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  1. - Top - End - #781
    Firbolg in the Playground
     
    Cristo Meyers's Avatar

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    Default Re: Shippingitp III: We Make Love (And Sometimes War)

    Quote Originally Posted by Mordokai View Post
    Just you wait... sooner or later you're going to come across one of those scrolls again.

    Then we'll talk about karma.
    You always say that, but you never do deliver.

    I'm working on a double-shot of episodes, might have them up tonight, might not, depends on who I can find that's willing to be a henchman...

  2. - Top - End - #782
    Ettin in the Playground
     
    Mordokai's Avatar

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    Default Re: Shippingitp III: We Make Love (And Sometimes War)

    Oooooooh Celestine...

    We need to talk.
    Adrie, half elven bard. Drawing by Vulion, avatar by CheesePirate. Colored version by Callos_DeTerran. Thanks a lot, you guys.
    This place is not a place of honor…no highly esteemed deed is commemorated here… nothing valued is here.
    "There will come a day so dark you will pray for death. On that day your prayers will be answered."
    Book of shadows, book of night, wake the beast and banish light.

  3. - Top - End - #783
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    Reinholdt's Avatar

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    Default Re: Shippingitp III: We Make Love (And Sometimes War)

    *shrug* I'll be a henchman if you need one.
    Quote Originally Posted by Lord Magtok View Post
    Gods, Reinholdt was right, a hundred percent right.
    Spoiler
    Show
    -Nyahahaha~
    Quote Originally Posted by Supagoof View Post
    Tale as old as thread
    And you find yourself dead
    Reinholdt was the Beast
    Quote Originally Posted by Philistine View Post
    Reinholdt had already told the truth once in that post, and therefore was over his annual quota.

  4. - Top - End - #784
    Firbolg in the Playground
     
    Cristo Meyers's Avatar

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    Default Re: Shippingitp III: We Make Love (And Sometimes War)

    Quote Originally Posted by Reinholdt View Post
    *shrug* I'll be a henchman if you need one.
    *steeples fingers*

    ...excellent...

  5. - Top - End - #785
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    Reinholdt's Avatar

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    Default Re: Shippingitp III: We Make Love (And Sometimes War)

    Quote Originally Posted by Cristo Meyers View Post
    *steeples fingers*

    ...excellent...
    Ooh! One of my favorite actions combined with one of my favorite lines!

    Clearly this can only mean good things.

    *walks away basking in naiveté*
    Quote Originally Posted by Lord Magtok View Post
    Gods, Reinholdt was right, a hundred percent right.
    Spoiler
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    -Nyahahaha~
    Quote Originally Posted by Supagoof View Post
    Tale as old as thread
    And you find yourself dead
    Reinholdt was the Beast
    Quote Originally Posted by Philistine View Post
    Reinholdt had already told the truth once in that post, and therefore was over his annual quota.

  6. - Top - End - #786
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    TwoBitWriter's Avatar

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    Default Re: Shippingitp III: We Make Love (And Sometimes War)

    Well, due to the enthusiastic response for the little Prologue I wrote for my experiment, I decided to kick out the jams and write an actual chapter. I hope you enjoy the second installment of...

    Bolt-Action Spell Casting

    Prologue

    Chapter 1:

    Starring: Cristo-Meyers, Mordokai, and CurlyKitGirl


    Part 1: (why can't I just keep them short and simple? )

    Spoiler
    Show


    The sun shined brightly overhead, noon. Cristo Meyers pulled a rag out of his uniform pocket and wiped the sweat off of his face, he was sure that he was just as grimy as his companions working beside him.

    Only two short years before, when he first learned to work and fight in a trench, the smell of sweat and freshly dug dirt served only to nauseate him. Now he felt that the trench was a second home, and all the insects and small animals that lived nearby were his neighbors.

    Only one more bag, he thought to himself as his entrenching shovel dumped load after load of fresh dirt into a small sack. When the sack was full, he dropped the shovel and secured the bag. After tying a good knot he tossed the heavy bag up to the top of the deep trench in front of his firing position.

    He leaped up on to the firing step to appraise his handiwork. His movements startled a raccoon that was scrounging for food. It squeaked in protest and ran off down the hill. Cristo smiled to himself, if Curly had seen him do that she would have been most displeased. Chuckling, he began to organize the sandbags into an appropriate barricade.

    Sandbags were tiring to prepare, but were by far the best protection against a fusillade of gunfire. The only problem was that they never had to worry about gunfire, so the bags were quite pointless and Cristo loathed preparing them for every insignificant raid.

    He swung his gaze to the left and right down the trench line. They had dug this trench in record time. Damn Teydar will get a most unpleasant surprise, Cristo thought as he turned his gaze down the hill. He could see the men in the forward trench performing the same tasks as Cristo, repairing the line and preparing new sandbags. The two trench lines circled the entire hill, protecting the village on all sides. Every time the Teydar tried to raid the village, they were cut down and beaten back.

    Despite this, Teydar attacks were still quite frequent. No one was truly sure how many of them dwelled in the forests surrounding Shardana, but the ape-like savages never seemed to be short on population.

    The trenches also allowed a quick redeployment of militia from one hot spot to another. There had never been a single Teydar breakthrough since the village had been founded. And there had also been very few casualties on the villager’s part, after all, the Teydar were primitive and only possessed spears and throwing javelins as their primary weaponry.

    “Private Meyers, nice work,” came a voice from down below.

    Cristo turned and saw his father, the war hero and Gunnery Paladin turned militia captain Mordokai.

    “Thanks, father,” Cristo said jumping back down into the trench. His father was covered in dirt and sweat, but he still somehow was able to keep his militia uniform clean and sharp. Mordokai’s face turned red and his face furrowed into a scowl.

    “Don’t call me that private! You are on duty for Sune’s sake!” Mordokai snapped, glaring at his son.

    “Oops, I am sorry, sir!” Cristo said, saluting.

    Mordokai eyed him angrily. “Private, you are not to speak with familiarity towards your superior officers, do I make myself clear?” Mordokai said. Cristo always resented how seriously his father took these raids. After all, they were always of little consequence.

    “Fine, sir,” Cristo said half-heartedly.

    “You know private, I knew a Hadbarini fellow back during the war that acted the same as you and didn’t take his duties seriously. He soon found himself caught on a strand of barbed wire, raked across the gut by Dwarven machinegun fire. And it was his mother who got the telegram. Do you understand what I am saying?” Mordokai said. He always would compare dead comrades to Cristo and his actions. This only served to alienate Cristo further from his father all the more.

    Cristo sighed. “Yes sir, but I don’t see why all this digging is so necessary, after all, we can shoot further than they can throw their javelins, hell sir, the only reason they have ever gotten any of the poor bastards in the front line at all is because of their sheer mass of numbers” Cristo said matter-of-factly.

    But of course, Mordokai didn’t pay any attention to logic. “Private Meyers, back in the war discipline meant the difference between life and that telegram to your mother. You have to take this seriously. Those Teydar may not be Human, but you are, and so are your comrades,”

    Cristo grunted, wishing that his father would leave him alone. He was also more annoyed to his father’s constant reference to the telegram, quite an antiquated mechanism, what with the more modern telephone system established.

    Mordokai continued on relentlessly, “The more we work on our defenses, the less chance they have to break through. You don’t play games private, you continue to try to overwhelm your enemy, you don’t allow any concessions,” Mordokai said.

    “Okay sir, I understand,” Cristo finally lied, “So what was it that brought you all the way up here, Captain?”

    “That’s better private, down to business, the spellcaster apprentice CurlyKitGirl will be observing the battle today, I am assigning her under your care, you two are close and I know you will keep her out of trouble,” Mordokai said, with a tiny grin on his face.

    Cristo felt himself blushing. “Sir, I will do my best, I just hope she won’t get in the way.”

    “That should not be a problem, she is not to participate, master spellcaster Hylam only wishes for her to see a real battle before he begins her lessons on war-casting. She is to remain in the secondary line and under no circumstances join master Hylam in the forward trench. You know how uppity she can be,” Mordokai said. He was about to turn away and continue his inspection of the secondary line when Cristo spoke again.

    “I understand sir, and I must also say sir, thank you for the upgrade you gave to my rifle,” Cristo said, lifting the old Madrigal and running a hand over the brand new sniper scope that had been purchased for him at great cost. He smiled.

    “You are the best marksman in the entire village. It would suit you best. However, you also should remember that you will be pulling double sentry duty tonight to make up for the expense. Now excuse me private, I have other matters to attend to,” Mordokai said, then with another salute he turned and walked away, further down the trench.

    Cristo turned towards the firing step and stopped, his blood running cold. There, on the step, was a multitude of large, black spiders. Cristo was suddenly gripped by fear and his breathing quickened. His hands felt so numb that he almost dropped his rifle. Then remembered that such a mass of spiders could not have come out of nowhere. “Come on out Curly, you had your fun…” he said.

    The largest and foulest of the spiders stopped and turned to face Cristo, rearing itself up as if to strike. Instead it spoke to him. “That one used to work all the time on you not too long ago!” The spider said in a feminine voiced that bore a twinge of disappointment.

    “Well Curly, it stops working when you use the same illusion spell on me all the time, though I must admit that one was very believable, you are getting very good.” Cristo said, smiling. He hopped up on the firing step and instead of being squished, the spiders promptly vanished.

    This time Curly’s voice came from behind him, in the trench. “Why thank you, an artist always enjoys it when her work is appreciated,” Curly said, flashing her bright eyes at him as she jumped up on to the step with Cristo. There was barely enough room, so she had to stand closely to Cristo, their sides touching.

    Cristo turned his head and looked at his long-time friend. Curly was slightly shorter than him, and her face more rounded than his. Her hair flowed halfway down her back like a river. She was wearing her spellcaster gown, which was made of a plain dark blue cotton. It hung loose on her, so that her figure was well concealed. Cristo knew better though, during their long friendship there had been mishaps and so his eyes were no stranger to what was under that robe. Such things happened when one lived in a small village like Shardana.

    “So Cristo, are you ready to shoot some of those Teydar barbarians?” Curly said playfully, her breath smelled like peppermint.

    “If it comes to that yes,” Cristo said, trying not to blush from the close contact. Her body was warm and soft against his. He shifted, trying to make more room.

