The Prize - There Can Be Only One...

[Honey_B]

Inspired by the film, The Highlander, this thread stands alone with original characters and story. Allow me to introduce myself. In this thread, I am but your narrator. As an admirer of The Highlander and lover of men who wield a sword, I conceived of this thread as a gift to them.

http://www.deathstar.org/~sword/kurgan2.jpg

The date is December 7, 2001 and it is the time just before the Gathering. A handful of Immortals remain in the world and are scattered around the globe. Each has carved out a niche in modern society. Some have given in to the bittersweet agony that is love for an Immortal; others keep their affairs brief and superficial.

When the Gathering begins, the Immortals will “feel an irresistible pull towards a far away land, to fight for the prize.” In this thread, that will occur after the characters have established themselves with a female character.

To put all of the writers on the same page, allow me to elucidate on the mythology I have pulled from the original film. I will not be drawing from any other source, not the sequels nor the television series.

The Immortals
In the words of Juan Sanchez Villa-Lobos Ramirez, “From the dawn of time we came, moving down through the centuries, living many secret lives, struggling to reach the time of the Gathering; when the few who remain will battle to the last. No one has known we were among you until now.” Nobody knows where or when the Immortals came into being. History neglected to record their lives.

They differ from mortals in four crucial ways: An Immortal will heal quickly from almost any wound, they do not age, they are sterile from birth, and they can sense each other’s presence by an internal “Buzz” which occurs whenever another is near (within 100 ft). An Immortal can only be killed by decapitation. When an Immortal is killed, the one who dealt the blow receives the essence of the fallen. This is known as the Quickening.

The Quickening
More of a substance than an event, the Quickening can be described as all of an Immortal’s accumulated power and knowledge. The transfer of the quickening from a defeated Immortal to the victor is violent and quite similar to a major electrical storm, causing windows to explode and lights to short circuit. The receiver of such energy becomes that much more powerful.

Holy Ground
Again, quoting Ramirez, the Immortal is “safe on holy ground. No one will violate this. It’s tradition.” The Immortal cannot fight in sacred locations, which include any Holy Ground held sacred by any religion.

And now, my Immortals, the time of the gathering is close. It is your task to develop a character. Ideally your creations will be diverse, embracing the scope of history and geography. I have already selected four male writers for the parts based on their knowledge of the sword.

I will need four female writers to play opposite them. If you would like to join this thread, feel free to PM me.

 

[Swashbuckler]

The Viking

My jaguar purred throught the lamp lit streets of New Orleans, though I could barely hear the engine. The amplifier echoes were still ringing loudly in my ears. Today I was a Sven, the leatherlunged golden haired god front man for The Skalds. Today, I had been Sven of many names for eleven centuries. Today I was a wealthy and glorious icon. Tomorrow, I could be another faceless mystery from the gutter. That had been my cycle for endless decades.

I shook some of my wind blown locks from my face as I set out for nowhere and everywhere. Being an eccentric had its advantages for being a rockstar. I had to get away, the time was near. I could feel that.

It was as if the internal scoreboard in my head was telling me that it was overtime. I hurried, not knowing where I was going. I just had to go. It was finally my time with destiny. I had known of this for centuries. I shook my head furiously, futily; to keep the wieght of memories from crushing me. I never saw the sharp turn ahead. The jaguar's tires screamed in terror as they left the pavement, crashing through the guard rail.


I awoke a few moments later, I popped a seriously dislocated knee back into place. Looking at the smashed and blood splattered windshield I had to smile. "I am now a true rockstar. I am missing and presumed dead. Who knows, perhaps you'll be as big of an inigma as Morrison." I laughed into the night as I wrapped my black leather trenchcoat around me and inspected my longsword. I scrambled up the embankment as my jag slipped into the still depths of the mighty Mississippi, 'the father of waters' as Lincoln called it. I turned and walked down the shoulder of the deserted highway.

How many times had I turned and walked away on my own reported demise? I had lost count. The vision of the fogline of the highway faded before my leather bound footfalls, I began to run. Jumping a siderail I lost myself to memory....

It was dark, the sky was lit by flickering fires of burnign buildings in the swamp of the Siene. Screams of women and death cries of men could be heard from all around as I lept over the side of the gunnel. Sword in hand and ready to follow Rollo the Red to Valhalla, I lept. Trying to catch something to fill the air with my ballads once we returned to Norway. My wool wrapped feet splashed into the river as arrows fell around us. I slew the first man I came upon. I had lost count of the number of men that fell that night.

Then came the scent, filling my nostrils. A scent that I had only smelt a few times, thankfully. The scent of roasting human. The fabled Viking spits had begun. Rollo had ordered that the men of the brown robes be roasted alive, if they would refuse to fight us. Then the trouble began. They lit the boats on fire, one of the biggest political mistakes in history.

The orgy of blood intensified. Trapped forever from our homeland. We sought to punish the foolish Parisians. Like so many of my fellows that night, I siezed upon a young maid. Throwing her face first into the mud I set my sword aside as I took her. Enjoying her, enjoying the vengence of Rollo upon her. That is when I felt the thrust. As I drove into her clenched and resisting flesh, some unknown coward drove his sword straight through my heart from behind. I watched the explosion of blood from my chest as I exploded inside the french maid. Spraying her ass with my blood. I laughed as I grabbed my sword hilt and fell forward upon the bawling girl.

My sight went dark and I waited for the Valkyries...."they never came," I said as I climbed up into the cab of the truck that had pulled over for me. "Where ya headed, buddy?" The trucker asked with a freindly grin from below his crumpled ball cap. "I'm just headed," I replied as I laid my head back on his head rest. My trenchcoat fell open a bit, uncovering my bare chest and he said, "What the hell is up with the scar? You had heart surgery or somethin'?" "Yeah, somethin' like that...something like that," I said as I put my shades on to block out the brgithness of the moonlight.

I was glad he was a talker, he could hold me in the present for our time together....

 

[cgraven]

De Marquis du Maltemps

De Marquis du Maltemps was bored with court life. The king, his nobles, all little boys. Chasing the same little girls that they had been catching for years. He did not know which he hated more the pretended innocents or the true lack of sophistication in the court's de faire d'amour. Driven from his own country by the fortunes of war he was forced to live by the favors of this petty tyrant that thought himself a king.

The Marquis started his day as always with a long hot bath. Giles his manservant had scented the bath, laid out an appropriate custom for the day, and was now busy combing and powdering Maltemps wig.

After preparing for the day Du Maltemps decided to stroll about the market place to see if there was some bobble that might catch his fancy or maybe news from home. As always Giles was there servant and bodyguard. As they wandered through the market going from stall to stall the Marquis and Giles found themselves in a rather seeder section then they would have preferred.

"There is nothing here that interests me" Du Maltemps drooled with a slight lisp.

" We shall return to the main square Giles."

Four rouges had followed De Marquis du Maltemps and Giles marking them as a fop and his servant, an easy mark. As Du Maltemps and Giles turned they where confronted by this band.

"Stand and deliver. Your money or your life"

"Out of my way you saucy rouges" du Maltemps lisped.

The band of four spread out drawing their blades. They had heard the lisp but not seen the deadly glint in Du Maltemps eyes.

It only took minutes for the Marquis and Giles to dispatch the hapless little band. They had misjudged their mark. Du Maltemps had carried a sword for King Henry through more battles than he cared to remember until that little incident with the queen, but alas that is story a for another time.


All four laid dead in the gutter. A small crowed had collected, sword play always draws a crowd.

"Giles it is time to go." As he did so he caught a delightful glimpse of a very familiar well rounded young ass.

"Talia my dear is that you?"

Ah but that was another life time a go. How many had come and gone, touched his life down through the corridors of time. He remained the same a striking figure in his early thirties while they grew old and died. Dear faithful Giles had never questioned, nor had his father or his father's father. All had served the Marquise.

The 18th century had brought Him to New France with the "Troupe de Terre" and Montcalm, and this is where he had stayed. Each new life a new beginning with new friends as the old passed away, and each life only one true friend that new his secret. This time it had been Jean his death unexpected. There had been shock when he saw the announcement in the paper.

Paul-Jean Tougas- Bienoit PHD of Philosophy. Graduate of McGill University, Post graduate degrees from La Salla University. Veteran of the 22 Royal Canadian Engineers V. C. , D.S.O. for actions during the retreat at Dunkirk France 1940. His wife Alexandria Williams- Bienoit, and three sons Giles, Paul, and David survives M. Bienoit

Quebec seemed lonely now and there was a strange pull on his soul to go to a place yet unknow. A pull he must obey.

