From: Jeff Huo Subject: Re: IC: Wolves Glen Pub Date: 05 Sep 2000 00:00:00 GMT Message-ID: References: <49f93a0841lb@argonet.co.uk> <20000905163651.23237.00000966@ng-fu1.aol.com> X-Trace: news.itd.umich.edu 968212225 207.75.179.191 (Tue, 05 Sep 2000 23:50:25 EDT) Organization: Denizens of the Wolverine White Coat Ghetto NNTP-Posting-Date: Tue, 05 Sep 2000 23:50:25 EDT Newsgroups: rec.games.frp.storyteller In article <20000905163651.23237.00000966@ng-fu1.aol.com>, kylinn@aol.com says... > Laurence "lb@argonet.co.uk" wrote: > > > > >"Since Boris would qualify as a stealth attack, I > >would suggest the following sequence. > >1. Boris gets into position upwind of target. > >2. All ground troups move into position for sweep move. > >3. Boris releases the Vanilla. > >4. I trigger the sonic attack. > >5. Astrial does his thing with the knives. > >6. Ground troops move in and hopefully only > >have to deal with a lot of scared kids and a > >couple of half dead enemy. > > > >Contingency plans for the failure of any part of > >the main plan would include having Astarial ready > >to go from the moment Boris begins to move into > >position. > > > >Will that do?" > > Stalks frowns. "But more than one truck, and only > one Boris. Can it-he spray many truck at same > time? Or other maybe have Boris attack one truck > and Astarial other trucks same time." Turnberry nods. ["Boris's attack would have to be very fast and sudden for any of this to work...aha!"] Turnberry's face lights up and he puts one finger in the air. ["Quicksilver! Casting Quicksilver to allow Boris to move five or six times faster than usual....."] Turnberry's animated excitement is quickly replaced by furrowed puzzlement: ["...is not something I can do --Boris is far too complex for my Arts to work on him...and Christina, who -could- cast the spell on Boris, is currently out of the battle..."] Turnberry muses, and then his gaze drifts slowly towards the Pub door that he just came in. Realization dawns. ["...but there is -another- person I know who _could_...and if that door can take me to Chicago..."] Turnberry quickly strides up to the closed Pub Door. Stops. Grabs the door handle, and opens it a crack, peeks through the crack, then pumps his fist in triumph and yells silently "Ye-es!" He throws the door fully open and races out, taking care to wedge a newspaper in the door to hold it open a crack; through the open door before it closes one can see, down a grassy slope, a series of large, moderist and post-modernist buildings arranged around a large open quad lit by streetlights. At the center of that quad stands the recognizable ten-story tall form of the Lurie Bell Tower on the University of Michigan's Engineering North Campus. Several minutes pass...and then, faintly at first, then growing louder, through the door can be heard the sounds of rapid-fire argumentative shouting; one voice the familiar British accent Turnberry's voicebox, and another, cantankerous, German-accented, and supremely peeved voice, the two voices getting louder as they (presumably) cross the quad towards the door. ["Look! How was I supposed to know!"] "Oh, I don't furking know, maybe because the zarking door was locked? Maybe because the main lights were out? Maybe because there was a frizbittin SOCK on the vorking DOOR HANDLE?" ["Yes, yes I saw the sock, but in your university research lab? In a _robotics_machine_shop_?!?"] "Well, WHY the jizbizziling NOT? Works just as well as any other place! And we don't have flarping power tools at home like we do there! You couldn't give us just -five- jizbortiling minutes..." ["Considering how I found you two, I don't think you would have been finished in five minutes!"], Turnberry shouts back, annoyed. "And is it my fault that she's got the stamina of a racehorse, the flexibility of a Slaugh, is more insatiable than a Satyr, and can do things with that big poofy tail that can make a man shrudder and weep?" ["Sabrina?!? Innocent little Sabrina?"] "Absolutely, you ignorant galump!" the stranger says with pride and wonder. "Our quiet little girl is a Tiger in the dark and wants me day and night...since we've been married, I almost don't get any fribilling sleep!" ["You don't sound terribly displeased!"] Turnberry yells. ["And just how do you explain being manacled to the workbench?"] "Haven't you ever heard of crizbottling TRUST?" ["You trust -me-, but you don't let -me- chain you up and strip you half-naked and cover you in machine oil and straddle you like a..."] "Well YOU don't berlarting fill a panty and camisole set HALF as well as her furry little bottom and her big, bouncy breas--" ["And since when did she start wearing latex and leather?"] "It looks good against her black-and-white fur!" ["The effect would have been lost on your blindfolded self!"] "Details, details!" the stranger yells, dismissively. ["And what was with the whip?!?"] "Look, Mister," the stranger retorts defensively, "maybe -you- can go two-thousand scribbing years without a little Nookie, but the rest of us warm-blooded creatures like a little piece of action now and then!" ["And what if someone came in and caught you two in the act?"] "FIRST, most of my students can't just Portal Passage in through a locked series of doors...SECOND, let'm watch! They'll just be jealous! Old man ought to show those whippersnappers how to treat a lady -right-!" ["You're mad!"] "-You're- the fribbilin libidoless freak of nature, Turnberry! What, you scarking sleep through puberty four-dozen times? Here you are, you have a absolute Goddess of a Lady --second only to my dearest Sabrina, of course-- who worships the ground