    “Rifles, such filthy devices, you really should have learned spellcasting like me, you are too capable for something as base as that thing in your hand,” She pointed at Cristo’s Madrigal in disgust, “Besides, everything you can do with rifles you can do with magic anyhow.”

    “Not everybody in the world can use magic, not even the Elves are all that good with magic. And if magic were all that mattered, what would you say about the dwarves? They are certainly doing fine without it. They have had to survive on their technology alone,” Cristo said, countering Curly’s proposal.

    “Very well then, if those Teydar attack, I’ll show you what magic can do!” Curly said with firm resolve.

    Cristo simply nodded and smiled. No use arguing with her he thought to himself, though he hadn’t forgotten his father’s orders. Besides, Curly was a very capable apprentice. Master Hylam had always spoken very highly of her as a quick study and of how she understood many lessons that were normally far too advanced for others her age.

    A loud horn suddenly blared, calling the militiamen to attention. Cristo and Curly quickly forgot their conversation and turned to look down the hill towards the woods.

    “Here they come! On my command, open fire!” Mordokai cried as he scrambled onto a firing step and pulled out his Richex Revolver.


    Part 2:

    Spoiler
    Show


    Cristo brought his rifle to his shoulder and peered through the scope. Approving of the calibration, he could already see the glint of steel from Teydar spears as they moved through the woods towards the militia trenches.

    He looked over at Curly. She was staring down the hill. He could see her hands trembling and her teeth gritting together. He reached down and rested a warm hand on hers. She glanced up at him and smiled weakly, her hands relaxing as she started to regain her composure. She reached into her gown and pulled out a few pieces of parchment and read them intently.

    Cristo brought his hand back up to his rifle and steadied his aim. Now he could see the tips of the Teydar spears as they began to emerge from the dense foliage of the woods. There was something odd about the Teydar’s movements.

    Cristo squinted and peered down his sight for a better look. He grimaced, those Teydar were marching, not charging madly. They were moving forward in a battle formation. Their spears angled downwards. Wait… not spears…

    Cristo looked up in horror, those were not spears the Teydar were bearing into battle, they were carrying rifles! He shot his gaze down the lines towards his father.

    “Father… sir! Those Teydar… they are armed with guns!” Cristo shouted.

    Mordokai pulled a pair of binoculars from his jacket and peered down the hill, he slammed his fist into the ground and, dropping the binoculars, leaped over the trench wall and started to run down the hill to the first trench. He turned and called back to Cristo.

    “Keep your head down!” Mordokai cried, running at full speed, in a crouched position, making himself a smaller target, a technique learned from the war.

    Cristo felt cold, in all the raids he had defended the village against before there had never been too much danger. A Teydar, while strong, could not throw a javelin as far as he could shoot. Now there was real danger. Real combat.

    No sooner did Cristo see his father leap into the forward trench did the first volley of fire from the defenders open up, dropping several Teydar. He saw many of the militiamen were standing boldly out of the trench, firing round after round into the encroaching enemy.

    “Get down you foolish bastards, get down!” Cristo muttered. Curly looked at him, worry washing over her face.

    “Cristo, I thought that the Teydar didn’t have such weapons,” Curly said, her face paling. Cristo could feel her hands gripping his arm tightly.

    “They didn’t… I don’t know how they got so many modern weapons, but you need to keep your head down, those are real bullets and they will kill you. In fact, maybe you should return to the village further up the hill,” Cristo said as he brought his rifle to his shoulder and waited for the Teydar to enter his range.

    Curly stared at him defiantly. “You have to be kidding Cristo, this is the perfect opportunity for me to try those defensive spells that master Hylam has taught me,” Curly said.

    Cristo peered down the scope of his Madrigal and drew a bead on a running Teydar, after tracking his movements for a few moments Cristo squeezed the trigger. The weapon barked loudly and bucked against his shoulder. Cristo grinned in satisfaction as the Teydar stumbled and fell, his rifle dropping to the ground. Cristo quickly worked the bolt-lever of his prized Madrigal and turned to look at Curly, who was covering her ears.

    “Don’t worry, the first shot is always the loudest. After that your ears start to deafen…” Cristo said grimly and took aim once again, searching for more targets.

    As his eyes scanned over the front line, he felt sick. The Teydar had taken cover and were opening fire on the trench line. He saw some of the militiamen slumped over their positions. Others were screaming in pain from gunshot wounds. Mordokai was running up and down the entire trench line, screaming out orders and taking time every now and then to fire his revolver toward the Teydar.

    However, it seemed the militiamen’s desperate defense meant little, for the enemy was advancing steadily. Their tactics were almost on par with professional soldiers, at least a trained militiaman. One group would provide covering fire for another group that would advance. Then the advancing group would stop and provide cover for the other group.

    Now bullets begin to hit the ground directly in front of Cristo’s position. Dust was kicked up and sprayed across Cristo and Curly’s faces. He coughed and spit the dirt out of his mouth as he continued the routine of aim, fire, work the bolt.

    When he ran out of ammo, he would pull back the bolt and slam down a fresh clip into the chamber. The rifle could only hold five rounds at a time. Cristo lost himself in the soldier’s routine, only this time there was a far greater sense of urgency to his firing. Sweat beaded up on his forehead and began to stream down his face. He swore whenever he missed.

    Curly was by now completely covered in dirt, and appeared quite distressed. Her eyes scanned up and down the pages of notes she had desperately. Occasionally she would turn and look towards the frontline with concern, watching her master, Hylam, in the front trench, hurling balls of magical energies towards the Teydar attackers. She smiled briefly in satisfaction as one particular energy blast struck a sizeable group of the attackers.

    Curly suddenly started chanting. Cristo glanced away from the battle for a moment to see her read a small piece of parchment carefully, and then close her eyes. She began in a low voice, her hands carving mystic symbols into the air. Cristo felt the air electrify around him as he turned to continue firing.

    With a sudden cry, Curly opened her eyes and thrust her hands forward. From her outstretched palms roared a streak of lighting that arched over the front trench and slammed into the ground by a group of Teydar, cracking the air with a clap of thunder that scattered some of the advancing enemy. Cristo looked over at Curly in surprise.

    “I thought you weren’t taught war-casting yet!” Cristo yelled over the din in surprise.

    Curly smiled slyly. “I snuck a peek into my master’s spell book,” Curly said with no small amount of pride.

    Cristo noticed that she was breathing heavily and her face had turned even more pale. The spell had obviously taken a lot out of her.

    “Withdraw! Come on you sorry bastards! Withdraw to the second trench!” Mordokai screamed. Militiamen started to scramble out of their trenches and run up the hill for safety. Some would turn and fire at the overwhelming Teydar and continue running. Many others were simply shot in their backs as they ran.

    As the militiamen from the front ran up to hill, the villagers in the second trenches fired over them at the oncoming Teydar. The attackers leaped into the front trench and remained there briefly, using the trench’s cover to re-organize and prepare for the next push up the hill.

    A bullet whizzed past Cristo’s ear, and another two hit the sandbags directly in front of him. More dirt sprayed on to his face. He suddenly felt really glad that he had taken extra effort on those sandbags. Maybe his father had been right after all.

    Cristo was distracted by a new, putrid stench that wafted past his nostrils as the survivors of the front line were hurriedly reorganizing beside him. Cristo crinkled his nose in disgust. Curly covered her nose in one hand and coughed.

    “What is that detestable smell?” Curly yelled, her face turning a shade of green.

    “I don’t know, I have never smelt it before.” Cristo said as he ducked his head to reload. He had lied of course. It was a putrid odor, sickenly sweet. It was the same smell that emanated from farm animals that had laid in the sun too long, the smell of death.

    Cristo brought his rifle about to face down the hill when he happened to notice something odd about the Teydar forces. Not the Teydar themselves, but there were a few scattered individuals who were certainly not the same species as the large ape-men. They were tall, with fair hair and features. In fact, they best resembled…

    “Elves! Those are Elves leading them!” Cristo said to Curly. He ducked his head when a few more bullets struck the sandbags in his position. The trench was now more crowded, as the survivors from the forward trench turned to resume firing at the Teydar, who were now using the recently abandoned trench as cover.

    “Why would Elves be leading Teydar?” Curly said between every spell she hurled at the enemy. Cristo couldn’t help but notice how much difficulty she appeared to be having with each spell casting. Her face was not only pale but was sunken, as if she were dying of hunger. The image chilled Cristo.

    “Answer that, and you would probably explain why they have rifles too,” Cristo said, breathing heavily.

    Curly groaned loudly and slowly began to slump down until she was sitting on the firing step. Cristo jumped down after her and rested his hands on her shoulders, shaking her a little.

    "Curly! Are you alright?” Cristo asked.

    Curly looked up at Cristo, “I’m fine, I guess I caught something… I feel a little sick is all. I just need to rest a bit,” Her eyes closed and her breathing slowed.

    A shrill whistle sounded, three quick beats, the signal for retreat. Cristo didn’t notice Mordokai run up to him. “We have to get back to the village private! They are going to overrun the second trench!”

    Cristo looked up from Curly, shocked. He was even more surprised to see a blood-soaked bandage wrapped around his father’s left arm.

    Cristo could scarcely believe what he was hearing and wanted to see what was happening himself. His mind numb with shock, Cristo hopped back onto the firing step to look over the trench wall.

    “No Cristo, don’t!” Mordokai cried as Cristo brought his head over the protection of the sandbags on top of the wall.
    The Teydar were rushing up the hill. Cristo could not count how many of them there were. He could see that they outgunned the hapless defenders. Around Cristo the militiamen were jumping out of the trench, the wrong side of the trench, and scrambling towards the village.

    One Teydar stopped and pointed his rifle at Cristo. Time seemed to stop as the rifle flashed and Cristo suddenly felt a sharp pain in his shoulder. Cristo had never even imagined such intense pain. He groaned as bright red blood gushed from the bullet wound and a hot burning sensation coursed through his body. He lost control of the arm and it flailed limp in the air.

    He fell back down into the trench and landed onto the wooden floor planks which cracked under his weight and the force in which he hit the ground.

    Mordokai cried out as he saw Cristo on the ground. He called to another militiaman to help Cristo and Curly up off of the ground.

