Round Robin Story

[K Man]

Alright, I've tried getting people to post their stories or creations, but so far I'm lacking...so I figured I'd try something different. It's a Round-Robin. Surely you all remember what that is? Gather around a campfire, one person starts the story...someone else picks up the next part, then it keeps going. So I'll give it a shot here.

You guys are all good writers, at the very least you're all creative enough to have picked up role-playing. I'm anxious to see where this goes. Visitors and guests alike are encouraged to join.

Rules -
- You can NOT post again until two posts are above yours from different people.
- You can NOT post twice in a row cause you ran out of room. (The limit is 10,000 characters, you should be able to get a chunk out in that...if not, shorten it. )
- If you must critique or correct someone...do it in a PM, not on this thread. Or start one on the rants board. This thread is solely for writing.
- Genre can stay the same or switch, as long as it makes a good transition. (I.E. - A barbarian could witness the destruction of his homeland by a flying "mystical device", then change the story to a crewman inside the ship.)
- Beyond that, the only limit is imagination.

Being the instigator...I'll start.
__________________________________________________________________________________________

Rartchik, or Lord Rartchik as he used to be called, took a sip from his animal hide canteen.

It can't be too much farther...

He thought himself, wiping the small amount of spilled water from his lips.

Using the edge of his tanned animal hide cloak, he wiped the sweat from his brow. The exertion he just went through was not what he was used to, eventhough in his marauding days he was a force to be reckoned with.

...but those days were long gone.

When he was made Warrior-King of his tribe, it was perhaps the happiest day of his life. He was elated to be able to lay his trusty axe down and lead his people into a new era...an era of peace. But peace, as Rartchik found soon enough, would also have a terrible price. The bickering, the pleading, the treaties and contracts...everything made the Warrior-King secretly desire to pick his axe up and fight for a cause he could see easily. The defeat of an enemy.

...enemy...the word had a new meaning now.

It had all happened so quickly. The deaths, the destruction...seeing his people burn in flames and Lord Rartchik barely escaping with his life was enough to make him never want to go back, let alone find out who was to blame.

But he had to, that's why he was searching for it, that's why he was now standing in the midst of it all, searching...

Lord Rartchik realized during all his deep thoughts that he was still walking with the endurance he hadn't known he possessed. He had reached the crest of the hill he spotted before and now stood atop it, surveying the scene before him.

He had found it...

{Next!!}

[Wizard]

...the Army mentioned by the visitors from other tribes.
Rartchik had heard of their strength, their speed, their strange abilities, and their disdain for material wealth. Here, he knew, was the Grand Army of the Holy Spear. Perhaps, he thought, I can apply their techniques to my axe.

He walked down the slope, the leaves underfoot crunching as he went.

[Zarni]

From atop his mount, the Viscount of the Armies of the Holy Spear watched the lone, former warrior trudge wearily towards his waiting columns of heavily armed Krankti, each snarling savagely as they watched in anticipation of prey to hunt down.

But the Viscount raised a hand in caution; the time for aggression had not yet come.
Let him come to us, he thought.

The splodge on the horizon resolved itself into the form of the tribesman. The Viscount scratched a forelimb with an idle fang; he had not groomed in several cycles of the primary, and had not feasted on fresh meat in twice as long.

As the Viscount mused, the former Lord marched.

[K Man]

{Wow, only a month before it got somewhere. }

Rartchik paused before the leading warrior, easily identified as the Viscount of the army...the Army of the Holy Spear.

Rartchik stopped well enough away to allow him to run if negotiations turned sour quickly, but this was little consolation to the former warrior-king looking upon the columns of Krankti. Rartchik had heard of these creatures before and had even seen crude depictions of them on cave walls, but never did he dream of seeing on in person.

They walked on six legs tipped with chitinous talons that clicked when they walked over stone or wood. Their mandibles extended well beyond their mouths, ending in impossibly sharp points that could sunder even the most hearty of shields. A set of smaller, more dextrous armored appendages extended from beneath their torso and could grasp rudimentary items, usually polearms or swords.

The Krankti were a fearsome lot indeed.

Rartchik had fought countless strange monsters and savage species, but he knew that if his plea failed here, this would be the last creature he ever faced.