you walk on and would shuck her clothes and get it on with even the slightest word on -your- part..." ["Christina?!? Did I say you were mad? You're completely certifiable!"] "Who, me? You're the one who spent SIXTY fribiltiling YEARS alone on Skoevald Tor with her stunning self and never even once did snugglebunnies when every other man on the planet would have been scheming to land in her pants the second they saw her!" ["That's sick! -You're- sick! She's like my sister!"] "But she's -not- your sister, Turnberry! She's a woman! A very, very, -very- sexy woman! And a Pooka to boot! Mee-ow! A woman who once spent the better part of a decade learning the arts of erotic pleasure in a Sultan's harem! And with the perfect Rememberance of hers, two thousand years of practice could come with a lot of pleasant surprises! You don't even have any idea what a red-hot tornado you've got there, you clueless dolt!" Turnberry and the stranger have now approached the almost-closed Pub door. ["So you tell me, Oh-Mr.-Don-Juan-De-Marco, if she's such a dynamo of repressed lustful energy, then why is it she's been riding a Unicorn for the last five lifetimes?!? Last time I checked, tis only a virgin could dare get on Melody's back and expect not to get thrown into next week!"] Turnberry opens the door for the stranger, just as the stranger answers Turnberry's question: "Because she told me herself that she's saving herself for you and you alone," the stranger smirks, "and may the Dreaming strike me down if I lie!" It doesn't, of course...and the look on Turnberry's face...well, "poleaxed" would be a good description...only if you were to characterize the Atlantic Ocean as "wet" or the late Master Porthos or Dante as "kinda, sorta familiar with magic"...for a man for whom jumping out of a sixty-story window doesn't merit a second blink of surprise, this is a rare moment indeed. Turnberry just stays there, rooted to the spot, his jaw hanging limply outside of conscious control. Somewhere along the line, Turnberry also picked up a nasty black eye. The stranger now steps out of the shadows...and the first thing you notice is the face. He's a Nocker, alright --just barely four feet tall, angular facial features, pointed ears and beak-like nose, pasty white complexion broken by ruddy red cheeks, a shock of white hair combed straight back. He looks faintly German, a bit like Beethoven the Nocker...that is, except where the right hand side of his face is covered in masses of scar tissue, like someone had tossed acid or burned it with flame or cold iron. His lip on that side is twisted up in a sneer, and his right eye doesn't quite shut properly when it blinks. He is as ugly as Christina is beautiful, almost revoltingly so. If he were to be embraced by a Nostrafu, he might -improve- in looks. You'd guess this was Jakob Rathskeller, the Nocker of which Christina told in her story much earlier, and you'd be right. But where Christina described him as tubby, it's clear things have changed since then. He may be short and his legs crippled, but his arms and chest under his shirt show obvious strength even as his abdomen appears as flat as a board. Jakob leans on a cane and walks with a pronounced limp, almost a shuffle-gait; his legs move like they don't bend at the knees well; his pasty-white legs are themselves misshapen and gnarled, which you can see for yourself as he's only wearing boxer shorts with a swirl design on them for pants. A unbuttoned, open dress shirt, a white undershirt, and sturdy boots complete his ensamble; a work-belt with several tools and pockets is strapped around his waist at a irregular angle as is a long pistol of unfamiliar design; his hair is mussed, his clothes and his wire- rimmed glasses thrown on hap-hazzardly, several large sloppy lipstick kisses are still evident on his face and some welts and hickeys of unknown origin on his neck and other exposed skin surfaces; it's obvious he was interuppted in the middle of something. "So, Turnberry, just what the fracking blizit did you bring me up to the Dow Building to see that couldn't dirzing wait until dawn?" Then Jakob for the first time looks around the interior of the Pub..sees the fallen over Jukebox, now screaming out the greatest hits of Air Supply as done by the Osmonds...sees Stalks and Alan and Lady Liz and Maia and Jase and Cynthia and Astarial and Dumont's winged presence, sees Leigh and Thunderfoot and the masked stranger..sees Turnberry in the back with Henbane and another stranger and Mahri coming back down with her klaive in hand...sees the Lady May on the bar next to Fredric and a dozen other unusual folk besides...and realizes he isn't on campus anymore... "Somebody had better start fribizitilin explaining what the foodarking quip is going on, or I'll clock you in the other eye, Turnberry," Jakob begins with extreme annoyance. Then he sees the unmoving Christina at Melody's feet. His face and tone change instantly. "Christina?" > >Alan. > > > > Stalks Hidden > I think we need to re-order this slightly - Turnberry I've got a better idea. Of course, it didn't include my getting my lights punched out and getting mentally scarred for life... and - Jakob Rathskeller Seelie Nocker and WesteurEisenReich TechnikLehrer. Christina? I have no idea where the flodoarding hey I am, or what is wrong with her, but if one of you bozos did this to her... -- Jeff Huo | jeff@spundreams.net.nospam (remove nospam) U. Michigan Med | http://www.spundreams.net/~jeff New to the group? Welcome! Please visit http://www.pepin.demon.co.uk/wolves/ IC Character sheets at http://www.spundreams.net/~jeff/wgpatum.html