wasn't a very awe-inspiring bathroom, so he closed the door.
He went to the other door and opened it. Diffuse light came in, and he stepped
outside, closing the door gently behind him. He looked around, seeing that
he was on a sidewalk along a narrow street, very definately part of a large
block of apartment buldings.
And apparently, the sun was splitting in half.
User: Psychosis Paradigm ("You said crossing the streams was *bad*, Egon!")
Date: 18-Jun 05:38 AM 771918129
III.33
Scatttered rays of red and blue lights provide the only light down the
dark alley. A lone figure strolls away from the light onto the next block.
If the face were illuminated you could see the smile on his face. There
was a time, when he first started, when he would have ran, but not now. Most
street samurai's, even those jacked with the top of the line equipment, would
never try a hit on a null boxer. The few that have, well, they're retired.
It doesn't matter though. Most hits on a null boxer are first, uncommon and
second, usually filed under CYBER-PSYCHOSIS: SUSPECTS -- NONE, unless one was
brought in that night. Then the Psycho Squad is smart enough not to charge a
heap of scrap metal and burned up wires. Less net space wasted.
But this figure used to be a null boxer, in his "human" days. Null boxing
was a combination of gymnastics, wrestling and kickboxing, but so much more.
Null boxers fight in a sphere in space at zero G. To do damage to their
opponent, they need to overcome inertia. He had a real passion for the sport
and all that was taken from him. The last match, which he hardly remembers,
should have been lethal. That horrid face bronzed and scarred, he could never
forget; and the repeated blows, then darkness.
When he woke up, he was in a CCH (Corporate Cyber Hospital). His first
thoughts were, "Aw shit! Company Insurance!" It was too late to turn back.
His sponsors spared no expense to recoup the losses they had invested in him.
He sat up and requested to see his chart.
Patient: Jaegerian, Jian Age: 22
Company: see CCH Director's file
Blood Type: B+
CyberSurgery
-CyberOptics: AntiDazzle Protection, LowLite Enhancement, Targeting
Scope, Internal Display, Infrared, Thermograph Sensor, BioMonitor.
-CyberAudio: ECM Scrambler, Phone Link, Bug Detector, Radio Link.
-Interface Plugs
-Neural Interface w/ chip option
-Body Armor Skin/Plating: Experimental -- see CCH Director's file.
-Boosterware: Reflex, Sensory.
-Cyberlimbs: see CCH Director's file.
-Weaponware: see CCH Director's file.
-Updates: again see the fu....
His first response was naseau. Then rage. It took four CyberSoldiers
to restrain him and quite a bit of drugs to get past the toxin binders. The
next time he awakened the Corporation made sure he knew who was in charge.
They had his wife, so he did his time. For a year they updated his cyberware
and threatened to kill his wife. They had killed her of course, but he did
not know until a two years after his "accident". The Corporation had called it
PROJECT VISION, for a company with enough vision to make the ultimate cyber
servant. A contract to make billions.
After "closing his contract" with the company, he work as a street
samurai with a growing reputation, now consider one of, if not, the best.
But it seemed he didn't care, just did the job. Like a big fish in a small...
"*Hey Vision-san, what will you have?*" the bartender asked (in Japanese).
Vision was so lost in thought, he didn't even notice he had walked into the
bar.
"*Give me some Hardfire and a glass of Everclear. What's the news
Funaka?*" Vision asked.
"*Hardfire, rough night eh? I guess it's a better rush than Caffeinestix.
Well, the Voodoo's missed a shot on that new street samurai from the
Mossad. The Yakuza sent the Voodoos a "message" via a sanitized body. Then
there was that null boxer hit about twenty minutes ago. Beter not get dirty,
Inspector was asking for you this morning.*"
Funaka was the name meaning conceal relations. It was given to him
because he kept most secrets hidden, unless the price was right. Vision
never gave much information because of that flaw. He also served as a small
news station. Most of what funaka said, Vision already knew, but it served as
small talk.
"*Sounds like a busy night. Any messages?*"
"*Yeah. Someone asked for you, I told him you I never heard of you and
he left. Looked human, just under six feet, dark hair.*" Funaka started to
fidget and looked up into the eyes of the man known as Vision. Those insane
eyes, black as pitch, seethed through his mind. Those dark eyes sent a silent
message. Funaka knew he didn't get enough information and the short wait for
a response seemed like hours.
Vision picked up the Everclear, drank the shot and turned his eyes back
to Funaka, "Make sure I get a better message next time. We need you around."
"Sure. Sure. I'll get the messages and I think your thermo rounds should
be here in about 72 hours."
Vision picked up his Hardfire and walked outside. His last words to
Funaka were a warning. Funaka knew he was displeased. It wouldn't happen
again. Still, Vision wondered, who was that person....
User: Introducing, the all-new, improved CyberVision
Date: 19-Jun 02:41 AM 771993730
III.34
When faced with absolutely no idea of what the society around him was like,
DRAKEHART knew that his first priority should be to gain information. ANY
information on the world around him.
He didn't have a clue as to where to start.
After wandering around the streets for a few minutes and not encountering
anyone else, he decided to use the direct approach. He crossed the street and
knocked on the door of what appeared to be an old office building or business
of some sort.
There was a pause, and then someone opened the door and stared at him
expectantly.
"Uh, hi. How are you Miss? I'm... er... well I'm sort of lost and I was
wondering if you would have, uh... a map or an encyclopedia or something?"
The woman in the shadowy hallway continued to stare at him for a moment, then
said dryly, "The nearest public-access data terminal is two blocks east. Why
the hell are you bothering me?"
"Uh... I'm lost Ma'am."
"Call me that again and I'll castrate you, BOY."
"Er, I'm sorry... wait, why the FUCK are you threatening me?!" Drakehart
suddenly felt very furious that this stranger who he had politely asked for
help was being so rude and nasty to him.
The woman blinked. "Aren't you my next client?"
"Huh?"
"Oh! I'm sorry! I thought you were the 2 o-clock appointment! I guess you
really did want some help?" The woman now sounded rather polite and apologetic,
further confusing Drakehart.