The Krankti were also very strange. They served no one, fought for no empire, carried no flag, payed no homage...save for The Holy Spear.

The warrior-king remembered hearing tales of the spear being forged in the nest of the phoenix, and cooled in the ashes of the bird before it rose again. Whoever held the spear was to be nigh invincible in battle and when they passed through the course of nature, they would take their place in the heavens as a brightly burning star of the purest crimson.

The Krankti only followed the one that held The Holy Spear.

Today was a day of sights that one should never behold in a single lifetime. The Krankti, the mysterious race of semi-sentient chitinous soldiers headed by the only one who had managed to find The Holy Spear. Musing to himself over this fact, Rartchik brushed the thoughts from his mind like a midwife would cobwebs and dropped to one knee.

The Viscount smiled, he would at least listen to the plea of the human..before turning his hundred-thousand strong army loose.

"I seek thee, Viscount of The Army of The Holy Spear."

"I am Rartchik, once leader of the Flaming Blade Tribe. I have been wronged and seek venegeance..."

The Viscount clicked his talons over his battle armor, amused to hear the tale of this...Rartchik before him. The Viscount leaned forward in his saddle and narrowed his eyes until they were blackened slits.

"Tell me of your tale..."

[Japic]

It all began about three weeks ago:

[flashback]Business for the tribe went on pretty much the same every day. There was a disagreement between two warriors; who was wronged; who got retribution. The same old shit every day. As the Warrior-King I was expected to be able to tell them who was right. I could have told them to settle it with a sword, but I was eager for a time of peace. A time where I did not have to use my axe to achieve all my goals.

I was more than eager to spread diplomacy throughout the tribe, so that they might each pass it on to the ones they knew. That someday the whole world would be peaceful and diplomacy would rule on high. My Grand Visier and friend Loobak thought it was a waste of time, that the sword was mightier than the word...

It turns out that I was a fool to go against him. That he was not quite the friend that I believed him to be...


{NEXT}

[Zarni]

'I should have interpreted the signs; the bright light that burned its trail across the skies, the thunderous booms that accompanied it, and the subsequent storm which left great trees shattered, broken husks, mere shadows of their former glory. Much as the man you see before you now, my Lord.'

Rartchik paused, took a moment at the feet of the mighty emisary of death to regain his composure.

The Viscount waited, patiently, a shred of empathy allowing itself to creep in upon his stony visage. But the facade remained unchanged; he was determined not to show weakness in the face of this meagre human. Nevertheless, he could not help but see parallels between the pathetic chieftian's situation and his own not so many cycles ago.

Rartchik continued:

'Four suns ago Loobak decided to take leave of the tribe for a short time, a quest, he said, to help him find his inner strength, and to assist him in making his decisions.
'With him gone, the tribe was a little calmer, even then I suspected him of being responsible for stirring up disension within the tribesmen. But I wouldn't allow myself to believe the better judgement of my heart, or that of my wife.
'She disliked Loobak from the start, and said he was inciting the others to a rebellion against my leadership. When Loobak returned two suns later, he came bearing magic the likes of which I have never seen before, and as part of a company most fearsome to behold.
'They walked like men, but their faces were masked by pure light. Their armour shimmered in the dawn, and each bore upon broad shoulders a thick-shafted spear from which shone the light of many stars; it was with these that they - '

His voice caught at the back of his throat; the memories of screams returned suddenly, having lost none of their former intensity. The sights, and worst of all, the smells...

The Viscount, growing impatient with this human's tedious tale, pushed Rartchik on.
'Continue.'

Rartchik did.

'They burnt the entire village. And everyone in it. Women, children, animals. Everyone and everything. I was the only survivor. And there were less than a man-hand of them! All of it, gone...'

The Viscount considered this, his eyeballs rolled back within his elongated skull in thought. His manner pensive, he spoke.

'And why do you come to me with your tale of woe, human?'

Rartchik gathered hi wits one last time, swallowing both his pride and the lump in his throat. He owed this much to the legacy of people.

'I come to you for help, for my people to be avenged.'

He lowered his eyes in total subservience.

