(G182 07/12/2013 Sat KT - JF(GM), AP)

(G182 07/12/2013 Sat KT - JF(GM), AP)

DAY 26 cont ...

ACTION REPORT : 'Small Arms Fire Fight with Kazon-Ogla elements in Conduits of Occampan Homeworld.'
PREPARED BY   : Crewman Lydia Anderson

Lieutenant Andrews led the way into the caverns. There was a narrowing of the passage ahead and
a split off to the left. Further on from the narrow area was a sort of tangled wall of mushroom
roots were four KO were hiding.

During the whole fight the caves were shaking and loose stones and dust falling on us. I understand
that this was coming from the Caretaker Array as he tried to close off the conduits.

As we approached they raised their weapons so we fired on them. I took the right hand side and
hugged the cavern wall. The Occampans were ushered into the left hand area. Kirk and Parsons
took up positions behind me.

Parsons shot one of them. Kirk also I think. I was pinned down, but returned fire. We killed six
of them at least and injured two others. They were using carbines so were not firing very accurately.

As we advanced toward their area though, six more, better equipped KO attacked us and it was that
point I was hit by a phaser beam and knocked out.

At that moment the ceiling caved in and Voyager got a transporter lock on us. I awoke in Med bay.

ACTION REPORT : 'Boarding Party on Kason Ogla Attack Ship.'
PREPARED BY   : Lt Andrews

No time to rest though. Only a few hours before we were needed again. Their was a pretty decent
battle going on around the Caretaker Array and the Val Jean valiantly sacrificed itself to stop
a KO vessel getting to the Array.

Tuvok organised some boarding parties and after the first two were away it was our turn. The vessel
was a Kazon Ogla Attack ship (Designated KO900031). We were told there was no one left alive on it
and that we had to get to the engine room and skuttle her.

We were met almost immediately by weapons fire from heavily armed Kazon Ogla marines. I counted six
of them but we managed to kill four and force two others to retreat. Everyone was at least slightly
injured after the battle. The enemy had thrown a lot of grenades and my ears were ringing.
(Recommend earplugs as standard issue?)

We explored the vessel, much of it was badly damaged and impassable though. Tri-corder readings showed
that the engine room was below us so we entered a crawlspace and headed down.

In the storage areas we came across a female KO helping an injured one. We advised her to seek the
nearest life boat as we intended to destroy the ship.

Eventually we found a blast door that blocked entrance to the engine room. After much fiddling with
the control panel it was brute force that got the thing open.

There was a KO that looked like the captain in here, but a lucky stun grenade rolled to his feed by
Ensign Kirk knocked him senseless.

We then downloaded kill-codes from Voyager onto the Engine Room terminal and beam back on board.

DAY 27

The crew of Voyager largely rested today. Captain Janeway had destroyed the Caretaker Array and they
were now stranded in the Delta Quadrant. This begins their 70 year journey home.

DAY 28

Not one to let people rest too long Tuvok arranged some holodeck training for the security personnel.

HOLODECK #1 REPORT.
SENARIO : Sabotage_0210
RANDOM SELECTED YEAR : 2013
RANDOM SELECTED CITY : Aberdeen, UK
ABSTRACT : This is a scenario for four personnel. One takes on the role of saboteur. The other three are
security agents. Without breaking the Prime Directive and using only time appropriate technology
the mission is broken down into two parts.

1. The trainee designated as the saboteur will cause as much death and destruction within the city as
he possibly can within the time limit. The city must, ideally, be brought to a complete standstill.
2. the three trainees designated as the 'security agents' must stop the saboteur by any means.

WB Entry 8 : WAKE UP! (2013)

WAKE UP!
---------------
'WAKE UP!'
I was startled back into a vague state of consciousness.
'Huh?' I mumbled.
'You at the back. WAKE UP!'
I straightened myself up in my seat and got my bearings. I was in a gloomy classroom along
with a bunch of other grown-ups. There was a frosty old lady at the front looking at me sternly
and pointing with a ruler.
'Now. Good. To continue...'
The teacher rambled on, but already she'd lost my attention again. I noticed a friendly face at
my right and she dug her elbow into my ribs.
'Way to go, Jon!' she whispered, 'Making a good impression right from the beginning.'
I gave her a smile. It was Shahe, one of my old pals from Uni. What was she doing here?
I remembered that she had and I never quite got together even though I often thought she
would have made a cracking girlfriend. Whenever I was single, she was in a relationship and
whenever she was single I was in one.
But we were always good friends and I think we had a sort of unspoken understanding that if
we were ever single at the same time then perhaps... She was cute too, small, timid, dark
skinned. From Sri Lanka.
'Wake up!' she hissed and then giggled, 'You glazed over again!'
'Must have been that cigarette I smoked earlier, I'm not used to it any longer.' I whispered
back. Why did I say that? Had I really been smoking again? Good God.
'Now class!' the teacher got our attention again , 'I hope you have studied all your flash cards.
Today we are going to do Historical Figures.'
You could hear her putting capital letters on the last two words for effect as she took the cards
from her desk with slow deliberation.
'Oh! Oh!' squealed Shahe, 'Jon will be good at this! He likes history!'
'Be quiet!' I poked her in the ribs to shut her up. I knew more about history than Shahe but
probably not more than the old teacher who, by the look of her, had lived through at least one
world war.
The teacher then held up a card to each of the front row of the class and one by one they
examined the picture and shouted out the name.
'Einstein!'
'Charlemagne!'
'Julius Cesar!'
It didn't sound too hard so I settled back into my seat again. What was I doing here again?
This felt like primary school but we were all adults. It must be one of those work things I
guessed, where it’s all about team building or something. Taking us back to school to release
our inner child or some such claptrap. Well, whatever, I supposed. I don't mind, if the
company wants us to waste a day on this then that's fine by me. Anything to get away from
work for a while.
The teacher came to me. I could feel Shahe gripping my arm in excitement. The old lady held
up a card that had a rat on it with the slogan under it which read PLEASE WAKE UP!
'Umm..' I said 'That's not a historical figure. That’s a rat.'
The teacher 'tsked' and looked at the card.
'So it is. Mr Smartypants. It's from the wrong pack. Very well. Read what it says on the other
side anyway.'
She turned the card over and handed it to me.
'Ah it says...'
I found it difficult to focus on the words, but read,
'It has been reported that some victims of torture, during the act....'
I looked up at her,
'I can't make out the rest. It’s too small and I don't have my reading glasses.'
The teacher harrumphed and said,
'A likely story. You are not a good reader are you?'
'Of course I'm a good reader! I'm forty years old. I have two kids. I'm not a child!' I said rather
petulantly.
'I don't believe a word of it.'
She snatched the card back and took a step away from me, moving on to her next vicitm. She
showed a picture of JFK to Shahe who melted into a pool of pure terror.
'Walt Disney?'
The teacher 'tsked' for a second time and moved on, muttering 'Stupid Girl' under her breath.
Shahe whimpered and leaned hard against me.
When that ordeal was over the teacher returned to the front of the room and said
'Wake Up Class! Now it's time for our morning run! Everyone change into their dungarees.'
A run? Dungarees? What sort of silliness was this? I looked at my feet, but right enough there
was a bag down there with dungarees in them.
I followed the crowd into the male changing rooms and got into them. I didn't see how they
would be good to run in but I went along with it anyway.
Outside it was a cold and misty morning. Across the playing pitches I could see the brooding
outline of trees. Our breath added to the mist and a weak sun shone low enough on the
horizon to dazzle us but not to warm us.
Shahe exited the female changing rooms and quickly latched herself back on to me.
'Promise you won’t run off? Stick with me for the whole run even if I go slow?'
'Of course' I said, ever the gent.
In the pockets of my dungarees was a bit of paper. It read.
'It has been reported that some victims of torture, during the act, would retreat into a fantasy
world from which they could not WAKE UP....'
There was more, but Shahe was there peering over my shoulder.
'What's that?'
I crumpled it in my hand. For some reason I didn't want her to see it. I wasn't sure I wanted to
see it myself. Looking up I saw that the others had set off already.
'Come on old girl.' I said and set off at a slow jog.
Later, Shahe was lagging behind and we were beginning to loose sight of the main pack. She
looked utterly puffed out, her dark cheeks glowed a deep rich red like wine. I was slightly
concerned we would get lost in the dense mist, but what could I do? I couldn’t abandon her.
‘Can you see them?’ she panted. She just wasn’t built for running, being quite short and wide
hipped.
‘Just. Don’t worry though. I know the way back.’ That was a bit of a lie.
‘Jon. WAKE UP.’
I looked around. Where had that last voice come from?
Another runner went past, just a dark shape in the mist and a bit of paper floated down from
his hand. Shahe picked it up and we read it,
‘It has been reported that some victims of torture, during the act, would retreat into a fantasy
world from which they could not WAKE UP.
In this catatonic state, the victim lived in a world just like their normal one, except they weren't
being tortured. The only way that they realized they needed to WAKE UP was a note they
found in their fantasy world. It would tell them about their condition, and tell them to WAKE
UP. Even then, it would often take months until they were ready to discard their fantasy world
and PLEASE WAKE UP.’
‘That gives me the shivers,’ said Shahe and threw it away.
‘Let’s just walk eh?’ I said ‘Who cares if we come last?’
We plodded on for a while. Shahe linked her arm into mine. I patted her on the head.
‘Don’t worry old girl.’
A short while later we came across a bench and sat down. I could just see the edge of a duck
pond poking out of the mist about ten yards away.
I shut my eyes. If this was a fantasy then perhaps I should do something about it. It was all a
bit weird here after all.
I closed my eyes amd tried to relax. The cold wood of the wet bench seemed to start to fade
away. I could feel myself, sort of, rising….
‘Hey! Jon! WAKE UP!’
Shahe gave me a poke.
‘Don’t go to sleep here. Don’t you want to get back?’
‘Back where though? To the school? Why? So an old bat can accuse me of being illiterate
again?’
‘I don’t know, but don’t go to sleep and leave me alone.’
I drew the collar of my shirt up and shut my eyes again. I wasn’t going to give up that easily. I
drifted upwards again. Any sense of the cold mist or the wet bench, or the anxious girl by my
side faded away.
I lifted through the darkness and heard,
‘He’s waking up! Jon! WAKE UP! PLEASE WAKE UP!’
Then I remembered. Everything. The plane crash. The jungle. The terrorists. The dirty cell.
Everything. I was definitely better off where I had just come from.
I willed myself to descend back into the darkness, but someone was shaking me. My eyelids
fluttered open and I was blinded by a bright blue light. I shut them again as tightly as I could.
‘Wake up! Please wake up!’
I opened my eyes.
‘It’s ok Shahe. I’m ok. Chill out. Shall we get going?’
I got up from the bench and hoisted up my dungarees. Shahe did the same.
‘Thank god Jon. I don’t want to be all alone out here.’
‘Let’s go back then. No, wait. Stuff the school, shall we just go and find a place to get a
coffee?’
Shahe giggled.
‘Are you asking me on a date?’
I laughed, ‘Steady on old girl. I’m a married man.’
I considered for a moment,
‘I suppose that doesn’t matter much, unless she turns up. I think there used to be a little shop
around here.’
I put my arm into hers and decided to put out of my mind the fact that I should WAKE UP. If
this was a fantasy then I did not want to PLEASE WAKE UP.
A nice coffee and a bun right now would be WHY DON’T YOU WAKE UP?

