Wild colors filled the room. Amazing bursts of multi-colored light bounced from wall to wall. Strange objects, that looked to her like extremely vivid and durable "soap-bubbles" floated between the lights.
It took a few minutes for her eyes to adjust to the point where she could keep them open for more than a split-second in that wild panorama.
"Shit!" She thought disgustedly, fighting off a sudden wave of nausea and forcing herself up into a sitting position on the huge feather bed, "That no-good, rotten, son of a bitch slipped me something...acid or peyote."
That would explain the satyr she remembered seeing earlier, and the way she seemed to be slipping in and out of consciousness.
"But, where the fuck am I?" She thought as she looked around the room. Everything was unfamiliar and somehow seemed weirdly distorted. "And how the hell did I get here?"
That thought brought with it several nasty implications, particularly as she thought of the leering satyr and it's proudly displayed manhood. She slid to the edge of the bed, completely ignoring the lights and "soap bubbles" and began to examine herself. She found no signs of mistreatment or rape. But given the current situation she doubted that she could completely trust her senses.
She turned her attention to the room. It was large, but had a low ceiling, which gave it a squatty look. It was a wide room, at least 20 feet per side and square, with curtained windows in the center of each wall but no visible door. The feather bed she found herself on was huge, dominating the room. The only other pieces of furniture were a dressing table and chair. Everything was small; the room appeared to be designed for a child. Even the huge bed was low, only rising a little over a foot off of the floor. The table and chair looked similar to a desk set she had used in grade school. On the floor next to the table was her travel bag.
"At least the bastard brought my clothes." She thought.
-------------------- Just an Old, Broke-Down, Drunk, Bum!!
With a Power Ring...
From: Westerly Rhode Island | Registered: Aug 2003
| IP: Logged |
"Oh Shit!" She swore softly, as she watched the paunchy, balding, middle aged man saunter into the dancer's dressing room.
“Howie” as Howard Marks preferred to be called, owned and operated the "Kit-Kat Klub", a popular downtown Berkeley bar that proudly advertised "Live Nude Coeds" in bright neon letters over the entrance.
He was the type of person who had to felt that he had to attend to every detail himself. In his opinion, no one else could possibly do it right. Particularly when “doing it right” was defined as doing exactly what he wanted, when he wanted it done, and how he wanted to do it. He owned the club. It was his business, his life, and his toy! And, there were the undeniable pleasures of total ownership. It was his club and he'd do things his way.
Unfortunately, (from her point of view) his sense of ownership extended to his female employees. As far as he was concerned, because he owned the business, he owned the employees of the business. Each one of “the girls” was just another piece in his big set of toys that constituted the Kit-Kat Klub. And because they were his toys, he could do what ever he wanted with them. Toys have no rights, they can’t say no.
Jayne Lincoln, who neither shared nor appreciated his feelings of propriety, turned and stepped out of the shower as he entered the room.
Normally, her nudity wouldn’t have bothered her in the least; just as it wouldn’t have bothered any of the other girls who worked there. They were used to having men stare at their nude bodies. They strutted and danced on the stage, placing their bodies on display for the pleasure of the men in the audience. It was what they did to survive in a difficult world.
This was not the same situation. On stage, she was in control, she could tease and dance away, make an over reaching patron look foolish, use the crowd reaction to discourage overly aggressive customers. Here, away from the stage, Howie’s intention was clear; he was determined to finally have his way with her. It was time for him to play with this toy.
Virtually all of the girls she worked with had been trapped in this same situation. All of them responded to the situation in the same manner, they gave in to Howie's demands.
She would not.
Howie had no handle on her. No way to force her to do what he wanted.
She was different in one small (but vitally important) aspect from the vast majority of the girls who worked in clubs such as the Kit-Kat. The majority of those girls were forced by circumstances beyond their control into the sleazy life-style of a nude dancer.
She had chosen her profession for her own reasons.
She was an exhibitionist. She enjoyed showing off her body. That subtle difference was extremely important. Because it was a life-style choice made freely by her, for her own reasons, she had (so far) been able to avoid many of the more unpleasant aspects of her job.
To her it was an ideal situation; she received very good pay for doing something in a semi-controlled environment that she would probably have done for nothing under much more dangerous conditions, without this outlet. Her hourly show consisted of her dancing to four songs. For three and a half of those songs, she was completely nude. She loved every second that she spent on that stage. And the fact that she was having just as good a time dancing—as the almost totally male audience was having watching her dance—made her the crowd's favorite dancer and the club's star performer.
Unfortunately, none of that mattered now. Howie, as he preferred to be called, had earned his reputation for expecting 'favors' from the girls who danced on his stage. Very personal 'favors' and he was used to getting what he wanted. She knew that none of the other girls would dare to enter the room; they would all know that he had followed her in here. Keeping track of him was second nature to all of them.
She knew what was coming. He was determined to get her to spend the time between dances either out in the crowd, caging drinks and letting drunks feel her up, or in the small bedroom behind his office. She would do neither, but knew that this situation had to be handled perfectly if she wanted to avoid an unpleasant scene. She could hear his spiel now;
"Look, you girls is all whores anyway, at least dat's what the cops and the customers think, so ya might as well git wit’ it and enjoy the advantages, make some good money, an' remember, the Fuzz'll bust ya in a New York Minute fer hookin' but day'd never bust one a' those assholes in the crowd fer rapin' one a ya."
It was his favorite speech, usually used on a girl who he wanted to screw himself. The only one he gave more often was the one about drunks tipping better, and the bouncers being close by, but don't worry about a few pats on the fanny or a quick tittie squeeze, now get in there and hustle drinks.
She sauntered over to the row of lockers, pretending to be unaware of the man in the doorway. She kept the towel around her head, vigorously working on the wild mane of loosely curled black hair that gave her the stage name Raven, deliberately not covering any other part of her tall and slender, but deliciously curved, body.
By the time she was fourteen years old she had perfected her 'beautiful, brainless, sex goddess' act. It would serve her well now.
"Jayne, we need to t..."
At the first sound, she spun to face him and jumped slightly, a small yelp and wide eyes completed the effect.
"Howie you scared me ...I ... where ...how did you get in here!" The voice and inflection were perfect, startled and whiny.
'Howie', had jumped back about three feet, and now his eyes were straining to bounce in time with her breasts.
"Jayne” His voice cracked "Wee kneed ta talk"
"Howie, I'm late, I gotta run, Bobby's pickin' me up in ten minutes." Bobby was the perfect excuse; the huge black man was a gentle giant, a friend who occasionally drove her to and from the club. He terrified Howie, who assumed that their relationship was much more than a simple friendship, after all even in the ultra liberal California of the 1970’s, race relations weren’t really all that good. The usual assumption among middle aged white men of Howie’s generation was that a beautiful young white girl who associated too closely with a black man must be one of his whores. They all knew that most black men were pimps, and preferred fat women for their own pleasure. She knew that and used it to her advantage.
She let the whine in her voice become petulant.
"Besides I told you ... I don't do drinkies!"
Inwardly she smiled, even as she forced a pout onto her face. The mention of Bobby’s name had created the effect she wanted. Howie was looking out the door toward the front of the bar with fear and trepidation written all over his face. She decided to drive the nail home and end this.
"Bobby'd kill me if he ever thought I was that cheap!"