The Viscount looked to the horizon, where, after two days, the smoke still rose from the funeral pyre which had been a village.
He looked down upon the sorry figure of this pathetic man in disgust, noticing for the first time is unfavourable odour, and made his decision.

{Next}

[K Man]

The viscount clicked his mandibles together quickly, producing a chittering sound that fell upon the warrior-kings ears.

...The Justicars...

The viscount knew exactly who Rartchik spoke of, for he had seen them in person when they destroyed his home. He had seen their pale, illuminated faces light the night sky as flames from their spear burned every hut to its foundation.

The viscount barely escaped that night with his life.

This was different. Now the viscount sat at the head of a hundred-thousand strong army of Krankti. Surely The Justicars could do nothing to him or his army. The past several cycles of the viscounts life had been spent looking for signs of The Justicars and now this pathetic human stood before him with news of the loathed beings.

Still, the viscount remainded stoic, preferring to not allow Rartchik to see that he was, in fact, elated at the news he would finally have his revenge.

"Very well human. The Army of the Holy Spear will avenge your people. We will erradicate the warriors of light."

"...on one condition."

Rartchik looked up from his solemn stance. He still could not believe his ears. The Army of The Holy Spear would help him in his most desperate hour.

"You have but to name it, great viscount."

Rartichik bowed, a feat he had never performed before. He imagined it looked quite clumsy to the viscount.

"You will lead the charge. You will be first to draw blood in the name of vengeance."

"It will be done..." Rartchik said in low voice as he unslung the axe from his harness.

As the warrior-king turned and began marching in the exact direction he had come from days before, he smiled for he knew that vengeance would be his.

His thought were not that far from the viscounts either.

[Wizard]

As Rartchik marched on, the Viscount made a discreet motion to his troops. One of the Krankti changed it's left forelimb slightly, then threw all its weight on the joint. It snapped off with a crisp sound, and the soldier used its other forelimb to throw the broken appendage, now an organic spear, to the Viscount. He caught it in his free hand with an easy motion, then signaled to the hest leader. Before he knew what was happening, Rartchik found himself carried with impossible, yet delicate speed along with the horde. A swing, and he found himself high in the air, twenty feet above the horde. Then his aerial spin obstructed his view of the groun, and he realized he'd been tricked. But for what purpose? The Krankti needed no tricks to annihilate him.

With a painful thump, Rartchik landed...on chitin. Standing up, reaching for his axe, Rartchik was ready to go down fighting. He cleared his eyes, ready...

For nothing. For about 100 feet on all sides of him, the Krankti had...meshed, like living building blocks in some city-dweller "floor." Their heads down, only abdomens showing, the Krankti had formed a 100 ft. radius walking platform. Rartchik barely felt the gentle vibration from their adjusted steps.

He didn't hear the spear coming. It hit him in the back, blunt end first. It knocked him down, but he was up in a second, eyes blazing.

"Good," the Viscount remarked audibly to himself, walking along his servants' backs. "You show tenacity, at least. Perhaps you'll survive. Pick up your spear!"

Rartchik uncertainly picked up his inanimate assailant, and looked it over. Even with his fractional knowledge of the Krankti, he realized it was a leg of one of the creatures. The wound on top was completely closed. He conscientiously held it in both hands, pointed toward the viscount, ready to fight.

The viscount couldn't exactly form the sound analagous to a human laugh, but he came pretty close.

"You fool! Did you think I was trying to kill you? Do you have any idea how quickly the lowest warrior of my army could dismember you with five claws behind his back? You wouldn't be able to blink an eye before you had no eyes with which to blink!

"Now break the spear in two across your knee."

Rartchik, bewildered, did so. He now had a two-foot-long spear with a jagged edge on the "blunt" side, and a two-foot stick, also jagged on one side.

"You can't hope to duplicate the strength and speed of my people...so you have insurance. Two weapons. Two weapons with which to block. Two weapons with which to attack. Now attack me!"

Rartchik, a little mystified, gave a yell and charged the viscount, who ineffectively parried the warrior-king's attacks, and left himself open on top. With a leap, Rartchik came down toward the viscount's head, both hands pointing the spear-end at the viscount's head.

He never reached the viscount. Before he knew what had happened, the viscount had caught him, turned him around, and flung him back and over his head to land in an undignified, painful heap.