WB Entry 7 : THE MUDRA OF DESTRUCTION (2013)

THE MUDRA OF DESTRUCTION

My life had spiralled out of control after the death of my wife. Most people would have had a
tough time dealing with that alone, but she had also been eight months pregnant when that
car had hit her. It sent me over the edge.
I was an investigative reporter so gathering up the facts of her death was in my nature and my
desire to find out every last morsel of data lead me into insanity and alcoholism. Eventually, a
long time later, they dried me out and kicked me back into the world, but here are the
essentials for what it's worth.
A Vauxhall Astra registration SV01PPYD left the plant in Ellesmere Port on Jun 13th, 2003. It
then went by transporter to the showroom on Needle Street in Aberdeen and was sold to one
Mr James Sunday of Balnagash Road.
He drove it carefully for two years until the 16th of September 2005 when for reasons that can
never be known since he dies as a result of it, but most likely due to the unseasonable icy
conditions, he drives it off the end of the quay in Footdee.
He is going at 36 mph when he enters the water.
My wife did not see him as he slid into her. The car knocked her into the water then landed on
top of her. It then dragged her down to the seabed and pinned her to the botom of Aberdeen
Harbour. They told me she was still alive at that stage and died, in fact, of drowning.
Heather wasn't even meant to be at work that day, but had gone in to cover a friend and was
having her lunch by the lighthouse as she often did. That infernal Astra was like a ball fired
from a cannon, on a two year trajectory that ended in her death. Any number of tiny changes
in the chain of events could have saved her and I would not be a widower now.
That was eight years ago and I was still a wreck, but I was well enough to work and was
freelancing for a conspiracy rag called 'Thirteen O'clock’. I'd come a long way down in the
world since my days of big money book deals.
Anyway, they'd tipped me off on a prime piece of nonsense, the sort of thing that the
readership really liked. Sorcery with a hint of something even darker.
Due to some minor miracle, the guy had agreed to give an interview so here I was at his
Kensington town house, fresh off the train from Aberdeen. I checked my phone before I rang
the doorbell, just a few messages from the editor about the usual guff and one from Nancy
back at the office wishing me luck.
I reflected that I'd probably need it since Mandrake Harrison was not a man to be trifled with
by most accounts. He had started his career as a producer for kids TV, but through luck and
canny business decisions was now a multi-millionaire. In amongst it all there was a ten year
hiatus in India and there were some really weird stories going around about him. Nothing that
had hit the headlines yet, but something was not right, or so it was whispered. Since Saville
and Operation Yewtree these sorts of thing were worth following up on and celebrities were
bending over backwards to prove they were whiter than white.
A flunky took me inside and then into a room that had so many pot plants in it, it felt like a
garden. At the back, sat cross-legged on a picnic blanket was the man himself. He was in his
fifties, with long grey hair tied in a tail at the back and a salt and pepper beard. He was still in
his pyjamas but appeared wide awake. I could smell coffee and noticed a little table behind
him on which sat a pot and some cups beside a phone and selection of expensive looking
tablets.
'Mr Vaunt. Hello there, do you mind sitting on the floor?' he said with a slight smile as he
poured me a cup of coffee.
I shook my head and sat down, then took out my notepad and pencil.
'How quaint.' he declared, 'No iPad? No tablet?'
'I missed out all the new technology while I was in hospital. I just do things the way I've
always done them.'
'Ah yes.' he nodded 'Well, I'll not pry. That's your job after all. You are here to talk about
witchcraft and that sort of thing I suppose?'
It seemed he knew about me, but I didn’t doubt some PA would have found out a bit of my
history. Long stays in the looney-bin tended to stay with you.
'Well, I... Yes. I watched a DVD of your kids show. Tom Fu Twig. I don't get it though, it's no
more real sorcery than Harry Potter. Whatever people are saying about it makes no sense to
me.'
'And what are people saying?'
'That you are using subliminal messages. Trying to turn them to the devil...'
He laughed then and I saw his crooked yellow teeth for the first time.
'Mr Vaunt. Let me tell you it IS magic. In each episode I get the children to stand up and make
some hand gestures to help the protagonist Tom Twig over come some problem or enemy.
The gestures appear simple enough, but are, in fact, ancient Sanskrit Mudra. The ancients
used these hand gestures to focus minds into changing the universe. They live on today in
Buddhism but have lost most of their power.'
'Mudra?' I was taken aback. My hands were shaking slightly as I wrote down what he was
saying.
'For example, a mantra is a sound or group of words that is considered capable of creating
transformation. A mudra is the same, but done as a ritualistic gesture. Each one can be
powerful enough to shape the universe in some small way. I learned these things during my
travels in India. It was after that I had an idea. What if I could channel a million or more
mudras at the same time? The idea for Tom Fu Twig took shape. I would use television as the
medium and the gullibility of children as my fuel.'
He paused and looked at his watch. I scribbled some more notes and took a deep breath
'Well our readers will love this, but it can't be true can it? It's absurd.'
'You've watched the show? Every day at five thirteen in the afternoon, four million children in
the UK all stand up and perform a mudra for my benifit. The Abhaya Mudra, the mudra of
protection. The Bhumisparsha Mudra, the mudra of enlightenment. The Varada Mudra, the
mudra of giving.'
He then touched the thumb and index finger together on his right hand to form a circle and
slowly moved his hand towards his heart.
'The Gnana Mudra, the mudra of knowledge.'
I'd stopped taking notes now.
'I get it. So jealous people attribute your great wealth to this... twaddle...'
'Mr Vaunt', Harrison said with a sigh 'This is not twaddle. I spent ten years in a Buddhist
Temple trying to figure out the meaning of life. Let me tell you a secret. There isn't one. There
is only what goes on inside people’s heads. With the words and the right gestures one can
change the universe just a little. If you can get everyone to do it in unison you can change it a
lot.'
'You can't change the universe.’ I said with a derisive grunt 'You can't change a single thing.
Everything just.. happens...You can't change it just by thinking about it.'
'Mr Vaunt. Here is another secret. The universe did not create the human brain. The human
brain created the universe.'
Harrison looked at his watch agian.
‘And in six minutes time I will be destroying a part of it.’
Despite myself I was starting to feel nervous. A trickle of sweat wound its way down my back.
‘You see, Mr Vaunt’, he said pronouncing my name viciously ‘I thought I’d done away with all
you annoying journalists. God knows I’ve manipulated enough time and space to be rid of
you. But then along you come, yet another one, wondering how a mere kids TV producer can
be so wealthy and with your head full of half-baked stories.’
‘Steady on Harrison. What are you talking about?’
‘Be patient Mr Vaunt.’
He leaned over and lifted up the top of a laptop that sat on the nearby low table. Then he
turned up the volume and I could see it was Tom Fu Twig. Tom was about to go into one of
his spell casting routines in order to defeat a naughty dragonfly. I tried to leap up, but Harrison
made a hand gesture and suddenly I felt like I was held in a vice.
‘Be still. It will all be over soon. In your case it will be very easy. All I need to do is make one
… tiny … change and you’ll never bother me again.’
He did a thumbs up sign with his right hand and placed it in the palm of his left. In a low voice
he growled,
‘The Shiva Linga Mudra. The Mudra of Destruction.’
My world went black.
Back at the hotel I lay back on the bed feeling rather in a daze. My notebook was blank and I
could not really remember what I was in London to do.
The phone rang and I picked it up.
‘Hey’ I said groggily.
‘Hey yourself. How’s it going down there? How’s that book deal coming along? Have you
signed your life away yet? Got your hands on all that moola?’ The woman at the other end
gave a cheerful laugh.
‘Oh hi Nancy. Ah, no, I was..’
‘Nancy? Who the hell is Nancy? This is your wife Heather! Remember me? Hold on, Violet
wants to talk to you. Or have you forgotten you have a daughter as well?!’