    He made little attempt to move, simply hanging limp as Mordokai hoisted him over his shoulder. He was staring down at the ground blankly. It would have been such a lovely day today, he thought, if it weren’t for the raid he would probably be out chopping wood or feeding the family’s cows.

    All those chores that he once thought a burden, now seemed like utter bliss compared to what he had experienced in the past… how much time has passed? Cristo thought.

    Cristo felt his eyes grow heavy and slowly slipped out of consciousness. He could no longer hear the gun fire, could no longer hear the screams of the wounded men and Teydar alike. He felt absolutely nothing.

    Last edited by TwoBitWriter; 2008-12-04 at 10:13 AM.

  7. - Top - End - #787
    Ogre in the Playground
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    Default Re: Shippingitp III: We Make Love (And Sometimes War)

    Quote Originally Posted by TwoBitWriter View Post

    Part 1: (why can't I just keep them short and simple? )
    Because you are a very good writer and can use 50 words when one would do?

  8. - Top - End - #788
    Firbolg in the Playground
     
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    Default Re: Shippingitp III: We Make Love (And Sometimes War)

    ...

    ...


    ...

    ...*starts bowing*

    We're not worthy! We're not worthy! *crick!* Ow my back! We're not worthy!

  9. - Top - End - #789
    Firbolg in the Playground
     
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    Default Re: Shippingitp III: We Make Love (And Sometimes War)

    Quote Originally Posted by TwoBitWriter View Post
    Well, due to the enthusiastic response for the little Prologue I wrote for my experiment, I decided to kick out the jams and write an actual chapter. I hope you enjoy the second installment of...

    Bolt-Action Spell Casting

    Chapter 1:

    Starring: Cristo-Meyers, Mordokai, and CurlyKitGirl


    Part 1: (why can't I just keep them short and simple? )

    Spoiler
    Show


    The sun shined brightly overhead, noon. Cristo Meyers pulled a rag out of his uniform pocket and wiped the sweat off of his face, he was sure that he was just as grimy as his companions working beside him.

    Only two short years before, when he first learned to work and fight in a trench, the smell of sweat and freshly dug dirt served only to nauseate him. Now he felt that the trench was a second home, and all the insects and small animals that lived nearby were his neighbors.

    Only one more bag, he thought to himself as his entrenching shovel dumped load after load of fresh dirt into a small sack. When the sack was full, he dropped the shovel and secured the bag. After tying a good knot he tossed the heavy bag up to the top of the deep trench in front of his firing position.

    He leaped up on to the firing step to appraise his handiwork. His movements startled a raccoon that was scrounging for food. It squeaked in protest and ran off down the hill. Cristo smiled to himself, if Curly had seen him do that she would have been most displeased. Chuckling, he began to organize the sandbags into an appropriate barricade.

    Sandbags were tiring to prepare, but were by far the best protection against a fusillade of gunfire. The only problem was that they never had to worry about gunfire, so the bags were quite pointless and Cristo loathed preparing them for every insignificant raid.

    He swung his gaze to the left and right down the trench line. They had dug this trench in record time. Damn Teydar will get a most unpleasant surprise, Cristo thought as he turned his gaze down the hill. He could see the men in the forward trench performing the same tasks as Cristo, repairing the line and preparing new sandbags. The two trench lines circled the entire hill, protecting the village on all sides. Every time the Teydar tried to raid the village, they were cut down and beaten back.

    Despite this, Teydar attacks were still quite frequent. No one was truly sure how many of them dwelled in the forests surrounding Shardana, but the ape-like savages never seemed to be short on population.

    The trenches also allowed a quick redeployment of militia from one hot spot to another. There had never been a single Teydar breakthrough since the village had been founded. And there had also been very few casualties on the villager’s part, after all, the Teydar were primitive and only possessed spears and throwing javelins as their primary weaponry.

    “Private Meyers, nice work,” came a voice from down below.

    Cristo turned and saw his father, the war hero and Gunnery Paladin turned militia captain Mordokai.

    “Thanks, father,” Cristo said jumping back down into the trench. His father was covered in dirt and sweat, but he still somehow was able to keep his militia uniform clean and sharp. Mordokai’s face turned red and his face furrowed into a scowl.

    “Don’t call me that private! You are on duty for Sune’s sake!” Mordokai snapped, glaring at his son.

    “Oops, I am sorry, sir!” Cristo said, saluting.

    Mordokai eyed him angrily. “Private, you are not to speak with familiarity towards your superior officers, do I make myself clear?” Mordokai said. Cristo always resented how seriously his father took these raids. After all, they were always of little consequence.

    “Fine, sir,” Cristo said half-heartedly.

    “You know private, I knew a Hadbarini fellow back during the war that acted the same as you and didn’t take his duties seriously. He soon found himself caught on a strand of barbed wire, raked across the gut by Dwarven machinegun fire. And it was his mother who got the telegram. Do you understand what I am saying?” Mordokai said. He always would compare dead comrades to Cristo and his actions. This only served to alienate Cristo further from his father all the more.

    Cristo sighed. “Yes sir, but I don’t see why all this digging is so necessary, after all, we can shoot further than they can throw their javelins, hell sir, the only reason they have ever gotten any of the poor bastards in the front line at all is because of their sheer mass of numbers” Cristo said matter-of-factly.

    But of course, Mordokai didn’t pay any attention to logic. “Private Meyers, back in the war discipline meant the difference between life and that telegram to your mother. You have to take this seriously. Those Teydar may not be Human, but you are, and so are your comrades,”

    Cristo grunted, wishing that his father would leave him alone. He was also more annoyed to his father’s constant reference to the telegram, quite an antiquated mechanism, what with the more modern telephone system established.

    Mordokai continued on relentlessly, “The more we work on our defenses, the less chance they have to break through. You don’t play games private, you continue to try to overwhelm your enemy, you don’t allow any concessions,” Mordokai said.

    “Okay sir, I understand,” Cristo finally lied, “So what was it that brought you all the way up here, Captain?”

    “That’s better private, down to business, the spellcaster apprentice CurlyKitGirl will be observing the battle today, I am assigning her under your care, you two are close and I know you will keep her out of trouble,” Mordokai said, with a tiny grin on his face.

    Cristo felt himself blushing. “Sir, I will do my best, I just hope she won’t get in the way.”

    “That should not be a problem, she is not to participate, master spellcaster Hylam only wishes for her to see a real battle before he begins her lessons on war-casting. She is to remain in the secondary line and under no circumstances join master Hylam in the forward trench. You know how uppity she can be,” Mordokai said. He was about to turn away and continue his inspection of the secondary line when Cristo spoke again.

    “I understand sir, and I must also say sir, thank you for the upgrade you gave to my rifle,” Cristo said, lifting the old Madrigal and running a hand over the brand new sniper scope that had been purchased for him at great cost. He smiled.

    “You are the best marksman in the entire village. It would suit you best. However, you also should remember that you will be pulling double sentry duty tonight to make up for the expense. Now excuse me private, I have other matters to attend to,” Mordokai said, then with another salute he turned and walked away, further down the trench.

    Cristo turned towards the firing step and stopped, his blood running cold. There, on the step, was a multitude of large, black spiders. Cristo was suddenly gripped by fear and his breathing quickened. His hands felt so numb that he almost dropped his rifle. Then remembered that such a mass of spiders could not have come out of nowhere. “Come on out Curly, you had your fun…” he said.

    The largest and foulest of the spiders stopped and turned to face Cristo, rearing itself up as if to strike. Instead it spoke to him. “That one used to work all the time on you not too long ago!” The spider said in a feminine voiced that bore a twinge of disappointment.

    “Well Curly, it stops working when you use the same illusion spell on me all the time, though I must admit that one was very believable, you are getting very good.” Cristo said, smiling. He hopped up on the firing step and instead of being squished, the spiders promptly vanished.

    This time Curly’s voice came from behind him, in the trench. “Why thank you, an artist always enjoys it when her work is appreciated,” Curly said, flashing her bright eyes at him as she jumped up on to the step with Cristo. There was barely enough room, so she had to stand closely to Cristo, their sides touching.

    Cristo turned his head and looked at his long-time friend. Curly was slightly shorter than him, and her face more rounded than his. Her hair flowed halfway down her back like a river. She was wearing her spellcaster gown, which was made of a plain dark blue cotton. It hung loose on her, so that her figure was well concealed. Cristo knew better though, during their long friendship there had been mishaps and so his eyes were no stranger to what was under that robe. Such things happened when one lived in a small village like Shardana.

    “So Cristo, are you ready to shoot some of those Teydar barbarians?” Curly said playfully, her breath smelled like peppermint.

    “If it comes to that yes,” Cristo said, trying not to blush from the close contact. Her body was warm and soft against his. He shifted, trying to make more room.

    “Rifles, such filthy devices, you really should have learned spellcasting like me, you are too capable for something as base as that thing in your hand,” She pointed at Cristo’s Madrigal in disgust, “Besides, everything you can do with rifles you can do with magic anyhow.”

    “Not everybody in the world can use magic, not even the Elves are all that good with magic. And if magic were all that mattered, what would you say about the dwarves? They are certainly doing fine without it. They have had to survive on their technology alone,” Cristo said, countering Curly’s proposal.

    “Very well then, if those Teydar attack, I’ll show you what magic can do!” Curly said with firm resolve.

    Cristo simply nodded and smiled. No use arguing with her he thought to himself, though he hadn’t forgotten his father’s orders. Besides, Curly was a very capable apprentice. Master Hylam had always spoken very highly of her as a quick study and of how she understood many lessons that were normally far too advanced for others her age.

    A loud horn suddenly blared, calling the militiamen to attention. Cristo and Curly quickly forgot their conversation and turned to look down the hill towards the woods.

    “Here they come! On my command, open fire!” Mordokai cried as he scrambled onto a firing step and pulled out his Richex Revolver.


    Part 2:

    Spoiler
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    Cristo brought his rifle to his shoulder and peered through the scope. Approving of the calibration, he could already see the glint of steel from Teydar spears as they moved through the woods towards the militia trenches.