"You fool!" the viscount yelled, turning himself calmly. "You cut yourself off from the ability to influence yourself, right when you were within my reach! Furthermore, you bet all on one blow! I had you break your spear for a reason. Again! And this time, stay low, and use what you have!"

[Wizard]

(After permission from Kman, I'm posting again to try and revive the thread.)

Rartchik approached again, this time more slowly. He kept his weapons low, hoping the viscount couldn't arch his back legs over his body or something like that. Finally, he came in strong, deciding that he'd have to stay centered on the viscount to keep his weapons together---and with two forelimbs and two front legs against which to defend, Rartchik realized he could only defend a small, central area.

He was ready for the forelimbs. He wasn't ready for the front legs. Two blocks faster than he'd ever thought himself capable of performing, followed by a feint with the blunt end of one of the sticks, and he was lining the other stick for a thrust---

And found himself face-down on the ground, with a pain in his right shin.

"I am not some two-legged cripple like you, human," the viscount sneered. "And with your new weapons, neither are you. You have four weapons in your hands---why can you never think beyond the tiny capacity of your own skull?!"

[K Man]

"Very well..."

Rartchik picked himself up, ignoring the shooting pain from his shin and felt the anger take over his body. He screamed from the bottom of his stomach and lunged with all his might.

The viscount was caught off-guard and could not get his defense up in time.

The weapon touched the Viscounts hard armor and for a moment, Rartchik was suprised by his own strength as the end continued to thrust through the Viscount unhindered.

In fact, Rartchiks arm and the rest of his body followed through until he found himself stumbling to regain balance behind the Viscount. Rartchik spun, expecting the enigmatic Viscount to turn and heartily laugh, revealing some magic of the ages that had made the recent trick possible.

It was not so...

In fact, the Viscount hadn't turned at all, but stood still as though time itself had stopped moving around him. Then, suddenly, the body of the Viscount began to shudder and stretch, as though the gods themselves were pulling his body apart. Then it would return to normal just as quickly.

Rartchik looked all around him. It seemed as though the sky, the army locked into a platform beneath his feet...all had gone mad. They wobbled and stretched, froze and moved seemingly at an eratic pace.

Then the words came...

As though spoken by the gods themselves, the words filled Rartchiks ears and seemed to resonate from everywhere.

"Losing program integrity. Reacalibrate and move to back-up..."

Rartchik heard the words, seemingly cut short. For a moment, the world returned to normal and the Viscount spun on his heel and faced the warrior-king as though nothing had happened.

"What are you waawwaaaitinggggg for?"

Again the Viscount stretched, pulled and snapped back into place. Rartchik saw the world freeze again, then slowly, piece by piece, begin to fade like an artists sand painting splashed with river water. The voice of the gods returned.

"No good. Losing it again, back-up failure. Damage too great..."

Rartchik felt something he had never experienced before. It was as though the hand of a deity reached into his world and forcibly ripped him from everything he knew. His world slipped away like a bad memory from childhood...

...and when he opened his eyes, he knew it was...

{ ;D}

[Artemis]

As his eyes flashed open and above him was a beautiful woman with flowing brown hair and black eyes. "Eddie, you alright? I was so worried. The simulation program went haywire," she said. Eddie, formerly Rartchik, looked around at his surroundings. He was laying in the infirmary in his ship, The Blue Sphinx.

He sat up and all the memories rushed back into his mind. He was Captain Edward "Eddie" Star of the intergalactic freighter/pirate ship, the Blue Sphinx. He looked over at the "Alright Zel, what's going on? What happened?"

Zel took his hand gently and gently held it to her face. "Well you were in the holo room having some fun while we were transporting some goods. Then we were attacked. It was those blasted Rolians."

[Japic]

… Rolians again. It seemed like they were following him around the whole damn galaxy as of late. Not that he’d done anything wrong. Well, aside from borrowing some goods form that royal transport that couple of months back. But they couldn’t be sore about that still.

Eddie took his hand back from Zel and hopped down from the infirmary table. He took a few strides towards the door and realized with a blush that he was naked as the day he was born. Looking about he noticed his garb sitting on a chair nearby. He crossed quickly and began to dress. Upon noticing the lusty look in Zel’s eyes he turned his back to her and barked a command.