WB Entry 6 : IN THE FOREST SOUTH OF FREYL (2013)

IN THE FOREST SOUTH OF FREYL

We were camped in the forest somewhere near the border. Since we had a druid with
us the campsite was well chosen, out of the wind and snug. The fire chuckled
merrily and the moon shone down between the evergreen trees. The pleasant smell of
pine needles and wood smoke hung in the air.
We were in no hurry to go to sleep since tomorrow would be the last leg of our
journey. A leisurely half day's stroll to the village of Freyl.
The druid was the only one no longer awake. He was an old man and said that his
bones had grown so tired he didn't like sleeping on the ground much these days. So
he shape shifted into the form of a gigantic brown bear whenever he slept in the
wild. He said it was much more comfortable and it certainly looked it.
Gentle snoring came from the big heap of fur on the other side of the fire.
I myself was resting my head on Banjax's leg and Decalis was lying looking up at
the stars to my right.
'Uhh...', I said breaking the silence, 'It's so relaxing and warm here, but I
really need to go pee before I turn in.'
Banjax snorted then said 'Here we go again.'
Decalis, an elf, shook his head in the gloom 'Please not another conversation about
bodily functions. Is there not another topic you can discuss?'
'What better topic is there?' replied Banjax, who was a much more rugged and down
to earth character than the refined elf 'It is a natural process and we are
surrounded by nature after all.'
Decalis broke a twig and threw both pieces on the fire.
'Your disgusting little talks are probably why Roztov always goes to sleep so
early.'
We made no reply to that for several minutes, but in the end Banjax could not
resist,
'You know. He has it easier than all of us. He doesn't even have any trousers to
pull down.'
'Oh please' groaned Decalis and mimicked looking around 'Is there another campfire
I can go to?'
I was genuinely intrigued though, 'I would have thought he turns back into a man
before he does his.. you know ..'
Banjax chuckled, 'Come on! He's a bear. This is the woods. You work it out.'
I nodded in the darkness, 'Hmm. You're probably right.'
Banjax as he reached up to scratch his beard. It was going gray around the chin
now, I suppose he was not far away from forty. Men seemed to age so fast.
'Anyway', he said, scratching away 'You being a wizard, why can't you just conjure
up some magic pants?'
'Magic pants?'
'You know, just teleport all the .. stuff .. into the Astral Plane or something?'
'Uh huh.'
Banjax was warming to his idea now 'You would find a market for it I'm sure. When I
was a King's Guard in Timu I could have done with something like that. That armour
takes half an hour to take off and what with my bowels being the way they are...'
Decalis who had had his head in his hands, looked up.
'Are you suggesting...?'
'Oh well!' laughed the man 'Let's just say I had a few narrow escapes that's all.
They eat nothing but pastry in that city and it's murder on my digestion.'
It was true, myself, Banjax and Decalis had been friends for twenty years,
adventuring all over Nillimandor and had grown wealthy doing it. I'd seen Banjax
slaughter armies of orcs and goblins with his magical sword 'Ghost Bringer' but due
to his irritable bowel he would run in terror from a pork pie.
'Well, it will be good healthy food at Drako's. He has a torm cook.'
Banjax licked his lips, he was fond of his food 'I'm looking forward to it. It will
be good to see him again too.'
Drako was the wizard I had trained under. I myself, I should explain, an a torm,
one of the many halfling races that inhabit Nillimandor, I was born on the south
side of the border making me a 'fressle' in the local language and I was taken in
by Drako when just a child. He had seen potential in me and tutored me in the art
of magic.
A few moments later the bear rolled over, got up onto all fours and wander into the
darkness of the forest.
'Care to speculate what he's about to do?' Banjax asked Decalis.
'For the love of the Goddess. Stop.' grumbled the elf.
'Come on!' said the man with a smile in his voice 'Are you telling me elves don't
poo?'
'Of coarse we do! We just don't talk about it.'
'Little things like rabbit dropping I should imagine, with hardly any smell at
all.'
'Be quiet. We never discuss such base things.'
'So when the Queen of Greenmarches goes to push one out' said Banjax putting on an
air of genuine confusion, 'What does she tell her courtiers?'
Still, after twenty years, Decalis could not help but rise to this sort of teasing
from Banjax,
'Your ignorant monkey brain can not comprehend the subtleties of the elvish
language. We use metaphor and euphemism for everything.'
Banjax could speak elvish reasonable well having traveled and lived with one for
so long and in a high falsetto voice did a reasonable impression of their Queen.
'Oh, my lords and ladies!', he squeaked 'Please pray excuse me! Prithee I must
leave you for a moment. One has a sewer snake to release.'
By now I was choking with mirth. Banjax continued,
'One has to go bait a trap! One has to go build a log cabin!'
If I could have joined in I would have, but I was having a coughing fit. Banjax was
a seasoned jester though and went on,
'My lords, I must go curl one off! I must go deceive a fart. I have to de-cork the
bottle. Make way for your queen, I must drop a hoop snake. I must go and free the
chocolate hostages. I have a trumpet recital to attend. I have to grow a tail. It
is time to release the Kracken.. I have to shed some ballast .. um wait I've got
another one...'
'Enough!', cried the elf, then he hissed quietly since we were in a reasonably
dangerous part of the country after all, 'Enough with the toilet humour! I will not
hear my queen disrespected in this way!'
The elf threw a boot at the man. I continued to choke with mirth.
Banjax said 'Very well! I yield my lord. I yield!'
'Sometimes I wonder', grumbled the elf 'Him I can understand, but you Mary? You
encourage him! You trained under the mighty Drako and are yourself one of the most
powerful wizard's in Timu, all of Nillimandor probably. I once saw you bring down a
hill giant with a single magic fireball and yet you behave like a child half the
time.'
'I'm sorry Decalis' I said, rather taken aback by his stern tone.
Then I saw that he was smiling in the darkness and I realised that he too was
joking. Banjax reached down and ruffled my hair,
'Don't worry half-pint. You are really annoying but we still love you.'
As usual they were both blaming me when as far I was concerned I was completely
innocent in the entire thing. What you must remember is that myself and Decalis
were still children really. Torms can live to two hundred and elves just go on and
on.
Just then the tall figure of Rostov strode up to the fire. He was back in the shape
of a man.
'There I was unloading a traveler when I heard all this kerfuffle coming from back
at the camp. It frightened my right into my skin. I come rushing back and find you
are all just giggling like children,'
I knew Roztov was not being serious. He was like a father too us, old and wise. We
knew he was old although he did not look it. Druids aged differently, but by my
calculation he must have been seventy at least.
He re-seated himself by the fire and warmed his hands. I could see his long blonde
hair and beard framing a friendly open face.
Although we had had our fair share of adventure it was nothing compared to him. He
had literally been all over the world, as far west as the Isle of Dragons and as
far east as the Three Kingdoms of Yaja. Roztov was an ambassador for the Great
Forest and although in semi-retirement he liked nothing more than travel and that
was the main reason were were taking the slow way to Freyl rather than using a
magical option.
'Sorry Roz, we were just discussing Mary's magic pants.'
I slapped Banjax's thigh at that. Roztov raised an eyebrow.
'Oh really?'
'That's it!' I declared and jumped up 'I really have to go now.'
'Is it a big job or a small one?'
'Oh don't start again!' I cried 'Anyway, I told you I'm just going for a pee. Then
I'm going to sleep.'
Banjax sat up and called after me,
'You mean you are going to talk to grandma? Spend a penny? Drain the dragon? Flush
the scuppers? Siphon the weasel? Leak the lizard? Shake hands with the wife's best
friend? Wash the mongoose?... ahhh... oh she's gone.'
I was still with in earshot, but was concentrating on my business.
What with all the layers of skirts, underskirts and underwear I'd just had to fight
through to be in a position to 'water the flowers' I'd started to wonder if magic
pants wasn't such a bad idea after all.