    He looked over at Curly. She was staring down the hill. He could see her hands trembling and her teeth gritting together. He reached down and rested a warm hand on hers. She glanced up at him and smiled weakly, her hands relaxing as she started to regain her composure. She reached into her gown and pulled out a few pieces of parchment and read them intently.

    Cristo brought his hand back up to his rifle and steadied his aim. Now he could see the tips of the Teydar spears as they began to emerge from the dense foliage of the woods. There was something odd about the Teydar’s movements.

    Cristo squinted and peered down his sight for a better look. He grimaced, those Teydar were marching, not charging madly. They were moving forward in a battle formation. Their spears angled downwards. Wait… not spears…

    Cristo looked up in horror, those were not spears the Teydar were bearing into battle, they were carrying rifles! He shot his gaze down the lines towards his father.

    “Father… sir! Those Teydar… they are armed with guns!” Cristo shouted.

    Mordokai pulled a pair of binoculars from his jacket and peered down the hill, he slammed his fist into the ground and, dropping the binoculars, leaped over the trench wall and started to run down the hill to the first trench. He turned and called back to Cristo.

    “Keep your head down!” Mordokai cried, running at full speed, in a crouched position, making himself a smaller target, a technique learned from the war.

    Cristo felt cold, in all the raids he had defended the village against before there had never been too much danger. A Teydar, while strong, could not throw a javelin as far as he could shoot. Now there was real danger. Real combat.

    No sooner did Cristo see his father leap into the forward trench did the first volley of fire from the defenders open up, dropping several Teydar. He saw many of the militiamen were standing boldly out of the trench, firing round after round into the encroaching enemy.

    “Get down you foolish bastards, get down!” Cristo muttered. Curly looked at him, worry washing over her face.

    “Cristo, I thought that the Teydar didn’t have such weapons,” Curly said, her face paling. Cristo could feel her hands gripping his arm tightly.

    “They didn’t… I don’t know how they got so many modern weapons, but you need to keep your head down, those are real bullets and they will kill you. In fact, maybe you should return to the village further up the hill,” Cristo said as he brought his rifle to his shoulder and waited for the Teydar to enter his range.

    Curly stared at him defiantly. “You have to be kidding Cristo, this is the perfect opportunity for me to try those defensive spells that master Hylam has taught me,” Curly said.

    Cristo peered down the scope of his Madrigal and drew a bead on a running Teydar, after tracking his movements for a few moments Cristo squeezed the trigger. The weapon barked loudly and bucked against his shoulder. Cristo grinned in satisfaction as the Teydar stumbled and fell, his rifle dropping to the ground. Cristo quickly worked the bolt-lever of his prized Madrigal and turned to look at Curly, who was covering her ears.

    “Don’t worry, the first shot is always the loudest. After that your ears start to deafen…” Cristo said grimly and took aim once again, searching for more targets.

    As his eyes scanned over the front line, he felt sick. The Teydar had taken cover and were opening fire on the trench line. He saw some of the militiamen slumped over their positions. Others were screaming in pain from gunshot wounds. Mordokai was running up and down the entire trench line, screaming out orders and taking time every now and then to fire his revolver toward the Teydar.

    However, it seemed the militiamen’s desperate defense meant little, for the enemy was advancing steadily. Their tactics were almost on par with professional soldiers, at least a trained militiaman. One group would provide covering fire for another group that would advance. Then the advancing group would stop and provide cover for the other group.

    Now bullets begin to hit the ground directly in front of Cristo’s position. Dust was kicked up and sprayed across Cristo and Curly’s faces. He coughed and spit the dirt out of his mouth as he continued the routine of aim, fire, work the bolt.

    When he ran out of ammo, he would pull back the bolt and slam down a fresh clip into the chamber. The rifle could only hold five rounds at a time. Cristo lost himself in the soldier’s routine, only this time there was a far greater sense of urgency to his firing. Sweat beaded up on his forehead and began to stream down his face. He swore whenever he missed.

    Curly was by now completely covered in dirt, and appeared quite distressed. Her eyes scanned up and down the pages of notes she had desperately. Occasionally she would turn and look towards the frontline with concern, watching her master, Hylam, in the front trench, hurling balls of magical energies towards the Teydar attackers. She smiled briefly in satisfaction as one particular energy blast struck a sizeable group of the attackers.

    Curly suddenly started chanting. Cristo glanced away from the battle for a moment to see her read a small piece of parchment carefully, and then close her eyes. She began in a low voice, her hands carving mystic symbols into the air. Cristo felt the air electrify around him as he turned to continue firing.

    With a sudden cry, Curly opened her eyes and thrust her hands forward. From her outstretched palms roared a streak of lighting that arched over the front trench and slammed into the ground by a group of Teydar, cracking the air with a clap of thunder that scattered some of the advancing enemy. Cristo looked over at Curly in surprise.

    “I thought you weren’t taught war-casting yet!” Cristo yelled over the din in surprise.

    Curly smiled slyly. “I snuck a peek into my master’s spell book,” Curly said with no small amount of pride.

    Cristo noticed that she was breathing heavily and her face had turned even more pale. The spell had obviously taken a lot out of her.

    “Withdraw! Come on you sorry bastards! Withdraw to the second trench!” Mordokai screamed. Militiamen started to scramble out of their trenches and run up the hill for safety. Some would turn and fire at the overwhelming Teydar and continue running. Many others were simply shot in their backs as they ran.

    As the militiamen from the front ran up to hill, the villagers in the second trenches fired over them at the oncoming Teydar. The attackers leaped into the front trench and remained there briefly, using the trench’s cover to re-organize and prepare for the next push up the hill.

    A bullet whizzed past Cristo’s ear, and another two hit the sandbags directly in front of him. More dirt sprayed on to his face. He suddenly felt really glad that he had taken extra effort on those sandbags. Maybe his father had been right after all.

    Cristo was distracted by a new, putrid stench that wafted past his nostrils as the survivors of the front line were hurriedly reorganizing beside him. Cristo crinkled his nose in disgust. Curly covered her nose in one hand and coughed.

    “What is that detestable smell?” Curly yelled, her face turning a shade of green.

    “I don’t know, I have never smelt it before.” Cristo said as he ducked his head to reload. He had lied of course. It was a putrid odor, sickenly sweet. It was the same smell that emanated from farm animals that had laid in the sun too long, the smell of death.

    Cristo brought his rifle about to face down the hill when he happened to notice something odd about the Teydar forces. Not the Teydar themselves, but there were a few scattered individuals who were certainly not the same species as the large ape-men. They were tall, with fair hair and features. In fact, they best resembled…

    “Elves! Those are Elves leading them!” Cristo said to Curly. He ducked his head when a few more bullets struck the sandbags in his position. The trench was now more crowded, as the survivors from the forward trench turned to resume firing at the Teydar, who were now using the recently abandoned trench as cover.

    “Why would Elves be leading Teydar?” Curly said between every spell she hurled at the enemy. Cristo couldn’t help but notice how much difficulty she appeared to be having with each spell casting. Her face was not only pale but was sunken, as if she were dying of hunger. The image chilled Cristo.

    “Answer that, and you would probably explain why they have rifles too,” Cristo said, breathing heavily.

    Curly groaned loudly and slowly began to slump down until she was sitting on the firing step. Cristo jumped down after her and rested his hands on her shoulders, shaking her a little.

    "Curly! Are you alright?” Cristo asked.

    Curly looked up at Cristo, “I’m fine, I guess I caught something… I feel a little sick is all. I just need to rest a bit,” Her eyes closed and her breathing slowed.

    A shrill whistle sounded, three quick beats, the signal for retreat. Cristo didn’t notice Mordokai run up to him. “We have to get back to the village private! They are going to overrun the second trench!”

    Cristo looked up from Curly, shocked. He was even more surprised to see a blood-soaked bandage wrapped around his father’s left arm.

    Cristo could scarcely believe what he was hearing and wanted to see what was happening himself. His mind numb with shock, Cristo hopped back onto the firing step to look over the trench wall.

    “No Cristo, don’t!” Mordokai cried as Cristo brought his head over the protection of the sandbags on top of the wall.
    The Teydar were rushing up the hill. Cristo could not count how many of them there were. He could see that they outgunned the hapless defenders. Around Cristo the militiamen were jumping out of the trench, the wrong side of the trench, and scrambling towards the village.

    One Teydar stopped and pointed his rifle at Cristo. Time seemed to stop as the rifle flashed and Cristo suddenly felt a sharp pain in his shoulder. Cristo had never even imagined such intense pain. He groaned as bright red blood gushed from the bullet wound and a hot burning sensation coursed through his body. He lost control of the arm and it flailed limp in the air.

    He fell back down into the trench and landed onto the wooden floor planks which cracked under his weight and the force in which he hit the ground.

    Mordokai cried out as he saw Cristo on the ground. He called to another militiaman to help Cristo and Curly up off of the ground.

    He made little attempt to move, simply hanging limp as Mordokai hoisted him over his shoulder. He was staring down at the ground blankly. It would have been such a lovely day today, he thought, if it weren’t for the raid he would probably be out chopping wood or feeding the family’s cows.

    All those chores that he once thought a burden, now seemed like utter bliss compared to what he had experienced in the past… how much time has passed? Cristo thought.

    Cristo felt his eyes grow heavy and slowly slipped out of consciousness. He could no longer hear the gun fire, could no longer hear the screams of the wounded men and Teydar alike. He felt absolutely nothing.

    . . .



    Aaaaawwwwww.
    Only nitpick: I speak in indigo. [/end]

    @Cristo:
    *asks if she can cameo in an alternate Mi'ir/Mordokai world*

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    Quote Originally Posted by V'icternus View Post
    Why is it that you now scare me more than the possibility of nuclear war?
    Quote Originally Posted by Dr. Bath View Post
    To compare [Curly] to the beauty of the changing seasons or timeless stars would be an understatement.
    Quote Originally Posted by Coidzor View Post
    But Koorly is the sweetest crime.

    Squid bones are lies.
    Bathatar!

  10. - Top - End - #790
    Firbolg in the Playground
     
    Cristo Meyers's Avatar

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    Default Re: Shippingitp III: We Make Love (And Sometimes War)

    Quote Originally Posted by CurlyKitGirl View Post
    . . .