“Damage report!”

He heard an audible sigh followed by a brief silence as she collected her thoughts.

“Well, the bastards shot us up pretty good before we disabled them enough to make a run for it. We lost 3 crew, Bennie, Gunner, and Sid. The aft gun station is gone, that was Gunner. And the cargo hold took a hit. A few Rolian mechs flew in though doors, but we fought them off before they got any farther. That’s how they got Bennie and Sid. Good news there is that Lugg says the mechs can be repaired, he’s working on them now. As for the rest of the ship, we’re pretty good. Fortunate for us they didn’t damage the warp core, so we were able to give them the slip.”

“We’re currently en route to Muynit 7 to the repair station. I know that we’re not exactly welcome there, but it was the nearest remotely friendly base in the quadrant. Oh, and they’ve shot up the navigation pretty good so Macs up there doing it all manually. He’s having a tough time at it, and I think we’d all feel a little safer it if you took over, Eddie.”

Eddie had just finished buttoning his shirt as Zel finished her report. He grabbed up his favorite cap and marched out of the infirmary towards the main deck. Zel was talking the whole way but he wasn’t listening, he was too busy thinking about why the council on Muynit 7 had put him out.

[Zarni]

The hulk of the cylindrical behemoth glided noiselessly through the expanse of open space, its intake ducts humming in silent synchronisation as they drew energy from the virtual particles that fluctuated in and out of existence in the depths of interstellar space.

To the rear of the hull the markings 'Blue Sphinx' could just be distinguished through the floating metal dust and crystalised air emanating from a gaping hole a full two metres in diameter, which had been ripped through the main cargo section. The spin of the ship, normally centred around its horizointal axis, was slightly erratic now due to the pressure imblalance caused by the emptying of one hull, with the effect that the ship appeared to wobble through the void, as if the pilot were under the influence.

Eddie, with a sudden sense of vertigo, gripped his tether tighter and thumbed the com.

'It's worse than we thought; it's gonna be one helluva job patching her up again, Zel.'

He heard a feminine sigh. 'Well there's nothing we can do about it till we get to Barnard's Star; they'll have the necessary material, but we don't. Not anymore, anyway.'

Eddie mused; the Rolians had been plaguing civilised human space routes for over ten years now, to the point at which no trade ship, however peaceful the intent implied by its cargo, ventured far outside Pluto's orbit without an armed escort or a few deterences. Sphinx's guided missiles, though, had been a relic from the Expansion, and Eddie had purchased them cheaply from a wholesaler on Charon as a last minute brainwave before leaving on the current expedition. The Rolians, however, had evidently not been as detered as they should have been.

'Zel, what happened to those missiles?'

[EDIT: this was written without prior knowledge of japic's post; still, as i thought it was quite good, and carries only a few minor discrepancies with his, i'm leaving it.]

[Artemis]

"The missles you bought were duds. I warned you they were to cheap." Eddie nodded and let out a small grunt.

"Well I will have to have a conversation with Remus when I see him next time. But for now let's bring this baby in," replied Eddie. He sat down in his chair as Myunit 7 came into view. He looked over at his navigator, Onyx. "Hey Onyx, give me manual control. I'll take her in myself."

Onyx nodded his cold, black eyes reflecting something akin to excitement. "You know boss it's been a while since you did any of the flying."

"i know so hold on this isn't gonna be pleasant." He grabbed the controls for the ship and started to manuever toward the orbiting repair station.

As he started to close the gap between the station which was still a good way off the alarms inside the ship started to go off. Eddie quickly turned to Zel. "What is it?"

Zel quickly checked the radar and turned around her face pale. "It's the Rolian's they're back." Eddie was taken aback. "What? They've never gotten this close to a planet before. What's going on here?" He jumped out of his chair and moved to Static, a young man with yellow hair the constantly stood on end. "Static give me a direct com line with the repair station."

[Japic]

Quick as lightning Static punched a few buttons on the console in front of him and a few beeps resonated across the room indicating the line was open. Instantly a woman’s voice came across the speakers, “Please identify your vessel.”