Without giving the suddenly nervous man a chance to say anything further she turned, flipped the towel over one shoulder, the strap of her bag over the other, announced "I have to tinkle", and strode towards one of the bathroom stalls.
Laughing inwardly at the sputtering noises behind her, she reached out to open the stall door, but her hand hit an all-enveloping nothingness where the door should have been and her body followed her hand through into the black emptiness.
The sensation of falling hit her. She tried to twist her body into a better position, but found she couldn't move. Then she realized that her eyes were open but she couldn't see anything—the blackness was absolute. Screaming silently she fell and fell and fell.
Reality returned slowly—if it was reality.
She was outdoors, laying face down on a well manicured but strange smelling lawn. She pushed herself up slowly. Everything was obviously wrong; someone had slipped her one hell of a Mickey. Colors and smells that could not be, were! The grass was bright blue and smelled like french-fries. A tree with red and blue leaves bore green fruit.
"That bastard” she thought, "What kind of fuckin' game is this!"
But, as she looked around, the idea that Howie had somehow drugged her and then shipped her to some rich pervert's playground faded fast.
"What the hell” She muttered aloud, watching a feathered creature resembling a four winged iguana launch itself from a nearby purple leafed tree and fly off.
Rubbing her eyes, and worrying about the possibility of chromosome damage caused by LSD use, she looked around the clearing again. Off to one side she spotted her towel and bag.
“Shit” She yelled this time; it was loud enough to cause the creature standing near her bag to jump.
"This just isn't my god-dammed day! Who the hell are you?"
Her green eyes met black ones, under which, a thin blue tongue snaked out to moisten blue-black lips, a cruelly hooked nose jutted out from between those hooded eyes. Pointed ears swiveled independently, one listening to her, the other searching for sounds in the nearby forest. He, most definitely he, she realized with a small gasp, turned on triple jointed goat legs, one cloven hoof digging into the soft turf.
Her eyebrows tried to run up and hide in her scalp, her pupils expanded until her vision blurred, she attempted to say something, anything, but a lump the size of a baseball choked her.
Standing there, with an evil leer on its face was a hoofed, horned, and obviously horny satyr, its massive hard-on filling her vision.
The darkness returned.
<end flashback>
-------------------- Just an Old, Broke-Down, Drunk, Bum!!
With a Power Ring...
From: Westerly Rhode Island | Registered: Aug 2003
| IP: Logged |
posted
OK. She had been drugged somehow and brought here, wherever here was. The question now was why? And, what could she do about it?
Nervously, she began to think of all the stories she’d heard about girls who’d mysteriously disappeared. Supposedly they’d been drugged and sold at an auction in San Francisco to rich Japanese and Arabic buyers. They were then shipped them out of the United States and kept as sex slaves in exotic locales. She did not fit the normal description of those girls, who were usually teenage runaways and almost invariably blue or green eyed blondes; druggies or parking lot sluts who were quick to agree to a John's requests in exchange for either drugs or money.
Still, she’d heard that some of those buyers liked a girl who would be hard to break. One who’d put up a fight before allowing herself to be used as a sex toy. The thought made her shudder and brought a sick feeling to the pit of her stomach.
Were her clothes still in her bag? She crossed the room in a single motion. They were. She dressed quickly, wishing for something more substantial than the halter-top and shorts, anything that would cover more of her body. Suddenly she found herself wishing that she were not the enthusiastic exhibitionist that she had always been.
She shook her head, no use starting that kind of thinking now. She was what she was, and if she was in trouble because of that, she’d find a way out of it. She always did.
As she sat back down on the bed to put on her sandals, she began to wonder if she really had been drugged or if there was another possible explanation for the weird events of the past few hours (minutes?).
She was entirely clear headed and had been throughout everything that had happened. What she’d seen and heard so far could be drug induced hallucinations but something about what was happening just didn’t fit that explanation. She didn’t normally use drugs but she’d experimented in the past, and outside of the visual effects, the light flashes and soap bubbles that still surrounded her, none of the other sensations she would normally expect to accompany drug use were present. No dizziness, giddiness, euphoria, or depression, none of the altered moods that should accompany drug use was apparent.
The counterpoint was that she began to notice an odd but not unpleasant tingling sensation whenever one of the light flashes touched her body.
Actually they didn’t resemble any type of light that she’d ever seen before. Each flash or burst had a definite beginning and end and each seemed to be a cohesive unit. She could almost see them bouncing off of the walls, ceiling, and various pieces of furniture. It was almost as if they were moving in slow motion, and she could follow their progress around the room.
The only thing they didn’t bounce off of—was her. She didn’t know what to think. Had she been drugged or hadn’t she?
She watched in amazement as a burst of red and green swirls bounced from the near wall to her left leg. The burst hit her mid thigh and seemed to stop for the barest instant before vanishing, apparently into her leg. The tingling sensations started as the burst contacted her skin and ended when the small light was no longer visible. She watched in fascination as another one came towards her. She turned slightly so that it would strike the fabric of her shorts instead of her skin, curious to see if it would pass through the thin cotton material or reflect off of it—it reflected.
Oddly, the "soap bubbles" seemed to move as randomly as the light flashes, but none of them touched her. Any time one came close it would veer off before it touched her. She stared at the lights for a second, wondering how those effects could be artificially created. What if they were real? What did that say about her meeting with the satyr? She shuddered again at that thought.
On impulse she reached out to touch one of the larger 'soap bubbles' as it floated near. It veered slightly as if to avoid contact with her then stopped a few inches away from her hand. It gave her the distinct impression that it wanted desperately to move away from her, but could not.
Slowly, its shape began to distort, as if it were fighting desperately against some unknown force. She watched as the edges on the sides away from her bulged, only to return to their original form, before straining in another direction. She glanced around the room and noticed that none of the other bubbles changed shape at all. Even as they rebounded from the walls, ceiling, and floor—her eyes widened sharply as she watched one pass through a bedpost—she couldn’t see any change in their shape. Only the one seemingly trapped in front of her changed its form at all.
Could it be alive—did it know what was happening? She started to withdraw her hand, trying to release her strange grip on it. The movement brought an unexpected result.
The bubble maintained its position relative to her hand. As she moved her hand, the bubble moved precisely matching speed and distance. It stayed a few inches away from her hand and matched its movements exactly. She stared in amazement at the macabre dance as she led the bubble through a series of precise movements.
Then, almost without realizing what she was doing, she raised her other hand into the bubble's path. She watched closely as contact was made. The bubble did not pop or bounce away. Instead it flattened out against her skin, flowed over her hand like a glove, and began to fade. The odd tingling sensation began.
It was similar to bare skin on satin sheets, only far more intense. It quickly spread, moving up her arm to the shoulder then outward to cover her entire body. As it spread it intensified, becoming more and more pleasurable. Without realizing what she was doing, she lay back on the bed. The sensation reached her groin and seemed to explode. Wave after wave of indescribable pleasure washed over her body. The feeling seemed to last an eternity.
Slowly the ecstasy faded, leaving her with a warm afterglow. Her body was covered with a thin sheen of sweat and she was totally, deliciously relaxed.
It was not sexual; this afterglow was nothing like the afterglow she experienced after even the most totally satisfying sexual encounter.
It was better, infinitely better.
-------------------- Just an Old, Broke-Down, Drunk, Bum!!
With a Power Ring...