WB Entry 5 : AULD LAGG'S DAMNATION (2013)

AULD LAGG'S DAMNATION

And Sir Robert Grierson wrote in his rent collection book:
O Lord, we’re aye ganging and we’re aye gettin’;
We should aye be comin’ to Thee, but we’re aye forgettin’.
~~~
Some say as Auld Lagg lay dying, in the Turnpike House on a dark and squally night,
out on the Solway Firth, the same waters Maggie Wilson had been drowned, a small
boat was heading back to its berth. In the light of the full moon the crew saw a
craft heading out to sea.
As it came closer they saw it was no ordinary vessel but a great black coach and
horses, galloping into the mouth of the Nith estuary accompanied by coachmen and
outriders bearing flaming torches.
As they passed, the captain called out,
'Where are thee bound? Where are thee form?'
The reply received was a dread cackle and,
'To tryst wi' Lag in Dumfries we are bound! From Hell we have come!
~~~
And some said that in his dying delirium he was visited by wights and wraiths,
'Auld Lagg! Cruel Lagg! Heartless Lagg!' whispered Maggie's ghost into the ear of
the dying man.
'Leave me be, spectre..' the croaked reply.
'Whither do ye go now?' groaned the ghost, 'To drown maer poor old auld women in
the Solway? To torment and torture those tha' wid nae pray for thy king?'
'Damned ghoul! Out fiend!'
'Damnation, aye, damnation is the word. ye auld snick-drawin dog! This luckless
hour will send ye linkin to thy pit!'
~~~
And they told of an old woman, Margaret McLachlan who was tied on a post by the
sea. And further up the from her tied in a similair fashion was the younger
Margaret Wilson.
They had been caught saying the wrong prayers and had been presented to Sir Robert
Grierson the assize of Lag who sentenced them to be drowned. The idea being that
seeing the old woman drown first would make the younger one repent.
As the tide rose and her end approached, a dragoon Major pulled Maggie Wilson's
head above the water and demanded , 'Will ye say a prayer for the king?'
She answered, 'I wish salvation of all men and the damnation of none.'
A bystander called, 'Dear Margaret, for all of love, say God save the King!'
She answered, 'God save him, if he will, for it is his salvation I desire.'
Her family cried, 'She said it so! Let her be, untie her we beg thee!'
But Auld Lagg stepped forward and swore,
'Damn’d bitch, we do not want such prayers; tender the oaths to her.'
Margaret shut her lips tight and the Major thrust her head into the water.
~~~
The folk of Galloway tell of Auld Lagg leading his dragoon's into the hills
around Carsphairn and where they found men reading the Bible they shot or tortured
them to death. People would come to their doors and listen as the screams
echoed down from the glens, then shake their heads and say,
'Auld Lagg tends his flock.'
And when he came down to Dalry, Lag rounded up the men and forced them to
swear allegiance to the King and dismissing them snarled
'Now you are a fold full of clean beasts, you may go home.'
~~~
Along the Nith, fast lights were seen, or so they said, on that dark and storm
tossed night. A craft moving so fast it defied all ken. And those that beheld it
felt the ice of fear on them and made signs against evil. From Glencaple to
Whitesands they closed and locked their doors. It was an ill omened night and the
devil's work was being done.
~~~
Some say an old crow perched on the windowsill of the bedroom of Turnpike House
where the old man lay dying and it said,
'Auld Lagg! Do thee know me? I will sit on thy coffin 'er thee die and tell all of
thy deeds. They will say thy wine did turn to blood 'er it hit the glass. The
horses that pull thy funeral coach will die in harness. Grass will ne'er grow over
thy grave! Wait now, be quiet Lag, be still. It is not long now. Thy raptur'd hour
approaches.'
~~~
And the folk of Galloway called it 'The Killing Time', when King's men hunted the
Covenanters through the hills, killing them where they found them in secret prayer.
People avoided the hills after that, for many years, fearful of what would be found
up there. They called it the 'Bone Harvest' and told their children to stay down in
the glens, because up on the hilltops was where the monster Auld Lagg stalked and
the bodies of his victims were still lying up there lost and unburied.
~~~
And they told of the crow cawing
'Do thee know what now comes for thee? Auld Lagg should know Auld Nick when he sees
him, he did his work often enough. Well no matter, they will soon be here to take
thee. What was it all for? Those people you killed and tortured in the name of a
king. A king that was evicted in the Glorious Revolution? If ever killing were for
naught, it was in this. You must have thought ye were doing God's own work in those
far off days, Auld Lagg, when all along you were doing the work of Auld Hornie!'
~~~
And now the children played a game called 'The Lag'. Where one was a beast with a
prominent long snout, pointed ears and bulging eyes. All the better for watching,
listening and snuffling for Covenanters in the Galloway Hills. They took turns in
being the beast and would hunt each other through the hills and heather, laughing
as they went.
Their parents would not stop them, by now many years had passed and they rarely
found bones up there.
~~~
And in Dumfries they say, a young boy called Fergus chanced to look out his bedroom
window at night and saw the coach and horses bound for the Turnpike House. Fire
burned in the horses eyes as they sped through the street, there hooves not making
a single note on the cobblestones. The outriders held their torches high, casting
red shadows, their cloaks pulled tight around them and their hoods covering their
faces. The coachman lashed his whip and yelled,
'Make haste, Auld Lagg waits! Let nothing prevent thy speed!'
~~~
Some say the old man finally stirred as an eerie whistle blew. He did keep a monkey
up in the Cat's Cradle tower of the Turnpike House and whenever a visitor came or
went it had been trained to blow a whistle. A coach pulled outside and whoever
stepped out of it terrified the monkey into blowing louder and louder on the
whistle. So loud and panicked was the shrill piping that it sounded like the
creature was blowing fit to burst its lungs.
Sir Robert tried to rise from the bed, to summon servants, but by now he was too
weak to move.
~~~
It is told that after the revolution was a time bad for old Jacobites. Auld Lagg
was fined and imprisoned for forgery. But soon he was freed and went to live at
Rockhall. There he grew older and older until many folk had forgotten what he had
done and those that remembered said he feared to die because that would be the day
he was called to answer.
And so he buried most his kin, and did not die, but went on and on, but no man can
live forever, no matter how much he fears what comes after.
~~~
Some say a heavy foot on the stairs was heard. Impatient horses whined and blew in
the yard below, stamping their feet and shaking their harness. Each creaking step
grew closer. A wayward wind blew through the room and the windows burst open.
Something broke on the floor. The whistling went on, but the house did not wake.
Auld Lagg could not close his eyes.
~~~
And they said the whistle blew and blew, louder and louder until it seemed that all
the sound in the world was in that whistle. And that when Auld Lagg died and was
driven to hell by Auld Nick in a phantom coach the monkey continued to blow its
whistle until the household servants strangled it and it haunts the place to this
day.
Some say Sir Robert was born to hell in satan's own coach and tormented there
forever more, for the murders he committed in the name of King and God, justified
and zealous, sure of his rightness. Better this than a man lived to a ripe old age
and remained unpunished, they said, even on his death bed, for the crimes of half a
century ago?
This may or may not be so, but in any room in Turnpike House, in the darkest time
of the night, you may hear a thin whistling sound that will grow louder and louder
until it seems to fill thy head completely. The ghost of his pet monkey, cursed
until judgment day to warn the world what awaits those that lead a life like Auld
Lagg's.

WB Entry 4 : THE FIRE THAT NEVER DIES (2013)