 

[kitsuke]

The world closes around me like a familiar glove. Looking out down the avenue I see paper lanterns, hung from buildings and power lines and lights indiscriminately. Tiny women hawk live chickens in huge voices, wrangling their customers to pay more than they want to. The smells wash over me and my eyes close to savor it. My ears and nose tell me I am back in Xu Chang, perhaps Jian Ye.

Then a horn blares. Oh yes, that's right. I am standing in the middle of the street like a damned idiot in San Francisco's China Town... damn. Nodding apologetically to the cab I hurry to the curb. Walking to Mei Fong's always brings back memories. That's why I do it at least three times a week, for at least ten years now.

Ten years already? I sigh heavily. Nearly time to move on again.

Arriving in the restaurant I hang my long overcoat on the hooks provided for regulars and seat myself at my table. The kitchens savory aroma reaches me as Mei Ling opens it's door and walks over to me. That sway in her hips would affect me a lot more if I hadn't known her since she was nine.

"You're late Jun." she says flatly as she sets a glass of water down for me. "As usual."

"And you are rude, Ling." I add, continuing our long tradition of adversarial meetings, "As usual."

Smirking at me she says in perfect Cantonese, "Welcome to Mei Fong. Would you like to order soup before your meal?" she blinks in a vapid way that makes me doubt my eyes. I had no clue she could do ditzy.

"What do you want anyway?" she continues in English, "The usual? Again?"

I decide to surprise her, "Tell you what, surprise me. I trust you."

The smirk stops as she is surprised by this. "Sure, Jun.", she says in a rush and hurries off before I can change my mind. Her backside makes me doubt that I have any memories about a scabby kneed tomboy from years ago.

Opening my paper I peruse the articles. It seems some idiotic rock star got high or drunk and wrapped his car around landscape in New Orleans. I'll bet his latest album goes double platinum by tomorrow. Nothing else happening of any note. Fluff stories all over the place. Maybe Ann Landers will be good today. I shudder as I think about if she had been around when I was with Liu... she and Chuko would have had invincible strategists for generations in their family if they had wed!

The kitchen opens again after a few minutes. The aroma makes me salivate and I look up as she unloads the tray. There seems to be an awful lot of it.

"Am I supposed to eat all of this?..' I trail off as she sets two plates out and sits across from me, serving up two plates of lunch. "Er, alright." This was new.

After a few bites Ling looks at me directly, "You never took me to the Fine Arts Museum like you promised.", she states.

What? When did I... Oh, wait. I told her when she was twelve that I would take her to see the exhibit that they put up. An anonymous philanthropist had donated a large sum of money and an extraordinary collection of items from ancient China. The art world had been stunned and Ling had wanted to go. As an anonymous philanthropist I had wanted to go along to see how the public appreciated it. I had promised her that I would take her when I went. Before we could go I had had to attend to some "business" in Germany. We never had made it after all.

"I'm sorry Ling," I begin, "but that was so long ago. You probably wouldn't be interested anymore."

"You said an upright and honorable man is nothing without his word." she says scathingly, "You promised me. Aren't you honorable?"

Ouch. Guerilla tactics of the worst kind. I give in, I'll take her.

"Okay, you win!" I say, holding my hands up in mock surrender, "Tell you what, if you are free tonight we can go. I don't have any business until day after tomorrow anyway. What say I pick you up around eight or so?"

I am graciously given permission to pick her up at that time and I finish my meal in bemused and perplexed silence. It really wasn't like her to play hardball. I just hope she'll dress appropriately for the museum. Kids do have weirtd ideas of "acceptable" nowadays.

God, I sound old.

Wait, I am.

 

[faith]

Mei Ling

Walking out the back door of the restaurant, I put on my helmet. God how Jun infuriated me. Starting the bike, I head out. He treats me like I’m nine. How can one man be so dense? I head for the ocean. Letting the memories engulf me…

~One after another the bombs exploded. There was so much joy and the fireworks were so very beautiful to behold. In a week, I would be ten. My father had promised to take me into the town, to let me buy a trinket for my birthday. I couldn’t wait! Coming today was just an added treat. Father had business to attend to… Then it happened. One of the fireworks misfired. Going into the crowd of onlookers. One minute I was holding my father’s hand, the next he was on the ground. His blood splattered all over me. He was the only family I had and in a heartbeat, he was gone. I started screaming as my world collapsed. Suddenly from out of nowhere there was a man kneeling, my father's friend. Coming eye to eye with me. He opened his arms and I found my refuge...

~Why do you leave me here? The question remained the same. How many times had I ask him this. The answer was always different but the outcome remained the same. Jun was leaving me at the mission school yet again. This time he promised to take me to the museum, now he was telling me that he couldn’t, something about going to Germany. How could he lie to me like this. I was twelve. Almost a woman, why couldn’t he see how I loved him. He treated me like such a baby….

How long ago had that been…two hundred and … well it didn’t really matter because to the all knowing one I was still nothing more than a lost frightened child.

Different city, different century but the song remained the same… Well guess what Jun…. I’m damn well changing the record old man…

my laughter rings out…

 

[jinnysub]

Andi

Andrea (Andi) is 19, emaciated and dirty. Her long brown hair is greasy and dirty, her face streaked with tears and grime. Her clothing is a simple, dirty man's T-shirt and a pair of oversized shower thongs. Her hazel eyes are dull.

Lying in the back of the truck's cab on a pile of blankets and unwashed sheets, I'm surprised by the fact that John has picked up a hitchhiker. This is only the second time he's done that since he kidnapped me a month ago. The first time was another woman who got out soon after he started to threaten to make her his slave as he has done me.

Her knife, and what sounded like a willingness to use it, may have had something to do with the fact that he let her out of the cab. I was happy for her, although John's treatment of me that week was the worst I've endured since he threw me in the back of his truck that night at the truck stop in Idaho.

Each day that he keeps me in here is another day that I find myself with less will to live. My will to fight left after only two or three days of beatings. My will to endure left after a week, I realize as I rationally look back over the last month. That left only a will to live, to survive, that is now flagging.

The only time I've been let out of his sight was to go into a drug store to get what I needed for my period a week ago. I wished the five days of my flow had lasted forever, but when they ended, I realized that the only way out of this was to find a way out of life.

We stop at truck stops, but I'm not even allowed outside to use the restroom. The only restroom I've known now for a month has been the bushes, and even then he's standing over me, allowing me no opportunity to run. The only bath I've known has been a creek or borrow pit, and then only when we're travelling through countryside warm enough so that no ice forms. Open water, the types of vegetation I must use for a bathroom, and the sound of the cities are the only clues to where I might be at any time.

I know John is sure that I'm at a point where I wouldn't dare to make a sound to alert the hitchhiker of my presence, and he's close to being correct. I'll only let the hitchhiker know I'm here if I can find the opportunity to do so with no chance of John knowing. I'm sure he'd kill the man if I don't do it right. And I'm afraid he won't kill me.

Then I begin to wonder just why he has picked up a hitchhiker, any hitchhiker. The man sounds friendly. Maybe he's someone that John has picked to rob or worse. His life may be in danger if I can't warn him. And his life is certainly in danger if I don't warn him carefully.

Too tired and hungry to think this hard any longer, I fall asleep, my only respite from this hell.

 

[Swashbuckler]

Sven

The beaten and tired frieghtliner pulled away into the Louisianan night. The sound of building rpms and the thunk of gears entered my mind. "I'm John," the flanel shirted rough man said as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes. "Sven," I replied with a hlaf grin. Accpeting the offered smoke. I pulled out a slightly battered silver zippo that still shown the raised relief of a balinese mermaid. Snapping my fingers at the lid twice I ignited the yellow fringed blue flame and lit my smoke.

I slid the lighter back into my pocket and adjusted the longsword beneathe my trenchcoat against the rocking seat. As John chatters away loudly, I hear the faintest sond from the sleeperberth. My senses aroused I begin observeing the cab closely out of the corner of my eye. Nothign out of the ordinary, but down aroud the gearstick, a torn pair of pink lace panties. An eyebrow raises distractedly. "I wonder," I say aloud not realizing I had.

"What's that?" John asks roughly as he accerates down the highway. Following my gaze to the floorboards, his eyes glisten when they reach the panties. Blowing smoke out the windwing as I turn to stare into the darkness. Sven damint, you can't get involved with this. You know what is happening! I shake my head, "I sound just like...," I trailed off realizing I was speaking. "What?" John asked. "Oh, sorry, I'm just real tired, man," I say looking back at him. "Got any tunes in this thing?" I ask hopefully. Anythign to get my mind off finding out what is back there in the sleeper.

Turning back to the road as he pulls the panties off the floor, rubbing the lace between two meaty fingers he gestures silently to the stereo. I hit the seek to reveal some BOC crackling through the static.

