III.101
Vision pushed through the crowd to a large man in a black suit. Drakehart
followed closely. The man stepped in between Vision and the door.
"Sorry, this room is closed this evening. All other rooms are available."
"Fuck You musclehead! We wanna talk to the management." Drakehart was
quite impatient on his quest. The doorman reached toward him, but his hand
was stopped just short of Drakehart. The doorman dropped to the floor in pain,
his wrist cracking under the pressure of Vision's grip. The doorman looked up
into the cold dark eyes of Vision and lost consciousness. Vision was tapped on
the shoulder.
"Let him go, Osiris will see you now." Drakehart was tempted to pull his
weapon, but realized Vision was aware of the threat. The door before them
opened and the three walked into a long corridor. Drakehart turned to Vision
with a smirk on his face.
"Hey, Vision, did you ever see Terminator II. Stand on one leg."
"Fuck you, Drakehart."
"Hey, it was worth a shot."
The cyborg behind them activated a door in front of them opening to a
stairway down, "If you draw a weapon, you will be eradicated, Organic Lifeform.
Cyborg, if you threaten the owner, your systems will be shut down and
dissembled."
Drakehart and Vision replied in unison, "Yeah, whatever. Fuck you."
A large set of steel doors opened to reveal a dark room. The dorr closed
behind them leaving the room pitch black. Drakeharts eyes tried to adjust thru
several spectrums, though none appeared to work, "What the hell, my eyes are
going beserk! They feel like they are on fire."
"Must be a hormone activated system. Close your eyes, only my sonar is
working." Vision noted computer consoles on several walls, "I sense an energy
pattern forming in the room. Ten feet, straight ahead." An attractive female
hologram appeared.
"Vision. Jian Jaegarian. Assasin. Fully functional prototype multi-
purpose assault cyborg. Tsunami International Corporation. Present status
missing. Drakehart. Unregistered DNA Scan-Unidentifiable. Net runner.
Biologically enhanced Homo sapien. Net access with increased reflex. No
known employer. Shall I continue?"
Vision's cold eyes looked past the hologram. A signal connected with
Drakehart. *Scan it. She's part of the Net.* Drakehart began to see Netspace
closing around him. He moved forward efficiently. Drakehart was inexperienced
in the Net, but looked like a veteran. He came to a white wall.
*Net ice. Give me a break bitch.* He accessed his hammer file and the
ice crumpled before him. Forging ahead Drakehart saw a dragon of black
standing before him. Accessing another file Drakehart turned transparent.
He seemed to pass the dragon unhindered, until he heard an electric voice.
*It won't be that easy boy.* A charge jolted thru his body, causing
Drakehart to become less cohesive. Drakehart immediately pulled up a file
causing a demon with a sword to appear. It sliced the dragon several times
and the dragon turned to him, *You are quick boy, especially for one so new on
the net.* The dragon unleashed a sparrow which flew down the path Drakehart
came from. *Better get used to the Net, because you're not going to have a
body to return to.* The demon sliced past the dragons defenses, tearing into
it. The dragon dissipated. Drakehart unleashed a hawk which followed the
sparrows path.
*Is that all you got? Give me a break.* Drakehart continued down until
he reached three doors. He began running several codebreakers looking for the
data files. The rightmost door splintered and Drakehart continued onward. In
the room was an armed street punk. The room didn't look like Netspace. It had
a hazy grayish green color. Drakehart didn't have much time but he ran his
decoding files again as the street punk closed with him. Drakehart prepared
his acid program then stopped. The punk drove his sword thru Drakehart, then
disappeared. *Interesting. Ghost program which can reroute data files if
danger of being destroyed exists. Nice defense mechanism; good thing I had
fast decoders.* Drakehart pulled the data files and returned seemingly only a
few seconds later.
Drakehart nodded to Vision and they both smirked. Drakehart spoke up,
"Osiris. Angel Morbidas. Netrunner, Artificial Intelligence removed from
organic shell. Origin Homo sapien, present Net identity. Freelance. Sole
proprietor of the Pit. Presently wanted for Corporate infringements by
numerous companies. Shall I continue?"
"It seems I have underestimated the two of you. Efficient and effective.
Maybe we can work something out. What is it you are looking for?"
User: CyberVision.....
Date: 7-Sep 10:12 AM 778932748
III.102
Shauna just explained her post to me...the joke is in the very last word of it
...reread it and consider alternate pronounciations... :)
User: Traveler raises a glass of rice wine to ye
Date: 7-Sep 10:46 PM 778978003
III.103
VVC: Melee
===============================================================================
It is night when TRAVELER and Orfeo ride back into the stables at the
Virtuous Vagabond and Comrades. Once again, Trav walks past the rack where his
special riding crop, given to him by LYDIA, is usually stored. PERIGRINE sighs
with relief when the tavernkeeper fails to notice the crop's absence.
Inside, Traveler and Orfeo go straight to the Blue Room, where John Waller
is writing by lamplight at a desk. "Hello, SYLVAR. How have things been
here?" Trav says.
"Rather calm...though I received a most unusual gift today. Seems my
reputation as a collector of unusual foodstuffs is spreading. I'm keeping a
log here of the strange drinks, foods and plants I've come across."
"Heh...you're almost a proper alchemist," Traveler jokes.
John frowns. "Just don't tell anyone...that fool Cardinal XIMINEZ still
hangs around here. I think he's in league with the Archbishop, looking for
things to shut us down."
"Understood. Guess I won't be reading _this_ in public." Trav holds up
the book on the Tarot given to him by Lydia, then places it on the same shelf
as the cards. Noises of crashing furniture and shouting from the front room
suddenly capture his and Sylvar's attention. "--the hell?"
All three run to the White Room, where a minor riot is in progress. 3
large men--not VVC regulars, but peasants from VENKMAN's estate--are wielding
chairs and fists against a Viaran traveler who checked in earlier that day.
CADO has joined the melee, and is keeping two of the men pretty well occupied,
but the foe has superior strength and numbers. Other patrons sit tensely at
their tables, watching the fight.
"Let's stop this now," says Traveler grimly, walking over and turning one
of the attacking men around. For his trouble, he gets a punch in the jaw that
sends him staggering back; but he returns with a hard blow to the attacker's
stomach. The man doubles over, then looks up with murder in his eyes; he
growls and lunges towards Traveler, who has backed himself up against a wall...
A deafening *CRACK* splits the air, and his attacker screams and clutches
at his right arm, now lined with a red welt. Another *CRACK*, and the man
fighting with Cado arches his back in pain. All heads whirl toward Perigrine
and ECSTASY, standing near the bar with whips in their hands.
"Our discussions on whip usage apparently paid off," the stablehand says.
She nods. "I like the nuances of your technique."
Cado now has the third man's arm pinned behind his back. Traveler subdues
one of the whipped men the same way. Jack Dullblade, the stout, ale-quaffing
tavern regular, steps forward and grabs the remaining intruder. "Hah! Try
that again, will ye? I've got you now, you ruffian!"
"Nice work, Jack," someone says sarcastically. "What'd we do without you?"
"I am here to loyally defend this esablisht--eshtablism--this...tavern...
from all foes, rascals, rogues and lowlifes!" Jack grins, showing a yellowed
and gap-filled set of teeth.
"Uh, yes, thanks, Jack," Cado says. "Just hand him over to us..." He and
Traveler tie up the men, and send the fleetfooted FIREFLYTE for the constable.
Meanwhile, GRAHAM has slipped away to the stables, and mounted her trusty
steed Costello. _They went after that man because he was a Viaran...could be
me next...I think I'll go into town for a while, till things calm down._
GHOST, dressed in his usual black, emerges as Graham is about to ride off.
"Before you go, good sir, take a look at this. I have some merchandise you
might be interested in." He pulls the ivory-inlaid riding crop from his bag...
User: Traveler
Date: 8-Sep 06:34 PM 779049278
III.104
You know, whenever I see the Viarains or whatever it is in the above
posts, my mind always insists on reading as the Vivarins, a race of
very highly energized hyper people that have a perpetual nervous tic.
Go figure!! :)
User: Evilgreg sez:: Vivarin helps us play!!!
Date: 13-Sep 09:07 AM 779447266
III.105
Actually, Viar is a pun. V.R. :)
User: Traveler
Date: 13-Sep 11:41 AM 779456496
III.106
(pokes head through velvet curtains)
Gimme an espresso. Pronto.
(takes espresso and slinks back behind curtain)
User: Sven - supertelepath, caffeine junkie
Date: 13-Sep 01:24 PM 779462653
III.107
Umm... Mister Supertelepath? What's espresso? It sounds like it's from
another kingdom, but we've never heard of it. (How 'bout a Zima?)
User: Zylvar
Date: 13-Sep 04:09 PM 779472574
III.108
VVC>> Out of the desert
=============================================================================
They ride from the east, in a cloud of dust.
