III.51
ECSTASY serves up the pint with a wink and smiles at the lovely lass.
"On the house..."
User: ECSTASY
Date: 2-Jul 03:02 AM 773118164
III.52
In another hotel room, DRAKEHART lies in a military-surplus hammock. The room
is costing only several dozen credits a day, on a day-by-day basis. It appears
to be run entirely by computer, but features very little in the way of ammeni-
ties. The walls are a faint green color, and the sparatan furniture appears to
be entirely military surplus.
Drakehart has his eyes closed, utilizing his remote neural link to access
remote databases. His sense of time is distorted, twisted in on itself. But
there appear to be no ill effects.
Searching historical data-bases, he is able to find references to the VVC in
brief passing. The biggest entry is about what happened the night of the Rave.
There is nothing about a burning ship, or Atlantis, or many of the other things
that happened.
There is a description of a massie party, and how it ended in disaster, as,
apparently, some sort of explosion killed a number of people (their bodies were
never found), including most of the VVC's employees and its owner. The
explosion was theorized to be some sort of tac-nuke or something. Great power
was apparently unleashed, but no radioactivity was left behind.
Drakehart is able to obtain the names of the dead. But they mean nothing to
him, the associations of the names with the people having, apparently, been
wiped somehow. He hesitantly connects a few together where the name seems to
fit the personality, but he doesn't feel confident enough to go very far with
the project.
*I doubt they died,* Drakehart things to himself. *I'm still alive. Hell, they
didn't find MY body... Shit, what the hell happened to it then?* He fumes for a
while, chewing on his fingernails.
Further investigation reveals what hapened to the location of the VVC over
time. Abandonment for a long time. A few brief investigations. An intense
scrutiny by the aliens shortly after they first arrived to Earth. The
establishment of a new business venture called the Pit. Currently active.
Drakehart raised his eyebrows at that knowledge. *Sounds like a fun place. Well
seems like the best place to find out what happened first hand. But first...*
Drakehart, using a relatively simple number of instructions, creates a virtual
"agent" modeled after himself. It's purpose is to roam the Net and search for
any more details on the VVC, as well as anyone who's name appears on the list
of the presumed-dead. It will report periodically on its findings (or lack of
them). And if by some chance it discovers any current records of anyone from
the past connected to the VVC, the "agent" will notify Drakehart. Immediately.
And loudly.
*Now I just gotta figure how to get out there. Hmmm... I wonder if Insulin
could find me a guide?*
User: Psychosis Paradigm
Date: 2-Jul 06:56 AM 773132202
III.53
Well, yesterday I sent a package off to WIRED Magazine's New Voices, New
Visions contest, containing a disk copy of the VVC Archives and a laser-
printed copy of an essay I wrote about it. It was supposed to be postmarked
June 30...but I didn't finish the essay till about 9 am Friday.
Procrastinators R Us...I hope they let it slide in. Whether or not the VVC
wins one of those 3 $5k Awards of Merit, it'll at least get looked at by
Laurie Anderson, William Gibson, and some other cool-sounding judges... :)
I won't post the essay here, but you can read it by typing
scan disk$circa:[cirop55]essay.
User: Traveler
Date: 2-Jul 03:35 PM 773163606
III.54
...and as their bodies smoldered in the noon day sun, Ahannos knew that his
job was done. For no one was left to complain after...the Robot Holocaust.
THE END!
User: Enterprise - "VVC: It suddenly stopped for no reason and I panicked!" 8)
Date: 5-Jul 08:16 AM 773396224
III.55
uh... well... unfortunately we all got lives... but don't worry...
we'll get back to you once this unusual trend stops...
User: GHOST
Date: 5-Jul 03:10 PM 773421039
III.56
^
|
What he _| said...
User: Graham
Date: 5-Jul 03:21 PM 773421726
III.57
Yes...an unexpected glut of Real Life type stuff. :)
Anyway, this is the summer...a slower pace is apropos.
You should all thank me that I'm not doing reruns!
(Say, there's an idea...)
User: Traveler :)
Date: 5-Jul 03:52 PM 773423550
III.58
VVC: Visitation, Part 1
===============================================================================
The afternoon has turned grey. John Waller has left for town some time
since, and the midday crowd at the Virtuous Vagabond & Comrades has trickled
away, back to their various labors. Now only FIREFLYTE and DELIRIUM sit at a
table, laughing and talking; Caitlin is sorting out some leaves that she picked
earlier, while Delirium looks on.
This is one of TRAVELER's favorite times of day; if he gets all the work
necessary for the upkeep of the tavern done, he has some free time before the
evening meal must be served: time to be spent in the Blue Room. That is where
he is now, reorganizing his books and notes according to a new system
(something he does quite regularly). His desk is piled high with loose paper,
which he is sorting through and attempting to label with a quill pen. "Hmmm...
here are the drawings of animal skulls I did last year...ah, and the sketches
of cathedrals that I copied from Mother Superior ROARK's notebooks! This will
all go under D for Drawings. Or maybe A for Animals and B for Buildings?" He
searches for his pen again, upsetting a precarious pile of sheaves and books.
The thunder of hooves passes his window, and he glances up in time to see
the black tail of a horse flick out of sight. The color of the tail, the heavy
tread, and the deep whinny that comes a moment later identify the steed
clearly, and Trav quickly rises and heads for the stables.
There, PERIGRINE is rubbing down a huge black stallion, next to which
stands the slender, richly-garbed figure of LYDIA. She looks at Traveler as he
emerges from the interior passageway, and raises her eyebrows slightly in
inexplicable amusement. "Greetings, lady," he says. "We have been wondering
when you would next grace us with your presence. I've been looking after that
lad Orfeo as you requested. Turns out he's quite the flute player."
"Oh? I wish to see him play."
"I've scheduled a performance for this evening in the Red Room. If you
can stay..."
"Hmmm...no, 'twill not do for me to hang about this place so long," she
says. "You know I love and enjoy the fellowship of the VVC, but what would
Lord VENKMAN say if he knew how much time I already spend in this tavern?"
She smiles. "Besides, I'm only out for my afternoon ride right now."
"You could return...you know, incognito," Trav says quietly.
"Not this time. I prefer that you bring Orfeo to the house--say, tomorrow
evening?"
Traveler is taken aback, but honored by the invitation to visit the manor
house. "Certainly! You are most gracious, lady."
She walks over to her horse and reaches into the saddlebag. "Here is some
gold for Orfeo's upkeep," she says, pulling out a small bag of coins.
"Ah, no, I can't," Trav says, holding up a hand. For a moment, he seems
her equal in rank, though he still wears the clothes of a mere tavernkeeper.
"How does it go? `For I was hungry and you gave me food; I was thirsty and you
gave me drink; I was a stranger and you took me in.' I'm only doing for Orfeo
what you did for me. I am in your debt, and this is the least I can do to
repay you."
User: Traveler
Date: 5-Jul 05:54 PM 773430866
III.59
VVC: Visitation, Part II
===============================================================================
LYDIA looks at TRAVELER, and nods slowly. "As generous as your father
was. Very well, board Orfeo at your own cost. But should he incur any
unusual expenses, I insist that you let me know." She breaks off, noting that
TRAVELER is distracted. "What?"
He walks out the back of the stables, and picks up three cards scattered
in the grass. "More of that Tarot deck...looks like Ace, Three and Four of
Swords. Hmmm..."
"Well, I leave you to your cards," she says, and gestures to PERIGRINE,
who brings her horse forward and helps her up on to it. "Remember...tomorrow
night at the manor house! I'll be expecting you and Orfeo!" She rides off
with a wave.
Trav stands, befuddled by her sudden departure. "Uh, yeah..." He looks
at the cards in his hand. "Damn...I forgot to mention the rumors of trouble
with Viar," he mutters to himself. "Well, tomorrow night."
"What's that?" says Peri, approaching.
"Oh, nothing, Perigrine. Hmm...perhaps I'll go for a little ride
myself...
I have the time." He turns toward the part of the stables where his saddle,
bridle and riding crop are kept. Perigrine quickly interposes himself.
"Uh, I meant to tell you--uh..."
"What?"
"Uh...that new guest, what's his name, GRAHAM? I bought a horse for him
the other day in town, as he requested."
"Oh, splendid! Well, I'll see if he's in, and let him know. Thanks,
Peri. Carry on." Traveler heads for the door to the kitchen, and Perigrine
breathes a sigh of relief. _He still doesn't know about the theft,_ the
stablehand thinks. _I've got to find out what happened to that stuff. If
ECSTASY doesn't have it, who does?_
In one of the guest rooms--this one located above the Red Room--GHOST
takes a cloth sack out from under the bed. He's been waiting for hours to
break away from the eccentric Sir BELGARATH, but at last it seems that the old
would-be knight is settled and peacefully napping in his own nearby chamber.
Ghost reaches into the sack, and pulls out a beautiful leather riding crop,
its handle made of polished bone and inlaid with silver. "This'll fetch
a very nice price in town," he says with a smirk. "I wonder what the bar wench
was doing with it in her room in the first place? Heh...women like to inflict
pain, I guess."
He studies the handle of the crop; the tracery of silver on it forms a
delicate picture of an upright sword, with a long-stemmed rose twined around
it. "Hmmm...nice work. But I'd better just sell the damn thing..." He puts
it back in the sack, and makes ready to leave.
User: Traveler
Date: 5-Jul 06:18 PM 773432296
III.60
Even with the environmental filters, Vision could tell the air was putrid.
Another toxic dump today, stirring up the waters. The fires in the voodoo
sector were no help and Vision hoped no gaseous flammables drifted into the
city again. He couldn't help but think about the fire of 2068 which decimated
thousands of citizens and destroyed several square miles of Corporate Circle.
Vision was going to the Smokeware's House, mostly a scrap warehouse for
weapons and vehicles. Houdin, a nomad family head, the owner and mechanical
genius, ran the place and often paid Vision with equipment. They had a
mutually conducive business relationship and Vision was holding on to this
ally.
The Smokeware's House was surrounded but no one had advanced. Vision
pulled his SS1000 into an alley and began to move toward the building.
A scowl crossed his cold, bitter face as he spoke.
"Computer, Tactical Enhancement."
[5mOpponents[0m: 12. Standard Voodoo formation.
-Snipers:2 E, 5th floor
-Assault:4 N, 1st floor
Moving S to objective
-Backup/3 teams:2 each S,E and W, 1st Floor
[5mArmaments[0m: - Snipers:Mark 2000 Sniper Rifle, .50 caliber backup.