Eddie cringed, he recognized the voice, but now was not the time for this. “Tina, this is Eddie Star onboard the Blue Sphinx. I know that I’m not supposed to come around here, but we’ve got no choice. We were involved in a dogfight with a Rolian ship two days back. Check your long-range sensors and you’ll see two more Rolians coming right at us. I’m requesting immediate permission to dock.”

There was a prolonged silence punctuated only by the sounds of someone typing on a keyboard. Suddenly across the channel the call to battle stations went off. Tina’s voice was strained as she came back onto the line. “You’ve got a lot of nerve showing your face around here Eddie! Against my warnings the Commander has granted you clearance; navigate to airlock 42b. If you slip up even once, I’ll personally make sure you’re dead by morning.”

Two more tones indicating the channel had closed. Eddie looked around at his crew and gave a sheepish shrug. “I’ll explain later.”

He dove back into the drivers seat and took control of the ship again, moving recklessly towards the airlock they were assigned to. He only hoped that the Rolians would stay back once Muynit 7 brought its guns to bear. Working the controls of the ship he moved closer and closer to the airlock as Onyx gave him the sensor readings indicating his range. With a shudder the ship made contact with the repair station and the magnetic docking locks were engaged.

Getting up from the chair Eddie stretched his back, “Well, we’re here. Lets get repaired and on our way before something else happens.”

[Zarni]

***

The colours swirled, danced, played. The images came thick and fast; a Rolian captain, Tina, searing pain, Zel, pleasure interspersed with pain, microcosm of his life replayed in his subconscious. Memories invaded as he lay unaware of the bed in which he slept, the room in which he lay, and the six metres of solid metal hull of the station which protected him from open space. The Sphinx drifted into his field of vision, gyrating and staggering as a wounded beast. From its side dripped crimson blood, running down the side of the injured creature.

'Hello Eddie,' said the figure. The four arms waved a little in the breeze and the ears of corn, seemingly out of place next to this multi-legged monstrosity, waved with them. Eddie reacted sluggishly to the arrival of the Rolian, and held out the two sticks, his only weapons, in a defensive position.

'Now Eddie, that's no way to greet an old friend, is it?'
Flash, a lunge, a quick sidestep, but where was the Rolian?

'You have four weapons, Eddie, four weapons...'

The voice fades, the wind no longer whistled, the ears of corn are ceiling tiles.


Gently, Eddie moved the arm of a sleeping Zel from his chest and looked down at her, the images from his dream still tumbling through his spinning head. She was smiling peacefully, the movement of her eyes just discernable beneath their lids. Slowly, so as not to make a sound, he slid out of the bed and padded across the cold metal grating of the floor. The view from the portal was breathtaking; the planet curved slowly away from the hulk of the station, its glittering hues of colour and the swirling clouds of poisonous methane and carbon monoxide made for a beautiful, if deadly panorama.

Why is it, though Eddie, that the things most beautiful and pleasing to behold are always the most dangerous? Gazing from the portal he did what so many travellers, both before he was born and after he died, had done, and would do in years to come: he tried to pick out Earth. That shining little pea green and azure blue ball of life hurtling through a hostile waste. Though it held little attraction for him any more, he still had some family there, whom he intended to visit once more some day.

The events of the previous day welled up in his mind, bursting like a bubble in a lake; the Rolian ships had indeed fled when the stations large electron cannon had been leveled at them. Eddie had seen such guns pierce through even the best configured ionised particle shield, and cut a ship clean in two in less than a minute. All that had been left had been a cloud of disassociated electrons, floating aimlessly after being sheared from their atoms. The pirates had been right to retreat.

Still, thought Eddie, as he glanced back towards Zel, the visit, albeit impromptu, had at least given the crew a chance to experience some proper gravity again for a while. He smiled and returned to bed; there were just some things you couldn't do in zero-g...

[Japic]

{I know I posted second to last, but I wanted to try to revive this story. Anyone interested in pushing on with me?}

Logos turned over yet again, it was impossible to try to get any sleep on this colony when the people in the next room had nothing better to do all night than bump nasties.