From: Westerly Rhode Island | Registered: Aug 2003
| IP: Logged |
posted
She raised her hand and stared at it wonderingly. This was not like any drug-induced state that she had ever experienced or heard described.
She stood and stretched, light bursts impacting her body continuously. The pleasant sensations caused by those impacts were foremost in her mind.
"What the hell is happening to me?" She asked aloud.
"M'Lady, you are absorbing power at an incredible rate. I know not what your normal strength is, but perhaps you should not continue this. I am no expert, but I have heard tales of mystics incinerating themselves by absorbing too much power too quickly."
It was a young girl’s voice and it seemed to come from behind her.
She spun on her heel, crouched, and brought her arms up in an aikido stance. Her eyes searched the room for the source of that voice. There was no one there. A large bubble floated just above eye level, partially obscuring her vision. She moved to look around the bubble but it moved with her staying directly in front of her face. She stopped and stared at it for a second, then started to raise her hand.
As her hand came up, she noticed something odd; a strange glow caught her attention. It seemed to come from the skin on the back of her hand. She looked down at her arms. They were also beginning to glow; a strange multi colored luminescence similar to the light flashes and soap bubbles.
Was it true? Could she burst into flames if she took too many hits from the flashes? Could she stop it now?
"No more. Enough." She thought hurriedly, concentrating on the flashes.
Amazingly, the light flashes began to rebound from her skin, the tingling sensations stopped. She turned her attention back to the bubble, still floating near her head. The memory of the indescribable pleasure brought on by absorbing the other bubble was fresh in her mind.
Would it happen again? Could she stand it if it did? She started to raise her hand. The strange voice was forgotten. The craving took control of her actions. The only thought in her mind was a desperate need to experience that pleasure again.
"Please M'Lady, No, Don't kill me yet." Again the voice was calm.
"I've gone completely nuts!" Suddenly the craving was gone. It was replaced by fear for her sanity. What the hell had that bastard Howie given her?
This was no LSD trip. This was something far more powerful than that. What if she was in a padded room and wearing an ‘I-love-me’ coat in reality, while her mind was wandering, never to return from this strange journey? Had she hit her head in that fall? Was her brain permanently addled?
"No M'Lady, you are not crazy, and as far as I can tell, you have not suffered an injury to your brain. I am not familiar with where you came from but, I can explain what has happened here."
This was getting more insane by the minute. It almost seemed that whoever she was having this conversation with could read her mind. She slumped into the chair, still staring at the bubble. Anger had given way to confusion, which had given way to terror, which had given way to ecstasy, which had given way now to resignation. She was crazy. It was the only answer. Her mind was gone. Enjoy the ride ... Wheee!
"OK! If you can explain all of this, go ahead, do it!" She smiled ruefully. "Amuse me ... Show me how much fun being wacko can be!"
"M'Lady, you are mistaken...” The voice began.
"What are you?" She interrupted, closing her eyes. She could not look at the bubble. A talking Cheshire cat she might have accepted, even without falling down a rabbit hole. A talking soap bubble she couldn’t accept. There had to be another answer.
"You would call me a ghost. I am the remains of a young girl who was cruelly murdered by a Necromancer."
-------------------- Just an Old, Broke-Down, Drunk, Bum!!
With a Power Ring...
From: Westerly Rhode Island | Registered: Aug 2003
| IP: Logged |
posted
"No it's too crazy! It must be either drugs or ventriloquism. Show yourself YOU FUCKING BASTARD. QUIT PLAYING WITH ME!!"
Her voice reverberated throughout the room. Her emotions had gone full circle to pure anger. She was up now; pacing the room, searching for the door she knew had to be there.
The bubble floated in front of her face again. She swung at it with an open hand. It moved just enough to avoid contact.
"Please M'Lady, if we touch I will be absorbed, the way Gerard was."
“I...” She started, and then thought of that experience. She looked at the bubble curiously. This is getting ridiculous, she thought, her anger cooling rapidly. She was beginning to consider believing that the bubble was a person.
"What ... what do you mean ... absorbed?"
"I am small, weak ... most of my essence was used up by the Necromancer's spell ... If I were to come into contact with you ... Your essence would absorb mine and I would cease to be."
“I...” She started, and then thought about the other bubble she had touched. "You mean that each of the bubbles in this room is a soul ... I mean a ghost?" She looked at the bubble curiously and noted that all the other bubbles were now keeping a good distance away from her. "Why did he come so close?" This was ridiculous, now she was acting as if the bubble really was a person. But ... what if ... if she was not drugged?
"He did not realize that you are a wizard. Actually none of us did."
"I'm not!" This was getting more like a bad movie with each passing moment.
"M'Lady, only wizards absorb mystic energy directly."
"Mystic energy, who's talking about mystic energy? I thought that you were a ghost or something."
"Do you not feel the sensations? Do you not see the colors and shapes? I am a ghost, all the shapes are. The flashes of color are raw mystic energy. Souls, life-forces, and ghosts are mystic energy also, just animated and aware."
"Other people ... those who are not ... Wizards ... They can't see the stuff I see?"
"Some can see it, and in various ways use it. Magicians, Sorcerers, and Necromancers all see and use mystic energy for their own purposes, each by their own methods. But, only wizards store mystic energy within themselves for later use."
"So you think that I am a wizard because I… or you think that I… absorbed the light flashes, and that bubble."
"Not think M'Lady…Know…I know that you are a wizard. I saw you absorb Gerard. I see you now absorbing the raw energy flashes. I watch your aura increase with each one."
"My...Aura?" Great, now this ghost soap bubble was a Zen mystic.
"Your aura, the reflection of your life force through your physical body."
She looked down at herself. The strange luminescence was gone and other than a slight flush, she could see nothing different. She could however; feel a slight increase in the tingling sensations each time a light flash hit her exposed flesh. Absently, she wondered when she had begun to absorb the flashes again, but with the luminescence gone, she decided not to worry about it.
"Your aura can only be seen by others M'Lady. As you see us, and the energy, so will you be able to see the auras of others."
"Only those who are able to see the energy...”
"We call it the sight, M'Lady."
"Only those with the sight then, can see auras? Can all ghosts see auras?"
"No M'Lady."
"You possess the sight."
"Yes, M'Lady."
"OK, Play it her (If I can think of a soap bubble as her) way. Maybe I'm not the crazy one. Maybe it the world that's crazy. Or, maybe I'm trapped in an X-rated Twilight Zone episode” She thought.
"And you were killed by a Necromancer, Why?"
"Arr, the necromancer who used up most of my life force, makes a practice of searching out young people with the sight. They possess a stronger more vibrant life force than those who do not possess that gift do. Normally he looks in the small remote villages and towns of the human dominated continents."
"Whoa, Hold it, stop, what do you mean by human dominated? Are you saying that there are other intelligent races?" The image of the satyr danced in her mind's eye. Was it a hallucination, a man in a costume, or...
"Of course M'Lady,” The voice sounded confused. "Everyone knows of, or has dealt with Crocians, Trolls, Satyrs, Dwarves, and many others. I cannot believe that you were raised and trained in such isolation that you do not know this."
"I wouldn't call Oakland California isolated!"
"Ah-ha ... yes ... that would explain ... an other worlder ... of course ... But how...”
"OK, hold it. What in the BLOODY BLUE HELL are you talking about ... Other Worlder?"