Threat Index:5
- Other teams: Small arms and Assault rifle
Threat Index:1
Note:- Assault:Designate figure one. Cyber enhanced.
Threat Index: Unknown, blocked by ECM
[1mCommand[0m: _Close with north assalt team. I will eliminate Snipers via
gas._
Vision see the sniper first and unleases a nerve gas grenade as the sniper
turns to fire. The wall erupts behind Vision, knocking him to the ground.
Vision discards grenade tube.
[5mAssesment[0m: -Possibility to flank: 3%
-South and west teams shift to cover.
-East team flanking.
-North team advancing this unit.
_Thanx, I think I can see that. Sometimes I think she likes to state the
obvious to piss me off._ Vision fires the automatic needler his left arm.
Four combatants are hit but only three drop from the nerve toxin. Light
flashes from the steel on the voodoo's left arm. Vision gives him fair
warning, "Stop...
*Blam* *Blam* *Blam*
[5mAssessment[0m: Hit by flanking team. Three hits by 15mm magnetic
armor piercing rounds to torso. No damage.
One scatter shot from the shotgun takes the two men down. Tactical
Enhancement instinctively move's Vision's body as the voodoo fires within hand
to hand range.
[5mAssessment[0m: Hit by a Cybervoodoo. One hit by 20mm High Density
Explosive
on left arm. Damage: Arm 29%/System 11%.
[1mCommand[0m: _Transfer 7% from tactical enhancement to internal repair._
Vision leaps above the voodoo's second shot, drawing a katana. In the
next few seconds a flurry ensues. In one motion the katana takes out the
cyberarm cannon, strikes the left shoulder of the voodoo, and continues
unhindered to the voodoo's right hip. The voodoo has time only to claw Vision
across the face before dropping in oblivion.
[5mAssessment[0m: Remaining teams in full retreat. Houdin uninjured.
[1mCommand: Pursuit? ([5m[Y][0m/N): _No. Quit Tactical Enhancement._
Vision gathers the equipment from his fallen foes. Houdin gives him the
clear signal. Houdin tends to be a man of few words. Vision nods in response.
The tactical display in his left eye begins to scroll up. He knows he better
get repairs, and fast. He drives his SS1000 and until he reaches a better
sector of the city. Vision begins to approach what looks like an old office
building and a woman opens the door.
"O my god! Vision, you look like shit!" The woman's voice sounds
concerned.
"Yeah, thanx Alex. I was in the voodoo sector. Ready to do some
repairs?"
Her smile reveals long teeth with a tint of red. "Sure, come on in. This
has been some day. Slow starting but some lost guy came by....
User: CyberVision.....under repair
Date: 6-Jul 12:42 PM 773498631
III.61
PERIGRINE finds GRAHAM sitting on the rocky shore and reading a
document of some sort, probably a letter. He stands a respectful ten or
fifteen paces from the guest and clears his throat.
Graham rolls the document hastily, stands, and says, "Good afternoon,
Perigrine. Have you found a steed for me, then?"
"Yes. A Viarian sold me a black stallion at a fair price. The
stallion's name is Costello."
"Marvelous. I have always been curiously fond of that surname." :)
"When may I see the horse?"
"He is in the stable, sir. Anytime you wish."
"I shall come by after dinner, then. Thank you." Graham turns back to
the document and Perigrine begins to walk away. "Oh, and Perigrine... do you
remember the name of the good fellow from whom you purchased this Costello?
Is he staying in town? I lived in Viar for several years as a child, and I
always enjoy chatting with Viarians who remember the province as it was then."
"I believe his name is Flannery, sir. And he lives here in Hexsum, on
the North side. He is fond of a good ale now and again, and he visits the VVC
often."
"I shall make it my business to seek him out, then. Perhaps even
tomorrow..." Graham's voice trails off, and the mysterious document has once
again absorbed the guest's attention. Perigrine heads toward the VVC and
cannot help wondering why Graham has come to Hexsum, what the visitor does with
his days, and what, after all, was contained in that document.
Entering the Tavern, Perigrine sees ECSTASY at the bar and walks over
to speak with her. "Lovely as always," he says, "and those boots of yours...."
Ecstasy smiles. "Looking for TRAVELER?" she asks.
"Just looking at you, love." Perigrine says. "That Graham is an odd
little fellow, by the way."
"Yes, I suppose Graham is an odd _fellow_." she says. "And I suppose
you'd like a drink?"
"Clever girl."
User: Graham
Date: 13-Jul 10:11 AM 774094279
III.62
VVC: Chateau du Venk!
===============================================================================
A traveler following the road south from the Virtuous Vagabond & Comrades
Tavern, toward the city of Hexsum, will pass ALBATROSS' farm to the east, then
the turnoff to Mother Superior ROARK's convent on the west. Presently he will
come to the end of Lady LYDIA's lands, and cross over into Lord VENKMAN's;
TIPMO's smithy is located in the small village through which the road passes
there. Shortly before reaching the walls of Hexsum City--itself under the
direct control of the Duke--he will pass the sprawling Chateau du Venk. It is
to the banquet hall of this house that we now turn our attention, and there we
witness the lord of the manor, gnawing on the drumstick of a pheasant, and
addressing his chamberlain, Sir Guy of NORM.
"The peasants are working hard today," says Norm, standing next to his
lord's carved, throne-like chair at the head of the banquet table. "At this
rate, I believe we will easily make up for last year's poor harvest."
"Fine. Anything else to report?," says Venkman, petting the rabbit he
cradles in one arm.
Norm sighs. "Well, the construction on the east wing is going rather
slowly...the laborers complain that they don't have the proper materials for
repairs. You know how bad the fire damage was..."
"Oh, I know how bad it was, do I? Are you implying _I_ was there when it
burned?" Venkman says angrily.
"No, of course not, my lord." Norm racks his brains for another topic of
conversation. Venkman has been defensive about the mysterious fire in the
east wing of the Chateau ever since it occurred, and his father pinned the
blame on the adolescent Venkman. Since taking over the estate, he has been
slow to rebuild the burned-out section, preferring not to deal with it at all.
"Uh...my lord?" Sir Guy says, to break through the scowl settling over his
master's features. "Might I take the day off? I haven't seen my daughters in
a while, and...well, as a father, I fear they're getting into trouble again.
I'd just like to make the rounds, and check up on them..."
"Dammit, on my estate, everyone--except me, that is--is expected to do a
full day's work, six days a week! Have the stables been cleaned yet?"
"Some of them, my lord, but you've assigned most of the stable workers
to help with the harvesting--"
"I want those stables clean! And you'll pick up a shovel and help, if
necessary. I--no, wait." Venkman cuts himself off, and places the rabbit
on the table, where it begins munching from a bowl of lettuce. "You want to
visit your daughters, eh? Doesn't one of them dwell on LYDIA's estate?"
"Yes, lord, that would be ECSTASY."
"Hmmm...the information TIPMO's been giving me hasn't been enough. I'd
like you to go visit her, and ask her and everyone else you see about the
general state of affairs over that way. But do it unobtrusively. And keep
your ears especially open for anything about Viar."
"All right, then," says Norm resignedly. "I'll ask a few questions. I
should be back before nightfall." Venkman dismisses the chamberlain with a
wave of his large, bejeweled hand, and smiles, his eyes narrowing.
User: Traveler says "It's not dead yet!"
Date: 13-Jul 01:08 PM 774104927
III.63
Just listen to these heartwrenching testimonials...
"It was, like, totally, you know when you get this feeling that, like,
well, me too!"
-- Vallee's Girl (age 5 dollars)
"Incredible. I'd just bought an Indulgence for a Figgy Sundae, when
this weird minister raises his hands and the world ends! Next thing
you know, I'm a medieval dude! Ye olde Amen!"
-- J. Random Vaxer (age 1066)
-------------+----------
And don't forget, when you worhsip with us, you get a free car wash
and five tokens at the Ahannos Arcade, located next door between "Guilt
Addictions" and "I'll Have Nun Of That, Young Lady!"
OUR LADY OF THE CHURCH OF AHANNOS, THE SAILOR OF FATE, IMPERTURBABLE:
brought to you by VVEnterprises: Get into the habit.
User: Sylvar -- a tribute to Sir Pre-Teen.
Date: 13-Jul 07:15 PM 774126961
III.64
Led by Orfeo's bedeviling advice, John Waller followed the flow of the
crowd in the hot, congested marketplace. "If this village were a nose, I'd
give it some spice to loosen this passage," the herbalist muttered to himself.
"Patience", whispered a young boy's voice. Young boy? But Orfeo --
John turned around. Orfeo, as expected, was nowhere to be seen, having stayed
behind. So who counseled him? A ghost? A demon? The contemplation was not
one for a good Christian; he should simply invoke God and let the whisperer
be banished. But John did not invoke the Holy Name. He simply waited,
patiently, for whatever should come.
Suddenly, he found himself on his back, winded, and surrounded by
alien produce. "Clumsy fool!" a robed, hooded form cursed. John looked
around him, dazed and bedazzled, and got up quickly. He helped the monk, or
whatever he was, gather the strange sacks.
"This one is dripping blood!" he whispered fiercely at the man,
handing him a sack.
"Get your neck into the livery, you fool," the monk replied, taking
John by the wrist and dragging him out of the crowd. Having reached the
relative privacy of a livery, he made a halo gesture above his head. The
livery was replaced with the interior of a hut.
"You want to see this blood, do you? Here!" And, with that, the
strange robed fellow thrust a red bleeding lump of vegetation into John's
hand. John trembled in place.
"That", the man explained, "is what's left of my sack of tomatoes
after you ran into me!"
"Tomatoes? I -- I don't understand."
"You're the herbalist, aren't you?"
"Y-yes, but --"
"And you've never seen these before?"
"God, no! They're hideous. What are they?"
The stranger chuckled softly to himself. "A vegetable from my
country. As you've ruined them for sale, you owe me their cost."
John blanched, horrified to think of what such a rare plant would
cost him and his boss. He extended a hand full of coins and said, "Okay --
take what it's worth."
The man selected a small, almost worthless coin. "I'll take this,
for the cost of my wares, and for the public insult."
"I apologize for that," John replied, the blood returning to his
face. "May I make it up to you?"
"Of course -- but how?"
"Would these coins be sufficient to buy all of your wares?"