He lie there for a minute more listening to the perverse sounds radiating though the thin walls and decided that he'd had enough. Pushing himself out of bed he dressed hastily and left the small room. Striding purpoesfully down the deserted hallway he couldn't help but notice that the noises still followed him, he had never know the doors were so thin too. He quickened his pace and soon moved into another corrider where he finally left the noises behind.

Not really paying attention to where he was going he soon found himself in front of one of the many holodecks onboard. Absently he pulled up a listing of the many programs available. He began scrolling through them, immediately skipping over many of the sillier ones: Space Bunny Hip Hop Race, Teen Party Club, and Adventures in Chutes and Ladders Land. Those were for children, he needed something a little more interesting. He briefly thought about bringing up an old favorite of his, The Chulanerd Escape, but quickly decided against it when he realized that he knew every secret of that program. No use in that one. Finally he came to one that grabbed his attention. It was simply titled EverAdventure 562. He had heard a few reviews of the program and it was supposed to be action packed fun, based loosly from Earth's history. He had read a few holobooks regarding the knights of ancient Earth, but he'd never really pursued the quest for knowledge. Attentively he read the description, hrm, dragons, damsels, knights in armor, monsters galore. Fighting was a possibility, he was alright at fighting, maybe the holodeck had a program to teach him swordplay. He hit the button for related content and sure enough there was a series of courses available beginning with Ancient Terran Swordplay: 101. Why not? I'll give it a swing. He thought as he entered.

Several days later Logos had completed the swordplay courses and felt quite confident that he was ready for a trial of the EverAdventure program. He punched it up and stepped inside. He stood for a moment in the dark room and then images started forming as the program loaded. Before long he was standing in front of a battered table that held an open book. Beyond was a wooden structure of some sort, the insides rang with the clash of metal on metal. Perhaps this is one of those Blackshops he'd read about, no wait, Blacksmith he corrected himself. Last to load was a funny looking little man, he appeared to be human except for his size, which was only about two feet tall.

He started asking Logos a series of questions which he wrote the answers to in the book. One charastic at a time Logos built his persona in the program, before long he was led into the Smithy and told to choose what his 'starting gear' would be. He chose out a nice set of lather armor, all black with the most intricate tooling he'd ever imaginied on it. Next a set of bracers and supple leather boots, both black. After that came a weapons rack. He chose out a sword that was similar to the one in the training program and then a set of throwing daggers that he'd learned to use.

Looking in a nearby mirror he hardly recognized himself anymore. The sight made his pride swell up and he found himself wanting to not go back to the space station. If only he could live his life in such a place. Somewhere where he was a somebody, instead of a nobody.

He went into the stables and chose a beautiul 'horse' that was supposed to be his transportation around this place. Immediately after choosing the creature it was fittied with a saddle and harness, as well as saddlebags stuffed with provisions.

Moving outside with his mount the entire shop dissapeared as if it had never existed. The little man walked a short distance to where a crossed set of dirt roads had appeared and addressed him again.

"Welcome adventurer to EverAdventure. You are standing at a crossroads and can choose your own fate, farewell and be careful. This world is not always what it seems."

With his final words the little man fades away into nothingness.

With some difficulty Logos finally managed to mount the animal and stood staring off into the distance, turning in the crossroad trying to decide which way to go.

To the North lies a formidible looking mountain range. The the East a desert can be made out in the far distance. To the south nothing but beautiful, lush, rolling grasslands as far as the eye can see. To the West lies a forest the likes of which he'd never dreamed.

He made up his mind and spurred the horse towards his destination..

[Artemis]

Logos moved his horse to the west toward the forest. Maybe in this forest I will find something stimulating. As he enters the forest his hand falls to rest on the hilt of his sword gently.

His horses iron shod hooves make a soft sound as he follows the trail. The many different types of trees and the beautiful fauna attracts his eyes as he passes them. The sounds of birds singing flow sweetly into his ears and he starts to relax a bit.

After he rides few an hour he notices that the forest becomes thicker and darker. The birds song seem to be but a distant memory now as he rides in silence; only the constant plip-plop of his horse's hoove breaks the almost unbearable silence.

As he continues to ride his ears pick up rustling from the bushes. He starts to look around and he sees shadows move quickly from bush to bush. His fingers curl around his sword hilt when his horse suddenly stops. "Hey wha..." He is cut short when he sees a shadow appear in front of him and then he recognizes it as another human.