"You M'Lady, are an other worlder, this is not Earth, the world of your birth.
-------------------- Just an Old, Broke-Down, Drunk, Bum!!
With a Power Ring...
From: Westerly Rhode Island | Registered: Aug 2003
| IP: Logged |
His first look at the altar reinforced his already intense dislike for the members of the Whalie Valley Council. It was simple and brutal, a rectangular slab of flat stone twelve feet across, six feet deep, and raised three feet above the jungle floor with a six foot tall wooden post a foot thick, draped with chains and manacles set into its center. Scattered bones and old bloodstains adorned it; telling him that on countless previous occasions the victims died horribly.
He was still weary from his journey and lack of sleep when he met with the Council Elders. Their plans were not to his liking—as usual he was not comfortable with many of the ways of this world—but they were paying handsomely for his performance, not his personal comfort.
The problem was their plan to stake him out at that ceremonial altar in order to draw the demon out of its lair. He didn’t want to be a Judas Goat. A Judas Goat’s role usually ended in its death. Not a comfortable thought.
Less comfortable was the fact that the simple post and chain altar existed at all. He knew that the rules of acceptable behavior were very different here from the ones that he grew up with on Earth, but sacrificing your neighbors (and the occasional stranger) to a demon, seemed just a bit barbaric to him.
As did the looks a few of the councilors had cast in Kari’s direction. In particular the village chieftain, Carlo, and the strange little shopkeeper Aldo, who both seemed more interested in her than they were in how he intended to deal with the demon. They had been more than willing to pay his fee—in gold and up front. This being a demon that had no use for anything but life force, they seemed to think that they could easily recover the money if he failed, and claim Kari as an additional prize.
The last thought brought a grim smile to his face. The idea that a pack of idiots who couldn’t handle a minor demon without resorting to sacrifice would try to enslave Kari and use her for their pleasure was ludicrous. She might look helpless and those looks had caused many people to underestimate her abilities in the past. Most of them were now dead. Kari could take care of herself quite well.
Still, he fervently wished that there were a different way to draw their prey out into the open. Or that he could just walk away from this job. He didn’t like the situation or the people involved. But he had accepted the contract and now he had to finish the job.
”You can see why we want to free ourselves from this demon.” Aldo’s oily voice came from behind him. The short, stout shopkeeper looked (and smelled) more like a large goblin than a small human. He was the only one of the six council members who had been willing to accompany them on the short journey from the village to the altar site. The gold was mostly his and the way the other members of the council deferred to his opinion marked him as the true power in the local political structure.
Obviously, Taskins thought, he wants the first crack at Kari if I fail to bring down the demon. The thought increased his already strong dislike for the man.
“Tell me again how long this has been going on.” The sharp edge in Taskins voice betrayed his disgust at the sight of the altar.
“I don’t know personally, I’ve only been in the valley for a few years now, but some on the council say they had no choice, before the altar was built the demon would enter the village itself when it hunted.” Aldo managed to blurt out the entire statement in a single breath, as he took a step back. For the first time the shopkeeper seemed to realize the difference in stature between himself and Taskins and that difference suddenly became threatening. The shopkeeper’s hand closed on the small sword he wore on his belt. Taskins continued to stare at the man; seemingly unaffected by the defensive posture he had suddenly assumed.
“We are not warriors! We have no defense against a creature like this! We had to appease it! On the few occasions that we didn’t…It taught us a painful lesson. Whole families taken…Herds scattered…” Aldo’s voice rose to a shout and cracked on the last words. His next statement came out in a strained whisper. “We sent for others who might be able to deal with this…but most weren’t interested, either we didn’t have enough gold, or they considered this demon to be beneath their stature. The demon took those few who showed up.”
The statement sent the hair on the back of Taskins neck straight up. While there were not many demon hunters; the few that he knew of would not turn down a request for their aid. It simply wasn’t done. Pride alone would be enough for the majority of the men and women who traveled the Explored Lands in search of demons to slay. The promise of payment was always a secondary matter. And the news of a demon hunter slain by the demon he or she was contracted to eliminate would have brought most – if not all – of the others on a dead run to avenge their fallen comrade.
“Obviously the man has no experience with demon hunters and thinks he can lie to my face without me knowing it.” Taskins thought, while grimly holding in check the impulse to call the man a liar to his face. He nodded agreement and turned back to the gristly altar.
Aldo apparently took his nod as a form of acceptance and visibly relaxed.
“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.” The saying had been drummed into his head during the first few months of his career back on Earth. There the enemy had been terrorists, supposedly human, but their appetite for death and destruction had been a match for that of the demons of this world. “The only good terrorist is a dead terrorist.” Was not an idea that Mac McCarthy had drilled into him in those early days. It was one of the basic tenets of life for the son of a New York City firefighter. His father died eight months to the day before he was born, the victim of a madman’s misguided hatred. The lessons of 9/11 changed both American and World history back on Earth.
Still, despite his knowledge of the subject, and his fervor in pursuing those who would inflict the scourge of terrorism on the world, there had remained a final lesson to learn and that lesson had been painful. “Never leave an enemy at your back.” A close friend died with a bullet in her back because he did not finish a job when he should have. It happened because he could not kill a defenseless man in cold blood. He would not be here now if Terry had not been watching his back then, the way Kari watched it now.
He was not a cold blooded killer, even if this whole situation stunk to high heaven, he could not just kill the little man (no matter how much he deserved it) and live with it. But there were other ways…
That thought jerked him out of his reverie and back into the present. He glanced over to Kari and raised one eyebrow slightly. She gave him a return glance and began setting out their equipment. Deliberately moving across the shopkeeper’s line of sight, as they expected Aldo moved slightly in her direction.
Shifting his weight Taskins glanced around the small clearing. The ceremonial glade had seen many beings staked out. The post was old, but stout and serviceable. The forest had been cleared back for about twenty yards in a perfect circle around the altar. His decision was instantaneous.
Aldo never saw the fist that rendered him unconscious. The fool had allowed his attention to be drawn back to Kari.
Securing the man to the altar took only a moment.
-------------------- Just an Old, Broke-Down, Drunk, Bum!!
With a Power Ring...
From: Westerly Rhode Island | Registered: Aug 2003
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The sound of the demon's advance through the surrounding forest reached them well before the horrific creature came into view. They could hear the snapping of trees and limbs, as the thing came directly toward the clearing. Generations of terrified sacrifices had made it careless. That carelessness was one of the things that they were counting on. If the demon stayed true to form it would miss the true hunter and concentrate only on the bait. It expected to find an easy meal here. They knew well the arrogance of demons. This demon's arrogance would soon be its doom.
The snake was easily fifty feet long. It entered the clearing quickly and purposefully. It felt no need to be cautious; it had no fear of being hunted itself. Who or what would be foolish enough to hunt a giant King Cobra?
This situation was a very familiar to it. Every two weeks the scent of prey reached from this glade to its den. Every two weeks some terrified mortal slid down its gullet and sated its hunger, saving the valley from its wrath. It knew it had nothing to fear.
Taskins watched its approach and suddenly knew why the villagers had for so long chosen to appease it. No mere mortal could hope to defeat that reptilian colossus.
"That's why they wanted us." He thought. “Maybe I should have listened to Aldo a little closer.” He glanced at the altar to see if the shopkeeper was still unconscious and then moved out to meet the approaching menace.