"But, Sir! Of course they would be! Only, I must admit -- it's not
all tomatoes." The man's face fell.
"No?"
"Well, there are sacks of potatoes and coffee, as well as a few young
plants to grow these -- but they are immature, and will not give you any food
for at least a month."
"Very well, then," John grimaced half-convincingly, "I'll buy those, too."
"You're very kind, sir," the fellow said, and made another gesture.
John found himself in new surroundings again -- this time, in front of the
Virtuous Vagabond & Company. He saw his change purse hanging limp over a
sack of beans -- the Potatoes, he decided -- and strewn around this were
seedlings wrapped in cloth and sacks of dirty rocks. These, he thought,
must be Coffee. Picking up his treasures, he walked into the VVC, and brought
the "wares" into the pantry...
User: John Waller
Date: 13-Jul 08:01 PM 774129760
III.65
"He saw his _change purse_ hanging limp over a _sack of beans_."
Oooookay.
*backing away slowly, trying desperately to avoid eye-contact with the crew*
User: Enterprise - "Who writes this stuff?!"...8)
Date: 14-Jul 08:26 AM 774174437
III.66
"I don't even know what you're drinking,
but it keeps this heaven alive..."
~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~&
Charles was sitting in the corner, counting a pile of coins of various
denominations. His mother had told him it was very important to do so, and had
explained the difference beteen the copper ones and the silver ones; she had
even shown him a gold one, but there were no gold ones in his pile. Mother
kept the gold ones in the little pouch at her belt, almost hidden in the folds
of her full, soft skirts.
Right now, she was talking to a man who wore a flashy golden symbol.
He must be from the chateau, Charles thought, and continued to count his coins
as the man talked to his mother.
"Lord Venkman needs the wine as soon as possible. He needs to lay in a
store for the visiting nobles who are attending the fair," the man began.
"And I tell you that visiting nobles or not, he won't have the wine
until he agrees to my price," Mistress Daricelle replied coolly. "Come, Sir
Guy. You know as well as I that no other merchant in town is selling Spanish
wines. They've all run out because of the fair. And I know that you would not
bring your custom to me if anyone else had those wines. I had a great deal of
trouble importing those wines, and I will take no less than the price I set.
Whether you buy the fifty caskets is up to you."
"but... Mistress... Lord Venkman is a hard taskmaster, and has only
given me so much money to purchase wine..."
"Then you can only buy 30 caskets of wine." Mistress Daricelle leaned
back in her chair with an air of finality.
"You drive a hard bargain, Mistress du Vin."
"I do what I can to keep my business profitable. I hold it in
stewardship for my son, and I cannot give to him a business that has been
drained of money by bad business deals." Mistress Daricelle looked over at
Charles, who was separating the coppers from the silver, and a softer look came
into her green eyes. Sir Guy saw the look; he saw her son, and he tried a
different tactic.
"Oh, I know how you feel; I did all I could for my own daughters, tried
to build up positions, arrange profitable marriages for them. But they will go
their own way, Mistress du Vin, despite all our preparations."
Mistress Daricelle turned her soft gaze from her son to the chamberlain
of the chateau. "Indeed, but I must do all I can for him. As you have done
what you could for your daughters." She leaned forward, and spoke in a softer
voice. "For the price, I can let you have 40 caskets. No more."
"Thank you, Mistress du Vin. Your kindness is appreciated. And Lord
Venkman will continue to purchase from your stores, rather than from the other
merchants."
"I thank you, Sir Guy. And my son thanks you." She nodded toward
Charles, who stood up and executed a shy bow.
"Here is the money," Sir Guy said, and then gave an extra coin to the
boy. "For you, Charles. Listen to what your mother tells you."
"Yes, sir," Charles replied, as his mother carefully and quickly
counted the money for the wine and slid it into her purse. Sir Guy turned to
the wine merchant's widow and said, "I will send a waggon for the caskets of
wine. My thanks, Mistress du Vin."
"I thank you, and hope that you and your Lord drink in good health,"
Daricelle responded, and Sir Guy of Norm! took his leave.
"Now," Daricelle said to Charles, "how are your coins? We will have to
make a hiding place for the coin tha Sir Guy left you. It is very valuable."
Charles regarded the gold coin with shining eyes. It was his, and he would be
able to keep it.
Daricelle smiled. Sir Guy was a pleasant man to do business with;
especially when she had gotten double the price she had paid for the caskets.
Not to mention that their were plenty more caskets downstairs, and another
shipment on the way; that wonderfully strong Spanish man with the large
vineyards near Barcelona had seen to that. What was it he had said when he
left the fair? "I have never, senora, enjoyed myself more at the trade fairs.
I will return as soon as I can." Daricelle was looking forward to his return.
He would bring the extra shipment of wine, he would sell it to no one but her,
and he would keep her bed warmed in the process. He had a wonderful
technique... As her eyes grew dreamy, she looked over at Charles. --I am
doing all of this for you, my son, but there are aspects that I do for myself
as well...
User: Dark Lady, getting back into the game...
Date: 15-Jul 01:16 PM 774278214
III.67
Old light shattered like a moth's wing, splaying across the street unevenly.
Many of the high-intensity mercury street-lamps were dead, vandalized or
malfunctioning with age. As DRAKEHART walked down the trash-cluttered
sidewalk of the road, he felt the hairs on along his back and neck prickling.
The air had not even a hint of safety in it. Only a faint musk of decay.
As he made his way to the abode of Insulin, where he planned to ask for
assistance in finding someone to go with him to The Pit, he began to seriously
consider the wiseness in buying a nice solid weapon of some sort. Say, a flame-
thrower or missile launcher.
And as he tried to reassure himself that nothing was going to happen to him,
someone tapped him on the shoulder. Drakehart had heard no one approach from
any direction as he walked along the sidewalk. He spun in sudden surprise and
a flicker of motion was all that caught his eye. Then he was smashed to the
concrete by a blow to the side.
He heard high-pitched, screech-like giggling. Multiple clicking of bootheels.
He flinched from the sounds, body anticipating more blows. Someone grabbed
him, rolled him over. Stinking breath in his face as a woman's puffy face
stared down at him, flecks of spittle at the corners of her mouth. "You're
fucking history asshole," she breathed raspily. "Stupid cock."
As the enormity of the situation began to sink in, animalistic rage boiled up
from inside. Drakehart had been riding the ragged edge of a yawning abyss for
several days now. He couldn't put up with anything more that would push him
over. Screaming, he lashed out at the woman standing over her, hysterical
strength actually breaking part of her pelvic bone.
An internal system that had been inactive all this time now lept into life. It
re-adjusted brain chemistry, artifically stimulated certain brain centers.
Adrenaline channels opened wide. Enzymes flowed to dialate the bronchial tubes,
as well as major arteries. His liver kicked over into an amphetamine factory.
And the women who had attacked him (Hell Slammers, a gang of women who's
principal occupation was to find unsuspecting men and rape them) were shortly
pulverized. And not very neatly.
After it was over, Drakehart was leaning againt the cold, harsh concrete wall
that bordered the sidewalk, breath like a dragon's roar in his ears. He could
feel the pulses of blood in his neck like leaping mice. His hands (now bloodied
and sore) shook badly. He kept darting his eyes back and forth, expecting more
of the gang to show up at any moment, or for one of the unconcious forms half-
in the street to struggle to her feet.
Nothing happened.
And he made it to Insulin's place in amazingly short time after that.
The first thing he said to her was "Get me a gun. I don't care what kind, I'm
probably programmed to use it."
The second thing he said was "Who the fuck is the chrome lobster?"
User: Psychosis Paradigm
Date: 16-Jul 06:45 AM 774341134
III.68
..hmm, i wonder how long it's been, delirium thought, her now bleary eyes
inching slowly upwards from the latest concoction. i wonder how long it'll be
before the kits are old enough to wander about one their own, with this she
turned to look over the rest of the cozily darkened room. it's almost like
home, but it's not. delirium cautiously stood up. time for some air. she
carefully measured the distance to the door and her maximum capacity for error
on each portion of the room she would have to negotiate. the first few steps
looked pretty good, she thought, then there was that damned table and
everything after that was damage control. finally she was outside, sweet air,
trees, hmm almost wish i could sleep out here, but that would not be good, i
think...time for a walk......
User: 'jus a delirium
Date: 16-Jul 09:10 PM 774393043
III.69
VVC: Of Warriors...
===============================================================================
While drawing water from the well across the road, TRAVELER has come
across still more Tarot cards...a few more from the suit of Swords, and one
from the suit of Wands. The Swords he has associated with the news of
returning Crusaders; but the Seven of Wands, showing a man on a hill
defending himself with a staff from six others thrust up towards him, rings
no bells yet.
Back in the tavern, he talks with FIREFLYTE, who tells him of her
sweetheart, a fighter in a mercenary army currently away to the south on some
mission. Her eyes sparkle wistfully. "'Tis no easy thing, to love a warrior,"
she says. "Nor to be one, I guess."
"No," Trav agrees, and thinks of the cards in the pocket of his blue-
grey tunic. _Our warriors are returning...but will they all show up? Will
the suit of Swords be short a few cards? That seems the sad price of playing
games with swords..._
"Are you talking of warriors?" says bar wench ECSTASY. "I've heard a few
things myself, you know..."
"Such as?" asks Traveler.
"Well, a knight was here yesterday afternoon, briefly--I think you were
in your Blue Room, Trav--and he had news of some people we know. He said
CADO is on his way here--"
"Finally! We'll have a bouncer again!" says Trav.
"--yes, but he's been delayed for some reason. Still, this man talked to
him just a couple weeks ago, in a port on the southern coast where a shipload
of Crusaders had just landed. He's fine, but won't be here for a while yet."
"Did you hear of anyone else?"
"Well, if you've been expecting Sir ZOROASTER, forget it. He apparently
has lost interest in our fair land, and is wandering elsewhere."
Traveler says quietly, "Nice knowing you..."
The front door of the tavern opens, and a slim figure, wearing a loose
brown robe and carrying a tall quarterstaff, walks in. Everyone in the White
Room looks up curiously--even GRAHAM, who has been brooding for a while over a
scroll of some sort at a corner table.
"Most honored to visit your gracious establishment," the man says softly,
with a slight bow. "I am KIKAIDER, master of the drunken monkey fist, and
I have wandered far from my homeland. If you could provide a small measure of
food and drink, I would be eternally grateful." He holds up a purse that
clinks with coins.