[VemuKhaham]

A large and uncouth man with a stubbly chin and brushy eyebrows comes to the fore as he bends aside a few thin branches to allow himself passage. Judging by his worn out and filthy clothes this man has been in this forest for quite some time. When he opens his mouth to speak in a rough voice, a row of black and rotten teeth reveals itself.

"Hey, you there! You wouldn't happen to have seen a little girl around eh? About ten years of age, long red hair, face nearly black with freckles. Hehe."

As the man laughs at his own words, his eyes glint with a sudden cunning that one would not commonly associate with an old and filthy forest-dweller such as this man.

Logos didn't trust it one bit. Already playing with the hilt of his sword as he eyed the man suspiciously, he suddenly said, abruptly but in a polite manner: "No, I have not. I do wonder though why anyone would be in this dark forest seeking a girl merely ten springs young?"

Again, the stranger grinned, then answered...

[Japic]

“She’s umm, my daughter, yah, that’s who she is.” The man claims through his rotting teeth, “Seems that she’s skipped out on her afternoon chores and is running about somewhere. I was hoping to track her down before anything bad was to happen to her.” He smiles crookedly, his eyes scanning the horsed man and his gear. “Ya see, it aint exactly safe ‘round these parts some days; I hear there be bandits here about.”

Logos’ eyes narrow as the stranger finishes his sentence and his grip tightens on the sword, just itching for an excuse to use it. As the two hold one another’s gaze, the haggard man pulls forth a wicked looking blade, its edge glinting in the dappled sun.

“You wouldn’t happen to be one of these bandits, now would you old man..?” Logos asks coldly.

With a wicked grin the man nods almost courteously as though introducing himself. “T’day be a bad day to be ahorse and rich in these parts. I suppose we’d better help you before something happens to your things.”

The small hairs on his neck standing firmly at attention, Logos spurs his steed on and pulls forth his sword in one liquid motion. Before the creature has taken one stride pain blossoms in his side and he nearly falls from the saddle. The would be bandit takes his chance and slashes at the girth strap as the horse thunders past and Logos misses his attack, half blinded by pain. Three strides later the saddle tilts to one side dumping him unceremoniously into the dirt and leaves. Grunting in pain Logos rolls over and breaks the arrow shaft off where it protrudes from his side.

Still grinning his rotten grin the bandit approaches cautiously, laughing to himself. “Seems ye lost yer horse sir. Why don’t you be a good fellow and have the honor to die like a man and not a craven in flight? We’ll take real good of yer mare from here on out.”

The man approached closer yet and Logos readied his blade, waiting for the man to be close enough to kill him. He turned his eyes down and bent his head in the manner of submission. Cackling at his opponent’s actions the bandit strode closer, confident that his prey was in the bag. Watching the feet of the woodsman Logos swung and the man leapt back in evident surprise. Although quick the man wasn’t quick enough to avoid the blade entirely and it dug deeply into his thigh. With a cry of pain the man leaps forward slashing for Logos’ throat, but this time the warrior was ready. No more tricks, it was one wounded man against another, skill on skill. Thrusting and parrying this way and that Logos saw signs of other bandits approaching, a few with arrows nocked to their bows, others wielding their ill kempt weapons.

The pair circled trading a few minor wounds her and there, each looking for the opportunity to kill his foe. The bandit was faster than he’d initially anticipated, scoring his hits with nothing more than a dagger, somehow managing time and again to get past Logos’ own longsword. As others circled to join in the fight the bandit let himself be backed against a mighty tree and accidentally trips over one of its roots, stumbling back against the trunk. Seeing his chance Logos thrusts the point of his weapon through the other man’s sternum, imbedding the weapon firmly in the tree beyond. As the black toothed bandit screamed his last breath Logos tried to wretch the blade free to face his new opponents, but it refused to yield.

Grabbing the dagger from the dead foe’s hand he turns to face the others but finds them stopped, their weapons withdrawn. They kneel in a half circle ‘round the tree’s base facing him. Unsure of why they stopped he looks back to his slain foe and movement from above catches his eye. It is a face, a face made from the bark of the mighty tree, and it does not look pleased.