Loosing myself in the music for a moment...
I have this feelin'
My luck ain't none to good
"So, Sven, ever palyed with knives and girls?" John asks in a hushed tone. Hearing what can only be described as a squeak from the sleeper I turn to face him, glancing out of the corner of my eye at the curtain, remaining silent.
...This sword here at my side don't act the way it should
Keeps callin' me its master
But I feel like its salve
"And you have I suppose?" I ask as my eyes narrow.
To an early, early grave

John held silent for a moment. Not moving, not speaking just staring out at the rushing up highway. Then turning to me with that crazed look that only can float into the irises of men on the brink killing, "Yesssss," he hissed with a strange grin.
...I'm told its my duty to fight against the law
That wizardry's my trade
And I was born to wade through gore
Staring into his eyes as he slid off into a rest stop I took up singing along..
I just want to be a lover
Not a red eyed screamin' ghoul
I wished it had picked another
To be its killin' fool....
The brakes hissed as John pulled the dashvalves, "Lemme show you somethin', Sven," he said as he rose from his seat and pulled out a knife. Reaching for the curtain with his left hand. Iseized it in an iron grip string at his eyes. My mind arguing with my fool's heart, Damnit, you don't have time for this idiot! But I could not stop myself.

Suddenly, his knife plunged into my chest as he swore at me. I fell back into the canvas coughing blood. "That's grattitude for ya," John stated as cold as seven day corpse before screaming, "ANDI!!!!" as he tore the curtain aside. He drug an emaciated young girl out of the sleeper. She was so weak and abused she hardly had the heart to protest. She screamed upon looking at me as he drug her out of the cab. Her eyes locked on mine as they got out, I gave her a wink.

She was screaming on the ground when I stepped out of the cab he had her on the asphault of the parking lot with his kinfe raised above his ball cap when I scared the hell out of him. "John, I forgot to tell you, I just hate it when people kill me," I said as calm as if I was chatting in a sidewalk cafe. He whirled around, knife poised. His face went white as I pulled my sword out from my jacket, "I graduated to swords myself; but if you are one of those that buys the size doesn't matter line...who am I to argue?" I asked with a smile, my sword point resting non-chalantly on the toe of my boot as I whistled Black Blade with the stereo.

He lunged as clumsily as a pregnat ox, his headless body slamming into the side of the trailer before his head hit the ground. Walking over to kneel before the trembling urchin on the ground...
And I'm the cosmic champion
And I hold a mystic sign...
"Hi I'm Sven," I said as freindly as possible, just knowing it was the stupidest thing she had ever heard in her life.

 

[kitsuke]

Lao Jun

The gutter is overflowing. It's raining again. Might as well live underwater. My shoes are soaked and so are the socks underneath. Damn puddle, ambushed me. Why the hell does she insist on living in this second story walkup on this horrible street is beyond me. The rent is way too much and I could certainly afford a better place for her. Oh well, it is her decision.

I'm early, about twenty minutes. Knocking on her door I am not surprised when she opens it not ready. Just the towel on is what takes me by surprise. Ling has picked up some curves that I have never had occasion to pay attention to before, and they are certainly abundant.

"Um," I begin brilliantly, "I'm early?" Like it's a question.

She opens the door to let me and I can feel her smirk burning into the back of my skull. I lay my coat across the arm of her couch and remember my soaked shoes.

"I need to use your dryer for a bit if you don't mind. Stepped in the middle of a lake on my way up.", I already know the laughter is going to start now.

"The door in the kitchen, that's the laundry room.", her voice is surprisingly soft, and even though I can tell she is amused she seems reserved. So I go back and toss my socks on ehr dryer and then my shoes. What the hell, I can buy six more pairs tomorrow.

Walking back in the living room I hear her in the back humming softly to herself as she goes about the various feminine "getting ready" rituals. A large curtained bay window lines one side of her place, out of mild curiousity and boredom I draw it open.

Oh. This is why she insists on living here. Even at night the Bay is beautiful. The lights of the city and the bridge reflecting off of it in a softly undulating visual symphony of blended lights. Further out than that the darkness of the waves eclipses stars low on the horizon for a moment and then reveals them aagin, a sort of celestial peek-a-boo game with the unfortunates stuck on the surface of this mudball. Enchanted with the view I quite lose track of time...

 

[caspai]

Dominique

Pulling my long wool coat around me, I shivver at the cold of the Canadian winter. Damn, I need to get into the sun. How can a person live like this? All these clothes...How can a person think with so many clothes on? The long wool coat is the only concession I can make for the weather. Underneath, I wear a chocolate brown leather halter and miniskirt, and my stockined legs end in ankle boots that exactly match the color of the outfit.

Having seen the newspaper, I just know his lordship is going to be moody. Death affects him so strangely. The only death I have ever truly been affected by was my first one...

The sun was beating down fiercly. I had been given a bowl of chocolate to drink earlier, a rare treat for those not of the royal line. I knew, as I drank it, that there were drugs in it. They weren't really necessary, but I was greatful at the thought that had gone into it.

This was the day I had been preparing for as long as I could remember. I had been taught, and trained, and well guarded so that I would be acceptable as tribut to Tlaloc. Today was my day of destiny.

I feel the drugs beginning to flow through me, dulling my senses. I am being taken out into the hot sun, and I hear the murmur of the crowd. I wish I could focus more clearly, but everything seems to be happening from a great distance.

I am being half carried, and half walk by myself, up the long steps of the temple. Up to the very top. The steps are made so that climbing up is easy, but you have to know the secrets of the temple to easily and safely make it back to the ground. I do not know these secrets. They are not necessary for me.

Time seems to no longer mean anything to me. The sun is on my skin, and I enjoy the feel of it. Suddenly my cloth dress is ripped from my body. It is not unexpected, so it does not frighten me. I am beyond being frightened at this point, anyway. Feeling the heat of the sun beating down on my breasts, I look up to the statue of Tlaloc just above me. The tears in his eyes are water for my soul. My death will ensure the rains so necessary for the corn to grow. There is a sudden flash as the obsidian blade rushes toward me. The pain of its entry is intense, and immediately clears my fogged mind. Suddenly, everything comes into sharp focus. A scream rips out of me, try as I might to keep it in. I feel my ribs being spread apart, and the darkness begins to hover just at the edges of my sight. The pain of my beating heart being cut from my body is indescribable, and I know that I will have just enough time left in life to experience the smell of my own heart being thrown into the fire. I look at the priest holding the still beating organ, and can hardly believe that it is truely my own heart. As the blackness begins to close over me, the heart is burned. Yes, it must be my last experience before coming before Tlaloc...

With a gasp, I sit up, everything coming again into clear and sharp focus. The pain, however, is gone. I reach a hand frantically to my chest, and the wound is gone. My heart is still beating under my hand. How can this be? I look up at the shocked face of the priest, his hands and the obsidian dagger still showing the blood from my execution. A shocked silence fills the crowd, and then the murmurs...

Shaking myself back to the present, I shivver again. If I keep thinking about those times, my mood will be just as dark as his Lordship.

 

[jinnysub]

Everything was happening in slow motion. No, a series of stop action frames. No sound. No feeling. Just visual vignettes.

The curtain is drawn back savagely. John's knife in the stranger's chest. John's hand on my neck. A wink from a dead man. Me looking up from the pavement at John's knife plunging toward my heart. A sword. John's head rolling until it stopped up against the tire of the cab, its mouth set in a grimace of surprise.

A man, a dead man, standing over me.

I stirred. I was being carried by the dead man. The living dead man. I almost screamed, thinking that it was John, but something made me look up, look up to see if the person carrying me had a head. He did. It was the living dead man, the one killed by the stab in the chest, not John, beheaded. Somehow, this made perfect sense to me at the time.

The man was carrying me gently, as if I were precious. I curled into his arms and looked up into the most beautiful smile I had ever seen in my life. He winked, and everything came back to me, the vignettes and the sounds and sensations and action that accompanied those vignettes. I opened my mouth to scream at the sheer horror of that recollection, and he held me closer, like a babe being shushed by its mother.

He mouthed one word. "Wait."

We were walking down a long hallway, richly carpeted and appointed. Memories from a life long hidden came slowly back and I recognized that we were in a hotel of some sort, a very fancy one.

My protector swiped the credit card lock and took me into a room, a suite of rooms and lay me gently on the bed.

"Miss, would you like to take a little nap? Or should I open this refrigerator and get you a little something to eat? Maybe just some fruit juice?"