    Aaaaawwwwww.
    Only nitpick: I speak in indigo. [/end]

    @Cristo:
    *asks if she can cameo in an alternate Mi'ir/Mordokai world*
    Ve shall see...vewy soon, perhaps...

  11. - Top - End - #791
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    TwoBitWriter's Avatar

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    Default Re: Shippingitp III: We Make Love (And Sometimes War)

    Quote Originally Posted by CurlyKitGirl View Post
    . . .



    Aaaaawwwwww.
    Only nitpick: I speak in indigo. [/end]

    @Cristo:
    *asks if she can cameo in an alternate Mi'ir/Mordokai world*
    Did you not like it, Curly?

    I edited the post so you spoke correctly.

    @Cristo: I appreciate the praise, but its not THAT good.

  12. - Top - End - #792
    Firbolg in the Playground
     
    CurlyKitGirl's Avatar

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    Default Re: Shippingitp III: We Make Love (And Sometimes War)

    Quote Originally Posted by TwoBitWriter View Post
    Did you not like it, Curly?

    I edited the post so you spoke correctly.

    @Cristo: I appreciate the praise, but its not THAT good.
    Aaaawwwww, as in: it's really sad aaaaawwww. But it's great; entirely deserving of Cristos' praise.

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    Quote Originally Posted by V'icternus View Post
    Why is it that you now scare me more than the possibility of nuclear war?
    Quote Originally Posted by Dr. Bath View Post
    To compare [Curly] to the beauty of the changing seasons or timeless stars would be an understatement.
    Quote Originally Posted by Coidzor View Post
    But Koorly is the sweetest crime.

    Squid bones are lies.
    Bathatar!

  13. - Top - End - #793
    Ettin in the Playground
     
    Mordokai's Avatar

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    Default Re: Shippingitp III: We Make Love (And Sometimes War)

    So we're now father and son? Cool! I mean...

    What have I done to deserve this?!

    Cool story indeed Like the settings.
    Adrie, half elven bard. Drawing by Vulion, avatar by CheesePirate. Colored version by Callos_DeTerran. Thanks a lot, you guys.
    This place is not a place of honor…no highly esteemed deed is commemorated here… nothing valued is here.
    "There will come a day so dark you will pray for death. On that day your prayers will be answered."
    Book of shadows, book of night, wake the beast and banish light.

  14. - Top - End - #794
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    Reinholdt's Avatar

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    Default Re: Shippingitp III: We Make Love (And Sometimes War)

    Silly Cristo. The sniper's supposed to stay down and out of sight for a reason.

    Excellent story TBW. (Keeping things short and simple is really tough).
    Quote Originally Posted by Lord Magtok View Post
    Gods, Reinholdt was right, a hundred percent right.
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    -Nyahahaha~
    Quote Originally Posted by Supagoof View Post
    Tale as old as thread
    And you find yourself dead
    Reinholdt was the Beast
    Quote Originally Posted by Philistine View Post
    Reinholdt had already told the truth once in that post, and therefore was over his annual quota.

  15. - Top - End - #795
    Firbolg in the Playground
     
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    Default Re: Shippingitp III: We Make Love (And Sometimes War)

    quiet, furball...

    Got a trio this time...

    The Dead Queen (RabbitHoleLost, Dirk Kris, Wolfbane, Reinholdt)

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    Far north of the border village of Serene Valley stands a small keep. Despite it’s apparent age, it seems well-maintained. It’s not the decrepit ruins of bad bardic tales, but someone’s home and workshop. In this case, it’s the home of the necromancer known only to the surrounding peasantry as the Dead Queen.

    The Dead Queen’s name had long since been lost to the capriciousness of time and history, assuming she ever actually had one to begin with. As far as those living under her rule are concerned, she’s always been there. She wasn’t a cruel ruler, in fact she left the populace more or less alone. But tales spread faster and capture the hearts and minds quicker than anything and stories of the Dead Queen’s past keep the people in fear.

    The lands surrounding the keep were nominally safe. Bandits and orcs were kept well under control, probably by the Queen’s methods (most of which did absolutely nothing to enhance her reputation). The people served, keeping the keep maintained and the fields tilled, but they constantly watched, wary that they too might disappear during the night. They served out of fear, a powerful motivator if there ever was one.

    Very few people had seen the inside of those walls, most didn’t want to. They were content to let the Queen stay inside her keep, since anytime she ventured out usually meant she was displeased, which meant an example had to be made. Also, if the rumors were true, right now the Queen was very displeased.

    Inside the keep, in the main hall, the Queen herself paced angrily. A Redeemer! Here! Until now she had dodged the attentions of the Order and their idiotic zealots. But the increase in banditry in the lands bordering hers must have finally brought their attention. Of course that meant the Order would have to investigate, which meant that they’d find, and more than likely blame, her.

    “Wolfbane! Reinholdt!” Her voice echoed off of the stone walls of the keep. They were two of her favored minions. Reinholdt appeared first, dwarven rifle strapped to his back. The man detested fighting in reality, but sometimes a bullet would do what words could not. He was everything she wanted in a minion: cold, efficient, and totally heartless, literally. He was kept alive by one of her more ingenius designs, but it had required removing his heart.

    Wolfbane followed behind Reinholdt. Wolfbane was not human. He was a wolfman, a fighter, a perfect counterpoint to Reinholdt. Which was why the Queen assigned them tasks together. Words carried so much more weight when there was a seven-foot tall wolfman behind the person delivering them. They both knelt silently at the Queen’s feet, awaiting orders. “Find out everything you can about this Redeemer that I’ve been hearing so much about. Who is he traveling with? What is his mission here? We can’t have the Order poking their self-righteous noses out here.”

    “Wouldn’t it be better to just kill him?” ,Wolfbane growled, “Dead men tell no tales.”

    The wolfman found himself lifted bodily off of the floor, his feet dangled a full foot above the ground and an invisible vice-like grip held him by the neck. The Queen only stood there, glaring coldly into his eyes. “Dead men do indeed tell tales, lupine, especially dead paladins. You will not kill anyone without my say-so, am I making myself clear?” Wolfbane let out a mixture of a whine and a gurgle that the Queen took for a ‘yes’ and was dropped back to the ground. “Go!” The two of them left immediately to see to their task.

    “He could just be here by coincidence, my queen” a smooth voice said from behind a nearby column, “The Order has a vested interest in keeping the plainsfolk happy.”

    “Ever the optimist, Dirk. Better to not take any chances, especially where the Order is concerned.”

    “As you wish.” A man walked out from behind the column. Dirk was her most valued minion, a true jack of all trades. “If your suspicions are right?”

    The Queen smiled. “Then you will bring him to me, and I will send the Order a message they will not soon forget.”



    Tales Given Form (Mordokai, Serpentine, Cristo, CurlyKitGirl)
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    “Celestine says the area is clear.” Mi’ir said to no one in particular. Mordokai had to admit, the bond Mi’ir shared with her…his, damn it was hard to keep that straight right now…familiar was exceptionally handy. It was much easier to scout unnoticed when you had an intelligent feline spy at your disposal…even if you did have to bribe her with the occasional fish.

    “Good, then we’ll camp down here.” Here was a small copse of trees just off of the road. It wasn’t much, but it beat sleeping out in the open.

    “Hold it,” Mi’ir added, “We’re not the only ones out here. There’s someone right…”

    “Can I help you?” Mi’ir jumped out of his half-trance. Serpentine squeaked in surprise. Standing almost exactly in the middle of the group was a woman. “Well? Or should I just move on and pester some other set of travelers?”

    “…here.” Mi’ir completed her thought. “I’m sure that cat waited to do that on purpose.”

    “If your cat was half as much of a tracker as she was a spoiled housepet, you all would have seen me coming a mile out.” The woman mocked. “Well? What’s going on here?” The woman looked slightly ragged, maybe from years living out in the wilderness. Her age was indeterminate, though she appeared young. Her hair matched the earthy browns that dominated the colors of her clothing. “Travelers? Not too often you see a Redeemer out here…”

    “Er…how’d you know that I was…” Mordokai started.

    “Boy, if everything about you didn’t simply scream ‘paladin’ I’d have to question whether or not you were real. So, come, what’s going on here?”

    “Um…” the woman left Mordokai, and the others actually, thoroughly confused.

    “What’re you doing here?”

    “About to sleep?” Serpentine ventured cautiously. “We’ve been traveling all day.”

    “Out here? No no no, that won’t do at all. Come.” The woman started walking out into the field. “Well? Are you all just going to stand there? Come on!”

    Mi’ir watched the woman go. “I don’t trust her.”

    Serpentine wasn’t as skeptical. “If she could’ve appeared just like that right under our noses, wouldn’t she have killed us already if she wanted to?”

    “Some people like torture and games…” Mi’ir said darkly.

    Mordokai sided with Serpentine. “It’s not going to be any safer out here.” He followed the woman out into the field. Serpentine left right behind him. Mi’ir shook her head, but left after the other two.

    When they caught up to the woman they were a far bit off of the road and into the fields. “There’s nothing here.” Mordokai said.

    “Patience, boy, patience.” The woman closed her eyes and hummed a soft tune. A small area right in front of them began to waver and seemed to dissolve into the picture of a small cottage. The picture solidified into reality, leaving the cottage standing right in front of them. “Beats sleeping on the ground…” She opened the front door. “Well? Did you all follow me just to stare at my home? Come on!”

    Serpentine was the first to enter the house. Mordokai followed her, but stopped in the doorway. “Coming, Mi’ir?”

    “I’m going to wait for Celestine.”

    The woman’s voice called from inside. “Your familiar’s already inside!”

    Mordokai shook his head and laughed, leaving Mi’ir alone outside. “I’m going to skin that cat…” he muttered to himself before entering the cottage.



    The inside of the cottage was bigger than it seemed. There was plenty of space for all four of them to spread out. A large, grey-striped cat watched them all from its spot high on the rafters. “Don’t mind her, she’s just a grumpy old curmudgeon like me,” the woman said with a laugh.

    “Old?” Serpentine asked in surprise.

    “Yes, old.”

    “But…”

    “You trust your eyes too much, girl. Your parents weren’t even twinkles in their parents’ eyes when I was your age.” The woman settled down into a nearby chair. “Healthy living and all that.”