"Look lady, I'm from the fucking 20th Century, I don't remember the names of
ANYONE I used to know, I've got a fucking computer in my head that I don't have
any idea how to use, AND I'M GETTING KIND OF PISSED OFF!" The last part came
out rather loudly, even for Drakehart.
The woman blinked again, sniffled, and muttered an "I'm sorry." Drakehart
immediately felt like a heel, of course. He sighed. "All I wanted was an idea
of how to figure out where I am and what I can do to find out what's happened
to my friends."
"You actually think you're from the past?"
"Yeah, I know, I'm a froot-loop. Don't worry, it's a perfectly harmless
delusion. Now, can you tell me exactly how to get to this data terminal you
mentioned, and how to use it?"
The woman nodded and said "You just walk that way", and pointed, "for two
blocks, hang a left and it'll be the big alcove on the left." She paused. "You
really don't know how to use a data terminal?"
Drakehart nodded patiently.
"Well," the woman said, "Just hit F1! It's easy to figure out."
The woman was a bit startled when Drakehart started banging his head against
the wall, but he stopped briefly after he started, thanked her, and left.
********
Half-an-hour after playing with the terminal, Drakehart knew a lot of things.
He was definately in the furture.
MicroSoft, much to his dismay, was in control of an amazing amount of
technology and computing resources in this world.
The Earth's Sun had apparently started pulling apart nearly ten years ago,
drifting into two seperate segments, but without a dramatic (and utterly
destructive) explosion.
These changes were most likely due to the alien race that had come to earth
about 35 years ago=, offering much advanced technology in exchange for 1) A
lot of humans, and 2) Free reign of the solar system and its resources.
The equipment in his head was state-of-the-art, mostly illegal, and totally
unregistered.
And he had an electronic address through which he could obtain the
documentation
for the equipment, as well as possibly some assistance in fixing his memory.
Armed with hardcopies of some local maps (he was apparently in same physical
location, approximately, but all signs of the VVC were gone) and contact
addresses, he set out to find his friends.
User: Psychosis Paradigm
Date: 19-Jun 05:51 AM 772005107
III.35
VVC: The Fool and the Queen
==============================================================================
The midday crowd of laborers fills the White Room with chatter. TRAVELER
helps his staff keep the customers well-supplied with ale, beer and food;
when at last he has a break, he steps outside and peers up and down the road.
_These boys aren't the smartest,_ he thinks to himself, _but I wouldn't call
any of them a fool. They're all salt-of-the-earth types. So who--or what--
could this Tarot card be referring to?_
He looks at the card again--and out of the corner of his eye, spies
another card in the grass across the dirt road. He crosses and picks it up;
it portrays a thoughtful-looking woman on a throne, surrounded by trees,
contemplating a disk inscribed with a star. "Queen of Pentacles...hmmm."
A clamor distracts him, and he looks south along the road, toward the City...
Where a noisy crowd appears to be approaching. He begins walking
south to investigate. Within moments, the mob is in plain view; they appear to
be shouting and cursing at someone who is being driven in front of them.
Trav can see that some people are even throwing rotten fruits and small
stones. He quickens his pace.
Now it appears that the person they are taunting is a frail young man,
with close-cropped, pale hair. He walks along rapidly, nervously, with his
hands shielding the back of his head from their projectiles; he is crying,
mumbling, and obviously confused. Traveler stands in the middle of the road
in front of the procession, holds out his hands, and shouts, "STOP!!"
The crowd promptly pays no attention; the young man staggers past, and
Trav is engulfed by the screaming mob. He struggles through to the back of
the group, and manages to grab a bent-over old peasant woman. "What's going
on? Who is that? Why are they chasing him?"
"'E's cursed, 'e is!," she replies. "Damned gypsies musta brought 'im,
and left 'im behind after the fair."
"How do you know he's cursed?"
"'E's an idiot! Feeble-minded! Can't string two words together, much
less do an honest day's work. 'E was found wandering on Lord VENKMAN's land.
We don't want his kind in Hexsum, so we're driving 'im out!"
"Just because he's `feeble-minded?' Who gave you the right to hound him
like a fox?"
"Lord Venkman did, if you must know! Now, let me go, or I'll--"
Hooves thunder on the road in front of the mob, and a huge jet-black
horse rears up with a fierce neigh. Trav hurries around the side of the crowd
to get a look at the rider...who turns out to be none other than Lady LYDIA
herself...
User: Traveler
Date: 20-Jun 02:08 AM 772078098
III.36
Meanwhile, the Midvale police visit his locker, and find out why they call
him 'Buzz'.
Boy, I sure do love waffles. Mmmmmm-mmmmm.
User: VENKMAN
Date: 20-Jun 07:59 AM 772099146
III.37
...pausing a moment to look out over the sea, the Fireflyte looks not at all
like unto her namesake, remarkably peaceable of demeanor, despite the brazen
tinge of her hair...Fireflyte, a name given to her by her late father, a
merchant who chastised her constantly about her sharp wit and tongue, while
secretly enjoying her spiritedness, so like unto her late mother's--'flyte', a
word depicting a battle of words and wits, much as the war of insults and puns
waged by Loki upon his family, and 'Fire', from her quickness with a reply,
her heat of temper, and her red-tinged hair...
...shaking off the memories of past voyages, and the shadow of sadness over her
distant lover, she skitters in through the back stables of the VVC, pulling a
stray strand of grass out of the handful of green she carries...
...she waves briefly to the stablehand, Peregrine, who raises an eyebrow and a
smile before returning to his disturbed contemplation of the horsetack...
...bouncing gently into the kitchens, she encounters Sylvar grinding a pungent,
purple herb in his mortar-and-pestle...
"...and where in the name of the Pope's Lavat'ry have *you* been?" he
asks, exasperation in his voice tempered by genuine concern...
"Andrew was in town last night,...Laird Samuel put in for provisions
before sailing South to help address a land dispute..."