I nodded my head at the thought of orange juice, my stomach knotting at the thought of food, any food, my mouth salivating, almost drooling. Getting the juice, he turned away briefly, rummaged in his pockets, and then poured the juice into a hotel glass. He came to the bed, lifted my head gently, his huge hands cupping my head as if it were a newborn's, and he gave me just a little taste of juice, no more than 3 or 4 ounces. "No, no...it won't do for you to drink too much, too soon. Just lie back now and sleep."

I don't know how long I slept, but I awoke tucked into a beautiful king-sized bed suffused with the scent of ... clean... Slowly, realization of my circumstances dawned on me as I saw the form of a massive man stretched out on a couch across the suite from me.

Then I also began to become aware of more of my circumstances. My hands where they broke my fall onto the pavement had been washed and bandaged. Nor were they all that had been washed. My hair had been shampooed and lay like a wreath on my pillow. The scent of juniper in my hair was like heaven.

I was naked under the covers, and without looking, I knew that I, too, had been bathed. I felt clean, clean for the first time in weeks.

The man's eyes opened. And again he winked.

 

[Swashbuckler]

Sven

I tried to be as gentle as I could, but the poor thing had fainted. Must have been her first murder, I shrugged and picked her up. I got her in the cab and laid ehr out on the sleeper before cleaning up the body. Nice of John to provide trasportation and a storage for his corpse before he commited suicide, I thought as I threw his head into the trailer's open door. Shutting the tomb of John with a metallic screech in the Louisianan night.

I had turned the stereo off so that she could sleep as I headed down the highway. Dawn was starting to break so I pulled us off the road and found an abandoned wharehouse. Backed up to the dock and carried her, across the railroad tracks to a frontage road. I got her to walk, the valumes I slipped her were wearing off a bit. Finding a cab I told him to take us to the best hotle in town, handing him a franklin for his troubles. I don't know how long we drove in the cab. It seemed ages with her half sleeping, wrapped in my leather jacket. Her own clothes unusable, anyway.

We pulled up and got out of the cab. An eager bell hop came out and assisted me, unnessisiarrily with my new freind. "Any luggage," the kid asked as the cabbie opend the trunk. Pulling out John's dufflebag, that only contained my sword now, I responded, "I can manage, you just help my sister here, she has had a few too many." He grinned a horny adolescent grin as he assisted, Andi, if I remembered right. Reachign the front desk I gave a twenty to the bell hop and told him to make her comfortable. I registered us and paid in cash. I asked where I could find a western union, luckily one was not far away. I had to get a new identity before I could find creditcards useful again. Making mental note to call zurich when I got the chance I got our key. Slinging the bag over one shoulder and dismissing the leering bellman I took Andi, with a bit of difficulty to the bridal suite. Poor dear needed a little pampering, I had thought, and what the hell.

I laid her out on the bed. She was gone. I removed her dirty rags she had been dying in for Odin knows what time. She was beautiful. Dirty, maltreated, beaten to within an inch of life; but stunningly gorgeous. As painful as it was I resisted the urge to kiss her split lips on the spot and ran to the bathroom and began to fill the huge jacuzzied heart shaped tub.

When the tub had filled and was bulging with bubbles, the steamy air filled with the soft scent of bath salts. I returned with her. I lowered her into the tub carefully, not to wake her. Her starved, dirty, and bruised skin sank into the solace of the bubley waves. The jets carressing her wounded flesh. I shook my head and took a deep breathe before beggining. I used a large fruit bowl to lean her head back into to wash the grease, dirt, and blood from her hair. Massaging her scalp, lathering her ends. A fresh bowl full or three of water was gently poured over her dark locks to rinse.

I wrapped her hair in a heated towel and began scrubbing her flesh. Rubbing soapy hands deep into her tensed shoulders. Gently massaging her temples and cheek bones. Liberaly applying handfuls of soapy bubbles to her brused breasts, washing them until they were polished clean and nipples erect.

And so it went. One arm, down to the figners, gliding in and out between them to cleanliness. Then the other. Leaning her forward to wash her back, taking my time and exploring the wicked bruises of a broad belt. Deep, odd shaped bruises left by buckles.

Lifiting one foot into the air and massaging her toes. Rubbing the dirt and road shards from her soles. I could not help but to allow myself one good, quick suck on her big toe. Then masasaging the cramps and knots from her calfs.

Climbing into the tub and propping her on one side I washed and deeply massaged her thighs. Being ever so carefull of the cigarette burns on her high inner thigh. "I must say, it was a pleasure to rid the world of you John," I said to myself as I pressed on to her most tortured fleshfrom her thighs. She Groaned and twitched. I Got out of the tub and watched her carefully for a moment, dripping at a safe distance. She returned to dazed sleep, and I returned to finish.

After she was all washed up and cleaned. I dried her off. Brushed her long brown hair gently, removing all signs of snarls. I carried her to the bed, threw back the blankets, and laid her down to rest. I inspected my handy work like a master artist. I smiled quietly for a long itme scanning her gorgeous, emaciated form before I pulled the covers up and tucked her in with a lithe kiss to her dried and cracked lips.

I went and sat down on the sofa, drawing my sword out of John's filthy bag with distaste as I cast it aside, I set to work. Sharpening, cleaning, and oiling as my mind started to drift to long ago days.

"There will come times, when the killing maybe a pleasure," The Minoan was saying. His dark curly hair surrounding his olive complected face. "Paris," I replied drinking the stale meade from the bladder as I polished my blade, "I do not mind the killing. War is life," I grinned as I added "I am still chasing the Bifrost bridge, I will not be denied my Valkyrie," I laughed. Knowing that the serious, self righteous ancient one would not be pleased. Paris turned to me and drew his sword, "Alright then, you barbarian! Pick up your sword! If you will not learn your importance, die now and get it over with. I waste no more tiem with you!" I could not beleive it. The first real freind I had had in a lifetime, challenging me to death. "Sit my dark freind, drink," I offered, knowing, as did he that with a sword he was not my match. He just screamed and swng his heavy bronze bladed sword over his head. I rolled off the fallen tree by the forest path. Parrying blows as I backed away from his onslaught. His eyes burning with bloodlust and tears as he attacked. I new that he was in trouble, before my mind realized what my arms were doing. I picked his blade off, a breath from my chest. movig inside his attack, and swinging high. The head of my freindtilted to one side, hanging in the air forever in a second, as his body crumpled to the dewy turf. My golde locks bathed in the droplets of life as his head spun and tumbled....the lightning hit me once again....

I shook my head clear, wiping the tear from my eye, I had been saving a girl then too, I thought with a sad smile. I rose and headed intothe bathroom. Showering and wahing out the tub myself. Returning I dressed and headed out leaving a DND on the doorknob.

After getting a few thousand wired to me from my account in Zurrich, I returned. he was as peaceful as an angel on the bed, still and quiet. I smiled at her as I kicked off my boots and put my bare feet up on the footboard f the bed. With my sword lain across my thighs. Forged in the finest foundry of any Norwegian fjord, my home village, my grandfather's smoky smithy...I shook my head. Just staring at her under the sheets, how wonderful she was. I smiled as I drifted off to sleep.

I heard her stirring and opened my eyes, only to wink at her, "Good morning," I said pleasnatly. "Well it must be morning somewhere, luv," I said with a grin looking out a windw at the midnight skies. "Hungery yet?" I asked rising and laying my blade aside on the sofa cusshions, stepping away from it. To show I meant her no harm. Wishing that she would not immeidiatley start screaming loudly.

"I bought you a soem clothes, I hope they fit, I am not very good at picking out women's clothes," I said gesturing to the pile of boxes on the floor. "I hear they have a salon downstairs, if you need your hair or nails done in the morning," I offered in a soothing voice. "But for now how 'bout some food, I'm starved," I said as I raised the receiver of the phone to my chest waiting for her reply. "OH! I almost forgot, I am Sven, not sure if you remember that or not," said grinning, "and you are?" I asked wnating to make sure of what she wnated to call herself. Not knowing if John, in his insanity had given the name I heard earlier.

 

[faith]

Mei Ling...

Humming to myself, I looked in the mirror as I give myself the finishing touches. What I see is a 19-year-old woman with high exotic cheekbones in a delicate face. I am small. I wear my hair long, Tonight it’s loose. It’s inky blackness brushing my hips. I am slender but that is deceptive. I had developed a strength and stamina that was at odds with my appearance.

Standing in the doorway, I watch as Lao looks out the window. His stillness is something I have never been able to mimic. I know he has lost all track of time. Moreover, I know he is equally aware of my every move. He knows me as no other. Yet, he does not see me as I am.