    “Lady, exactly who are you?” Mordokai asked, “You’re offering us your hospitality but we don’t even know your name.”

    “She’s Koorli of the Plains,” Mi’ir said from her spot by the door, “A witch said to help travelers on long journeys. Never actually thought I‘d ever see her.”

    “You’re pretty sharp for a boy that somehow managed to get himself all changed up like that. Who did that to you, boy?”

    Mi’ir blinked in surprise. “How’d you…”

    “I’m Koorli of the Plains,” the woman said in mock awe, “What, you think I got to be in tall tales and bardic stories just because? You may have the body and there may be deep scars from a man in your past, but you aren’t a woman, can tell that much just by looking at you.”

    Mi’ir’s eyes widened a bit and he fell silent. A cloud of golden dust wafted out from underneath a table, revealing Celestine’s hiding place. “Ask the girl,” she said, amusement hanging off of her voice.

    Koorli’s eyes laid on Serpentine. “Oh? Your handiwork?"

    “I didn’t mean to…” Serpentine objected, “It’s just what happened.”

    “Bah! You’ll get control of it soon enough. Shapers of your potential don’t go without teachers for very long.” Koorli started rocking back and forth in her chair. “Been a long time since I’ve seen a shaper like you. Strong indeed.”

    “So how long is this going last then?” Mi’ir asked,

    “If I were you I’d be more worried about that black pit you call a soul. Those scars on your back run very deep indeed.”

    Mi’ir looked like he’d just been stung by a biting insect. “I’ve got no reason to listen to this…” He left the cottage. Celestine padded after her, making it through the door just as it closed.

    Mordokai seemed concerned and rose to go after her. Koorli stopped him. “He’s not going anywhere, Mordokai. But you’d be well advised to watch him closely.

    “Well I’m taking him back to the Heartlands to face trial at any rate. Until then he’ll be under my eye.”

    Koorli leaned back into her chair. “So you say, Redeemer, so you say.”




    Lessons (Cristo/Serpentine)

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    “Mira…I mean, Mi’ir?” Serpentine asked cautiously from the cottage door. “Are you coming back in?”

    “Later, maybe.”

    “Should I leave you alone, then?”

    “I’m not alone.” Another puff of golddust appeared over Mi’ir’s shoulder. She laughed. “Well, I was talking metaphorically…but Celestine never did have any talent for that sort of thing.”

    “Shut up and keep scratching.”

    Serpentine nodded and turned to go back inside. She stopped as her hand laid down on the door handle. Despite Mi’ir’s apparent humor, she could feel that something was wrong. “What she said back in there…what Koorli said, ‘scars from a man.’ What’d she mean?”

    “Curiosity killed the cat, student.” Mi’ir said without looking at Serpentine.

    “I really hate that saying…”

    “I want to know. It seems…important. If you’re going to teach me to control my powers I think I should know more about my teacher.”

    “Girl’s got a point.”

    “Whose side are you on?” Mi’ir sighed, her shoulders sagged. “Fine, I suppose now is as good a time as any to start teaching you. Come here.”

    Serpentine slowly walked towards Mi’ir and sat down beside her. “Yes?”

    “Do you remember what you did when you did this to me and Celestine?”

    “Not really…it just happens. It’s like reaching blindly out to grab something…”

    “Okay. Now, do you know why it affected Celestine differently than it did me?”

    Serpentine answered quickly this time. “She’s a magical creature. You’re not”

    “Girl’s quick.”

    “Shh,” Mi’ir scolded the feline. “You’re not far off. Casting shaping magic on something, or someone, other than yourself is like reaching out and grabbing them. Your magic reaches out from your body and into theirs. You know how, instinctually, to do this. We just need to bring that instinct into your mind so you can control it. Luckily for you, that’s exactly what I had to learn once.”

    “Mi’ir…” Celestine said quietly.

    “Shh!”

    Serpentine nodded slowly. She had feared that she would have to re-learn everything, that no one would be able to help her. But if was really as simple as Mi’ir made it sound…

    “Make no mistake, this isn’t going to be easy,” Mi’ir said as if she could read Serpentine’s mind, “You have knowledge with no control, and it could run wild. Reining it in may very well be the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do.” Mi’ir never actually looked at Serpentine, her eyes stared off into the fields, as if she were focusing on something else entirely.

    “I understand.”

    “I said the same thing,” Mi’ir said with a sad laugh. “First lesson: find that feeling, that instinctual nudge that triggers your powers. Once you have it, come to me.”

    “How do I do that?”

    “That’s part of the lesson. You’ve got to find your own prey on this hunt.”

    “I see.” Serpentine rose to her feet. She walked a few steps towards the cottage before stopping again. “You never answered my first question.”

    “Aramir.”

    “What?”

    “His name. His name was Aramir. He taught me just like I’m teaching you. I’ll be waiting right here for you. Come back to me when you think you’ve got that feeling.”

    “You’re not coming back inside?”

    “No.”

    Serpentine nodded and went back inside. She had a lot of searching to do and the first lesson was always the hardest.
    Last edited by Cristo Meyers; 2008-12-04 at 09:49 AM.

  16. - Top - End - #796
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    Default Re: Shippingitp III: We Make Love (And Sometimes War)

    Quote Originally Posted by Cristo Meyers View Post
    quiet, furball...

    Got a trio this time...

    The Dead Queen (RabbitHoleLost, Dirk Kris, Wolfbane, Reinholdt)

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    Far north of the border village of Serene Valley stands a small keep. Despite it’s apparent age, it seems well-maintained. It’s not the decrepit ruins of bad bardic tales, but someone’s home and workshop. In this case, it’s the home of the necromancer known only to the surrounding peasantry as the Dead Queen.

    The Dead Queen’s name had long since been lost to the capriciousness of time and history, assuming she ever actually had one to begin with. As far as those living under her rule are concerned, she’s always been there. She wasn’t a cruel ruler, in fact she left the populace more or less alone. But tales spread faster and capture the hearts and minds quicker than anything and stories of the Dead Queen’s past keep the people in fear.

    The lands surrounding the keep were nominally safe. Bandits and orcs were kept well under control, probably by the Queen’s methods (most of which did absolutely nothing to enhance her reputation). The people served, keeping the keep maintained and the fields tilled, but they constantly watched, wary that they too might disappear during the night. They served out of fear, a powerful motivator if there ever was one.

    Very few people had seen the inside of those walls, most didn’t want to. They were content to let the Queen stay inside her keep, since anytime she ventured out usually meant she was displeased, which meant an example had to be made. Also, if the rumors were true, right now the Queen was very displeased.

    Inside the keep, in the main hall, the Queen herself paced angrily. A Redeemer! Here! Until now she had dodged the attentions of the Order and their idiotic zealots. But the increase in banditry in the lands bordering hers must have finally brought their attention. Of course that meant the Order would have to investigate, which meant that they’d find, and more than likely blame, her.

    “Wolfbane! Reinholdt!” Her voice echoed off of the stone walls of the keep. They were two of her favored minions. Reinholdt appeared first, dwarven rifle strapped to his back. The man detested fighting in reality, but sometimes a bullet would do what words could not. He was everything she wanted in a minion: cold, efficient, and totally heartless, literally. He was kept alive by one of her more ingenius designs, but it had required removing his heart.

    Wolfbane followed behind Reinholdt. Wolfbane was not human. He was a wolfman, a fighter, a perfect counterpoint to Reinholdt. Which was why the Queen assigned them tasks together. Words carried so much more weight when there was a seven-foot tall wolfman behind the person delivering them. They both knelt silently at the Queen’s feet, awaiting orders. “Find out everything you can about this Redeemer that I’ve been hearing so much about. Who is he traveling with? What is his mission here? We can’t have the Order poking their self-righteous noses out here.”

    “Wouldn’t it be better to just kill him?” ,Wolfbane growled, “Dead men tell no tales.”

    The wolfman found himself lifted bodily off of the floor, his feet dangled a full foot above the ground and an invisible vice-like grip held him by the neck. The Queen only stood there, glaring coldly into his eyes. “Dead men do indeed tell tales, lupine, especially dead paladins. You will not kill anyone without my say-so, am I making myself clear?” Wolfbane let out a mixture of a whine and a gurgle that the Queen took for a ‘yes’ and was dropped back to the ground. “Go!” The two of them left immediately to see to their task.

    “He could just be here by coincidence, my queen” a smooth voice said from behind a nearby column, “The Order has a vested interest in keeping the plainsfolk happy.”

    “Ever the optimist, Dirk. Better to not take any chances, especially where the Order is concerned.”

    “As you wish.” A man walked out from behind the column. Dirk was her most valued minion, a true jack of all trades. “If your suspicions are right?”

    The Queen smiled. “Then you will bring him to me, and I will send the Order a message they will not soon forget.”

    *does happy dance*
    I've finally been shipped!
    *stops dancing*
    Of course, I think I'm supposed to be a mindless killing machine...

    Still!
    *continues happy dance*

  17. - Top - End - #797
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    Default Re: Shippingitp III: We Make Love (And Sometimes War)

    There is no way in hell that you can say you are not worthy, Cristo. I applaud your submission and turn a shade of green that I cannot be included in it!

    I enjoyed every second of that, so I better not hear you putting your work down!

    Also, now I know what to change the colors to to actually get them right on my BASC fic *Goes to edit page*

    Is Sienna for Mi'ir only? Or does it apply to Cristo as well? Hm...

  18. - Top - End - #798
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    Default Re: Shippingitp III: We Make Love (And Sometimes War)

    I loved it! But I didn't get a speaking part...
    *watches Wolfbane get force choked*
    Um. It's cool man. It's cool. Speaking's overrated anyways.

    I'm really glad to be part of this awesome series. It's me and you Wolfbane! We're going to be stars!! *prepares silver tongue for talking and rifle for shooting*

    Rabbit stole my heart. Literally. *wonders if that makes it so I can't be killed without also killing the heart*
    Quote Originally Posted by Lord Magtok View Post
    Gods, Reinholdt was right, a hundred percent right.
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    -Nyahahaha~
    Quote Originally Posted by Supagoof View Post
    Tale as old as thread
    And you find yourself dead
    Reinholdt was the Beast
    Quote Originally Posted by Philistine View Post
    Reinholdt had already told the truth once in that post, and therefore was over his annual quota.