The grey waters of the Bay still border the Hexsum Sprawl on the west;
and the vast Desert still stretches away on the east. During the early 21st
century, development has crept slightly past the edges of the arable land
around the old City, and a shantytown now trails off into the sand. Past
the makeshift huts are abandoned cars and rusting machinery; but these are
already half-covered with sand. A few glassy craters mark where Alien craft
have landed; now, they usually use the air/spaceport south of the City, like
everyone else. Beyond the craters lies the open Desert, and nothing else for
untold hundreds of miles.
One road comes out of this desert. No one knows exactly where it comes
from, though strange travelers have periodically arrived on it, and brave
souls have left on it. Few have returned; their accounts have always been
strange and contradictory, even as far back as the days of the Crusades. But
now, a very definite presence has appeared on the road, at the line where sand
and sky meet. The government and corporate satellites in stationary orbit
overhead pick it out first, as a glint of white. Anyone watching on the ground
sees the dust cloud, then the gleam of the vehicle.
Still it nears, now certainly past the deep desert where some say the road
is completely covered by sand, now traveling the sections of highway whose
pitted pavement has gone unrepaired since the late 20th century. A crowd of
adults and children have gathered at the edge of the shantytown. Someone
produces a pair of binoculars scavenged from a junkpile. One lens is cracked,
but still, everyone is eager to get a few seconds' chance to peer at the
approaching visitor. Through the wavering afternoon air, the form of a
streamlined white vehicle is taking shape...a hovercraft.
"Who is it, Mommy?" a barefoot, tanned child asks.
The mother hands the binoculars to someone else, and whispers, "The four
horsemen...the pale riders." She gathers up her child and leaves the roadside;
several others do the same as murmurs spread. But a few stay. The oncoming
hovercraft has disappeared into a dip in the road; it resurfaces much closer
than expected, and the drone of its fans is gaining in volume. The sky is a
strange mixture of dark clouds and sunny patches, all filtered through a low
and omnipresent smog. A wind rises, more than the usual desert ligri, whipping
sand painfully into the faces of the watchers. A few more leave--but still,
some stay, gathered around a vendors' pushcart.
The hovercraft is now on the short stretch of highway that the Transurb
Authority bothers to maintain. It begins to slow slightly, approaching some
semblance of conformity with City speed limits. Now the onlookers can hear
overamplified Wagner blasting from the craft. A toothless, skinny old woman,
her black skin hanging wrinkled on her rag-covered body, smiles knowingly.
...The vehicle sweeps past the small group, blasting them with backwash.
For an instant, they glimpse figures through the plexiglass windows: pale
young men with cold expressions, clad in black, steel-studded leather. Only
the driver, an older man with a red face beneath a yellow-white buzzcut, has
the ghost of a smile on his face...
The sounds of opera stretch out and fade as the hovercraft speeds past
them into the Sprawl. The old woman cackles at the sky.
User: Traveler: Post-Apocalypse Calypso :)
Date: 13-Sep 04:54 PM 779475323
III.109
Um... Trav... Only Death was the Pale Rider...
User: Perigrine: Purify! Purify! Purify!
Date: 13-Sep 07:36 PM 779484972
III.110
Who cares? That was incredible!
User: SYLVAR
Date: 13-Sep 11:41 PM 779499661
III.111
Nitpicking Monkeyboy:
_________________________________________
| |
| PPP OOO EEEEE TTTTT III CCC |
| P P O O E T I C |
| PPP O O EEE T I C |
| P O O E T I C |
| P OOO EEEEE T III CCC |
| |
| L I C E N S E |
| ------------------------------------- |
| This document entitles the bearer to |
| be nonliteral, metaphorical, vague, & |
| artistic. Don't like it? Too bad. |
_________________________________________
User: Traveler wonders why some ppl read this board...to look for mistakes?
Date: 13-Sep 11:45 PM 779499990
III.112
...The dust of the road to Hexsum is warm as the Fireflyte pads along with a
catlike gait...She runs easily, but is still almost winded when she reaches the
lookout post at the outskirts of the city. The flies buzz comfortably above the
snoring form of the guard there. Caitlin smirks. Padding up close, she pauses,
then lets out a bloodcurdling cry, like a banshee under the blacksmiths'
forge...the guard starts up with a yelp,
"Murther! Halp! Demons!..." he cries, before seeing the young girl
laughing nearby..."'ere, now,...that was nae nice, lass..."
"...And sleeping on the job will get ye the strop from Old John yet,
Billy Andersson...come on, we've 'ad a row up at th' pub....."
"Aw, bloody blazes,...what 'appened?"
"Three o' Venkman's men tried to pummel a Viaran who was havin' a drink
there..."
The guard looks uncomfortable. "An' what do ye want *me* to do about
it?"
'Flyte's eyes glitter sharply, "I *expect* ye to do the job you were
hired for,...or are your wages nay from Hexsum anymore?"
The guard's sweating face went dark. "I'll have you mind yer tongue,
wench,...my fealty's clear and unquestioned..."
"Then move yer arse and get to th' tavern, before the brigands wither
of age...!"
Billy screws up his face in a wry grimace. "Ye've too much of yer
mother's Irish in ye..."
'Flyte grins, and offers a hand to help the guard to his feet. He heads
off on an old pot-bellied bay, and she dashes off to check in with her
half-brother at the shop, before returning to the inn.
User: Fireflyte... ...wonders what she might overhear in town,...
Date: 14-Sep 11:23 PM 779585032
III.113
VVC>> On the prowl
===============================================================================
In his drafty apartment by the downtown cathedral, The Orphan putters over
his two laser turntables and crates of old vinyl. He lacks the hand-ear-eye
coordination he once had; no longer can he spot the percussion breaks on a song
by the texture of the grooves, or spin a record backwards and release it at the
exact moment to sync it with another one. But he still likes to play. The
pitch-control sliders are easy to work; he can speed one song up slightly and
slow the other one down so that the two intertwine, with strange harmonies and
oddly meshed rhythms. Tonight he spins Orbital's "Halcyon," built around a
sample of an ethereal woman's voice, together with a old hard house remix of
the Pet Shop Boys' "Liberation."
The trance and the funk are blending in interesting ways, until a strange
roaring from the street begins to drown them out. The Orphan hits "|| PAUSE"
and goes to the window. He's never heard an engine sound like that before...or
almost never. But by the time he draws aside the curtain, he only glimpses the
tail end of a white vehicle swishing around the corner. He returns to his
sound system and hits ">> PLAY"...
...The white hovercraft speeds through the surface streets of Hexsum City,
having just left the pylonway overhead. "'Ere now, throttle down, eh? Y'want
th' coppers on us?" says the older, platinum-blonde-haired man from the back
seat irritably, to the current driver, one of the younger punkish types.
"We're jammin' traffic monitor signals. You know that, Larko!, you
installed the bloody circuit last week," the Cockney-accented driver says.
"Yeh, well, b'lieve it or not, Plague, they still 'ave street patrols. A
bike man sees us, we're through." The driver sighs, and shifts gears; the
craft's noise and speed levels drop quickly. Larko! nods approvingly. "Now,
t'th' business at 'and. What 'ave we got?"
"Not an 'ole 'ell of a lot," says the thin man in the passenger seat, with
green mohawked hair. "Ripples in th' time continuum again."
"Yeh, Famine, but they're comin' from 'ere, our old stompin' ground," says
the punk next to Larko. His hair is jet black, his skin is almost white, and
an eye of Horus is drawn (tattooed?) around one of his eyes. "Wouldn'a made
the bloody desert crossing otherwise."
"Don't forget--the City's one o' the Aliens' regional 'eadquarters on
Earth," emphasizes Larko!. "I'm of a mind they're connected with the ripples."
"All roit, so where th'ell am I goin'?" says Plague. "And does anyone
'ave a fag? I'm jonesin'."
"Things'll kill ya," says the punk next to Larko!, but produces a pack of
cigarettes, bearing a skull and crossbones, and hands them to the driver.
"We could go ta th' Cafe...if it's still 'ere," says Famine.
"Neg," says Larko!, tapping at a keyboard beneath a small screen set into
the back of the driver's seat. "It's changed 'ands. An unfriendly place now."
"I like unfriendly places," mutters Famine. "'At's where I've met all my
friends." Plague smiles, and cracks his knuckles.
"You blokes want a bar brawl, there's time later. Roit now, we cruise...
take some readings...do some triangulation," insists Larko!. Plague shrugs,
lowers the power window, and flips his cigarette out on to a wet, dark street.
User: Traveler: Apunkalyptic Dub :)
Date: 15-Sep 09:25 PM 779664417
III.114
VVC: Plots thicken
===============================================================================
It is the morning after the minor riot in the front room of the Virtuous
Vagabond & Comrades. The anti-Viaran thugs have been hustled off by the
constable, and the traveler they assaulted has fled back north to his homeland.