On the opposite side of the clearing, the true hunter in this drama crouched in a tree top blind. Her attention was riveted on the demon possessed snake’s approach. Taskins knew that she saw clearly what he could never hope to comprehend, the demonic presence that pervaded the snake’s very being.
A flash of scarlet hair betrayed her position—for a split second he thought that the trap had been revealed too soon—but the motion and color didn’t seem to catch the snake demon’s attention. Apparently, it had no room in its tiny brain for more than one thought at a time and right now it was completely focused on him—he was its next meal.
Its head bobbed slightly. It was eight or nine feet above the ground. The brown and black, oil drum thick body supported it easily. It looked down on him, and casually told him that he was doomed. Wave after wave of mental pressure accompanied those words.
He never had a conversation with a snake before—even though this one was totally one sided—he found the very idea strangely fascinating.
“Of course,” a small part of him realized, “Magically amplified fascination would be the perfect weapon for a hunting snake!”
It was fascination that the demon controlled snake counted on, to hold the huge man in position for just a few seconds longer.
Its emerald, reptilian eyes seemed to bore holes into his brain and freeze his muscles. Movement was impossible. All he could do was look into those deadly eyes and listen to the hissing voice in his mind.
"Little mousse ... Sstay sstill little mousse ... wait for my hunger sstrange colored little mouse ... sstay sstill."
The litany repeated itself endlessly.
Taskins stood frozen in place by the demon possessed snake's power. The Uzi machine pistol clutched in his right hand pointed at the ground. A small voice in the back of his mind screamed at him to shoot, to move, to do something, to do anything at all, but don't just stand there waiting for the snake's strike. The voice went unheeded. He just stared into those eyes and stood still.
The huge head rose a few feet higher, the brilliantly red tongue continuing to taste the air three feet in front of it. Impossibly, a smile appeared on that reptilian visage a second before the mouth opened, revealing the snake's glistening, poison dripping, foot long fangs.
-------------------- Just an Old, Broke-Down, Drunk, Bum!!
With a Power Ring...
From: Westerly Rhode Island | Registered: Aug 2003
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posted
Just a split second before the snake could strike; a small figure launched itself into the air from the top of a nearby tree. Ninety pounds of elf-like female left that tree. Nine hundred pounds of snarling, spitting, Demon-Hound struck the head of the snake. Six huge paws clamped on to the head and neck of the snake, digging six inch long claws into its flesh. A huge mouth filled with needle sharp fangs struck the snake's skull, viciously tearing through bone and brain on the first strike. The physical part of the battle was over in far less time than it takes to tell it. The snake died instantly. The mystic part of the battle lasted only a few seconds longer.
The minor demon—which had long ago possessed the snake and was responsible for both it's great size and it's mental abilities—was taken completely by surprise. It had no chance to release its hold on the snake before it died. Its very essence was tied to the snake's life-force. It was used to feeding on the life forces of the snake's victims, even as the snake fed on their flesh.
The snake's life force surged free of its mortal shell, the demon—still in shock from the unexpected attack—consumed it automatically and in the process attempted to consume itself. The resulting magical backlash almost destroyed it. The Demon-Hound finished the job. Tendrils of mystic energy tore it free of the snakes ruined body and englobed it. Horribly weakened, it could neither flee nor fight and in seconds it was gone—devoured by the Demon-Hound.
The snake had barely started it's death writhe, when the beast turned it's attention to the man, who still stared at the snake in transfixed fascination. A short leap covered the distance between them. That movement broke the last remnants of the spell that held him motionless. Reflexes held in check by the spell took over. He brought his weapon up as he leaped and rolled, coming up in a fighting crouch several yards to the side of where the snake's head would have struck. His weapon pointed directly at the Demon-Hound. The beast's mouth opened wide, it's tongue lolled, and harsh howling laughter filled the forest clearing.
Suddenly, the Demon-Hound vanished, and in it's place stood a small elf-like woman. She was barely four and a half feet tall, with scarlet hair that flowed in a luxurious mane which perfectly accentuated her golden skin. The only clothing she wore was a short brown leather tunic. It served only to highlight the delicious curves of her body. Swiftly she moved to the man and knelt at his feet, placing her head under his hand.
"Forgive me master, I misjudged the strength of the demon's spell. I thought it to be weaker than it proved to be. My foolishness almost allowed you to be harmed.'
"Stop it Kari, I wasn't harmed. Castiglioso's ring would have broken the spell if I was in any danger."
He looked at the large diamond ring on his left hand briefly, wondering how true that statement was. Lately he had begun to doubt ... Still, this wasn't the time or place for questions about the wizard's true intentions.
"Your master has not been harmed. Your strike was perfectly timed. As always."
Looking down at the small woman, it was easy for him to forget that she was not in the least bit human. The shape that she wore now was specifically crafted to please him. Her true form was that of the Demon-Hound, an enormous feline centaur. She was a changer. Not a human able to assume the form of a beast, like the tribesmen who wandered the central plains of distant Afrique, but instead she was a beast able to assume human form. She was a beast created—by a strange combination of magic and science—specifically to hunt and kill demons.
-------------------- Just an Old, Broke-Down, Drunk, Bum!!
With a Power Ring...
From: Westerly Rhode Island | Registered: Aug 2003
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He didn't want to approach the village in the hazy twilight that passed for night in these parts. Especially, coming into the area on a little used trail and riding a unicorn. He decided to wait for morning and then circle back to the main road. It had been a long track and there was no sense in screwing it up now, at the last minute, by setting off some trap or ward that the village kitty cats had set for their wandering, and thieving, cousins.
"Odd" He thought wryly, "The closest thing I've found to home 'round these parts is a bunch of thievin' Gypsies."
He swung down from the huge equine carefully, mindful of a nip or horn slash. The big animal was tired from days of continuous travel and cranky from a diet of dried meat. He hadn't dared to let it hunt the past few nights. He would let it do so tonight. He needed the animal to be in its best form tomorrow.
"Well, 'corn I guess it's up to you to rustle us up some grub tonight, I'm just as sick as you are of travelin' food. Guess we need us some fresh meat. Just don't go into that village and grab us a meal of kitty-cat." He chuckled softly at that thought but was confident that the big animal wouldn't go anywhere near the village as it hunted. As he talked he removed his gear from the huge animal, and inspected it for sores or other travel related problems. A man that didn't take care of his mount first was soon without one. And he had no desire to be afoot.
As he worked, he looked the big animal over thoughtfully. Except for the lower portion of the legs, and the head, it looked like one of the beer wagon horses he had seen years back in St. Louis. Of course, none of those horses had been as spectacularly colored as the unicorn, with its splashes of pure gold on both sides of its neck, the glinting silver horn, and the scarlet blaze underneath that horn running down almost to its nose. But he had seen horses almost as black as the main color of the unicorn’s body; even if they didn't have golden socks on all four legs. The head was similar to a normal horse's but the eyes were set more forward and closer together, and the nose was narrower and flatter. A glance at the teeth showed that this was no herbivore, and on the crown of the head was the two-foot long, curved, and double-spiraled horn. The horn was razor sharp along both spirals and wickedly pointed.