  19. - Top - End - #799
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    Default Re: Shippingitp III: We Make Love (And Sometimes War)

    Quote Originally Posted by Reinholdt View Post
    I loved it! But I didn't get a speaking part...
    *watches Wolfbane get force choked*
    Um. It's cool man. It's cool. Speaking's overrated anyways.

    I'm really glad to be part of this awesome series. It's me and you Wolfbane! We're going to be stars!! *prepares silver tongue for talking and rifle for shooting*
    *rubs neck*
    Ow, I've always thought of myself as a guy that was a little more sensible than that.

    Still, I think one of us is going to be hurt rather badly in the next installment.

  20. - Top - End - #800
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    Default Re: Shippingitp III: We Make Love (And Sometimes War)

    Quote Originally Posted by Wolfbane View Post
    *rubs neck*
    Ow, I've always thought of myself as a guy that was a little more sensible than that.

    Still, I think one of us is going to be hurt rather badly in the next installment.
    That's why you're the fighter and I'm the talker. You get hurt when things don't work out, while I retreat to set an ambush of my own. *nods* And we all appreciate your sacrifice for the greater good evil.
    Quote Originally Posted by Lord Magtok View Post
    Gods, Reinholdt was right, a hundred percent right.
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    -Nyahahaha~
    Quote Originally Posted by Supagoof View Post
    Tale as old as thread
    And you find yourself dead
    Reinholdt was the Beast
    Quote Originally Posted by Philistine View Post
    Reinholdt had already told the truth once in that post, and therefore was over his annual quota.

  21. - Top - End - #801
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    Default Re: Shippingitp III: We Make Love (And Sometimes War)

    Quote Originally Posted by Reinholdt View Post
    That's why you're the fighter and I'm the talker. You get hurt when things don't work out, while I retreat to set an ambush of my own. *nods* And we all appreciate your sacrifice for the greater good evil.

    This is what always happens when I make friends.
    (This is what I mean)

  22. - Top - End - #802
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    Default Re: Shippingitp III: We Make Love (And Sometimes War)

    Quote Originally Posted by Cristo Meyers View Post

    The Dead Queen (RabbitHoleLost, Dirk Kris, Wolfbane, Reinholdt)

    [
    I am pleased, for I get to be totally badass.
    Amazing, Cristo, as per usual. All worth the wait.

    "This is why it hurts the way it hurts.
    You have too many words in your head.
    There are too many ways to describe the way you feel.
    You will never have the luxury of a dull ache.
    You must suffer through the intricacy of feeling too much"

    — Iain S. Thomas
    Avatar by Qwernt

  23. - Top - End - #803
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    Default Re: Shippingitp III: We Make Love (And Sometimes War)

    Quote Originally Posted by RabbitHoleLost View Post
    I am pleased, for I get to be totally badass.
    Amazing, Cristo, as per usual. All worth the wait.
    Yeah, thanks for choking me.
    It was really really cool though.

    With that, Good night. I need to go to bed.
    Last edited by UncleWolf; 2008-12-04 at 01:11 AM.

  24. - Top - End - #804
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    Default Re: Shippingitp III: We Make Love (And Sometimes War)

    Nobody ever did a happy Rai/Dirk fic. This must be remedied.

    About a Girl: Dirk(In the form of Brandi)/Raistlin(In the form of Blake)
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    Brandi loved the University Library. She'd graduated a few years ago, but she still came to the library every Saturday evening to browse. It was usually pretty deserted, except for a few science students in the back, writing in notebooks and reading the large tomes of knowledge. Today was different though. There was a guy at one of the tables, leaning back in his chair, and reading a book. He wasn't bad looking. He has brown hair to his shoulders, and a pair of black glasses, and was dressed in jeans, an Aerosmith shirt, and some black running shoes. On an impulse, she walked over and sat down across from him.

    Mind if I sit here? She asked. It was kind of a pointless question, as she'd already sat and grabbed a book off the shelf, beginning to thumb through it. Regardless, he shook his head. No, I don't mind. His voice was quiet. Brandi smiled and extended a hand happily. I'm Brandi! The boy took it and gave it a light shake. Blake. He replied, closing his book and setting it facedown on the table. So, whatcha reading? She asked, nodding to his book. Collection of poetry. Blake said. Brandi giggled at his lack of words. You're not much of a talker are you? Do you go to school here? Blake nodded. Yeah, I'm a sophmore. English major, before you ask. That's why I'm reading the poetry. And for my own enjoyment. He added, trying to be conversational. What about you, you go here? She shook her head. No, I graduated three years ago. Math.

    Blake raised an eyebrow. Math? Isn't that a little...boring? Brandi shrugged. It pays the bills. Blake nodded. So, if you don't go here, why are you spending your Saturday night in a library? I like it here. It's quiet, peaceful. She changed the subject. So, what kind of bands are you into? Blake casually pointed to his shirt. Oh, yeah, Aerosmith, she thought. Beatles, David Bowie, The Doors, Aerosmith. Lotta stuff. Oasis. Brandi brightened. I love Oasis! Blake smiled. Cool. He glanced at his watch and frowned, adjusting his glasses. Hey look, sorry, but I gotta get going. My roommate's kind of a party animal, and if I'm not back before he goes out, I'll be locked out for the night. But hey, it was nice talking to you Brandi. Maybe I'll see you around. Bye. Brandi frowned slightly, but nodded. Ok. Bye Blake. Blake grabbed his book and left the library.

    They met a few more times that month, once on another Saturday in the library, and one impromptu meeting at a restaurant. Blake was out with a bunch of his friends, and Brandi was with hers, but they had a short conversation before returning to their respective friend groups. Despite the infrequency of their conversations, they learned a lot about each other. He played guitar, and sang (though he wasn't confidant about his voice), and wrote, novels and poetry. He wanted to be a guitar player, but also wanted to be a novelist. She was an accountant. They had fun, getting to know each other, and one night, during a conversation, Blake spoke up.

    Hey Brandi, are you free on Friday? Um, I think I'm working that day. What time are you off? 6:30, I think. Blake nodded. Hey, would you be into going to a concert with me? My roommate won a pair of Oasis tickets, but he doesn't really like them, so he let me have them. Brandi grinned. Yeah sure, I'd love to go with you. Blake smiled. Great, I'll pick you up at 7 outside the library. Okay.

    She waited outside the library, and sure enough, he was there, right on time. A few minutes before 7, a small blue car pulled up and Blake opened up the door. Hey. Hey. Brandi stepped into the passanger seat, and they drove to the concert, talking the entire way there.

    The concert was great, the band was great, the atmosphere was great. They gushed about it on the ride home. Oh my god, that was so awesome! Yeah, really. I expected it to be good, but not that good. They were so on! Totally. Oh, there's my house. Brandi said, pointing. Blake stopped the car and hopped out, opening her door. Going to walk me to the door? She said, half-teasing. Of course. He replied, offering his hand. Brandi took it and stepped out of the car. They walked up to the door and Brandi put her key in the lock, opening the door. Hey, see you tomorrow at the library right? She nodded. Yeah. There was a pause. Brandi looked into Blake's eyes, and he looked back. Slowly, they leaned forward and kissed on the doorstep. After a few moments, Blake pulled away. See you tomorrow Brandi. Goodnight. He said, smiling, kissing her cheek before turning and heading back to his car. Brandi blushed and waved to him. He pulled out and gave her a light wave from the window, and then driving off. Brandi blushed again, touching her lips and then her cheek, before dashing inside, giggling.


    Wee!
    Last edited by Raistlin1040; 2008-12-04 at 02:02 AM.
    Quote Originally Posted by YPU View Post
    Real life doesn’t happen, it surprises you like a trap of a CR way above your level.

  25. - Top - End - #805
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    Default Re: Shippingitp III: We Make Love (And Sometimes War)

    Quote Originally Posted by Cristo Meyers View Post
    quiet, furball...

    Got a trio this time...
    Ach, a trio and I don't even get a mention. Praise, praise, praise, but no love.
    Catatar made for me many years ago ... pretty sure by banjo1985
    Werewolf Awards: 'Best Narration: Helgraf'
    Rabbit says stuff that makes me blush.

  26. - Top - End - #806
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    Quote Originally Posted by Helgraf View Post
    Ach, a trio and I don't even get a mention. Praise, praise, praise, but no love.
    Now you've hinted that Helgraf/Baba Gravf/Renfield/other will prolly make a cameo.
    *indicates that Graf has started a small arc in her Definition drabbles* Because the word is made for your chracters.

    @Cristo: love it. I'm a slightly sarcastic long lived witch of the plains.

    Definition drabbles

    Mordokai/Mi'ir/Helgraf
    Ineffable - incapable of being expressed in words : indescribable
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    “Oh, oh, oh, oh, falling moons can eat you now.” Sang the man hunched over their fire as he watched the flames dance to his song. Bard and paladin glanced aside at the madman.“Mordokai, he’s going to try to pick the flames again. It’s your turn this time.” He sighed and rescued the fire from the man’s hands. "Why’re we escorting him again?” Behind them Graf giggled, “Little Bard, little boys, paladins can’t save them all. The moon cries.” Mordokai looked stricken.
    ”He’s an oracle, and he needed us.”
    ”But he hurts you, I don’t like it!”
    ”I know.”
    Last edited by CurlyKitGirl; 2009-01-01 at 01:34 PM.

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    Quote Originally Posted by V'icternus View Post
    Why is it that you now scare me more than the possibility of nuclear war?
    Quote Originally Posted by Dr. Bath View Post
    To compare [Curly] to the beauty of the changing seasons or timeless stars would be an understatement.
    Quote Originally Posted by Coidzor View Post
    But Koorly is the sweetest crime.

    Squid bones are lies.
    Bathatar!

  27. - Top - End - #807
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    Default Re: Shippingitp III: We Make Love (And Sometimes War)

    *Only has a few minutes to be online so will have to read other fics later*

    Okay, I've got a new, twisted fic; inspired in part by a conversation the other day. If ya'll like it I might continue this if I get more ideas. Or, of course, anyone else can continue it as they see fit in the event that it actually inspires someone.

    In a world where monsters are real and humans strive to stay out of the crossfire, love struggles on despite the horrors of the...