"Certainly," says Trav, ushering the newcomer to a table. "Someone will
be right out with your food." He goes into the kitchen. "Aqua, bread and
cheese for the man at table four. I'll be in the Blue Room if I'm needed."
In his study, he takes the newly found cards from his pocket and puts
them with the others. Shuffling through his growing collection, he notices
something odd: the Fool card, that he found near the woodpile just before
Orfeo's arrival, appears to have a well-worn crease across its middle. In
fact, as he handles the card, it comes aparts into two halves. "Why didn't
I notice this before?" he puzzles...
User: Traveler
Date: 19-Jul 10:00 PM 774655256
III.70
Meanwhile, the aliens continue to disassemble the Earth's sun into two
seperate halves. Swirling clouds of matter shift from one structual form to
another, manipulating the vast ball of hydrogen with magnetic fields generated
by controlled singularities.
A ship drifts near the elaborate near-machinery that executes this task. The
aliens onboard watch silently. They strongly resemble mutated giraffe's.
If one could see between the two halves of the sun, past the blinding light
and endless curtains of sizzling radiation, one might notice that precisely
between the two halves was a warbling of space... a pocket of minature black
holes, orbiting around each other.
These to would fall into the domain of the aliens. As all things eventually
did.
User: Psychosis Paradigm
Date: 22-Jul 09:53 AM 774870813
III.71
ACK!!
There was 430 lines of MAPS!! ACK! AND RULES!!
"Target K'Traveler and fire"
max..max..what have have you done to this board???
User: Goddess of..um..fuck..what the hell was it?
Date: 24-Jul 00:41 AM 775010535
III.72
"Who's the fucking chrome lobster? And why does he have a gun pointed at
my head?" Drakeheart got an uneasy feeling.
Vision had his shotgun in his right hand, "Who's the new meat Insulin? I
haven't seen him on the street? Foreigner?" He always used her nickname in
strange company.
"Put it down Vision. He's a friend. He is just here for information."
Alex's voice was almost soothing, but Vision was high strung from the day's
events. Usually from every days events.
"I wouldn't move too fast. Insulin is soft for a hard case. Me, I just
eliminate problems. Immediately." Vision's dark eyes cut looked across
the room at Drakeheart. The cold stare could not unnerve Drakeheart. Vision
saw a man hardened by.....time?
"Enough you two. This fuckin' machismo makes me sick. Drakeheart,
Vision;
Vision, Drakeheart. Vision, sit down and let me finish that arm. Drakeheart,
grab what you want to drink, sit down and tell me what you need." Alex was
quite commanding. Vision sat down and she continued the repairs. While she
worked on the arm circuits, Drakeheart got three old fashioned bourbons. When
he came back in the room Insulin closed up the arm and began repairs on the
face. Insulin looked up at Drakeheart for a moment, "What do you need?"
"Well, I think I know where I need to go. The only problem is I don't
know my way around this place. I need a guide." Drakeheart was very matter of
fact about it, "and I need a gun."
"A gun. Ok, I'll get one for you today. As for a guide, well, if not the
best, one of the best I know is sitting right here. Vision. What do you
think?"
Vision's face showed slight surprise, "I don't think so. First off, I am
not a guide. I do retirement jobs, not babysitting jobs. Second, you hardly
know this guy. I am not...."
"I can pay you 100K and cover all expenses."
"Well, why didn't you say he was a GOOD friend Insulin? Good job, good
benefits. Can you do a credstick transfer?" Drakeheart handed his card to
Vision. Vision plugged a wire from his arm to the wall. A red light scanned
the card from his eye. Something appeared in Vision's eye. Drakeheart felt
his head spin as a new system kicked in, everything got larger. As he
concentrated on Vision's eye it got very large. He could see the words
transfer
complete blinking in his eye. Vision hanbed the card back, "Sounds fair
enough. Where are you looking to go?"
"A place known as the Pit."
"Good thing you did hire me; that place would probably eat you up, even if
you could get in. We'll need to call a Transflyte, avoid touble." Vision
touched his newly repaired left arm. Drakeheart detected a transmission from
him. "Ok, Transflyte on the way."
"When do we leave?" Drakeheart wondered.
"Whenever Insulin is through."
"I'm done. You boys can go out to play now." Insulin almost lightened
the mood. The two headed out the door to the hoovercraft waiting outside.
Vision said, "The Pit, waterfront sector." Drakeheart paid the driver
and the vehicle proceeded to the Pit. They flew toward a group of buildings in
desparately in need of solid walls and continued until they landed in an open
building adjacent to the Pit.
When the two exited the vehicle, the putrid air made them gag while their
systems adjusted to the toxins. As they approached the door, a group of bald
men in balck leather approached them. Vision's right thigh opened up. He
removed a .50 caliber Hawkwind Pistol and handed it to Drakeheart. He then
removed a shotgun and the thigh closed. The band of men retreated. Upon
reaching the door, Vision returned the shotgun to his leg and Drakeheart
placed the pistol in his jacket.
Vision knocked on the door and a small window slid open, "Vision.
Unrestricted member with guest." The door opened. As the two walked in,
Vision turned to Drakeheart, "No matter what you do, do not pull your gun."
They walked into the Pit and the smoke and darkness surrounded them...
User: CyberVision
Date: 25-Jul 10:50 AM 775133532
III.73
VVC>> Missed appointments
==============================================================================
(The Pit: About half an hour before VISION and DRAKEHART arrive...)
The frail old man known as The Orphan has spent another fruitless day
in his corner, in the back room of The Pit. Unlike the other denizens of
the X-Ray Room, he is not drugged or on a cyberstim trip, but the sad gleam
in his eyes speaks of his wanderings in distant memories. He remembers a
time when this room, this whole place, was something far different from
what it's become. He used to sit in this very corner, in those far-off days,
before Hexsum Tranurb sunk into squalor and corruption, before the aliens
came, before the corps and yakuzas had caught the whole world in their webs...
before, even, that fateful night when it all began to change.
He recalls little about that night--actually, he tries not to think about
it--but it is never far from his mind. The images of a burning ship, and a
ring of lights and music, are always hovering near his consciousness. But
there is no one else in this place, perhaps anywhere in this city, who would
know what he was talking about if he managed to articulate such thoughts.
And his powers of expression are too limited, in any case, to make this
likely.
He stands from his rickety chair, and shuffles through the landscape of
strobe-lit, limp bodies piled on rugs and cushions. Blinking his eyes as a
psychedelic spiral of light is projected across his body, he makes it to the
front of the room, and carefully skirts the brightly lit, sunken circle at
the middle of the building where gamblers pit their luck against cards, dice
and machines. Anyone else of his age and infirmity would be an instant mark
for any one of the scum that swarm through this place; the heavily armed
bouncers would not even bother to defend someone so weak and foolish. But
The Orphan has powerful friends, whose promise of protection--and vengeance--
lets him walk unscathed through the lions' den.
The usually surly doorman nods at the old man as he totters up to the
entrance. "Goin' home, Pops?" The Orphan nods mutely. "Your...uh...friends
ain't showed up today, huh?" The doorman scoffs at the feeble-minded elder.
"Take my advice: you been comin' here, what, ten, fifteen years now? Since
before I worked here. Your friends, whoever they are, ain't comin'! Probably
shipped off by the aliens long time since... or ended up in pieces in some
organ bank on the way here." He shakes his head, giving up again. "Don't
know why I bother. It's your useless life, Pops. Want me to call a cab?" The
Orphan nods again, staring at the floor.
The doorman keys a code into the battered com terminal at his table. A
few minutes later, he unbolts the steel door and ushers the old man out into
a grey evening. A sparse drizzle, bringing the tang of metallic chemicals
from the factories floating offshore, dampens The Orphan's thin white hair
as he shuffles through the mud to his waiting cab. He gets in, and the driver
--one of the few that the doorman knows can be trusted to take the old man
safely home--revs the quiet electric motor, and heads off towards better
parts of town. "Cathedral Heights, right, old man?" he says into the rearview
mirror. Again, The Orphan nods, and says nothing.
User: Traveler: Future Gothic Version
Date: 25-Jul 10:53 PM 775176856
III.74
VVC: Yeah, pretty much...
==============================================================================
It is early afternoon when Sir Guy of NORM rides up to the Virtuous
Vagabond & Comrades. PERIGRINE stables his horse for him, but says nothing,
wary of the man he recognizes as Lord VENKMAN's chamberlain. Norm tips the
stablehand a copper coin of very low denomination; Perigrine looks at the coin
with disgust as Norm enters the VVC through a rear entrance.
Coming into the whitewashed front room, he looks around at the crowd of
laborers, travelers and others who are busy eating their lunches. "How
quaint," he mutters.
"DAD!" shrieks ECSTASY from behind the bar. No sooner does Norm turn
to face his daughter than she collides with him in a violent embrace. She
lets him go after a moment, and he stumbles backwards into a convenient chair.
"Oof! Yes, it's me, come to check up on my most delinquent daughter,"
he sighs, straightening his clothing. "Really, are those greetings necessary
every time?"
"Now, now, compared with my sister's tiger hugs, mine are gentle. How is
Hobbes, anyway?"
"I don't know...I haven't seen her in a while. But I'm here to find out
how _you_ are...and whether or not this...place...has led you even further
along the path of error and tempation."
"Oh, please, father, I'm a perfectly ordinary bar wench. Someone's got to
serve the ale in this world, right? Why not me?" she says with an impish grin.
"Sure, the occasional hayseeds make annoying comments, and I'm on my feet all
day, but it's not bad. Well, I did turn my ankle a couple weeks ago, but--"
"Perfectly ordinary bar wench? First of all, I did not bring you up to
be a bar wench, but to be a lady, or at least a lady-in-waiting, hopefully.
But you insist on parading around in a black leather jerkin rather than the
fine dresses Lord Venkman would buy for you..."
"I'm not going to tell you again, I WON'T work in that household!" She
shudders. "I had a dream about him naked once. It was scary..."
"Well, then, why not the black habit of a nun? Mother ROARK would welcome
another sister at the convent..."
"Oh, Dad, I'm young yet! I like Mother Roark, but right now I'd rather be
out in the world enjoying life..."
Sir Guy sniffs. "Fine, then...disobey my wishes. Abandon me like the
rest of my offspring. `How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a
thankless child...'"
Ecstasy rolls her eyes. "We haven't `abandoned' you...we're still
nearby." She leans close, almost whispering. "Why don't you find a woman?"