Sylvar snorts derisively, "That mercenary could nae address a missive
to his Excellency himself, the ignorant lout,--but why would he be taking his
troops *South*? What dispute is he into this time?" The herbalist's gaze turns
darkly contemplative, mind working sharply.
The Fireflyte shrugs, and smirks, "I rarely listen to the affairs o'
state,...considerin' what a state they usually are in..." She winks, and then
sets about hanging the herbs she has gathered to dry...upon seeing Sylvar's
quizzical glance, she responds, "I couldnae tell ye whyfore, but I felt the
urge to gather some extra stores of Valerian on my way here...I gathered *both*
the root and the leaves, this time, 'though I must look to see how to properly
cure the leaves, as I have not done so in a while..."
Sylvar raises an eyebrow..."Foresee a case of nervous complaints?" The
young lady does not reply, and he lowers the 'brow, again contemplating the
politics of Laird Samuel's small force...<>
User: Fireflyte... ...likes the split-level stories...
Date: 20-Jun 09:19 AM 772103982
III.38
VVC: The Fool and the Queen, Part II
==============================================================================
"What are you doing?" LYDIA asks imperiously, in a voice dark as
stormclouds. The suddenly silent mob hang their heads and evade her stern
gaze. "This...is my estate. I will not have such...inhuman behavior...on
my land!"
"We're driving him out!" says one brave, or foolish, man. "We're driving
him out of the Duchy of Hexsum for good! We had to cross your land to get to
the border. We'll drive him across to Viar, and let them deal with him!"
"You'll drive him NOWHERE!" she says, eyes flashing. "NOONE who sets foot
on my land is to be treated this way." She looks out across the crowd. "Some
of you live and work on my estate. How DARE you exhibit such behavior, after
everything I've given you? You know that cruelty is not my way...but I promise
you, there will be whippings tonight. As for the rest of you benighted souls,
whether you're from Venkman's land, the City, or anywhere else...you have one
minute to get back where you came from. After that, I will call my dogs out.
DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME!?"
Instantly, half the mob take to their heels, and vanish southward along
the road in a cloud of dust. The rest shuffle dejectedly north toward the
village where they live. Lydia dismounts, and reaches the pale young man at
the same time as TRAVELER does.
"Are you hurt?" she says, reaching up to gently pull his hands away from
his face. He appears to be all right, save for tears, a black eye, and a
couple small cuts on the head. "What's your name? Where are you from?" The
young man, still frightened, says nothing, only rocking back and forth and
making small monosyllabic noises. Lydia looks at Trav. "Perhaps he's more
injured than he looks."
"I don't think so. A woman in the crowd told me he was...weak-minded.
That's why they were driving him out. I wonder if he can even talk."
"O...O...Orfeo," the young man mutters suddenly.
"What?" says Lydia.
"Orfeo...that's his name. He's called Orfeo," the young man continues.
"He's not from around here. People...people don't like him."
"Well, Orfeo, here we don't throw stones at strangers," Lydia says. "As
long as you hold to the Christian virtues, and do the best you can in life,
there will be a place for you on my estate, should you desire it." She turns
to Traveler. "Give him a room at the VVC, and tend to his wounds. I'll come
by tonight to check on him." She mounts her horse. "Fare thee well, young
Orfeo."
"Milady..." Trav steps towards her. "Will we have time to talk later?"
She purses her lips. "Perhaps. But I can't speak to you now, here in the
road. Look after him!" She wheels her steed around and rides away north,
towards her manor house.
User: Traveler
Date: 20-Jun 09:35 AM 772104927
III.39
ROLAND slowly awakes to a sharp pain in his forehead, dragging him
slowly to consiousness. As his eyes open, he notices that he is in a small
clearing in a forest somewhere. It is early morning, and the dew seems to cover
everything in sight except himself, oddly enough. He can find no memory of
arriving here. He staggers to his feet, and looks around while holding his
head. The clearing is about ten feet wide, and the forest thick. Sunlight
is starting to filter through the trees to the east. As good a direction as
any, Roland thinks to himself, and starts walking east as the cobwebs clear
from his mind. The swords hanging from his waist seem a natural part of him,
and yet the very land and everything within it, himself included, seems wrong
somehow. He ponders this as he walks....
At the Virtuous Vagabond and Comrades tavern, Aqua22 is sitting outside
when she spots a strange figure approaching along the road. He seems to be
stumbling more than walking, and every twenty metres or so manages to fall down
completely. As he approaches nearer, she can see that he is rather on the large
size, and wearing rags that even half-naked diseased lepers would shun. His
smell reaches her about the same time as his voice:
"Good morning to you, fair lady! I am looking for a place to stay.
Actually, I'm looking for employment. Is the master of this cottage around?"
the ugly yet clumsy man asks.
"It's a tavern, not a cottage, and yes, I believe TRAVELER is inside.
My name is Aqua22. Whom do I have the honor of smelli...er....meeting? :)"
"Glad you asked!", the man proclaims in a cheerful tone. He strats
rummaging through his clothes for something, disturbing numerous fleas insects,
and something resembling a rat before he produces a tattered white card. "A
good friend of mine named Sandman gave me a bunch of these. I'm a professional
village idiot. Says so right on the card. See? " He thrusts the card at Aqua,
who reads:
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
| RECYCLER, PROFESSIONAL VILLAGE IDIOT |
| "No joke too dumb, no-one dumber than I" |
| |
| Don't worry, this moron can't even pronounce 'idiot' much less |
| spell it. I wrote up these cards for him to hasten his departure from our |
| part of the world. He can't read this. Just nod and smile. He thinks you |
| are reading his 'credentials'. I'll give you some: he's the most arrogant |
| irritating buffoon ever to walk this plane. Good luck getting rid of him! |
| I've known stains that are easier to remove! Do yourself a favor -- run |
| away! I warned you!! |
| -Sandman |
| P.S. Suckers!! |
|----------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Recycler?!?", Aqua22 exclaims, "aren't you...."
Recycler gives her a big goofy grin.
"No, never mind....must have been that pickled gerkin I ate." Aqua 22
mumbles hesistantly while staring at him.