TRAVELER and CADO are discussing this and other things over breakfast, alone in
the Red Room.
"It was amazing, what Orfeo did last night," the bouncer says, looking at
the front of the room. "I've never seen any performance on that stage to rival
it."
"Believe it or not, it was his idea," Trav replies. "He whispered it in
my ear. So I did as he suggested, and invited everyone in here to listen to
him play." The young prodigy's carved flute had spoken to the fearful crowd,
and quickly charmed them. It had a dusky contralto voice, like a woman singing
lullabies, and the music he played on it was so beautiful it was almost
painful. It had made Traveler, Cado, and more than a few of the others present
think of all the mysterious dreams they'd never understood. "I'll go along
with those who say the boy's not all here," the tavernkeeper continues now.
"But only if they mean that some part of him is far away in another place and
time, giving him the vision to play music like that."
Cado nods. "...Another place and time," he says softly. Then his eyes
refocus, and he snaps back to attention. "But enough about that. I have some
important things to tell you, Trav. They aren't strictly meant for your ears,
but--I trust you."
"So that's why you wanted to eat in here. Go ahead."
"Well, you may have been wondering why I returned from the Crusades before
most of the rest of the armies." Traveler nods. "Actually, I was sent here."
"By...whom? The Duke?" Trav asks, puzzled.
Cado nods soberly. "Rumors have reached him--even far off in the Holy
Lands--that there might be a plot against him here in Hexsum, during his long
absence. As a member of the Duke's Guard, I was sent to investigate. I'm to
go into town tomorrow and talk to the Duke's ministers who are ruling in his
absence."
"But what if they're in on the plot?"
The bouncer sighs. "That's the problem. I have to poke around carefully.
But perhaps you can tell me...have you heard anything?"
Trav leans his chair back and looks at the ceiling for a moment before
speaking. "Hmmmmm...there's all this anti-Viaran feeling stirring lately, and
it almost seems orchestrated. If I had to guess by whom, I'd say Lord VENKMAN.
But I don't know if that would have anything to do with plots against the
Duke."
"One more thing: there is one man here that the Duke trusts. His name is
ROLAND. Have you heard of him?"
"As a matter of fact, I think so! He came by here briefly a few weeks
back. He had something to do with that lunatic RECYCLER, the one living in the
stone circle out front. But I don't know where he is now."
"Guess I'll have to search." Cado drinks from his mug, which holds the
bitter brown liquid John Waller has been brewing lately. "What is this stuff
of SYLVAR's?"
"Ask him about it. Some old sailor in town gave him a bunch of odd plants
...he's been growing them over on ALBATROSS' farm. This stuff is made from
some beans. All I know is, one cup in the morning keeps me going half the
day..." ;)
User: Traveler
Date: 20-Sep 00:08 AM 780019746
III.115
VVC>> Dealing with the devil (Pt. I)
===============================================================================
DRAKEHART and VISION stand in a chamber somewhere beneath The Pit, facing
the holographic projection of an artificial intelligence named Osiris. "I'm
looking for answers," Drakehart says, simply. "I figure you can help me with
that...after all, you're made of information, aren't you? And you live in a
sea of it."
"Do not attempt to convince me that you sought me out simply to serve as
a data-retrieval agent," the shadowy, feminine form says. "In fact, I estimate
a very low probability that you knew anything of my existence before entering
this room. You are bluffing." The projection suddenly morphs into a sleekly
muscled man of similar appearance, and turns toward Vision. When it speaks,
its voice is only slightly deeper. "This other one, however--I think he had
some idea of what he was looking for."
Vision looks contemptuously away from the projection as he speaks to it.
"I've taken a lot of pounding in my day. But being an out-and-out pawn...
well, I don't take well to that. I knew there was a game going on. I came to
find the chessmaster."
"Perhaps you chose a showdown with the Queen a little too soon," Osiris
says, reverting to female form.
"Perhaps I figured I'd get to the King right away, instead of dealing with
the other pieces."
The AI laughs, and its form ripples. "Not possible. But...there are
things I want. If you help me get them, I have considerable resources with
which to compensate you." Drakehart looks over at Vision, warily. The null
boxer shrugs faintly.
"What can humble wetware such as ourselves possibly do for you that you
can't do yourself, Great One?" the refugee from the 20th century asks.
"By virtue of your nature, you have access to places I can never go."
"But the Net is linked to everything. Except..." Drakehart trails off.
"The aliens' systems. Yes, they are completely insulated from the human
Net. But they have their uses for humans." Osiris spontaneously becomes male
again. "You will go to the Human Processing Center, Terminal Seven, Hexsum
Aerospace Facility, tomorrow at 11 am. Someone will meet you there with the
appropriate papers. You will be accepted as volunteers, and paid the usual."
"Some of those volunteers have gone into the alien compound and never
come back out," Vision says...
User: Traveler: Underworld Mix
Date: 20-Sep 04:05 PM 780077139
III.116
A woman cloaked in a dusty cloak wearily enters the VVC. "Rum and coke," she
asks the curvacious barmaid.
"They haven't been invented yet," the barmaid replied.
"Mead, then."
The barmaid served the woman, thinking that there was something familiar about
her face. "You look as though you've traveled a long way," she said. "We have
rooms available, if you wish a place to stay for the night."
"Thank you, that would be excellent. And yes, I have been off to the
Crusades." The woman pushed back the hood of her cloak. "It's terrible.
Resumes, interviews-- I mean, swords, blood, dying men... I'm glad to have
returned."
"I see," the barmaid replied. "You do look familiar."
The woman smiled, and the lines of exhaustion on her face smoothed. "My name
is Daricelle du Vin. I left here a while ago, with Sir Zoroaster... I have
returned because he said he forgot something, something that I alone do for
him."
"What was it?"
"He didn't turn in his Hardee's(TM) badge. They're threatening to chop him
into 32 pieces and fry him."
User: Dark Lady, the unemployed but creative
Date: 20-Sep 06:37 PM 780086282
III.117
VVC>> Dealing with the devil (Pt. II)
==============================================================================
"Do not be alarmed. I know something of the aliens' operations already.
I have seen to it that you will be in no great danger. Keep in mind that it
would be of no benefit to me if you did not return."
"What are we supposed to do while there?" Drakehart asks.
"Mostly simple labor, of the kind that most workers for the aliens have
reported doing. But you will come close to certain sensitive areas. I need
information, and if possible, a physical artifact."
"They'll never let us smuggle anything out!"
"If things go according to plan, it will be possible."
"And how will we know what to look for?"
"I can only give you two key words: Emit Flesti."
"What?"
"There is no further data. Do you accept?"
Drakehart steps forward. "You still haven't been specific about what you
can offer us."
Vision pulls him aside and whispers. "This is a Class IV AI, man. It can
pull bytes from just about any system it wants to. I'm not telling you to
trust it...I'm just saying it can do what it claims."
"I want proof," Drakehart says in a normal voice. "Osiris, what can you
tell me about...about the history of this building? Specifically, an event in
the early-to-mid 1990s during which a large number of people disappeared."
"Working." A second later, it points to a square that appears to hover
in the air in front of the two men. Text scrolls on to it, and Drakehart
reads for a moment.
"There's nothing here I haven't already gleaned myself, and I hadn't
hacked a system for decades before yesterday," he says with a snort. "Brain
the size of a planet, and you're just using it to park cars, so to speak. Try
harder or no deal."
"It will take time to penetrate and search classified databases. I can
have a report for you when you complete the mission, however--"
"No. I want a printout of your initial findings when we meet your agent
at the terminal in the morning."
"Agreed." Abruptly, the hologram vanishes, and the two men are alone.
They don't talk till they've already left The Pit far behind. "Let's
assume for the moment that it's right, and we can enter the alien compound and
return," Drakehart says as they ride in a rented groundcar. "What are its
motives? Might we become disposable after this mission?"
"For that matter, who owns it? And why does it own The Pit?" the null
boxer says.
Drakehart does not reply; other questions burn more deeply in his brain.
_Where *did* everyone go?_ He looks out the window at the dull landscape of
the Dredge, but what he sees is a face in his mind. _Where did...*she* go?_
User: Traveler
Date: 21-Sep 03:15 PM 780160528
III.118
And now... a rather unexpected turn of events...
Bet you didn't expect ME!
... /
;::::; /
;::::; :; /
;:::::' :;
;:::::; ;.
,:::::' ; OOO\
::::::; ; OOOOO\
;:::::; ; OOOOOOOO
;::::::; ;' / OOOOOOO
;:::::`. ,,,;. / / DOOOOOO
;;:::::::::::;, / / DOOOO
;;;|________| / / DOOO
| ____ \ ,#/ / DOOO
| | \ ::# / DOOO
| \ \ ::# / DOO
| \ \_::#/ DOO
| \ ::## OO
| \____:::# OO
| ;::# O
| |
| | human heart
| | goes here _______
| \ | / \
| \ v / |
| \___________/ / |
\ / /
\ / /
\ / /__
|____________________|___________|
User: Sylvar, ascii surgeon to the cliches
Date: 22-Sep 04:25 AM 780207966
III.119
AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!