THE FIRE THAT NEVER DIES

Blessed sleep! She had been asleep. For how long? An hour or maybe two, it was
still dark. She had always enjoyed her rest, but recently she had not been sleeping
well.
She sighed and lay back again. Her hair was still in six braids when she had lain
down, but a servant had come in and loosened it while she slept.
It wasn't nightmares keeping her awake, or visits from demons, she reflected. It
was a sense of foreboding and despair.
Her world was ending. Soon Theodisius would close the Temple of Vesta and her role
in Roman society would effectively come to an end. There had been years of politics
and religious debate. The two were one and the same in the Forum. Religion was
politics and politics was religion.
She was tired of it all, so very tired, but her tiredness had not led to sleep
lately. Perhaps when the Temple was finally closed it would all be over? Maybe then
she would know sleeps gentle comforting embrace once more.
After half an hour she rose and dressed. She knew there would be no more sleep
tonight. Better to do something useful, there were mountains of paperwork to sort
through. Because of their incorruptible character Vestal Virgins were entrusted
with wills and other legal documents. They needed sorted, cataloged, indexed.
Ready to be handed over to whoever came after her, although she had know idea who
that might be. She was, above all things, a servant of Rome.
The Temple to Vesta was right next to the House of the Vestal Virgins on the Forum.
Even though the Forum was safe, she took a guard with her. If it had been an
official visit then a lictor would have accompanied her, but for this a palace
guard would do.
She knew this one by name.
'Come, Martinus. We will go to the Temple and attend the flame.'
He smiled and nodded, 'Yes, Coelia Concordia.'
She tolerated the use of her name at this time of night although he should have
addressed her as Vestalis Maxima. Just another sign of my loss of power, she
supposed.
It was a clear starlit night. There were lights on Capitoline Hill. The Temple to
Jupiter was up there, not under any political threat. Not yet anyway.
There were still people about, the Forum never truly went to sleep, but it was a
very short walk from the Atrium Vestae to the Temple. Behind the Temple to Vesta
was that of of Castor and Pollux and ancient building still standing after being
ravaged by fire four hundred years ago. She wondered how much longer the Temple to
Vesta would stand.
It was a much smaller round building its entrance facing east to symbolise the
link between Vesta’s fire and the sun. The guard pushed the door open for her and
she stepped inside to where the sacred flame burned at the rear of the building's
only chamber. A lone figure sat dozing at the hearth, casting a long shadow across
the floor. The Temple was warm and inviting.
'Greetings, Aemilia.'
The young woman sat dozing on the stool roused herself. Once, there would have been
six Vestal Virgins to attend the sacred flame, now there was just one, Coelia
Concordia. Aemilia was named after one of the first Virgins, but was no more than
an attendant, the daughter of a freeman.
'Good morning, Coelia.'
She could see Coelia was not dressed in her infula or suffibulum. The last Vestal
Virgin wore only a simple palla over her robes, and besides it was the middle of
the night.
Aemilia could be familiar with her in this dark and hushed environment without fear
of censure.
'No sleep again?' she asked with a smile.
'No. Not with knowing what will soon happen.'
The young woman shuddered, a true believer, 'The Temple closed? It isn't possible!'
'I assure you it is. It is a matter of days. Theodosius will issue another of his
decrees and the Temple of Vesta will be no more. The Vestal Virgins will be no
more.'
Aemilia pulled her shawl tighter, 'I don't like Christians. I never said any words
when everyone had to. I was just a little girl.'
Coelia knew that she referred to the Edict of Thessalonica, that ordered all
subjects to swear faith with the Bishop of Rome. Coelia had not done so either, but
that had been part of a political deal. It always came down to politics in the
Forum.
'Well, times change', said the older woman, 'We have been a thing of the past for a
hundred years. It suits the Empire to be Christian and Christ dislikes the pagan
gods.'
Aemilia sniffed back a tear, 'But the sacred flame has burned for a thousand
years.'
Coelia knew that this was not strictly true, but said,
'The flame is a symbol, something that used to mean something to Rome. Now Rome no
longer needs it. No longer needs me.'
Aemilia pulled a face, 'Well, they are ungrateful then. The sacrifices you made.
The service you have offered. The gods always co-existed. Why can't the Christians
just leave you alone?'
Coelia warmed her hands by the fire, 'It was all given with a glad heart. Vesta
gives all her gifts freely. The world is a different place from Augustus's day.
Now, where is the stack of writs I was looking at the other day? It was in no kind
of order at all.'
'You may as well just throw it all on the fire.', grumbled the younger woman.
Ceolia said nothing and took the first bundle of reed paper from the pile she had
located in the gloom.
Ah, the last of the land contracts, I should be able to get through all of these
tonight, she thought.
'You can go home Aemilia', she said finally, 'Have Martinus escort you. I will see
it through to the end. I will be alone with the flame and my goddess until
Theodisius comes with his men to put it out. It will not be long now and I'm in no
danger of falling asleep long enough to let it go out.'
~~~
Sleep! She sat up. It was still dark. No more than an hour. That was good. Where
once she had prayed for sleep, now she shunned it.
'Sleep? I mustn't sleep!', she gasped and lay back again. She's spent the last
three days at the Temple sorting out paper work. It had really been a pointless
task, but she could not have left it undone.
When they'd come she was dead on her feet, but still working. As the men came to
carry the Temple goods away and close it up she let the last piece of paper fall
from her hand and had said, 'So this is it?'
Not the most momentous thing to have said she realised, but those were her last
words inside the Temple of Vesta.
Now she walked through the chambers of the Atrium Vestae, the Palace of the Vestal
Virgins, like a ghost. She knew they would never ask her to leave, but it had grown
to be a tomb now, the last of her order living out her days in ignored solitude,
never again to play her part in the state affairs of Rome.
Coelia knew that one day, they would come for her, and, politely at first, ask her
to profess her faith in Christ to the Bishop of Rome. She was resigned to that, in
some ways looked forward to it. She would be a person again, not a ghost, a figure
in the church, the only church now, and someone involved in the life of Rome once
more, even if in a way a hundred-fold more meager than when she had been a
priestess of one of the most powerful religions in the Empire.
But that was not this day, or any day soon.
Much of the House of the Vestal Virgins was shut up now, she only needed a few
rooms and a handful of servants. From her upper story window she could see all the
way down the length of the Forum, to the Temple of Concord, which was now used by
the Christians as a place of burial.
She had walked over to the window now and her eyes wandered down to the Temple of
Vesta below. There was no light there, the sacred flame did not burn their any
longer. The sun was starting to creep up behind her and casting a long shadow
across the roof. There was one flame that would last all eternity, she reflected,
Vesta would live on in sunlight.
The Goddess would never turn from Rome, even if Rome turned from her. She would
shine her light down on the good and the wicked alike. She would never try and
separate them out into saints and sinners, judging and damning them. The goddess
was better than that, she shared her warmth and goodness with all equally. The
Christian God was mean spirited and petty in comparison.
'Well, she's not gone from this world completely', whispered Coelia to herself,
'Not yet anyway.'
She walked from the window and put another log on the fire in her room.
Her secret, and the reason why she now welcomed insomnia, was that the fire that
burned here in her chambers in the Atrium Vestae had been transfered from the
Temple to Vesta by night and by cunning, just before it had been officially put out
by Theodisius's men. In effect it was the only part of the sacred flame that
remained.
She would attend it night and day from now on, feeding it, keeping it alive, alone
and forgotten until one day she feel asleep long enough for it to go out. Then she
would awake, look over the cold ashes for a long while, remembering the old days
for as long as she felt proper, but then, eventually, throw her palla over her
shoulders and leave the House of the Vestal Virgins, never to return.

WM Entry 3 : THE PUSH (2013)

THE PUSH

Two men are looking out of an open window in a tall office block in the City of
London. One of them begins to talk,
'I decided I was going to murder someone. Then if it felt good I would think about
maybe doing it again. It wasn't because I'd rolled a dice like Luke Reinhardt or
decided to commit the 'perfect crime' like Raskolnikov, I suppose it was something
to do with how powerless I felt in my life.
It started as a silly idea. Kill someone. Do it in such a way I would not be
caught. I started to plan it, how to dispose of the body, what murder weapon to
use, all the little details. I didn't have a victim at that stage but that didn't
matter, my mind kept going back to it again and again.
I wouldn't use something as crude as an axe as Raskolnikov did, I knew I was averse
to blood. It would be strangulation or asphyxiation, it didn't really matter, just
as long as it was more involved than just 'making it look like an accident.'
For some reason this appalled me. It was just too easy. Whenever I read about a
murder in the newspapers or saw it reported on the news I was always disgusted by
the amateurishness of it. If you were going to kill someone, surely to god you
should do them the common decency of planning it properly?
Take the case of the man that bludgeoned his wife to death and then blamed it on a
fictional intruder. That story was proved false in days. I was annoyed for weeks by
his utter lack of professionalism. The easiest people to kill in the world are the
people that you live with.
The modern home is a death trap of electrical appliances and hard edges. Any house
with a set of stairs is a murder weapon. A simple hand in the back will send them
tumbling down to their deaths. Job done.
I was not married however, and lived alone, and besides a killing like that could
only be done once. Even your average London Met detective would start to wonder at
more than one fatal accident in the same house.
So, I dismissed the idea of simply pushing someone down the stairs as beneath me
and went back to my intricate plots and plans.
This made what happened one day on the way to work as much of a surprise to me as
the person I murdered. The underground is incredibly busy at rush hour with people
crushing down to the edge of the platform. My stop has to be the busiest in all of
London and people literally take their lives in their hands waiting for a train
down there.
I was two ranks back from the edge and I saw a man, stupidly craning his neck down
the tunnel, as if it mattered whether it arrived in one minute or two. He was