In the last two hundred years, I had taken lovers but my heart and soul had never been compromised. I belonged to him even if he does not realize it. He could be such a dork for an Eighteen hundred year old man. I can’t prevent the mischievous grin that passes my lips at that thought. I have seen the beautiful women who flock to him. Initially it is his looks that guarantee that he will never be alone unless he chose to be, but it is his eyes that keep them coming back. With nothing more that a look he could strip you bare to the soul. For all that, he had never really looked at me. There had been others that I had met who possessed that power. Only a hand full in over 200 years, but they had used it on me full force. If he were to ever find out about them, lord I didn’t even want to consider it. Just thinking about how angry he would be…

Looking around the apartment, I wondered what he sees. I know it is below the standards he wanted for me but I like it. Actually it is the people in the neighborhood and the view out that window that had made me chose this place in the first place. Giving a mental shrug, it also fit the requirements he had set forth so long ago. It stood on holy ground, as had every place I had ever lived in. The mission was long gone but that didn’t change the blessing. At work the soup kitchen in the basement of the restaurant had been blessed too, so I was protected there as well.

“Jun, I’m ready as soon as you are…”

Smiling inwardly Boy am I ever ready all-knowing-one

 

[jinnysub]

Andi

"Andi. My name is Andi. Clothes?" Blushing, I realized that I was naked under the covers. Naked, but clean, and that reassured me somewhat.

My eyes couldn't leave the blade lying on the bed. The blade that confirmed all the memories of John's knife plunging to my breast, then severed head rolling to a stop beside the wheel, and...before that... the knife in Sven's chest.

"You had a knife in your chest. And you winked at me. How?"

He looked thoughtful, almost disconcerted, then began grinning. "How? Like this." And he turned to me, loomed a bit over the bed, and aimed the most exaggerated stage wink at me that I had ever seen. And the most ridiculous.

Initially, I was a little angry for him making fun of my question, but that grin on his faith was infectious. I began to giggle, then to laugh as well. The first laugh in a long time. That realization sobered me and I repeated my question.

"How? And you know what I'm talking about. John's knife. In your chest. I saw it. I KNOW I saw it. Because you winked at me, almost as you just did. I couldn't dream up that wink, not on someone as ... someone like you." I almost said "handsome" but stopped myself in time. But it was true. If my dreams were of a hunk like this, it wouldn't be his wink that they would be focusing on.

 

[Swashbuckler]

Sven

"You had a knife in your chest, and you winked at me? How?!?" Andi asked. Was it complete disbelief, terror, or curiosity that twinged in her voice? I did not know. "I can explain that," I tried to reassure her. Just as the words rolled off my lips, I realized what a mistake that was. I could feel the color falling from my face. I felt myself sinking into the sofa. The receiver falling into my lap, the connection buzzing in my ears, fading...fading...

"Bu..but, you...you're dead!" The caustic asailant said. Blood still dripping from his blade. The yellowed and fraying cards, splattered with crimson droplets. The mass of coins glinting in the candle light off the smoke grimed floor of the tavern. As I rasie my head from the floor. I spit the remains of the blood from my mouth on to his boots, "Sir, I would suggest that you raise your sword. For you have met the angel of death," I hiss at the fool. His smile vanished from his mustached lip. The broad brim of his hat almost drooped. His ruffled cervat, sank in his chest. "I told you sir to walk away fromt his table with your life if not your money, you chose not to," I said righting myself the blood from my breast, staunched and reclosed. Drawing my sword from beneathe my sky blue cloak, he and his braggart freinds turn and fled the inn. Laughng and resheathing my now ancient weapon, heavier for slicing through armors, a slashing weapon as opposed to the ones you could actually live after loosing that they used today. The faces of the serving wench that had been kneeling over me after I found myself on the floor. Her eyes asked the same question...

Returning from the 17th century as Andi asked again, "You were stabbed, weren't you?" I blinked myself back from memory. I hung up the receiver for a little quiet. Reaching into my jacket pocket I pull out a cigarette. Lighting it, I say, "Well I might as well start at the beginning," flashing Andi a grin that I knew she could not know the meaning to. "Andi," I begin as blue smoke falls from my lips into the room. "Andi," I say again as my eyes glaze over, "what you are about to hear is the truth. Though you would be the first to hear it in over a hundred years. And probably will not believe it. No one has, yet," I add as a tear wells unnoticed in my eye.

Uncotrolably, reflexively I grab my sword and hold it up, admiring its rigid beauty. Emotionless, cold steel. Perfection. "You see this here is life, for me at least," I say. My name is Sven, son of Eric, son of...well, it goes on a bit from there," I add with a sad smile lowering the blade and releasing the hilt. I was born some two score years before the founding of the Duchy of Normandy in a small village of Norway. I set sail with Rollo the Red and was sacking Paris. That all came to a violent end, as is fitting. However, life spent chasing rainbows..." I stopped and shook my head.

Inhaling the smoke again, the ash lengthening before the reddish glow before trying a new aproach. "I was a Viking, a skald actually, but that is long past. I am Sven. I am immortal. I have been denied the caress of the Valkyries for, going on 11 centuries now. I love life after life, same age as I was when my mortal life was taken from me. Never growing old. Never...never having any peace..." my voice was failing. "You see, Andi, I live only to die. A goal that I have managed to be successful enough at to fail at for a thousand years, Loki's Boots! Has it been so long?" I ask myself aloud.

"Andi, please, I am rambling a bit," I say wiping a tear from my eye. "I am Sven the Viking, immortal and at your service," I smile bowing my head to her. "The only way I can be killed, is not through a blow to the chest, crashing a car is only a loss in that I loved the car. I can only die if my head leaves my shoulders. To die by the sword. I have sought that for so long it is a blur. I hope you do not think I am insane, though if I were it would be a blessing."

"All I ask is that you not fear me, I mean you no harm. Forgive me, I did bathe you, but I thoguht it would do you some good," I smile tryign to reassure this tormented creature before me. "Andi, you are quite beautiful; but I assure you I did nothing to shmae either of us," I stammer out. "I just bathed you."

I felt like such an ass, she was goign to think me just the same as that monster who had her trapped in that truck. As I watched her I said some wise words I had once heard my grandfather say when I was a small boy, were repeated now by my own lips, "Skalds must be cautious, it is a heavy burden the truth. Others may not wish to hear what must be said..."

I shok my head and looked into her eyes. "Andi, I will go intothe other room. You can dress, after that you can leave," I said waling to the door to the other room of the suite. In a voice just over a whisper I said with a heavy heart, "I would love for you to dine with me first, Andi. But the choice must be yours."

There was something about this one. I thought to myself. I wnated to assureher that I meant her no harm, that she would be safe with me, though in my heart I knew that I was at the brink of the greatest challenge of my life. What right did I have to ask her to stay with me? none..

 

[jinnysub]

I looked at Sven's back as he closed the door, searching my soul for a response to his incredible story.

I found pity there. I had learned with John what loneliness meant, I thought. Now I could fathom depths of loneliness that I would never have to deal with, which this man must face daily.

As I opened the packages of clothing, I gasped at the utter expense of what he had purchased. I had never had silks next to my skin before, and as I slipped into the panties, it was as if the scabs on my legs were being salved by the silk's sheer smoothness. I marvelled at his foresight, too, as if he knew that I loved the feel of a chemise rather than a bra at times. Or, maybe, he felt he hadn't a clue as to proper fit of a bra? That, too, showed his care, for not many men would understand the personal idiosyncracies of bra fit and suitability.

A fine woolen skirt, and again, silk for the blouse.

Stockings. Here, my smile grew. He may have had some foresight as regards my other underthings, but he seemed to not realize that these stockings needed something to hold them up! I put them back in the bag, resolved not to bring this up to him.

The shoes were exquisite Italian pumps, sturdy enough to wear outside but...beautiful...and...so unusual, comfortable. Comfortable from the first slip into them.

Then I thought of Sven's choosing these clothes for me. Whom did he ask to shop for him? He surely could not have braved the lingerie section of these expensive stores, could he? A glance at the bags told me that he hadn't even stopped at an upscale department store, one stop for everything, but rather had visited many shops, actually shopping for these items.

It must have been he, though. He said he had bathed me (my face burnt at the thought) and only someone as familiar with me as that could have so perfectly chosen these clothes.

At the thought of his bathing me, though, shame and fear took my mind from thoughts of Sven's shopping. He must have seen the scars, the wounds, on my body. What could he think of someone who had allowed such things to happen to her?

Dressed, sans stockings, I went into the outer room of the suite and found Sven moodily staring at the floor. He didn't move, didn't look up. Impulsively, I leaned over and gave his cheek the tiniest of kisses. "I would love to dine with you."

Tears filled my eyes.