:)
The First Law of MBBS: There is only a finite supply of new jokes on the
boards. However, there are infinite ways in which they can be recombined...
User: Traveler: Death-Mool Mix
Date: 22-Sep 12:17 PM 780236270
III.120
VVC: Know when to hold 'em...
==============================================================================
Until now, TRAVELER has had little opportunity to examine the book on the
Tarot that LYDIA recently gifted him with. But for the last few hours, he's
been sitting in the Blue Room reading up on the deck and its various cards.
The cards he's been finding--amazingly, they all seem to be part of the same
set--are spread out on the table in front of him. Some paper and a quill pen
in a bottle of ink are nearby.
"No question," the tavernkeeper murmurs to himself. "Each time I find a
card, it seems strangely linked to something." He puts down the book, picks
up the quill, and begins writing out a chart:
SUIT CARDS FOUND PERSON OR EVENT CORRESPONDENCE
Cups Queen Mistress DARICELL Both found at her house
Knight Sir ZOROASTER (day he took her away)
Page ECSTASY Found behind her bar
King Jack Dullblade Found under his table
II, III, IV, Full moon party Found near bowl of GHOST's
V, VIII, IX, X punch that got us all drunk!
"It seems quite clear what the Cups mean. No surprise I've found so many...
this being a tavern, after all." He smiles, then continues:
Swords VII Ghost Found when he arrived
Page GRAHAM Found when he arrived
Knight Me (TRAVELER) Found in my room
II Knight who brought Found when he was here
news of CADO
Ace Sir Cado Found just before his return
III, IV, V Other knights Found while they visited VVC
"Hmm...associations with conflict and secrecy," Trav says. "And perhaps Viar."
Pentacles VII ALBATROSS Found when he visited
VIII TIPMO Found when he visited
Queen LYDIA Found when she stopped mob
attacking Orfeo outside
Ace ??? Found in stables
"That was just last night, after VENKMAN's men attacked the Viaran in the
White Room. I chanced to see Graham head for the stables, and ere he rode off,
Ghost sold something to him--but I know not what..."
Wands Page PERIGRINE Found outside his room
Knight Sir Guy of NORM Found when he visited
Ace ??? Found when SYLVAR came back
with strange plants from
the trader he met in town
II, III, IV, Sylvar's plants? Found every time he visits
V, VI Albatross' farm to check on
his plants
"The book tells that Wands are linked with agriculture--and also light-haired
folk. It figures..."
Trav is about to move on to the remaining cards he's found, all of which
are part of the 22 special Major Arcana that don't fall into any suit. But a
knock at the door interrupts.
"I think you better come out here," John Waller says. "Tipmo just told
Albatross the ending of a morality play he hasn't seen yet...they're arguing."
Traveler sighs, and puts the cards and book away...for now...
User: Traveler: Full House House Mix
Date: 22-Sep 02:18 PM 780243531
III.121
VVC: "don't ask me why I'll keep my promise..."
============================================================================
Mistress Daricelle, returned (however briefly) from the Crusades, had been
given a clean, private room above the tavern's common area. She took a few
minutes to wash away the dust of the road before going to knock on Traveler's
door.
"Come in, come in," Traveler said. He was studying a spread of Tarot cards
which were spread across his table.
"Hello, Trav," Daricelle said.
"Mistress Daricelle! But I thought... Where's Sir Zoroaster? Did he return
as well?"
"No, he is overseeing the siege of a Moorish city. My son, Charles, remained
with him. I had to return, to ensure that you are storing my wines correctly."
"Er, hum, well..."
"I entrusted them to your care, Traveler. They must be properly stored, in a
cellar where light and heat cannot disturb the aging process. Some of the
wines..." She paused. "Traveler, I must have you swear that you will tell no
one of what I am about to say."
"You have my word, Mistress."
"Some of the bottles contain vintages other than fermentations of the grape.
It is imperative that they be carefully stored, or their use will not be as it
should, and the spells that they can cast will be drastically changed."
"Spells? Mistress Daricelle, why do you say--"
"I can only tell you what I know. I have been granted the responsibility of
caring for them; they are very old, and even I do not know the secrets behind
all of them. I have learned more about their nature in the Holy Lands. They
have pagan origins, but they are connected to Christianity, and to deeper and
darker religious rites that we have not yet begun to fathom." She held out a
sheaf of papers, neatly bound with a ribband and covered with notes. "These
pages contain the information I was able to find. The bottles, the spells, are
more important than I had ever thought; these pages contain the recipes for
some. The power to control weather, to divide a man against himself... they
are all here."
Traveler looked at the sheaf of papers incredulously. "The Do-It-Thyself
Grimoire," he read. "What does the D.L. stand for?"
"It is my mark. I have had to learn many things, become a new person in order
to gain this information. The initials are those of my spellcasting name, The
Dark Lady. Do not repeat it," she warned him, as he began to echo her words.
"The name itself carries great power."
"What would you have me do, Mistress Daricelle?" he asked simply.
Daricelle told him. "The Grimoire is yours. I will send more installments
when I can, by various couriers. Do NOT let it or the bottles fall into the
wrong hands. Yes, the bottles will have to remain here, except one which will
return to the Holy Lands with me. Have you any recommendation for a place in
which we can carefully store them?"
"You said the spells are connected to Christianity?"
"On a deep level, yes."
"I know of a person who may be a help in this matter. Would you accompany me
to the convent of Mother Superior Roark?"
User: Dark Lady, with a witch's brew....
Date: 23-Sep 01:58 AM 780285736
III.122
*applauds*
Good plot twist!
Any of those spells make a good grenadine?
User: ECSTASY
Date: 23-Sep 07:34 AM 780305672
III.123
.--------------------------------------------------------------.
| |
| "Oh you just HAD to say something |
| didn't you?" |
| ... / |
| ;::::; / |
| ;::::; :; / |
| ;:::::' :; |
| ;:::::; ;. |
| ,:::::' ; OOO\ |
| ::::::; ; OOOOO\ |
| ;:::::; ; OOOOOOOO |
| ;::::::; ;' / OOOOOOO |
| ;:::::`. ,,,;. / / DOOOOOO |
| ;;:::::::::::;, / / DOOOO |
| ;;;|________| / / DOOO |
| | ____ \ ,#/ / DOOO |
| | | \ ::# / DOOO |
| | \ \ ::# / DOO |
| | \ \_::#/ DOO |
| | \ ::## OO |
| | \____:::# OO |
| | ;::# O |
| | | |
| | | Bag of Fritos |
| | | goes here _______ |
| | \ | / \ |
| | \ v / | |
| | \___________/ / | |
| \ / / "Uh...this is
| \ / going to be
| \ "Come back, TOM!"____ hard to watch."
| |______________________________\ ___| / |
| ~~ ^ ^ |
| / ~ )###) |
| < ] (~~\ / |
`----------------------------------------- > / --- ~~~|| -----'
/====\ /~ ~\
~\ /~~~~~~~~\ /~~~~~~~~\ /~~~~~~~~\ /~~~~~~~~\ /~~~~~~~~\ /~~~~~~~~\
| | | | | | |
| | | | | | |
User: Enterprise - ASCII and ye shall receive...8)
Date: 23-Sep 07:36 AM 780305778
III.124
Uh, does this mean we get an IMAX option in Travelogout?...
___
Although the sun bakes the walls of the Virtuous Vagabond & Company, in a small
enclosed room John Waller studies by candlelight. Hunched over his book like a
starving man hiding a leg of lamb, he reads the fading words of his tome with
unbreakable concentration.
So it's no surprise to you, gentle reader, that Orfeo has managed to come close
enough to him to read over his shoulder. Seeing the topic, he draws in his
breath sharply -- breaking the silence. John wheels about in fright, nearly
toppling the shy sapling. Orfeo backs away, holding up his hands to deflect a
horrible blow.
"No, I'm not going to hit you... you just surprised me, that's all. How did
you get in here?" John asks.
Orfeo's brow furrows, as if he didn't understand the question.
"You don't know what I'm saying, do you? I suppose it's safe to tell you,
then, especially since you seem an untalkative lad. I am a scholar, and
dislike losing any information. I write down everything I can, including which
books I have in this study. This morning, I found a new book. It seems to be
made of ash -- as if someone had formed it from the element of fire."
John Waller closes the cover of the thick book carefully, lovingly. He shows
Orfeo -- and us -- the title: "On Unholy Miracles, with a warning to the
Reader, that he may not fall to ruin in my footsteps."
Orfeo nods gravely, and turns away. He walks to the door, looks back, and
opens his mouth. "Be careful," he says, and walks out of the room, closing the
door behind him.