The animal's feet were not hooves or even split hooves; instead it had three toes off of a hard central pad. Each toe was equipped with a broad flat claw, and on the back of the leg, about where a horse's fetlock would be, was a retractable six-inch long spike, made of the same material as the horn. All in all; the unicorn was a formidable fighting machine.
The man inspecting the unicorn looked like the cowboy hero of a grade 'Z' movie. Louis L'Amour Sackett was born in the Cumberland Mountains of Tennessee in 1840. In 1861 he volunteered for duty with the Union Army. That service took him west to California. In 1866 when he was released from the army he started the long journey back to Tennessee. He never made it there. Through some strange twist he wound up here, in a land where all of the fairy tale and ghost stories that fascinated him as a child (and many more that he had never heard of) were true. The only way he would return to Earth willingly now, would be if he could take his unicorn with him.
In the army he had been a scout. Now he was a bounty hunter.
When he left California in 1866, he rode out with seven other men. A week later he was alone. He didn't know if any of the others survived the Apache ambush or not. He was to busy running—fighting to keep himself alive—to check.
He ran smack dab into the middle of a Troll village. The Apache's were no longer on his trail, but his first look at the nine-foot tall, Chief of the Troll tribe, convinced him that he was in even bigger trouble—he was wrong.
A few years later he met another man from Earth. The man had crossed over from roughly a hundred years later. He told Sackett that he could have been someone named Clint Eastwood's double in a stage-play called "Pale Rider". Sackett himself had little idea what that meant, and the other man could not explain. He was dead now. He did not survive their meeting.
Sackett released the unicorn, and watched it move quickly and silently off into the forest. He was always amazed by the big predator's stealth when it was hunting. It was hard to imagine an animal that big and powerful moving with the grace and fluidity that it did.
He puttered around the camp for a short time, starting a small fire and laying out his bedroll. Then a low whinny and a rustle in the bushes announced the unicorn's return, with their dinner.
The next morning he rode the unicorn into the village; brazenly letting the 'corn strut down the main street. Kajian faces peered from windows and many on the street hissed openly. None however approached him, or more correctly, his mount. In the wild Unicorns were predators that preyed mainly on other predators. Kajians, a race that evolved from cats, the way that man evolved from apes, are a humanoid version of a Black Panther; very definitely predators.
Halfway down the street a portly Kajian wearing a gold vest and short gold trunks over his impeccably groomed black fur stepped into the street and held up both hands, claws retracted.
"I would converse with you, man."
He brought the 'corn to a halt and took a firm grip on the reins, keeping the beast's head turned away from the Kajian. He turned in the saddle to face the cat-man but made no move to dismount.
"I will listen to your words."
"I am Silkas, a leader of this community. I ask who you are, and why you bring that dangerous beast among us unmuzzled?"
"My unicorn is well trained, and well fed. It poses no threat to you or your people."
The kajian looked at the unicorn dubiously, then back at the man. "And you?"
"I seek one of your people who may have something that I was paid to retrieve."
The kajian’s fur bristled visibly at that statement. He hissed softly and his tail, previously still, began to move slowly back and forth. "Which of my people do you accuse of holding the property of another?" He growled softly.
"I accuse no one." Sackett replied, as he moved his long coat back to expose the .44 cal. Navy colt holstered low on his right leg. "I merely follow a trail which led me here." He shifted slightly in the saddle and released his grip on the reins. The unicorn's head swung around and its baleful glare centered on the kajian. "And I seek no property." He continued, "I seek something much more valuable, a child."
Silkas retreated a step under the unicorn's stare and his attention was fixed on the huge beast. But when he heard those last words his head snapped back to stare hard at Sackett and the Unicorn was forgotten.
"There are no human children here." He stated flatly after a long pause.
"It is not a human or kajian child."
Reading a kajian's reactions from facial expressions alone is impossible. Sackett had learned that long ago. Body motions are another story. No kajian can prevent its tail and fur from giving away its emotions. This one had gone from anger to curiosity very quickly.
"What sort of child do you seek?"
"A Troll."
-------------------- Just an Old, Broke-Down, Drunk, Bum!!
With a Power Ring...
From: Westerly Rhode Island | Registered: Aug 2003
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<A Succubus is death incarnate, a being that kills to live and lives to kill. It, despite its inevitable appearance in female form, is a demon. It is an immaterial sexless embodiment of magically animated life-force. It feeds on the liberated life-forces of the beings it kills during magically assisted sexual encounters.>
<The designation of a demon as a succubus is important only to the beings it preys on, not to the demon itself. The designation refers to its feeding habits, and preferred choice of nourishment.>
<A succubus may feed either in its natural immaterial state or while by possession when it is occupying a material body. Of the two choices, possession is normally the preferred method. It allows the demon to consume not only it's victim's life-force, but the parts of the body most closely connected with the care of that life-force and the creation of new life-force.>
The nude woman eased herself from between the two mutilated corpses that had served as her combined entertainment and dinner the previous evening. Despite the hours that passed while she slept, exhausted following that orgy of sex and bloodletting, none of the blood from either of her victims had dried yet. And, except for the not inconsiderable amount that had splashed out during the throes of its last orgasm, most of it had collected in a deep pool in the bottom of the bowl shaped bed.
Streaks of blood ran down her face, chest, and back. Dried fluids adorned her face and breasts. Her mane of jet-black hair was streaked to her waist, and in places matted to her body by the still warm fluids. A look of sheer ecstasy adorned her face.
She crossed the room to a full-length mirror, and gazed at her reflection. A smile crossed her face as she thought, not for the first time “A fine body, I think I'll keep it a long time."
In the back of the body's overcrowded brain she could hear the tortured whimpers of the body's true owner. "So, the little mongrel bitch Princess of Omysta still exists!"
Deep in the hidden recesses of her subconscious, hidden away in the small portion of herself that she could truly call her own, Princess Arisia of Omysta shuddered. The shudder was mental, not physical. She had no control over any portion of her body. She was alert, aware of both herself and the alien invader that controlled her body's every action, every word spoken, and every outwardly detectable thought. The succubus had not taken control without a fight, and the battle had taken a toll. But, in the end, after the Necromancer intervened and magically stole away her power gem, she had only enough strength left to hide herself away, deep in the hidden recesses of her subconscious mind. Desperately, she had magically constructed a protective shell around the tattered remains of her id and ego, and tied that shell to the automatic functions of the brain. Now the demon could only fully destroy her if it was willing to sacrifice her body to do so.
Unfortunately, her protective shell also shielded the succubus from any magical attack that she might summon the strength (or desperation) to generate, In order to reach the demon with a magical attack, she would have to disperse the protective shell and that action would leave her open to attacks from both the Demon and the Necromancer. She was nowhere near strong enough for that yet. She had had regained some strength but for now had no effective way to resist the horrible things that the demon was doing with her body.
Now the battle was psychological rather than physical or magical. She was horrified by the depravity that was the succubus’s very existence. And the succubus in turn, strove with each passing moment to push her deeper and deeper into the depths of horror and despair.
"Never thought that your daddy would sell your pampered little ass into a harem did you?" The sneering thoughts of the succubus continued, "and even your dear old daddy never thought that you would end up being the star attraction in a necromancer's castle. I'll bet that he expected you to spend a few years as one of the Caliph's pleasure slaves, maybe being used once or twice a year, if your womanhood wasn't ice cold all the time, and then he could buy you back. Claim that some hero rescued you from "Durance Vile", and lock you in a tower room for the rest of your life." Icy sarcasm coated each word. "Punishment extracted for your plots against him, and no scandal. The best of both worlds don't you think?" The sneer turned into cold hard laughter. "Too bad the Caliph had a heart attack when you turned out to be a total slut, instead of the demure little virgin he expected."