"I don't think so! Since your mother died, not one woman has been
interested in me. Although I've seen some that pique my interest...for
instance, I recently saw a sporting tournament in the City--maidens playing a
game in which they volleyed a ball over a net. Mmmmm...maidens..."
X shakes her head. "I'll bring you an ale, Dad." She bustles off, as
he drifts into a happy daydream.
User: Traveler
Date: 28-Jul 06:12 PM 775419173
III.75
VVC: An Albatross Comes For the Archbishop (punny, non?:)
_______________________________________________________________________________
Just down the road from the Virtuous Vagabond & Comrades Tavern is Mother
Superior ROARK's convent, an outpost of the Order of the Sisters of St.
Psoriasis. At this very moment, in Mother Roark's office, a scene is unfolding
between her and the Archbishop of Greater Hexsum, Snidely McGillicuddy (hey,
it's Irish), a most vile creature, certainly not fit for his robes. They are
having a heated discussion about the status of the finances and management of
her convent. It is obvious that she is doing her best to retain her nun-like
composure...
"I'd sooner burn in Hell than give that money to you. Those donations
are to run my nunnery and charitable operations, not line your pockets," Roark
snaps.
The archbishop gives an oily smile. "But without my help, how are you
going to found that little school you've been planning, hmmm? You'll need _my_
pull with the College of Cardinals to get that cursed university idea past
them. And do you really expect to allowed to continue your architectural work
on Hexsum Cathedral? I believe it's time I found a man to do a man's job..."
His beady eyes try to burn holes through her habit.
"The College of Cardinals has already given their blessing to my plans for
the next stage of the cathedral. And if I don't have your support for the
school, then I'll go elsewhere. Lady LYDIA will probably contribute. That
good soul TRAVELER *cheap plug for the editor:)* has connections with the Lady,
and I'm sure he could easily persuade--"
"-- and who next, that little farmer across the road? Really, Mother
Roark, sometimes your audacity shocks me," cackles McGillicuddy. "I've got you
right where I want you, and I _always_ get what I want..." He lunges for
Roark, grabs her by both arms and crushes his filthy mouth against hers. The
moment he lets up, she spits on him. As he mumbles obscenities under his
breath and wipes off his face, Mother Roark punches him. Blood flies, and he
charges at her.
"You cheap whore! An evil tramp, you are, but I'll get you now!"
Archbishop Snidely is then greeted by three sharp jabs to the back. "What the
devil--?"
A voice comes from behind. "Let the lady be."
"Look here, you. Mind your own--"
"No, _you_ look here. If you don't wish to be run through and carried out
upon this pitchfork, then I suggest you take your hands off of her. _Now._"
Not one to argue with a well-place weapon, the Archbishop unclamps Roark.
"I shall deal with you later, Mother Superior," spat the Bishop as he wipes
blood from his nose onto his robes. "And you as well, Farmer ALBATROSS. I
shall see both of you very soon." Albatross makes sure to give him a good
poke in the back as he rushes out the door.
"Why Brother Albatross, you needn't have done that. I had the situation
well under--"
"I'm not a 'Brother', M'Lady. Just a loyal servant of your land who
happened to drop by at the right time," he replies. "And from the looks of
things, you weren't having the greatest of business meetings."
"No, no, I guess I wasn't," Roark says, rubbing her right hand, which is
now starting to swell. She giggles. "You wield a mean pitchfork."
He takes her hand and kisses it. "And you, my dear, wield a mean right
hook."
User: Mother Roark, Professional Extra (via Traveler)
Date: 29-Jul 07:02 PM 775508567
III.76
Speaking of waking:
VVC: Damn good...something...
==============================================================================
TRAVELER sits up slowly, one hand shielding his eyes from the bright
sunlight. "...the HELL?" he mutters. His surroundings swim into focus: he is
in his room at the Virtuous Vagabond, lying on his straw-stuffed mattress in
the same clothes he was wearing the previous evening. Now his memory returns:
there was a huge party, one of the tavern's occasional full-moon blowouts.
There had been music, dancing and merriment in the stables (where such parties
are usually held, round a large fire) until the wee hours; there had also been
some uncannily strong punch, made by GHOST and a friend of his.
Trav remembers the shenanigans of the night only vaguely; there were many
faces he knew, and many he did not. Now, however, there is only a dull ache in
his head. No, wait, a wisp of something else...just dream memories? Somehow
the party is confused with a vast gathering inside a faery circle of wondrous
strange lights and music. But the traces of the vision quickly evaporate. The
tavern keeper stands, fastens the belt of his trousers, and runs a hand through
his tangled hair.
On the stairs outside his room, he encounters GRAHAM, who appears just as
groggy as himself. "Good morrow, friend," Traveler says. "Last night's
festivities have taken a toll on us all, I fear."
"Indeed, good sir." Graham frowns. "I believe Old Scratch himself had a
hand in the making of that punch. It--well, it and some thoughts of my own
I'd been brooding over--made me out of sorts, and not the best company."
"Well, the sun is shining, and the punch is done with, so brood no more.
In fact, will you join me for breakfast? You've been here a few weeks now, but
we haven't had a chance to talk at length."
Graham studies him for a moment, hesitant. Then: "Uh, yes, certainly.
Let me make myself more presentable, and I'll see you soon."
In the kitchen, Trav encounters John Waller. "You missed quite a bash
last night, SYLVAR. But what's in the pot?"
"This," the herbalist says, "is what I was working on last night in the
Blue Room while the rest of you were indulging in your vices. And let me
say, Trav, I begrudge no man his merriment, but you'd better watch these
moonlight festivities. The Archbishop is always looking for an excuse to
condemn the VVC, and Lady LYDIA in general."
"Heh...the Cardinal certainly seemed to be having himself a fine time.
But as I asked before, what's in the pot?"
"Well, it has no name I know of...but its smell is quite potent. It's a
sort of soup made with these black beans--"
"Those bitter ones?" smirks AQUA22 in passing. "How did you get those,
anyway? By trading the cow you were supposed to sell at the market?"
"Never you mind," John says to her stiffly. He leans in toward Traveler
and says quietly, "Actually, they're from the strange old man--perhaps a monk,
perhaps a sailor--that I told you about briefly. Farmer ALBATROSS has been
helping me grow some of the plants. The beans have proved useless thus far."
"Interesting. I'll have a bowl of your new soup with breakfast, then."
"Oh, no, no, I wouldn't advise it! I haven't even tried it yet."
"You've never led me astray yet, John. Come on, one for me and one for
my dining companion Graham. Will the, uh, soup be done in five minutes?" He
looks at the pot of black, bubbling, slightly oily liquid, wondering if his
offer to try it was not such a good idea...
User: Traveler
Date: 3-Aug 10:32 AM 775909930
III.77
When all the curtains are pulled back, we'll turn and
see the circles we've traced...
&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&
"Traveler! so good to see you this eve," Daricelle said, welcoming the
ponytailed innkeeper into her wine shop. "Please come upstairs. Agathe has
dinner waiting, and I'm sure Charles will be delighted to see you."
Traveler followed the richly-clad woman up the stairs at the back of the shop
to the second floor, where the family's serving hall was located, and sat in
the chair Mistress Daricelle indicated. "Thank you for inviting me," he told
her. "It's always good to see a friend again."
Mistress du Vin smiled. "Yes, we must keep in better touch. I hear of strange
goings on in your commonhouse, sir. Do tell."
Traveler began telling Daricelle of some of the stranger events that had
occurred over the past few weeks. "And yourself?"
"Busy as ever. With the fair in town, all the innkeepers and tavern-masters
are clamoring for more wine. I do my best to keep them stocked."
"And do it well, my lady. No other merchant in town is able to supply the
range of vintages that you seem to get effortlessly."
Mistress Daricelle smiled. "Well, I have my methods... aaah, Charles, come
in and make your bow to Master Traveler." The boy, freshly brushed and washed,
stood at the foot of the stairway.
"Haven't you a nurse to keep the child?"
"Yes, but I do enjoy spending time with my son." Daricelle smiled. "He is all
the remembrance I have of my husband, and is very dear for his own sake. Pull
up a chair, love." Charles obediently sat next to his mother, and she called
to Agathe, her servingwoman, to bring him a trencher and spoon. "Now, how
would you like a sample of a special vintage?" she asked Traveler. "It is
rather rare in this area ... white zinfandel*."
**Note for the sarcasm-impaired:
Yes, I know white zin is a California wine.
"A man named Sutter gave me a few casks, and I find I rather enjoy the taste,"
she explained, pouring out the pink wine into two goblets. "Shall we have a
toast?"
"To fortune cookies," Traveler said.
"To fortune cookies," Mistress Daricelle agreed, and they sipped Sutter's
strange new vintage.
"This is, indeed, a rare find," Traveler remarked, upon tasting the wine. "Very
different from the local productions. Who did you say brought this to Hexsum
City?"
"Oh, he is a -- friend," Daricelle replied. "A mission priest with rather --
interesting tastes. In wine." She smiled. "I could, you know, sell you the
odd cask or two... for a reasonable price, of course."
"I am definitely interested," Traveler responded as three serving wenches
brought out the first course. "Swan, roast in its own feathers... your kitchen
is rather ambitious tonight."
"It's hard to find good help, and I hate to stifle their creative flow,"
Daricelle explained. "Besides, I eat like a king."
A knock sounded from downstairs just as a man stumbled down from upstairs.
Colin had finally awakened; Daricelle sent a servant to answer the door.
"Colin, this is Traveler. Traveler, this is Colin Martha. He owns that
vineyard on the east side of town... you know, Martha's Vineyard..."
"Why, yes. Would you like to join us, Master Martha?"
Colin shook his head. "I should have been home hours ago. Thank you for your
kind hospitality, mistress. I shall visit you again." He left, bowing to
Traveler, who whistled.
"A dangerous game you play, milady," he teased.
"Oh, it adds to the spice of things... tell you what, I'm sure Mistress Ecstasy
would like to meet Master Colin. You should introduce them." Daricelle looked
up as a messenger stalked into the room, dusty from the road. "A glass for the
messenger!" she cried. "What news have you for me, sir?"
The messenger gulped gratefully at the wine that was brought to him, and then
spoke. "Sir Zoroaster...."
Daricelle turned white to the lips. "*Sir* Zoroaster? And when did this
happen? Oh, never mind, do go on."
"He is in the holy lands, fighting the infidels."