"You knew what I was saying?" gasps John. He stands, and runs for the door --
only to see that the deadbolt is still closed.
"Odd... but he means me no harm," mutters John, and resumes his studies.
User: SYLVAR
Date: 23-Sep 11:02 AM 780318171
III.125
Later that day, TRAVELER and DARICELL have been to visit Mother Superior ROARK.
"I'll have those plans for the cellar done soon, Traveler! Farewell, my dear
friend Mistress Daricell! Do come and visit again!" She stands at the door of
her room at the convent, and waves as the tavernkeeper and the wine dealer ride
back northwards toward the VVC. Then, with a sigh, she returns to her desk.
It is actually a large drawing table that is, at this moment, covered with
various bits of paper, all scrawled upon in some cryptic manner that only she
can read.
"Wine cellars, cellars, barns, church towers...Am I the only one in this town
who can draw? I think I should close up shop here and go into business for
myself. But I don't know who's worse -- nasty clients or the archbishop,"
she says to herself.
Suddenly, there is a knock at the door. It startles her, and between this and
going to answer her caller, she manages to cover the floor of her chambers in
papers and plans.
"Why, Mr. Albatross! What a pleasant suprise!" She rushes to greet him with
an friendly embrace. "What can we do for you here at Mother Roark's Nunnery
and Design Emporium? Wh--? Carrying such baggage? Are you going on the
Crusades too? Or is that this month's tithe in those new vegetables of
SYLVAR's...what were they called...potatoes?"
He tries to laugh, but can only muster a small stifled chuckle. "I'm terribly
sorry to interrupt what seems to be such...er, productive work, Mother Roark,
but I thought I'd tell you that..." He turns for a moment. "That I'm leaving."
Roark can only stare, mouth agape in shock. "Le-leaving!? But where will you
go? Who will farm your land? Why?!"
"I can't stay here right now, M'Lady. I have fought too much, and made many
enemies. No one will hear what I say without taking sides. I can't talk about
the price of tea in Flanders without someone bringing up an old quarrel. Folk
here hold many grudges, and I don't wish to be one of them. LYDIA has arranged
for someone else to take care of my farm. I must go...for now."
He brushes a tear from her cheek, and kisses her hand. "Farewell, Mother
Roark. Perhaps I shall return..."
"Yes, perhaps..."
User: Roark (via Traveler)
Date: 25-Sep 03:32 AM 780463943
III.126
TRAVELER has come back with DARICELL from the convent; the wine dealer is
now setting out to return to the Holy Lands, and the innkeeper is riding with
her as far as the beginning of the desert road east of the City. CADO sees
them off, and satisfied that they are well underway, turns and goes back to
the tavern. Something just still isn't right about what is going on.
X greets him at the bar and hands him a pint of strong ale. He
gratefully accepts the warm mug and hands her a shilling. She refuses it with
a warm smile. "On the house, good man. You've had quite a journey, eh?" He
nods somberly, pocketing the shilling again. "I only wish I had more to
tell..." X leans over and rests on her elbows, giving the bouncer a wink.
"P'raps some things are best forgotten."
<> he thinks, as he sets down the empty glass. Still, there's
something in the back of his mind that just isn't right. It's as if he
doesn't belong there... But this *is* his home... he's worked here for
years...and he was only away for a little while...why doesn't it feel right?
He decides that maybe he should take a short nap to clear his mind. He
rises up and nods to X, thanking her graciously. He takes a short moment to
peer out the door at the surrounding area. <> He turns around and heads up the stairs
toward his room.
As he lies on his bed, watching the patterns of reflected light on the
ceiling, he drifts off slowly...thoughts intertwining and swirling around. He
manages to try to put a few together before he falls completely asleep...
...there is still the strange image he saw before...a gate...a
portal...something...he feels like he is rising up; flying...he *is*
flying...there is a powerful presence...somewhere...where?...there...he flies
toward it...attacking it...why?...what is happening?...he hears a soft roar
beneath him...waves...water...an ocean...he looks up...there it is...the
presence...the magic...it tries to overcome him...he fights it...the
portal...he heads for the portal...closer...closer...closer...
...there!
CADO sits up with a start, sweat rolling down his face... He looks
around nervously, but all is as it was before. He buries his face in his
hands, nearly sobbing. <>
A precarious wind suddenly picks up outside his window. He looks up,
rises from the bed, and goes to look out. A bit of a strong breeze blows by,
carrying a few light dead weeds, bits of floating hay, a seed or two...
...Cado is caught by surprise as a small card blows into the window,
landing exactly in the center of his bed. <> He picks it up
gently, noticing the pattern on the back.
<> He studies the pattern on the back of the card for a few
moments. He had only come in contact with Tarot once before... A gypsy...
Madame Naola, as she called herself... He had scoffed at her predictions and
thought nothing more of them... until now... what did she say? "...you are
out of your time..."
Slowly, nervously...the thoughts of her voice echoing in his head...he
turns the card over to see what it is...
He rushes out of his room...down the stairs. "Trav! Where are you?
Trav!" He stops at the bar. "Ecstasy...have you seen Traveler? I must find
him!" ECSTASY shakes her head. "I think he went to see Lady Lydia...but I
don't expect him back before nightfall." <> He heads for the Blue Room...and fortuitously, or so he thinks, it
appears that SYLVAR has left the door unlocked.
Once inside, he begins searching everywhere...tables...desk...shelves
... <> In the last drawer he looks,
he finds the deck of tarot cards, now about half-assembled. He seizes them
hurriedly and rushes out of the room. At this hour of the day, the kitchen is
empty, and scullery maid AQUA22 in bed; so he lights a candle and sets the
cards down on the heavy wooden table in the middle of the room.
<<...think...what was that arrangement the madame showed you?>> He
stops for a moment, picks up the cards, and begins to cut them in a circle.
Clearing his mind, he precariously picks them up again in a seemingly random
order, but with a definite pattern. The deck finally reassembled, he begins
laying out the cards one by one, in sort of a cross-triangle arrangement,
observing them as he lays them out. Muttering to himself as the pattern of
cards begin to form a meaning, sweat begins to bead on his brow and temples,
rolling down the sides of his face...
...another card...another...another...It is beginning to make sense. A
sword here...a cup there...pentacles here...The fool...The Queen...
Finally, he lays the second to last card, completing the form. He holds
the very last card in his hand...the one that blew in through his window...and
takes a last look at the formation of cards...
...it is all too apparently clear now.
Hands shaking, face pouring sweat, he stands up, holding out the last
card. Teeth clenched, muscles tensed, voices screaming in his head...
"This...must...all...*change*!"
He places the Death card face up in the center of the form...
...and in a bright flash of amber light, he is gone.
User: Cado
Date: 26-Sep 03:04 PM 780591859
III.127
Must have been some good ale....
User: ECSTASY
Date: 26-Sep 03:31 PM 780593497
III.128
VVC: A folded hand
==============================================================================
The morning after DARICELLe has set out to return to the Holy Lands and
Sir ZOROASTER via the desert road, TRAVELER gets up bright and early. Mother
Superior ROARK dropped off the plans for the new wine cellar the night before,
and Trav wants to get started on the digging as soon as possible. He comes
downstairs not long after dawn; at this hour of the day, he's not too well-
humored, but the smell of John Wallers's dark brown beverage (which, John has
recalled, the old trader referred to as "java") perks him up quickly. In the
White Room, he runs into GRAHAM, and they enjoy a mug of this mysterious
"java" together.
"Good morrow, friend. Haven't seen much of you around lately," the
tavernkeeper says. In a lower voice, he continues, "I gather the attack on the
Viaran the other night spooked you a bit."
Graham smiles tightly. "The climate for those from my homeland is not
too friendly here. I'd appreciate it if you told anyone who asks that I'm
from Wakefield, to the south...actually, you're the only one who knows my place
of birth to be Viar."
Traveler glances down at his steaming mug. _He trusts me...I'd love to
return that trust, and tell him the secret of my own origins, the secret I've
only shared with LYDIA, Sylvar and CADO...but the time may not yet be right._
He looks back up at Graham's bright face, surrounded by close-cut curly hair.
"Certainly...I would never betray a confidence," he says. Graham's smile
relaxes into genuine friendliness.
They chat for several more minutes; then Trav stands. "If you'll excuse
me, I have a cellar to dig. But we must do this again--it makes my mornings
much more pleasant." He proffers his hand, and Graham takes it, in a warm,
prolonged handshake.
A moment later, he enters the kitchen, where the excavation is to occur.
"Aqua, where's Cado? He's supposed to be here to help dig!"
The maid approaches Traveler with a fearful look on her face. "I...I
haven't seen him. No one's seen him since last night. Sylvar's out looking
for him...but..."
"But what?"
"I found these when I came down earlier to start cooking." She holds out
Traveler's partial deck of Tarot cards. "They were laid out on the table in a
circle. I can't explain it, but I got this awful feeling when I touched them.