"Could we dine here? I don't have any make-up and ... I'm not sure if I could hold up in a public place."

 

[kitsuke]

Lao Jun

"Jun, I'm ready as soon as you are.", came to me from across the little apartment.


"Her Imperial Majesty, Princess Yu!", the stuffy old man announced. He had a title, regrettably I could not recall it as Yu entered the room. Clad in the blue silks of the righteous dragon she glided towards the dais. Her face was serene as she proceeded and her hair trailed down her back in a long cascade, nearly touching the floor. The adoration of nearly every male in the court was readily apparent. Is this the girl I have been protecting nearly her entire life?

Is this the girl I have been protecting nearly her entire life?

Long black hair drops straight down her back, molding temptingly in the dim light of the place. A dark green gown, probably pure silk by some obscure designer, hugs her body. A slit up to the knee on one side reveals a calf, firm and toned by the rigours of work at the Mei Fong. She wears no stockings or nylons, but then again she has never needed them. Her shoes are small heeled things with straps. I couldn't begin to imagine how those must feel after a day of work. She seems to be doing just fine though. The, um... let's be blunt, the chest region of the dress hugs to her even more shapely curves than I had suspected, hinting at what lies undrneath while only revealing what the neckline, moderately deep as it is, chooses to. A small gold chain is wrapped around her neck, a tiny clasp hangs from the front of it amost seeming to point downwards and distract one's attention. She wears little makeup, a touch of eyeshadow, a hint of lipstick. Not that she has ever needed it. Her family has always been handsome. Every several generations they produce a child who is simply stunning.

My mouth has been open. I know because I feel like a neglected barn door. Wordlessly I cross the room and take her coat from by the door, draping it over her bare shoulders. Shrugging into my own overcoat I open the door for her and spread a large umbrella just outside the door, waiting for her to pick up her small handbag and lock her door once we are outside.

A short walk to my car and we are off to the museum. I don't know yet if I trust myself to speak, so I simply smile at her and drive.

 

[Inkubus]

Eleazar de la Luz

Xochil

I can honestly tell you I don’t remember much of my childhood. Nor do I recall much of what is called life. I think there is not much sadder than a man who has lived too long… so long that your past becomes a sea of grey… but tear not for me, dear reader, for my life is actually a happy one….now. I can recall the Impressionable moments in my life… I remember as a boy when gold lusting raiders swarmed over our lands, in particular a nightmare driven west by a goal even darker then gold….for he sought heads and although I didn’t know it at the time, he sought mine. When Castillano tore through our village I remember being singled out and I ran for shelter. But, as is the case when the world as you know it is ending, the belief that every man for himself began to reign supreme. No one would shelter me. In truth I was shoved into his path, so I did what any other brave boy would have done. I ran… I ran until I could run no more and then I forced myself to run again. In the distance I came upon an abandoned mission. The San Antonio Mission was long since abandoned but the Inichinabe were devout caretakers and still treated the grounds as sacred. I raced though the archway and practically flew into the church. I prayed with the faith of a child about to be consumed by a demon bent on genocide… I heard the hoof beats stop outside the mission, I heard the growl of fury as he stood in impotent rage. I prayed and, in truth, I was sure that it was only my prayers and my faith that kept him from claiming my life. I don’t know how many hours I knelt in devout faith but the end result …was to my child like mind a miracle. This demon from a far away land left and I prayed I would never see him again. This moment is pretty clear in my mind…needless to say.

The next wave in the sea of grey that is my memory is when Hoang made his way to my village. Needless to say we have many diffrent cultures in my lands and myriads of languages but this wizened looking oriental was a sensation in my village. He came as teacher, and he did not force any religon or laws unto us...merely knowledge. He went out of his way to teach me, a fact that was odd considering I was seen as an oddity in my village. From him I learned of the empires beyond my little village...about other languages and how to write and speak them. I learned better farming techniques and .... the truth.

Hoang tried to teach me the art of the blade but in honesty...allthough Kali had been second nature to me and the Dances of the land held little secret from me, this art was rejected by my very soul. Although in scholastic pursuits I was a quick study and apt pupil, when it came to the art of combat I frusterated him to no end. I refused to finish duels and I daydreamed during lessons. In combat I revealed my true self... I loved peace, I did not embrace the blade...I could not kill.
Finnaly it seemed time was catching up with Hoang and so he took me on a hike through ancient ruins. In this I was fascinated for the ruins we visited had glyphs that spoke of a battle for all reality. Of gods that walked among us that lived forever yet could die. This confused me. I moved to question Hoang when I discovered that he had drawn his blade He told me his name was not Hoang he rattled off a series of names and as he came near me, although his eyes were sad, his purpose was clear. I remember the blade piercing my chest... but the true pain was the betrayel I felt...I had little love for life, but this was not how I pictured its end. As I lay there dieng something strange occured. He smiled at me...a fatherly smile that spoke of true care. "you will feel better in the morning he chuckled". I grimaced in confusion as everything went black.

It does not need saying that he was wrong. I felt terrible in the morning. My life was not stellar to begin with and the dicovery that I was not only Immortal, but part of a cosmic game for the balance of the universe was not welcome news.
But Hoang had come with the truth...and I was forever changed. In the weeks that followed he tried in vain to get me to embrace the blade. And although I was amazingly apt at double dagger, in the end I was never as good as when I used the blunt and reflective art of kali. Hoang was a great and patient teacher but it was obvious that the time we had was not ours..and it was coming to an end. something that drove the otherwise quiet and patient man to frustration.



The morning of my undeath began with me waking to find the temple empty. I found Hoang's weapons and sevreal parcels. but there was no trace of him, oddly enough my Kali were missing. I made my way toward my village to see if he had returned when I heard the screams... Castillano had returned and the things his men and he were doing to my village made his last visit seem tame in comparrison. I still shudder as I clearly recall the screams...strange how memory works that way. In the center of the village a battered old man fought valiantly to hold off the demons from afar. He used my Kali sticks with elegance and efficiency that belied his age And although many of Castillanos men littered the ground...The fair skinned monster kept getting up...he was immortal and he was here for our heads. In retrospect I can see what Hoang was trying to show me....by embracing my art he was not able to finish the duel...perhaps if he had been younger, stronger....oh well why ponder imponderables. He held them off as I raced to his side, none of the fair skinned riders wanted to taste his fury anymore, but Castillano was savegly intensifying his attacks. Many were the times when Hoang crushed his windpipe or broke the fair face but the monster needed the head to come off to put this duel to rest. Finaly as I raced into the square Hoang stumbled it was only for the briefest of moments...but it was enough....Castillano's blade drank deeply from Hoangs throat and in a flash of lightning my master was gone....


I read somewhere 'beware the fury of a peacefull man'. This I believe to be true with all my heart... the duel that ensued was not epic..it was not beautiful and it was not quick. It was a long ardourous haze of pent up fury... It was dicpline and efficiency in the most terrible of expressions...I did not want it to end...I think subconciously I wanted him to feel all the pain he had caused throughout his misbegotten years. It may have been that at first my fellow tribesman saw me as a savior but the carnage that followed would forever mark me as a monster in there eyes. In the end it was two beautiful daggers that raced to meet each other at the junction that was his spine... The energy of the quickening was exhilerating but like an addict I knew that if I did not deny this urge I would soon succumb to its hunger. I ran from my lands knowing that I was dead to my village, a name spoken only to scare children. It would be countless years before The rest of the world caught up to Castillnos machinations and ravage like locusts my once idyllic homeland...I suppose that facing Castillano and stoping his empire from begining was a good destiny....but life was undeath for me..it was hollow and faith was not as comforting as once it had been. I cannot say how long I lived... I can not remebr much of my unlife...of the myriads of holy grounds I attended of the host of Immortals who's paths I've crossed... but I can tell you that recently I am reborn..... only a few short centuries we've shared but I lived....I began to breath the day....I met her.


Yes dear reader...a happy ending , for now but perhaps I should let her tell it.