jostled by someone behind him and his left foot momentarily dangled in mid air
over the rails.
The train was about to arrive too and without any compunction on my part my arm
shot out, through the throng of people and pushed him hard in the back. He plunged
onto the tracks and was crushed by the train, dead in an instant.
I turned and pushed through the crowds as the cry went up and everyone started to
panic.
I was very edgy at work and could get nothing done. I sat at my desk and kept on
clicking the refresh button on the news websites to see who it was I had just
killed. Justin Green, Age 21. Banker.
I was disappointed with myself, that my first murder was something so simple. It
had no meaning, it would never be found out and anyone could have done it. I
suppose it said something about how far I had come from being anything remotely
like a human being that I cared more about the method of the murder than the actual
act.
A few weeks later I pushed an old lady under a bus. A month after that I pushed a
careless tourist off the side of Tower Bridge.
It was like I had become addicted to a drug. All I thought about now was pushing
people to their deaths. I began to hang out in places like Vertigo, the champagne
bar at the top of the Tower 42. I took regular turns on the London Eye. Tempting as
they were they were too secure, too full of safety measures.
But I was determined. Somehow in my addled head I'd decided this was my thing. I
didn't even care if I got caught any longer, I just had to keep pushing people to
their deaths. I hit the underground again, the bus stops, all the bridges over the
Thames, I was in a frenzy of plummet related fatality.
Eventually someone started putting it all together. It wasn't the police of course,
they were too busy beating up rioters in Hackney. It was a journalist and a
statistician, working out that the number of falling related deaths had gone up by
500% in the last year.
At first they thought it was a statistical anomaly, but then it went viral on the
Internet and this mysterious rash of deaths by falling was attributed to a phantom
called 'The Push'.
It seems ludicrous that while I was merrily slaying about two people every month,
the first serious attempt to identify me was dismissed as nothing but panicmongering
on the Internet.
Incredibly there was still no official police investigation. New Scotland Yard were
not interested in perusing bogey-men. That was the exact words used by the Met's
Commissioner, you know.
I began to think they were not taking me seriously. I certainly was beginning to,
I'd actually lost count of my victims, I knew I was somewhere in the mid-fifties
though. How could the police not realise there was a deadly killer stalking the
their streets?
What did I have to do to make everyone know I was successful murderer? By now, I
really didn't want to get caught. I had half an eye on Harold Shipman's record,
although I considered him a bit of a cheat, and wanted to last as long as I could.
I fell into a depression. I was killing less and less, it just wasn't the same. A
year or so went past. It was winter, the beginning of 2013 when I saw the headline
of the newspaper they hand out free on the underground.
'Boris Johnson to unveil the open air viewing deck of the Shard on February the
1st.'
I was struck dumb. It was another day I couldn't get anything done at work. How
could I possibly manage it? I only had a week to plan something. To push the mayor
of London off the highest building in Europe! I'd be a sensation!
I nearly did it too. I managed to get right to him and get him halfway over the
glass safety wall before his security guards got me. He was just too darn heavy. If
I'd had more time to prepare I could have worked out at the gym until I was able to
throw a 16 stone man over a six foot glass barrier, but it just wasn't to be.
The police questioned me of course and I even confessed to all my murders, but they
called me a fantasist. They were only interested in finding out if I had any links
to Al-Qaeda which I did not, of course. Once they were happy I was not a terrorist
I was released into psychiatric care.
Due to cuts in the NHS though, unbelievably, I was evaluated as not being a risk to
the public and released back into the community six weeks later.
Just when I thought my humiliation could not get any deeper I saw my first T-Shirt
as I walked back to my flat. 'I AM THE PUSH' it said, with a photo-shopped picture
of Boris falling comically off the top of the Shard.
I saw three more of them before I got inside, closing the door and leaning against
it in a cold sweat. How dare they, I fumed. It was if it had all been for nothing.
No one would ever believe me, as I found out on my computer that night, there were
a hundred people in London alone convinced they were 'The Push' and ten times as
many of that shouting them down, that 'The Push' didn't exist, just a bunch of
statistics and a single crazy failed attack on the mayor.
Well, I slid into a funk, the deepest of depressions, I didn't go to work again, I
was evicted and ended up wandering the streets. Then it dawned on me what I had to
do and here we both are.'
The second man gulped and shuffled his feet nervously. He turned momentarily away
into the wind then said,
'I am here because I am the father of your first victim?'
'That's right Mr Green. One of us is going to step out of this window and fall
twenty storeys to their death.'
The older man tried to bolt, but the younger one had a vice like grip on his wrist,
his other hand an equally strong grip on the windowsill.
'Listen, what happened to Justin was an accident, just a tragic accident. You are
not a murderer.' said the older man.
'I AM!', cried the younger man angrily, 'God dam it, I am! I was just too good at
it.'
'Please don't kill me.' sobbed Mr Green.
The other smiled, 'You don't understand. I'm not going to kill you. I am a failure
and I deserve to die. There is no better way than this and no better person than
the father my first victim to be here.'
'Why am I here?'
'To bear witness, and well .. it shames me to admit my cowardice, but to give me a
little .. push..'

(G181 30/11/2013 Sat via Roll20 - JF, AP(GM))

(G180 22/11/2013 Fri - JF(GM), AP) (was a Star Trek game)

(G181 30/11/2013 Sat via Roll20 - JF, AP(GM))

DAY 209  (5 Marpenoth)(October) continued...

I still had a few things to do though.

Firstly we went to talk to and check up on the bookseller's wife. She had her husband's body now
at least.

Then we went and talked to the prisoners. Usual sort of grumpiness about it you would expect
from your guard type, but Maximanus Thall let us in, in the end.

Here are my notes from then:

Fembrys - Sat quietly in cell. Never met his parents, was raised in an orphanage. A cleric.
        - says he worships Umberlee (a lie). He's the one that liked to collect heads.
        - In his thirties. Nasty piece of work.

Shan Thar - says he is genuine cleric of mystra (a lie). Asked him about the Vasty Swamp
        but said he knew nothing. Stuck to his story.
      - In his mid forties.

Kevran    - low muttering from within, he was praying to mystra. A sorcerer.
            Said he was innocent and had been fooled. Seemed believable.
            He'd only worked there three months. Said that if Shan Thar follows Shar or
            Cyric then his dominions are Trickery and Illusion.
          - Young. Early twenties.

We talked to Thall afterwards. He seemed to believe Kevran. I asked what would happen to the
other obviously guilty men. He said that depended in whether they got Judge Pugnations 'Hempkneck' Brown,
Judge Elderberry 'The Blade' or Judge Herbert 'Kindling' Finksnottle!

After that we purchased a few more things including a pack donkey.

DAY 210  (6 Marpenoth)(October)

We set off this morning! What a joy to be on our travels again. Having proper adventures!
With my wife with me too!
I did rather long for my old companions, such as Raz, Nobby, gods even Shifty. The old gang.

Still, this was the new gang! Not too bad. Myself as the caster and ..ahem.. sort of leader,
Sylvia as the healer, Shump as the man at the front in all the armour, Jiggles as the one with
the lock picks and a keen eye and Lavinia as the ... well the one that ... well, the one that
doesn't really do anything! (But don't tell her I said that!)
I'm just joking anyway, she is quiet handy with a sword and having a good looking and well mannered
woman around is always useful in situations where diplomacy and tact are needed.

Anyway, we followed our map to the 'Lost Refuge'. I scouted ahead in eagle form, but the road
was quiet.

The first place we came to was the 'Unknown Shrine'. I spend most of my time look out for the wildlife
and trying to catch butterflies. I got a couple but it is difficult without a net so I mainly stuck
to insects.

(For more lengthy essays on my findings see Beast Journal Entry #1339)

By eight at night we were at the shrine. Here we met some nice traveling traders called
Norry Waywalket (a gnome) and Coobert Draftworth (a human).
We shared their fire and purchased some of the jewelry.

I spent a lot of the night in eagle form though, keeping an eye out. They told us of a predicament
that they had. Some way off (at the Tomb of Chonis, it was marked on our map) they had their storehouse.
The tomb had been invaded by goblins or something and they were at a loss as to what to do.

Wasn't it fortuitous then that they had stumbled across a well armed band of adventurers in search
of adventure?

We said we would gladly help in the morning. After setting up watches we went to sleep.

DAY 211  (7 Marpenoth)(October)

So, all together we set off and in the early evening arrived at the tomb.

It was on a low hill, with an open doorway at the base. It looked like an ancient barrow.
On the lintel was some lettering but no one could read it.

I was in eagle form, but as the others arrived I turned back into a human. I asked the
merchants about the layout of the tomb and got a rough idea of what was inside.

After the entrance was a pit, apparently, but it had been largely filled in with dirt
and stones. It was still 10ft deep though and they merchants had put a rope bridge across
it.

I checked the ground. The grass was short, there was some deer poo. No signs of anything like
monsters though.

We knew nothing about Chonis, who he was or what he did. The merchants said that sages would
pay to find out, but knew nothing.

So, we approached. I was immediately struck by an arrow, but not gravely injured.

Shump got to the door first and then led the way to the bridge. There was the pit as described
and above it was the large carved relief of a frowning face with horns on its head.
Chonis perhaps? Or just an image to frighten away tomb raiders.

Three arrows were then fired out of slits in the back wall. They were aiming for the main ropes
on the bridge and one arrow half cut one of them. I ran across and used a Stoneshape spell
though and soon put a stop to that.

It was dark in here and we only had one lantern so Jiggles lit a sun rod. There was a corridor
on each side of the face so we split up into two parties.

Two more arrows were shot at Mr B, but he is pretty nibble and easily avoided them. Another
arrow bounced off Sylvia's impressive new armour. One got Lavinia though.

Where were they all coming from? I wondered. So far we had not seen a single attacker! More
invisible or well hidden enemies I sighed. This would be like the snakes in the temple.

We made our way to the back room where one of them cast a 'Fog' spell. It now got even harder
to see them.