"That should be interesting; last I checked, the Inquisition had a strong eye
on him... and I know myself of certain of his ...infidelities... what of him?"
Daricelle's eyes had grown to an intense green. "What of him?" she repeated.
"He is in the service of the King... and he needs your assistance."
"For what, pray tell?"
"He loves you. He cannot live without you. And as he cannot return to Hexsum
City at the moment, he begs that you join him on Crusade."
Daricelle stared at him incredulously. "No."
"I was afraid you'd say that, mistress...."
A resounding howl echoed through the room, and suddenly a tall, red-haired
knight appeared, a calico cat twined around his shoulders. "You won't go?" he
demanded.
"Zoro! Of course not. Traipsing around in the dust and camping in tents...
good Lord, no. And why should I expect that you would be any better than you
were?"
"I'm the best you ever had, babe. And you're going with me." He stamped
around the table, scooped her up with both arms, and motioned to the messenger
to pick up Charles.
"Where are we going, mother?"
"We're going camping, son.... I am sorry about all of this, Traveler. Why
don't you take the wine and store it at the VVC until my return? I trust you
to handle my business......." she was downstairs and out the door.
"Interesting..." Traveler mused, and poured himself another glass of wine. He
walked to the front window, pulled the curtain back, and watched as Daricelle's
former lover put her onto a white horse, climbed up behind her, and rode away.
"Funny, how our past can face us..."
From seemingly nowhere, a card fluttered to floor, and then another. Traveler
picked them up to see the Queen of Pentacles and the Knight of Cups.
**Op note: make that the Queen and Knight of Cups...the Queen of Pentacles
has already been found!**
"Very interesting indeed," he said, and pocketed the cards....
User: Dark Lady -- ave atque vale....
Date: 3-Aug 11:54 PM 775958096
III.78
VVC: Morning Sun
==============================================================================
GRAHAM and TRAVELER sit in the White Room, the morning sun slanting
warmly in through the east windows. They are enjoying some of AQUA22's
griddlecakes, covered with honey and freshly churned butter, and in small
bowls next to their plates are steaming portions of John Waller's mysterious,
potent black "soup."
"Bitter...yet strangely invigorating," says Graham, sipping the liquid.
"This drink could, I perceive, give a man great strength, and clear away
fatigue."
Trav blows on his bowl, then drinks a little. "Well, well...the
aftereffects of last night's punch are diminishing. Yes, 'tis bitter, but
perhaps with a little sweetening of some kind, it would be quite appealing."
They eat in silence for a few moments. Then Traveler broaches the
question he's been considering for days now as he's watched his intriguing,
mysterious guest come and go: "So what is it that brings you to the Virtuous
Vagabond and Comrades?"
Graham smiles slightly, and looks down, then up again at Trav. _I don't
know why...but I want to trust him. We've barely spoken till now...but he
seems to have a wisdom uncommon in an innkeeper. But I cannot compromise my
mission_.
"I...I come from Wakefield, to the south. A merchant there is thinking of
expanding his trade to this area. I am here to assess the prospects for him.
But as for today, I have no more ambitious plan in mind than...well...to
see a man about a horse."
Traveler nods, and washes down a mouthful of food with SYLVAR's drink.
"I myself will be rather busy. Shortly I must head into town to speak with
DARICELLe du Vin, my wine dealer, and later I'll be paying the Lady LYDIA,
on whose land of course we now reside, a visit."
"I have heard many favorable things about this lady," Graham says. "Her
generous and noble character is known even to the north in the barony of Viar,
where I lived for some time."
"You lived in Viar??" Traveler replies sharply. Graham looks suddenly
chagrined at having mentioned this fact. "Forgive my tone," Trav says more
gently. "It is just that...lately I've met few travelers from there, though
Lydia's estate borders right on it."
"The traffic between Hexsum and Viar is indeed less, I think. I have
heard unkind rumors afoot lately--many in Hexsum seem increasingly unfriendly
toward Viarans--and I confess, I feared you might have been influenced by
them."
"Hmmph." Traveler smiles. "No, I am no enemy of Viar...I am the furthest
thing from it." He swallows the rest of his drink. "Well, I'd love to chat
more, but I must take care of chores before I leave for town." He and Graham
both rise.
"I'm sure we'll speak again," Graham says, extending a hand. Trav shakes
it warmly, and they smile. _A friendly, if guarded, fellow_, the tavernkeeper
thinks. _Well-bred and well-educated, by his manner. And perhaps a Viaran...
I must spend more time with him..._
User: Traveler
Date: 4-Aug 04:22 PM 776017332
III.79
VVC: Intelligence report
==============================================================================
Sir Guy of NORM once again stands in the cavernous banquet hall of Chateau
du Venk, and addresses his master. "Your humble servant has returned, my
lord."
"Ah, Sir Guy. Do sit down, join me in my meal." Lord VENKMAN is working
away at a large venison steak; he waves a hand to the serving maid standing
nearby, and she bustles away to get food for Sir Guy. "What do you have to
report?"
"Well, I visited my daughter ECSTASY as you requested. I had an excuse,
since it was her birthday." The chamberlain sighs. "Of course those...
heathens...she hangs out with at that tavern had to throw a noisy party last
night...lots of dancing and drinking. I sat in on some of it...too much of
it. Worst of all, they persuaded me to sample their punch...me, a father, a
man of dignity, unknowingly intoxicated! I fear I spent the night there in the
hay." He picks a random straw from his hair, and shakes his head sadly.
"Do you think I care about some wild party you went to? Tell me about
Viar! What did you hear?" The maid returns, and sets down a silver-domed
platter in front of Norm. He lifts the lid...and is dismayed to find not a
venison steak like Venk's, but merely a salad.
"Oh well...uh, no, I didn't hear anything about Viar. Well, not really.
Actually, X was telling me that there was a very strange young man staying at
the inn who claimed to have lived in Viar. But he sounds like just a random
traveler. The interesting thing was..." Sir Guy looks down, and sees
Venkman's rabbit nibbling at his salad. "Uh, I don't think so. Stop, please
...shoo...go away, please...that's my dinner..."
"TAKE YOUR HANDS OFF THAT RABBIT!" the lord of the manor shouts. "It
goes where it pleases, and eats what it likes. If it wants your dinner, that's
what it gets."
"But what do _I_ get?" Norm pleads. "I've been riding for hours, I'm
hungry, I'm tired..."
"Look, do you like your job?"
"Yeah, usually, when I get three square me--" Norm sighs again.
"Then SHUT UP about the salad and get on with the story."
Norm heaves his biggest sigh yet. "Where was I? Oh, right. The
interesting thing was, this strange, thin fellow with short black hair
tried to sell me something during the party. It was a riding crop...inlaid
with a certain design...namely, a rose twined around a sword."
Venk's eyes narrow. "Did you buy it?"
"I hadn't enough gold, my lord! It was a fine crop, the handle inlaid
with bone and silver..."
"We must track that crop down...and that man--what was his name?"
"GHOST."
"We must find this Ghost...and ask him a few questions..."
User: Traveler
Date: 5-Aug 11:56 AM 776087783
III.80
*tromp* *tromp* *tromp*
*cough* *cough*
*wheeze*
*stumble* *crawl* *tromp*
*brush*
"Whew...gotta keep going...gotta find somebody...gotta...hello, what's this
place?"
*stumble* *stumble* *stumble*
"...it looks like...like a tavern...maybe there's someone there..."
*stumble* *stumble*
"I can't make the letters out... V... V... oh my god, it can't be...TRAV!!!
TRAV!!! ARE YOU HERE?? HELP!!! X!!! DIQ!!! ANYONE!!!"
*collapses from exhaustion just outside door*
User: Cado...the bouncer returneth. ;)
Date: 12-Aug 02:18 PM 776701163
III.81
Cado awakes from unconsciousness momentarily...just enough to read the sign
posted on the front door: "VVC temporarily closed...owner is on a two-week
vacation. Will return soon."
With this, he lapses back into unconsciousness on the steps.
User: Cado..."and the beat goes on...and the beat goes on..."
Date: 14-Aug 07:54 PM 776894075
III.82
TRAVELER opens the front door of the VVC. "How did this sign get hung
up here? This is left over from last year. And...whoa...who's this?"
A figure has collapsed at the doorstep, wearing a traveling cloak and
light chainmail. Trav carefully turns him over with his boot. "CADO! X,
tell Aqua to get another room ready...our missing bouncer has returned..."
User: Traveler
Date: 15-Aug 11:59 PM 776995171
III.83
Inside The Pit, DRAKEHART and his guide find themselves surrounded by an
unease aurora of avoidances. Glances slide off them and conversations change
pitch when they walk near. Drakehart feels his skin itch with sweat under his
leather jacket, the slightly greasy feel of the gun distracting him with its
irritation. But he heds CyberVision's warning well.
"This is fucked-up," Drakehart comments, observing the decayed and perverted
form of the original VVC underlying The Pit's setup. "That explosion must have
ripped things up to hell." He nods vaguely at someone who catches his eye
and makes a cryptic gesture. Vision notices and coldly comments "You just
agreed to have sex with that man's digitally-enhanced dog."
"Uh, bang that shit," Drakehart responds. He shoots a bird at the man (who has
blue-tinted metallic foil implanted in his skull for hair), allowing ancient
sign-language to speak for itself. Vision, in the same flat tone, says "You
are stupid, aren't you? Now we'll have to kill him before we can leave."
"Listen man, I don't give a fuck. No, REALLY. And let me ask you a personal
question... Did you ever think of adding on a personality to all your hardware?
Fucking Cyberdine Systems 101 has more flair than you."
Vision turns to face Drakehart. "I have gone through more hell in the past five
years of my life than you have throughout all of yours. And your friends as
well."
Drakehart snorts. "Ever chainsawed two-hundred and forty-three Imps in half?"
Vision actually paused, seemingly staring at Drakehart before saying "What are
we supposed to be looking for here, anyways?"
Drakehart sighed. "Anything. I don't know what I could find. It's been a long
time, but I was hoping to get some more details on what happened after I...
left this place. The sort of things you won't find on the Net. Maybe I might
even find some old messages or something..." He looks around him, eyes
slightly glazed. After a moment, he snaps back to reality and shrugs his
shoulders. "Let's find the owner and talk to him."
"It," corrected Vision.
User: Psychosis Paradigm
Date: 17-Aug 06:17 AM 777104241
III.84
VVC: Weekend update
==============================================================================
Since no one of sufficient rank or finances is currently paying for the
Red Room, it is free for TRAVELER and CADO to use. They relax over mugs of ale,
the innkeeper filling in his long-lost bouncer on recent events.