Not wanting to appear rude, she invites the stinky yet underdressed
Recycler inside the tavern. They find Traveler talking to Ecstasy about
something involving "spoiled grapes" from what they overhear as they approach.
"Traveler, Ecstasy, this is Recycler. He's looking for a job. ", Aqua22
says.
Traveler looks startled and says, "But aren't you...??"
Ecstasy's reaction is a bit stronger. She glares at Recycler and
screams, "I killed you!! You're dead!! I dissolved you!! I ....", she fumbles
a bit, "I mean, I thought I did...must have been a dream."
Recycler seems to be taking it rather well. He says, "You know, a lot
of people have wished me dead, but noone quite like that!"
Traveler studies the card that has just been thrust in to his hand...
"Well, I'm afraid we have no need of a professional idiot at the
moment. We have quite enough amateurs as it is," Traveler jokes.
"Well, ok, but I'll just set up outside then in case you change you're
mind." and he wanders outside, nearly braining himself as he trips on the
stairs.
"It takes all kinds...." Aqua22 is heard to mutter...
User: EvilBullCiropGregWinkle30
Date: 21-Jun 03:50 PM 772213903
III.40
GRAHAM awoke hours before sunrise. It seemed better, after all, to be
awake than to dream that the search was over, the baron's son found, and the
masculinity masquerade no longer a necessity. When such dreams came at first,
perhaps once a fortnight, they left Graham feeling encouraged. Now they came
every night and served only to remind her that she was no closer to the Baron's
son than she had been at the outset.
Since she had come to Hexsum the dreams had become more defined, more
vivid. She blamed this on her susceptibility to abrupt changes of environment.
_Cursed VVC Tavern!_ she thought. It was a clean, reasonably-priced place, to
be sure...but, somehow, the Tavern was uncanny. All those cards of the tarot
whisking in from nowhere. Of course she had only learned about the cards by
bribing one of the serving women. Graham smiled, remembering the girl's
initial hesitance. Of course the bribery had not been enough; she'd had to
flirt with the poor girl--and the servant's reserve gave way to curtsies,
fluttering lashes, and an astounding loquaciousness. _It always helps to have
a servant-girl half in love with me. At least at first. Until they feel
slighted at my seeming indifference to their charms. If only I
possessed half the alluring qualities as a woman that I seem to possess as a
man. But then I've dressed and behaved as a man for almost two years now..._
_Which reminds me, that tavern wench, ECSTASY, is a sharp one. My act
has not convinced her for a moment. What was it that she said last night when
she poured my ale? "Awfully buxom for a man of 23, aren't you?" And
then she winked and said, "Don't worry. I'll keep your secret. For now at
least." I believe she will keep quiet...although perhaps not once she finds
out what I'm up to._
Graham sighed. Though she had almost always been by herself of late,
she had never been able to feel alone. There was a strange sort of
self-separation involved in continually pretending to be something she
wasn', and particularly in masquerading as a man. Sometimes she walked out of
town on to the high road--once she had even reached a little wood by the
shore--but the more deserted the place, the more she seemed to be aware of the
extent of her pretense. It annoyed her so that she hastily returned to the
town, to mingle with the crowds in the Tavern or the Market Square, or any
public place, really.
_I've uncovered so little information. My Father will be disappointed.
I must stop this internal whining and begin inquiries around town. I shall
start early this morning. And I do hope PERIGRINE has been able to purchase a
suitable steed._
User: Graham
Date: 21-Jun 06:30 PM 772223456
III.41
"SAVE IT 'TIL THE MORNING AFTER"
\=\=\=\=\=\=\=\=\=\=\=\=\=\=\=\=\=\=\=\=\=\=\=\=\=\=\=\=\=\=\=\=\=\=\=\=\=\=\=\
Daricelle du Vin stretched and yawned like a sleepy cat, blinking
lazily at the hazy lines of sunlight that reached in through the shuttered
windows. She reached under the pillow to find her linen chemise, and pulled it
on beneath the covers. Next to her, Colin slept; his blond hair stuck up in
soft tufts, and he snored lightly. She smiled, remmebering their earlier
activity, and crawled from the bed, leaving it swaying gently.
Downstairs, she could hear the hustle and bustle of a new day
beginning. Daricelle had slept longer than she should have; she opened the
shutter a crack and looked down to see Agathe, her head servingwoman, returning
from the market. In a normal bourgeois household, the housewife would be the
one to go marketing in the morning, but Daricelle du Vin was no ordinary
housewife. She crossed the room to a cupboard which contained her clothes, and
put on a bandeau before pulling on a dark green tunic and cream sash. She
brushed her hair and braided it neatly, thinking as she did so of the day
ahead. She was expecting Lord Venkman's chamberlain, Sir Guy of Norm!, to come
by to discuss the purchase of several casks of fine Rhenish -- and she was
expecting Traveler, of the VVC, for dinner to discuss the same subject. She
had a great store laid away, for she had known that the trade fair would leave
supplies low, and she anticipated profit from both corners.
Smiling at that thought, Daricelle pulled a cream-colored wimple over
her braids, and thus dressed, turned for a last look at Colin before she left
the room. Colin was the recent inheritor of a large vineyard, and he was not
blessed with much business sense, although he certainly was blessed in -- other
ways... He let Daricelle have fine wine for cut-rate prices, and warmed her
bed in the bargain, a situation which was doubly profitable to the wine
merchant.
Daricelle walked out of her room and down the stairs to the nursery,
where 5-year-old Charles awaited his mother's arrival. He had the grey eyes
and blonde hair of his father, Pierre du Vin ("God rest his soul!" Daricelle
thought), and it was he for whom Daricelle operated the wine merchant's shop --
"in trust", or so the officials thought... In any case, his presence every
once in a while made the dealings easier. "Good morning, my son," Daricelle
said. "Are you ready to go to work with me today, as I promised?"
"Yes!" the boy cried, and ran to his mother's side.