Arisia began to scream mentally as the tirade of half-truths and outright lies invaded her tiny portion of their shared consciousness. But, her helpless rage only served to fuel the evil creature's enjoyment of the situation.
"Still, after all that I have done with your body, I thought that you would be catatonic by now." Suddenly the mental voice became shrill. "Well, since you are here, let's have breakfast!"
The woman spun on her heel, droplets of blood from her hair splattered the mirror. She strode purposefully to the table near the bed, where her victims had eaten heartily the evening before. She picked up a chalice and spilled the little bit of wine remaining it on the floor and then grabbed the sharpest knife that she could find. Her wild laughter pealed loudly throughout the chamber as she strode to the bed. She dipped the chalice into the pool of blood and raised it.
"A toast my dear." She said aloud. "May your body, and my essence, enjoy many fantastic evenings, just like the last one. May your mind survive until the day that your father learns of your whereabouts, and of course, my activities!" Then throwing her head back she drained the gruesome contents of the chalice.
The mental protests of the Princess grew louder and louder as she filled the chalice a second time and set it on the table. She ignored them as she chose a plate and returned to the bed. "Well dearie, what piece looks best to you?" She thought sweetly as she turned over the nearer corpse. A slight smile crossed her face as she gazed at the horrendous expression permanently etched onto the once handsome features of the dead young man. Her hand moved slowly up to the face, as if to close the staring eyes, but instead a four inch long thumbnail expertly plucked an eyeball from its socket. She popped the eyeball into her mouth as if it were a grape. Then, almost as an afterthought, she reached down to the groin of the nearer corpse as she sent another thought to the tortured consciousness at the back of her mind. "Want to find out if a dead one tastes better than a living one?"
The Battered consciousness of the princess retreated a little further into her shell with each of the demon’s actions.
[ September 28, 2003, 06:35 PM: Message edited by: Almost New Kid ]
-------------------- Just an Old, Broke-Down, Drunk, Bum!!
With a Power Ring...
From: Westerly Rhode Island | Registered: Aug 2003
| IP: Logged |
The black robed and hooded figure turned away from the pool where it had been observing the activities of one of its more important creatures. A three-fingered hand covered in greenish blue scales extended from the arm of the voluminous robes and a clawed finger stirred the water in another pool. Slowly an image formed in the clear liquid.
A room filled with massive crystal containers of various shapes appeared. Almost half of the containers glowed with shimmering lights of various hues. As it watched a container filled slowly from an invisible source.
In the center of the room stood a massive pedestal surrounded by a globe of mystic energy. On that pedestal, resting on a felt pillow, lay a jewel. Clear and sharp, the lines of the gem shone through the shimmering hazy outline of the mystic energy screen. The jewel itself was large, over two inches in diameter, and perfectly cut in an oval pattern, the octagon onus. Despite the gem's crystal clarity, light reflecting off of each of the gem's hundreds of facets showed a different hue, and even though neither the gem, nor the light source, moved, the colors reflecting off of each facet were constantly changing.
The Necromancer Arr watched the power gem's efforts to free itself dispassionately. He knew, as only a very few others did, that the gem was a living thing, extraordinarily powerful but mindless and bound to the will of its owner for life. It was beyond his power to sever that bond. But, he could weaken it and give himself the opportunity to corrupt the owner. The gems were only given to those few individuals who were considered to be above the possibility of corruption at the time of the bonding. After the bonding the foolish Omystans believed that any efforts to corrupt such an individual were doomed to failure. The power of the gem would protect the mind of the owner from any assault. He had already proven that assumption to be false. His assistance had allowed the impossible to happen; the princess had been possessed by the succubus. Now, the second part of his plan was underway.
Neither the Succubus nor the Princess could possibly realize the importance of the struggle waged within their shared brain. The demon, powerful and arrogant, could not understand the continued resistance put up by the frail intellect of its host body. Nor could it understand why each of its kills generated only relatively small amounts of mystic energy.
Still, its kills had been perfectly executed. Each victim had been entranced by its magickal sexual allure and brought to the height of passion. Teased by the superb body of the host to the very pinnacle of sexual exhilaration, before being released from the entrancement and to it's (the victim's) ultimate horror, savagely destroyed.
To the succubus, humans and all other material beings were merely food animals, prey. The fact that it's preferred method of feeding was considered horrible by the food it intended to consume, was of no concern to it. No more than the concern and terror felt by a monkey whose head was clamped into a specially designed table in Southeast Asia, mattered to the humans who delighted in consuming that poor animal's brain while it still lived. The succubus only cared about obtaining the maximum amount of nourishment from each meal it consumed.
The problem was that it did not understand why it failed to receive enough nourishment from its activities. Even sleeping in pools of blood and semen, and consuming the bone marrow and sexual organs of its victims, practices that would normally sate it on one victim a week, didn't seem to provide enough power flow. It needed at least four feedings a week just to maintain its strength. The succubus, vain and arrogant, could not conceive of the truth. That the necromancer was draining off most of the mystic energy released by each kill for his own use.
It had no conscious knowledge of it's servitude to the Necromancer. It knew only that the necromancer had provided it with a perfectly attuned host body, on the condition that it destroyed the host's soul through mental torture only. It also knew that the necromancer had somehow blocked it from absorbing any portion of the host's life-force. That was to be the necromancer's prize.
Eventually, he knew Arisia would overcome and destroy the succubus, although she would never again be free of it, its malign influence would be a part of her forever. Arr had ensured that outcome with the power drain on the succubus. But, in order to do so, she must necessarily first lose both her honor and her sanity. Then and only then, out of the depths of the depravity that she would have to sink into, in order to defeat the demon, would arise an immensely powerful being.
She would become a being totally lacking in morals or honor. A being convinced she had been betrayed by her father, the single most powerful practitioner of the mystic arts alive. A being that would, with Arr's aid and guidance, become the only weapon capable of destroying Vidnar, Guardian King of Omysta. Vidnar, who was the sole obstacle between Arr and world domination.
-------------------- Just an Old, Broke-Down, Drunk, Bum!!
With a Power Ring...
From: Westerly Rhode Island | Registered: Aug 2003
| IP: Logged |
"Teela, you might as well forget it. She is convinced that this is all some sort of hoax. The result of someone—probably her disgusting pig of an employer—slipping a hallucinogenic drug of some sort into something she drank."
The new voice was male and came from behind her. Jayne didn't bother to turn around; all she would see was a bubble. She continued to the window, opened the curtains and looked out.
The view shocked her despite the fact that the scene was tranquil and rustic; a forest clearing containing a group of cottages with a cobblestone path winding between them. Split rail fences lining that path. Well maintained lawns, flower beds, and vegetable gardens surrounded the cottages. A long open structure filled with tables and benches that had to be a community meeting place. Except for the people it looked like a peaceful agrarian community.
The people! A huge misshapen parody of a man sat on a bench talking to a squat muscular man who appeared to be wider than he was tall. A stunningly beautiful woman with red hair and golden skin strolled along the path talking to a small pale man wearing a turban; who floated next to her in the lotus position rather than walking. Satyrs were everywhere, both male and female versions, adults and children.