 

[Ldy Tehari]

Delena Cassiel

*Sitting in a coffee shop, glancing at the clock. Noticing he's late again. What is it about immortality that makes you forget time? Watching the passersby, all badge wearing wage slaves passing from one building for work to the next for lunch and back again. Slavery han't disappeared it's just evolved. Gazing down at my coffee, stirring in cream slowly.. loosing myself in a swirl of time.. Slavery...*
*Thinking back to the beginning.. when it truly began. Born a roman slave the last year of Antinious Pius, they say it was the height of Rome. If it was I never saw it, to me it was just the end of peace in Rome. Commodius First of all Soldier Kings and one after another I cleaned the palace after. Kept from gossip, cleaning floors, kitchens, bedrooms, anything, keeping busy until that fateful night...
Ordered to serve wine at dinner, I spilled wine on His Majesty. I was immediately caught up by a soldier held until rope was available. I remember a man from the crowd offered the silken rope around his waist because I was so pretty. Another offered his if they could see my thighs. The soldier ripped the dress from my back, and a slave master quickly gave him a whip. I was flogged, laughed at, yelled at, spoken to. Pain coursed thru my body, my head swam with pictures of men laughing, the pain and the heat and suddenly black. Blackness and lightening and electricity ran from the very core of my soul, every nerve in my body went alive. I screamed. The sound so sudden, so shocking, so despairing it silenced everyone in the room at once. And I was enveloped by the comforting black.
I woke up in my cell, my wounds healed, my body whole. I wondered how long I'd been out. A prison guard told me I'd been touched by the gods, and scared the emperor himself. He also helped me escape.

*Looking up at the clock on the wall. How many centuries had it been since that first time? How many years will it be til my last. Turning to watch the people return from lunch. Moving from one building to the next. Collars all smooth, ties all straight, smiles in order, badges pinned just so. Smiling to myself thinking. Slavery hasn't really changed they just collar themselves these days. *

 

[cgraven]

“Michelle De Maltemps “ was as good as any other name. Why this tie to a family name so long passed from history? Jean was gone and Ali and his Children return to their lives. He had watched them grow old together their lives a story with a beginning, middle, and for Jean an end. Yet my life just goes on down the corridors of time. Oh yes it could come to and end as did the “Black Knight’s at that fateful battle.

The English where drawn in their pitiful little battle line as the flower of French Knight hood faced them on heavy horse. We charged lances lowered, it would be so simple, we would just ride over them and their silly little king Henry would be no more. Yet St Crispen’s Day was not what we expected. The first of arrows struck like lightening laying low many yet on we charged. My horse faltered, then to its knees, as I was thrown over its head. The carnage about me was beyond belief, horse screaming, men pinned beneath ten as their hooves struck out in deaths agony. The English came afoot hacking and slashing the wounded and pined men, no glory here just the butchery of war. These you lads who I rode with had only spoken of “Glory” for France. How little they had known. This was neither my first battle nor my last the saints willing. Already two hundred years of it.

There he was the “Black Knight” strolling among the wounded, and the disorganize youth of France. I felt his presence be fore ever I saw him. He was like me; no chance had these young lads against him. I fought to face him, the recognition I saw in his eyes. The ring of steel as swords met we fought in the style of the time as board sweep of sword was met parried and countered. There was a searing Pain in my side as he struck with his dagger. He was a curl one for he knew the move would not kill but cause only pain and mocking laughter was his response as he twisted his blade. He was so caught up in his sport that he never saw my “Main Gauche”. The cut was quick strong and leathful as I severed his head from his body. The n that terrible yet sensual moment as my body stiffened and his energy merged with mine.

Yet today another encounter per chance just as deadly “Dominique”. A confused and lost child to be sure. Juan, Juan my friend you knew better, never fall in love with an immortal for in the end there can only be one. But why was I drawn even to meet her? No holy grown the “La Jarden”, just a café by the park. Why meet this troubled one who could love you or kill you in the blink of an eye.

I order a bowl of coffee and waited. It was a good day to talk or to die. I wonder which it would be.

 

[Swashbuckler]

Sven

I closed the door behind me. Taking a few steps towards the bar, suddenly I needed a drink. I never made it to the bar, in mid stride, in the middle of the plush pale rose carpet, my head bent low in worry for Andi. I stopped, the pale rose carpetswirling into the white of the Ukranian snows...

My black boots were burried in the cold white starkness of the steppe. Somewhere under that was the quagmire of mud, 'the fifth element' as that pompas Corsican called it. I trdged on. Poor Anna, bleeding and freezing, draped over my shoulder. I had killed three of Napolean's finest trying to save her from them. The wind was howling. I could feel the fire of her fever every weary step, as her headbumped against my back. Burning through the whiteness of my blouse. My dark blue officer's coat, the only blanket for her, soaking with cold sweat and blood. She had been picked to take out the frustration of utter defeat. Defenseless, young, and alone. A survivor in the wrong place at the wrong time. If she could only survive her savior.. I shook my head to clear it.

Behind me the fores of what wood could be found and some of the flags were beginning. To stave off death by cold to the shattered remants of Le Grand Armie. Once more I found myself in the wastes of Russia, once again, I was carrying a body across the snows. If I ever make it out of the snows, I will never return, on Thors' Blood. Only frozen tears can be found in this hapless landscape. How could the flurry of the revolurion come to such a collapse of humanity? A question for historians and philosophers, I thought.

I forded a stream, the ice breaking and the chill waters attacking my skin. Hypothermia was by far my least favorite of deaths. Holding Annna, high over my head I brought my body from the icy waters and carried her to a small Orthodox church. The old and feeble monks opening hte doors to me. I laid her before thier raging fire. That is when, the balding one, knelt nad lifted his eyes to mine and said nothing, just gently shook his head and let a tear fall from both eyes. My failure complete...

After two days of being given religious gruel by the brothers, I warmed my frozen body. They were amazed at my recovery, I was not, but let them fuss. I insisted on digging a grave in the ice by myself. Even though I had my own agenda for tagging along with these idealistic martyrs of mass conscription, I had allowed myself to become sidetracked by my own damned heart. Why did Freya always do this to me? It was out there in the snow, almost complete with my prodject. That I felt it. That sudden awareness of danger. I spun around, scanning the bleakness. There he was, a lone cossack on a large black horse. Slowly aproaching the church. His heavy sabre flopping against the side of his snow caked horse. I yelled to him, "Sorry to disapoint you my freind. I have something more important than your death right now." I ignored him and returned to my task. Knowing that I would have to dine with him. I always felt it hard to eat when confronted with that mystical energy. My blood would boil and my every instinct would be to draw my sword and race to bifrost. But for now I had to do at least one successful thing for that poor wretch Anna.

The funeral in the snowy dawn after a restless night, with the Cossack so near. We left the monastery together. Ridign on the back of his horse. Not that he wanted to be nice to an old freind. This was the most expeidenat method of travel, to his goal. My head. No sooner had the monastery disappeared in the distance of the snowy steppes, than we were dismounted. My heart felt for poor Anna, still. Burrials in the ground were so uncivilized. How I longed to see a flaming ship sailing out across the waves. Carrying the body of the valiant to the depths of the sea and the smile rising to the heavens. He drew his sabre and attacked like a rabid dog. His beard flying in the cold wind. His blade whistling through the air. His breath like the breath of a frost giant.

I dodged his first wild swing. Pugavovitch was all power and no finesse. As I tumbled throught he snow I pulled my longsword out in time to deflect another high slash. Regaining my feet, I held the tip of my blade even with the hieght of my nose. My eyes locked upon the giant's eyes. Watching the cold burn of homicidal mania smolder in them. Somewhere beneathe the frost coated strands of his heavy beard a smile flashed. Revealing the hole where I had knocked two of his teeth out centuries ago. The cossacl's eyes lit and I knew his move before he made it. He feinted low and went high. I steped close, between his moves. An insticntual cut, I whirled around and caught his sabre from my back with the flat of my blade. A mass of wild hair and beard landing at my feet as the hulking husk of the man collapsed behind me. I heard the roar of Thor all around me. Lightning flew from his hammer and connected with the point of my sword. All of the gods congratulationg my survival. The power of the divine shaking my body. The rush and pain knocking me to my knees. I came to a moment later, there was no rainbow. Nothing but blood on the snow and a terrorifed horse. I climbed on and rode off towards Constatinople, I never have gotten used to the Turkish name for the city...

I was brought back to the pale rose carpeting by a kiss at my cheek. The sensation every bit as powerful, and even more sweeter than the quickening. "I would love to dine with you," Andi said at the end of her kiss. "I have no make up and I don't now if I could hold up in public." I took her chin in my hand and brushed a tear off her cheek, "Andi, of course we can dine here. I am sorry I forgot to pick up make up. I have trouble with memory sometimes and loose my chain of thought. Besides, that is something that is too intimate to guess about personal taste." I said softly inot her hazle eyes. Stepping back to look at her in the silk and wool I had bought for her. Admiring my feeble attempt to give her herself back in a way, I asked, "How do you like the blouse and skirt? I hope they fit well enough. I can get you something better, when the stores open, if they are not acceptable. Though, they do look quite well on your beauty," I added quickly. Without taking my hand from her face I picked up the reciever and asked for room service, "Yes, we need two omlette's, a pot of french roast coffee, and a bottle of Irish creme...Yes, at this hour. Its breakfast isn't it? Yes, it is 3:30 in the morning.... I don't care... Fifteen minutes, that would be great, thank you." I hung up the receiver. "Thank you, Andi," I whispered, still overlooking myhandiwork, "thank you for not leaving. Thank You..." My voice trailing off.