Cado must have been messing with them...I just know something happened to him!"
Trav's face is grim. "He shouldn't have been playing with them. Still...
they're only cards...I mean...what harm could he do to himself with a deck of
cards?" But inside, he is uncertain. _These aren't just any old cards...
maybe he has gotten himself in trouble..._
John Waller enters from the stables, breathless. "No sign of him, in the
building or anywhere nearby. I even asked some villagers if they'd seen him
around...nobody has, since last night."
Traveler tries to project confidence. "Well, I'm sure he'll turn up soon.
Meanwhile, let's get on with the cellar digging, John. Lydia's supposed to
send over some laborers to help. Help me clear the floor over here in the
corner." Sylvar moves to help him with the furniture, but shoots him a dark
glance as he pockets the Tarot cards...
User: Traveler
Date: 28-Sep 09:36 PM 780788210
III.129
VVC>> Playing a new game...
==============================================================================
...a whirl of images... things flying everywhere... pentacles...
swords... hearts... diamonds... swirling around...almost like a scene from
_Alice In Wonderland_... round and round and round... faster and faster... the
images start to run together... blurring... colors fly in tight circles...
blending... running together... until finally they begin to slow down...
becoming a mixed shade of reddish-grey... slowing down... coming down...
coming together... redblackredblackredblackredblackred black red black red
black red black red black red black red black red black
red black red black ...
"Red 27!"
The dealer picks up the ball from the roulette wheel and places it back
on the starting carriage. He pays a handsome sum to the lucky lady in the
tight blue jumpsuit who happened to put her last chip on #27, her
birthday...then he rakes in the rest of the players' money.
CADO looks down as the chips are raked away...vaguely aware that he just
lost a small sum of money. <> Alarmed, he steps
back. <> Then he notices the rather
large stack of chips still in front of him, and a wave of relief comes over
him. Still, he decides to pick up the stack and carry it over to the cash-in
counter...he feels really strange, and he'd just as soon not be gambling
if his mind isn't in it...he could lose a lot of money that way.
"Cash or credit?" snaps the woman at the counter.
"Credit, please," CADO replies. <>
"I.D. Number," the woman retorts.
CADO looks up. "Excuse me?"
The woman makes an annoyed face at him. "Your I.D. number please?"
CADO is befuddled. He says nothing for a moment. The woman loses her
patience...
"Your I.D. number! Y'know? The one you got when you were born!! For
cripes sake, I haven't got all day..."
CADO's mind suddenly clicks. "Oh...174H2107-D. I'm sorry...my
mind has been wandering all over the place today..."
The woman says nothing, but punches a few buttons on her keyboard.
Moments later, she hands him a receipt.
"Thank you," CADO replies. The woman ignores him.
CADO stops at the bar, where a thin, quiet woman in a worker's uniform
comes to serve him. <>
"Hey Cado! I haven't seen you here in a long time!" the woman exclaims
when she sees him.
CADO shakes his head a bit... "Oh! Fanny! Wow...I didn't recognize
you for a second...My mind must really be going..."
The woman smiles and shakes her head. "I don't see how you couldn't...I
haven't changed a bit since you left."
"So how have you been?" CADO asks, still a little embarrassed.
Fanny sighs. "Oh, I'm still here. And I really wish you were,
too...this place has just gone to the dogs since you quit." She mixes him a
drink and sets it down in front of him. He goes to punch in his number on the
barside keypad, but she stops him. "It's on the house." She proceeds to
punch in her own number...
CADO smiles and takes a sip of his drink. "Ahh...Altairian
Avalanche...you remembered." Fanny replies with a grin. "How could I forget?
You ordered one after every person you bodily threw out of here...And after
awhile, I lost count of both!"
User: Cado
Date: 29-Sep 12:28 PM 780841742
III.130
humans
the scent of humans is in the air
i'm so tired of them, but perhaps the deserve another chance
at least for a night, maybe a meal will come of it
i'll follow the scent
darkness
broken by light
this big black dog wanders into the light
his previous master oblivious of his departure
the leather lead drags behind
a nuisance
voices
i hear them
jovial
this brick wall
it's mine
i'll mark it
sleepy
long night travelling
rest now
User: ROTTWEILER
Date: 2-Oct 07:15 PM 781125354
III.131
VVC: Reunion
=============================================================================
CADO's meddling with the Tarot deck has unleashed some strange forces.
Reverberations are still rippling through the spaceİtime continuum; and in
out of the way pockets of reality, the resonations have some surprising
effects...
One such pocket is on a timeline that runs parallel, but alternate, to
to the VVC. These pockets of alternate reality pop up from time to time; in
this case, the timeline seems to lie somewhere between the past and the future
versions of the VVC.
If one could observe this timeline from outside, one would see a small
crowd of people, gathered in the treeİcovered gardens next to the presentİday
Virtual Vax Cafe. They are all waiting for something, expectantly. TRAVELER
is there, as are DARICELL, ZOROASTER, GHOST, GRAHAM, and a host of others.
Some of the crowd is dressed medievally, others in presentİday semi-formal
clothes, and a few display traces of cyberpunk.
Through the crowd comes a bearded man; he is not a VVC regular, but hails
from a region of cyberspace not too far away. Some know him as Morgan
Bluejeans; some simply call him BJ. He calls the group to some kind of vague
order. Shortly thereafter, music begins to waft from somewhere nearby, and
the crowd splits into two halves, forming an aisle. DRAKEHART joins BJ at the
front. Down the aisle comes the fair DELIRIUM, and with her are FIREFLYTE and
INLERAH. The members of the procession reach the front and take their places.
The onlookers grow quiet as a ceremony begins. The ritual is brief, but
elegant in its simplicity; Drakehart and Delirium exchange vows, a cup of wine,
and finally rings. The crowd roars its approval, and there is much laughter
and merriment. Feasting and drinking will follow, and a special retreat for
the bride and groom. It seems as if not only a man and a woman have been
married here, but also the past and future of the divided VVC.
But this small sidetrack in the continuum, happy as it is, begins to grow
dim and blurry. The whirlwinds of time disrupt this enclave of happiness,
and though Drakehart and Delirium, in their separate centuries, will know that
somehow they have been joined together in a manner that transcends time and
space, no one else will recall this event, save in beautiful dreams that
trouble the mind and make the spirit ache upon waking...
User: TRAVELER
Date: 2-Oct 07:42 PM 781126926
III.132
VVC: "TANSTAAFL"*
=============================================================================
The cellar digging has been underway for some hours; much progress has
been made, and so far, the only mishap has been a broken ankle, suffered by
ECSTASY when she accidentally stepped into the excavation. TRAVELER has done
his share of wielding shovel, pick and wheelbarrow, İİand of course dealing
with the usual crowd of customers, İİbut is now taking a break. He sits in
the empty Red Room, and over ale, bread and cheese, contemplates his Tarot
deck.
"Wait a minute," he murmurs as he thumbs through the cards. "This one
wasn't here before...Death. Might it have something to do with...Cado?" He
puts the cards down, uneasy, and picks up the leatherİbound volume labeled _Il
Tarocci_. Locating the proper page, he reads:
The mysterious horseman, Death, rides a well-İbridled horse, and moves
slowly across a field. He bears a black banner emblazoned with a mystic
rose, which signifies life...
"A mystic rose...heh..." Trav thinks of a certain familiar emblem: a
sword with a rose twined around it. He skips down the page:
DIVINATORY MEANING: Tranformation, change. Sometimes destruction
followed or preceded by transformation. The change may be in the form
of consciousness. Sometimes it may mean birth and renewal.
A knock at the door startles him. "Come in."
A tall, bony, hawkİnosed figure enters. "I am Frost, of the Official
Ministry of Taverns. Are you the proprietor of this place?"
Traveler stands. "I am. What can I do for you? I believe my taxes are
paid up, and my license is in orderİİ"
"So did we...until we began receiving reports to the contrary." Frost
looks around in distaste. "It confuses me why anyone would want to build a
tavern so far out of the City in the first place...so close to...Viar. But
that is not the matter at hand."
"What is the matter at hand?"
"Mr. Traveler, do your employees eat lunch?"
"Whİ? Of course they do."
"I see you were doing so just now. Playing cards, eh?" Frost looks at
the cards and book on the table. "Do you really think that the Tarot is
appropriate reading material? That's not the kind of image you should be
projecting as a tavernkeeper." He sniffs. "But we were speaking of lunch.
I am examining these records you submitted to the Ministry, and I see no
mention of time off for the midday meal."
Trav is puzzled. "Well, no, I didn't mention it in that paperwork. But
the employees take their lunch breaks every day, as do I..."
"Mr. Traveler, falsifying state documents is a serious crime."
"Falsif--what!? I didn't put lunch breaks on the records because
I didn't think I had to!!"