"If you are well-behaved today, you may stay to dinner with myself and
Traveler this eve," Daricelle told him, as she took his hand and led him down
the stairs to the first floor, where the swine shop proper was located. She
was proud of her son; the nurse that she had engaged to care for him had
dressed him in his finest clothes this morning, suitable for a meeting with Sir
Guy of Norm!. Charles sat sobery at a table near his mothers, and she gave him
a small pile of gold to count. The family was in business for the day.
User: Dark Lady
Date: 22-Jun 10:56 AM 772282628
III.42
Vision look around the shambles lining the city street. Most buildings
should have been condemned, but were now used as low income housing. It
looked like ArmorTech was sweeping the streets for "volunteers". They gathered
as many people as possible to serve as their armed forces. Foreign Investment
Protection it was called.
An ArmorTech(AT) Trooper fired a slug into Vision's back. The slug
exploded into a gaseous cloud, not affecting Vision. His nictating membranes
and aerofiltering systems effectively neutralized the threat. A wire extended
from Vision's wrist to envelope an AT Trooper and shocked him until he slumped
to the ground. Vision leapt through a second story window to flee the scene.
These men were poorly trained, yet hardly worth the effort. After all, he
wasn't getting paid for this. He quickly lost the small band and returned to
the street, heading back toward his evening "home".
Upon his arrival, his sensor noticed the handle of the door was warm.
Vision decided to skip the quick meal as he casually walked toward his
StreetSweeper1000 Motorcycle. He could hear the footsteps behind him as he
started his SS1000. Vision reached for the shotgun in his trenchcoat...
"Easy Vision, official business." It was Inspector Tarpin. He was a
throwback to the twentieth century. He hated computers, cyberware,
corporations and dirty cops. He wore flannel shirts, polyester pants and
unarmored trenchcoats. The only protection he had was a 5 year old kevlar
vest which could barely stop a shotgun blast. Tarpin always smelled like
cheap cigars and well brand bourbon. He was bitter about his transfer to
the Psycho Investigation Squad, but a cop who figured he would just do his
time. They say misery loves company, so Tarpin liked to extend his invitations
to Vision.
"Tarpin, I'm in a hurry. What?"
"Just need to ask you a few questions. You working the graveyard shift
tonight?"
"Sorry, I'm not the caretaker you're looking for. Maybe you could tell me
why you were in my place."
Tarpin shifted uneasily when faced with Vision's cold, dark gaze. His
reply came slowly, "Well, you know we can't go snooping around without probable
cause. Most judges tend to frown upon such actions. If it's all the same to
you, maybe you could let me take a look around."
"Kiss my ass, Tarpin. You couldn't find what you wanted the first time
you were in there and now you're desparate." Vision hated playing the game.
"Then I'm sure you can account for your actions between the times of
2000 hours and 2100 hours!" Tarpin was starting to raise his voice, hoping to
get the edge.
"I've got sensor coverage. Check housing system sensors. They say I've
been home since 0955 hours this morning until 2115 hours tonight. I'm not a
CyberPsyche, so leave me the f*@% alone." Vision began to rev the engine.
"Yeah, right. Friggin' hardwired net junky. You're going down, I'll see
to it." Tarpin adjusted the cigar in his mouth, "One day you're gonna slip,
and land in a deep pile of s%*#. When you do, I'll be there to plant the sabot
round in your chest."
"Thanx." Vision started moving forward, "By the way, it's a shame about
Niki Fixx, he was fast, maybe ahead of his time. Send my regards to Mr.
Erikson." Vision's last words became acidic. Erikson was Niki's nullboxing
promoter and trainer, also the man that finished his nullboxing career.
Vision hoped one day he would piss someone off enough to make it a profitable
hit.
The SS1000 took off, leaving Tarpin in a solo conversation. "We've got
tape on you son. We've got......"
Vision thought he saw some fires in the Voodoo sector. Vision had
"friends" in that sector. Employers were his friends and he went to observe
if any indiscriminate voodoo action was present...
User: CyberVision.......
Date: 25-Jun 02:51 AM 772512726
III.43
VVC>> The Orphan in The Pit
===============================================================================
Whatever name the place once had has been long ago forgotten.
It lies perhaps half a kilometer from the coast, separated from the Bay
by a few half-gutted prefab housing towers built on dredged fill. The towers
--inhabited only by squatters who scavenge electronic components from garbage
heaps--form a wall, shielding this place from the worst of the toxic breezes
coming from the manufacturing arcologies floating offshore, just outside the
Hexsum Transurb Authority's pollution restrictions.
Still, the fumes cause more than a few patrons of this establishment to
cough as they scurry from their transportation--be it rickshaw, moped, bicycle,
or, for the lucky few, a hover or groundcar--to the battered front doors of the
windowless building. Standing beneath the remains of an old neon sign--"V.V.?"
--new arrivals knock quickly on the doors, twice, and the doorman pokes his
head out. No I.D. or retina scan required--he knows who gets in and who
doesn't. The doors whump shut, and the slum-lined street is still again.
Inside: men, women, and miscellaneous others shuffle between pools of
light, or huddle at tables. Transactions are always being made, but whether
they involve drugs, samizdata, sex, weapons, or something else, they all
appear the same from a distance: anxious whispering that occasionally boils
into a sharp shout or gesture, then simmers down again until an agreement is
reached, or the parties go their separate ways, edgy with dissatisfaction.
Perhaps once every few months, someone makes the mistake of pulling a weapon;
this is the one sin not tolerated here. The bouncers' disarmament tactics are
quick, ruthless, and always leave the subject out on the street with fewer
teeth than when he/she/it arrived.
If a name is needed, this place is usually called "The Pit," and after
passing through the Grey Room at the front, the reason for the name becomes
apparent. The heart of the building was once a circular room of some sort,
but it has been cut out, its walls mostly removed and its floor lowered, to
form a large, sunken area. This brightly lit enclave buzzes with activity:
cards are shuffled, chips clink, roulette balls rattle, computer games bleep
and speak. Not all who come here are dealmakers or gamblers, though: off to
the right in the Infrared Room, a variety of strip shows run constantly, while
to the left, the Ultraviolet Room is lined with public decks and terminals,
for jacking in or just making untraceable calls or data transfers.