It was time to deploy the tactic that had worked against the snakes, namely, wildly striking
around us with our weapons in hope of hitting something! Shump was the first to kill one of
them as it hid in an alcove.

I summoned up a bunch of crocodiles and soon the whole thing was a dark foggy mess of us
flailing around and crocodiles chasing shadows.

I finally used my brain and cast a 'Gust of Wind' spell I'd forgotten I had remembered
(If you see what I mean! Don't worry, it's a spellcaster thing). By now though people were
getting the hang of it and were pretty fed up of the arrows. Badger scented one and hunted
it down. Shump got another.
There was a bit of confusion and some of the croc's got pretty random in their attacks
but in the end the last of them were dead. They were strange little gobliny things but
with some sort of shadow spell on them, like the guards in the temple.

I made notes though and drawings, just incase we came across an expert.
(see Beast Journal Entry #1340)

We searched about and Jiggles found the a secret door and the merchant's stash. Her eyes
lit up Shifty-style but she knew not to touch any of it.

I spent a few more hours in here as the others made camp and made many drawing and sketches
of the place. Perhaps a scholar could look them over later and venture an opinion?
(see Dungeon Journal Entry #188)
I sketched all the faces and wrote down all the runes and writings I could find.

Norry  and Coobert were delighted and rewarded us with 100 gold coins and a bottle each of
a dark salty wine called 'Utterdark'.

(G179 05/11/2013 Fri via Roll20 - JF, AP(GM))

(G179 05/11/2013 Fri via Roll20 - JF, AP(GM))

I went over and looked in the cells on the other side of the waterway. There was a woman inside but she
seemed to be in a daze. I sent Jiggles upstairs with a cloak to fetch the crystal ball thing.
When I tapped it with the hilt of my sword it smashed and the woman came to.

She said her name was Vera Wavecrest and that she had undergone the three day ritual. She told us of the
others she had been with but whom had been taken away or killed.
Only one was from the town, the others were outsiders.

They were :

The bookseller, and two merchants called Duncan and Kenniwick (We had found their remains and
possessions upstairs)

The other eight were :

Durgen - a male dwarf cleric of Moradin
Kereem - a male human paladin of Tyr
Smote - a male halfling sorcerer with clever hands
Tholwick - a male human adept
Halish - a male human cleric of Mystra
Dava (female), Mendios (male) and Zephan - all human apprentices to an evoker from
Marsember who had sent them to make an offering at the temple

After we'd talked to her some more and put the dates together we figured out these people
had been taken away eight days ago.

We searched the Waterman's room and found some maps, including one that contained instructions
on how to get to the place the people had been sent. It was actually in the Vast Swamp, which
was an area I'd only read about and was greatly interested in visiting.

We then searched and looted every other room we could get into, took it downstairs, loaded the
boat and sent Shump, Jiggles and Sylvia out with it.

Then myself and the wife went upstairs and started removing the barricade. Not surprisingly
there was a big squad of town watch on the other side demanding an explanation as to what
was going on.

I talked to the chap in charge, a fellow called  Constal Maximanus Thall, who wore a plumed
helmet. I handed over our prisoners to him. Fembrys, Shan Thar and Kevran and told them four
guards were alive further in.

We went along with them to the watch house and gave our stories. Maximanus seemed to accept
them but kept us waiting regardless.

DAY 208 (5 Marpenoth)(October)

I tried to get a bit of sleep. It had been a long night after all!

At around nine in the morning they took Vera away for a chat. Checking the stories all matched
up I suppose.

In a cell next to me there was a town drunk called Sweaty Burt. He seemed a sad sort of fellow
and completely insensible. The breakfast, when it came round, didn't look up to much so I sent
one of the guards out with some gold to go get some decent food for everyone.

Next Lavinia went to talk to the captain and a few hours later we were out. We met up with
the others at the tavern.

I wrote a letter to TD and left a copy of the map, just incase he should come back after we'd
gone. We then rested the remainder of the day in the tavern and arranged sale of the large
amount of loot we had acquired from the temple.

DAY 209  (5 Marpenoth)(October)

Today was another rest and heal day. We were all still rather battered and bruised from our
escapades. I read about religion and asked around some of the locals.

I then went and had a chat with the Captain again and asked how many people of the town
were unaccounted for. He said not many, most of the victims had been from out of town.

I then went and talked to Orlenstar Thirthorn and let him see the map. He gave me some
advice about the vast swamp. It was vast and swampy apparently, so that was of great help.

Myself and Jiggles then went to the outfitters and purchased some supplies and camping
equipment. The stuff we were not going to take with us, I arranged to be left at the tavern.

We decided we would set off the next day. I felt rather bad that we were leaving Waterdeep
during its crisis and my brother at the tender mercy of his dubious companions, but this
was adventure beckoning and a chance to see an area of Faerune that was largely uncharted.

FOY 100 (3291 words 10/09/2009)

3291 words 10/09/2009

FOY 100

Later...

As usual, he jogged home from work. It wasn't as if he had a choice. He hadn't eaten since lunch (a garden

salad, with a pro-biotic for pudding) so his stomach was rumbling.

It was fields all the way home, so it was a scenic route. The old A96 was a bridle path now, all grown

over with nettles and oil seed rape.

He hated jogging, but it was the best way to keep his weight down so that his FOY 100 wasn't cut. There were

plenty of people on the same track, doing the same thing as him. It was almost as if the old road was as

clogged with joggers now, as it had been with cars two hundred years ago.

Strange, he thought, that he remembered those days with fond affection. He used to scrape himself into  his

auto, a cup of coffee in one hand and a bacon roll in the other and sit in traffic for nearly an hour to

get to work.

It still took him an hour these days, but by foot. His thoughts always returned to the same subjects as he

jogged this section of the route, down into the valley where he lived. He could remember a time when all

this had been houses. Now it was all fields.

Was he really two-hundred and forty years old? It seemed incredible, but it was all thanks to FOY 100, the

miracle drug that kept old age at bay - as long as you kept taking it. There was a limited supply in the

country so the NHS only handed it out to those that were prepared to go the rest of the way and live fit

and active lives. No FOY 100 for fatties in the UK! Unlike the USA where they all seemed to be fat.

There were certainly lots of people in the country that preferred to live lives like slobs and die in their

seventies (or whatever). He, Alan Ledbetter, was not one of them. He passed is bimonthly medical each week

without fail and received that fortnights supply of FOY 100 each time. The fatties couldn't even emigrate

to the USA any longer to get round the strict rules in Europe, they had closed their borders long ago.

There had been a time, after the death of his wife, that he had skipped a few treatments and had added 6 months

or so onto his subjective forty years. If he had to fill out any forms this year he would put 40/240 for his age.

Subjective and actual age. If he missed any more treatments he would have to put 41.

Part of him was an old old man, but it was amazing how the brain adapted to a never aging body. His deepest and

most bitter regrets was that his wife had died of one of the very few things that could still kill you in this

day and age. There was no more disease, not even cancer, there was no more traffic accidents as there was just

no more traffic. Glenda had fallen and... no, he could feel his stomach tensing up in a spasm of anguish, he

would stop thinking about that now.

He was nearly home. Just the last few hundred yards. He ran up his driveway to his house and jogged straight

in through the open front door. His dog, Gyles, greeted him with a happy bark and a wagging tail. One of the

benefits of being on FOY 100 was that you were given a pet allowance also. Statistics showed that psychosis was

75 percent less likely in long time FOY users if they had a pet dog or cat. Gyles was over eighty, but subjectively

still only three. Dogs didn't care about immortality, as long as each day had food and walkies in it, they

didn't really mind.

After he had showered he sat down and ate his dinner (a pasta dish with sun dried tomatoes and basil - gotta get

those carbs!) in front of the holobox.

Statistic showed that psychosis was 50 percent less likely in long term FOY users if they shared a house with

a fellow user, but Alan was happy with his own company (and Gyles of course) and could not get used to the

idea of having another woman in the house, even after eighty years. He and his wife had been together for

over one hundred and twenty years... no.. he wouldn't think about that.. he could feel the pasta turning over

in his stomach and he nearly retched.. no don't think about that. Alan groaned and changed the channel to

get his latest news updates.

More trouble in Africa, more protests by the usual religious types outside the FOY farms. Interesting statistics

on the amount of users in the UK (75 percent, up by 3 percent on last year). Production would have to go

up as more fatties decided to become fitties. It was a radical life-style change after all, the NHS were really

strict because of the limited supplies. No smoking, no drinking, no meat, eat healthy and take lots of exercise.

You were not even aloud tea of coffee, although herbal tea was ok. And if you didn't stay fit, well, they just

cut your supply and you advanced a year or whatever while you caught up again with the targets and filled in

all the paperwork.

Alan sighed and changed the channel to Photon-Tube to see who was around to talk to. None of his family

were in their living rooms, just a few of his 'frebbies', people that he knew via the Tube, but had never met

in reality.

Shella wasn't around and he couldn't be bothered talking to any of the others tonight, much less letting a

life like 3D virtual model of them wander around in his front room so he switched off the holobox.

He got up and walked out into the garden. It was still nice and sunny outside, but he couldn't help feeling

a little bit out of sorts.

He decided to take a wander up to the Earl Hill, a nearby beauty spot. Gyles fell into step beside him. His

dog did not need a lead, he was pretty traffic savvy but it didn't matter as cars were a thing of the past.

Since the oil had run out, people generally stayed at home, or lived close to their work. There was no

danger of Gyles biting anyone, he was as gentle as a lamb and besides his teeth were made from rubber.

It wasn't a very big hill, but he took his time climbing it as he was not in any hurry. He didn't have to

work tomorrow, he only went into the office three times a week after all ...and yes.. there it was, he could

see his offices at NextGen from here, right beside the huge construction of the seed ship.