 

[caspai]

Patches of snow glisten sharplyunder the strength of the cold winter sun. Still, the breeze seems to cut through the wool of my coat, and the outfit I am wearing is not meant to keep me warm.

Michelle and I have known each other for about forty years now. Our relationship can best be discribed as on-again-off-again. I can't explain what it is about that man that keeps me coming back to him. He is not, by far, the only immortal I have had relationships with. I am 550 years old, after all. I think that the thing about him that is the most infuriating to me is that he still treats me as a young girl who hasn't quite found herself yet. After five and a half centuries, if I haven't found myself, there is no hope for me. Funny, hope is all I have. Hope that I will one day do enough to prove to Tlaloc I am worthy of his notice, hope that my soul will gain enough strenth to attract his notice, as it failed to do before...

The murmuring of the crowds began somewhat hushed. Then they became louder, more insistant. I had been sacrificed. I had died. My heart had been cut from my body and burned. My soul had been assigned to Tlaloc. How could it be that I was sitting here, looking around.

The emotions turned quickly. The first was puzzlement. That gave quickly to fear, and fear to anger. There had to be a reason for this happening. What did it mean? What would it mean for the reains? Rains that were so desperately needed. Was Tlaloc showing his disfavor by rejecting me?

Acting quickly, the Priest whisks me inside the temple. I am shocked. No-one but the Priests and members of the royal house ever step foot in here. The room is small, and the gold on the walls is highly decorative. Before I have a chance to take any of this in, I am whisked out of that room and deeper into the structure of the temple. I am lead down a steep staircase, one that turned back on itself to allow you to walk down comfortably. When we are again down to the ground level, I am taken outside. The crowd is being addressed by another Priest atop the temple, so their attention is still at the top of the temple. The murmurs are continuing, but the volume has begun to decrease.

I am taken to a public room, but the door and windows are secured, closing out the light. The heat has become stifling, and I feel sweat trickling between my still-naked breasts. Quietly, the Priest hands me a dress, and I slip it over my head, greatful for his thoughtfulness. Then his voice breaks the silence.

"I had heard of ones such as you, but had not thought to see one in my lifetime."

His words sent a shockwave through me. Ones such as me? What did he mean? Before I could ask the question, his voice continued on.

The old histories speak of those who are chosen by the gods for special duties. Ones with the strength to survive death, to go forward to do the works for the gods, to gather the energies from others such as yourself. You must be trained, though, and to do this, you must go from here.

I at last found my voice, and had a question that must be answered.
"If there are others such as myself, how is it that no-one has heard of it?"

"Because the superstition and fear of the people will not accept some truths, even when they can be proven over and over. I do not know all that you must be taught, but I know of someone who can help. You must trust me..."

A gust of chilly spring air swirls around me again, traveling up under my coat to touch my legs, making me shivver, and bringing me back to the present. Looking at my watch, I realize that if I don't hurry, I won't make it to that cafe he is so found of, and it will cause an argument. While I do that occasionally just for the fun of it, this is the first time we have seen each other in about six years, and we had much to speak of. The time was upon us, and after all, there can be only one...

 

[Inkubus]

Eleazar De La Luz

I stride through the streets with an air of energy. I am like a miser for time now...oh how I wasted the years as a vagabond roaming from place to place. Although I was good at fighting I had yet to embrace it...for what was there worth fighting for? Life was hollow, but I am not suicidal. I always figured someday someones blade would be quicker and I'd see what the next life held. Then I tasted the next life... Then I tasted joy and euphoria that awoke my very soul... yes I have a soul...and I could not FEEL it ...till Delena. I discovered that I would rather live moments in her light...then be condemed to the darkness of eternity. I wonder if she remebers our anniversery? I clutch an elaborate basket. I went to several auctions a black market importer and payed a couple smiths more than theyll see in a few years...but if it makes her smile...I sigh to myself with contentment. How could she rember our aniversery? we have so many... that and our calendars our diffrent...and so is our concepts of time and space...I pause at that last thought and spin around to look at a clock in a store front...
"Madre de Dios! I'm late!" I race to a cab and pull out the largest bill I have... I smile at him and tell him it is his if he can somehow get me across town...a 68 minute trip...in 15 minutes.
needless to say the next 20 minutes were quite memorable in there own right...He missed his mark by 5 mins but what can I say...its only money...

 

[cgraven]

THE MEETING

Dominique! Our paths kept crossing down the corridors of time. Why was I drawn to her? Why did she keep coming back to me? We where immortals and knew that by the surge of power, a feeling that assaulted us any time we where near another immortal. If friends that felling was heightened, but if foes a sickening feeling beyond description that hit you in your gut. With Dominique one never knew which it would be.

"A heartless bitch" is how I have heard her described by mortals who have known her. How right they where, but never suspected the truth of those words. Heartless maybe, but passionless? That she most definitely was not. Her passion could consume you in a moment. To be one with her. Ahhhhh only a Frenchman could truly understand.

I sensed her presence even before I saw her coming through the crowed. The long wool coat is the only concession she made to the weather. Underneath, it she wears a chocolate brown leather halter and miniskirt, and her stocking legs end in ankle boots that exactly match the color of the outfit. Her woolen coat opened to the spring sun’s warmth. Oh how she hated to wear clothes.

I stand and offer the seat across from me.


'Which shall it be today Dominique?"

" A coffee or my head?"

This was no joke, for in the end there could only be one.

 

[caspai]

Dominique

"Ah, Michelle, what a tease you are. Is that any way to greet someone you haven't seen in so many years? And after I come such a long way, to this miserably cold place, just to see you?"

Putting my hands on the back of the chair he has pulled out for me, I lean over it to give him a long kiss on the mouth, moving my mouth as the kiss breaks to nibble on his ear. As I do so, my coat gaps open, revealing my outfit underneath. As I draw back, I see that several men are eyeing me with interest. Bah, what interest are they? Mere mortals, more often than not below contempt.

Pulling off the coat, I shivver again. I sit down, folding my arms in front of me as I do.

"If coffee is the only way that you are going to offer to warm me up, then just make sure that it is not mocha. You know I have no stomach for chocolate."

As he makes the order to the waiter, I look around the cafe. It is one of his favorites, and I had to admit that the food was excellent. The only two draws that this place had for me were Michelle, and the food. The centuries that the French had been here had left a definite mark on the food.

"The years seem to have been kind to you, your lordship. I am very happy to find that you still have that handsome head on your shoulders. I would hate to have to hunt down the one that takes your head. It would remove one of the few joys in my existance."

The sun, breaking through the clouds sends a ray of sunshine down on my hair, bouncing off the burgundy highlights that have just recently been added to my long, dark brown hair.

"So, at last the time is upon is. Strange that we two are here to see it. I take it that you plan for the two of us to travel together?"

 

[faith]

Mei Ling...

As we fly down the highway, I watch Lao’s hand on the steering wheel. His hands have always fascinated me. Such power. The power to create beauty and the power to take life. Leaning back into the buttery soft leather of the seats, I close my eyes…

“When we get there stay close… Mei are you listening to me?”


Of course, I was, but I wasn’t about to let the all-knowing-one know it. It was one of our outings. My 19th birthday, I was so glad he was with me but I still resented the fact that I meant so little to him.

He had stuck me in another boarding school. I knew it was one of the best but the strictly religious regiment was wearing thin. I want to play, to have fun and they were so harsh with me. I was never allowed to leave the place. I was never sure but I think he paid them to keep me on the grounds. At the same time, he had martial art masters training me in self-defense. What did he think the good sisters were going to do. Kill me for not saying my prayers.

Well today was going to be different. Seeing him distracted by the vendor, I make my move. Slipping between the colorful tents and carts I escape. So much to see and do. Freedom! As quickly as possible, I slip between the people. Every time I hear His voice, I skitter away. Looking for adventure, I spot a group of young men. I can work my newly discovered wiles on them. I didn’t realize the danger. I was just having fun. I think it was the money I was carrying. One moment I was laughing at something one of the men said. In the next, I felt a blow to the ribs. “Why had he hit me?”

Looking down I see the knife… Raising my eyes, I see Lao… He has a sword in his hand and death in his eyes. I felt my life’s blood seeping out. I knew I was going to die… Lifting my hand as I fell… I knew nothing more…


“Mei…” the exasperation in his voice cut through my musings.

Lifting my eye lids, I give him a questioning look…

"What Jun?"