    Lost Frontier
    ghost_warlock/RabbitHoleLost; TwoBitWriter mentioned.
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    In the end, it was all too easy to get him alone, right where she wanted him. After all of her prep work, all it took was a few private messages and some playful instant messaging to convince him to meet her.

    The internet made things so easy. She’d simply created an account on the website of his associate. A prominent science fiction author, the associate went by the alias TwoBitWriter on the internet – the namesake ‘TwoBitWriter on the Holo Deck’ as his website was known.

    Although TwoBitWriter primarily used his website to promote his novels and e-books, the site also featured a growing forum full of the usual assorted nerds, Nietzsche-wannabes, and perverts. Propelled to relative fame by his Alpha Phoenix series, TwoBitWriter had decided to further expand the scope of his site by adding additional e-publications, including a number written by his friend as a guest author. Mostly consisting of apparently non-serial horror stories called “Slice of Life,” their author went by the moniker ghost_warlock on the website.

    It was rumored that Ghost was a lycanthrope, which is what had originally piqued her interest. So, she’d created an account and profile for herself on the website, using RabbitHoleLost as her username, and done some investigating. Sure enough, the bipolar disorder-like cycles in his writing and internet activity seemed to follow lunar patterns – limited productivity during the dark of the moon, steady-goes during the majority of the cycle, and a flurry of prolific writing during the full moon.

    Not surprisingly, the forum had a ban on discussing lycanthropy, calling it an inappropriate topic, but with prompting by asking the right questions, other members seemed happy enough to carry on a conversation through private messages. Posing as an inexperienced and frightened young lycanthrope herself, she eventually drew her quarry into contacting her and the trap was set.

    Her investors were pleased.

    And so they met, agreeing to would be best, safest, to do so during the new moon when ‘their’ lycanthropic symptoms were mostly dormant and lunar apathy paralyzed his ability to write.

    Not wanting to take any chances, however, she purchased a strong sandalwood perfume to wear to the meeting. A strong aphrodisiac for his kind, it would serve to further ingratiate him to her and dull his senses, hopefully long enough for her to do what she needed before he realized her true nature.

    The December weather also worked to her credit. The parking garage in which they’d agreed to meet would be cold. Fitting for the weather, she wrapped a thick scarf around her neck, covering the grotesque, un-healing wound in her neck - the wound that had killed her two years ago. She’d never be able to go to the beach again, she knew, but she’d always hated being gawked at there anyway.

    Pulling into the parking garage, she wove her car through the maze of ramps up to the third floor, section E, where he was to meet her.

    She saw him for the first time, standing amidst the concrete pillars and the few scattered cars left overnight. He was tall; pale against his black trench coat.

    She pulled into a nearby parking space, got out of her car, and walked over to him.

    “Rabbit?” he asked as she approached.

    “Ghost,” she replied.

    “I’m glad you’ve decided to seek…is that sandalwood? Are you sure that’s appro-mmmph.”

    She kissed him deeply, drawing him near, letting her sandalwood scent intoxicate him.

    After a few seconds, though, he pulled away.

    “Wait. Your lips, cold. Too cold.”

    “Ssh,” she said and jabbed him with the syringe, injecting the tranquilizer.

    He staggered back, a surprised look on his face, and then collapsed. He was still for a few seconds, then began to shift as the other additives in her chemical cocktail took effect. He shrank slightly as he assumed an alternate form, some would say his true form, in his drug-induced sleep – a black leopard; a panther.

    She marveled at the change as she untangled him from his now ill-fitting clothes. He’d been so pale, before, and was now covered with such inky fur. Indulging herself on a whim, she pulled off one of her gloves and ran her fingers through the fur near his ears and neck. ‘So soft,’ she thought.

    But she had a lot of work to do before he came to. She slipped her glove back on and, with strength born of the grave, easily lifted and carried him to her car. She popped open the trunk and dumped him inside. She returned to where his clothes lay in a pile on the ground and scooped them up, tossing them in the trunk as well as she returned to her car.

    She closed the trunk, climbed back into her car, and drove home.

    By the time he woke, she had him safely locked away in a little cell in her basement, designed just for him. Paid for by her investors at no small expense and installed by discreet experts, they were tanking no chances with this lucrative project.

    With a slight start, he woke, long since reverted to his human form. For modesty’s sake, she had hung a curtain by where he lie on the bed she’d placed in the cell.

    “Good, you’re up. You’ll feel a bit groggy, nauseous, but it will pass. Your clothes are on the stand by the bed, please dress yourself,” she said, watching his silhouette through the curtain.

    He complied, but asked, “Where am I? Why did you do this?”

    He stepped around the curtain, into view, fully dressed.

    “Since we’re going to have to used to each other, I’ll tell you in the spirit of cooperation. The bars of your cell are silvered, I’d suggest you avoid touching them. You’re being held in the basement of my home, far from prying eyes and anyone who’d hear you shouting. You won’t be able to escape on your own. I’ve brought you here because I figured it was the best way to get what I want, a steady supply of your blood. It’s highly prized by some, you know.”

    He sighed. “Vampire. That explains how cold your lips were.”

    “Well, part right. Yes, vampires, my clients, want your blood. But I’m not one of them. Not really. Though I wanted to be, when I was younger.”

    She showed him the wound on her neck.

    “I guess,” she explained, “the transformation ‘didn’t take.’ Usually, that leaves victims nearly-mindless, undead cannibals; ghouls. Some, like me, become something different. I guess the best word for my…condition…is ‘zombie.’ I’m undead, like them, but I don’t sleep, don’t need to eat or drink blood. I’m just as strong as they are and sunlight doesn’t turn me into dust. I will never die on my own and I’m too difficult to kill for them to bother trying. Chop me up, burn me, it doesn’t matter. As long as there’s any sizeable piece of me left I’ll regenerate. They can’t use their mind control on me so they figure they may as well pay me to work for them. That’s what I’m doing, here.”

    “Why are you telling me this?”

    “Like I said, cooperation. I won’t let you leave, won’t let you out of that cage, but that doesn’t mean we have to be enemies.”

    He stared at her. “You’re holding me prisoner to milk my blood like a dairy farmer and you want to be friends?”

    “It seemed like the best compromise for both our sakes,” she shrugged. “This way, when I need your blood, you can give it willingly instead of making me knock you out every time and take it by force. Also, this way, I can let you have access to certain materials, let you keep writing. I do rather like your stories, after all. I was never deceiving you about that.”

    “So I’m your dairy cow and a canary who sings for your personal amusement?”

    She crossed her arms and frowned. “Well, what do you want me to do? I’m not letting you go, so you can forget about that. You may as well make the best of the situation.”

    “They’ll look for me when they realize I’ve gone missing.”

    “But they’ll never find you, no here. I’ve been too careful and my investors will cover my tracks anyway. Besides, if they get the police involved, the case will just be dropped the second they realize this is a ‘species issue.’ Cops don’t have the stomach for people like us. You’re my prisoner, but that doesn’t mean it has to be a completely unpleasant experience.”

    “Right.”

    “On that bookshelf, within reach of your cell, I’ve assembled a number of books I presume you’ll appreciate; Poe, Lovecraft, King, among others. The remote on the stand by the bed runs the television by the bookcase. In the drawer in the stand, you’ll find pens and paper for your writing. I’ll happily restock you when you run out. You have plenty to entertain yourself. Through the door by the bed, you’ll find a small restroom with a shower. Though you’re under surveillance out here, I decided to allow you privacy in your restroom.”

    “How gracious.”

    “Yes, I thought so,” she replied, matching his sarcasm. “And, of course, I’ll make sure your dietary needs are met.”

    “Feed me like an animal at the zoo, you mean.”

    She shrugged. “If you want to think of it like that.”

    “Are all zombies as crazy as you, as calculating?”

    “I wouldn’t know,” she replied. “I’ve never met any. Now, if your nausea has passed, could get you something to eat? I figured you might be hungry since we were supposed to be meeting for dinner.”

    He sighed, lunar apathy resigning him to his fate for now. “I don’t suppose I could get a curry?”

    “I’ll see what I can do,” she said, heading upstairs. “Don’t look so glum. Who knows, in time we may become friends; you may eventually grow to like me despite our situation.”

    Strangely enough, in the weeks that followed, he did find himself becoming somewhat fond of her.


    Oh, and in case it need be said:
    "It's just a show story, I should really just relax."
    Last edited by ghost_warlock; 2008-12-04 at 10:27 AM.

  28. - Top - End - #808
    Firbolg in the Playground
     
    Thufir's Avatar

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    Default Re: Shippingitp III: We Make Love (And Sometimes War)

    Quote Originally Posted by ghost_warlock View Post
    Okay, I've got a new, twisted fic; inspired in part by a conversation the other day. If ya'll like it I might continue this if I get more ideas. Or, of course, anyone else can continue it as they see fit in the event that it actually inspires someone.
    I'm... kind of inspired, but I don't think I'm twisted enough to continue it. Maybe I could write a related fic, something with Rabbit's clients maybe.
    "'But there's still such a lot to be done...'
    YES. THERE ALWAYS IS."

  29. - Top - End - #809
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    Default Re: Shippingitp III: We Make Love (And Sometimes War)

    Quote Originally Posted by Helgraf View Post
    Ach, a trio and I don't even get a mention. Praise, praise, praise, but no love.
    ...

    ...gimme a minute! There's only so much plot to go around!

    Wolfbane: you'll get better, there just wasn't a whole lot of room for characterization in that one. I hate using mindless brutes as characters. You're just, more direct, than others, let's say.

    TBW: Sienna is just the default that I've always used, mostly because when you open up the color menu it's right there. I used it all the way back to the Stone Alchemist in my first Werewolf game.

  30. - Top - End - #810
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    Default Re: Shippingitp III: We Make Love (And Sometimes War)

    Quote Originally Posted by Cristo Meyers View Post
    TBW: Sienna is just the default that I've always used, mostly because when you open up the color menu it's right there. I used it all the way back to the Stone Alchemist in my first Werewolf game.
    Well, I have taken the liberty of editing everyone's colors to match what they typically use. Therefore I don't feel quite like such a jackass presuming to know how everyone will talk...

    Thanks!

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