It was massive. Since humanity had become immortal, naturally something had to be done about curbing the

population increasing beyond the capacities of the planet to support it. There weren't many children around,

and if you wanted to have a child, well, it was rather morbid, but you had to find someone who was willing

to die. You couldn't just wait for someone to pop their clogs by one of the rare ways people died these days,

in an accident or something, or for a fatty to die naturally. They were trying to get the overall population

down as it was.

No, you could only get a current long term FOY user to agree to stop taking the drug and then actually die,

so planning to have a child could take up to fifty years.

There was another way. Book passage on a seed ship that would take humans off to the stars. Three had been

launched already and more were being built all over the planet. Alan's job was on a design team of the

air and water filtration system of the ship he could see from here, held in its massive frame of scaffolding.

Once the seed ship, Cassandra, was finished it would be pulled into space by the giant space lifter,

Hydra, before being gently pushed out of the Earth's gravity well. Then she would have her atomic

reactors fired up and she would be on her way.

Smaller terraforming ships had already been out to the local stars and found many habitable planets. These

smaller unmanned ships travelled very fast and sent back light speed transmissions of what they had found.

Then gene seed terraforming ships, again unmanned, went out and set up robot factories to change the atmosphere

into something breathable and if necessary alter the climate.

The final stage was the seed ships, each one holding ten thousand people. Even with G-suppressors it would take

the seed ships a very long time to reach the nearest stars. The one that Alan was helping to build, and that

he would eventually leave on (he thought, he hadn't fully made up his mind about that.), was bound for Tau

Ceti and would take over four hundred years to get there. But what did that matter when you were immortal?

Time ceases to be a factor. There would be games and activities to keep you occupied during that time. The joke

was, it was all planned down to the last checkers board. There were trained psychologists on board to make sure

everyone on the seed ship was in fine mental health, despite being cooped up on a giant floating space ark.

Humans had tried to settle other planets in the solar system and it had even worked to a certain extent, but

only on a small scale. The future seemed to lie much futher out than that.

Alan had decided long ago he wanted to have children, and leaving Earth seemed to be the best way of going

about it. He didn't want to be a P8-6 death chaser, the name of the form that had to be filled in had given

its name to the people that were constantly trying to persuade others to take a chance on the afterlife.

Eventually he turned and walked back down the hill and got home as it was getting dark.

Later...

Shella was in her living room and available, so Alan dialled and waving to her, went over to sit down on her

sofa. The complicated software of the holobox was matching his room to her room, so that while he was sitting

down on his own armchair, it appeared to Shella that he was sitting down on her over-cushioned pink sofa.

'Hello Alan!' , she exclaimed.

'Hi babe, what you up to?'

'Nothing. nothing. Been off work all week. Summer holidays you know.'

'Right of course.', Shella was a teacher in Mombai, 'I wanted to ask you Shella. Have you ever thought about

seed ships.'

Shella laughed and flicked back her hair, 'What are you suggesting Alan?'

'Well. You know. I work for NextGen, and I have a passage booked on the Cassandra. I can take one other

person with me .. well you know, we would have never have met if our profiles hadn't have been matched up

on Multi-book.'

'We've been friends a long time since we met on MB Alan.'

'Yes I know', they had in fact been friends for over fifty years, Shella herself was over three hundred

years old.

'There are no girls in the UK you want to ask? Surely I am not the only woman you know?'

'Shella, you know I am a recluse. Statistics show that eighteen percent of FOY users are happy with their

own company.'

'Hmm, well, it's true, I did put that I wanted to take a seed ship on my MB profile, but that was fifty

years ago. Things might have changed with me, you know?'

'OK, well...' Alan smiled and stretched out on her sofa, he always felt at home and at ease in Shella's house.

Shella smiled back at him, her impish grin spreading over her girlish features,

'It would be just you and me would it?', she asked.

'Oh no. Gyles would come too. Statistics have shown that...'

'Yes yes', she cut him off, 'Let me think about it then.'

Later...

Alan was watching the holobox when there was an emergency newsflash. They had lost contact with the Aurora,

the first seed ship. A knot of tension in his stomach almost doubled him over as he continued to watch the

presenters talk about the situation. As was often the way with breaking news, they had virtually nothing

to go on, and the presenters endlessly interviewed each other until another nugget of information came

their way and they would all then discuss it and pass it round like a precious diamond.

What was known though was the Aurora had lost contact with the Lake Emerald Command Centre and concern

was growing with each minute. What had happened to the Aurora? The speculation was wide and varied. They

had blown up, they had lost power, they had lost their comms antennae in a particle storm, they had all

gone crazy and mangled the controls. Or maybe sabotage by religious infiltrators? Or maybe ... well it just

went on, because no one knew. There wasn't even any useful statistical data at all!

Alan watched and watched. He didn't eat, he barely noticed that it was already morning when some news did

actually find something out that was worth knowing. The Hubble II telescope had located the Aurora, she was off

course, but seemingly intact. She was five light years out from Earth, so what Hubble II was seeing was five

years out of date. But then, the messages they had been sending to LECC were five years out of date too.

Whatever had happened, had happened five years ago. Alan's head hurt and his heart ached. He went to bed and

slept fitfully and like the entire planet on waking he tuned back into the news. Hubble II, the space telescope

that orbited Saturn, was still tracking the Aurora. It seemed to be correcting its course. Everything looked

ok, but there were no messages. No communication.

He got an incoming visit request from Shella. He let her in his living room.

She sighed and flopped down on his couch.

'You look as tired as I feel.' , she groaned.

'Yes,' more than anything he wanted to hug her, but she was just a virtual projection, 'I suppose the trip

on the Cassandra is off. You could never want to come with me after this.'

'Don't be silly Alan. I had already made up my mind to come. I'm all packed and ready.'

Alan gasped, 'Really?'

'Sure. I've put some of my things into bags. I'm e-mailing you the details of the flight. It all should

arrive by SPD in a couple of weeks.'

Alan new that SPD stood for solar powered dirigible, there were no fuel guzzling aircraft anymore, the last

of the fossil fuels were still being used by the seed ships. Cassandra had an atomic reactor as a power source

but aviation fuel was always handy to have on board.

Something occurred to him, 'What about you. You're not taking the SPD?'

'No, I'm walking.'

'You're what?' he cried.

'I'm going to walk from India to the UK, yes, through Pakistan, Russia, Germany, France. I have it all planned.'

'But why?'

'Because this will be my last walk on Earth won't it? If we ever do come back. Well. It won't be for thousands

of years. The trip out will take four hundred.'

'Four hundred and fifteen.'

'Well there you are. I'm walking. See you in nine months.'

Shella broke the connection, leaving Alan alone and dazed.

Later...

As usual, he jogged home from work. It wasn't as if he had a choice. He hadn't eaten since lunch (a humus

salad, with a pro-biotic for pudding) so his stomach was rumbling.

It was raining a little so there wasn't as many people as usual on the weed grown path that lead into town.

There were still a few joggers around though, rain or shine, if you wanted the FOY, you had to keep fit.

Inexplicably there was a tall dark skinned woman with long raven black hair stood at his front door as he

jogged up his driveway.

He stopped beside her in bemusement before it dawned on him,

'Shella!'

Without thinking he embraced her,

'Get off me! You stink of sweat', she squealed.

He stood back and looked at her,

'Your last voc-mail said you were in London still!'

'I wanted to surprise you.'

'Well you look exhausted anyway, come on in. I'll put the kettle on.'

'OK, please, but then can we go an see it? The ship?'

'Sure sure. Hey! We're not frebbies any longer. This is for real!'

Shella rolled her eyes at him, 'You're such a nerd. Do you have any real life friends at all?'

Alan shrugged and nodded to the floppy dog that had joined them, 'Well, there is Gyles...'

Later that day...

'It's huge', was all she could say as they stood on Earl Hill and looked down on the seed ship that was now

completed and ready to launch. It was drizzling with rain so they had brought umbrella's.

'Yes. We are all set. Just three more years of pre-flight checks and then we go. We actually have to spend

a year on board before we set off, to acclimatise. That way, if we can't take the confinement we can just

step off and give our berth to someone else. Statistics have shown that..'

'Oh you and your statistics. I have never known a bigger FOY junky than you.'

Alan stood in nonplussed silence as Shella collapsed her umbrella and looked up at the sky then said,

'I love the feeling of rain on my face. Perhaps I won't be able to take it. Four hundred years on board a

crowded space ship.'

'I know, but if we want to have children then...', he let the sentence trail off.

'I was a P8-6 chaser for seventy five years. I'm not going back to that.'

He took her hand.

'What about the Aurora?'

She shrugged, 'It's still there. It's still going. It just lost its comms, that's all.'

'I love you.'

She smiled at him, 'Well, I love you too, even if you are a bit young for me. What do you want with an

old bat like me anyway?'

'I'm only sixty-three years younger than you.'

For a while after that they remained silent and Alan looked into her eyes, then across over to the seed

ship and finally up into the cloudy sky. He thought about the huge step they were about to take, and about

how humanity had traded something precious for something else. Was immortality really worth what it cost

in the loss of future generations? Thankfully they had another option, a seeminlgy inifinite universe to

expand out into. It would mean another great sacrifice, four hundred years of what would probably be

long periods of boredom and occasional bouts of soul crushing terror. Would it not have been easier to

accept his mortality in exchange for a son or a daughter? He didn't know, but he did know that it wasn't the

world that he lived in any more. In three years time Hydra would lift the seed ship up into space

and they would head off into the stars. They would be doing it for one reason only.

Eventually he said, 'Our children are going to be beautiful.'