And at the very back lies the X-Ray Room. In its dim recesses, human
bodies lie sluggishly on scattered couches and mattresses, their owners' minds
far away in the haze of drug- or VR-induced dreams. Anything goes here--from
good old heroin to this week's new designer chemical or stimsoft. No questions
are asked; the bouncers intrude only to carry out the bodies of those who have
obviously overdosed. Some wonder where these unfortunate souls are taken;
others whisper that The Pit's management is known to have dealings with the
aliens, and also to receive regular, generous checks from various black market
organ banks. But the details of these arrangments are hazy.
Tonight, as on many nights, an old man sits in a corner of the X-Ray
Room, rocking back forth and mumbling to himself. He is known only as "the
Orphan;" he is never seen to take any drugs, but regulars figure that he must
have destroyed his mind here long ago, and now comes back out of blind habit.
They are partly right: he is guided here by ancient memories of this place. But
none of the other denizens realizes that this decrepit, muttering old man, kept
alive by cheap life-extension treatments that show in the unnaturally yellowish
cast of his skin, remembers this place as it was before it became what it is
now...before any of them were even born.
He is the only one in the City who holds these memories, and his meager
monthly SocSec allowance isn't likely to sustain him--or the traces of the
past that he carries in his dreams--for much longer. But something tells him
that he must hold on. Someone will come, someone who will understand his
whisperings, someone who needs him and his precious fading secrets. It will be
soon...it will have to be soon...and this half-formed hope sparkles in his
consciousness with enough light to keep him going for one more day...
User: once and future Traveler
Date: 25-Jun 01:31 PM 772551147
III.44
In another apartment, smelling of disinfectant, DRAKEHART talks uneasily with
a contact he has established. He doesn't know her name, but she has told him to
call her Insulin.
"Why can't you tell me the truth?" she asks, her voice lined with faint hisses.
"It is the truth. I'm not a psychotic. I'm from the past," Drakehart responds,
feeling queasy. He holds out a hand, pale and skinny. "Or at least, my mind is.
The body..." he shrugs. "I don't know where my my original one is."
Insulin shakes her head, obviously not believing him, or at least not entirely.
"Why did you let me come here if you think I'm lying?" he says.
"Curiosity. And if what you say is true, you might have some vital information
that I could use." She taps her small foot lightly on the floor. She's seated
in a white resin chair, wearing woolen underwear that's gray in color.
"Like what? The stock prices?" he snorts. "Any info I could give you on
technology isn't gonna be much good." He jams his fists into the pockets of his
baggy trousers.
"No. More like, how you got here."
Drakehart looks at Insulin. Her dark amber gaze is steady. "Right. Even I'm not
sure how it happened." he shrugs. "And that memory may be lost with others. I
have to find out. That's why I wanted your help."
"Well then, let's start." She smiles slightly, and her teeth are long and
pointed, tinted blood red.
* * *
Once Insulin scanned his head, she tsk-tsked and tossed Drakehart a small
pretzel-shaped device. "Push that button", she said, pointing to a small blue
button on one edge of the device. Drakehart complied.
After he stopped hyper-ventilating, he realized that there was now a presence
in his head. It rumaged about, poking at memories and hovering over the ghost-
like edges of his implants.
"What?" he said, looking at Insulin.
"A nano-collective that specializes in illicit implant systems. It'll crack
whatever security is there, fix anything it can find wrong..." She smiled. "And
it'll even cure a hangover."
"I'm going to repeat myself," Drakehart said. "Oh FUCK..."
* * *
SOCKETING TO {History.World.Net}: Success
Query? Aliens, origin, technology
Twenty-three years ago, the alien race arrived in Earth's solar system,
initiating a new "Nano Era" in the world's history. The aliens, who have never
revealed their origin or species name, agreed to exchange much of their
advanced
technology in exchange for the rights to all resources in the Solar System
except for the Earth-Moon and Mars systems.
Both the knowledge and actual machinery for advanced nano technology led to
massive social distortion and economic upheaval. The aliens stepped in long
enough to prevent a nano-overwrite of the Earth, wanting to assure the pos-
sibility of future trade with humans. Certain key elements of nano-technology
are now kept hidden, and tampering with nanos the wrong way can invite a very
much unwanted visit by the Feds or even the aliens themselves.
Earth was saved from self-destruction, however the structure of our society and
culture is still suffering dramatically.
* * *
"That... was... intense," Drakehart said, opening his eyes.
"I'm sure. Non-wired interfaces to the net aren't standard yet. You're
definately Edge." She tapped lightly at a keyboard in front of her, glancing
at the screen in front of her. "And I think you'll find the help sub-system
built into that stuff will make it a lot easier to learn things."
"So you believe me now? Or are you just humoring me?"
Insulin looked at him. "Honey, I've seen your memories. They're pretty trashed
all right, but I *ain't* ever seen anything as weird as the shit that you've
gone through."
Drakehart smiled. "Hey, thanks! I hope to be original."
"Only thing is, I don't have a clue as to how you got here. Something to do
with a gate?" Drakehart shrugged and Insulin sighed in response. "Guess I'll
let you go then. But you gotta promise to get back to me if you figure anything
out on that time travel stuff."
"Don't worry, I will. I've got your contact address." He dug in his pocket and
pulled out the small ID box he had found earlier. "By the way, do you know how
to use this thing?"
"Sure. It's an ID wallet."
"Er, yeah?"
"Sure. You can print out copies of your personal information with it, encrypt/
decrypt private communications, and do credit transfers with them. Here, lemme
see how much you got."
Drakehart handed the box over. She connected it to her keyboard via a small
cord and tapped a few keys to call up a new program. Insulin yelped.
"What?! What?!" Drakehart said.
"You... you... You've got half-a-billion dollars here!"
"Is that any good?"
"Yes!"
"Cool. Take what you want. Take a lot. I don't need much, and I sure as hell
don't need to be mugged."
Insulin quickly and eagerly effected a transfer of an unknown amount, but
which involved at least five digits.