"Of course you know all the old tensions and rivalries--Lord VENKMAN still
hates Lady LYDIA and all of us who dwell on her estate; the Archbishop is still
sending people to harass and spy on us `reprobates.' But I have a feeling
things are building up to something."
"Building up to what?" asks Cado.
"That's just it...I don't know." Trav sets his mug down and gazes out the
western window, toward the bay. "I'm almost afriad to say...but...I think
something's going to happen with Viar."
Cado scratches his jaw. "I understand your concern, then."
"Yes...you and Lydia aare the only people who know--my little secret.
Anyway, there seems to be a lot of anti-Viaran sentiment circulating here in
Hexsum. Nobody likes Baron Miraz, the Viaran usurper, of course; and without
our Duke here to quell peoples' fears, people are murmuring that Miraz wants
to invade Hexsum."
Cado scoffs. "Invade? Miraz may be a tyrant, but he's no fool. He and
the Duke have had peace for years. And I don't think he'd break the peace just
because the Duke's out of town."
"I hope not. Say, what news of the Duke? Have you been with him?"
"Not lately. I fought along side him two seasons ago in the Holy Lands--
ah, what a fine man of battle he is! But with the Crusade coming to an end,
he's supposed to be on his way back. I don't know where he is exactly, but
no ill has befallen him, or we'd have heard about it."
Trav nods. "Well, may he return soon, and with godspeed. Other than
what I've told you, everything is proceeding normally. We do have a few
unusual guests--a certain Sir BELGARATH, who, alas, mistook the tavern for a
dragon. You may have noticed the hole in the wall...and then there's his
sidekick, GHOST. Also, a prodigious flute player, Orfeo--you'll meet him
soon. And a mysterious young man named GRAHAM--I'm trying to figure him out.
There's something fascinating about him..."
"How's everyone else? ECSTASY? AQUA22? Old SYLVAR? FIREFLYTE?"
"Fine, fine. And the neighborhood's the same as ever--ALBATROSS' farm
down the road, Mother ROARK's convent...and TIPMO stil comes in from Lord
Venk's estate to grumble. But tell me, now...what's befallen you? What
of your adventures?"
User: Traveler
Date: 20-Aug 07:48 PM 777412120
III.85
Fear #1: We may someday run out of steam with this story and the board
would revert to the usual conversational inanity.
Fear #2: It's happened.
And you thought *your* nightmares were werd... or weird, even! (Backspace
key to follow as soon as I get a *real* comm program.) *sigh*
User: SYLVAR
Date: 21-Aug 05:51 PM 777491497
III.86
Sylvar:
It's been a busy summer for me...
And many of our regulars have been away...
And some of those who were gung-ho about this story at the start
lost interest and frankly neglected it...
But I think the wind is rising again...
:)
User: Traveler: Dead Calm Dub
Date: 22-Aug 02:40 PM 777566427
III.87
Cado sips his ale carefully. Having just returned from aimlessly trekking
through endless dust, hills, and rocky clime, he feels rather weak. And
those fevers...
"You've been roaming for quite some time, I take it," proceeds Traveler. "I
fancy you've seen quite a bit of the surrounding...oh, dear, what is the
matter?"
Cado had set his ale down upon the table and slumped forward in his chair,
burying his face in his hands. Waves of confusion poured over him. "I'm not
sure, Trav. The last few turns of the moon have brought me great confusion,
I'm afraid. I have seen and done such fantastic and unbelievable things...but
no, I must have been ill with fever. Or worse...I feel as if I have been
affected by...by..."
"By what, Cado? What is it?" Traveler presses.
Cado shakes his head solemnly. "By...MAGIC" he hisses. "I can't say for
sure, but I feel I've somehow been affected by magic...whose magic it is or
where is came from I cannot say...but I feel a sickness like no earthly
ailment...I feel like my soul is empty."
Traveler shakes his head. "How far have you come, my friend?"
"I wish I could tell you," Cado replies sorrowfully. "I haven't even an
inkling of when I started wandering. When I left the Southern Coast, the
crusaders had just settled in after a victorious battle. I left
to...to...well, I don't even remember why I left now...perhaps that's when
this 'sickness' started to affect me. It may have been then that I began
wandering."
"I see," replies Traveler. "So what of the landing? It was successful, I
take it."
"Yes. Yes, indeed it was," says Cado enthusiastically...then his face falls
again. "...but...I'm afriad this fever has affected my memory as well...the
details are so cloudy I am afraid I can't describe them..."
"Well, no matter, my friend," Traveler reassures. "With a few days of rest
and some proper care, you'll regain your memory, I'm sure."
"I hope so," says Cado fearfully. Then, almost inaudibly, he mumbles, "I just
hope the memories I do have are only feverish dreams..."
User: Cado
Date: 22-Aug 02:41 PM 77566466
III.88
VVC>> Points of light
==============================================================================
A groundcar with the markings of a taxi negotiates its way through the
narrow, winding streets of The Dredge. This western section of the Hexsum
Transurb was created a couple decades back by mixing landfill garbage with fill
pumped up from the seabed. The waterfront landowners who undertook the project
only intended to increase their holdings; it is doubtful that any of them
realized that they were restoring the coastline to contours that had eroded
away centuries before. The current residents of The Dredge must contend with
still-settling ground that cracks foundations, skews buildings, and releases
questionable substances into the air and water. But rent in The Dredge is
cheap, and business, of one sort or another, is thriving.
In the back of the taxi sits the old man called The Orphan. He has just
departed The Pit, situated on the border between The Dredge and what is called
Old Town. His apartment is located far to the east, but Colin, the driver,
figures he knows a shortcut. He hopes to avoid the rush hour traffic on the
new "P-Way," the expressway, soaring some ten stories above ground on white
concrete pylons, that is used by those who can pay the high tolls. "I shall
have you at your domicile in no time at all, my man," lilts the diminutive
East Indian cabbie.
THe Orphan gazes ahead at nothing in particular, as rain-streaked walls and
hunched pedestrians whiz by outside. He still vaguely remembers when this was
all the open water of the Bay. He is lost in a reverie when something
distracts him--a curious red sparkling that dances in front of his right eye.
He grunts, and waves his hand in front of his eye; the sparkling disappears.
Colin glances in the reaview mirror. "What troubles you, friend?" He sees
a tiny point of red light on the old man's hand, and his eyes widen. He
throws the wheel to the right, and the taxi surges into a bank of trash cans.
Simultaneously, a spiderweb of cracks radiates from a point in the front
windshield with a loud report. Half a second later, it happens again, higher
up on the glass. The Orphan moans from the corner of the back seat. Colin
sends the taxi screeching leftward around a corner, and pumps its little
electric motor to the limit. A couple dents appear in the metal garage door as
the taxi passes it, but the vehicle is unscathed this time. Moments later,
they are out of the Dredge and on a patrolled major road.
"Oh, dear...oh, dear, oh, dear...my humble apologies, sir, for taking you into
such peril. Why would a sniper bother with my simple taxi? Even the gang
initiates now take on bigger game--I hear they prefer to blow up tanker
trucks." Colin clucks in dismay. "Now, here is a safer route."
The Orphan has said nothing all this time, but has stayed in the corner,
breathing heavily and looking around with agitation. Finally he begins to
relax. When the taxi pulls up in front of the decaying facade of a Gothic
cathedral, its passenger disembarks without fear, glad to be home again. "Good
night, sir!" calls Colin as he drives off.
The old man shuffles arond the side of the vast boarded-up cathedral, to a
small, three-story prefab structure that nestles against its side. Unlike the
old church, the newer building has lighted windows and other signs of life.
The Orphan enters, and climbs narrow stairs to a second-story studio stuite.
There he rests for a few moments on a teattered easy chair, as the climate
control system warms the room feebly.
At last he stands and goes over to where several plastic milk crates are
sitting against a wall. The crates are filled with flat cardboard squares
about
ten inches on a side; each square bears some faded illustration. He pulls one
square from a crate, and carefully slips a flat, shiny black disk out of it.
He smiles at the thought that these old records must be worth untold sums now
as antiques...but he will never sell them. He places the record on what is
recognizably a turntable; an arm swings out to its edge, but instead of a
stylus, a tiny laser beam probes the sound-filled grooves. A familiar wash of
sound drifts out into the room, followed soon by the sweet steady rhythms of
an old-school house beat. A man is chanting wordlessly...and a woman sings of
love. The Orphan remembers what it was to be young.
User: Traveler
Date: 23-Aug 06:52 PM 777667983
III.89
Dear Patrons of the VVC:
I have arrived in the Holy Land with Sir ZOROASTER. Charles is delighted by
all the new and wonderful things he's seen, and I admit that I have found them
intriguing as well. Unfortunately, the disease and the filth are downers. I
try to keep the tents as clean as possible.
Sire ZORO is stationed *$)#(~~kf??!^#()~
NO CARRIER
User: Dark Lady (and they censored me)
Date: 25-Aug 11:55 AM 777815773
III.90
TRAVELER looks the wrinkled note, written in Daricelle du Vin's unmistakable
calligraphy, that a wayfarer has just brought to the VVC. "Hmm...that reminds
me, I've got to take charge of her win stores as she asked me to. But
where will I put it all?"
"If this place had a cellar, you could store it there," muses CADO
"Well, the stables have a lot of junk in them...and the guest rooms over
the Red and Blue Rooms are all in use..."
"Maybe we could dig a cellar."
"I've got it!" the innkeeper exclaims. "Why don't we dig a cellar?"
The bouncer rolls his eyes. "Yeah, boss, great idea."
"See if you can round up some local laborers soon. I'll talk to Mother ROARK
...designing the plans for our cellar would be right up her alley. But
tonight, Orfeo and I must go to Lady LYDIA's manor for dinner...in fact, I'd
better bathe. It's been a month or so."*
* Detail added for authentic Medieval flavor (and aroma... :)
User: Traveler
Date: 25-Aug 12:49 PM 777818958
III.91
VVC: Dinner at Lydia's, Part I
==============================================================================
At last the time has come: TRAVELER and Orfeo are setting out for Lady
LYDIA's manor house on the two horses from the VVC stables. Traveler's mare,
Raindancer, ahs had her grey-and-white coat freshly brushed; Orfeo's mount,
a young brown yearling, has been out in the meadows around the VVC, getting
some exercise from stablemaster PERIGRINE.