"Of course you have to! You've known this since you were granted your
license by the Official Ministry of Taverns. You obviously failed to read
your copy of the rules and regulations."
"With all due respect, sir, I was never told anything of the kind." Trav
takes the rulebook from Frost's hands and flips through it. "I don't believe
lunch is mentioned anywhere in this book. In all the time I've worked here,
no one has said anything ab--"
Frost sighs with impatience. "Any fool knows that lunch breaks must be
recorded. It's too obvious to mention specifically." He snatches the book.
"You will correct your paperwork to reflect hours actually worked. But I'm
afraid we can't let you off that lightly. We've been receiving various reports
about you for some time--reports that you run a sloppy operation, that you
are lax about everything around here."
"I provide fine service to all my customers!! I _pride_ myself on that!!"
"--and that you have been insubordinate to Ministry personnel, including
mysilf. There's only one thing we can do. Mr. Traveler, I hereby revoke your
tavern license. I expect this establishment to be closed for good by the end
of this day. Your disciplinary hearing is scheduled for tomorrow morning at
8 am. That is all." With a sniff, Frost turns and walks out.
*"There Ain't No Such Thing As A Free Lunch."
User: TRAVELER
Date: 3-Oct 09:23 PM 781219413
III.133
P.S. Any and all resemblances to real persons, living or dead, is purely
coincidental...
User: Traveler ;|
Date: 3-Oct 09:24 PM 781219486
III.134
*sigh*
User: Roland on the horizon
Date: 3-Oct 10:40 PM 781224034
III.135
*hug*
User: ECSTASY the crippled
Date: 3-Oct 10:50 PM 781224651
III.136
Hawk-nosed? You're liable to get fired for... umm... nevermind. Great
writing, of course. And keen, subtle parallels to scurrilous rumor --
false, to be sure, but invigorating images nonetheless.
Great stu
SHUT DOWN?
User: ACK! -- Sylvar
Date: 4-Oct 02:41 AM 781238532
III.137
VVC>> Memories...
==============================================================================
After saying goodbye to Fanny, CADO decides to look around The Pit.
Though he knows it hasn't been that long since he worked here, he feels a
strange sense of jamais vu--that feeling that familiar places are strangely
foreign. He mounts the steps that lead out of the sunken circular casino at
the middle of the building, and enters the dim Grey Room at the front. Small
groups of people sit hunched over at tables, making deals--what kind of deals,
it's best not to ask. _As long as they don't get out of hand, I don't--I
didn't--interfere_, the ex-bouncer remembers.
He wanders clockwise into the Ultra-Violet Room, where lone figures sit
at comm terminals, making calls or jacking into the Net. Thanks to discreet
payments to the Hexsum Comm Authority, these phones are untraceable. Other
users here are plugged into VR sets, their eyes twitching under lightly closed
lids, as computer dreams envelope them. Cado proceeds to the X-Ray Room at the
back of the building.
_I never spent much time here_, he recalls. Bodies are sprawled on
couches and floor mats; glassy-eyed stares indicate the chemical trances in
which the inhabitants of this room are lost. He quickly hurries on to the
Infra-Red Room, where a strip show is getting underway. _At least this place
is always lively...everyone's enjoying themselves...but wait...something's
missing..._ He turns and hurries back to the X-Ray Room.
_There...that chair in the corner._ He stops a passing waitress. "Where
is he?"
"Where's who?"
Cado points to the chair, his mind blank. "Him! The--the one who sits
there!"
"The old man? The Orphan? I dunno...the doorman said he was spooked,
'cuz someone shot at him the other day. He didn't come in this morning." She
shrugs and walks away. Cado tries to remember why the Orphan is so important
to him...and his mind begins to swim...he sees a burning ship...a cliffside
temple...a collection of faces he knows, and yet can't name, in this very
building, once upon a time...decades ago? centuries ago?
"Where are they?" he hisses. A security assistant comes up and takes his
arm.
"You ok, man?"
"Y-yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he lies. "I, uh, just need to get out of here.
I was supposed to meet someone." Cado hurries to the Ultra-Violet Room, and
looks up an address in the public database. "Downtown...on Cathedral
Avenue..." He clears the terminal, stands, and hurries out.
User: TRAVELER
Date: 4-Oct 07:07 PM 781297668
III.138
Hey...you know, if I'm not mistaken, it was exactly one year ago today that
this whole mess started... :)
Happy Birthday, VVC!
User: Traveler
Date: 4-Oct 09:39 PM 781306758
III.139
wasn't this fueled in part by a very interesting night in the weil hall lab
with lee and darice and me?
*sigh*
User: ECSTASY
Date: 5-Oct 00:47 AM 781318050
III.140
VVC: Uncertain signs
==============================================================================
"'Ey! TRAVELER, me lad, who was that tall fellow just swept outta here?"
asks Jack Dullblade, as Trav walks solemnly into the White Room. "Told me I
'ad to take my feet off the table, and when I said 'e 'ad no right to tell me
that, 'e said 'e did too!"
"That was Frost, of the Official Ministry of Taverns, and he probably does
have the right...whether or not it's in the rulebook..." Trav looks across the
patrons eating and drinking, but feels too depressed to say anything to them
about the imminent closing of the tavern. Instead he goes into the kitchen.
The cellar excavation proceeds apace, but everyone stops working when they
see the look on the tavernkeeper's face. "What's wrong? You look like you've
just seen the Grim Reaper," says John Waller.
"Maybe I have, SYLVAR." Traveler sits down. "It was an official come to
revoke my license for doing some paperwork improperly. The Virtuous Vagabond
and Comrades has been ordered to shut down at the end of the day."
There are cries of protest and gasps of outrage. He explains the
situation briefly, and as the news sinks in, anger gives way to a general mood
of despair. "There's...there's no appeal, then?" asks PERIGRINE.
"There's a hearing tomorrow morning, at the Ministry in town. But it
sounds like a done deal." Trav feels oppressed by the silence that follows.
"So, how's the digging coming?" he says, to lighten the mood.
"Fine," grumbles ECSTASY, "but what's the use of digging a cellar for a
tavern that's been shut down? Did I sprain my ankle for nothing?"
Traveler sighs. "I still have an obligation to store Mistress DARICELLe's
wine. We made an agreement during her recent visit. Don't worry--I'll pay you
to finish the digging. In fact...what the hell, I'll keep all of you at your
normal salaries as long as I can. I've got a bit saved up--"
"Thank you, Trav, but we don't need charity," says Sylvar.
"Who said anything about charity? I'll keep you all working as hard as
ever!" He smiles faintly. "Who knows, maybe I can pull some strings and get
this thing reversed quickly." But inside, he is not hopeful. After a few more
remarks, he retreats to the Blue Room.
There he finds Orfeo, who is poring over some music manuscripts. "You
can't read that, can you?" Trav asks him. In response, the boy takes up his
flute and begins to play. The tavernkeeper smiles and shakes his head. "I
keep underestimating you." The flute clatters to the floor abruptly, and
Orfeo doubles over; Traveler rushes to his side. "What's wrong?"
<>
"Cathedral..." gasps Orfeo. "But...not same. Closed. Everything...
dirty. Metal buildings. Strange...carriages...smoke..."
<>
"CADO!" Orfeo says. "I see...Cado...on the steps of the church..."
"What else do you see?" Traveler presses. "Do you see the broken window,
like last time?" But the young man shakes his head; the vision is gone.
User: TRAVELER
Date: 5-Oct 06:26 PM 781381615
III.141
"By the pubes of Mary!" John Waller mutters. "What the Scrotch is
in that kid's pants?"
"Would you care to keep a civil tongue?" asks Mistress DARICELLe,
prying a rock from the earth with a spade. "We're not all as unholy as you
are, you and your books of deviltry."
Waller's face darkens slightly. "Pardon me. I was talking to myself.
Anyway, my library is certainly not deviltry. My studies may help us to win
back our license. Oh, what a world of profit and delight, of power, of
honor, and omnipotence, is promised to the studious artisan! I use powers the
nuns don't like to talk about, but I do it for our sake, for Good, not Evil."
"Yet you do practice magic, don't you? Don't you practice magic, son?"
insists DARICELLe. "You know what that does? It kills your soul, boy. You're
going to go to Hell for all the good your magic may do you."
"Want to know something?" he teases.
Orfeo, in a ball, springs suddenly back into motion in outrage. He
looks up at John. The boy's face is tense and contorted, as if his grimace
could wall in a secret.
TRAVELER pays but little attention, fascinated by the hint of salvation
for the Vagabond. "Yes."
"The appeal is decided by a cruel man. He wears the color of death
even on a warm spring day, and loves only havoc."
TRAVELER turns to the audience. "Somehow," he deadpans, "I knew he was
gonna say that."