"Now I've gotta go. If I've got money, I'll find a place to hole up while I
figure out where I'm at." Drakehart clapped Insulin on her back, causing her
to wince slightly. "Thanks for the help. I'll be in touch."
He left, the sky darkening. Eyes closed for a moment, and with the help of an
inertial-guidance mapper, Drakehart quickly figured out the quickest route to
the nearest hotel. Only half-a-mile away.
As he walked there, avoiding most of the street-trash by virtue of looking only
slightl better than them, he began to sing to himself:
"I love livin' in the city!"
User: Psychosis Paradigm (Budapest Disorder)
Date: 26-Jun 05:37 AM 772609135
III.45
VVC: Dragon-hunting
===============================================================================
"Same damn stuff every day. Bread, cheese, shepherd's pie. I'll admit,
your ale's pretty good, TRAVELER, but your food is borrring!" grumbles TIPMO,
sitting at a table in the whitewashed front room of the VVC Tavern.
"Well, you keep coming back for more, so don't complain," says ALBATROSS.
"Besides, the meat and cheese come from my farm! My cows would be highly
offended to hear you criticize them."
"Did someone mention cows?" says GHOST from a nearby table. Since
arriving at the inn, the thin young man has spent most of his time out of
sight--either up in his room or out and about somewhere--and when he has
mingled in the common rooms, he has generally not entered into conversation
with anyone except his liege, the eccentric Sir BELGARATH.
"You keep out of this," the blacksmith says. Traveler, carrying trays to
other diners, just clucks his tongue and looks faintly amused at the bickering.
John Waller the herbalist accosts Trav as he is returning to the kitchen.
"You know, I hate to take Tipmo's side, but he's right...our food is rather
bland, since we lost that last cook...what was her name?"
"I can't quite recall," the innkeeper says. "But maybe you have a point.
Well, you're the herb man. Can you find me some stuff to spice up our cuisine
with?"
"I keep giving that new girl spices for the stews and meat pies, but she
doesn't seem to like to use them. I think what we need is more than the usual
stuff I gather in the valleys 'round here. I believe I'll go into town and
see what the merchants have. With all the Crusaders returning, I hear that
some unusual foodstuffs have been brought back from the East lately."
"Sounds good. Let me know when you're ready to go, and I'll give you a
little gold for expenses."
Meanwhile, a figure has shuffled in the front door: a round-bellied, grey-
bearded man known as Jack Dullblade. A regular at the Virtuous Vagabond &
Comrades, he is known for his overindulgence in alcohol...and for the flowery
stories he tends to tell about his supposedly knightly past.
"Oh look, it's Sir Jack," says Tipmo. "Killed any dragons lately, Jackie
boy?"
"As a matter of fact, no," Jack says stiffly. "There've been no dragons
in these parts since I took care of the last of 'em some years ago."
"Of course, of course. I guess you were dragon-hunting when all the other
fighters went off to the Crusades?"
"You scoundrel! I would have gone, if it weren't for...uh...the personal
request of the Duke himself! Yes, he said I was so fierce I'd probably lose my
temper, run amok, and slay all the infidels in one day, leaving no glory to be
won by anyone else! Besides, His Majesty wanted me to, you know, keep an eye
on things here while he was gone."
"Well, you haven't done a very good job, then. The realm's been going to
pieces while our precious Duke's been away." Those in the tavern hear the
blacksmith's tone change from playful and taunting to grim and angry. "All
this trouble with the Viarans to the north--mark my words, they'll be preparing
for war with us if we don't teach them a lesson, and soon..."
Traveler goes pale, and suddenly leaves the room. But in the passage
that leads to the Blue Room and the stables, he stops and listens as the
conversation continues...
User: Traveler rides to the rescue of his dead board :)
Date: 28-Jun 06:07 PM 772826867
III.46
Some bits o' trivia that Jenn and I discovered today at work, while perusing a
European History text...
These excerpts address the "High Middle Ages" (1050-1250 A.D.)
Women dominated in the production of beer and ale for the community
market. This industry required an initial investment in large vessels and
knowledge of the correct proportions of barley, water, yeast, and hops. Women
found brewing a hard and dangerous work: it involved carrying 12-gallon vats
of hot liquid. Records of the Anglish coroners' courts reveal that 5 percent
of women who died lost their lives in brewing accidents, by falling into the
vats of boiling liquid. Beer was the universal drink of the common people in
northern Europe. By modern American standards the rate of consumption was
heroic. Each monk of Abingdon Abbey in twelfth-century England was alloted 3
gallons a day, and a man working in the fields gor ten hours probably drank
much more.
Every house had a small garden and an outbuilding. Onions, garlic,
turnips, and carrots were grown and stored through the winter in the main room
of the dwelling or in the shed attached to it. Cabbage was raised almost
everywhere and, after being shredded, salted, and packed in vats in hot water,
was turned into kraut. Peasants ate vegetables, not because they appreciated
their importance for good health but because there was usually little else.
Some manors had fruit trees--apple, cherry, and pear in northern Europe; lemon,
lime, and olive in the south. But because of the high price of sugar, when it
was available, fruit could not be preserved. Preserving and storing other
foods were the basic responsibility of the women and children.
User: Graham
Date: 28-Jun 10:35 PM 772843059
III.47
VVC: Too deep for words or song
=============================================================================
"You're always looking for someone to pick on," ALBATROSS says to TIPMO.
"Now it's the Viarans. What did they ever do to you or yours?"
"It's not what they've done, it's what they might do," the blacksmith
replies. "That Baron Miraz is not to be trusted. He got his throne by killing
the old Baron, you know!"
"Well, we don't know exactly _how_ the old Baron died," says Albatross.
"And Miraz has honored all the treaties that the previous Baron made with our
Duke. Anyway, even if Viar _was_ a threat to Hexsum, you live on Lord
VENKMAN's
land. We're here on LYDIA's estate, which borders right up against Viar!
We're the ones who should worry, not you."
"Now you're making excuses for that tyrant! I bet he'll be able to walk
right in here without any trouble, if all you people are so sympathetic. It'll
be up to Venkman to defend Hexsum then, and I for one will stand with him!"