They were going about normal everyday business; gardening, carpentry, a group of children sitting under a tree and being read to by an adult, a woman sweeping her walk, a man picking up some litter while grumbling to himself. All normal enough activities, yet every satyr was nude, and every male, from the youngest child, to what could only be the village's great grandfather sported an erect male member. She searched for any other sign of sexual activity, but found none.
She stared out the window for several long moments, then in a low voice asked, "Where am I?"
"This is Organia, the capital of the Satyr-realm, on Wisonia." The male voice answered.
"This world, if it's not Earth, how did I get here?" She kept her attention focused on the scene outside, suddenly afraid to turn and discover the source of that voice.
"You came through what we call a hole or rift."
"How do I get back?"
"I don't know. I don't think anyone ever has."
Jayne turned slowly away from the window. The satyr stood on the other side of the bed. He was studying her intently.
"They” He gestured at the group of bubbles with a wooden staff, "Well, actually, all of us,” The gesture expanded to include the entire village, "Failed to realize that you are a wizard." He shook his head slowly, brought the staff to the floor in front of him and leaned on it heavily. "It's no surprise that they should do that, but I should know better."
Too much had happened too quickly; she simply stared blankly at the aged satyr, unable to say anything.
"M'Lady, perhaps if you were to sit.” The bubble moved across her vision startling her. "What ... Who are you?" Jayne asked as she moved in the general direction of the chair.
"I am Satyros, an old man with nothing better to do than talk to confused other-worlders." He answered with a hint of a smile. "The ghost is Teela, among other things she is a telepath." His staff moved to indicate the bubble. "It was she who first realized that you are a wizard."
"I'm not a wizard!" She sat heavily into the chair and hid her face in her hands. She could hear the satyr moving around the bed, mumbling in a soft voice. Something seemed to settle over her shoulders. Startled, she raised her head. A multi-colored film seemed to be spraying from the end of his staff. It settled around her, coating her body. The sensation was somewhere between the intense feeling generated by contact with the bubble and the mild tingling caused by the impacts of the light bursts.
She realized that she had been on the verge of hysteria just a few seconds ago. She could feel herself relax as her heart rate slowed, her breathing deepened, and the constrictions around her chest eased. "What did you do?" She asked looking directly at the satyr's face for the first time.
"You were—quite understandably—becoming very agitated. I have used my gift primarily as a healer. I have treated humans many times before. I gave you a sedative.
-------------------- Just an Old, Broke-Down, Drunk, Bum!!
With a Power Ring...
From: Westerly Rhode Island | Registered: Aug 2003
| IP: Logged |
He arose early and watched alone as the sun came up. From the eastern most tower window he could see almost the entire city. Omysta, the brightest gem of civilization, the prize his enemies sought to wrest from him in a 15 year magical war that had cost him so dearly.
His daughter was the first victim. He knew that she still lived, a helpless captive in the stinking swamps of Souam, home of the vile Necromancer.
Each morning he went first to the south window of the tower where he could feel her emanations the strongest, and attempted to send her a message of unending love and hope. Each day ended for him only after he returned to that same window and he again sent that message. He prayed that at least some portion of that hope and strength reached her.
His wife was the second victim. The world believed that she committed suicide, unable to live with her grief, blaming herself for her daughter’s fate.
He knew otherwise.
Each morning he went directly from the south window to the west window. There he could see the ocean. Across that ocean on the continent of Winsor was the realm of the contemptible Sorcerer, where she waited, and watched for a single opportunity to strike deep into the hearts of their enemies. That opportunity would come, and she would seize it—even if it cost her life.
He refused to think of himself as a victim. Yet his third stop each morning was the north window of the tower.
There he gazed on the temple of “Those Who Dwell Between”. Ten years ago he entered that building a whole man. He left it minus an eye, arm, and leg.
“Those Who Dwell Between” exacted a high price for the knowledge that he gained that day. He did not grieve for his loss at that window, instead he gave thanks to the physicians and healers who crafted the crystal left eye, silver right arm, and golden left leg that now serve him so well.
His last stop each morning was here at the east window. Omysta the city, the continent, the empire, the prize that cost him and his family so dearly, spread out before him.
Here, he was joined by the Power Crown. By his command it awaited him here each morning. Before allowing the crown to adorn his brow he could simply be Vidnar, a loving and grieving husband and father, paying his daily tribute to lost loved ones. Once the crown had ascended to its place above his head he became Vidnar, The Guardian King of Omysta, and his personal losses became secondary to the good of the empire.
-------------------- Just an Old, Broke-Down, Drunk, Bum!!
With a Power Ring...
From: Westerly Rhode Island | Registered: Aug 2003
| IP: Logged |
He appears calm and serene but carries the weight of an entire universe on his shoulders.
In fact almost nothing about him is what it appears to be. At first glance he might be mistaken for someone’s kindly grandfather or doddering uncle but by the standards of his race he is very young. Appearances, as he is fond of saying, can be deceiving.
To him, time and space are infinitely mutable raw materials to be shaped by his vast magical powers to fit his purpose. To accomplish this he has assembled a staff of three assistants, none human, one not even alive. The risks he took in doing this were enormous.
"Doctor, the three you need have been summoned, but the interference was stronger than expected. Only one of the three will arrive as planned."
"Which one?"
"The warrior."
"What of the others?"
"The tracker was displaced in time by minus five years, and landed in Trollton. The wizard was displaced in time by plus three years and will land somewhere in the Satyr-realm."
"Calculate the effects of...”
"Error!" “Error!"
"What happened Clyde?"
"The warrior's arrival will not occur as calculated. This places my continued existence in this space/time nexus in jeopardy."
"Time-frame?"
"Plus 3000 seconds and counting"
"Marya, Lacina, attend." He turned his attention to his living assistants. "Move the tower and all contents to a protected location in the Mystic Realms; sever all contact to the physical world, except for a single pulsed link between Clyde and the warrior's craft."
"Doctor! Is that wise? I have not determined which of the Sorceresses the assassin is."
"Done, Master!" (In unison)
"Relax Clyde. Had my decision triggered either of the lady's programming, I would be dead now. But! As a result of the magical backlash, you, my computer friend, would never have existed in your current form, which means that the current crisis could not exist, because you would not occupy two separate locations in the current time/space nexus. Therefore the act which caused my death would not have happened and...."
"Doctor, despite your magical tinkering I am a computer. Trying to unravel that paradox would require more memory than I can currently spare. I have placed it in inactive storage."
"I suppose that is best, for now. Show me the current situation. "
"Doctor, that command cannot be executed as stated, the move to the mystic realms has—in effect—placed us outside of the space/time nexus and allowed the events you are concerned about to take place in a totally random sequence—in place of the carefully controlled sequence you had planned. This has not affected the integrity of your plan, but it has spread the execution of it out over the course of more than ten years, rather than the one year originally planned.
"That does complicate things somewhat, doesn't it? Oh well, nothing to be done now but wait, I suppose. Show me a running summary from the time that all three are together in the same space/time nexus."
-------------------- Just an Old, Broke-Down, Drunk, Bum!!
With a Power Ring...
From: Westerly Rhode Island | Registered: Aug 2003
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