As they leave the stables and ride around to the road that passes in front
of the tavern, they see the raggedly dressed RECYLER cavorting in the stone
circle next to the building. "Hahahahahah!" he cackles. "I'm baaaaaack!
Aren't you glad to see me?"
"Great...looks like he's decided to take up residence in the circle. The
locals have always said it attracts the blessed, the damned and the mad," says
Trav to Orfeo as they ride past. "I shall have to get CADO to run him off...
perhaps over on to VENKMAN's land...heheheh..."
The ride to Lydia's is short and uneventful; her imposing house is just
around the bend to the north. They are received by her stern-looking
chamberlain, Schuler **op note to LYDIA: I remembered!**, and shown to a
courtyard where the lady, clad in a rich-looking but functional black and
silver tunic, is practicing with a crossbow. "Never enough time to practice,"
she says, setting down her bow and wiping her forehead.
"It looks like you don't need much practice, milady," Trav says, admiring
the spread of crossbow bolts on the circular target across the courtyard. "All
your hits are quite near the center."
She smiles. "I aim for perfection. But as you say, I'm not bad now...in
fact, I procured our dinner tonight with that weapon. A brace of quail, that,
if the cook hasn't done anything terrible wrong, should be quite choice
dining."
Traveler glances around the ornate hall that the lady and her two guests
have just entered. "I've greatly looked forward to this visit. It's been...
too long...since I've seen such splendid surroundings." They sit at a large,
round table, made of carved and polished mahogany. A servant appears, and
pours wine into three golden cups. "Mmmm...Mistress DARICELLe's finest?"
"Indeed," says Lydia. "I see you haven't lost your fine tastes, even as
a tavernkeeper." She glances at Orfeo. "He won't understand what we're
talking about...or will he?"
"I understand...a lot," the thin young man says in a slow voice.
"He does," says Trav. "In the few days he's been around the Virtuous
Vagabond and Comrades, he's sat and listened for hours to the guests that come
and go. Don't be fooled by the fact that Orfeo's not always good at expressing
himself...in words, that is."
"But you speak through your music, don't you?" Lydia asks gently. He
nods, and looks away shyly. "Play us a tune, then." He stands and walks a
few steps on the stone floor, then turns. From a sack slung over his shoulder,
he produces his long wooden flute. He swallows, wets his lips, takes a breath,
and raises the instrument. As he begins to play,
<>
something overwhelms him, and he falls to the floor with a groan...
User: Traveler
Date: 26-Aug 01:47 PM 777908839
III.92
VVC: Dinner at Lydia's, Part 2
==============================================================================
TRAVELER and LYDIA rush over to help the fallen Orfeo to a chair. He
is too agitated to speak for a few moments, but after they give him a few sips
of wine, and ask him urgently to tell them what the matter is, he mumbles,
"B-broken...window. Broken window. Orfeo saw it..."
"Broken window? What can he mean?" puzzles Lydia. She takes Trav aside.
"Perhaps the mob who chased him off VENKMAN's land were right--he is an idiot."
"Milady, no one deserves to be called an idiot who can play the music he
plays. Orfeo's been bringing more and more folk to the tavern every day, as
word spreads of his abilities."
She looks at the boy. "I do want to hear him...but we must let him rest
for a while." Lydia summons a servant. "Take the young man to a bedroom and
let him lie down a while." She turns back to Traveler. "Now we are alone. I
feel more comfortable discussing...certain topics...with absolutely no one
else around."
"Perhaps you're right. It's been a long time since I walked the halls of
power...I've forgotten how dangerous high places can be. A humble innkeeper
needn't worry much about plots against his life."
"But that's just it...you aren't just a humble innkeeper, Traveler."
"But only you, Jon Waller, and Cado know that."
"Still, no secret can be kept forever. Don't you think people wonder?
They must wonder why you seem so well-bred and educated...why you occasionally
have private meetings with me..."
"Surely you don't think they believe I am your...uh..."
"I think people believe all sorts of wild fantasies, even those who claim
to be pure-hearted and sinless. But it matters not. I know who my heart
belongs to."
Traveler nods. "How is he? Have you heard anything lately?"
"I hear many things, dear Traveler." She smiles and says nothing, and he
knows it will be useless to ask more.
"Well, at any rate, I've always felt my secret is safe. Although I
confess...things I hear of now are troubling me. Things I'd like to talk to
you about."
"Such as?"
"Viar. For some reason, the good folk of Hexsum seem to be agitated by
rumors that our neighbors to the north, in Viar, are plotting some hostilities
against us while the Duke is gone. People keep mentioning it in the tavern.
I even hear that travelers from Viar are being attacked in the streets of the
City. What have you heard? Your land borders Viar."
"Baron Miraz--as you well know, Traveler--is a treacherous old bastard.
But I don't think conquest is on his mind. Then again, it's hard to know. He
wouldn't have to invade, necessarily...he could just figure out a way to put
a sympathizer on the Duke's throne. I'll have to see what information I can
gather." Lydia stands, walks to a shelf nearby, and takes down a book.
"Before I forget, here's something for you."
She hands the book to Traveler, who reads the title etched in gold leaf
on its red leather cover: IL TAROCCHI. "The Tarot! An Italian manuscript...
wonderful! Perhaps this will tell me something about these cards I keep
finding. Thank you, lady."
She waves her hand. "I have no use for it. Keep it in that library of
yours. Now, I think those quails should be prepared by now...I'll have Orfeo
summoned, and we'll dine..."
User: Traveler
Date: 31-Aug 11:03 PM 778374325
III.93
THE VVC UPDATE
--------------
It's about time for one of these...maybe an overview will help get the ideas
flowing...
* In the future timeline, DRAKEHART has met up with the cybernetically enhanced
VISION, who is serving as his guide/bodyguard. They've ventured into a dive
called The Pit, which Drakehart recognizes as the remnant of the VVC. The
Orphan, an old man who hangs around The Pit, left just before their arrival--
so they are as yet unaware that he is actually Orpheus the DJ. On his way
home, the Orphan's taxi was shot at by a sniper.
* In the medieval timeline, GHOST has tried to sell the riding crop stolen
from TRAVELER to Sir Guy of NORM. NORM, Lord VENKMAN's chamberlain, was at the
VVC to visit his daughter ECSTASY, but also to gather information for Venkman.
The symbol on the riding crop has aroused Norm's and Venkman's attentions, and
they are looking for Ghost.
* Mistress DARICELLe du Vin has been unexpectedly carried off to the Holy Lands
by the crusading Sir ZOROASTER. A postcard from her has directed TRAVELER to
take charge of her wine stocks; at CADO's suggestion, and with Mother Superior
ROARK's help, he plans to add a wine cellar to the VVC Tavern.
* Roark has had a run-in with the lecherous old Archbishop, but farmer
ALBATROSS saved the day. Some chemistry seems to be developing there... ;)
* Cado has returned from the crusades to be the VVC's bouncer. But his memory
is cloudy, and his mind is troubled by rumors of plots against the Duke.
* John Waller, aka SYLVAR, has prepared a brew from some brown beans he bought
from a mysterious traveler in the City. GRAHAM and Traveler have found it has
remarkably stimulating properties.
* Traveler and Orfeo the flute player have gone to Lady LYDIA's for dinner;
Orfeo blacked out after seeing a flash of his future self. Trav and Lydia
have discussed his secret past and identity, her missing lover, and the growing
tension between the duchy of Hexsum and the barony of Viar to the north. She
gave him a book on the Tarot.
* And Graham, in the guise of a man, continues her solitary search for some
unknown person...
Whew... :)
User: Traveler
Date: 2-Sep 04:07 PM 778522060
III.94
meanwhile, DELIRIUM has been spending most of her time totally soused trying to
either remember or forget her hazy memory of someone she is missing...
User: delirium is trying to tame muslin & considering adding lace...
Date: 4-Sep 02:15 AM 778644983
III.95
...then half way across town, the infamous Hiram J. PumpHandle buys a bag of
lemons from Leon the Butcher for 5 cents a pound. Now...we don't know WHY a
butcher would be selling lemons, but it makes for interesting reading,
don't you think? 8)
Discuss.
User: Skippy Podar - "155 lbs. of lean yet marginally tender beef." 8)
Date: 4-Sep 04:57 PM 778697905
III.96
maybe the butcher was killed by his vegetarian, identical twin brother?
User: Graham
Date: 4-Sep 05:21 PM 778699273
III.97
Ok...stop me if you've hear this one before:
Mary and Joseph walk into an Inn, but find that it's all filled up, thus
forcing Mary to say:
MARY: "Oy! Didn't I tell you to make reservations?! You know how busy
Bethlehem gets at Christmas!"
User: Enterprise - "Where the jokes come fast and Inn-side." 8)
Date: 6-Sep 08:46 AM 778841204
III.98
So Mary and Joseph walk into the VVVVVVVVVVC...
...umm, yeah.
User: Sylvar -- "This topic, like V M S, has outlived its usefulness."
Date: 6-Sep 10:53 AM 778848842
III.99
As the Fireflyte sits by the barside, polishing some silver (one of her
errands-around-the-inn includes a variety of cleaning), she listens to the
verbal wit of those assembled. The newcomer, Graham, fits in well with the
ragamuffin staff-o'-noble-rogues here, she thinks. Odd lad. Carries himself
wrong for a man of his apparent years. Mentally, she shrugs.
As she watches the puns fly, she sees Ecstasy apparently debate upon whether to
anoint Sylvar mightily with the fruit of the vine she carries in hand, and then
is distracted by a man entering the Cafe'.
He is of middling height, dark hair, beard and moustache, wearing clothing of a
middle-eastern design. At first she ponders whether the visitor might be a
traveller returning from the crusades,...but he strides in as with a purpose,
approaching Sylvar silently. He presents sylvar with an ornate bottle, dusty
and oddly-formed,...then he turns and leaves, as silently as he came. Sylvar,
puzzled, blinks a moment, sniffs at the contents of the bottle, blinks again,
as if surprised, and takes a sip. He grimaces.
"Oh, for Christ's Sake!"
User: Fireflyte... ...will duck before they kill her...
Date: 6-Sep 09:45 PM 778887950
III.100
Out-of-character note: What's in this bottle from which I've just sipped?
'Twould be helpful, dearie, if I *knew*...
User: SYLVAR
Date: 7-Sep 02:54 AM 778906457