"And people accuse ME of having an active imagination!" mutters Jack
Dullblade, as GRAHAM walks in the front door and glances about, trying to size
up the situation.
"What was that you said?" asks Tipmo, standing. "Would you care to repeat
it?"
As things appear on the verge of degenerating into fisticuffs, the door of
the hall leading to the Red Room opens, and the strange young man named Orfeo
enters. TRAVELER has been letting him stay here at the VVC in accordance with
Lydia's wishes, but little is yet known about where he came from; his powers of
communication are not the best.
Now, oblivious to the confrontation that is occurring, Orfeo walks between
Tipmo and Jack, holding a long, slender wooden object and gazing off into
space. He reaches the center of the room, and raises the object to his
mouth.
The purest notes of flute music pour out over the gathered guests, clear
as a sunlit stream, and all tensions melt away. Orfeo's song is sweet but
full of longing, and each of them is sure he's heard it somewhere long ago.
The sound goes on for untold minutes, and while it lasts, the frail flute
player's face is filled with a secret wisdom.
When the music finally ends, and the world returns to normal, his
expression goes blank. But those in the room are hushed and still, having
glimpsed something "too deep for words or song." Orfeo turns, and meeting
no one's gaze, wanders back out without a word. Gradually, the others begin to
stir and murmur.
Graham is sorely tempted to inquire about the previous conversation,
having heard as she entered some things mentioned that pertain to her quest.
But the talk has turned now, and she dares not draw attention to herself
by revisiting such a volatile topic of discussion--at least not right now.
In the passage leading to the Blue Room, Traveler leans against the wall
and thinks. _Rumors of trouble with Viar are afoot...I must find out what
this is all about. Perhaps Lydia will know something--if she ever shows up to
check on our new guest. And speaking of him, it looks like the VVC has some
new
entertainment! I'm sure our more well-to-do guests would pay quite a bit to
hear him perform in the Red Room. I've never heard such music in my life..._
User: Traveler
Date: 28-Jun 11:43 PM 772847044
III.48
Traveler looks up, noticing patrons looking curiously at a locked
door. He hears a muffled cry for help and strides quickly over to the door
of the library, gently parting the crowd which stands in his way. "Who's
there?" he asks.
"It's John, you fool! Let me out!"
Rummaging around in his pockets, Traveler produces a key and opens
the door. Pale, tall John Waller steps out, squinting in the light. "If
I ever catch the ragamuffin who did that, I swear by the Virgin, I'll..."
"Did what?"
John sighs and composes his frazzled thoughts. "I was studying some
treatises on rare plants when the door slammed, blowing out my candles, and
I heard the door click shut. It took me five minutes to find my way to the
door without knocking over piles of books, and you can believe that I was
cursing your damned secure door every step of the way. Who on Earth would
want a door that locks itself?"
"You don't want a laden customer to use your books as fodder for
their hinderparts, do you?" chides Traveler.
"No, I suppose not." He winces at the thought.
"Well, you'd best be off to town, then."
John turns to go, and is stopped by Orfeo, who beckons his ear down.
Orfeo whispers something. Rising to his full height, John springs up, dazed
and bemused. An otherwordly look plays across his scholarly face as he
walks towards the door and directly into Mistress Ecstasy.
"Watch where you're going!" she says, picking up a tray. John walks
on, lost in a world of Orfeo's wonderful suggestion...
User: SYLVAR
Date: 29-Jun 06:03 PM 772913002
III.49
...the Fireflyte shuffles along the upstairs hall, pausing every now and then
to listen...of a sudden, she utters a soft 'mrow', and hears a tiny response
from a narrow alcove nearby...she opens the lid of an old chest, to look in
upon a pale grey feline and her reasonably new litter of kits...
"Morning, love...how are the wee kits? Oh, they're growing grandly..."
She coos and scritches the kits and the mother cat, checks the hole in the back
of the chest to be sure it's open enough for the mother to get out when she has
'business' to do, and leaves a few small pieces of cheese for the mom..."Our
good Traveler may or may not have a fit over me feeding you good food, so we'll
just keep it safe and secret, eh?" Quietly, she closes the lid, and returns
toward the stairwell, meeting a ravenhaired young lady halfway there...
'Flyte grins..."Goodday to you, m'lady Del! How fare you?"
The young woman smiles somewhat distractedly, "Ah, well...well enow..."
She looks momentarily perplexed, but not too obviously so...
"Ah, and how's..." Caitlin frowns, "...that's odd...I was about to ask
you about someone, but I can't for the life of me think who...?"
Del's eyes sharpen, and she looks intently at 'Flyte. She replies
enigmatically, "I've been thinking on those lines my own self...tell me, does
'owt seem different about the Inn of late?"
'Flyte blinks. "How mean you...?" she asks cautiously...
Del shakes her head and grimaces, "Oh, I know not...I've just had a
feeling of oddness of late...cannot explain it..." Her expression implies there
is more in her mind, but she says nothing, then smiles crookedly and shrugs, "I
know not...mayhap the season blows ill, or I am of need of wine to soothe my
mind..."
Caitlin raises an eyebrow but chuckles, "Aye, well, we must see to the
lady Ecstasy for the fruits of the vine...mayhap this is to be a day of vine
and roses..."
User: Fireflyte... ...and they wander down the stairs...
Date: 30-Jun 11:23 AM 772975452
III.50
..."that makes sense to me, thank you, Caitlin." Fumbling in her pockets
Delirium finds a few bits of gaily colored cloth..."For your thoughts, my
friend..." Caitlin takes the cloth with a puzzled expression on her face. "For
the kits," Delirium says with a small smile. "And now I shall see if the lady
Ecstasy can brighten my day..." *p'raps if i befuddle my thoughts enough, i
will find the one that's been hiding*
...wincing in the light Delirium sits in one of many comfortable shadowy nooks
in the tavern.."A pint of your finest, Ecstasy..."
User: delirium
Date: 1-Jul 10:48 PM 773103210