User: JOHN WALLER
Date: 6-Oct 03:33 AM 781414404
III.142
Sylvar: Nice pseudo-Shakespeare. But how can Daricelle be digging the cellar
at the same time that she's journeying back to the Holy Lands? :) (Also,
she just gave Trav a book of magic spells--she's not anti-magic...)
User: Traveler
Date: 6-Oct 11:51 PM 781487508
III.143
VVC: Faces behind faces...
==============================================================================
TRAVELER rises before dawn the next morning. His sleep was haunted by
images of a wedding...it seemed that DELIRIUM was getting married, to some man
he knows but can't place. Everyone at the tavern, including himself, was
there, but some wore different clothes, and the VVC looked different. Woods
and a garden...and the Bay right against the back wall, instead of a hundred
yards away...He files the dream away in his memory with the nightmares about
a burning ship and the beautiful visions of a faery circle of music and light.
Cold water from the basin in his room, splashed across his face, turns his
thoughts elsewhere.
After a thorough breakfast (_I certainly never skimp on mealtimes_, he
thinks wryly; _that's what got me into this trouble in the first place..._), he
saddles Raindancer in the stables, mounts, and sets out for the City. Upon
leaving, he notes a strange but friendly-looking dog hanging around. His
journey takes him past ALBATROSS' farm, currently tended by someone else, and
across VENKMAN's estate. Soon the bustle and smell of the town is near, and
he enters one of the 12 broad gates in the great City wall. It is not hard to
find the Official Ministry of Taverns; soon he is inside and sitting in front
of the review board.
The board consists of an old woman furtively scratching notes on parchment
with a quill pen, Frost, and a gaunt black-clad man with a scar on his jaw whom
Trav recognizes as a Ministry inspector. Frost raps a gavel. "I've already
spoken to you. You know the charges against you. What do you say?"
Trav says calmly, "You've already shut me down. Obviously this has been
prearranged. What is the purpose of this hearing?"
"A formality, Mr. Traveler...but formalities are important to observe..as
you have learned." Frost smiles thinly. "Now, for the record: what do you
have to say for yourself?"
"I know the moves I'm supposed to make," Traveler says placidly, "and I
know the board. But lately I've begun looking out beyond the edge of the
board...at a bigger game."
"Beyond the edge of the board?" Frost's eyes flick to a map on the wall,
showing Hexsum and the surrounding territories, then back. "What game?"
"The sound of the wind in the trees...the wisdom of fools...what we fear
in our nightmares...and what lies beyond our dreams."
Frost sneers. "There was a chance, a miniscule chance, that I might have
reversed the judgement against you at this hearing. But a man who won't even
make a case for himself--who won't even try--isn't going to get help from me!"
The tavernkeeper's face is clear and peaceful. "These are things which I
cannot control. I am completely confident in the rightness of my actions."
Frost slams his gavel down in disgust. "The judgement stands. Your
license to keep a tavern in the duchy of Hexsum is permanently revoked. Now,
get out of my sight." Traveler stands and leaves.
As he is mounting Raindancer and preparing to ride off a few minutes
later, something odd catches his eye: the third member of the review board is
standing at the side entrance of the Ministry, speaking with two other men.
Trav watches closely; recognition dawns on him. "That's Sir Guy of NORM...and
Archbishop MacGillicuddy!" Small money purses change hands, then the group
breaks up. Traveler hurriedly rides away, pondering what he has seen...
User: TRAVELER
Date: 7-Oct 00:28 AM 781489730
III.144
MISSING: The VVC Update, Part 1
III.145
THE VVC UPDATE (Part 2)
--------------
* DRAKEHART, unlike everyone else, decided he just had to zap himself FORWARD
in time to a gritty, cyberpunk future (thus giving me a big plot headache!).
VISION joined on as a washed-up cyborg boxer. They've found that the future
incarnation of the VVC is called The Pit--a sleazy dive with none of the
original cast, except...
* DJ Orpheus. He split in half: going into the past as a flute player named
Orfeo, and living on into the future as an old man named The Orphan. He's
been waiting for one of the VVCers to show up for years...and now Cado has.
* Almost done! Two more things: The Pit is owned by an artificial intelligence
program named Osiris, who has made some kind of deal with Drake and Vision.
Also, the future earth has been host for some years to mysterious aliens.
Osiris has promised to help Drake and Vision find what happened to the other
VVCers--if they will do some spying in the aliens' compound.
* Oh yeah...P.S.: Larko and the Four Punks of the Apocalypse have shown up,
too, but if you don't know who they are, don't worry about it. :)
Believe it or not, I think I've roughly figured out how to untangle this
mess, and get us back to the present day (which I really miss!). Stay tuned,
loyal (and not-so-loyal) readers...
User: TRAVELER
Date: 7-Oct 02:50 AM 781498227
III.146
My...'tis QUITE the tangled web.
Weave on...weave on. 8)
User: Enterprise..."Orbiting the VVC" 8)
Date: 7-Oct 10:28 AM 781525755
III.147
a dog awakes shakes himself and stretches
looks at his surroundings
a doorway is close bye
cautiously he enters
quiet in the daylight
it's cool and dark inside
a human notices him
this one fears....growl
another calls to him
a calming voice
he goes up to her
she takes him by the paw and notices how worn the pads are
he whimpers
licks her hands
she gives him something to eat
he is famished
and pleased
User: ROTTWEILER
Date: 7-Oct 12:08 PM 781531734
III.148
And now for the official VENK Notes(tm) version of people who (N)ext through
the VVC:
VENKMAN: Wishes it would die.
TIPMO: Thinks it makes those Alabama rednecks look literary by comparison.
NORM: Says it sucks. Is just bitter.
VISION: Too drunk to remember anything except that beer is his friend and
love is evil.
TREKKER: Never gets THAT bored at his temp job, or on his his new temp
computer, or with his temp girlfriend...
LOCUTUS: Too busy getting paid for taking naps in his office.
User: VENKMAN
Date: 7-Oct 02:28 PM 781540128
III.149
ECSTASY's past ankle is healing well and she should be healed by the morrow.
User: ECSTASY
Date: 7-Oct 03:40 PM 781544420
III.150
VVC: By hook or by crook...
==============================================================================
GHOST has spent the morning in the City, picking pockets and collecting
various goodies from merchants' carts at the market. Now his black backpack
(which inexplicably has the words THE CURE embroidered on it) is filled with
enough stuff to buy him and Sir BELGARATH another month at the VVC. "Of course
that nice little riding crop covered this month's payment pretty well," he
says to himself. "The thing was valuable to begin with...then I jacked up the
price. But GRAHAM gave me even more than I asked for! He seemed to think it
was pretty important..."
A low mooing stops Ghost in his tracks. He turns his head...and there,
on the other side of a fence at the side of the road, he spies...COWS! "Hi!"
he says happily, and goes over to the bovines. He sits on the fence and begins
an earnest conversation with them, failing to notice two riders approaching
from behind him on the road. They rein in their horses, and dismount quietly.
When one knocks Ghost over the head with a wooden club, he doesn't even know
what hits him...
The thief comes to in the great banquet hall of the Chateau du Venk. The
lord of the manor is sitting at the head of the table petting his rabbit; Sir
Guy of NORM stands dutifully nearby, and Ghost is tied to a chair at the
opposite end. "Wh...wha's goin' on?" he says groggily. Norm holds a cup of
wine up to his mouth, and he takes a few restorative swallows.
"You are the thief known as Ghost?" Lord VENKMAN asks.
"Who you calling a thief? All that stuff in my pack was...uh...donated!
I was taking it to Mother ROARK, so she could use it to take care of orphans!"
"I'm not interested in your excuses," Venkman says. "Do you think I
brought you here to punish you for stealing? No, what I want is information."
"Information?"
"INFORMATION!"
"You won't get it!"
"By hook or by crook...we will." Venkman stops, looks puzzled, and goes
on. "Look...you tell me what I want to know...or I turn you and your pack of
loot over to the Town Constable. Just two teeny little facts are all I need."
Ghost sighs. "What do you want to know?"
"It's about that riding crop you tried to sell Norm here. First, where
did you get it? Second, where is it now?"
Ghost looks at the nobleman with a faint smirk, but in truth, he is
troubled. _I could get in some trouble here...but it could also mean trouble
for Graham, and ECSTASY._ Before he can think of a convenient lie, Venkman
rises from his chair, takes the wine cup from Norm, and splashes its contents
in the thief's face. "You WILL tell me!"
"Hey, boss, you're not gonna hurt him, are you?" asks Norm obliviously.
"Just get out of here, Norm. Go start the...hay wagon! Did you bribe
that tavern ministry official like I told you to?"
"Bribe? I thought it was a tax payment!"
"Uh, yesss...right. Look, just find something else to do." Norm shakes
his head and leaves. Venkman turns back to the bound Ghost. "Now, I'll ask
you again...and again...and again...and each time, I'll ask less nicely..."
User: TRAVELER
Date: 9-Oct 04:12 AM 781675970